“Yours?” Rahab asked.
“After Noah, Japheth is the eldest. And many of our children already live there. Yes, Japheth is certain that he can straighten out any irregularities. He knows that Nimrod styles himself as Babel’s king, but our husbands are the patriarchs. The weight of knowledge and stored wisdom are theirs—and ours as women as well. Certainly, we wouldn’t go if we believed the baseless rumor that war threatens. I know Ham believes in a coming war, and Shem, too, of course. He claimed to have a vision about it.” Europa smiled, but it didn’t seem genuine. “I won’t say that Ham or Shem is wrong about Babel. That wouldn’t be polite, seeing as I’m in your house.”
“You may speak your mind. In fact, I insist you do.”
Warmth filled the smile. “Oh, Rahab, you’ve always been so sweet and so kind. I’ll miss you.”
“I wish you’d reconsider.”
“Yes, I know all the arguments. But our minds are made up. I really think this is for the best.”
“When do you leave?”
“In a week, maybe sooner.”
“Ah…” Rahab said, troubled, nodding, wondering what more to say. “May you go with the peace of Jehovah.”
Europa’s mouth tightened, and soon thereafter, she took the cloth and departed.
Rahab didn’t see Ham until the next morning. He woke earlier than she did and helped himself to milk and bread. He sat at the table eating and cutting strips of leather as she shuffled to him, setting down a bowl of figs.
“Thank you,” he said, popping one into his mouth.
“What are you working at?” She nibbled on a fig. One would do her for the entire morning.
“I’m making slings,” he said. He tested a strip of leather, yanking it, before he frowned. “Do you recall Ymir’s host?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Yes, a bad time,” he said. “But after much experimentation, Ymir discovered that slingers were able to outrange archers.”
She took another bite of her fig.
“They used different lengths of slings,” he said. “I remember quite well.”
“Lengths?”
He lifted two leather strips. On each end was tied a small leather pouch, the place where a stone went. A slinger twirled the leather strip, the sling, over his head. At just the right moment, he released one string while holding onto the other. That shot the stone at the target. It took practice and skill to hit an object. In the Old World, shepherds had made the best slingers, probably because they had plenty of spare time to practice.
“Ymir’s slingers used various lengths for different types of missiles,” explained Ham.
“I thought slingers used stones.”
“Some slingers used stones as big as fists. Others used small leaden pellets, depending on the missile’s speed to impart damage. The pellets, incidentally, outranged the fist-sized stones.” He grinned. “In the Old World, they used all sorts of missiles. Why, I recall stories of slingers with fireballs of flaming pitch.”
“Like your brimstone balls?”
“Yes, only much smaller. And some used heavy lead balls that were able to crack and break bronze shields.” He stood, and looped a sling around his shoulder. “That was how they carried them.”
“Why are you so interested in slings?”
He snorted as if the question was foolish. “Nimrod has trained Mighty Men. What I’m looking for are advantages. If our slingers can outrange his archers, perhaps we can send swift youths to pepper them daily on their march to us. By constant harassment, we might wear down their resolve.”
She thought about pointing out that charioteers might overtake swift youths, but she was certain he had already considered that. Besides, he didn’t like it when she poked holes in his ideas. So she asked him if he had heard that Japheth, Europa and Gomer were leaving for Babel. Ham had heard, and he grumbled about it. He said part of the reason why they were leaving was that Shem and he hadn’t put up with Japheth’s airs. In the last fifty years, their oldest brother had gotten too used to being the wise one, the grand patriarch of Japheth Land. He couldn’t stand being with his equals for more than a week or two, like the times at Festival. Certainly, Japheth thought he would be able to browbeat Nimrod.
As Ham spoke, he brought out little lead pellets from his belt pouch, dribbling them onto the table. They clicked onto the wood, heavy pieces of shot.
Rahab put her hands over his. “Ham, can I speak with you a moment?”
“I thought that’s what we’ve been doing.”
“No,” she said. “Can we talk?”
He seemed to restrain from rolling his eyes and finally nodded as he pushed the slings and pellets into the middle of the table.
“Hilda visited me yesterday,” she said.
“This isn’t about Odin and her?”
“You know about them?”
“Rahab! You’re the one who told me long ago that the boy was wild about Hilda. Don’t you remember that’s how I got him to drive me to Festival several years ago?”
“Oh,” she said. “Yes, that’s right.” She didn’t always remember things, and that troubled her. She wondered if it had anything to do with her…passing. “My point is that Hilda is worried.”
“If she doesn’t want Odin hanging around all she has to do is tell Beor,” Ham said. “Believe me. Beor will take care of it.”
“That’s just it. Hilda is afraid what her father is going to do if he finds out about them.”
“Ah,” Ham said. “I see. It’s like that.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “She’s been seeing Odin behind her father’s back?”
“In a manner of speaking. Now I want you to talk to Beor.”
“Me?” He shook his head. “The last time I did that—”
“Please, Ham.” She squeezed his hand. “I think the girl’s in love.”
“How can that be? She acts more like a man than a woman, always carting around javelins.”
“The reason why you made her that wonderful amber necklace, remember?” Rahab smiled. “I think that underneath her warrior-maiden exterior is a woman waiting to flower, at least flower for the right man.”
“Ha!”
“Ham. You must talk to Beor. He respects you. He can’t keep on warping his daughter the way he has.”
Ham picked up a lead pellet, rolling it between his fingers.
“Please, speak to Beor. Make him see reason.”
Ham sighed.
Rahab hid her smile, but for form, to make him feel better about it, she kept on asking and pleading.
He finally nodded, and then he gathered his slings and pellets. “I’m going outside to practice, before you give me anything else to do. Like plead with Japheth to stay.”
“Japheth is your brother.”
Ham grunted, and then he was out the door.
9.
Hilda fed twigs into the fire. It blazed with warmth, with crackling light. Somewhere in the hills, a wolf howled at the moon. A Scout on a nearby rock looked up, while the donkeys munching on oats in their feedbags grew still. Another wolf joined in, and then yet another. Soon a pack howled, their chorus filling the night.
“Do you think they worship Jehovah?” Yorba asked.
Beor snorted. He paced, and his wooden peg clacked against stones as he moved first one way and then another. He kept rubbing his big hands together and glancing at the fire.
Hilda felt his scrutiny. The other Scouts were uncommonly quiet tonight. They, too, felt her father’s suppressed anger. She threw another twig onto the fire.
“Where’s Odin,” growled Beor. “Why has he stayed away?”
“Why?” Yorba said, from on the rock. “Are you serious? You practically promised to kill him the next time you set eyes on him.”
Hilda stood, dusting her hands. “I didn’t hear about that.”
Beor snorted again, louder than before, like a beast giving warning. He seemed wild this evening, perhaps why he had wanted to camp under the star
s.
“Did you know that yesterday Beor almost hit Grandfather Ham?” Yorba said.
“What?” Hilda asked.
Beor rubbed his big hands harder than ever and he paced a little faster.
“Your father shoved our blessed Patriarch,” Yorba said. “Then your father spat near his feet. After that—”
“Enough!” Beor scowled at Hilda. “Where’s Odin? I want to talk to him.”
“I suspect Odin desires to keep on living,” Hilda said.
“Ah, so he’s a coward. I thought as much.”
The words were pulled out of her. She didn’t think about them, just said, “That isn’t fair. He can’t fight you is why he stays away. The reason he can’t fight should be easy to understand. How can he possibly slay the father of the girl he loves?”
“Slay!” roared Beor. “That spear-carrying fool thinks he can slay me? Oh, how I wish he’d try. I really do.”
Hilda stamped her foot. “Father, how can you say that? He hasn’t done anything to you. In fact, he’s done everything a good Scout should for over a year.”
“He hasn’t done anything to me?” Beor asked. “Why, he’s stolen the wits from my daughter. He’s blinded her with fair promises and no doubt with too much familiarity.”
She decided to ignore the last barb. Verbally defending such things only seemed to convince her father that they were true. “You’ve seen Odin hunt,” she said. “He has courage and ability. I don’t understand why you hate him.”
Beor rubbed his hands even more furiously, turned away, turned back and frowned at the fire. With a start, he yanked his hands apart. “Hilda,” he said, making an obvious effort to keep his voice low, “I’m only thinking of you. I know you have a soft heart.”
She saw Yorba roll his eyes, and she wondered why. She did have a soft heart, too soft. Then, maybe for the first time, she wondered if living among the Scouts, practicing and hunting with them, had roughened her? The possibility frightened her, and then the fact of Odin courting her calmed the awful thought.
Her father still spoke. “I remember when Minos, Thebes and their cousin—when I came upon you. Oh, Hilda, I’m still amazed I didn’t kill the three of them. And then consider Gilgamesh, how he stole the amber necklace out of your very room. I’m worried that Nimrod is up to his old ploys of sending us shills, imposters.”
“I’m not in love with Odin,” she said, and she shivered as she said it.
That seemed to calm her father. “Do you see him sometimes?”
She glanced at Yorba, who now seemed very interested in his bowstring. Sly dog, he didn’t fool her.
“You told me not to see him,” she said.
“Yes,” Beor said. “And then yesterday Ham came and talked to me about him.”
“Oh?”
“Ham said not to worry so much about Odin. That he was a fine boy. That he was very fond of you.”
“Great-Grandfather Ham said that?”
Her father breathed through his nose, making the nostrils flare like a bull about to charge.
“I certainly never put Ham up to it.” Hilda wondered who had: Odin, Great-Grandmother Rahab, somebody?
Her father looked at her closely. A troubled smile creased his features. “I’m only thinking of you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I know, Daddy. I know.”
He nodded, glanced at Yorba and the others, and then he cracked his fingers and sat on a rock.
She’d been waiting for that. “I have to take a walk,” she said.
Her father sat up like a deer hearing a lion in the grass.
“Nature calls,” she said.
“Ah,” her father said, relaxing.
She picked up her javelin and marched out of the firelight, slipping past bushes. She studied the moon, looked to the right, the left and headed for a tall boulder. She remembered back at Festival how Odin had once slipped into their forest camp. That had been when Gog was still alive.
She stopped, hearing an owl hoot. With a smile, she hurried to the tall boulder.
Odin stepped from behind it.
She stabbed the javelin into the ground, and they hugged. “Did you hear us?”
“I heard,” Odin said, sounding glum.
She wondered why he never kissed her.
“I didn’t tell Ham to speak with your father,” he said.
“No?” she asked, surprised for feeling disappointed.
“I mean, it was a good idea,” he said.
“It was a stupid idea,” she said. “My father suspects now that I’m seeing you.”
“You are seeing me,” he said. “Maybe I should come back into camp with you.”
“No! The way he is tonight, my father will kill you.”
“He might try.”
“Brave, Odin,” she said.
“I’m not afraid of your father.”
“Then you’re a fool. You should be afraid of him. I know that Nimrod is.”
“Well…” Odin said. “Maybe a little afraid.”
She wondered why he hadn’t kissed her. Gog had by this time. She reached out and touched his beard.
Odin smiled, not moving a muscle, as if he was afraid to move lest she take away her hand. “Do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s so soft,” she said. “Not like my father’s beard.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Have you considered my offer?”
“To be your wife?”
He kissed her. She threw her arms around him. “Hilda,” he whispered.
A branch cracked. It was from behind, a ways away, as if someone walked on a fallen one.
“Hilda?” called her father.
She broke the embrace and turned in fright. “I’m over here,” she called. “But don’t come too close. I’m…I’m indisposed.”
“Right,” Beor said. “I’ll wait here. It’s just that the wolves stopped howling and I was worried. You didn’t take any of the hounds with you.”
“Please, Daddy, this is embarrassing.” She turned to Odin. “You must slip away.”
He reached under his massive beard and drew something over it and above his head. It was a leather cord and dangling on it was a…
“This is a rhinoceros horn,” he whispered. “It’s my good luck amulet that I won in the Far North.”
“Like your rhinoceros hide boots?”
“From the same beast, yes.”
She glanced at his boots. They were very tough and very fine. She knew he was proud of them.
“Here,” he said, pressing the amulet into her hands.
“I can’t take this,” she said. “My father would know then that I—”
“Hide it,” suggested Odin. “Please, Hilda, I want you to have it.”
She smiled. “Yes, of course. Now you must leave before my father finds you.”
He pressed the amulet into her hands. Then he kissed her again.
“Hilda!” called her father.
“Oh, Daddy, please,” she shouted.
Odin let his fingers linger on her face. Then he slipped behind the boulder, and without a sound, vanished into the night.
She hid the amulet under some leaves, picked up her javelin and hurried toward her waiting father.
10.
Almost fifty leagues southeast of Babel along the Euphrates River lay the new city of Erech. It was part of the kingdom of Shinar, the four cities of the alluvial plain ruled by Nimrod. The kingdom was composed of Babel, Erech, Akkad and Calneh. City, of course, was a misnomer, but the term tickled the vanity of the king. In reality, Erech held a little over seventy people.
The terrain was practically identical to that of Babel: a raised riverbank, reed swamps where spring floods had overflowed, with bushes and dates palms here and there, and with dusty plains inland where gazelle and lions dwelt. Near the newly-built brick wall, small canals crisscrossed and sprouted with amazingly abundant crops of wheat, barley and sesame. Within the city was a collection of mud b
rick homes, a smithy or two, a tiny temple and beside it a two-story mud brick palace. Within the palace lived the governor of Erech, a Mighty Man and a follower of Nimrod: Gilgamesh the Ghost Stalker and his wife Opis.
This city as well as the others practiced the new form of government. No clan or half clan went to Erech, Akkad or Calneh. Instead, individual families went. Clans as such, in these three cities, had been broken up. All were subjects of the king and as such were oath-bound to give fealty to the king’s servant. Thus, Japhethites, Shemites and Hamites lived in equality in Erech, and most were of the fourth or fifth generation of Noah.
Gilgamesh was aware of Nimrod’s real reason for building new cities and filling them with equal portions from the three tribes. The stated reason was obedience to Jehovah, obedience to the great command to fill the Earth. The king had nothing against colonization, just not in a helter-skelter fashion.
“Let us build an empire,” Nimrod said, “united, protected, growing outward in a rational manner, rather than splintering into packets of humanity that live little above the beasts.”
Through these three cities, Nimrod had stilled the whispers that said he shook his fist at Jehovah. What Nimrod also did was weaken clan authority in order to increase his own. He had chosen younger people to populate these new centers because they were more malleable to the new ideas and because they were less set in the old ways of clan affiliation.
This morning, Gilgamesh hunted with Ramses, who visited from Babel, having come by foot.
They presently strolled home across the dusty plain. A small gazelle lay over Gilgamesh’s shoulder. Several hounds with their tongues lolling trailed behind. In his fist, Gilgamesh carried his lance of elm wood. Ramses had a bow. Each wore hunting leathers as of old, but time had changed them. Ramses had developed a small paunch, and Gilgamesh no longer seemed skeletal and wild, as in the days when he had haunted the great southern marsh.
The only new item to Gilgamesh’s wardrobe was a talisman or amulet. A stone cylinder—a miniature rolling pin—with carvings on it hung from his neck by a leather cord. He owned it as Governor of Erech. Lud, the premier sculptor and seal cutter of Babel, had made it. Its function was single but its uses several. When rolled across wet clay, the seal left a raised picture.
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