Temper The Wind (Ancient Israel)

by Boyd, Mary Ellen

  A shadow fell across her still-closed eyes, and then she knew. No, this was no dream. The grief that had haunted her sleep washed over her, and she rolled onto her belly, moaning with the pain of her sobs. The shadow never moved. She could feel it beside her, a patch of coolness in the early glare, and knew without looking who it was. That made it even worse. What did he expect, gratitude for leaving her alive to live with her loss? Today there was no room for appreciation, not even for her life.

  Agony threatened to tear her heart in two.

  Javan stood without moving for a long time, as the young woman sobbed. Even though he expected a reaction like that, it did not make it easier to watch. He did not know what to say, how to begin working around her grief and rage. Right now he had to get her up and fed. The army was preparing to leave. They were done here, and they were going home – to his home – but the captives would be leaving their own land behind.

  He knelt beside his captive, and gently put a hand on her shoulder. Her reaction was immediate and furious, her hand aimed to catch him full across the face. All his soldier instincts came into play, a quick twist, a pull, and she tumbled onto her back, staring wide-eyed and livid into his face.

  “I am a soldier. You should have known better than that,” he said. “I intend you no further harm, but you must cooperate. If you insist on being difficult, I will have to restrain you. I would rather not have to do so. Make no mistake – if I must, I will.” He motioned to a small bag laying on the ground. “I have brought you some food. You must be hungry by now. You had nothing to eat yesterday. Whatever you may think of us, we do not intend to starve you.”

  To her shock, he smiled at her, a warm smile, full of some secret humor.

  She wanted to refuse, to throw the food back into his face, but her hunger got the better of her. She pushed herself into a sitting position, and picked up the bag, ignoring him. He, however, seemed to have no intention of being ignored and took the bag from her hands gently.

  “It opens like so,” he said, and the bag lay flat on the ground, full of dried fruit, bread, and some well-cooked meat. A flask lay on its side, and when she opened it, she smelled sweet wine. The soldier spread himself on the ground, propped his head on one hand, and watched her. Refusing to be cowed, she began to eat. The soldier watched her a little longer, and then spoke.

  “Do you remember my name?”

  She nodded.

  He persisted. “What is it?”

  “Javan,” she ground out. She did not particularly want to be manipulated into polite conversation.

  “You are Taleh. I remembered as well.” He looked smug and Taleh’s hand itched to take another swing. He was quiet for another moment. She ate silently, refusing to look at him. Gentle fingers lifted her chin, and she met his eyes reluctantly.

  They were filled with concern. He took a deep breath, as though to brace himself, and then asked, “The woman on the street – who was she to you?”

  Taleh went cold inside, the memory came too quickly, borne on waves of grief and desolation. The fingers on her chin tightened and held her fast. She spat the answer at him. “She was my sister.”

  Everything about him changed, his eyes, the feel of his hands, even his posture, as though the wounding was done to him and not to her at all. He said softly, “I am sorry.”

  “That will not give her back!”

  “No,” he agreed. His voice was kind again, his eyes sad as he watched her. She blinked in surprise. Surely a soldier did not care who he killed. He let go of her then, and she looked down at the food on the cloth. She was no longer hungry. He seemed to understand, for he reached over and tied the bag again.

  He got to his feet. In spite of herself she marveled at the grace and power he exuded. In the early morning light, his skin glowed gold. Thick veins lined his hands and forearms, springing to life and subsiding as he moved. His eyes were not as dark as she had thought. Lighter tones flecked the brown. He had bathed recently. All the blood was gone, even off his armor. His hair looked soft, the brown shimmering and shifting with each movement of his head.

  What a handsome man he was.

  The thought appalled her. How dare she think such a thing?

  He reached down to help her rise, but some spark of perversity flared within her and she turned away. He would have none of that, though, and grasped her around her waist, lifting her easily to her feet. “Are you testing me? Have you no care for the value of your life? We are moving out now, and you will go with the rest of the women. Do not give us any trouble, and I will not have you bound.”

  There was more than a threat in his voice. Taleh did not want to test him further. “I understand,” she said with a meekness that was more real than feigned.

  “Good. Get with them, then,” was all he said, and he moved away. She looked down at her feet, and saw the foodbag still there. He had left the food with her. She stared at it, then picked it up, along with the rest of her belongings.

  Armed soldiers again surrounded the women, who made a sorry group. None had more than the clothes on her back, a small bag of food if she was lucky, and something to cover them from the night’s chill, even if only a blanket. The women looked lost and quite afraid. Did they see the same when they looked at her?

  She could not see the group of captured boys.

  An order was shouted from somewhere ahead, and the army began to move, an ungainly procession. Along with the large army of men, she saw vast herds of cattle, as well as sheep and goats, being prodded into reluctant movement. Their deep lowing blended with the higher bleats of the flocks in a chorus of protest, one with which Taleh felt a strange sympathy. They did not want to leave either.

  Here and there, a camel plodded, its hump bobbing in a sea of animals and men. The whole valley looked as though it had suddenly come to life. Her gaze passed over the city, the last of the flames burning among piles of rubble, all that was left of the place of her birth. She felt beaten and alone as she trudged along with the others, and the soft sounds of weeping from the other women mingled with her own tears.

  The army moved slowly through the gently rolling plateau. Taleh sweated under the hot sun. She removed her cloak, tying it awkwardly around her waist, risking burn rather than continue smothering under it. She saw the other women doing the same. The bright colors of the gowns they had worn in hopes of saving their lives made an odd contrast to their drawn, grief-stricken faces. The soldiers seemed oblivious to their plight. Taleh’s feet kept moving, step after step, until she felt she had been walking forever. Everything was sore, not just her feet. Her back felt as if it would break in half.

  Midday came, and the army halted, covering a vast area of the Ammonite countryside. The men settled down on the ground for a meal. Some of them stretched out, catching a few minutes of rest while they were able, for someone had to stand guard during the night.

  It was so hot, and she was so hungry. What little food she had had was gone, in stolen bites as they walked. She sank onto the ground, her misused muscles hampering her movements.

  Javan, she wished his name would vanish from her mind but it was stuck like a burr, moved through the captives. She saw him coming and did her best to ignore him, but he would not leave. Without care whether or not she even wanted his company, he knelt on the hard ground. She did her best to ignore him, but he reached out and touched her face. She jerked away, nearly toppling over onto the ground but he held her arm with one giant hand, his grip without pain but without give, and turned her head with his other until there was no choice but to look at him.

  “There is plenty of time later to tell me what you think of me and my people.” He reached into his own food pouch, pulled out a bit of the circular puffy leavened bread, clearly stolen from someone’s table, tore off a piece and held it out to her. “I suggest you enjoy it while we have it. We will be eating unleavened bread soon enough.”

  Reaching for the bread gave her a chance to look at something other than him. She took the piece and at
e awkwardly, feeling his gaze on her. The look in his eyes made her slightly uncomfortable, as though he knew something she did not but should. She stole glances at him while he fed her. His face had faint lines in it, traces his life had left. Few came from smiles. He was so big, so strong, the kind of man that had always frightened her, yet, in spite of his size and profession, he had been nothing but gentle with her. When would that change?

  What kind of man was he? Her anger did not impress him, she stood no chance of hurting him physically, there was nothing left for her if she were to try to escape back to her city, every step brought her closer to his own land, and worst of all, he showed no signs of letting up in his pursuit.

  Javan pulled back the food pouch and tied it. “Perhaps eventually you will see I am no threat to you.”

  She could not let that pass. “You killed my family.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he stiffen slightly? “The war is over.”

  “Not for me. It will never be over for me!” Tears began again, unbidden, harsh, gasping sobs that barely dented her anguish and fury. The soldier pulled her to her feet, and to her horror, wrapped her in his arms. Frantic, she wrenched herself away.

  He let her go. She lost her balance and fell heavily onto the hard ground, wincing as she landed. She ignored his outstretched hand, getting to her feet without assistance despite the screaming of her abused muscles.

  He watched her silently, then scooped up his food pouch and wineskin, now severely depleted. “Very well. I concede this bout, but be warned you have not seen the last of me.”

  Taleh was ready to give up any pretense of dignity. She had never been in such pain. The other captives echoed her distress. Grumbling grew about her. Irritation at the soldiers increased with every step. How dare they act as though this was a pleasant stroll? Did the Israelite soldiers think everyone was equal to a journey on foot without a rest? If not for the wariness she caught in their sharp eyes whenever one would chance to look her way, and the heavy weapons none put aside, Taleh would have thought they had no cares. Laughter drifted on the air from time to time, and the sound hit her like a blow.

  The heat was frightening, making the baked ground shimmer and waver in the distance. The soil was hard from the force of the summer sun. Few trees broke the monotony of the landscape, and the grasses were brown and dry. They poked their sharp edges through the gaps in Taleh’s sandals, adding their own discomfort to the grit and sand trapped under her feet. The leather soles abraded her sore skin.

  The land rolled in seemingly endless waves. The shallow hills and valleys were misleading, she thought bitterly. The first few had been easy enough, but as the journey continued, it became harder and harder to pace herself going down the depressions. Her legs trembled with the effort to drag her up the other side.

  Only the fact that there was no evidence of a flatter route kept her from accusing the soldiers of torturing them deliberately.

  Taleh’s eyes joined the rest of her body in its rebellion, for it looked like they were nearing a city. Colors fluttered against the horizon, and she blinked to clear her vision. When she opened her eyes, the colors were still there.

  Was it a city? Sudden excitement flared within her. Perhaps there would be a way of escape. Her feet felt lighter, and eagerness lifted her spirits.

  As they neared the swelling mass of humanity, Taleh’s hopes dashed to the ground. Hebrew soldiers stood firmly, watching over a huddled group of more Ammonite captives. The army of soldiers divided, and flowed around the waiting assemblage. Taleh’s own group merged with the seated captives. Only then did she see the ropes binding them one to another, wrists tied tightly behind them. Was this to be her fate?

  Soldiers took up positions around the captives, as several well-armed men entered their little enclave. Taleh watched them approach, and fought panic. If they came for her, she resolved she would not die quietly. She had not come all this way, enduring heat, heartache and pain, to be dispatched in the wilderness!

  The men with the terrifying weapons merely went about releasing the bonds of the restrained captives. Please, Taleh thought, make no foolish moves. As though they heard her, the newly loosed prisoners sat quietly.

  One of the men raised his voice. “Do not take this sign of our compassion as weakness. We will tolerate no revolt. Any attempts to escape will be met with death. Accept your fate, and you will be well-treated. Do you understand?”

  His powerful voice reached to the outer edges of the camp of captives and beyond, to the soldiers milling about. Taleh looked around her, seeing her own emotions mirrored on the faces on all sides. Anger, sorrow, acceptance. Defeat. She was hot, thirsty, hungry, tired and dirty. She had nothing to eat or drink, no way to take a bath, but she still had her pillow, wrapped in the cloak tied around her waist. Even if she met none of her other needs, she could sleep, and for the moment that was enough.

  She untied her cloak, and the sudden touch of air on the sweaty fabric at her waist felt cool. The pillow was safely inside, making a lump in the folds to announce its precious presence. Sinking stiffly onto the baked earth, Taleh unrolled the bundle and pulled the pillow out. She spread open her cloak and improvised a bed. Lying down, her head cushioned on her mother’s pillow, she idly watched her fellow captives through half-closed eyes.

  Something shiny caught the sun.

  Even as her mind registered what it was, some inner sense told her to lie still, to pretend to sleep. Had she flinched in the first shock of awareness? Her breathing was too fast, her heart beat too loudly. Frightened, she counted each breath in her head, measuring them, hoping no one would see her effort.

  They were so close! Surely they would look down and know!

  “You have it?” a voice asked in a hushed whisper. “How did you manage?”

  There was a short silence, or if the question was answered she did not hear it.. Taleh remained motionless. The dust drifted onto her cloak, tickling her nose, but she could not allow herself to give in to the urge to sneeze. She opened her mouth a crack, breathing through it instead, and the urge passed. As she expected, the conversation resumed.

  “What good will one dagger serve?”

  “What makes you think this is all we have?”

  “How many do you have?”

  There was a short silence. Taleh remained motionless. The dust drifted onto her cloak, tickling her nose, but she could not allow herself to give in to the urge to sneeze. She opened her mouth a crack, breathing through it instead, and the urge passed. As she expected, the conversation resumed, with new voices entering. She soon lost track of who was speaking.

  “Enough. We do not yet know who we can trust. When we are sure of those who are for us, we will make plans.”

  “We cannot wait too long. We still have to make our way back. If we hesitate, we will find ourselves out of Ammon. Who will there be to help us then?”

  “It is too soon.” This was said with authority. The owner of the voice must be the leader of the revolt. Taleh kept her eyes shut. She did not want to know who it was. The voice went on, “We must wait until they let down their guard. While we wait, try to determine who might be willing to join us – but carefully! And do not approach any of the women who are visited by soldiers. We know we cannot trust them.”

  A sick feeling held Taleh immobile while the group moved away. She was one of the women being visited by a soldier. What did they plan for those like her? How had they managed to conceal daggers? Did they think to take on the whole army? Or just those foolish or daring enough to venture into the camp of women?

  She concentrated on holding her body loosely, mimicking sleep, while her mind whirled. Would Javan’s presence cost his life, or her own?

  Which danger was the worst, having her fellow captives, whom she now knew to be armed to some degree, think her a traitor? Or saying nothing and letting Javan and the others walk into a trap? Would she be killed with the rebels? For they would be killed, of that she had no doubt. She wanted no part of s
uch folly.

  She hoped Javan would stay away.

  Someone stopped at her side, and she flinched before she could stop herself. At the touch of a hand on her shoulder, she reluctantly opened her eyes, pretending they pulled her from sleep.

  A young woman about her own age knelt beside her. Taleh looked at her and waited. Unlike her own heavy waves, this one had hair as straight as an arrow, and warm brown to Taleh’s black. Her eyes were not dark as midnight like Taleh’s own, but light, green and gold blended together. Her face was oddly free of the ravages of grief. The sun had left its red trace across her tilted nose and the smooth skin of her forehead. She was very pretty, with the kind of inner sparkle that attracted men.

  At the sight of her vivacious face, Taleh’s fear lifted a little.

  She smiled guilelessly and handed Taleh a waterskin. Water still dripped off the bulging sides.

  “We are near a well,” the young woman said. “You had better drink your fill now, for we will be moving on soon.”

  Taleh smiled back. “Thank you. This is very kind.” She took a few swallows and took a risk. “My name is Taleh. You are the first person to talk to me. Other than the soldiers, of course.”

  “Of course.” The other woman smiled a knowing smile. “My name is Merab. You have a soldier who has chosen you. I, too, have been chosen.” Merab’s face glowed with pleasure. She certainly was not suffering the same torn loyalties as Taleh. Taleh wanted to be ignored by her captors. Merab obviously found the attention exciting.

  “I will not be a slave,” Merab continued, openly boastful. “I will be married. Is it not wonderful?”

  Taleh choked on the water she was swallowing. When her throat was clear, she asked frantically, “Who told you this?”

  “The soldier who chose me. Some will be slaves, naturally, but the women the soldiers come to, I assure you, they are all to be wives.”

  Taleh could not think. “That is not true! It cannot be true.”

  “You do not believe me?” Merab drew up in offended pride.