“And the tunnel?”
“We’ll start on that next.”
“We need to do that now. We have to have access to that water as soon as possible, but we need to make the tunnel small enough the giants can’t use it this time. I don’t know how many of them got away, and I’m not taking any chances.”
Siah nodded and headed south.
Satisfied the work was being completed on schedule, Othni returned to his home on the west wall. One of the largest, the house sat against the outer fortification so that the massive stones left by the Anakim made up the back wall.
He wandered through the courtyard, which was as large as Acsah’s in Hebron, but not nearly as green. Only acacia and tamarisk trees could survive here on the edge of the negev. Maybe someday he could get something to grow there besides a few desert flowers.
A familiar layout, just like those in all of Hebron, all of Israel. The lower floor had room for several sheep and goats on the right, with the large living area to the center and left, and a ladder in the back. Plenty of room, enclosed by a low boundary-marker wall, remained around the house for the future, when their sons married and added on their own homes. Othni smiled at the thought.
He scooped up a large glob of mud plaster he’d prepared earlier and slapped it on the wall. With both hands, he smeared it across the surface, smoothing it to a slippery finish. This last layer would complete the lower floor of their new house.
“Looks nice.”
Othni glanced over his shoulder to find Salmah standing behind him, admiring the work. “Are you just going to stand there and watch or are you going to help?”
“Thought I’d just stand here and watch.” Salmah chuckled.
Othni returned to plastering. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I thought I’d take Rahab to visit Acsah for a while, and then come see how you’re doing on your house.”
Othni stilled. “So Rahab is there now?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, actually that’s very helpful.”
“Why?”
He reached for a wet cloth. “She seemed very upset when I left her last week.”
Salmah snickered. “Of course she was. She has to marry you.”
Othni slapped the plaster from his hands. “Very funny.”
Salmah sobered. “Wait … you’re not serious, are you?”
“She doesn’t want to move here.”
Salmah’s eyes widened. “Surely Caleb prepared her for that.”
“I guess not.” Othni shrugged. “I tried to discuss it with her, but …”
“It may be hard on her at first, but she’ll be fine.” Salmah’s voice was quiet.
Othni spread his hands. “How do I know that? How can I tear her away from everything she loves? What makes me more valuable than everything else in her life?” He expelled a forceful breath. “What if she resents me for it?”
“I’ve been through this.” Salmah’s gaze pierced Othni.
The words hit hard. “Right.”
“This was Yahweh’s plan all along, not to mention Caleb’s, so I have no doubt it will work out. Just give her time.” He wandered around the house, knocking on walls, pushing against pillars, climbing the ladder to peek at the roof. “You’ve done well. You’ve made a great deal of progress in a just a few weeks.”
“We have. I worry about the numbers, though. We need more settlers. Far too much of the city remains uninhabited. It’s dangerous. We need families, children. If this city is to grow, we need to think of the future. Right now I have mostly young soldiers and their wives, many of which are not happy, by the way.”
“Any noise from the giants who fled south?”
“I’m hoping now that they’ve lost both Hebron and Debir, they’ll stay away for good.”
“I heard that there are many more Anakim in Ashdod. That’s their stronghold.”
“As long as they stay there, I don’t care. I just don’t want them back here. Because right now, we couldn’t defend ourselves against them. They could walk right in here and take everything back. Without even trying.”
Chapter 7
“…for the Lord your God is the one who goes with you, to fight for you against your enemies, to save you.”
Deuteronomy 20.4
Dry wind whipped through the vineyard. Acsah’s tunic swirled around her legs, and the green leaves that clung to the vines fluttered noisily.
She trailed Rahab, carefully selecting ripe grapes. “I knew I’d eventually have to leave my abba’s house. It just never occurred to me I’d have to move to another city.” She yanked a cluster from the vines, causing several of the deep purple grapes to tumble to the ground. “I don’t think I can do it.” And why should I have to?
“Of course you can.”
“No, I can’t.” She tossed the bunch into the basket resting beside her and reached for another.
Rahab grabbed her wrist. “Why not?”
Acsah huffed. “I just can’t.”
“I need a reason. Think about it, and give me one good reason.”
Her chest constricted. What could she say? That she was afraid to marry a soldier? That she didn’t love him? At least not yet.
“I can’t leave Abba.”
Rahab let go of her arm. “We’ve already discussed this.”
Acsah rose and stomped away, kicking up dust. The woman was relentless. What was she trying to prove with all these questions?
Rahab’s voice followed her. “He told you he would consider marrying someone. Besides, maybe he’s comfortable being alone. He’s had a long and happy life, he has many grandchildren here in Hebron, Jonah and Leah, more friends than he can count—he is far from alone.” She grabbed Acsah’s shoulder and turned her around. “And if you don’t marry Othni, he will be alone.”
Acsah’s heart skipped a beat. She raised her chin. “He can marry someone else.”
“Do you think he will do that? He is more than old enough to marry, and I happen to know many young women who would jump at the chance to be his wife. He’s never been interested until now.” Rahab narrowed her eyes and jabbed her finger at Acsah’s shoulder. “And do you really want him to marry someone else? Then you may be the one who ends up alone. For the rest of your life.”
Acsah chewed her bottom lip, then looked away.
“I love you like a sister, but you need to quit whining. You grumbled when you thought you would have to marry Enosh, and now you don’t have to. Instead you have a wonderful man who loves you more than life itself. Who conquered a city to win the right to marry you.” Rahab fisted her hands at her sides. “And you are complaining because you have to live a donkey’s ride away. There are many women who have given up far more!” She stormed ahead.
A black cloud settled on Acsah’s shoulders. How could she have been this selfish? Rahab, who had been there for her so many times, had been so strong after losing so much. She chased after her. “I’m sorry.” She caught up, rested her hand on her friend’s arm, and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t even think about what you must have gone through.”
“I wasn’t talking about me.” Rahab pursed her lips. “What about your mother?”
She stepped away and pointed at Rahab. “Don’t you dare.”
Rahab folded her arms, eyes flashing. “Then what about all the women who lost husbands in the fight for Hebron, Jericho, or any other city in Judah, like Judith and Miriam? Women who had no choice? Women who had to marry someone, anyone, just to survive? What about the mothers and fathers who lost sons? What about—”
“All right! I’m sorry.” Acsah swiped away the tears racing down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I … I’m just so frightened of leaving everyone and everything.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Will you tell me how you did it? How did you leave Jericho?”
Rahab grasped Acsah’s hands. “I had to decide whom I loved more—Hebron and your family, or Salmah. I looked at my life, saw all that Yahweh had done for me
, saw how He had guided me from Jericho to Hebron, saw all the people He’d brought into my life. I decided this must be part of His plan as well. I realized I could be a help to my husband—or a hindrance. I could start my married life in bitterness or in joy. I chose joy.”
Acsah resisted rolling her eyes at her closest friend. “You just chose joy?”
“Yes.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
“It’s not easy. But it is simple.”
Acsah frowned. “Simple.”
“Yes. Just make up your mind to see Yahweh’s blessings. Thank Him for them. Soon, you’ll see His blessings everywhere.”
Acsah chuckled mirthlessly. “I suppose I can try.”
Rahab laughed as she rubbed Acsah’s back. “Give Him room to work. He’ll show you His plan. And just remember. You could be marrying Enosh.”
Othni’s heart beat faster as he entered Hebron’s gates. The sun was touching the tops of the mountains in the west, and the evening meal would be waiting.
The last two months had been busy—building a house, rebuilding a city. But there wasn’t enough work in the world to keep his mind off Acsah. Every night he lay awake thinking of her until he fell into a sleep filled with dreams of her. Finally, the city was at a point he could leave it in the hands of his brother—for a week at least—and come back to make her his wife.
Caleb’s house was by far the largest in town and occupied the position just north of the western gate. Othni caught a glimpse of Acsah under the shade of a pomegranate tree. Her legs were to one side, covered by her linen tunic. Her fingers worked a bone needle along the hem of another tunic gathered in her lap.
Had she come to grips with the idea of leaving Hebron and living in a new city? If she hadn’t, if she never did, who would she blame—him or her abba? Or both? What would that do to their marriage?
He crept along the low wall and through the wooden gate, staying just out of her sight. A red headcloth slipped off her hair, settling around her shoulders. She reached to adjust it and saw him, leaning against a tree, watching her. Her face brightened, then she stood and moved her fists to her hips. “How long have you been staring at me?”
“Not long enough.” He sauntered toward her. “You’re adorable when you’re angry.”
Her frown dissolved into a smile. “You’re impossible.”
He gathered her into his arms.
She didn’t resist.
Thank you, Yahweh. “I missed you,” he whispered. He had dreamed of holding her since his fourteenth year. Then, it was little more than a boy’s wish, but the last few years it had grown into something much more. In the weeks since he’d seen her, it had become a longing nearly unquenchable. She was warm and soft, her head resting against his chest, her arms around his waist. He closed his eyes, absorbing her scent, listening to her breathing.
Much too soon for his liking, he pulled back. “I was afraid you’d still be angry about leaving here.”
“I wasn’t angry. Only fearful. Will you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive, ahuvati.”
She smiled shyly at the word. My beloved. Did she love him yet? Or was she only following the wishes of her abba?
He drew his fingers over her face, lingering. Resting his hand on her jaw, he rubbed his thumb across her lips. He longed, ached to kiss her.
His gaze rose over her head to the roof where Caleb waited, which was probably a good thing. He could find himself in trouble fast.
“Your father’s expecting us.” He turned toward the house, sucking in a long, slow breath to calm his heartbeat. He took her hand and led her inside and up the stone steps.
Caleb enveloped him in a warm hug. “Othniel, welcome back. You’re looking well. How is Kiriath-Sepher?” He gestured toward the table. “But first, sit.”
He obeyed, taking a seat across from his uncle. Spread before him he saw fresh bread, grapes, pomegranates, figs, and a large bowl of lentil stew. He took the bread Caleb offered—still warm—and dipped it into the dish of olive oil.
“How is the rebuilding going?” Caleb broke off a piece of dry cheese.
“The men have started on their houses now. Most are done. We’ve repaired the grain storage pits, and started on the houses in the unoccupied quarters.”
“How much of the city remains empty?”
“Over half.”
“Are you comfortable with this?”
Othni shifted. “No, I’m not.” He avoided looking at Acsah. “We have perhaps four hundred people. We have room for more than twice that.”
Caleb glanced quickly at his daughter. It was evident neither of them wished to discuss the reason for his discomfort in front of her. “I can talk to some people here for you, if you like.”
“I’d like that. I’d prefer at least three-quarters of the houses to be occupied.”
Using another piece of bread, he scooped a big bite of lentil stew and stuffed it into his mouth. It was hot, thick and spicy. Carrots and onions flavored by garlic and cumin mixed with the legumes that would have cooked slowly for hours. Images arose of Acsah in his house slicing vegetables, mincing spices, grinding grain.…
“Othniel?”
Caleb’s voice snapped him back to the present. Had he called his name more than once? He glanced at Acsah, who hid a slight smile.
“Is your house done?” Caleb reached for the pitcher of watered wine but kept his gaze on him.
“It’s done. I haven’t slept there yet. I wanted the first time to be with Acsah.” He waited for her to look up. She didn’t, but a hint of pink touched her cheeks.
Caleb filled three cups. “After we eat, we’ll talk to Leah and decide when to have the wedding feast.”
Tomorrow would be fine with him. But if he knew Leah, it would be several days at least until she gathered enough food to feed everyone in Hebron. And they would need to give Acsah’s half-brothers time to arrive from the hill country.
But he’d waited seven years. He could wait a while longer.
Enosh sat in the courtyard of his abba’s Bethlehem home, a warm breeze rustling the leaves of a tamarisk tree. An eagle owl called, signaling the start of his nightly foray for food. Enosh would miss his abba’s house, but his decision had been made. He simply couldn’t stay in Hebron.
He sighed. “I already explained this to you. I don’t know exactly when it will happen, but it will be very soon now.” How many times did he have to make it clear to his sister that he had no control over when they would be moving to Kiriath-Sepher? How was he supposed to know when the wedding was? They certainly wouldn’t tell him.
“But I don’t want to move.” Dania resettled the half-formed basket on her lap and continued weaving. Her slender fingers moved the long leaves quickly in and out among the twig spines, adding row upon row. She refused to look at him.
Enosh sat next to her and tried to take her hand. “There is nothing left for me in Hebron.”
She twisted away, turning her back to him. Her headcloth fell to her shoulders with the movement, revealing her long, wavy hair, so like their imma. “Maybe not for you. You’ve been away. I have made a life here.”
“I plan to sell Abba’s land. Stay here if you want, but you will have nothing to eat.” He softened his voice. “I am your brother and have authority over you, but I will not force you. I am only asking you to come with me. If you can find a way to stay here, someone who will take you in, you are welcome to stay.”
Dania turned back to him and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, accenting the scar on her left cheek. Her only flaw. Physically, at least.
“Why can’t you just sell the house in Hebron? Why do you have to sell the land here as well?”
“Now that Eliezer is gone …”
She cringed at the mention of their brother.
“Since he is dead, he can no longer manage Abba’s land for you. I think it’s best you come with me, so I can take care of you.”
Her hands stilled, and her eyes f
inally met his. “You truly think this is best?”
“I would never do anything to hurt you.” He placed his hand over hers.
She nodded. “Just try and give me a few days to say good-bye if you can.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I do. I’ll be back once I know.” Enosh rose and left the family home to return to Hebron. He hated to drag Dania from her home, but he really had no choice. No one here or in Hebron would let her live with them. As his sister, she was as much a pariah as he was. She was unmarriageable here.
More importantly, for his sake, if he intended to regain control of Kiriath-Sepher, he had to live there. He would need to be aware of every move Othniel made, so he could find the perfect moment to make the city his own.
But there was no way Othniel would trust him. If he wanted to really do some damage, he was going to need help. He needed to find a partner. Someone bright enough to help him, to get some valuable information, but dull-witted enough to do what he was told without asking too many questions.
That might be a tall order. He’d have to keep a sharp eye out. Everyone in Hebron, and from all the nearby cities, would be coming to the wedding. That would be a good place to start.
Then he would get everything back that was rightfully his.
His wife.
His respect.
His position.
And he would make Othniel pay.
Hot air rushing past her face, Acsah held the hem of her tunic away from her as she sprinted down the road. Her headcloth slipped off, and she caught it just before it hit the dusty ground. She threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Was that Mattan? Had they sent him after her? She ducked behind a pistachio tree, her heart pounding, chest heaving.
Please, leave me alone.
She waited a few moments while her breathing calmed, then peeked around the trunk. There was no dust, no sound, nothing to indicate anyone was on the road but her. Of course, no one would be this time of day. It was far too hot. Certain she was alone, she wiped the sweat from her forehead, replaced her head covering, and continued her journey.
Prize of War Page 9