Could that be true? She thought about what he did every day before she left. He did seem to be always surrounded by people. Perhaps he was genuinely happy.
“I can finish the baking,” Leah said. “Why don’t you take a walk before things get busy?”
“You’re sure?”
Leah grinned. “I do this every day without you. Not quite so much, but still.”
Acsah kissed her cheek and headed west. She passed Othni and Abba strolling along the road toward Abba’s olive grove, deep in conversation. She loved the way they laughed together as they talked. They were very much alike in so many ways. Planners. Leaders. Commanders.
Warriors.
Before long Acsah sat on her favorite rock by the spring in Hebron. A butterfly, softly fluttering its large brown wings with orange stripes, landed on the rock beside her. She held her breath for fear it might escape. She’d seen them before, but never so close. Strikingly beautiful, it simply sat there, probably soaking up the warmth, just as she was.
Such an exquisite creature. Yahweh did an excellent job when he created butterflies. There probably weren’t any in Debir. Not enough water or flowers. Not like here. She’d forgotten how beautiful the spring was. Forgotten how much she missed it until she sat here again. Felt the breeze. Dipped her feet in the water. Counted the multitude of colors of wildflowers. Listened to the morning songs of the birds.
It was too cold to wade in the water, but her feet longed to be wet, and she was unable to resist dipping her toes in. She waited, quieting her heart, listening for His voice.
She heard only silence.
Speak to me.
No one answered.
Yahweh, please talk to me. Where are You?
Had He left her completely alone? Was He not here either?
Her breath came in short gasps. What would she do without Him? She had lived the last months without hearing Him, knowing He would be waiting for her here, and now He was gone from here as well.
Her heart pounded. Yahweh, You must be here. Talk to me.
And then she realized her mistake. “You must be here.” Who was she to tell Yahweh where He must be?
Who was she to believe He could not be in Debir?
She had decided He could not be there, and so she had not found Him there. She had come here believing all her problems would be solved. She would be home, she would hear Yahweh … but nothing had been settled.
Because she was trying to solve the wrong problem. Yahweh was not the problem.
She was not sure what was, but it was definitely not Him.
Coming here did clear up one thing though. Whatever the problem was, it would have to be dealt with in Debir.
Gratitude and praise swelled up from a place Othni hadn’t known existed within him. He held the wide, shallow basket of ripe fruit in both arms, waiting for his turn to place it on the altar in Shiloh.
Thoughts of last fall’s Feast invaded his mind. He’d been in Beeroth—or was in Ramah?—fighting for Benjamin. They’d journeyed to Gilgal to celebrate the Feast and to camp for the rainy season. Then he’d returned to Bethlehem in the spring to see his family for the first time since Jericho. Only to find his abba had died.
He still wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing by leaving four years ago. But after what had happened in Gibeon, he’d felt he had no choice. Then again, he was seventeen and probably not the best at making life-altering decisions.
Acsah squeezed his bicep. He glanced down at her, skin glistening in the sunshine, hair as dark and shiny as ripe olives, lips the color of pomegranates. He’d love to be kissing those lips right now…. Concentrate. A crease appeared between her brows, and she jerked her head toward the altar. He frowned back at her. What?
“Go!” she hissed.
He turned to face the hillock to realize he was the only one who had not presented his offering. He hastened forward and handed his basket to a waiting Levite, who not very successfully tried to suppress a smile. Backing up a few steps, Othni joined his uncle and brother.
Siah covered his mouth and coughed. Or was it a laugh?
The priest raised his hands and face heavenward. “Blessed are You, Creator of heaven, who grants us all the bounty of the earth. We thank You for Your gifts and offer this portion back to You. We seek Your blessing upon our labor for the coming year and ask that You once again grant us an abundant harvest to feed not only ourselves, but those who seek refuge within our borders.”
The priest turned to the people. “Remember Yahweh’s words to us in the wilderness: ‘You shall hold a festival to Me for seven days, for I will bless all your crops and all your undertakings, and you shall have nothing but joy!’” Though he tried, the man’s last word could barely be heard over the shouts of the people.
Songs of praise echoed through the hills. The swooshes of palm branches waving overhead added a pleasant rhythm. Children squealed as they played. Othni’s ears almost hurt. He’d been to six Feasts, but all had been during a time of war, at the end of a summer of battles, and joyful was the last word he’d use to describe the atmosphere. They’d been relieved to be alive, grateful for Yahweh’s protection, appreciative of His gifts, but joyful? Not like this. Joy does not come easily to a bruised and battered body, far from home, exhausted. Not to him, anyway.
Cheers and whistles rose from the far side of the meadow. “What’s happening?”
“The girls are dancing.” Siah’s grin spread from ear to ear.
“What?” Girls are dancing? No girls ever danced at the Feasts he attended. Granted, they were in soldier camps, but this he had to see.
He held Acsah’s hand and followed his brother. They threaded their way through the crowd, twisting and weaving between bodies to make it to the front. Circles within circles of young girls, arms on shoulders, sandals off, kicking their feet high as they laughed and sang and spun the circles this way and that.
“Did you do this?” He fixed his gaze on his wife.
She laughed as she nodded.
Too bad he’d missed that. Enticing images floated through his mind.
“Stop that!” She smacked his arm.
“What?”
“Quit smiling like that!” She laughed again, her cheeks a beguiling shade of red.
He wiggled his brows at her, then returned to watching the girls. Something tugged on the sleeve of his cloak. He turned to her again. “What? I stopped.”
She frowned. “I didn’t do anything.”
A giggle sounded from behind. He twisted around.
Simeon held both hands over his mouth, trying to hide a laugh.
“Simeon!” Othni picked him up and tossed him in the air, drawing uncontrollable laughter from the boy. “Where’s your abba?”
Simeon pointed to Salmah, strolling towards them with Rahab.
Acsah bolted for Rahab.
Siah stayed by the girls.
“Watching the girls?” Salmah chuckled. “Not a good idea in front of your wife.”
Othni, still holding the boy, gave him a one-armed hug.
Simeon placed his little hands on Othni’s cheeks. “Othni?”
“Yes?”
“Is all that food for Yahweh? How will we get it to Him?”
“Well, it’s for Him in a way. We give it to the priests who work for Him. They don’t have any land, like we do. And they have to take care of the Tabernacle, so they don’t have time to grow anything or take care of animals. So everyone gives them a little of what they grow.”
Simeon thought for a while, his face scrunched up. “All right. I guess that’s a good idea.”
“I’m glad we have your approval.” Othni laughed.
“I want down now.” He squirmed, and Othni released him to scamper away.
“Does he come up with questions like that a lot?”
“You have no idea. Where did you build your shelter?”
“Come. I’ll show you.” He gestured to the area they’d chosen.
“So, how do you like b
eing married?”
Othni sucked in a long breath, then blew it out. “It’s wonderful … and terrifying. It’s a lot harder than I thought.”
Salmah burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“You thought being a soldier was tough? This is the hardest battle you will ever fight.”
He’d been a warrior for the last seven years. He’d rather take an enemy arrow than fail her.
Acsah pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. A small oven produced just enough heat to ward off the chill of the night air.
The shelter Abba, Siah, and Othni had built was large enough not only for their family but Salmah’s. The group sat around bowls of figs, dates, grapes, pomegranates, and flavored olive oil. A pile of bread and pitchers of goat milk completed their meal.
Caleb told stories about Othni and Siah growing up that simply had to be exaggerated, except Salmah backed him up on every detail. Acsah laughed so hard her sides ached. She’d been too young to remember their antics.
“Every night, every single night, Othniel would beg for a baby sister, and Seraiah would threaten to run away if they got one.”
“That cannot be true.” Siah nearly shouted, slamming his open hand on the ground.
“I promise you it is.” Caleb held his hands up in surrender.
“Did he say why he didn’t want a sister?” Acsah asked.
“He said girls weren’t any fun to play with,” Caleb said.
“Now I know that’s not true!” Siah burst into laughter as his brother shoved him into Salmah.
“Well, you were only five. Othniel was eight.” Caleb reached for a pomegranate.
Acsah opened the skin of milk as she thought. “That means I was about three.”
“Was he in love with her yet?” Siah’s voice held a mocking tone.
“Shut up.” Othni shoved him again, and Siah and Salmah howled.
“Not yet, but it wasn’t too much longer.” Salmah grinned.
“Leave him alone now.” Rahab patted Salmah’s back. “I think it’s sweet.”
“Of course, motek. We all do.” Salmah winked at Othni.
“Anyone heard how it’s going up north?” Salmah stuffed his mouth with bread.
The topic turned to war, as it invariably did whenever the men gathered. Acsah shifted uneasily. She moved to the farthest end of the shelter and lay down to try to think about something else.
Clouds had filled the sky when they awoke. Once again they faced the altar. The priest recited words of blessing, but words of battle stuck in her mind. Why were men always so enthralled with the idea of war?
Simeon, beside her in a deep red cloak, fidgeted and squirmed. He pulled on Rahab’s hand, and she leaned down as he whispered.
“Now?”
He nodded his little head.
Rahab looked to the back of the crowd as she took the boy’s hand.
Acsah touched Rahab’s shoulder. “I’ll take him.”
“You will?”
She smiled. “Sure. You stay here.” Acsah grasped his other hand and they picked their way through the crowd to the far end of the meadow. “Where did you get such a beautiful cloak, Simeon?”
“Imma made it.”
Once away from the crowd, Simeon ran behind a tree, and Acsah leaned against the other side. She reached up to pick a few straggling pistachio nuts hanging low, split the shell open and crunched the nut as she waited. She would have to ask Rahab about the cloth. She’d seen other women dyeing cloth, but Abba always traded for cloth already colored. She leaned her head against the tree and closed her eyes, dreaming of the varying hues she’d like to wear.
“I thought I recognized you as you rushed by.” An eerily familiar, brusque male voice interrupted her. “You didn’t even stop to say hello.”
Enosh. Her chest felt like it had been squeezed in an olive press. She opened her eyes and stood straight. “What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I be? Now that Debir has been stolen from me.”
“I don’t know anything about that.” And she didn’t like the way he mocked the name her husband had chosen.
“Your husband interfered with my plans, and stole my … prize.” His eyes crept slowly down her body and back up, leaving chills in their wake.
“I am not a prize!”
A whoosh of color darted from the tree into the crowd.
“Who said I was talking about you? I meant the city. You were only tacked on because no one would marry you after you repeatedly disobeyed your abba.”
“That is not true.” She resisted stomping her foot, instead lowering her voice to nearly a whisper. Abba would never say such a thing, did not think such a thing. But still, the accusation burned.
“You do know your abba chose the wrong man in the end, don’t you?”
“I know he chose the man Yahweh wanted.”
Enosh laughed. Not the musical, comforting laugh of Othni, but a biting, sinister, mirthless sound. “Yahweh? You really think He controls the actions of men like me? We are slaves no longer, motek. Or have you forgotten already that your precious Joshua and his Moses brought us out of Egypt?”
She jabbed her finger in his solid chest. “You have no right to call me motek or any other name but Acsah.”
Glaring at her, he grinned. “Feisty, aren’t we?”
“Leave her alone.”
Enosh and Acsah whipped their heads toward the new voice.
Acsah’s shoulders relaxed, and her hand dropped from Enosh's chest.
Othni stepped in front of her, blocking Enosh's access to her. “If you ever come near her again, you will regret it.” His voice was low and rumbly, his biceps bulging as his fists flexed at his side. She had never seen—or heard—him like this before. Peering around him, she tried to catch a glimpse of Enosh's face.
That same disquieting laugh sounded. “I’ll regret it? I regret nothing—except that I let you interfere with my plans to rule Kiriath-Sepher. If you had stayed out, I could have taken the city.”
“With how many casualties? We lost enough men because of you.”
Enosh leaned nearer. “All war has casualties.”
“You are terribly free with other men’s lives.”
“They knew what might happen when they agreed to go.”
Acsah gasped.
Enosh tipped his head to one side and caught her gaze. And smiled. “Has she no idea what war is like, this daughter of Caleb?”
Othni folded his arms across his chest. “You need to go. Now.”
Enosh turned to go, but returned after a few steps. He came within a hand’s breadth of Othni’s face. “This isn’t over,” he growled.
Somehow, Acsah knew without a doubt he meant it.
Chapter 11
Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, In due time their foot will slip;
For the day of their calamity is near…
Deuteronomy 32:35
Enosh approached the enormously wide gates of Kiriath-Sepher. Leaning all his weight on his hands, he shoved one immense door just enough to step inside, allowing his animal—and passenger—to pass, and pushed it closed behind him. They slipped through the gate complex, longer than the height of two men and higher than any of Hebron’s. Four chambers—two on the right and two on the left—flanked a passageway wide enough for one of Canaan’s iron chariots.
He examined the open chambers, which at one time were likely used by the giants to store grain and other supplies. One had a ladder leading up to the tower above.
As he entered the silent city, it appeared no one was back from the feast in Shiloh yet. He’d left well before sunrise. Leaving the gates unlocked while everyone was gone seemed absurd to him. Sure, Yahweh had said He would protect their cities while they were all at the Feast, but Enosh would never trust his city to an unseen god.
He grabbed the donkey’s nose, took the lead rope from the young woman, and marched ahead. She struggled to keep up, taking several steps to h
is one.
“It’s bigger than Hebron.” She’d finally caught up to him.
He nodded. “It is.”
“Do we know anyone here?”
“A number of people from Hebron live here. More are coming.”
“But—”
“Dania, please, stop asking so many questions. I need to think.” He loved her, but she could chatter endlessly.
They continued wandering through the city. Houses of all sizes hugged the wall, most in family groupings sharing a common courtyard. How quaint.
Right now, he needed to figure out which house was Othniel’s. It was essential he be nearby, to know what was going on, at all times if possible. Usually the city leader lived nearest the main gate to control access. Enosh retraced his steps and found the biggest house, just south of the western gate. A nice size, with a smaller house attached on its right—probably for that worthless brother of his.
Had to be Othniel’s. Big, but not too fancy. He surveyed the area. On the north side of the gate stood only a few homes. Plenty of room remained for a house that was slightly bigger than this one.
He continued his stroll around the city. The western half, much of it still covered with ash, had yet to be occupied, but storage silos had been dug and lined with plaster in those sections. Towers loomed above. The gate was a slightly smaller version of the eastern one.
He crossed back to where he started with long strides. Staring at the spot north of the gate, he smiled. “Yes. Yes, I think this will do very nicely.” He paced off the length of Othniel’s house, then returned and started pacing off distances.
“What are you doing?” Dania asked.
He didn’t answer her.
“Is this where you are planning to build?” She stepped in front of him. “Where are we going to sleep? On the ground here? On this spot you are claiming?”
She gave up and wandered back to the cart, leaning against it.
When he finished, he returned to her. He crossed his arms and scanned the city once again. “I think we can be very happy here, don’t you?”
Now, he would take what he deserved.
After the Feast concluded, the group spent a day at Caleb’s house before journeying home. The next morning, Othni left Acsah saying goodbye to Rahab and went in search of his father-in-law.
Prize of War Page 14