“All night long.” Othni placed his hand on her stomach, his eyes twinkling.
“Excellent. Tell me if anything changes, all right?”
“We will,” Othni said.
“Let us make your bread today, all right? Just rest.”
“Oh, that’s really not necessary.…” They’d done enough. Acsah couldn’t let them do that, too.
“I have four daughters. It will take no extra time at all. Please. We’d be delighted to help.”
“Yes, we’d love to,” Marah pleaded.
With Marah’s hands actually clasped in front of her chest, how could she say no?
“Come, ahuvati.” Othni placed his hand under her elbow and helped her rise. “You need to rest. Hannah said so. Simona says so. If you want the baby to be safe, then let Rapha stay here, you come home, and let them help.”
She was outnumbered. She may as well go home and try to relax. Maybe finish that baby’s basket she was almost done with.
Perhaps everything would be calm for a while.
He guided her out of Simona’s house and into the street. They were halfway back to their house, when the watchman sounded an alarm.
“Fire! Fire!” The cry came from north of the city.
The vineyards.
Men poured from their houses and followed the sentry. Othni raced from the house, quickly passing most of the men.
The scent of fire tickled her nose, though it was difficult to tell what was burning. The weight of the baby made it difficult to keep up, and she was the last one to reach the gate. A crowd blocked her view. Her breath came faster, and it was hard to tell if it was from the exertion of walking fast or the anxiety of not knowing what had happened. She squirmed and wriggled her way through the crowd until she could see.
When she did, she wished she’d stayed in the courtyard.
The vineyard was in flames. Women rushed back to bring pots, jugs, every container imaginable. Even children were enlisted to run back and forth to the well and the reservoir to fill and refill the jars and jugs so the water could be dumped on the blazing vines. Soon a line was formed, allowing the water to reach the vineyards faster.
After a grueling morning’s work, the fire was extinguished. The vines no longer burned. The leaves were cool to the touch, the ground no hotter than any other summer day.
Acsah wandered up and down the rows and rows, pulling vine upon vine from the tangled, charred messes to inspect what remained. She rubbed the ash and burned bark to see what was underneath, to see if anything could be salvaged.
It was too early to tell.
Only one thing was certain.
The earliest ripening grapes had been harvested, the grapes that were to be eaten and turned to raisins. But as for the most important harvest, the vintage grapes, the fruit that would have been turned to wine for the rest of the year …
All was lost.
Chapter 19
'Who can stand before the sons of Anak?'
Deuteronomy 9.2
“I need everyone to calm down and listen!” On the base of the chambered gate, Othni raised his arms. “I know this is alarming, but we must think before we act. I will hear what everyone has to say, but in order for that to happen, only one can speak at a time.”
Jedediah stormed to the front. “I told you this would happen.”
The crowd grew louder, murmuring, complaining.
“Quiet!”
“I told you they were harassing Anab and that they would come here next. But you”—Jedediah pointed a finger up at Othni’s chest—“wanted to stay home. Insisted we wait, play it safe, send only some of our men and now look what has happened. We have no grapes, and we will have no wine for this entire year. If we need to replant, they will not bear fruit for four years. What do you say we do now?”
The crowd’s murmur grew louder, and Othni again raised his arms for quiet. “Things are not as dire as Jedediah would have you believe. First, the Anakim still have not retaken Anab. They are encamped in the west, they have attacked their olive groves and wells, but they have not attacked the city itself. Second, this is their first and only attack on us.”
The people quieted as he counted off the encouraging signs, holding up fingers as he did so.
“Third, they have not destroyed all our grapes. Some of the torched vines were not burned to the core. They may yet bear fruit next year, or at least the following year. It will certainly not be another four years. And fourth, Hebron and other cities north will gladly supply us with extra wine.”
“Why should they give us their wine?” A large man, one of the newer residents, shouted out. “They could sell it to Canaanites or Egyptians for a good profit.”
“Because we all worship Yahweh, and because we would do it if they needed it.” His voice was low and calm. His gaze rested on each man in turn. Some smiled; some looked away. No one argued.
“We march to Anab at sundown. Eat something, prepare plenty of food, gather your weapons, and meet at the south gate. Every fighting man goes with me; older men and boys will stay here to protect Debir and our women, children, and livestock. Go now, and take the afternoon to say goodbye to your families.”
The crowd parted as he strode through the men to his house.
Enosh approached him. “I want to go. I want to fight.”
Othni studied his face. “Come inside.” He led him to his courtyard. “The last time you fought for Judah you cost many men their lives. Then you said they should have known that would happen.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were wrong?”
Enosh dug into the ground with his sandal. “When we took Gilad to Hebron, we had to stay a day and give testimony against him. I had to admit my part to the judges. I had to tell all of them how I let vengeance rule my life to the point that I had paid him to divide you and Seraiah, to spread lies, to cause dissension … it was beyond humbling. It was humiliating.” He raised his gaze to look Othni in the eye. “I saw in Gilad what I could become, and I didn’t like it. But I swear to you before Yahweh, I did everything I could to stop him. I warned you, I repeatedly talked to him. He swore to me he would do nothing.”
Othni stared a long moment at his former enemy. All the swagger and arrogance seemed to be gone. Could he have truly repented? “You know I still don’t trust you.”
“I know.”
He paced a moment. “You were one of Caleb’s most successful captains. But in Debir … you seem to be far better at carrying out orders than giving them.”
“Then let me carry them out.”
Othni said nothing.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me. All I want to do is fight for Judah.”
It would be foolish to deprive himself, and Judah, of one of her most brilliant captains because he was holding a grudge.
Othni nodded. “Then meet me at the gate. We’ll see.”
Siah came up behind him, munching on a barley loaf. “You going to let him go?”
“You were with him for two days. What do you think?”
“I do think he’s learned his lesson. Either that, or he’s the best liar I have ever met.”
In the lower room of their house, Acsah melted into Othni’s chest, her arms around his waist, her fists grasping his cloak. The air was hot, and her tunic stuck to her skin, but it was private, and better than saying goodbye at the gate. “I’ll miss you. I’ll pray for you, ahuvi.”
“I’ll pray for you, too. Try not to have the baby while I’m gone.”
She laughed. “I don’t think I have any control over that.”
“I wish I could stay here with you.” He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly.
“Me, too. But you have to go. I understand.” How many times had she watched Abba leave? More than she could remember. It was part of being a warrior’s daughter.
Which was why she had never wanted to be a warrior’s wife.
But she was, and she needed to act like one. “Anab needs you. Go take their city
back for them, and then come home to me.”
“I love you, ahuvati.” He pressed his lips to her cheek and quickly left, hopping over the courtyard wall.
She followed him, and leaned over, touching her cheek where he kissed her goodbye—perhaps his last kiss—as he strode down the street to the gate.
Anab needed him, she knew. And if the giants weren’t stopped in Anab, they would surely come to Debir next.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was about to happen.
And like her imma, she would have to face it without her husband.
Othni stood motionless at the courtyard gate.
No one had ever warned him of this. Not Caleb, not Salmah, not Joshua.
This was so much harder than he thought it would be.
How was he supposed to choose between Yahweh and Acsah? Did it really come down to that? Surely not.
He knew she worried something terrible would happen, like when Caleb was gone and Aunt Talya had died. She wouldn’t say anything, but he could tell. And he wanted to be there for her, especially now. The baby could be born any day. He’d checked with Simona. Childbirth was dangerous. Babies often did not survive. If the worst happened, he’d never even see his child. But at least he could hold his wife, let her cry, share her grief, comfort her. And if anything should happen to her …
He loved her, more than anything. More than life itself.
Which was exactly why he had to go. He had to defend Debir to protect her.
He had no choice.
Yahweh, take care of her for me. Keep her safe while I’m gone.
Protect me. Bring me home to her. To them.
After a restless night, Acsah awakened alone. There had been times during the last year when Othni had arisen before her, but she always knew he was just outside the gates in the vineyard or the fields.
Not facing giants.
She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her belly was growing more unwieldy by the day. If she put her elbows at her side, her hands couldn’t even meet in the middle. How big was this baby, anyway? And how could something that size possibly come out of her?
She just wouldn’t think about it yet.
Acsah carefully climbed down the ladder. It wasn’t often she missed the luxuries of Abba’s house, but right now the stone steps would have been nice.
Dania had decided to stay with her since Enosh had gone to Anab as well. No sense in both of them being alone. Apparently she had already gone to the reservoir, since the water jug was leaning against the courtyard wall, and she stood in front of the loom.
“At least we'll be able to finish that rug you've been working on. I can teach you to tie the ends off and leave a nice fringe.” Acsah slid her hands along Dania’s shoulders on her way to retrieve the jug.
“That would be nice,” Dania mumbled.
Acsah poured the water into the cistern and moved to the girl’s side.
Dania sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“What’s wrong?” Acsah turned her to face her. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her skin was blotchy. How long had she been crying? “Dania?”
“I’m just so afraid that Siah will … that he won't come back.”
“No, you can't think that way.”
“It's all I can think about. I laid awake all night thinking about it. I'm ashamed to say it, but I worry more about Siah than I do my own brother.” She made a face. “I didn't tell Enosh that when I said goodbye this morning.”
“Well, you certainly spend more time around him than Enosh.” Acsah gasped. “You love him, don't you?”
The color in her cheeks was the only answer needed.
“I knew there was more going on than Othni could see, but he wouldn't believe me.”
Fresh tears fell. “He said he's wanted to marry me for a while, but he knew Enosh would never agree. And then right when it looked like he might have a chance, the giants came back. And then he wouldn't ask ….”
“Because if he married, he’d have to stay home for a year.”
“And he’d rather fight than be with me.”
“No, it’s not that. He wants to protect you. Protect Debir, all of Judah. What good would it do to marry you if the city fell, all around us?”
“And what good does it do to have a city if he dies?”
“Oh, Dania.” She pulled her close and let her cry for a bit. “Now, I've always found the best medicine for feeling bad is making someone else feel good. So why don't we go check on the women and children from Anab? For now, at least, they've lost far more than we have.”
The town of Anab sat atop a small hill. Only about half the size of Debir, it was home to perhaps five hundred people. When everyone was home. Right now, well over half of its residents were back in Debir.
Patrolling the walls, Othni scanned the landscape east of the town. Dawn’s light bathed the town and the surrounding valleys in a pink glow. The sun-bleached limestone walls glistened. Sand ripples, formed by the wind, created fascinating patterns.
In any other circumstance, Othni could have watched it all for hours and praised Yahweh for its beauty. But this time, that splendor only served to heighten the horror of war.
The Anakim, their numbers increased by bringing in their cousins from Ashdod, had settled in the dry valleys east of the city of Anab.
The men Othni had sent earlier, many of them his archers, had posted themselves along the walls. So far they had been able to keep the giants from attacking the city directly, but the Anakim had managed to destroy most of the crops and keep the people from the only well. If they couldn’t get water soon, the Israelites would have to give up and abandon Anab.
At least this time the giants couldn’t pour hot oil on them. He rubbed the scar on his arm as images of Malachi’s back floated through his mind. The raw, red, oozing skin. His cousin’s moans in his sleep. The bloody bandages lying beside him.
The fact that he never really got to say goodbye, because Malachi was out of his mind with pain.
That battle was over.
One battle at a time.
Othni was more than willing to let Enosh help lead in the battle for Anab. He was an excellent warrior. He’d proven that. With his ambition under control, he could be exceptional.
Together, the men of Debir and Anab had numbers and high ground to their advantage.
The giants had brute strength.
Did Othni have enough to overpower them?
Inside one of Anab’s towers, Enosh stood before the man whose life he had tried so desperately to ruin, and patiently waited for orders. At least as patiently as he knew how.
Othni, his brother at his side, pointed to the mountains beyond them. “They’ve been staying just outside the range of our arrows, but I don’t think they’ll do that for much longer. Any day now, they’ll attack.”
Enosh scanned the battlefield. “How many men do we have?”
He held up two fingers. “Over twice as many as they do.”
“No more than a handful escaped Debir. How are there over one hundred men down there?”
“They ran to Ashdod. Seems to be their stronghold. They must have regrouped and brought more with them.”
Enosh crossed his arms and studied the field. “We’ve never been on the inside. Never been defenders. Everything we said in Debir, and everywhere else, has been flipped upside down. They’ll want us outside, so we want to stay inside.”
“The worst part is Anab has no water system, and they’re running out of water. And I’m sure the Anakim know that since they lived here. They know this town better than we do.”
“What do we have?”
“You, me, and Siah.”
Siah laughed. “And lots and lots of arrows.”
“The only question is whether your arrows will have much effect on the giants,” said Enosh.
“Good point,” said Othni. “They don’t, much, if you hit them in the chest or leg, anywhere with lots of mu
scle. You have to hit the neck.”
“Good thing it’s a big neck.” Enosh allowed himself a smile.
“We also picked up some of their arrows in Debir.” Siah pulled one from his quiver. “Our bows can’t handle them as they are, but we cut them down so they’re shorter, but still thicker than ours, and they can do more damage than ours. They’re awfully hard to handle, though. Not all of our men are accurate with them.”
“I’m putting all my archers on the walls. We’ll hit them with as many arrows as we can. I’m sure they’ll be loosing them too, so if your men can pick up any that fall inside and bring them to us, that would help.”
Enosh pointed to himself. “My men?”
“I want you to lead the attack inside the camp while I direct the archers,” Othni said.
Enosh held up his hands and backed up a step. “No, that’s not why I came. I am not trying to regain command. I am here as a soldier, no more.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
He shook his head. “The men will not trust me. It will only lead to confusion.”
“They’ll trust you if I do. I know your strengths. And your weaknesses.”
He inhaled a long breath. “Very well. As long as I don’t become a problem.”
“Eventually they will break down the doors. That’s when you and your swordsmen will go into action. The archers will still be above you, but for the most part, you will be on your own.”
Acsah winced at a fleeting sharp pain in her side as she walked home from the southwest quarter with Dania. They sun had dropped behind the walls, and the air had cooled a bit.
“You’re right. That was the best thing we could have done today. Thank you for making me come. Those little girls were adorable.”
“They were, weren’t they?” She was quiet a moment, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m a little worried about the grain. I don’t think we’ll have enough for everyone if they stay here much longer.”
“What should we do?”
“I have an idea, if I can find someone to do it.”
Prize of War Page 26