Seesya cursed and bolted forward, straight into the slaves, his horse trampling some men as everyone ran out of the way, roaring in fear. Deborah barely managed to stumble away. As he rode by, Seesya kicked her in the back, causing her to fall facedown in the mud. Certain that he had noticed her, she expected him to circle around and cheer triumphantly while snaring her with a rope, but Seesya continued to ride back and forth, reveling in the slaves’ fright and oblivious to how close he came to capturing her.
A moment later, after kicking a few more slaves and grabbing fistfuls of meat and bread from the serving area, Seesya and his men left through the gate, raising a cloud of dust as they sprinted up the path and onto the Sea Highway, heading east toward Aphek.
With the attackers gone and the gate locked again, the slaves seemed dazed with shock. They gathered back into working groups, and the leaders took charge, returning to work. The few injured slaves were carried to a small canopy near Kassite’s home, where women slaves tended to them.
Saying nothing about what had happened, Petro told Deborah to resume ferrying water with the handcart from the river to the tubs. The rest of the group resumed work on the hides at the riverbank. One Eye didn’t look at her again. He kept his head down as he worked with the others. She wondered what Petro had told him.
By the time she’d finished filling all five tubs with fresh water, Deborah’s hands were bleeding, and the sun was touching the western horizon. Petro and the others finished washing the hides, brought them over to the tubs, and pushed them underwater by standing on top. Deborah dragged the handcart back to the storage area near the gate. Every part of her body was in agony. The ringing of the bell brought tears of gratitude to her eyes, which she quickly wiped away.
Besides bread, meat, and apples, the evening meal included cups of hot water spiced with mint leaves and honey. Only Petro’s watchful gaze made her finish the food and drink. She glanced at the gate often, hoping to see Kassite come back alone. If Seesya had captured him and forced him to talk, she was doomed.
After the meal, Petro lit a torch and led her to the small canopy near Kassite’s house. Two slave women were tending to four male slaves—three with broken legs splinted to wood planks, and a fourth who appeared feverish.
“They’ll dress your feet and hands,” Petro told her, turning to leave.
“Wait,” Deborah said. “What did you say to him?”
“That I’d poke out his other eye.”
Deborah could tell by Petro’s tone that he meant it. She was filled with gratitude, but the contradiction didn’t escape her. How could blinding one person be an act of charity to another? And why had Petro defended her against One Eye, a fellow-Philistine whom he had surely known for much longer?
He answered her unspoken question without prompting. “Master said you are Borah, a new boy for my group. Master made me responsible for you.”
She watched him leave while the meaning of what he said sank in. For him, Kassite’s words—that she was a boy, not a girl—were sacrosanct.
The women helped Deborah sit on the ground. They smeared green paste on the bottoms of her feet and purple ointment on her blistered hands. The pain spiked at first, making her grimace, but it gradually subsided as the herbs took effect. The women tied linen bandages over her hands and feet and told her to go back to the men’s pavilion.
By now, the tannery was completely quiet, with all the other slaves fast asleep and only a handful of torches left alight. Making her way slowly, she heard a horse whinny outside the gate.
Deborah paused and stood still, listening. Men spoke in hushed voices. Was it Seesya and his soldiers, coming back to get her?
More voices sounded, and the gate creaked.
She glanced over her shoulder. The river was only fifteen or twenty steps away. She could run for it, wade through the water, and sneak out around the jutting fence the way she had come in the day before.
Ready to flee, she gazed in the direction of gate.
A lone figure approached—tall, thin, and limping. He crossed the tannery toward her, carrying a sack, his face lit by the single torch that burned near the east pavilion.
Relief filled Deborah. She raised her hand in greeting. Kassite nodded and continued past her and toward his house. The small bridge squeaked under his boots. A slave opened the door, bowed, and took the sack, holding the door open for him.
Deborah expected Kassite to turn back and invite her in, but he entered the house, and the servant closed the door.
The disappointment made her feel sick. She sat down on the ground and extended her legs to take the weight off her bandaged feet. The night began to spin around her. She lay back, rested her head on the soft ground, and closed her eyes.
Her breathing slowed down and her dizziness eased. She opened her eyes to check whether the world was still spinning. It wasn’t. The sky was clear, not a single cloud to blot the clear canopy of sparkling stars. The night was quiet except for the sound of her breathing and the subtle swoosh of shallow waves lapping at the riverbank. She imagined being truly alone with nothing around her—no people, no tannery, no ground—only her own body, floating in a dark space among the countless specks of glittering stars.
The burning was gone from her hands and feet, which throbbed with a distant, dull pain. A cool breeze came from the river, caressing her face and drying off the film of sweat. Was it Yahweh, comforting her at this moment of complete isolation, sending a silent message that she wasn’t alone in the world, even now, when she had no family or friends to lean on?
Suddenly, Deborah noticed a shadow above, blotting off the stars. She heard the squeak of a foot pressing down on the wet sand, and a dark figure bent over her.
Chapter 40
Deborah let out a cry and sat up, only to recognize one of Kassite’s two servants. He motioned her to follow him. She did, walking carefully on her bandaged feet over the sand and across the short bridge.
Inside the house, Kassite was seated at the table, which was set for one person with a plate, a knife, an empty wooden goblet, and a corked clay jug. Deborah glanced at the jug, wondering whether it contained the Male Elixir, or good wine from Aphek to go with Kassite’s dinner.
“There you are,” he said. “I hear it’s been an eventful day.”
“Yes, Master.”
He appraised her up and down. “No wonder your own husband could not tell you apart from the men.”
“He hurt the guards and some of the slaves.”
“That was the reason I sent you away from the gate when you first arrived. If no one knows you entered the tannery, no one can tell your husband.”
She almost told him about One Eye but held her tongue, reluctant to give him any reason to change his mind and send her away.
“I think we are safe now,” he said.
Knowing Seesya’s violent nature and the depth of his rage at the humiliation she had repeatedly inflicted on him, Deborah didn’t share his optimism.
“He isn’t one to be fooled easily,” she said.
Kassite touched the knife but didn’t pick it up. “I heard a story in Aphek about a Hebrew girl defending a group of lepers from a gang of boys, scaring them off with surprisingly accurate stone-throwing. I took care to spread a rumor that the boys caught the girl later and tossed her in the river by the gorge, where she drowned, her body swept downstream by the fast current.”
“Thank you,” she said, though in her heart she doubted whether Seesya would ever give up. “It was fortunate that you were absent when he arrived today.”
“Fortune had nothing to do with it.” Kassite chuckled. “Anticipating danger ahead of time allows for planning an effective defense, and sometimes the best defense is avoidance.”
Deborah was too tired to follow his clever words. There was only one thing on her mind. “Have you found the ingredients for the Male Elixir?”
“Have you not suffered enough today to realize that a boy’s life might be worse than that of a girl?”
She shook her head.
“In my experience, even grown men often break down on their first day as slaves in the tannery.” He gestured at her hands and feet. “In fourteen years as a girl, have you ever been in such pain?”
“I have had blisters many times. They heal.”
“This is only the beginning. The process will be long and arduous.”
“Three phases. I remember.”
“That’s right. Three phases. Today was only a small sample of the hardship to come.”
“I’m ready for it.”
Kassite looked at her at length. “Are you sure?”
In the window, against the faint glow of the stars, she saw a dark shape flying. It was a large bird, maybe a hawk or an eagle, its wings stretched out as it glided out of sight.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “I’m sure.”
“Very well.” He unplugged the clay jug, poured its contents into the goblet, and used a twig to stir it. “This is what you came to me for: the Male Elixir.”
Deborah shuddered with a mix of elation and dread. This was the point of no return.
“As I explained yesterday,” Kassite said, pronouncing each word with slow deliberation, “this will help you gain the physical strength and resilience of a young man.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Fortunately, I managed to obtain all the ingredients.” He took out the twig and held it above the goblet. Dark drops trickled down. “It is a potent brew.”
Deborah wondered what the ingredients were, but she dared not ask. It didn’t matter.
He offered her the goblet.
Accepting it with both hands, Deborah brought the goblet to her lips, but paused when the sharp odor hit her nostrils. Putrid meat and rotten eggs!
“Something wrong?” His voice was even, but he was smiling.
“It smells.”
“The path ahead will be much worse than stench. Much worse, in fact, than you can imagine.”
Deborah peered into the goblet. The liquid was nearly black. On the surface, small bubbles popped while new ones emerged from below. It didn’t look magical or powerful, but she knew it was both. Drinking it would put her on the path to achieving the transformation she longed for. But why did it have to reek so badly? Would it make her sick? Or cause her to collapse and writhe in pain?
“Having second thoughts?”
Deborah brought the goblet to her lips.
“Never say I did not warn you,” he said.
Tilting the goblet, she made the mistake of breathing through her nose. The odor hit her again, stronger this time, and she shivered with disgust.
“You can still change your mind.” Kassite reached for the goblet. “No shame in choosing wisely.”
She moved the goblet out of his reach. “My mind is set.”
“Fine. If you are certain.”
The first mouthful stunned her with its overwhelming sourness. The elixir was pasty, its consistency uneven, speckled with small gooey chunks and granulated nuggets. She forced it down and winced.
“Go on,” he said. “Better to do it quickly.”
The smell was getting worse, with traces of sour milk and a whiff of an animal carcass that had been left in the sun for too long. She poured a little more into her mouth, swallowed, and gagged.
“What is the problem, girl? Don’t you want to become a boy?”
She inhaled deeply, but this time only through her mouth.
“A boy,” Kassite said, “would drink the whole thing in one shot, finished and done with.”
His words angered her. He was wrong, because a boy would be as repulsed by this nasty odor as she was. Deborah brushed aside her revulsion and gulped the rest of the elixir without pause.
Her stomach heaved. She took quick breaths and pressed her hand to her chest.
He took the empty goblet, chuckling.
Deborah burped, tasting it again, and fought off a tide of nausea.
“Let out the vapors,” he said, “but do not vomit.”
She gulped, somehow keeping it down.
“Other than the queasiness, you will feel little effect at first.” He gave the goblet to one of the servants, who left the room with it. “The elixir works slowly, from deep within your body and mind. Remember, it is only an accelerant.”
She had no trouble understanding his halting, measured speech, but she didn’t always catch his meaning. “What was the last word?”
“Accelerant. It speeds up the process, but you still have to do all the hard work.”
“Imitate to mutate.”
“Exactly.”
Deborah rubbed her stomach. Other than the awkward belching and the foul aftertaste, she felt fine. There was no pain—not yet, anyway.
A servant returned with a large pot and spooned out chunks of meat and carrots in light sauce onto Kassite’s plate. Steam rose from the stew. In contrast to the elixir, the smell was mouthwatering, even in her state of nausea. The other servant brought a jug of wine and a cup, which he filled up and set down next to the plate.
Raising the cup, Kassite said, “Good luck to you.”
A surge of joy overwhelmed her. “I can’t believe it. After all this time searching for you, and everything that happened to me along the way—I’ve just drunk the Male Elixir! I’m going to be a boy, a young man!”
He took a sip of wine. “Not to spoil your celebration, but as I told you yesterday, the process will be long and hard.”
“But the women of Edom changed into men overnight, didn’t they?”
“That was different.” He took another sip. “Temporary transformation isn’t the same as what you’re seeking.”
“How long will I have to work as a slave?”
“It depends on you.” Kassite pointed at the door. “Good night.”
“A week? A month?”
“No more questions.”
“I only want to know—”
Kassite slammed down the cup, splashing red wine on the table. “Are you reneging on your vow of total obedience?”
Deborah was bursting with excitement and impatience, but the mention of the vow she had taken, invoking Yahweh’s name, muzzled her. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and bowed her head.
“That’s better,” he said. “Now go to sleep in the pavilion with all the men. You’re one of the slaves now. Work begins at sunrise.”
“Yes, Master.”
A servant opened the door, and she left Kassite’s house.
Halfway to the pavilion, Deborah stopped and looked up at the sky. She searched for the great bird that had flown across Kassite’s window earlier, but there was nothing up there. Another burp escaped her lips, accompanied by the taste of the Male Elixir. How long would it take for her to complete the transformation and emerge as a young man? Kassite had said that it depended on her, but as the blacksmith in Shiloh had quoted, “When you pursue your True Calling, God provides the shortcuts.” There was no doubt in her mind that she was pursuing her True Calling.
In the back of the pavilion, Deborah collected a straw mat. The floor was filled with rows of sleeping men. She found a spot near Petro and the other members of her group. One Eye slept nearby, snoring lightly.
Lying down side by side with strange men felt abnormal, a violation of everything she was accustomed to, except that she was no longer the helpless orphan girl from Emanuel. She had become Borah, a young slave who surely did not belong in the women’s quarters. This was only the first of many nights she would spend among these men. Every morning from now on, she would rise with the bell, work alongside the group of slaves, and imitate their manners, postures, and habits until she had mutated into one of them. When her transformation was complete, she would leave this tannery, fight the house of Zifron to win back Palm Homestead, and live freely on her ancestors’ land, serving God as her father had dreamt.
For the first time since watching Tamar’s stoning, Deborah felt truly hopeful. She burped again, but this time there was no sou
r taste. Her lips curled in a smile, her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.
To be continued . . .
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my sister, Iris Davidovich, who planted the seed for this novel when she took us to see the archeological remains of the ancient city of Shiloh during a family trip to Israel. The meticulously uncovered ruins, located in the Samariah Hills, about twenty-five miles east of modern-day Tel Aviv, brought back to life the Holy Tabernacle, where the tribes of Israel had worshiped for centuries (before King David built a temple in Jerusalem approximately three thousand years ago). The tangible relics fueled my imagination and inspired me to fill an enigmatic gap in the dramatic story of the first woman to lead any nation in recorded human history: Deborah.
While the Book of Judges describes Deborah’s stunning success as a prophet, a judge, and a military leader who liberated her people from Canaanite oppression, there is no information about her family, upbringing, and youth. How could a girl, growing up in a world controlled by men, rise to rule over them? What hardship forged her formidable tenacity? What setbacks hardened her resilience? What challenges honed her skills? These are the fascinating mysteries I attempt to unravel by telling Deborah’s story in this novel and its sequels.
As always, this novel would not have come to life without the tireless support of my wife, Fiona, a hardworking physician who finds time to read fiction only when I finish the first draft of a new novel, yet manages to provide astute critique, perceptive comments, and inspiring encouragement. Fiona and our children fill my life with love and laughter, which sustain me daily.
We are blessed with wonderful friends and family members, who read my manuscript at various stages, provided insightful observations and, most importantly, offered enthusiastic support. They include (in alphabetical order) Margie and Arie Adler, Sarai Azrieli, Talya Azrieli, Hagit and Michael David, Rabbi Dr. Israel Dreisin, Monica and Prof. Michael Finkelthal, Risa and Opher Ganel, Rachel and Joel Glazer, Prof. Sharon Glazer and Tamas Karpati, Julie and Hanan Gur, Jennifer and Nir Margalit, Glenna Salisbury, Stephen J. Wall, Ernest Wechsler, and Carol Wilner.
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