But he certainly could not fault my performance. I stirred up the crowd, prancing about with the arrogance I’d perfected over the years. I made light of my opponents, mocking them when they finally begged for mercy, and the people of Ashdod screamed for me. There was no doubt that Nicaro would be revered forever after this festival and that the people would clamor for it year after year. There was not a face in the crowd without a wide grin, except for Mariada, who looked beyond miserable as she watched me grovel to her father.
I’d made only one exception to my public display of obeisance to the king, when I came forward and made a great show of kissing the king’s daughter on the cheek, since no one in the crowd yet knew that we would never marry. And while the crowd cheered and whistled and made lurid calls for more kisses, I’d quietly thanked her for rescuing the baby and asked if she was all right. She’d nodded, but the tears that filled her blue eyes hurt nearly as much as the next strike I took from my Egyptian opponent. I had no idea whether her duplicity in the kidnapping had been uncovered, but I prayed that whatever punishment Amunet insisted on for her was mitigated by Nicaro’s adoration of his youngest child and his third wife. Perhaps he would count her disobedience as merely the product of girlish devotion to me or misplaced loyalty to her maid.
Although Nicaro had glared at me for my insolence as I turned my back on him to face my next opponent, there was nothing he could do in front of a crowd that was convinced for the moment that I was nearly divine—and enthralled by his beautiful daughter.
I’d almost felt sorry for the man I’d fought on the third day of the festival. He’d been the winner of the open fights on the first day and was certainly a large man, a fisherman who hefted nets in and out of boats every day, but he was in no way prepared for me. I’d stretched out the fight for as long as I could without humiliating him, but for Teitu’s sake, I could not chance restraining my punches or softening my kicks.
After I’d made the man plead for mercy by locking him in a chokehold on the ground, he’d thanked me for the opportunity to go up against me, as if losing to Demon Eyes was a great honor. If only he knew how powerless I truly was. How much of a slave I’d made myself.
Teitu and I had spent much of the past three days talking about where we came from to take our minds off our inescapable prison and to pass the time. Although I’d been careful not to give him details about Kiryat-Yearim, I’d told him of my time in Hebrew territory, about my secret friendship with Shoshana, about the family that had taken me in, and even my regrets for rejecting their kindnesses.
In turn, he’d told me of how he’d been born within a wandering tribe that lived in the southern Wilderness of Paran, south of Be’er Sheva. Teitu was the son of a Yehudite woman and an Egyptian who had been rescued after a sandstorm separated him from his company and had been taken in by the woman’s clan. When a band of Amalekites came across the group, they slaughtered most of them and sold the survivors to the Philistines.
It had been Teitu’s first master who’d taken his eye as punishment for daring to look at his beautiful daughter and then sold him to a trader who’d brought him north, where I’d found him being auctioned off for half the price of a well-bodied slave in the marketplace.
The more I listened to Teitu’s tragic experiences, the more remorseful I became. I’d never even asked my manservant where he’d come from, what his heritage was, or how he’d come to be a slave. And it had been this misjudgment that had led to his capture, since he’d admitted to overhearing me speak with Zevi in Hebrew about breaking Shoshana out of the storage room and had understood my words. No wonder he’d been so eager to help me speak with Shoshana the day I’d invited Mariada, her mother, and her sister to my home. He’d already guessed my attachment to my betrothed’s maid went far deeper than infatuation with a beautiful slave. I’d underestimated him many times over and wasted years that could have been filled with friendship.
“Thank you,” Teitu said. “For being a good master.”
“I wish I’d never been a master at all,” I said, thoroughly disgusted with myself for ever purchasing a man or woman to serve me. It was my fault he was here, chained to a wall and beaten so badly that I could barely distinguish his features anymore.
“If you did not purchase me that day, I would have been used either as labor in a brickfield, or put on a ship, or who knows what else. And without a doubt I would have been buried in some mass grave or tossed to the sea once my body was used up. Instead, you treated me with kindness and gave me a place to live and work where I had no cause to fear. Those of us who were half-blind, deaf, maimed, or had some other affliction would have been disposable to anyone else. You are a good man, Lukio.”
Burning emotion clogged my throat. Of all the things I’d been called in my life, a good man had never been one of them.
“And no matter what,” he said, “you must not reveal the location of the Ark. It is too precious. Too sacred.”
I had to believe that Shoshana had deciphered my coded message. She was too quick-witted to let such a thing go untangled. “I’ve taken steps to have it hidden, in case they try to force my hand.”
“You cannot tell them.” His voice hardened. “No matter what.”
“But if they torture you—”
He twisted his head to look at me, that one dark eye as sharp as a spear, giving me a glimpse of who Teitu would have been, had he not been enslaved. “No matter what, Lukio. You will not give up the Ark for my sake. Promise me this.”
I did not know how I would ever withstand watching Nicaro’s men cut Teitu to pieces, but I promised him, nonetheless.
My one consolation in all of this horror was that Shoshana and the others would have already arrived in Kiryat-Yearim. I’d seen Jaru only once since my capture, during a change of the guard that surrounded the watchtower. He could only give me one pointed nod, but the relief that had sluiced through me from that small gesture had been overwhelming. It told me that at the least she and Zevi had been delivered to the point just north of the Sobek River, where we’d felt they could reach Elazar’s house safely within a day’s walk. They must be on the mountain even now. Any other outcome was too devastating to consider.
Please, Yahweh, I thought, then wondered when I had begun regularly pleading with the God whom my sister and Shoshana revered.
But who else did I have to supplicate? Dagon? The Great Mother? Baalzebub? None of the gods or goddesses my people worshipped had done a thing for me, but over these past few days in prison, I’d begun to ponder whether the God the Hebrews said ruled the entire universe might actually exist. How else could I explain that not only had the girl I’d loved ended up as the maid to my betrothed, and that the son of the slave-woman who raised me had come into my life at the perfect time, and that I’d also been given the opportunity to protect the very same vessel my sister and I had followed into Hebrew territory? There had to be a reason that I just happened to be crouched in the bushes on the same hill as the kings of Philistia that day I overheard Nicaro’s argument with the others—the very thing that would prove to him almost two decades later that I knew the Ark’s location. All of it was too much of a coincidence not to be divine appointment. Perhaps Risi’s prayers over me had protected and guided me, after all, no matter what I’d done since I’d run from her precious, sacred mountain.
And if all those things were not coincidences, then perhaps the rest of the stories were true as well—the fire from the box that killed the Levites at Beth Shemesh; the strange mist that thwarted the theft of the Ark and saved Risi and Ronen’s lives; perhaps even the stories Elazar and his father, Abinidab, used to tell us about the sea parting and the Hebrews walking through on dry land.
And the question I wrestled most with was, if all of that was real, did that mean that the God of the universe might actually care about me? A sullied Philistine who’d done everything he could to reject him and run from his presence?
So, with half my mind in the camp of disbelief and the other
in the camp of desperation, I’d continued to pray for my Tesi, for Zevi, and even for Teitu. I only wished I had more than my tainted blood to offer as a sacrifice for their lives.
The door to our prison opened, and a guard stepped inside, followed by none other than my cousin Mataro.
The guard hastily checked to ensure my bonds, and those of Teitu, were secure while warning my cousin that he had only a few moments to speak with me. He then walked out and closed the door behind Mataro with a clank.
“The great Lukio,” my cousin said, frowning in mock concern, “in shackles. I never thought I would see the day. When my friend told me he was guarding the famous Demon Eyes out here, I did not believe it. But thankfully for me, Paremo is easily persuaded with the promise of silver.”
“What do you want, Mataro?” I asked.
He clucked his tongue. “Can I not simply visit my beloved cousin in his hour of need?”
“Don’t bother to play ignorant. It is your fault that Shoshana was arrested and her friends killed.”
He shrugged, his yellowed teeth displayed in a vicious smile. “I warned you.”
“You’ve seen me in shackles now. Fitting punishment for the audacity of setting myself free from the ones you bound me in.”
“Oh no. It’s not nearly enough to merely see you brought low. You were supposed to make me rich.”
“I did that. You live in luxury.”
“I did until you dared toss me aside and my creditors came slithering out of their holes. They came for it all. The house. The jewels. If I hadn’t hidden away a good amount of silver in a secret place, they’d have taken that too.”
“You were unwise in your dealings, Mataro. That is not my fault.”
“But you can redeem yourself now,” he said. “Today. And all will be forgiven.”
“And how would I do that, even if I wanted to? I am at the mercy of the king.”
He withdrew a knife from his belt, a sinister grin made even more macabre by his boil-scarred face.
“I arranged a special match for you today, cousin. A champion brought here all the way from Gaza. When you lose, the bet I made against you with what remains of my silver will be multiplied tenfold, maybe more. And when you die of the injuries you sustain during your match, I, your only living relative, will inherit all you own.” That wicked grin curved over his face again. “And then, finally, I’ll have recompense for all you’ve cost me.”
Before I could respond, my cousin lunged forward with his weapon. Chained as I was to the wall and my feet bound together, I could do little more than twist sideways. His knife sliced at my side instead of stabbing into my belly, but the sharp edge of his bronze knife left a searing and bloody mark the length of my hand.
I let out a loud bellow and brought my bound legs up at an angle to swipe his feet out from beneath him. Faster than I would have expected of a man whose body was composed of ample amounts of drink and fatty flesh, he brought the knife down again and plunged it deep into the meat of my thigh.
The door flew open once again, and through the haze of pain I saw Jaru charge at Mataro, disarming him easily and locking my cousin into an unbreakable chokehold. I’d known Jaru was a captain of the guard, a position he’d earned over years of dealing with situations like these, but his skill at subduing Mataro was impressive.
“He’s the one who killed your mother,” I said, gritting my teeth against the ache in my leg.
Jaru’s dark brown eyes flew to mine for only one fraught moment, and I met them without blinking. Then, as swiftly as he’d knocked the knife from Mataro’s hand, he plunged his own dagger into the throat of the man who’d thrown Azuvah’s beaten and lifeless body from a window without remorse. With a horrific sound, Mataro crumpled to the floor, gurgling and twitching for only a few moments before everything went silent.
“It’s unfortunate I discovered your cousin attempting to help you escape,” said Jaru, with an almost eerie calmness after taking vengeance for the mother he’d never known.
I nodded. “It is indeed.”
“And it’s unfortunate that you were forced to engage the champion of Ashdod when he tried to disarm you as well,” said Teitu, filling in the rest of the conjured explanation that would protect Jaru and his family.
Jaru knelt beside me to examine my wounds. “The slash in your side is minimal. But the one in your leg is deep. You won’t be able to fight.”
Wincing at the throbbing of my leg, I shook my head. “I have to fight. There is no option. Otherwise Nicaro will have Teitu blinded, or worse.”
“But you are bleeding profusely, Lukio. You’ll barely be able to stand in two hours, let alone be at your best.”
“Bind me up,” I insisted. “I’ve fought while injured before.”
“But this is nothing like your other matches,” he said, his brows deeply furrowed.
“And why is that?”
“Because your opponent is like none other,” he said. “The Gazan they brought here for you to face in your final bout is one of the Rephaim. A giant.”
Thirty-Two
The moment I stepped onto the fighting grounds, the crowd went rabid. Their screams and cheers echoed across the valley, swirling around me like a whirlwind. Each successive day that I’d fought here, they’d gotten wilder and wilder, calling for me to finish off my competitors the same way that vicious group did the day I saved Igo. I’d always left my opponents breathing, but I had the sense that if I were to tear a man apart in front of them, they would only scream for more. It sickened me to realize that if Shoshana had never come back into my life, I might have traveled down that very road.
And yet I could not help but marvel at the sight before me and compare it to the first fight Mataro had arranged when I was an untried lad. There had been perhaps ten people watching that day, but I would never forget the exhilaration of hearing them cheer my first victory and how proud I’d been that they found me worthy of adulation.
This crowd must be a least a hundred times that first one, the sound of their adoration near deafening, and I felt nothing. These people did not know me. All they saw was the famous Demon Eyes who lined their purses with silver or filled their jars with barley and olive oil. How could I have ever thought the appreciation of a thousand strangers meant anything compared with the people who’d loved me in spite of my heritage? I was glad none of Elazar’s household were here to see my shame.
My leg throbbed with every step I took, but Jaru had managed to not only find a surgeon to stitch my wounds but who also bound them tightly enough that I was able to walk.
However, all of us knew that the bandages around my middle and my leg were equal to a brightly painted target for my opponent and that it would not take much for those carefully sewn sutures to burst open.
But, as was my duty, I pretended that the linens were nothing more than decoration as I strutted around the field, lifting my arms to encourage the crowd to scream even louder for me. I even accepted a stick that one of the children offered me and played at sword fighting with him for a few moments, grinning with false enjoyment. With the calls of vendors winding through the crowd to hawk food and wares, the flutter of banners bearing my own insignia—a double-headed ax gripped in two powerful fists—and the scores of women sporting brown and green kohl on their lids, this final day of the festival was by all accounts a success.
Jaru had even told me that the other events I’d arranged had come together perfectly even without my oversight because I’d delegated everything so well and Oleku had stepped in where necessary. If I’d never been entangled in Shoshana’s escape, this entire festival would have been a triumph. But instead of tasting victory on this culmination of my ten years in Ashdod, it all felt like ash and dust in my mouth.
I wanted to be where everything and everyone I loved lived on a high hill surrounded by the cool forest, in a small grouping of stone homes that could barely be distinguished from the landscape around them. I missed the hushed forest when the rain trickled thro
ugh the leaves on misty days. I missed the feel of my ax in my callused palms. I missed the home and family I’d thrown away. I wanted to cut down trees and kiss my Tesi and hold my children in my arms. I wanted to walk with Zevi and Igo in the woods and show the boy how to wield an ax.
I wanted to go home.
Instead, I turned to the king of Ashdod with a thousand curses knocking against the back of my teeth and, for the very last time, knelt in the dirt before him for the sake of the man who should never have been a slave but instead should have been my friend.
A loud collective gasp from the crowd pulled my attention away from the king and to the far end of the field. I surged to my feet.
My opponent had arrived.
He was a full head taller than me and built like a sprawling cedar. I’d fought men taller than me on a few occasions but never a man with such expansive brawn. My only hope was that he, like the fisherman yesterday, was not trained in the methods I’d spent the past decade perfecting.
I would have to use every technique I knew, suss out his weaknesses, and find a way to get him to the ground, where my strengths lie, all while hiding the fact that I was seriously wounded.
But no matter my trepidations and my guess that this would be the one fight I had little chance at winning, I grinned at the giant and made a mocking bow. At least for Teitu’s sake, I had to try.
The moment Nicaro dropped his hand, the Gazan charged as if he were coming across a battlefield at me. He was a mercenary warrior for certain, the way he came at me with a bold frontal attack.
But I had faced such men before, all brashness and little strategy, so I was able to throw him to the side with little effort. The spectators vibrated with excitement, the moniker I hoped to never again hear after this day coming at me from a thousand mouths.
The giant growled and charged again, his enormous hands grabbing for my shoulders, but again I slipped out of his grasp and threw a punch that hit him square in the corner of his jaw. He flinched but shook off the blow far faster than any other man I’d faced during a match.
Between the Wild Branches Page 30