Fifteen
Ronen
“Well, Ronen? What did you learn at the wedding?” demanded Machlon, the moment we were out of earshot of the camp. My cousin was impatient in the best of circumstances; he must have practically chewed his tongue to pieces as we lay in a tent last night surrounded by Levites who were not privy to our reasons for being among them.
Needing an opportunity to debrief and plan next steps with Osher and Shelah, the twin brothers my uncle had sent to help us with the mission, my cousin had approached Tuviyah, the leader of the musicians, and volunteered the four of us to fetch supplies this morning. Now with sunrise only a couple of hours behind us, the morning cacophony of birdsong was almost deafening in its exuberance, ensuring that nothing we said on the short walk down to Kiryat-Yearim would be overheard.
“I didn’t learn much,” I said with a shrug, my eyes trained on the shady trail ahead. “Everyone was occupied with talk of the wedding. There wasn’t even a whisper about the Ark among the guests or the family.”
“I heard nothing either,” said Machlon, frustration thick in his tone. “Have they even forgotten the thing is up there? I tried every angle with those guards—carefully, so as not to provoke suspicion—but their lips were sealed. Even after a few cups of wine.”
Machlon had undoubtedly done his best to wheedle information from the guards while making it seem as though he was completely disinterested in the answers they might give. He’d used the skill on me a time or two before, when we were younger, so I knew how effective it was. The men must truly be well trained to keep so close-lipped about their duties.
“While the two of you drank wine and feasted,” said Osher, with a wry smile as he gestured to his twin brother beside him, “Shelah and I scouted the backside of the mountain again. But the trail has either been lost to the years or deliberately obscured.”
Not for the first time, I wished that I’d paid more attention during the journey from Beth Shemesh eight years ago; but as I’d discovered yesterday as we took the long way around to Elazar’s house, nothing up there was familiar to me other than the compound itself. I’d been far too distracted while carrying a Philistine girl on my back, keeping an eye on her energetic brother, and composing a new song in my head. Besides, as Osher indicated, many seasons of growth had passed between then and now, and unless the trail had been well used, it would have long since disappeared.
“We’ll find it,” he said with unswerving confidence. “Your uncle sent Shelah and me here for a reason.”
I’d only met the men a few weeks before, when my uncle insisted that the strangers travel with us, saying they were sons of a friend who supported our cause. Shelah and Osher were also reputed as two of the best hunters in the territory, masters at tracking game across long distances. My uncle swore they were men of great loyalty and honor and assured me that if anyone could find the Ark on this thickly wooded mountain, it was the two of them. I’d had no choice but to believe him, and at his request, had talked Tuviyah into including the identical broad-shouldered men as extra guards for the journey from Beit El. Hopefully, I had not manipulated my father’s closest friend for nothing.
“We only have a little over three weeks,” said Machlon, as if we all had forgotten that Yom Teruah was the deadline for everything to be set in place. With Elazar’s family distracted by celebrations that would follow the Shabbat rest of the Day of Shouting, the feasting and dancing late into the night, we would slip through the trees, subdue the guards, and make off with the Ark before the stars began to fade.
“Without a sure path to the Ark, and then back down the mountain,” said my cousin, “this mission will fail.”
Osher nodded in agreement. “If we have to search behind every bush and tree up on that mountain, that’s what we will do.”
“But we also must be careful as we search,” I warned. “It will do us no good to alert Elazar and his men that anyone is poking about.”
“That goes without saying,” said Osher, his lips flattening with the barest hint of annoyance. “We’ll complete the task we were sent to do.” And you tend to your own was the silent implication.
“Are you sure you didn’t find out anything at the wedding, Ronen?” With a grimace, my cousin paused to swipe at an enormous dew-lined cobweb that stretched from tree to tree before continuing on. “Anything interesting up on the roof?”
Stunned to realize he’d seen me ascending the stairs, I hesitated only for a moment, remembering Eliora’s bowed shoulders as she searched the dark path below for her wayward brother and the flash of trust in her green eyes as she thanked me for rescuing her so long ago. “I figured during the day nothing much could be seen through the dense trees, but a torch might be spotted against the darkness.”
“A good thought,” Machlon admitted, and I breathed easier of the sweet morning air when he did not mention Eliora. “Did you see any lights?”
I shook my head as I stepped over a large snaking root across the path. No wonder Abinidab and Elazar had used an alternate route to transport the Ark; although well traveled, this steep and winding path would have been impassable for men carrying such a precious burden on their shoulders. “Either there were no torches lit around where the Ark is hidden, or the leaf cover is too thick between the compound and its location. They may even have it tucked away in a cave. If so, it’ll be quite the challenge to evade all the guards Elazar has posted around the area.”
“I doubt they have all that many up there at one time,” said Osher. “We’ll get past them.”
“A rotation of thirty,” I said, without thinking.
Machlon halted and turned to face me, brows high. “And you know this because . . . ?”
Trying not to grit my teeth, I attempted to sound unruffled by my slip. “I spoke to one of Elazar’s daughters on the roof.”
“Ah,” he said, with a knowing grin. “I knew there was a reason you were flying up those stairs with your tzitzit on fire.”
Determined to keep my face blank, since he was far too close to the mark, I shrugged. “I only happened across her while I was using the high vantage point to search for signs of the Ark.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” He clapped me on the back and then directed a smirk at Osher and Shelah. “See, I told you he’d find an in with the family. I thought perhaps one of Elazar’s sons might remember him from before. But a woman?” He barked out a laugh, startling a blackbird from its perch nearby as he shook my shoulder affectionately. “Even better, cousin!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s perfect, Ronen. Don’t you see? That”—he made a circle in the air, indicating my face—“can be quite a weapon. One you can use to our advantage.”
I flushed, annoyed with his mocking gesture. He and I were not that dissimilar in appearance after all, with the same hair color and general build, although I’d passed him in height by four fingers a few years ago. But he’d always made an issue back home of women staring at me, like I was purposefully drawing attention away from him.
“Elazar’s daughters must know where the Ark is,” he continued. “In fact, I would venture to guess that the women of that family are frequent visitors to the Levites who guard the thing, taking them food and provisions. There could be no better way to find out what we need to know. The guards might be suspicious of my sudden interest in friendship. But a woman on the prowl for a husband . . . ? Now there’s an easy target.”
My defenses flared. “I know why I am here, Machlon. And it’s not to look for a wife.”
“Of course not,” he said, with a scoff. “My father would roast his own tongue and consume it whole before letting you marry a daughter of Elazar. But she doesn’t know that. Flatter her. Woo her. She’ll be wet clay in your hands, my brother.”
Even though I’d had similar thoughts about Eliora’s usefulness last night, the idea of manipulating her in such a potentially hurtful way set my teeth on edge. “She’s a Philistine. Adopted by Elazar ei
ght years ago. Perhaps she is not even privy to information about the Ark.”
Machlon paused, brows lifted high. “The same one my father said you found behind a rock? The one who followed the Ark from Ashdod?”
“She is.”
“Wasn’t she enthralled with the box? Not wanting it out of her sight or some such thing?”
She had been singularly focused on the chest back then, her eyes latched to it almost the entire journey from Beth Shemesh to Kiryat-Yearim. “She was certainly determined to stay in its vicinity.”
“Then don’t you see? You’ve picked the very best of all the daughters to set your sights on!”
“I don’t have my sights on anyone. She was barely more than a child when I met her.”
He waved my argument away. “It makes no difference. I’ve seen you use that honey-coated tongue with both your mother and mine in many a prickly situation. I have no doubt you can work the same trickery on this girl.”
“But you—”
He talked over me. “Since you’ll be busy wooing Elazar’s daughter, I’ll search out musicians who might be amenable to joining our cause. I think that will be a better use of my time than trying to find weakness among the guards.”
I did not like this change in the plans. We’d decided months ago that it was my job to befriend the musicians who would be joining us from among the rest of the tribes and determine who among them were loyal to the line of Eleazar ben Aharon and who pandered to the traitors who got my father and brothers killed. But I had to admit that Machlon was right. As much as the thought settled in my gut like unripe fruit, my connection to Eliora was more than advantageous.
This mission had been years in the making, and my uncle was counting on the four of us to smooth the way for it to be completed. Over the past few years, he and a few like-minded priests had gathered materials to restore the sanctuary, weaving cloth to replace the pieces that had deteriorated, repairing any implements that had been damaged during the hasty flight from Shiloh in advance of the Philistine attack, and guarding the dissembled Mishkan in a secret location. Now they were fully prepared to raise the holy sanctuary again at Nob, atop a high hill in the southeast that overlooked the city of Jebus and far from the borders of Philistia, in preparation for our arrival with the Ark.
Of course, this was merely the first step toward complete restoration of our ways and the return of the correct priestly line to the seat of power, but it was one of the most important. Not only did the misspent blood of my father and brothers demand it, but my mother would not return south until peace and safety could be assured in the region.
It had been over eight years since I’d seen my ima. Eight years since she’d married a man she barely knew in an act of desperation after being widowed with little ones to feed. She’d asked Abiram to take me in so I could continue in my Levitical training, then took my two younger sisters and my youngest brother—who’d been only a few months old then—to the most northern reaches in the territory of Naftali, as far away from the Philistine threat as they could go. My heart still ached from their loss.
If I failed now, it might take years to implement another plan for the Ark—decades, perhaps, before the priesthood was restored and a king with enough strength to defeat our enemies could be installed. And as my mother’s new husband had told me before he’d left with what remained of my family, until our territories were no longer in danger of a Philistine takeover, he would not bring them back. I had to make certain this plan was successful, or it was likely that I might never see them again. Having my family restored to me was worth any cost.
“All right,” I conceded. “She does seem to trust me already, because I was the one to find her and escort her here years ago. I am certain I can mine information without making her suspicious. But I also don’t think it necessary to play with her affections.”
“Use whatever persuasive arts you have at your disposal. We owe it to our people and to Yahweh to bring back the Ark.” He gestured to the heavily wooded hillside around us. “This is no place for the holiest of objects. Hidden from the people and its supervision overseen by men who are not even sanctified kohanim. Such treachery is undermining the Covenant, tearing the tribes apart, and leaving us all vulnerable to invasion by the nations around us.”
I could not agree more. The fissures between us had grown into chasms over these last eight years. The sons of Israel needed to unify, to be gathered beneath one banner. One High Priest. And then one king. But first, the Ark must be returned. And if I had to manipulate Eliora to accomplish that goal, then so be it. This mission was too important to let one lone woman stand in the way.
Kiryat-Yearim was well named. The city of forests was encircled by dense woods, and most of the town was not even visible from the valley floor through the trees. In fact, there was no way to know just how many homes were scattered all over these hills, hidden as they were in the shade of mighty oaks, majestic cedars, and sprawling sycamores that created a natural barrier to both invaders and storms that swept eastward from the coast. But from the number of people milling about, there were far more dwellings on this mountain than I had guessed.
Agreeing that we should remain as unobtrusive as possible as we gently prodded the townspeople for information, we split—Osher and Shelah going to find a butcher, while Machlon and I headed the other direction to seek out a produce supplier to keep our camp well-stocked over the next few weeks. But for as much as we’d hoped that our presence might go unnoticed, curious eyes followed us relentlessly. It had been nearly a decade since any sort of ingathering festival had taken place, and we were likely the first Levitical musicians anyone here had seen in many years. I pushed away the unease. Their attention was harmless, and none of them had any inclination about our true purpose in their town.
We passed by several shops—a carpenter, a potter, an olive oil vendor—before reaching the center of town, where Machlon headed for the first produce stall we came upon. As he chatted with the farmer who’d brought his goods up from the valley, I noticed two silver-haired women sitting in the shade of a small dwelling nearby. Both were spinning wool, yet their eyes were not on their hands as the drop-spindles spun around and around in swirls of deep indigo. Instead, their watchful gazes roved over every person who passed by, and every so often, they would lean close to whisper to each other. I had a sense that these two would be far more useful than the farmer Machlon was wasting his time with. I wandered over, feigning interest in the dance of the spinning threads.
“Shalom,” I said, with a deferential nod of my head. “What a lovely color.”
The first woman grinned up at me with open welcome, a multitude of wrinkles fanning out from eyes that sparkled with kindness, but the second pursed her mouth and continued spinning, still watching the street.
“That it is,” said the first woman, without ceasing the rapid twirl of her spindle. “The secret of such a singular shade has been handed down from generation to generation in our family. You’ll never see the likes of it anywhere else but here, young man, especially since the plant used in the dye is found only on this mountain.”
“Bithya,” murmured the other woman in warning. “Mind your tongue.”
“I did not tell him which plant it is, Atara,” said Bithya, with annoyance, “only that it is unique to this area.” But then she leaned forward, causing her spindle to pause its movement. “Our Gibeonite ancestors were the first to discover it,” she whispered loudly. “And now only my sister and I—and one other person in Kiryat-Yearim—know how to harvest it correctly.”
Her sister sighed in exasperation. “If you keep talking, everyone will know by nightfall.”
“Have no fear.” I winked and pressed two fingers to my mouth. “My lips are sealed to the grave.”
Bithya’s dark eyes twinkled with mirth. “Oh, you’re a charming one, aren’t you?”
With a groan of annoyance, Atara shook her head, her mouth flattening into a line as her spindle flew impossibly fast
. I suspected she was used to her sister chattering to anyone who bothered to stop and speak with two old women.
“So, the two of you are Gibeonite?” I asked Bithya, surprised that they would claim ties to the local Amorite tribe that lied their way into a peace accord with Yehoshua.
She nodded, lifting her spindle and, with an expert flick of her wrist, set it to spinning once again. “We are, although our great-grandfather married a Hebrew woman, and over time our clan became quite intermingled with the Yehudites. There are not many full-blooded Gibeonites in Kiryat-Yearim anymore, although a few live on the fringes, working as woodsmen.”
There were so many Canaanites, Amorites, and Jebusites woven into the fabric of Israel that plucking one unadulterated thread from the rest was nearly impossible. All the more reason to ensure that our worship practices remained pure and holy, unsullied by men such as the sons of Eli, who’d turned the priesthood into a mockery.
“You know this used to be a holy hill for our pagan ancestors, don’t you?” said Bithya. “There was a well-known high place up there where the baalim were worshiped under the trees. People came from all over this region to gather and perform their awful ceremonies.”
My pulse flickered at the mention of a sacred grove in which Canaanite gods had been venerated. Could there be a connection to the current location of the Ark? Surely Abinidab would not hide our holiest relic in such a blasphemous place . . . would he?
“You’ve been up there?” I asked, valiantly keeping my tone smooth and even. It would not do for them to suspect just how interested I was in the answer.
A frown tugged at her lips. “Not since I was a small girl. I only remember trekking up there once when my grandfather was still alive. And there were so many trees and paths and so much overgrown brush that I was lost even then.”
To Dwell among Cedars Page 13