Jephthah: Prologue & Chapter 1

Audio: Prologue & Chapter 1

Prologue

Listen, we lived in fear. Constant fear. They came from the east, riding down on us from the highlands with weapons and numbers we couldn’t hope to match. Waking at the first scream, seeing the orange flicker of flames through the tent, feeling the thunder of hooves rising up from the ground, we scattered in terror. Crawling out of our tents and scurrying into the forest, we’d flee into the darkness and let the raiders have their way. We never knew when the next attack would come, whose village would burn, whose wife or daughter would be carried off into the dark. Clinging to life by a thread, we’d have followed anyone who promised to protect us.

Those were lawless days. With no king in Israel, it was every man for himself, trying to raise crops and families while the raiders plagued us. Even our own tribesman would turn on us if they sensed weakness. Is it so surprising that those cruel times would spawn such cruel men? Is it so strange that such brutal and bloody warlords would be pulled from that forge?

We called them Judges, these men who rose to power and fought back Israel’s enemies. What a righteous sounding word: Judges. The songs around the campfire and the gossip in the market have already rewritten their stories. The Judges were barely in their graves before every fault was forgiven and every skirmish hailed as a great victory for the nation. As though they were above it all, as though their campaigns weren’t just another war of domination. Maybe they were. I don’t know. But I saw it. I witnessed it, and I haven’t forgotten. I remember what they did… what I did.

I am not innocent. I was swept up in the thrill and the bloodlust like all the others. I stood there in the ranks, vibrating with terror, pumping my sword above my head, chanting their names till I was hoarse, throwing myself into the battle.

And yet, whatever they may have become, these Judges, they didn’t start that way. They grew up in the villages, starving, groveling, ravaged by the endless raids. Through wits or strength, they survived and became these renowned and reviled men, but like all of us, they started out as boys. Frightened little boys.

Part One: The Boy

Jephthah’s half-brothers drove him away. They said, “Listen, you son of a whore! You’ll never get any of our father’s inheritance.” So Jephthah fled to the land of Tob.

 Judges 11:2-3

Chapter One

Jephthah crouched behind a boulder, looking up and down the dry creek bed. “Looks clear.”

“They could come through here any minute,” Shimei whispered. The path following the creek bed was wide and worn with heavy use.

“I guess. But that’s what you said five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, we’re already late. I’m not sitting here all day.” Without waiting for a response, Jephthah broke cover. He crossed the path, leapt over the creek, dodged through a gap in the tamarisks that grew in the dry bed, and ran up the bank on the far side. He stopped at the tree line. Looking up and down the narrow gully one last time, Shimei followed his route, but he ran past Jephthah.

“Come on,” he said, heading deeper into the woods, only stopping once he was about twenty paces in.

“What are you so worried about? We’re through.”

“Anybody could see you where you stopped.”

“What are the chances of them showing up right here?”

“There’s maybe two or three good horse trails through these woods. If they’re—" Shimei stopped talking.

“What?”

“Shh!”

Then Jephthah heard it too, loose stones clattering, gravel grating, the rhythmic clump-clump of hooves on packed earth. Someone was coming.

They both dropped to the ground, taking cover behind the undergrowth. At first, they couldn’t tell which direction the sounds came from, and they looked in both directions, searching for any movement. The approaching sounds grew louder and more distinct, creaking leather and the grunts and snorts of horses on the march. Shimei looked at Jephthah and pointed north. They were coming uphill out of the river valley.

Jephthah carefully shifted his position to look in that direction while staying hidden. He got as close as he could to the bush, right between a few of its branches, lining up his face with a small gap between the leaves to get a clear view. He’d never gotten a good look at an Ammonite before, and this was his chance. He’d survived the raids that came nearly every turn of the moon, and anyone who survived didn’t see much. This morning’s raid came right at dawn. He woke up hearing screams and a dog barking and slithered out of his tent on the side that faced the forest. He crawled on all fours for a few minutes and rolled under a fallen tree. He stayed there until he heard villagers calling each other’s names, hoping they’d find all the members of their family, knowing that they might not. He’d probably been just a few strides from a raider that very morning, but all he’d seen was sticks and dirt, but he had a good view now. He glanced back at Shimei and saw that he had his fingers to his lips, desperately shushing him. Jephthah whispered, “Relax. They’re not getting horses up here.”

“You don’t think they can send a runner?”

“They’d never find us.”

“Just… shh.”

Jephthah turned back to look toward the path. The sounds didn’t seem to be getting any louder, and he still couldn’t see anything. He began to wonder if they were on some other nearby path or somehow slipped past them when the first rider suddenly came into view. It wasn’t what he’d expected.

The name of Ammonite struck fear and dread into every child in the village and probably all the grown-ups too. They were the reason there was never enough bread or stew. They were the reason everyone had a mum or sister gone missing that no one talked about, or a father buried under a tree. And it wasn’t just their little village of Tabbath either. The whole land of Gilead suffered. It seemed like the raiders knew every time there was a decent crop or a growing herd because that’s when they’d strike. Maybe they did know.

Jephthah expected to see a fearsome warrior in shining armor, sword in hand, sitting astride a warhorse that tossed its head impatiently, spoiling for a charge. Instead, he saw a man who was clearly beginning to suffer from the heat of the day on a horse that plodded steadily up the draw, lifting its hooves like there was a boulder tied to each one. The man wiped his brow and spat a curse, muttering to himself. Sizing him up, Jephthah knew his dad could take this guy in a fight, no problem. His dad was known for his size and strength not just in Tabbath but in all the surrounding villages. His name was Gilead, like the region they lived in, and the people joked that there weren’t many men who could carry the weight of such a name, but Gilead could do it. Jephthah pictured his father getting ahold of this raider. He could break every limb one by one, and he was more than mean enough to do it. Then Jephthah saw the war gear.

He didn’t know words like pommel or hilts, but he could see the gleaming bronze on the parts of the sword not covered by the scabbard on the man’s hip. Then he noticed that there was a long spear, an oak shield, and helmet lashed to his mount for travel. There was even a quiver of arrows hanging from the horse’s flank though Jephthah couldn’t spot the bow. He’d never seen so many weapons, and he knew that whatever he might look like, the man would outmatch anyone in the village. And he wasn’t alone.

Once the first rider was in sight, others swiftly appeared behind. Jephthah counted fourteen as they filed along the path he’d crossed only moments ago, and not all of them were as worn out as the first. One broad-shouldered man in the middle of the pack was looking fresh and alert. He sat tall in the saddle and gazed into the surrounding forest, searching for anything out of place as they rode through the narrow gully. As he looked in their direction, Jephthah could see a scar running from above his left eye to above his ear, making the hair grow at odd angles. His spear was not strapped to his mount. It was held in his right hand, resting lightly across the horse’s neck, relaxed but ready. The bush Jephthah hid behind suddenly felt thin and puny. He felt completely exposed as the man began scanning the area where he and Shimei were hiding. It seemed to Jephthah that his eyes were lingering on them too long when they heard a high-pitched wail like a wounded rabbit from the caravan.

The scarred man turned and backhanded a sack strapped across the back of his mount with a savage blow. “Shut up,” he warned, and the wail broke off instantly. He stared at the sack, fist poised for another blow, but there was only a stifled whimper, and he went back to scanning the gully. His gaze passed over the boys and moved on.

Jephthah noticed that most of the riders had a sack or two tied to the back of their mounts. They were kids by the size of them, though one rider near the back had a grown woman slung over his horse in front of him, his hands holding the reins resting on her backside. Jephthah recognized her. He didn’t know her name, but it was one of the ladies from Tabbath for sure. The raider also had a rope tethered to his saddle that led to a sheep following a few paces behind. The ewe kept the steady pace of the horse, hurrying and bleating when the rope pulled taut. About twenty sheep followed on the path behind her, mostly pregnant ewes with a few rams mixed in, the pick of the flock. There was a man keeping pace on foot, keeping the herd in line. He held a long switch in case they needed a reminder. Behind him was the last raider, and he held a whip in case the man needed a reminder.

Jephthah and Shimei were silent and still until the men were gone and the forest was quiet again. As they stood, Jephthah said, “I think that guy with the sheep is an Israelite.”

“He is,” Shimei said. “He’s from another village. I don’t know him, but I know I saw him one market day by the river.”

“Well, what’s he doing helping them?”

“You saw the guy with the whip, right?”

“Yeah. But, I mean… helping them? Helping them steal your own flock? I don’t care about the weapons. I’d fight him.”

“You wouldn’t fight just him. It’d be you against all those spears and horses. You’d die.”

“Better to die than go along with them.”

“Not so easy to say that if you had a spear waving in your face. Besides, you saw they had kids.”

“So?”

“So maybe one of them’s his. And maybe they hold a knife to his kid’s throat and say, ‘You follow us with these sheep or he’s dead.’ Then he watches them tie up the kid and load him on a horse. What then?” Shimei turned and continued up the hill.

Jephthah followed, and asked, “What do they do with them? The kids and women, I mean.”

“Dad says most of the women and girls will be wives, and then they sell the rest.”

“How do you sell people?”

“Well, it’s like our market days when there’s a few villages together, except bigger. Dad says there’s markets so big that they go every day, and there’s hundreds and hundreds of people there buying everything. Even other people.”

“But what do they do with them?”

“Dad won’t tell me everything. But he did say that a lot of it is digging.”

“Digging?”

“Yeah,” Shimei said. “Metal is in the ground. You have to dig and chip through rocks to get at it. They use slaves to dig it out, and then they have the metal for spears, swords, helmets, and all that stuff.”

Jephthah looked at the ground, now wondering if there was metal just sitting there under the leaves and dirt. “Could we do that?”

“It’s only in special places, I think,” Shimei said. “Dad said that a person sold as a slave can wind up really far away. Like if a horse was galloping all day and it went for ten days without stopping. That far.”

Jephthah tried and failed to imagine a distance that far. Shimei was Jephthah’s source of information for nearly everything. Jephthah’s family only spoke to him to give orders, but Shimei was a Levite, and his dad told them stories every night, all the old stories of Israel and plenty besides.

“Did you see Yetom’s mum?” Shimei asked.

“Yeah, I saw her.”

“She’s probably that guy’s wife now.”

“Pricks,” Jephthah said. He didn’t know what the word meant, but he’d heard his dad say it about guys he didn’t like.

“I saw it happen,” Shimei said. “Right in front of me.”

“You didn’t run for the trees?”

“I was cutoff. They were on us too fast, and I just grabbed a blanket, pulled it over myself, and laid next to the water jugs by our tent.”

“You’re kind of big for a pile of rags.”

“Good enough in half-light,” he said. “Yetom’s mum panicked. She was right out in the open carrying a baby and pulling three other kids behind her. The guy sees her and rides right between her and the kids, just like he’s cutting a sheep from the herd. While she’s still stumbling to get her balance, he jumps off the horse, swats the baby out of her arms, punches her in the guts, and starts loading her on his horse before she even knows what’s happening.”

“Yetom’s dad should have done something.”

“He did, but he shouldn’t have.”

“Why?”

“They must’ve got separated somehow, but he saw what happened and went running out there with his staff. Another guy was on him in a second. Didn’t even look like he was hurrying. He just rode past, made a little jab with his spear, and there’s Yetom’s dad flopping around and grabbing at his back.”

“Right. I think I heard that,” Jephthah said. “I was in the woods but… he was, like, really screaming, right?”

“Yeah,” Shimei said. “You could probably still hear it if we were back in the village. He hit him low in the back. He’ll die, but it won’t be quick.”

Jephthah thought of the Ammonite who just rode by with Yetom’s mum across his horse. He imagined being back in that moment, but this time with a bow in hand, calling, “Hey!” as he drew. The Ammonite would look up into the trees to see a flash of motion before a feathered shaft sprouted from his chest. The riders would yelp in confusion as he and Shimei picked them off one by one, putting belly shots in the leader with the scar so he could learn what it’s like to claw at the ground and groan, knowing death is still a long time coming.

“You lose anybody?” Shimei asked.

“No,” Jephthah said, “I’m not that lucky.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Shimei said. “They’re your brothers.”

“Half-brothers,” Jephthah said. “And I wish every one of them was in those sacks heading to… wherever. And if their mother was beaten and thrown over a horse, well, that’d be even better, wouldn’t it?”

Shimei said nothing. He didn’t like to hear Jephthah when he got like this, but if anyone had a reason, it was him. Shimei was the fourth son in a family of six, so he’d had his share of beatings from older brothers, but nothing like Jephthah. A few years ago, Shimei had been filling his family’s water jugs from a creek near Tabbath when he heard something crashing towards him through the forest. He froze, thinking an animal might be charging through, but what he saw was Jephthah burst out of the bushes, gathering himself for a leap across the creek. But just as Jephthah made his jump, he was jerked back violently by the back of his tunic.

Zephon, his older brother by four years, gripped him like a man might hold a struggling puppy by the scruff. As Jephthah flailed, Zephon pulled him backwards, stepped in front of both his legs, swept them back, and thrust him down face first into the rocks on the shore. The rest of his brothers caught up and surrounded him as Zephon flipped Jephthah over onto his back, sat on his chest, and pinned his biceps to the ground with his knees. Shimei backed slowly and silently into a stand of reeds.

“Why you running, ben-zuna?” Zephon said.

Maki followed this up with, “Yeah, why you running, ben-zuna?”

Jephthah tried his best to say nothing whenever Zephon attacked him. Nothing he could say would stop Zephon from hurting him, but it could always make it worse.

“Sounds like he has nothing to say, guys,” Zephon said.

“Yeah, he’s got nothing to say,” Maki said.

“Shut up!” Zephon said. “Maybe your mouth’s too dry, eh, ben-zuna? We can fix that.”

Zephon hawked up a wad of spit. He leaned forward to get himself right over Jephthah’s mouth and let it ooze downward.

Jephthah tried to turn his head to the side, but Zephon clamped down on his ears with both hands, holding him helpless until the wad dropped onto his mouth.

“Gross!” Ozni said.

“Do it again!” Maki chirped.

“I have one too,” said Eri.

“I said, ‘Shut up!’” Zephon liked an audience, but he didn’t like competition. “There, I wet your whistle for ya, ben-zuna. You should thank me.” Jephthah sputtered and spat to get the gob away from his mouth. “But I’ll settle for you telling me what I want to hear. Go on, let’s hear you say it.”

Jephthah knew what he was supposed to say. It was always the same. He wanted to say the words, say anything to prevent what was coming, but he didn’t.

“Still thinking about it?” Zephon said. Then he let go of one side of Jephthah’s head, pulled his head up with the other, and smashed his free hand down into Jephthah’s nose. The blow knocked his head back onto the rocks, and his nose started to gush blood down his cheeks and into his mouth.

“’K, fun time’s over, ben-zuna,” Zephon said. “That’s a reminder of what happens if you don’t start talking. Gonna say it now?”

“Zeph… I…” Jephthah started to speak but coughed on his own blood.

“Louder, ben-zuna,” Zephon said, “we all need to hear you.”

Jephthah coughed once more and spat so he could speak clearly. “I’m gonna kill you,” he said.

“Uh-huh. Sure you are, ben-zuna. Hear that guys? He’s gonna kill us,” Zephon said, and the others laughed.

But after they stopped, Jephthah said, “No, listen, Zephon. I mean it. I’m gonna kill you some day. You and all the rest. Swear to god.”

“Is that right?”

“Promise,” Jephthah said.

“’K,” Zephon said, nodding. “Let me just think about that for a second.” Then he unleashed a flurry of blows to Jephthah’s face. This was nothing like the targeted, measured punch to his nose before. He struck wildly, over and over again. His brothers cheered the first couple of shots but quieted quickly. Jephthah went limp.

Tiring from the effort, Zephon stopped hitting him and pushed himself up. “Good luck with that promise, ben-zuna,” he said, panting heavily. “But you’re not gonna live long enough to keep it. And, yeah, that’s a promise too.” He gave Jephthah a kick in the ribs that was hard enough to shift his body but got no response. “Come on,” he said, and led the others away.

Shimei waited several minutes before he slid out of the reeds. He washed Jephthah’s face and managed to revive him, but he wasn’t able to help him back to the village on his own. He fetched two of his brothers, and together they got Jephthah back to his tent. When Jephthah’s stepmother saw them, she muttered something and walked away. Shimei couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was, “Ben-zuna.”

His brothers left, but Shimei stayed at Jephthah’s side, asking if he was feeling any better now and then. Jephthah kept falling asleep and waking up again. It was more than an hour before he spoke. “Thanks,” Jephthah said.

“No problem. Just wanted to make sure you got back to the village safe.”

“Thanks,” Jephthah said again.

“Um, I was… I was there. I was filling jugs just downstream when they got you. I hid,” he said. “I wanted to help, but I was scared.”

“I know. I saw you when I got to the creek.”

“I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. Wouldn’t make any difference.”

“Still… sorry.” After a moment, Shimei asked, “Why was he doing that? I mean, what’d he want you to say?”

“He always calls me ‘ben-zuna.’ It’s all he ever calls me,” Jephthah said. “He wanted me to say it myself.”

“Oh.”

“It’s true, you know,” Jephthah said.

“Yeah,” Shimei said, “I know. I mean, I knew something. I knew that other lady isn’t your mum, not your real one anyway. Do you… do you know what it means? What a ben-zuna is?”

“A son of a whore,” Jephthah said.

“No, I know that. I mean, what is… one of those? What is a…” Shimei whispered, “a whore?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know it’s a bad word, and I think it’s the same thing as prostitute and harlot. But I’m not sure what any of them are.”

“Me neither.”

“I know it’s only for women, and it’s, like, the worst thing you can be. Other than an Ammonite, maybe,” Shimei said. Jephthah was quiet for a long time. Eventually, Shimei asked, “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Jephthah said. “Stay.”

Shimei stayed all that day and most of the next. The beating left Jephthah in bed for a week, and it earned Zephon shepherd duty and water-carrying for a month. But any punishments that Zephon got for his attacks on Jephthah only added fuel to the next beating. These came often, and there was barely a month when he wasn’t laid up for a few days. Shimei would visit him regularly, and they became good friends. They did chores together, fled Jephthah’s brothers together, and they eventually learned what the word “whore” meant together. One of Shimei’s older brothers overheard them whispering about it and gave them a more graphic and detailed meaning for the word than they ever wanted.

Shimei and Jephthah also made plans to leave Tabbath someday. In some way that Jephthah didn’t understand, Shimei was also an outsider in his family. Shimei was true born. He had the same mother and father as all his brothers and sisters, and his home was nothing like Jephthah’s. The kids laughed and played, and even the parents joined in when the day’s work was done. But they were from the Levite clan, and they had lots of rules. Shimei said that he was supposed to be a priest, but he couldn’t be because priests couldn’t have anything wrong with them. Shimei said he had a scar that meant he could never be a priest, but Jephthah had never seen a scar on him. Shimei didn’t like to talk about it, so it remained a mystery.

“We’re here,” Shimei said.

They could see the trees thinning at the top of a rise they were approaching. As they crested it, they began descending into a small clearing in the trees about fifty paces wide. The clearing was probably a shallow pool of water for a few days in the rainy season, but the rest of the year it was a circle of hardpacked earth. A traveler would barely take note of this small opening in the forest canopy as they passed by, but it was sacred ground for the boys living in the hills of Gilead.

The Israelites were cowering in fear of the Ammonites, but it wasn’t always that way. The boys had all grown up with the stories of the Judges ringing in their ears, how the walls of Jericho fell before Joshua, and Gideon’s three hundred men routed the multitudes of Assyria. When Israel was at her darkest hour, God would choose a Judge, a great warrior who would lead the people against their enemies. With every raid on their villages, the boys dreamed of the next Judge who’d deliver Israel, and, of course, secretly believed that they could be that Judge. This clearing in the forest was their proving ground: the arena that would test and prove the next Judge of Israel.

They met on the third week after the new moon. The schedule and the location was a closely guarded secret so that none of their fathers could predict what day they’d all skip chores to sneak off into the woods. None of them ever considered that the men of today were the boys of yesterday, and every man in Gilead knew exactly where it was and had fought his own battles in the clearing years ago. The men would curse their sons when they found vineyards un-picked and fields un-weeded later that day, and they’d likely give their sons a thrashing for skipping chores. But they tolerated the clearing, and each man would be secretly glad that his son wasn’t one of the cowards too scared to try his hand against the other boys.

Jephthah and Shimei took a spot at the edge of the clearing and watched the fight already underway. From the looks of it, the Ammonites would enjoy many years of primacy in the region, as two six-year-olds were holding each other by their tunics while pushing and pulling to knock the other over.

“Hey, look,” Shimei said, pointing across the circle.

“What?”

“They’re planning something.”

Shimei was pointing at Jephthah’s brothers. Maki was tugging at Zephon’s tunic and pointing at Jephthah. Zephon looked, nodded, and cuffed Maki’s hand away. They were waiting for him.

“You want to just go?” Shimei asked.

“No,” Jephthah said. “We’re not missing the fights because of them.”

“What if Zephon picks you?”

“Then it’s just me and him, I guess,” Jephthah said. “I’ll get murdered, but at least it isn’t all five of them.”

Shimei shook his head. “He shouldn’t even be here.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They weren’t written down anywhere, but there were rules about the clearing. Some were just instincts that most boys understood without ever speaking them aloud: the fights were one on one, you didn’t kick or punch a guy while he was on the ground, and all the little kids went first because it was more fun to leave the big guys for last. But most importantly, fights had to be fair. Big kids pick on little kids all the time, but that’s not what the clearing was for. With size and age as the main factors, the boys paired up for bouts that seemed fair.

Jephthah and his brothers had never fought in the clearing, since Zephon preferred to have Jephthah alone and helpless, but if they had fought, there would only be two possible match ups. Ozni was ten, two years younger than Jephthah. Ozni was big for his age, but all of Gilead’s sons were large and strong, so Ozni versus Jephthah wasn’t a fair match. But Maki was the same age as Jephthah, and Eri was just one year older, so any match amongst the three of them would work. Ezbon was fifteen, and a very formidable match for anyone in the clearing. There were a couple of older boys from other villages who might pit themselves against him, but not without some serious reservations. Zephon was in a category of his own.

Zephon was a plain menace. The clearing was for boys, not young men. At sixteen, Zephon had a downy trace of beard on his lip and chin. Gilead would smile and clap him hard on the shoulder when men of the village would call Zephon over to help move a heavy beam or clear a stone from a field. He was a man among boys. He could snatch up any kid in the clearing and snap him like a dry stick. He should have stopped coming to the clearing by now. All the older boys kept hoping they’d arrive one month and see no sign of Zephon. Whoever got bullied into fighting him didn’t just lose; they got hurt.

“Let’s just pick our fights and go right after,” Jephthah said. “They won’t want to leave early.”

“I could fight Eri, or maybe Ezbon,” Shimei said. “If I win, at least one is a little banged up for you.” Shimei was Jephthah’s age, but he was enormous for a twelve-year-old, nearly Ezbon’s size. He’d probably only come to the clearing a few more months.

“Don’t bother,” Jephthah said. “The others would just pay me back even worse.”

As the scuffle in the middle of the circle wrapped up and another started, Jephthah and Shimei sized up a few possible opponents. Though no formal challenges were issued, they soon had their matches set in the same way that men and boys have picked fights for centuries. Jephthah scanned the circle to his right, looking for the biggest kid that he felt sure he could beat. The guy he settled on was a year or two older than him and slightly taller. But Jephthah saw he was on the thin side, and they were probably about the same weight. Jephthah had seen the kid fight a few months ago and remembered him as hesitant. He liked to keep his distance and rely on his reach. While he was forming a plan to weather a few shots from those long, bony arms before getting inside his guard to do some damage up close, the kid’s gaze met Jephthah’s. Clearly looking for his opponent too, he stared back at Jephthah. Over the next few minutes, they each looked back at the fights going on in the center, but they kept coming back to glare at the other. After exchanging a couple of sneers and one rude gesture, the fight was settled.

Shimei made his own match with one of the biggest guys in the circle, but he had kept an eye on Jephthah’s scouting as well. “So you’re really going to try to fight that kid?”

“Yeah,” Jephthah said, “Why?”

“Well, he’s taller than you.”

“I know.”

“Yup,” Shimei said, shaking his head, “got a lot of reach on ya.”

“So? Look at him. He’s scrawny.”

“Won’t matter if you can’t get near him.”

“I will.”

“He could just hang back and pick you apart,” Shimei said. “You’re sure you don’t want me to take him for you?”

“Remember you said that when you watch him picking up his teeth.”

“Good line,” Shimei said. “You been saving that one?”

“Shut up,” Jephthah muttered. Shimei loved to get him riled up before a fight. “What about you? Who are you fighting?”

“That guy right there,” Shimei said, pointing across the circle.

“Well… he’s bigger than you,” Jephthah said.

“Yes, he is.”

“You’ll… well… you’re the one who’s in trouble.”

“Nah, I’ve seen him fight. Puts his head down and comes straight on swinging. Quick step to the left, a right jab, and—” he clicked his tongue, “good night.”

Try as he might, Jephthah could never turn it around and get under Shimei’s skin.

“Now,” Shimei said, “you on the other hand—”

“Oh, piss off,” Jephthah said, and Shimei laughed.

They watched as the fights progressed from the pushing and shoving of the little ones to the more serious bouts. As the matchups between the older boys got started, lips were split, noses bloodied, and the thrilling, sickening smack of fists striking flesh was heard more often.

Shimei’s match went precisely as he’d predicted. When the two of them stepped into the circle, a cheer went up from the crowd. There was nothing more exciting than a match between two of the biggest kids. Standing five paces away from each other, Shimei raised his fists and gave a slight head nod. His opponent took two massive practice swings at the air. His huge fists looping in a wide arc with all his might behind them. The spectators obliged him with a few whistles and cheers at this display, and one of his friends yelled, “Kill ‘em, Arod!” Then he put his fists up, took three big strides toward Shimei, and threw one of those wide, sweeping blows at Shimei’s face with his right hand. Shimei took one step back and to the left with his right foot, turning his body to the side. As he watched the fist pass inches in front of his face, he reset his feet and stepped into a right jab. Arod was pulling up from the missed punch and didn’t even see the quick jab that hit the right side of his chin. Later on, he remembered the fight starting, and then his friends holding him up between them as they walked him back to the outside of the circle. Shimei got more than one solemn nod of approval on his way back to Jephthah. “Top that,” he said.

“No promises,” Jephthah said. He jutted his chin out at the guy he’d been sizing up. The message was received, and the two of them entered the circle.

“Hey,” the kid said as they approached each other. “I’m Havuti.”

“Good for you. I don’t care,” Jephthah said. “Let’s go.” He put his hands up, took a fighting posture, and threw a punch well-short of the mark just to get into Havuti’s head.

Havuti staggered and almost fell as he quickly backed up. A few boys laughed and jeered. “Jerk,” he said, and the match was on.

Jephthah knew he had trouble coming with Zephon, so he wanted to get the fight over with and see if they could sneak off. But once they started, he was focused on his opponent, nothing else. As they circled each other, it was clear that Havuti was going to try to stay back and land shots from outside Jephthah’s range. Jephthah decided to wait till Havuti threw a punch, then dart forward. When Havuti moved in and began to throw a jab, a big hand settled on his shoulder from behind.

“Get lost,” Zephon said. “Jephthah fights me today.” Zephon had pulled Havuti back and took his place.

Zephon was merely moving him aside, but it sent Havuti sprawling, and he yelled, “Hey! What are you doing? Wait your turn!” before seeing who’d tossed him aside.

Zephon rounded on him. “Oh, you wanna fight? Is that it? Cuz if you want, I’ll take you on right now.” Zephon took a step toward Havuti. “How’s that sound?”

Feet skidding in the dirt to find purchase, Havuti scuttled backwards away from Zephon. “No! I was just… No! Go ahead.”

“Thanks. I will,” Zephon said, kicking dirt at him as he fled. He turned back to Jephthah. “Got a little something for you today, ben-zuna.”

“Yeah, I wonder what it could be.”

“Nah. Not just a beating. But don’t worry, we’ll be doing that first,” he said, swinging at Jephthah before he even finished the sentence.

This was no friendly bout to sharpen skills; Zephon was out to hurt him. Jephthah dodged the blow as best he could, but it hit him in the shoulder. A throbbing pain sunk deep into his arm, down to the bone. He knew it was useless to parry even the weakest of blows, a withered branch. Zephon struck again, this time jabbing at his face. Jephthah darted to the left, feeling Zephon’s fist graze his right ear, leaving a warm, stinging pain there. If it landed clean, it would have crushed his nose.

Jephthah jumped back a few paces, trying to gather himself. He knew that he would be down soon, and with one useless arm already, he didn’t have long to give Zephon a few small pains for his effort. He let Zephon close the distance between them. This time, instead of jabbing, Zephon brought his right fist around in an arc with the whole weight of his upper body behind the blow. Jephthah dodged under his arm, stepped behind him, and punched him in the small of the back. Zephon stumbled but maintained his balance. Jephthah had put all of his strength into that shot, and he knew that Zephon would probably be sore later. But now, full of rage and excitement as he was, the blow had no effect on him.

“You’ll have to do better than that, ben-zuna,” he said, closing on Jephthah again. This time, as Zephon swung at him, Jephthah tried to duck and step around him again: a stupid mistake. Zephon had not committed his weight to the punch, it was a feint, and Jephthah felt Zephon’s other fist smash into his good shoulder. He took a couple of steps back and put up his guard with two arms that felt like lead weights.

Zephon was no fool, and he knew that Jephthah was helpless. He toyed with him, taking a few light, sparring swings. But since Jephthah didn’t have the energy or inclination to flinch or dance around, Zephon struck in earnest. He hit Jephthah right in the center of the chest. Jephthah felt all his breath explode from his lungs instantly. And whether it was because he was momentarily blinded, or because he was distracted by the pain and panic, he didn’t see the next punch coming. He just felt a horrible pain in his right eye and the ground beneath him a second later. As he rolled from his back to his side, gasping, desperate to get that first bit of breath back into himself, he could hear Zephon taunting.

“I’m feeling pretty generous today, half-breed,” Zephon said. “I’m gonna let you get your wind back before we finish up.”

There was pain in his whole skull, as if it had been cracked, as though Zephon had changed the shape of it with that last shot and something was wrong that could never be set right. Vision blurred through tears and the shimmering heat on the hard-packed earth, he saw the shouting throng of boys cheering in the rapture of the fight, not caring who won or lost as long as there was blood. Zephon was yelling at them now. Something about the Ammonites, and even as he tried to pull himself together, it seemed strange to him that Zephon would be talking about Ammonites in the middle of a fight.

That’s when the vision took him.

His ears were ringing from the blow to the head, the shouting of the boys, Zephon’s ranting. But the faint ringing suddenly changed to a high-pitched whine that felt like a dagger sinking into his brain. Jephthah slammed his hands to his ears and writhed like a man pinned to the ground with a spear. It was no use stopping his ears. The relentless shriek was inside his head, trying to get out rather than coming in. When it seemed like his head would be split in two, it began to fade as quickly as it came, and he could hear the boys around the circle cheering again. Only… something had changed. The piercing cheers were replaced with a rumbling chant.

Jephthah had shut his eyes, and when he opened them, he was not in the clearing anymore. He was surrounded by men, not boys. He slowly sat up and stood to his feet. He was looking out at a wide plain facing an army of more men than he could count, more men than he knew existed. The sun gleamed on their armor, helmets, and shields, a forest of upheld spears with bronze points flashing at the top as they stabbed at the sky in time with the rhythm of their chant. Taking in the size of the army, he turned to see what they faced and was stunned to see an even larger force arrayed against them. At least double in size, maybe more.

Beyond them, he saw a shining city on a hill. Immense walls with a high tower rising in the center, beautiful and utterly impregnable. But Jephthah knew that it was about to fall. The men guarding its gates were frightened. Massive as their army was, they were clearly terrified of who they faced: Jephthah and his men. And they were his men. He knew that now. He turned back to them. His right hand went to his side, and a bronze sword flashed out. He held it over his head facing his army, and they cheered wildly. Looking up, he saw his arm, rippling with muscle, a deep scar running from elbow to wrist. He could see every detail of the sword in his hand and feel the old, worn leather of the handle shaped to his grip.

Listening to the chant, he realized it was his name: Jeph-thah! Jeph-thah! He spread his arms wide and let their devotion wash over him. This moment would be his, not for years to come, but it was a fixed event, as much a part of history as the raid that came to Tabbath that morning. Jephthah would rule these men. He would be Judge.

Now he pumped his sword in the air in time with their spear thrusts, and the fevered pitch of their excitement rose to a crescendo. He had to unleash them. Now.

He turned and took two running strides, leaping onto the back of a horse. He’d never ridden a horse, but he landed smoothly in the saddle, gripped his mount’s sides with his legs, and his left hand gathered the reins without even a glance. Mounted, facing the city with his sword held high, he looked back over his shoulder at his army. Sensing he was about to give the signal, they quieted. The chanting stopped. Jephthah let the stillness linger for several heartbeats, then levelled his sword at the city and let out a war cry.

A resounding roar from the men propelled him forward. They hit the enemy’s ranks like a wave crashing on a stony shore. Jephthah felt an enormous shock as he was thrown from his horse. He cartwheeled through the air and landed heavily on his side. Stunned from the impact, but battle-hardened, he knew he was surrounded by enemies and had to get up. He could hear it, see the words stamped in his mind. Get up! Get up! 

Opening his eyes, Jephthah saw that he was lying on his side in the clearing again. The boys weren’t cheering anymore. They were silent, staring, listening to Zephon who was still saying something about the Ammonites.

He stood up and looked down at himself: a kid again, not the man he would become. But he felt like that man. He felt none of the pain from the shot to the head or the blows to the shoulders and chest. He felt whole and strong, as though whatever god had put the vision in his mind had breathed divine vigor into him. Looking over at Zephon as he harangued the boys, he didn’t see the vicious thug who tormented him, the terror who’d dominated him all these years. He saw a boy, a boy desperately trying to keep his minions in fear. Jephthah advanced on Zephon.

One of the spectators must have reacted to seeing Jephthah on his feet because Zephon turned around to see what was behind him. If Zephon saw any difference in Jephthah, he showed no sign of it. He smirked, and said, “All right, ben-Ammon, you can have some more.” He faked like he was going for a left jab to the face, but he stepped into a right-hand blow to Jephthah’s midsection that should have dropped Jephthah instantly. Instead, Jephthah tensed, took the shot, felt the force of it thrust him back a step, but he felt no pain. Zephon felt like he’d punched an oak beam. He clutched his right hand. Jephthah waded in and gave him two shots to the belly, rotating hard, putting his full weight behind each fist. Zephon folded at the waist. Jephthah dipped and came up with an uppercut that landed flush on his jaw. Zephon’s head snapped back, he took one tottering step and fell.

Jephthah looked around the circle. They stared back at him, stunned. But there was something wrong. Yes, he’d beaten the most feared, hated, and strongest bully they’d ever known, so it made sense that they’d be surprised. But the way they were looking at him—as if he’d done something wrong—it didn’t make sense.

Propping up on one elbow, Zephon said, “I told them the truth about you, ben-Ammon. Now they hate you as much as I do.”

“No one cares about that,” Jephthah said, still thinking he’d heard the old insult: ben-zuna. “The whole village knows my mum was some prostitute.”

“Yeah, she was. But I didn’t call you ben-zuna, did I?” Zephon said, getting on to all fours as he tried to stand up. “I called you ben-Ammon. Turns out you’re the son of an Ammonite whore.”

Before Zephon could stand, Jephthah took two running strides and kicked him in the mouth. Zephon’s head snapped back, and he was laid out flat.

“Liar.”

“Maybe I am,” Zephon sputtered, “but I’m not lying now.”

Jephthah then pinned Zephon underneath him in the manner that he himself was so accustomed to being held down. Jephthah punched him in the face three times, hard. “Take it back!”

Zephon coughed and spat blood. “Doesn’t matter if I do. You’re still an Ammonite.”

Jephthah grabbed the front of his tunic and reared back to hit him again. “Just admit you’re lying,” he said. “I’m going to talk to dad, anyway.”

Zephon smiled, a hideous sight with blood trickling down his face and covering his teeth. “Who do ya think told me?”

Jephthah hit Zephon again, mainly because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He stood up and looked around the circle.

“It’s not true,” he said. “He’s a liar. You know he is.” But Jephthah could tell that Zephon believed what he was saying. He didn’t know how, but he could tell, and all of them could tell too.

Jephthah could feel heat rising in his face and knew he was going to cry. He tried to think of something to say, some denial… anything. But in the end, he put his head down, fled from the clearing, and didn’t stop till he hit Tabbath.

 #

Gilead was in one of the orchards harvesting grapes when Jephthah found him.

“So there you are,” said Gilead, barely glancing at him while continuing with his work. “You go off and find the others and tell them that if you don’t have five bushels picked by the eighth hour, you’ll all get a hiding for it.”

Jephthah didn’t respond. Gilead finally looked at him. He could see that something was wrong. The blood and bruises were common enough, but there was something more. He continued picking as he asked, “What’s the matter, boy? They been at you again?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look too damaged,” he said. “You’ll give it back to them someday.”

“Yeah, I will.”

When Jephthah kept standing there doing nothing. Gilead said, “Listen, I’ll give ‘em a thrashing if it went too far, all right? But you’re gonna get one just for you if you don’t do as I say.”

 “Zephon told me something today.”

Gilead hesitated. “Oh? What’d he tell you?”

“That I’m an Ammonite.”

Gilead muttered to himself, “God’s name. Zephon, you…” Gilead sighed, and looked at Jephthah. “I told him not to tell you. I told him not to tell anyone.”

“So, I am an Ammonite.”

“Half-Ammonite. Only half,” Gilead said. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything!” Jephthah yelled. “He said it in front of all the other kids, and now they’ll hate me more than ever.” Jephthah felt tears beginning to stack up in his eyes, and the shame of it made him even angrier. “You know he hates me. Why would you tell him that?”

“I didn’t tell him. There I am just havin’ an argument with the wife, and she gets after me about ancient history—like she loves to—and then I see him, standing there in the doorway, smiling. I made him swear not to tell.”

“Well, he did. Everyone in Tabbath will know.”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ve got that to look forward to, don’t I?” Gilead said to himself. He stopped picking and turned to Jephthah. “Look, I’m sorry it came out. Believe me, I’d have taken that secret to the grave for you and me both if I had my way. I’m sure it’ll make things harder for you. But it’s how it is, and you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Why did you do it?” Jephthah asked, crying.

“That’s enough, now,” Gilead said.

“Why did you have to go after some Ammonite woman and—”

Gilead cut him off with a sharp backhand across his mouth. “That’s just a reminder,” Gilead said. “I said I’m sorry this got out. And I am. But a man doesn’t explain himself to a child. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Jephthah watched as Gilead went back to picking. “They’ll call me ben-Ammon now. Everybody in Tabbath will hate me.”

“Likely,” Gilead said. “What do you want me to do about it? Put Zephon on shepherd duty again? Fine. I will.”

“It’ll just make him worse.”

“Yeah, and you’re gonna have to deal with that too, aren’t you? I won’t be around forever. Your life is… well, it’s gonna be tough,” Gilead said. “You’ll just have to be tougher. That’s all there is to it.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Jephthah said.

“Careful,” Gilead said, looking at him over his shoulder. “I got my limits, and you’re right there, boy.”

Jephthah said nothing.

“Like I said: life’s tough, be tougher. And that bit of wisdom’s likely your full inheritance from me, right there,” he said. “God knows they’ll leave nothing else for you.”

Jephthah watched as his father picked. He waited, hoping there was more, hoping his father would turn around again and do something or say something to help him, but he didn’t.

Jephthah turned and walked away.