Jephthah: Chapter 5

Read previous chapters here:

Jephthah: Prologue & Chapter 1

Jephthah: Chapter 2 & 3

Jephthah: Chapter 4

Audio: Chapter 5

Shobi sat watching his son play with the slaves. Early in the morning, he had told Nahash that he would be in Rabbah and wouldn’t be back until nightfall. He then left with one of the camels, tied it up out of sight, and returned to lurk around the edges of the camp. Though Shobi had left Nahash instructions to fletch arrows all day, he had soon gone out to the slaves’ lean-to, and they had been at sport ever since. At first, they talked for a while, then they wrestled and sparred, and then the rascals marched straight into his armory and filed out with a bow and fifty arrows each. Now, Shobi sat behind a shrub about one hundred paces away and watched as they practiced their archery. The Hebrews were not very good, but they had potential.

Shobi smiled. The two boys were a gift from the gods. Certainly, it was helpful to have them as servants, but the goats practically looked after themselves. What Shobi had really needed was a companion for his son. He had begun to worry about this. He could train his son, and train him well at that, but young men need other young men to spar with, to challenge, to befriend. Then, one day as he and Nahash were out gathering materials, these two came walking out of the hills, right into his waiting arms. Once he had them, the rest had been simple: he treated them with mild contempt and forbade Nahash to speak with them. It had taken a little longer than he’d hoped, but they had become close friends. Now, he would give them an enemy.

Shobi knew that he couldn’t allow the young Hebrews to perceive him as their ruler for very long. They would soon have the power to overthrow him. And, when they did, Nahash would likely side with them. At his age, the bonds of friendship would quickly eclipse the bonds of blood. So Shobi decided that tonight, while he was still firmly in control, he would cease to be a slave-master. He would become a different kind of Master.

He left his hiding place and approached his flock. As he strode toward the goats, he was in plain sight of the boys, but they were far too engrossed in their archery to notice him. Vigilance will have to be one of their first lessons, he thought. He was so close now that one of the Hebrews could probably hit him with an arrow, and that was saying something.

Shobi surveyed the goats. He picked out a choice-looking kid, pulled out his knife, and cut its throat. It shrieked as he did so, and as he bent to the task of dressing out the kid, he pretended not to see all three boys jump and look around in surprise. Jephthah and Shimei darted for cover, and Nahash came running over to him. Nahash stood before him stammering, trying to invent some reason why he wasn’t at work and why the slaves were not with the flock. But before Nahash could speak, Shobi said, “Tonight, we will have a feast.” Then he added, “You can invite your friends.”

 #

They’d been astonished when Nahash told them they weren’t in trouble, and in fact, that they would be feasting that evening. When they met at the Master’s tent, the meal was waiting for them. The Master still did not explain why he was eating with them. He simply invited them to join him around the steaming bowls and have their fill. They ate hesitantly at first, but as they saw the Master and Nahash plunder each dish in earnest, they too gorged themselves. It was sunset before they were finished.

Never in their lives had Jephthah and Shimei eaten as they did that night. The Master must have traded in some nearby town to get all the sumptuous food that he had in stock. In addition to the tender goat, there were a variety of vegetables, breads, fish, and fruits, many of which Jephthah and Shimei had never seen before. And once they had eaten their fill, there was a rich, sweet wine to sip following the meal.

Then, the Master finally broke his silence. “I trust that my cooking meets with your approval, my young Hebrews.”

“Yes, Master,” said Jephthah.

“We’ve never had better, Master,” said Shimei.

“And perhaps you wonder why I would honor you with this feast?”

“Yes, Master,” replied Jephthah.

“For a little more than a year now, you have both served me and served me well. I now wish you to become my free servants, if you so desire.” Jephthah and Shimei were startled, and unsure of how to respond. But the Master continued. “From now on, you may call me ‘Master Shobi,’ and you may call my son ‘Nahash.’ Though, I am fairly certain that you’re already on familiar terms with Nahash.” At this, Jephthah and Shimei looked down at the ground. Master Shobi’s tone indicated that while he would not punish them for this disobedience, it was unacceptable, nonetheless.

“By now, you’ve no doubt guessed that goat-herding is not my highest priority. My real work is with my bows. I have reason to believe that I’ll need to make many more than I currently do. And it’s been my experience that freemen make better, more willing craftsmen than slaves. So I am releasing you from your service but also offering that you may stay.”

Jephthah and Shimei glanced at each other. They weren’t sure if they were supposed to say, “Thank you,” or celebrate, or simply listen. Shobi saw their hesitation and offered a little guidance. “For now, I’d like to learn more about the two of you. Why don’t you tell me your names and pedigrees for a start?”

Shimei sat up straight, and said, “I am Shimei, ben-Libni, ben-Gershon, ben-Izhar, ben-Mahli, ben-Merari, of the tribe of Levi. A true-born son of Israel.”

“A fine name, indeed,” said Master Shobi. “And you?” he said to Jephthah.

Jephthah knew very little of his heritage, unsure even of his tribe, though he thought it might be Gad. “I’m Jephthah, ben-Gilead, ben-” he paused, unable to recall his grandfather’s name. Then, thinking of his unknown mother, he said, “ben-Ammon.”

Master Shobi stared at him for a moment, then said, “Ben-Ammon, indeed. You and half the rebels and brigands in this land.”

Jephthah was confused. He could see that he had made some kind of joke, but he didn’t know how. Shobi continued, “Don’t you understand? Many men who would resist authority or lead a rebellion take the name of their land, calling themselves the Son of Ammon or the Son of Moab. Are there no Sons of Israel?”

“There are Judges in Israel,” said Shimei, “men who lead the wars.”

“Yes, those men,” said Shobi. “Every nation has scores of them.” Then, turning to Jephthah, he said, “I see that you were unaware of what you were saying, but do not take that name lightly. Once you have been called by a name, it is not easy to lose it. And all who go by ‘Ben-Ammon’ lead short and tragic lives. Remember that.”

“Yes, Master Shobi,” Jephthah said.

“Master Shobi?” Shimei said.

“Yes.”

Shimei chose his words carefully, finally saying, “You said that we could be your free servants… if we wanted.”

“Yes.”

Struggling not to seem ungrateful, Shimei asked, “So… does that mean… does that mean that we could leave if we wanted to?”

“Of course,” Shobi said. Shimei said nothing, but Shobi could see there was something more he wanted to ask. He smiled. “And now you wish to ask why two young Hebrews would willingly stay with their stern Ammonite master?”

“Well…” stammered Shimei.

“Be at ease. It’s a fair question,” Shobi said. “First of all, I have good reason to believe that you’ll stay because you don’t have anywhere to go. Boys with promising futures do not usually leave their homeland and march straight into certain death. I imagine that you have either been driven away, or you’ve left an otherwise bleak existence. Do I guess rightly?”

“Yes,” they admitted. Both Jephthah and Shimei had memories of Tabbath that they didn’t want to talk about.

“Furthermore, while I have no money or land, I have craft, skill, and knowledge that you desire. What I can teach you is worth more than the inheritance of a thousand families, and it is certainly worth a few years of service.”

“And you’ll teach us how to make bows?” Jephthah blurted. He had wanted to learn how ever since he found out what the Master did in his big tent. In his mind, he saw Ammonite raiders descending out of the hills on horseback, bearing down on Israelite villages, only to encounter a deadly rain of arrows.

“I will teach you both how to make them and shoot them. And…” Shobi considered his next words momentarily, deciding how much he would tell them, “in return for your help with the bows, I’ll teach you to use the sword and spear, and other forms of warfare as well.”

“But father,” said Nahash, totally bewildered. “You don’t… how would you even know how to use a sword or spear? And what do you need so many bows for?”

“Son, there are many things that I’ve not yet told you. Why we live on the outskirts of civilization, why we must be secretive, I’ll tell you all of this soon. For now, I must simply train you.”

“Are we going to serve in the king’s army?” prodded Nahash wanting answers instantly, not “soon.”

“No,” Shobi scoffed. “I will never serve this king.”

“So you’re a rebel?” asked Shimei.

Shobi looked at Shimei. “Perhaps. Is that any worse than being a soldier?”

Shimei didn’t know what he meant, but he sensed that Shobi was saying something significant, something he shouldn’t question. However, Jephthah said, “But the king protects you. We don’t have a king in Israel. That’s why raiders kill us and make off with our food and women. There’s no king or army to defend us.” As he finished saying this, Jephthah could see that Shobi was annoyed, so he added, “At least, that’s what my father always said.”

“And what difference would it make if your crops and women were stolen by raiders or by kings? Hmmm?” Shobi questioned. When Jephthah didn’t respond, he continued, “A king must feed his army, for that he’ll take your crops. And a king must have his pleasure, and for that he’ll take your women.”

Then Shimei asked, “But does it always have to be like that? Aren’t there any good kings?”

“Yes, but never for long,” Shobi replied. “It runs in cycles. There is a good king, he becomes corrupt, there is a rebellion, and then there is a new king who is fair and just for a time. This is the way it’s always been and always will be.” But the boys just stared at him, unsure of what he meant. He muttered to himself, “Gods above, these boys are ignorant.” And after a moment’s consideration he said, “I had thought to do this later, but perhaps it’s best to at least begin your education before your physical training. I will tell you my story.”

 #

“I am Shobi, eldest son of Hanun, ben-Zakur, ben-Buduili, ben-Baalis. My father was the last rightful king of Rabbah. From the first moment of my birth, I was groomed for the task of ruling my people: the Ammonites. I apprenticed with artisans and craftsmen, I was tutored by scholars, and I was trained by great warriors. When I wasn’t absorbed in my studies and training, I had complete run of the palace. From the scullery, where I’d pester the cooks for delicacies, to the armory, where I’d hound old generals for the gruesome tales of past wars, the palace was my own little kingdom.

“But in the evenings, my father was always educating me in the subtle art of statesmanship. Even when I was a young lad, long before I had any understanding of what he was trying to teach me, father would talk to me about how he steered negotiations, settled internal conflicts, in short, how to govern.

“Once, when I was only about twelve, I remember my father being very concerned about the king of a rival city who was threatening to attack us. I cannot remember which one. It was in the north, likely one of the Hittite cities. Father said that they had a much greater army than ours and that we could not risk open conflict with them. Of course, I had seen our army, trained with our generals, and I couldn’t believe that there was a greater force in the entire world. I told my father this. He laughed. He said that many kings have allowed themselves to believe the same thing and have become beggars and fools in foreign nations because of it. Then, having assured me that we could not prevail in war, he proceeded to question me, to ask me how to deal with this city and its aggressive king.

“Father gave me all the information about this man that he’d been able to gather from spies and informants. The Hittite king was an older man and prone to fits of rage. Thus, his advisors were all sure that he would soon die, and they urged him to choose a successor. For though he had three sons, he had not yet declared who would rule after him. It was a matter of custom for the eldest to succeed, but the old man had always equivocated on that point, keeping his advisors and his sons in suspense. It was rumored that this was his way of preventing a takeover: no one man had an uncontested claim to the throne.

“As father told me these things, I remember that he was hunched forward, speaking urgently, almost whispering. It was as though he were a frightened, confused young man, and I was his wise old counselor. As for me, I wasn’t merely unsure of what to say; I was completely bewildered. I didn’t even see why all this information was important, even after he repeated certain key points such as the king’s quick temper and the three possible heirs. Of course, now I realize that he was trying to lead me to a conclusion that he had already made. But I never did see the answer.

“Not long after we spoke, father dispatched a secret message to the king’s middle son. He sent the message with a man whom he suspected of treachery, hoping that the letter would be intercepted. It was intercepted, and the Hittite king was soon reading a letter from my father to his middle son promising that our forces would be at his disposal when the time came, and that he looked forward to having a new, powerful ally on his northern flank.

“When he told me about it, I asked father why he sent the letter to the middle son. He said that it was because this son posed no threat at all. The eldest son had support of the majority of the people, while the younger—being reckless and ambitious—had the support of a great number of malcontents. Thus, the king was distracted from two very real threats, and he focused on the one son who had no designs on the throne. The letter provoked the king to hold an inquisition, and it was during this fiasco that one of the other two sons—I don’t recall which—launched an attack and successfully overthrew his father. But the kingdom was in turmoil for a generation, and we had no more trouble from them.

“This was the first of many such lessons. I wish I had paid more attention. I wish father had paid more attention for that matter. In the following fifteen years, he kept me close in his council, and together we made the decisions that shaped the fortunes of Rabbah. Unfortunately, it was not my father who taught me my final lesson on how to rule a city.

“I had seven siblings: five sisters, all between four and twelve years younger than me; one brother, who was perhaps twenty years younger than me; and another brother, who was only one year my junior, Shanib. As I have said before, there was no question of succession in our family. From the day I was born, everyone knew that I was the king’s heir. Furthermore, I proved to everyone that I would make a good king. I had excelled in my studies, I was skilled in warfare, and I had a family. By my twenty-fifth year, I already had two sons and one daughter: my succession ensured stability in the kingdom for at least one generation after my own. Nevertheless, Shanib wrenched the kingdom away in a single hour.

“Shanib was never a very subtle man, just patient. We all knew that he resented me. But father and I both underestimated him. We never suspected that he would murder his own family.

“Surprisingly, it does not take many men to overthrow a kingdom, just a handful of scoundrels who are able to kill without hesitation. Shanib had about thirty such villains.

“It was father’s custom to offer prayers and sacrifices to Milcom in the hours before dawn on the first night of the new moon. Several of Shanib’s henchmen were priests of Milcom, and they have no qualms about butchery. They splashed father’s blood across their altars as though he were one of their sacrificial rams.

“At the same time, small bands of assassins were entering the homes of all his children. Of course, Shanib had nothing to fear from my sisters, but he had them killed anyway, along with their husbands and children. He also killed our youngest brother, though he was not even six years of age. But this is the way it is done: the usurper kills anyone with even a drop of royal blood in their veins.

“He sent eight trained assassins—his most trusted men—to slaughter me, my wife, my children, all of us, as we slept peacefully in our home. But soldiers are light sleepers. I was awake when they were at my threshold and armed when they entered my room. Still, one cannot defend against eight men at one time. In the close quarters, only two or three could attack me at once, and I was more than a match for these. But as I dispatched them in pairs, the others roved throughout my home. They killed my wife, my daughter, and my eldest son before I could stop them.”

Shobi stopped speaking. His last words had been barely a whisper. He put his hand to his forehead for a moment, and when he withdrew it, Jephthah saw that this stern man of flint and bronze had tears in his eyes. But Shobi soon composed himself and carried on.

“I killed six. The last two ran off while I defended my last child. I knew that it could only be Shanib. And I knew the situation in the city would be hopeless. He would have seen to that. So I took my child in my arms and fled into the countryside. Nahash was an infant, not yet weaned. I had enough gold with me to pay for our lodging and food, but that first week was still very perilous. We had to get far away from Rabbah, stay a few steps ahead of the news of the overthrow, and ahead of the news of the bounty on us. A lone man with a child is difficult to explain. But I was able to purchase a few goats, some other necessities, and eke out a life for us on the edge of civilization.”

Shobi paused in his tale again. Recounting the night when his life had been stripped away had not grown easier with time. Almost fifteen years later, the anger and sorrow still made his voice quiver and set his hands shaking. But when he got past that terrible night, and onto talking about his life with Nahash in the desert, he resumed his story in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

“Sometimes a curious customer will ask me why we live out here. I tell them that the climate is good for curing the glues and resins in the bows. It’s partially true; the climate is excellent. It’s no better than that of Rabbah, but the eccentricities of a craftsman are hardly cause for suspicion. Even King Shanib knows about me. He orders a few bows about once or twice a year. He has no idea it’s me who supplies his archers. He’s sure I died in my flight into the wilderness, or that I’ve settled in some far away land.

“But he has always been a fool. He failed to learn the lesson he taught me: security is an illusion. There is no stability in a kingdom. Just when all seems peaceful, destruction is near at hand. He sits there in his palace—my palace—so sure of himself. All the while, the rightful king camps out on his very doorstep… waiting.” Shobi had been leaning forward as he told his story, so that the fire’s coals lit his face red. Now, he relaxed, reclining alongside the fire. “But so it goes: folly is always plain to see for everyone but the fool. Father and I saw several kingdoms toppled in exactly the same manner as ours. Yet, we were unable to foresee our own demise.” Then, looking at Shimei, Shobi said, “So, Shimei, who is in the right, the soldier or the rebel?”

“I suppose it depends, Master Shobi.”

“Indeed, it does.”

“But, father,” said Nahash, “this means… that I am a prince?”

“Yes. Heir to Rabbah, and all the land of Ammon.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Have I not called you ‘Prince Nahash’ since you were a boy?”

“Yes, but… I always thought it was just a silly name.”

“Well, maybe you need to take me more seriously,” Shobi quipped. But he could see that Nahash was not amused. “Nahash, I am sorry for not telling you who we are—who you are—but think about it. Surely knowing what is yours by right would only have brought you misery. Would you have been satisfied living in exile all these years, tending goats, fetching water, all the while knowing you should have a dozen servants waiting on you day and night? Would you have been content to share my blanket on a chill night, knowing that you were born in a palace?” Nahash was silent. “Perhaps I should have told you sooner, but remember, it is Shanib who has cheated you, not me. I have tried to protect you not only from what he did, but even from the knowledge of what he did, so that you could be at peace. Before you learned the truth, weren’t you happy here?”

“Yes,” said Nahash. “But you still should have told me. I still would have wanted to know.”

“Well, be that as it may. You still have a long time to cherish this knowledge. I do not have the command of enough men to storm Rabbah and take back your inheritance. You still have years to contemplate your revenge while you live in obscurity. You might wish that I had waited longer before the end.”

“So,” Shimei inquired, “you actually have a plan?”

“Oh, yes,” said Shobi, “I do. I’m not sitting out here building an armory for nothing. You’ve seen my stores, haven’t you?” Neither Jephthah nor Shimei said anything. Master Shobi had forbidden them from entering the tent. “Very well, I won’t make you choose between a confession and a lie. I am building a significant store of arms.”

“But you need more than just bows and arrows, don’t you?” asked Jephthah. “I mean, in the stories I’ve heard, swords and spears are what you need to win battles.”

“Don’t think that because you haven’t seen them that I don’t have swords. I do. But I keep them hidden because of their great value. They are forged of the New Metal.” The boys were stunned. They had all heard of the New Metal that could pierce any armor, cleave bronze shields, cut through anything.

“You have swords of the New Metal here? Now?” asked Shimei.

“Yes. They call it ‘iron.’”

“Father, you know how to make it?”

“No, no,” chuckled Shobi, “though I wish I did. That is the most valuable secret the world has ever known. It is guarded jealously by the Hittites and the Sea People. Each of them claims to have discovered it, but that matters very little. They both have it, and it weighs on the mind of every ruler in the world. Soon, those who’ve mastered iron will be the masters of all who haven’t.”

“How did you get it?” asked Jephthah. “If it’s such a big secret?”

“They’ll trade for it readily enough in small quantities. No amount of gold would convince the Philistines or Hittites to equip another nation’s army, but smiths and merchants will trade with foreigners.”

“When can we see the swords, father?”

“Yeah, and how many do you have?” asked Jephthah.

“You’ll see them soon enough. And I have exactly as many as I need for the time being.”

“Master,” Shimei asked, “what about men? How are you going to attack Rabbah without an army?”

“Blood of Baal, haven’t I told you boys enough secrets for one night? You will each know what you need to know at the appropriate time. For now, it is getting late. Let’s all get some rest.”

“Yes, Master Shobi,” said Jephthah, rising to leave.

“Jephthah, you and Shimei can spend the night here with Nahash and me.”

“But Master, what about the goats?”

“What about them?”

“Well, don’t we need to look after them?”

“They know where the water is, where to bed down for the night. They won’t go anywhere.”

“But… what about lions?”

“When the lions attacked a few months ago, who detected them first? You or the goats?” asked Shobi. “Jephthah, for years before you arrived, the goats have stayed near the spring and set up an alarm when they needed me. They will be fine.”

“Okay,” said Jephthah, not sure of why the goats were suddenly so independent.

“Nahash, get four bedrolls out and lay them around the fire,” said Shobi. “The night is warm. Let’s sleep under the stars.” While Nahash got the bedrolls, Shobi cleared away the few remaining bowls from dinner. When Nahash returned, they all unrolled their blankets around the warm bed of coals. As they laid down, Shobi said, “Now, since I have favored you with a tale, perhaps you could recite to us some piece of your sacred history, Shimei.”

“Um… okay,” said Shimei, not certain how Master Shobi knew that he was the storyteller of the two. “But Master Shobi, may I ask a question first? If it’s not about your plans, or anything?”

“If you must.”

“Why have you kept us as shepherds all this time? I mean, if the goats are fine on their own.”

“At first, I needed to give you some simple task to do while you recovered your strength. When you first arrived, you were both near death. Then it seemed a natural chore for you to continue as you learned the rhythms of the desert, learned our way of life, and of course, it gave you and Jephthah spare time to become friends with Nahash. Surely at some point you realized that you were treated more like guests than slaves, did you not?”

Shimei fingered the fringes of the thick, fur-lined bedroll, exactly like the ones he and Jephthah slept on out by the goats. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Ironically, this was actually your last day of freedom,” Shobi said.

“Why? What happens tomorrow?” asked Jephthah.

“Tomorrow, we begin your training. It will likely be the greatest challenge of your life. Now, do your people have a tale about how the world began?”

“Yes,” Shimei said.

“I would very much like to hear it.”

As they laid staring up at the stars, Shimei unfolded the story of creation: how Yahweh brought order to the chaos; spoke light into existence; set lamps in the sky for the day and the night; separated the land from the waters; brought forth plants and animals on both land and sea; and finally, how with His own two hands the Lord God molded and carved a piece of clay into a creature that resembled Himself, a man. Then Yahweh blew gently on the man’s face, sent the breath of life creeping in through his nostrils, waking him to the world that God had made for him. And when the Lord saw all He had done, He said that it was very good.

#

When Jephthah awoke, it was to the voice of Master Shobi. “Boys! Nahash, Jephthah, Shimei, wake up!” It was early. Jephthah could barely see Shobi’s outline against the predawn sky. Jephthah and the other two sat up. Shobi said, “It’s time to begin. I must get weapons and equipment from several caches I have in the area. Break your fast on the leftover food from last night’s feast and meet me over where you wrestle and spar at one hour past daybreak.” With that, Shobi left them to themselves.

As Nahash saw about the food, Jephthah and Shimei got the fire going. The night had started out warm, but it had grown cold, and food and fire were all the boys could think about until they had both. As Jephthah mopped the last bit of sauce out of a bowl with a crust of bread, he said to Nahash, “Well, that’s quite a story your father told last night.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess you’re the prince of Ammon.”

“I guess so.”

“And you didn’t know any of that?”

“No. Well, I kind of thought that father might be important because of the people who call him ‘Master Shobi.’ And besides that… I don’t know. There’s just something about him.”

“Yeah,” agreed Shimei, “I know what you mean. He doesn’t really seem like a guy who should be living out in the desert with a bunch of goats.”

“Right,” said Nahash.

“But you knew he was planning a war, right?” asked Jephthah.

“Yes, but I never knew who we were going to fight. I sure hadn’t guessed we’d be fighting the King of Ammon. Father just said that soon there would be trouble in the kingdom and we’d need to be ready for war.”

“And only a few people know who he really is?” asked Shimei.

“There’s only four who call him Shobi,” said Nahash.

“So who’s he going to give all those bows to?” asked Jephthah.

“I don’t know,” said Nahash.

“I sure hope he gives one to me,” said Jephthah.

“I’m sure he will,” said Shimei. “You’ll probably get one of the swords too. We all will.”

“How do you know that?” asked Nahash.

“Well, think about it. He’s got no men to take back Rabbah. He needs to get men from somewhere.”

“Yes,” said Nahash, “but we’re not men, are we? Is he going to lay siege to Rabbah with four men and three boys?”

“No. But he said it’d be years before he could attack Rabbah. We’re not going to be boys forever.”

“He’ll still need more men,” said Jephthah.

“Yes, but you can be sure that we’ll be among them,” said Shimei. “He’s starting to train us today. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“He’s right,” said Nahash. “Father never does anything without a purpose.”

“Whatever his plans are, he’s been at it for a long time,” said Shimei. Turning to Nahash, he said, “My guess is that you’ll be getting your inheritance one way or another.” And to Jephthah he said, “And you’ll be getting what you always wanted too.”

“What’s that?”

“War with Ammon.”

 #

Shobi’s camel came to a jangling halt in front of them. The Master dismounted, hobbled the camel and untied a few bundles. “There are several things I must teach you before swordplay,” Shobi said. “But I know I’ll not hear the end of it until I’ve at least shown you a few blades.” At this, he unrolled one of the bundles. Inside were about a dozen swords. Most of them were in plain leather scabbards, but there were also several wooden swords that were unsheathed. “You may look at them and handle them freely. But do not swing at each other, even in jest. These are battle-tested weapons, and they are deadly sharp.”

Jephthah picked up one of the swords. It was lighter than he thought it would be and a bit shorter too, only a little longer than his arm. The leather scabbard was nicked and worn, stained with use. Jephthah gripped the handle, drew the sword, and gasped as he saw it for the first time. From out of the mud-brown leather came a glittering, golden leaf. The hilt had the worn look of the scabbard, but the blade itself shone like something not of this world. Jephthah stroked his fingers over the length of it, down the flat of the blade that had a shallow trough along the center. It was thin near the hilt and grew steadily wider until in the space of a handbreadth it drew to a perfect point. Jephthah had thought the sword was light before, but now, free of the scabbard, it was as though he held nothing at all. Perfectly balanced, the sword was an extension of his arm, and he instantly knew why Master Shobi had warned them not to play with them. Jephthah was consumed with the desire to jab and cut. Such a weapon demanded to be used. He swung the blade a few times, listening to it swoosh and hiss. Then he pointed the sword to the sky, aiming toward the heavens along its shaft. And suddenly, the world was changed before his eyes.

The bright morning sun was gone, faded to twilight. He heard the voices of the others grow quiet, then silent. His arm holding the sword transformed, becoming the warrior’s arm as it had when he fought with Zephon: the same rippled muscle and scar from elbow to wrist. Slowly, he lowered the sword toward the horizon, knowing exactly what he would see there. But he was wrong.

He didn’t see an enemy’s serried ranks standing in front of him like before, just a woman and a girl. The woman was a stunning, dark beauty. Her eyes fixed on him, captivating him. He wanted her, and he knew she wanted him. But he could see something else in those eyes, a deep sorrow and grief, a life of misery from beginning to end. Then the woman turned toward the girl, and Jephthah followed her gaze. The girl was young, fresh, and innocent. There was no hint of pain or grief in her eyes, and there never would be. She would know carefree joy for all eternity. Jephthah didn’t know how he knew these things, but he was certain of it.

He sensed that there was someone behind him, and looking over his shoulder, he saw that Shimei was there. It was Shimei as a grown man, but it was him. He stood silent and grim. He began to shake his head in reproach. Jephthah tried to say something to him, but he couldn’t. Turning away from Shimei and looking back to the woman and the girl, Jephthah felt a familiar shift in his stance. He was preparing to strike them! He tried to resist, but it was as though an unseen force was controlling him. He tried to lower his sword or sheathe it, but instead he saw the tip waver between the woman and the girl, choosing who to strike. He was poised to spring at them and knew he couldn’t stop. He could only direct his attack on one or the other. He leapt.

“Jephthah?” said Shimei.

“Huh?” Jephthah said, startled.

“I said, ‘Beautiful, eh?’”

“Who? The—” he stopped. He’d nearly asked, The woman?

“The swords,” said Shimei. “They’re gorgeous.”     

“Yeah,” Jephthah said, recovering himself. “Yes, they are.” He was still remembering the way Shimei stood shaking his head in the vision. He’d told Shimei about the lion dream, and the vision he’d had when he fought Zephon. But should he tell him about this one? This one made him feel guilty, dirty.

“Look at the one Nahash has,” said Shimei. “It’s iron.”

“It doesn’t look nearly as nice as these bronze ones,” Jephthah said.

Nahash’s blade glinted silver in the sunlight, but its color was a dull gray. Though, as Jephthah turned the bronze blade in his hand, he noticed that it too had an earthy color to it. It was only the sun that made it appear golden. He still favored the bronze blade.

“For the time being,” said Shobi, “the bronze is not only more appealing to the eye, but it makes a superior blade as well.”

“But we heard the New Metal could cut through anything,” Jephthah said.

“Myth and rumor,” said Shobi. “But the smiths who forge it make it stronger by the day. For now, the real advantage of iron is that it can be found everywhere. Soon, every farmer and herdsman among the Philistines and Hittites will carry an iron sword at his side.”

Jephthah sheathed the bronze sword and drew one of the iron ones. Other than the color, the iron sword seemed little different from the bronze. Perhaps it was a bit lighter, but Jephthah couldn’t be sure. But because of Shobi’s words he felt as though the iron had a different kind of weight, as though he held not just a sword but their destinies in his hand. He liked it.

“Enjoy it while you may,” Shobi said. “You won’t see them again for two or three years.” All the boys cried out their objections, but Shobi continued, “You must first learn to wield these before you handle a real blade.” He picked up three of the wooden swords and gave one to each of them.

“But, Master,” Jephthah protested, “we’ve already played with sticks, pretending they’re swords. We want to learn to use real swords.” Shimei and Nahash murmured their agreement.

“This is no game, Jephthah. This weapon,” Shobi said, tapping the blade of Jephthah’s upheld sword, “will kill whether you intend it or not.”

“But we’ll be careful,” said Jephthah.

“I have seen even skilled warriors killed in training, killed by their own friends and kin. I will not allow that to happen to any of you, even if you’d have it otherwise.”

“But… any kid can fight with sticks. We want to use the real swords.”

“Very well,” Shobi said, “we’ll try it your way, Jephthah. Give me that wooden sword.” Jephthah, suddenly unsure of himself, handed the sword to Shobi. “You will be glad that for my part, I will use this ‘stick,’ as you call it. You may use the iron.” Shobi quickly unlashed two shields from his camel and threw one at Jephthah, who caught it awkwardly between his free-hand and his sword-hand. Assuming a battle-ready stance with his sword and shield, Shobi said, “Attack.”

“Wh-What?” Jephthah stammered.

“You want to play with real swords? Here’s your chance to prove you’re ready. You’ve got an iron blade in your hands, let’s see you use it.”

Jephthah fumbled with the shield. It was heavy, and the handle felt too big for his hand. He raised the sword and shield and realized he was unsure of what to do next. Master Shobi was not a small man, but there appeared to be much less of him when he assumed his defensive posture. It shouldn’t have been possible, but it seemed that he was protected by shield and sword from every possible angle. He decided to strike at the only target that looked available. He would swing the sword straight down at the crown of Shobi’s head. Shobi would surely block it with his shield, but if he swung hard enough, perhaps Shobi would stumble back and offer an opening in his defense. Jephthah brought his sword back and was about to drive it down and forward with all his strength. But just as he did so, Shobi’s sword came poking out from behind his shield and stabbed Jephthah in the chest. All thought of attack vanished as Jephthah collapsed, curled up on himself and writhed like a bug. He felt like his breastbone had been split in two.

“A very common mistake,” said Shobi, “for beginners. You let your shield drift to the side as you prepared to strike. It’d be a very costly lesson to learn on an iron point. Now, ready yourself again.”

The searing pain in Jephthah’s chest was already diminishing into a dull throb. He knew he was badly bruised, but he also knew that he could still fight. This time, as he lifted his sword and shield, he mimicked Shobi’s stance. But he still saw no opening to strike at.

“Attack!” Shobi demanded.

Then he saw it. A few inches of Shobi’s side were exposed between his shield and sword. He decided to jab at his side, attacking in the same way that Shobi had. But when Jephthah stabbed with the sword, the little bit of Shobi he was aiming at was eclipsed by the Master’s shield. Shobi had thrust forward with his shoulder and all his weight behind the shield. And before Jephthah had time to react, he was struck by an avalanche of shield and Shobi. His sword glanced off to the side an instant before he was sent twisting backward through the air. He landed with his shield under him and was surprised to find that he was unhurt. He scrambled to get up and attack again, but before he even got to one knee, he saw the tip of Shobi’s sword waggling in front of his face.

“You must learn that this is a weapon too,” Shobi said, holding out the shield. Then, he tossed it aside and said, “Now, get up and attack me again.”

Jephthah rose and saw the Master standing there without a shield, and the sword hanging at his side. He hesitated.

“Attack!” Shobi ordered.

“But, Master, you’re defenseless.”

“Yes. And when you train with Shimei and Nahash, will they not be defenseless at times? If you cannot bring yourself to attack me now, you are not ready to wield that sword. Now, are you going to strike? Or are you only fit for a shepherd’s staff?”

Shobi’s provocation worked. Jephthah reared back to swing, this time being sure to keep his shield up. He brought the sword down in a diagonal arc, aiming at Shobi’s left shoulder. At the last possible second, Shobi took a small step to the left and leaned to the side. The blade whistled along his right flank, almost grazing his clothes. Jephthah’s momentum from the effort of the attack left him off balance, leaning forward. So when the flat of Shobi’s sword smacked into the back of his neck, he pitched facedown into the dirt.

While Jephthah got up, Shobi said, “When each of you has lasted an entire phase of the moon without being so much as touched with a wooden sword—yours or mine—I will consider bringing out the bronze and iron.” This time, none of the boys protested. “Sheathe the metal swords and take up a wooden one.” The boys did as they were told and watched as Shobi rolled up the bundle of bronze and iron swords, knowing that it would be a very long time before they saw them again.

However, as Jephthah hefted the wooden sword in his hand, he realized that it was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship too. He’d forgotten that as a bowyer, Shobi was a skilled woodworker. Made of birch, it had nearly the same weight as the metal swords, and the leaf-blade design was precisely the same. Training with them would be just like using the real thing, and as Jephthah had already learned, they gave a painful reminder of the cost of losing a sword fight.

Once Shobi had them all equipped with wooden swords and shields, he instructed them in defensive postures for the rest of the morning. He would assume a battle stance and give the boys a few minutes to memorize it. “Study every angle,” he would say, “the positions of my feet, hands, arms, sword, and shield. Now, imitate it exactly.” Then, as the boys attempted to imitate the stance, he would walk amongst them correcting them, repositioning them when necessary. “Each one of these stances will save your lives countless times. When performed correctly, they offer an enemy no target and will allow you to parry any attack with ease.”

The exercises were very boring, but none of the boys made a single complaint, not eager to see another demonstration of Master Shobi’s expertise. Besides, even without complaining, Shobi gave them all plenty of reminders of his vast experience. Once he had them all in the correct stance, he would make them hold it for what seemed like hours. As Shobi paced slowly in front of them, it was as though he could see right past their defenses and into their very minds. Jephthah would begin to feel his arm grow tired holding the shield up, and Shobi’s wooden sword would be there instantly, whacking down on his shoulder, right across the bone. And as if the pain wasn’t enough, Shobi would always mention the consequences. “You let your shield droop, Jephthah. Do that in battle and a skilled opponent will put a notch in your shoulder. Your shield will clatter to the ground, and your head will follow it shortly.” Or when Nahash would grow impatient of the stance and shuffle his feet slightly, Shobi would swat his shins with the sword and say, “Learn to fight from your knees, son. A patient opponent will cut your legs out from under you.” By midday, Jephthah, Shimei, and Nahash were covered with nicks and bruises from Shobi’s sword. Finally, Shobi said, “That is enough of the sword for today. Lay them aside and we will continue with hand-to-hand.”

As they all laid their weapons down, Nahash said, “We already practice this, father.”

“Yes, that’s unfortunate.”

“Why?” Nahash asked.

“It makes my task infinitely more difficult because you think you know something,” Shobi said. “You all fight like boys trying to beat other boys. But you must fight like men seeking to kill another man. Jephthah has this instinct by nature, you and Shimei must learn it. Shimei, would you spar with me to demonstrate?”

“I guess so,” Shimei said.

Jephthah and Nahash took a couple steps back from Shimei and Shobi as they both assumed a fighting stance. Shimei knew he was in for it. Master Shobi was obviously an expert in all types of combat. Nevertheless, Shimei tried to put it out of his mind, and treat it like any other fight. Just because he was sure to take a beating was no reason to give up. He knew that Master Shobi would not be fooled by a feint, so he tried something a little different.

When an inexperienced fighter fakes an attack with one hand, then attacks with the other, the feint is usually plain to see. The motion looks unnatural, and one can tell that the real attack will come from the other hand. Shimei made one of these bad feints with his right arm, but when the attack should have come from his left, he truly did strike with his right in a fierce jab. The resulting punch was difficult to anticipate, and it had worked before. However, Shobi must have seen this trick. He dodged the blow, and Shimei anticipated the counter-punch to his right side which was left open by his missed attack. By reflex, he braced himself, flexing his torso. But the impact never came. Instead, as Shobi stepped to avoid Shimei’s fist, he pushed Shimei’s shoulder so that his own momentum turned him around, his back facing Shobi. Before Shimei could react, he felt Shobi’s forearm cinch around his throat and stop his breath. As quickly as he had executed the maneuver, Shobi released him from the hold. Shimei coughed and Shobi addressed them all.

“There is no advantage in striking a man’s face or body, except that it stuns him and allows you to strangle him or break his neck. If you don’t need to strike him at all, so much the better. When you saw me dodge, you all expected me to punch him in the kidneys or ribs. That’s because you all fight to win, but I fight to kill, and you must do the same. Shimei… again.”

Knowing that he’d never land a punch or kick on Shobi, Shimei simply charged at him, hoping to tackle him to the ground and maybe get an arm around his throat. Shobi tried to side-step him, but Shimei was still able to get his arms around his waist and drive forward, sending them toppling to the ground. Shimei thought that he had the upper hand, but as they fell, Shobi grabbed one of his arms and made a twisting, elusive motion. Shimei didn’t understand what happened; he just had the feeling that something was going terribly wrong as they fell. In a blink, Shimei felt the ground on his chest and Shobi’s knee in his back. Shobi said, “Once you have a man down like this, you can throttle him or twist his head around to face you. Either one will do the job.”

Shobi got off of Shimei and offered his hand to help him up. Shimei refused the offer. He stood and dusted himself off.

“You’re angry?” Shobi asked.

“Yes.”

“You think I’ve hurt you too much?”

“No, I don’t mind a few bruises to learn a lesson.”

“Then it is the lesson itself that bothers you.”

“Yes.”

“You think it’s wrong to kill a defenseless man? To snap his neck while your knee keeps his spine pinned to the ground?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Sit down, all of you. We must settle this right now.” They sat down together, cross-legged, facing each other, and Shobi said to them, “In the next five or six years I will teach you all the skills of war: every weapon and every stratagem I know. But this one thing I tell you now is more important than anything else.” He paused, gazing at each of them before he continued. “There is no place for mercy or honor in war: none. Once you are engaged in battle, your only concern is to kill every man opposed to you in any way that you can, and in the easiest way possible. Eliminate as many men as you can at long range with arrows. Let them rain down both before the attack and while the enemy retreats: a shaft in the back is as good as one in the chest. And if any officer or king is foolish enough to offer you a mark, be sure you don’t miss it. His rank does not protect him.

“In the confusion of close combat, kill the wounded, kill men already fighting one of your men, kill the men who cower in fear, and kill the men who drop their arms and beg for mercy; it will save you from killing them later when they turn on you.” The boys stared at him, shocked by his ruthless instructions. “I tell you this because this is how you will be treated in return. War is monstrous. The one kindness that you may show your enemy is in avoiding conflict altogether. Hold negotiations, make concessions and pacts, but once the battle is joined, the man who takes advantage of every mistake or hesitation is the man who lives.

“Now, this is the first I’ve told you this. If you think you have no stomach for war, then there is no point in continuing your training. Can you hew a man down when he stumbles in the fray, and he’s helpless before you for just an instant? Can you thrust your blade through a man who hugs your knees, pleading for you to spare him? If not, tell me now.” The boys said nothing. They all looked down at the ground in front of them. Shimei felt like Shobi’s gaze lingered on him longer than the other two. “All right, let’s have a morsel to eat and finish the afternoon with archery.” Shobi gave them each a piece of bread and a lump of cheese from one of his panniers.

As they ate, he led them to a range of targets he’d set-up early that morning. The targets were in the shape of men.

“From now on, these are the marks you will shoot at. You have to learn where to hit a man. Nahash, get your bow and three arrows from the camel, and put three arrows in the first target.”

There were three targets. The first was about twenty paces away, the second was twenty paces beyond that, and the third twenty more beyond that. Nahash shot his three arrows in quick succession. He could separate a grape from its stem at twenty paces.

“Good,” Shobi said. “Follow me.” He led them up to the target and looked closely at where each arrow struck.

Up close, Jephthah could see that the targets were made of odd scraps. The torso was made of old blankets, leather, and rags all bound in a roll, and tied to a wooden backing. There was a thinner roll for the neck, and a tightly wound ball for the head. All of this was fastened to a man-high pole that Shobi had driven into the ground. The arms and legs were just sticks with strips of goat hide tied to them. Nahash’s arrows were lodged in the center of the head, throat, and chest.

“All excellent shots. But which one is the best?” Shobi asked.

“The one in the head, I suppose,” said Nahash.

“No. This one,” Shobi said, touching the nock of the arrow that was stuck in the chest.

“It’s the easiest shot. I could have put all three in the chest if I wanted.”

“And from now on, that’s what I want you to do.”

“Why?”

“Because the skull is made of hard, curving bone. Arrows often glance off to the side rather than penetrate. If you hit a man in the forehead, he’ll bleed horribly, and he’ll not get much attention from the women anymore, but he may live to kill you later in the siege, maybe even later that day. And as for your throat shot, yes, it would kill the man instantly. But you won’t make that shot every time. A little to the left or the right and you’ve wasted a shaft.

“But if you always aim for the center of the chest, you may miss by a handbreadth up or down, or to either side and still kill your man. And if you misjudge your distance to the target so that you shoot high or low, but you are still true to center, the man will die. With an arrow in his throat, it will be swift. With an arrow in his liver or guts, it takes more time. But he won’t give you any more trouble in battle.

“You must learn that every shaft you shoot is precious. Every one of them must find a deadly mark, or you will pay dearly for it.”

“But, Master,” said Shimei, “won’t we ruin a lot of arrows shooting at these targets?”

“Yes, a great deal of them. The bronze points can be re-sharpened, but many of the reed shafts will be split, and many fletches will be ruined.”

At this, Nahash groaned. He had often told Jephthah and Shimei how much he hated fletching arrows and attaching the bronze heads. It was boring work, and it seemed to go on forever.

“And for my purposes,” Shobi continued, “I am glad that there will be a high cost to your practice. It will reinforce the importance of making each shot count. In the heat of battle, there is no time for errant shots. You must treat every arrow as though it were your last.”

“Having to replace the broken arrows will definitely remind us of that,” Nahash muttered to Jephthah and Shimei. But Shobi heard him too.

“You don’t know the half of it, my son. Or, perhaps I should say, the tenth of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“No matter how much you practice, we still need to be producing a surplus of arrows, both for my business as a bowyer and for our own armory. So, at the end of each day, I will inspect the targets. For each shot that I judge a kill-shot, you will owe me one arrow only. For each miss, you will owe me ten.”

“Ten arrows? Even for the far target?” Nahash protested.

“Yes,” said Shobi, chuckling. “We can’t have you missing a target simply because it’s far away. For now, I want you to take twenty-five shots every day: ten at close range, ten at mid-range, and five long-range.”

Nahash and Shimei both thought about how many arrows they would have to make. But Jephthah had something else in mind. “So, we’ll all be taking turns with Nahash’s bow?”

Shobi smiled. “No, Jephthah, not anymore. Follow me.”

Shobi led them back to his camel. Jephthah could feel his hands start to shake with anticipation. From the same long, straight bundle where Nahash had pulled his bow, Shobi brought out two more. He presented one to Jephthah and one to Shimei. “Though these bows look similar to each other, and much like Nahash’s as well, each one is unique. Keep them separate and mark them if you have to. Each one is crafted to your stature, so only practice with your own. These bows are for you and no other.”

Shimei said, “Thank you, Master Shobi.” Jephthah tried to say the same, but he couldn’t. He was crying. When Master Shobi said that the bow was for him and no one else, his eyes filled, and he felt his breath hitch. He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t stop. He was a mistake, not a true-born son. His own father had never given him so much as a toy sling. When he tried to thank Shobi, the Master heard him choke, saw his face flush with shame, and said, “Nahash, Shimei, unlash those quivers and three bundles of arrows from the camel.” When they left, he put a firm hand on Jephthah’s shoulder for a moment, before turning away to let him weep alone.

Once all the equipment was unloaded and set in front of the targets, Shobi said, “Before you shoot today, I want you all to put on a belt, sheath, and sword. You need to practice while wearing all the equipment that you’ll be wearing in battle. Otherwise, you’ll not be used to it, and the string may foul on the sword hilt when you draw.” He passed out the belts with the scabbards threaded through them. It took the boys a long time to get them cinched and fitted to their waists, and they had to stop and start again several times. The sword at his side felt unnatural to Jephthah, but it made him feel powerful too.

“From now on, you are to wear these everywhere,” Shobi said. “While you train, while you work, even while you eat. The sword at your side feels awkward right now. But it must become so that you feel incomplete without it, as though part of you is missing.”

“Do we need to wear them as we sleep?” quipped Shimei.

“Wear them? No. But they must never be out of reach,” said Shobi. “If you are to be a part of my rebellion against the king, battle will not always announce itself with trumpets. We will be set upon in the night, betrayed by allies, hunted by men who would gain my brother’s favor. I will not take the pains to turn you into warriors just to see you cut down in your sleep, or while you take your dinner.” Shobi then gave them each a shield. “Also, you need not carry these everywhere, but they should never be far. And when you practice your archery, you need to have them strapped across your back.” Again, it was sometime before the boys were able to get the shields secured on themselves so that they wouldn’t slip and fall at the slightest movement.

“But father, we can’t shoot like this,” said Nahash, as he went through the motions of drawing a bow and felt his elbow bump into the shield.”

“I have no intention of being your personal shield bearer, Nahash. And I don’t think that Jephthah or Shimei do either. In time, you won’t even notice it’s there. Now, twenty-five shots each. I want to see those targets bristling with shafts.”

The boys began to shoot. Both Jephthah and Shimei had gotten enough practice with Nahash’s bow that they were already good shots at twenty paces. However, they were using their own bows now, and they had to adjust their aim to compensate, and even Nahash had a bit of difficulty shooting with the new equipment dangling from him. Despite these challenges, the first target was butchered, with only one of the arrows missing it completely. But the target at forty paces wasn’t nearly as unfortunate, and the one at sixty paces was merely grazed twice.

Shobi surveyed the targets and said, “It seems I’ll have to go down to the river and cut a great swath of reeds. I often trade for them, but I don’t know of any supplier who has them in the quantity you’ll need. It looks like you already owe me about four hundred arrows. Nahash, take Jephthah and Shimei to the tent and show them how we make arrows. Because this is the first day with the new equipment, I will let you work until sunset and consider the quota filled. I have a few more caches to visit, more weapons to retrieve.”

“You have even more weapons, Master?” asked Jephthah.

“Yes. Many more,” said Shobi.

“Like what?”

“Spears for one. I’ll at least let you handle those tomorrow, perhaps begin training with them next week.”

Jephthah said, “I had no idea that there was so much to learn.” Shobi chuckled. “What?” Jephthah asked.

“You say that you had no idea how much there is to learn, but you do not even know how much you don’t know.”

“Like what?”

“Today we practiced six stances with the sword. There are many more. Then there are hundreds of defensive maneuvers, and as many offensive ones. And there are techniques for when you lose your shield in battle, and you’re left only with your sword, and also techniques for when you’re left only with your shield. And, of course, everything changes when you’re fighting more than one opponent.” Jephthah was sufficiently overwhelmed by this small glimpse of all the skills that he had yet to learn, but Shobi continued: “You are beginning to grasp archery, but it must become second nature, so that you think no more of firing an arrow than of throwing a stone. You must also learn the use of a spear, both how to throw one and make use of it in close combat.

“Then, once you’ve mastered the use of all these weapons, I’ll teach you to use them from the back of a horse. Can you ride a horse?”

“No,” Jephthah said.

“How long will this take, Master?” Shimei asked.

“It is the study of an entire lifetime. In five or six years, you will be a fair hand at all of these skills, but adept at none.” He mounted his camel and said, “Get started on making those arrows. I’ll be back an hour past dark.” Then he urged the camel forward, and they shuffled off eastward.

“Well, let’s go,” said Nahash.

“What’s your hurry?” Jephthah asked. “We have to work until sunset.”

“I thought we could get a bunch done now and quit early.”

“Then we could try some of the new sparring moves that your dad taught us,” said Jephthah.

“Let’s work till about an hour before sunset,” said Nahash. “Since I have to teach you how to fletch and how to attach heads, dad has no way of knowing how many arrows we should have made. Right?”

“Right,” said Shimei, “the same way he had no way of knowing we were sparring and shooting together.”

“He’s got to be headed to a town or a village if he’s going to be gone for the rest of the afternoon, and there’s nothing nearby,” said Nahash. “Don’t worry.”

 #

Incredible, Shobi thought. His errands finished, he sat behind the very same shrub that he had on the previous day. It was late in the afternoon, and he watched as the boys sparred. How could they not know that he watched them closely? They would learn. Tomorrow, he would work them hard. They would wonder why he was being so harsh, and he would drop small hints that he knew what they’d been up to the previous night. But he’d never let them know for sure.

He had been watching them like this for months now, though the boys were oblivious to it. This too was a part of their training. Shobi was observing their natural tendencies, learning their personalities, and deciding how to best train them. He was even learning a great deal about Nahash. He had raised the boy himself, but boys behave much differently in the company of their peers.

Shobi was disheartened to realize that Nahash would not be their leader. After all, he was his son and the heir to all of Ammon as well. Shobi could see that Nahash had the makings of a good soldier and even a good leader of soldiers. But he was not the leader of this little gang, and he never would be. Shobi was also somewhat disappointed that Shimei was not their leader. He was the wisest and most insightful member of the crew. But, of course, they followed Jephthah. In everything they did, he was the center of it. Even from his vantage point, where he could hear no words, Shobi could see it. As they joked, argued, and postured, the other two would always look to Jephthah for approval.

Shobi hadn’t decided whether this was good or bad. He knew that boys—and men for that matter—always gravitated to Jephthah’s type. His strength, his confidence, his audacity, these things would always draw men to him. He could be a genuinely fine leader or just another thug, a tyrant in waiting. Only time would tell.

Whatever the case may be, Shobi knew that his own fortunes were turning. He smiled as he watched them testing each other. Nahash would be deadly with a sword; that much was obvious. He had patience, but when he struck, he was quick and precise. As for Shimei, anyone could see that he was going to be a great brute of a man, but he was very clever as well. As a soldier, this intelligence would manifest as cunning and guile. He would be a crafty warrior, as dangerous with his wits as he was with a spear. And Jephthah, well, he would be almost as good with a sword as Nahash, and nearly as strong as Shimei, but he had passion that neither of them could match. He would never know fear, never contemplate failure or defeat. In combat, he would be reckless and fey, and despite that, he would not fall in battle. Shobi simply knew it for a fact. He’d seen it time and again. Jephthah was one of those uncanny warriors who come striding out of a deadly fray unscathed. It was as though the very gods had tempered him against harm.

Together, there was no limit to what they could do. He would teach them, train them, and finally, direct them.

There was sure to be a bloody reckoning in Rabbah.