Jephthah: Chapter 6 & 7

Read previous chapters here:

Jephthah: Prologue & Chapter 1

Jephthah: Chapter 2 & 3

Jephthah: Chapter 4

Jephthah: Chapter 5

Audio: Chapter 6 & 7

Part Two: The Man

A gang of worthless thieves gathered around him, and it was about this time that the Ammonites began their war with Israel.

Judges 11: 3-4

Chapter Six

“We must unite the tribes!” he shouted. “Forget the petty bickering and form an army to fight the Ammonites.” The young man stood on a stone bench near the city gates. In the small crowd before him, a few had come to listen to the council, and some had stopped as they passed by when they heard the arguing, but most continued to pass by. No one seemed convinced.

“Listen to me! Me and my family had to flee across the Jordan. The east side of the river is overrun. They don’t raid and leave anymore. They raid and stay. They’re taking back the land. You think you’re safe in Shiloh? You’re not! They’ve made raids west of Jordan. The river is no protection. They’ll take this city too!”

“Fool,” someone said. “Philistines are the real problem.”

“I know the Philistines are coming, but the Ammonites are here!”

“The tribe of Dan will not join with you unless you promise to confront the Philistines,” the man said.         

“Manasseh neither,” said another, both men leaders of their tribes.

“Fine!” the speaker continued. “Who cares whether it’s Ammon or Philistia? The point is that we have to unite. We’ve got to save ourselves. The gods have abandoned us. We’ve called on all of them and we’ve heard nothing. We’ve even called on the God of our fathers and heard nothing. The smoke’s still rising off the temples of Chemosh, Milcom, and Asherah. You thought that by burning them you might get Yahweh’s attention, but he doesn’t care! We have to save ourselves!”

Apart from the crowd, but still within earshot, two elders of the city sat watching. They’d heard about the council of war and arrived early to find a place at the edge of the city square.

“Well, what do you think of this young firebrand?”

“Oh, probably the best so far today,” Shemaiah said.

“Think he’ll pull it off?”

“No. Hardly anyone’s listening. Half the tribes aren’t even represented.”

“True. Zebulun didn’t make the trip, and Ephraim stuck to their tents.”

“As for the ones who are here… well, they fled here because they saw the strength of the enemy, didn’t they? They know we’re all dead men, that it’s only a matter of time…”

“And those who haven’t seen the enemy don’t know what the problem is.”

“Exactly.”

It was a hot afternoon, the kind where the dust from the square rises up at the slightest stirring to hang in the air. Word had gotten around Shiloh that a few tribal leaders were in the city to discuss the foreign invaders who’d been plundering the countryside. Depending on where the tribal leader was from, each one had a different notion of which foreign invader was the greatest danger, and what should be done about it. At first, the people were concerned about the talk of war. But now, in the heat of the day, and with the speakers not even agreeing on who the enemy was, the talk of raiders seemed less important than the day’s trip to the market, or a cool drink in the shade. Even as the young man railed, the people began to mutter and fidget with impatience.

“He’s losing them,” said Azariah.

“That he is,” said Shemaiah.

“It’s just as well. We’re about to lose our shade.” They were sitting on a large piece of rubble where one section of the city wall had crumbled. The decrepit wall cast the merest sliver of a shadow in the midday sun.

“Please, listen!” the speaker cried. “I watched my whole village burnt to the ground, seen friends and family slain right in front of me. It will happen here too.”

“And what will you do about it!” someone piped up.

This was the moment the young man had been waiting for.

“If you will make me your leader,” he said, “If you will name me Judge of Israel, I will defeat the Ammonites.”

At this, a few in the crowd laughed and scoffed.

“Well, he’s made his bid, hasn’t he?” Azariah said.

“That he has. Saw that one comin’.”           

“He doesn’t have it in him.”

“No?”

“No. It’s the Lord that picks the Judges; the man just heeds the call. I should know.”

Shemaiah just listened. He knew which story was coming, and he’d heard it many times before. But it made Azariah happy to tell it, and the young man’s pleas weren’t very interesting anyway.

“Now, Gideon, he was a proper Judge of Israel,” Azariah continued. “Picked by Yahweh Elohim, he was, and he didn’t want the job either. But he was the man for it. I was in the flower of my youth when he rallied us. And no man balked when he called us to arms. More than fifty thousand men mustered under Gideon’s banner…”

Thirty thousand was the number Shemaiah had heard. And, truth be told, he thought it was probably a lot less than that.

“…but it was only three hundred he needed. God and Gideon defeated over one hundred thousand Midianites, Amalekites, and Kedemites with just three hundred men.”

“And were you one of the three hundred, Azariah?” Shemaiah knew that he wasn’t. But if he had to listen to the story over and over, he was going to make Azariah confess it every time.

“Nope. Wasn’t chosen. Every day, I wish I had been. What it must have been like… to smash those jars… to cry out, ‘For God and for Gideon!’ and run charging into that camp… I can’t imagine it.” Azariah’s eyes glassed over as he stared far off. “Ah, Shemaiah, where are the warriors? Where are the champions? Where are those heroes of old who would put our enemies to flight?” he asked sadly. “This man here, he can’t even win over this crowd, let alone fifty thousand men. Listen to them jeer.”

“What will we do for arms if we follow you?”

“Yeah, can you work iron?”

“No,” he replied, “but I can lead men.”

“Men without weapons.”

“Listen,” he continued, “we’ll gather all the swords that we can and form raiding parties of our own. We’ll plunder some of these new Ammonite settlements.”

Azariah turned to Shemaiah and said, “These young troublemakers come and go. He’ll get a few boys rounded up, go on the warpath, get himself killed, and we’ll never hear from him again.”

“At least he’s got a plan. Hear what he’s saying now?” Shemaiah said, gesturing toward the young man.

“Once we’ve raided a couple of their smaller camps, taken their weapons, and armed our own people, then we can take back some of our villages. Cities too.”

“That would take years,” Azariah said. “It’s hardly a plan.”

“But look, he’s turning them,” Shemaiah said.

It was true. The people had stopped hurling insults and asking snide questions. Suddenly, all of their questions were about how or when they should attack the Ammonites, as though they’d already decided to take action.

“And why shouldn’t they listen?” Shemaiah continued. “Look at him: he’s young, strong, fearless. I doubt that Gideon would have left him behind.”

“I wasn’t left behind!” Azariah shouted. “The three hundred were chosen by chance. Pure, dumb luck was all they had going for them. I should know. I knew some of those chosen men!”

“All right, calm down.”

“This man’s no Judge. If they follow him, it’ll be to their death.”

“But if they’re doomed anyway, if we truly are forsaken, shouldn’t they do something?”

Then, as the crowd continued with their questions, and as Azariah and Shemaiah carried on the same conversation they had at least once a week, a new voice rang out from the city gate.

“Now, hear the words of the Lord!”

Everyone stopped and turned to regard this stranger standing at the city’s entrance. And it was not just the crowd assembled at the gate who stopped and stared, but also the passersby, and people at the market bordering the courtyard. Complete stillness settled over all of Shiloh. Dogs broke off their barking, and donkeys gasped mid-bray. Both man and beast felt a fearsome presence enveloping them.

“Gods above,” Azariah muttered, “that was the Emmeth Dabar: the true speech of God, not heard in Israel since the days of my youth.”

The man standing at the gate was scrawny as a reed and wore a ratty shirt of coarse hair. He could be no more than thirty years old, but he was worn down like a man more than twice that age. He was wind-burned and sun-scorched. His hair and beard grew wild and tattered like weeds left unchecked. Both would have been longer if he hadn’t been pulling hair out by the fistful, which it was plain to see he had. He was covered with wounds and scars both fresh and ancient across his shoulders where he had obviously whipped himself during his frenzies. He was a prophet.

“I come to you in the name of Yahweh Elohim: the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. You have broken the Covenant between you and the Lord. It was Yahweh Elohim who chose Abraham as his servant, who gave you the name Israel, who delivered you out of Egypt, and who led you here, to the Promised Land. But you’ve rejected him. Now hear his words: You did not honor me alone, as I commanded. Instead, you carved gods out of wood and stone and followed these pagan gods of lesser nations that I drove out before you, the Baals of Ammon, Moab, and Canaan. And so, I have left you to these gods, and let you suffer under all of the cruel nations who follow them.”

The prophet stopped speaking, but the feeling of impending doom remained. All felt naked and vulnerable, sure that the city was about to be swallowed by the earth, or fire would rain down from the sky. Not knowing what else to do, the people began to cry out.

“Yahweh, have mercy!”

“We’re sorry!”

“We burned the temples of Milcom and Chemosh!”

“Deliver us, please!”

Some were pleading to the prophet and others to God. They wanted deliverance, forgiveness, but more than anything, they wanted to be free of the presence. Holy terror had gripped them all, having never felt the gaze of an angry god. The prophet raised his hand, and all went silent again.

“The Lord has heard your prayers. He watched as you burned the altars of the Baals. And because you have turned back to Him, He will have mercy on you. Your deliverance is near. Even before you repented, even as you were sacrificing to the gods of Canaan, the Lord was raising up a Judge who will crush the Ammonites and show you once again that there is a God in Israel.”

The people cheered. They sent up a chorus of praise and thanks to Yahweh. The prophet let them rejoice for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“The Lord is sending His servant, your Judge, from across the Jordan. He’s a son of Gilead from the village of Tabbath—”

“You see, brothers,” said the young man, interrupting the prophet and striding over to join him by the gate, “Yahweh Himself has sent me to you. I am the man the prophet speaks of: Zephon, son of Gilead, of the village of Tabbath. And I will—”

Zephon never finished his sentence. The prophet raised his hand, and Zephon’s eyes grew wide as his breath caught in his throat.

“Hear the words of the Lord,” the prophet said, glaring at Zephon. Then he continued, “Your deliverer comes from across Jordan. He’s a son of Gilead from the village of Tabbath, a lion from the tribe of Gad, and his name is Jephthah. So says the Lord.”

The prophet stopped speaking, and the trance was broken. Zephon heaved as he was allowed to breathe again, and the people began to buzz with excitement. Azariah stood up and yelled, “This was the Emmeth Dabar: true-speech from Elohim Himself. I heard it in the days of Gideon.” The crowd cheered. But amidst the cries of “We’re saved!” and “Yahweh Jireh!” one voice protested.

“Quiet! Quiet! People, this can’t be true!” Zephon shouted. And once he managed to calm the crowd, he said again, “Listen, this can’t be true.”

The people hushed again, astounded that Zephon dared to deny the prophet’s words.

The prophet looked at Zephon. “Do you name Yahweh Elohim a liar?” he asked.

“No! I…” Zephon stammered. “Prophet, all I’m saying is this man you’re talking about is dead. Died years ago.”

The prophet said nothing. He simply stared at Zephon. Zephon couldn’t endure his gaze and had to look away. Then someone in the crowd voiced the question that Zephon feared, the question he felt the prophet was asking.

“What do you know about it, Zephon?”

“Yeah, how would you know?” another said.

“He was my brother, my half-brother. He ran away from the village when he was a kid. Stole a sheep and ran off into the desert. He never could’ve survived.”

The crowd didn’t know who to believe.

“My brothers are all here with me,” he said indicating Ozni, Eri, Ezbon, and Maki, who were all standing in the crowd. “They’ll tell you the same thing.”

However, none of Zephon’s brothers looked eager to take sides against the prophet.

“Prophet,” Zephon continued, “I know you speak for the Lord, but our Judge has got to be one of Gilead’s other sons. Jephthah’s dead.”

“The Lord did not say to me that he is alive or dead. Only that Jephthah will Judge Israel.”

But this was not enough for the crowd. Zephon’s words withered their new hope like the untended vines in orchards where their enemies roved in packs. Despite the words of the prophet, and the awesome power that had settled over Shiloh only a few minutes ago, it was easier to believe Zephon. It was easier to believe that the prophet had made some mistake. They wanted proof.

“Give us a sign!” someone yelled.

“Yes! A sign like Gideon’s fleece!” cried another.

As they continued to demand a sign from God, the prophet shook his head, turned, and began to shuffle away from the city. In the growing din, Zephon could be heard proclaiming that he was the lion of Gad, and Azariah, who hadn’t truly shouted in years, could be heard yelling that the prophet spoke with the voice of Yahweh Elohim. But every one of them was struck dumb instantly when the prophet raised his hand again. He turned back to them in anger.

“You hear the voice of the Lord, you feel it tingling in your ears, yet you demand a sign. You are the most faithless people ever spawned, useless as a woman’s monthly rag, and if it were left to me, I would scour this land of your filth.” The prophet seethed as he spat his words at the crowd. Then he sighed, and said, “But the Lord has spoken, and he is merciful. And for his own sake, for the love he holds for you, his people, and for the promises he made to your fathers, he will reach out and save you from the pit of ignorance. Even now, in this moment of your doubting, as you deny the truth from the mouth of his prophet, he opens his palm to cradle your failing hearts. Even now, he prepares your deliverance.”

Chapter Seven

Jephthah was a marvel. Hulking in his armor, sun glittering off his greaves, helm, and shield, he was impregnable. Yasha sat rubbing his face where Jephthah’s sword had smacked him. Bagad and Shobi regrouped searching for a weakness. When the three of them had closed in on Jephthah, Yasha had been the first to strike. Jephthah parried the blow so fiercely that Yasha’s sword was flung back, leaving him defenseless to Jephthah’s counterstroke. As he lashed out at Yasha with a killing blow, Jephthah deftly turned the sword so that it was the flat of the blade that crashed into Yasha’s helm and cheek.

But Shobi and Bagad had not been idle while Jephthah lashed out at Yasha. As Yasha first struck, they closed in on him. Shobi was slashing at his left side while Bagad’s sword stabbed from the right. Jephthah had his shield in position to deflect Shobi’s sword, and as he made a backward leap over Yasha’s crumpling form, Bagad’s blade only grazed the greave on his right leg.

Now, with only two left, Jephthah knew he had them, and they knew it too. Both Shobi and Bagad had taken defensive postures. They inched toward him from opposite sides, knowing that he might spring at them in attack or await theirs. Jephthah had his shield protecting his left side from Shobi, and he aimed his sword at Bagad, turning slowly to keep track of them as they advanced with small steps to the side, hoping he’d lose sight of one of them for just an instant. When he judged that they were close enough, Jephthah lunged towards Shobi and thrust his shield at him. Shobi was familiar with this attack, but from Jephthah, there was almost no defense for it. The wide shield of heavy wood and bronze that would weigh down another man was nothing to Jephthah. He struck out with his shield as though it were no more than a fat ring on his middle finger. Shobi swung his blade over Jephthah’s shield, but when the bronze boss of the shield hit him in the torso, his stroke lost all its strength, and his sword pinged harmlessly off Jephthah’s helm.

As Shobi was sent flying back, Jephthah had to parry several quick strikes from Bagad, who tried to get past Jephthah’s defenses before he could bring his shield arm around. But Jephthah was able to avoid the sword until he fully faced Bagad. Then he counter-attacked furiously, hoping to disable Bagad before Shobi was on him again. Bagad caught every blow with his shield and sword but couldn’t absorb the power of Jephthah’s assault. Overwhelmed, he had to give ground, stepping back faster and faster until he was virtually fleeing. He soon tripped, fell, and Jephthah poked him gently in the side with his sword.

Though it only took a second or two to dispatch Bagad, Jephthah knew that Shobi would already be up. Jephthah wheeled around. Shobi was standing, but he did not advance. As Jephthah approached him, Shobi dropped his arms and said, “Enough.” Jephthah did not lower his guard. The Master had used deception to beat him before. “No trickery,” Shobi said. “We’re finished. Let’s go get a drink.”

They all started toward the tents.

“Nice work,” Bagad said.

“Yeah, real nice,” complained Yasha.

“I gave you the flat, old man. Could have been the edge.”

“Well, next time do me a favor and cleave my head in two—it’ll hurt less.”

“Master,” Jephthah said, “do you hear this bellyaching?”

“We all hear it,” Shimei said.

“Well, I haven’t caught a whack like that in five years of constant raids,” said Yasha.

“Maybe you should go where the fighting is,” prodded Jephthah as they stepped under the canopy of the tent.

“You’re a menace.”

“I am,” Jephthah said, “and don’t you forget it.”

“It may be some time before you give him another reminder,” Shobi said.

“What do you mean?” Jephthah asked.

“I’ll explain in a minute. Everyone take a drink and a morsel or two. And take off your gear. We need to talk.”

“Now, father?” Nahash asked.

“Yes.”

“But it’s early. Aren’t we training anymore today?”

“No more today, tomorrow, or the day after for that matter.”

Shimei had just been easing off his breastplate, but now he stopped with his arm half free of the strap and looked over at Shobi. Nahash and Jephthah kept disarming themselves, but Yasha and Bagad were silent, unmoving.

“Why not?” asked Jephthah, not realizing the seriousness of the moment.

“Because it’s time for you to leave this place,” Shobi said.

“You mean for good, don’t you,” Shimei said.

“Yes.”

Now Nahash and Jephthah both looked up sharply. They’d known this day would come, but they’d thought it was years away. “But where will we go?” asked Nahash.

“I’m not sure.”

“But, Master,” Jephthah said, “we’re not finished with our training.”

“Certainly not. You should train with each other constantly. Always stay battle-ready. But I have taught you all that I can, experience is all you lack now. Besides, I’m afraid another blow like today will cave in this old chest, breastplate or no.”

“Master, if it’s about that, I won’t practice so hard,” Jephthah pleaded. “I didn’t mean—”

“Jephthah, I’m teasing you. It’s the only revenge I can have now. Hard practice is good practice. I’m the one who taught you that.”

“Why can’t we just… train with each other here, father?”

“Because someone knows you’re here.”

“What?” the boys exclaimed.

“Yesterday, in Rabbah’s marketplace, Yasha heard talk of you.”

They turned to Yasha, who simply nodded his head in answer.

“But we’ve been so careful,” Nahash said.

“We’ve never even seen the city gates,” muttered Jephthah. Often, he had wanted to see Rabbah, but Shobi would never allow it.

“Nevertheless, our secret is out,” Shobi said. “We’re lucky to have kept it quiet for so long. Think of how many times a customer or traveler has appeared on the horizon, and we’ve had to break off training. Surely more than one of them saw three bronze clad warriors slipping behind a tent flap.”

“What did you hear?” Shimei asked.

“Just a merchant talking to a farmer. The merchant says, ‘You live out the old bowyer’s way, don’t you?’ The farmer says he does, and the merchant asks if he’s seen the three warriors he keeps in his tents. The farmer says he hasn’t, but that he hears that one of them is like an eight-foot pillar of gold.”

“Wonder who that was,” Jephthah said. Shimei smiled. Jephthah and Nahash had grown tall, but Shimei looked down on them both. He wasn’t eight feet, but standing in full bronze armor, he looked like a statue in a temple to the gods.

Shobi said, “Soon, someone from the king’s army will show up asking questions: who you are, where you’re from, who trained you. We don’t want that kind of attention. Maybe they’d piece together who I am, maybe they wouldn’t. But you can be sure you’d be conscripted into the king’s service.”

Though the boys didn’t wish to leave yet, they understood the importance of secrecy. Shanib could not find out that Shobi, the rightful king, was still alive. This alone would have convinced them to find a new home. But Shobi’s next words gave them an even greater purpose. “Also,” he continued, “it is time to prepare for the attack on Rabbah.”

They all sat thinking about the immensity of that declaration. It was the final goal, the ultimate purpose of all their training. But it had always seemed so distant, maddeningly so. Shobi never spoke of it. Even when pressed, when they demanded to know when they would take the city, Shobi would give some cryptic answer like, ‘When the time is right.’ It drove them crazy, but now that the time was near, it seemed all too soon.

“But, before we can do that,” Shobi said, “we will need to raise an army. It will fall to you three to do this.”

The three older men sat staring at the three younger ones. Nahash was gazing out into the bright afternoon sun, as though judging whether it would rain that evening or not. He had inherited his father’s habit of concealing his thoughts. Shimei flicked pebbles at the wall of the tent, as he had since he was a child. Now it was quite comical: a huge beast of a man with hands like melons sifting tiny stones in the dirt. Jephthah sat with his legs folded, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his fist. The fingers of his left hand traced a scar on his right forearm. Shobi watched Jephthah absently stroking the maroon groove that ran from his elbow to his wrist. Three years ago, when they had first trained with sharpened swords, Shobi had given him that cut. And though Jephthah didn’t know it, he had done it on purpose.

Shobi smiled as he thought back to that day: both a test and a demonstration. The boys needed a reminder that this was a matter of life and death, and Shobi was curious to see how Jephthah would react. Jephthah’s response had been more than he had hoped for.

The two of them were sparring as Shimei and Nahash looked on. Jephthah was fighting tentatively, obviously worried about the sharp edges. Shobi parried one of Jephthah’s weak thrusts and kicked his shield so that it banged into his chin. “Fight like a man! Or I’ll take the rod to your backside, boy.” Then Jephthah came on harder, but he was still holding something back. Finally, Shobi dodged one of Jephthah’s jabs, and slashed his sword arm, opening the long gash. Jephthah erupted. He swung his shield around to collide with Shobi’s sword, making Shobi almost lose his grip on it. Jephthah tried to swing his own sword, but the wound was deep, and he could feel that his grip was weakened. He hurled his shield at Shobi and switched his sword to his left hand as Shobi dodged. Then he unleashed a flurry of blows on Shobi.

It wasn’t the first time that Shobi had provoked Jephthah to wrath, but it was the first time that he felt the inhuman power it unlocked in the boy who was now a young man. As Jephthah drove him back with murderous slashes, he realized that he was in a fight for his life. He alternately deflected the attacks with his sword and shield, but because of the colossal strength behind them, he could barely keep up.

After perhaps a dozen powerful strokes, Jephthah knocked Shobi’s sword aside, and before he had time to bring his shield to bear, Jephthah kicked hard, planting his foot in the middle of Shobi’s breastplate. The force of it launched Shobi up and back. He was winded when he landed. Almost the same instant that he hit the ground, Jephthah drove his sword deep into the earth, both hands wrapped around the pommel, just a finger’s breadth away from Shobi’s head. Shobi glanced at the sword that stood quivering by his ear, Jephthah’s blood running down its blade.

Nahash and Shimei were standing, having risen too late to intervene, but not knowing what else to do. No one said a word. Finally, Shobi said, “Let me look at that arm.” He dressed the wound in the midst of a stunned silence. No one had beaten Shobi yet. Nahash had gotten an edge on him only once, and he was by far the best swordsman. Shobi was still the teacher, still the Master, but something had changed. They could all feel it.

“So where do we go?” Jephthah asked, pulling Shobi back to the present task.

“Rabbah to start with,” Shobi said.

“You want us to go there now?” said Jephthah.

“Without me there, you’re just three young men walking around the city, no cause for alarm. No one has seen you up close, so no one will know that you’re the three young warriors that the old bowyer harbors.”

“And what exactly are we looking for?” Shimei asked.

“Nothing for right now,” said Shobi. “Just learn your way around the city. Look at the walls, the soldiers, the palace, always with an eye to how you’d lay siege to it.”

“And is that where we do our recruiting?” Shimei asked.

“That’d be a bad idea,” Yasha said.

“Leave the city recruiting to us,” said Bagad. “Yasha and I have both been soldiers at one point. The king has a lot of enemies in the city. We’ll talk to them when the time is right.”

“The king has a lot of enemies, period,” said Yasha.

“That’s true,” Shobi said. “Shanib is a tyrant. And one day soon, it will be his undoing.”

“But, father, where do we raise this army if not in the city? Who do we go to?”

“Outlaws.”

“But… you mean you want us to join up with criminals?”

“Nahash, there are many kinds of criminals. We’re criminals. My sole purpose is to kill the king. Every breath I take is a crime.”

“Okay,” said Jephthah, “but there’s no one else like you around, no other rightful kings hanging out in the desert.”

“No,” said Shobi, “but Shanib has ruled this land cruelly for nearly twenty years. He taxes the land heavily. He demands tribute from every town and village within his reach. When his buyers come to me for bows, they pay a fraction of my price and still demand a share of my profits. A man like Shanib turns good men into outlaws. Go find those men. Of course, there are scoundrels and villains who’d be thieves in any age, and you’d do best to avoid them. But look for those who’ve grown weary of my brother’s mastery.”

“People who want to get rid of the king aren’t going to be talking about it too loudly,” said Shimei.

“No,” said Yasha, “and those who do aren’t around for long. Shanib puts their heads on pikes along the city wall.”

“So we need to gather an army, but we need to do it quietly,” Jephthah said. “That’ll be easy.”

“Maybe not as hard as you think,” said Shobi. “There are many little bands of rebels wandering the outskirts of Rabbah. Join with one, bring a few together, you could find yourself at the head of a few hundred men very soon.”

“How many will it take to conquer Rabbah?” asked Nahash.

“Maybe… a couple thousand,” said Yasha.

“Less,” said Bagad, “a thousand would do.”

“Oh, well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Jephthah scoffed. “A thousand men? I’ve never even seen a hundred men in my whole life. How am I gonna do this?”

“Jephthah,” Shobi said, “I know it sounds impossible to you, but trust me. Trust in my knowledge of these things. If you simply go out into the world, explore these lands, roam the outskirts of Rabbah, the men will find you.”

“The men will find me,” Jephthah repeated. “You know, that isn’t exactly the kind of answer I was looking for.”

“I know. But as I said, your training is over. There are a few things that you—all of you—need to learn on your own.” Shobi let them think about his words, then added, “And you must go tonight.”

“No! Shobi, not tonight,” Bagad said. “We have stuff to get ready, and… we just can’t send them off tonight.”

“We must.”

“But Shobi—” Bagad stopped as Shobi shot him an angry glance. “Sorry, Master.”

Looking back to Shimei, Nahash, and Jephthah, Shobi said, “Each of you needs to pack a bedroll, food to last a few days, and your weapons. The swords and bows you may wear openly but conceal all your armor in your gear. By tomorrow, I want the old bowyer’s three warriors to be nothing but a marketplace rumor. Get ready to go now. Tonight, we’ll have one last meal together at sunset.”

The boys obediently went to their tent to begin to pack. Yasha and Bagad got up to go with them, but Shobi called Bagad back. When the others were gone, he said, “Bagad, how is it that you, who know who I am and have seen me in my palace, question my orders while these three simply do as they’re told?”

“Sorry, Master Shobi. It’s just… it just feels too soon. I’ve come to think of them as my own nephews or sons these last few years, especially Shimei. I feel like… I don’t know how to say it. When you talk to him, when you share a little bit of wisdom with him, it’s like you’re storing it up, hiding it away for the future, or something. You understand?”

“Yes,” Shobi nodded.

“He’s… he’s a deep one, and I’d like more time for us to teach him.”

“I know. But in sending them away we will teach them more than they could ever learn here. And you know they’ll be back now and then. They’ll need to rearm, to plan out a strategy.”

“Of course. But it will never be the same. We won’t wake up every day to sparse meals and harsh training. We won’t fall asleep to Shimei’s wild stories every night.”

“I know. Why don’t you take them as far as Rabbah. That way, Yasha and I are two, and your company will be four. If anyone’s looking for a trio of young warriors, the boys probably shouldn’t be heading towards Rabbah by themselves.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“But listen, you make sure that they fall in with the right sort. You know what I mean.”

“Yes.” Bagad rose to leave.

“And Bagad.”

“Yes?”

“You need to prepare yourself,” Shobi said. “It’s not likely that all three of them will live through the coming madness.”

“I know, Master. But it’s hard.”

“I know,” said Shobi. “I lose three sons tonight, not one.”

 #

They approached the city from the north. Bagad had told them that Rabbah was surrounded by deep valleys on all other sides, and as they drew closer, they began to see the mound of Rabbah in the distance. Jephthah hadn’t really noticed when they had joined a path, nor did he remember when the path became a road. The journey was all jumbled together in his mind because they had ridden all night, all morning and into the afternoon.

Jephthah had been startled when they saw another traveler headed for Rabbah. It was hard to fight the urge to find a tent and duck inside, which is what he’d been doing for years whenever a stranger approached. Now, as they drew near the city, they were just one group of travelers among dozens, and eventually, hundreds.

As they came to the top of a rise in the land, Jephthah saw the wall of the city. Taller than a man, it encircled Rabbah with only one opening that he could see. It appeared to be made of stone or mud bricks, he couldn’t be sure which. There didn’t seem to be anyone guarding it, but Jephthah thought that it would make quite the barricade if there were.

“That could be a problem,” Shimei said.

“Yeah, I was just thinking that,” said Jephthah.

“Isn’t that just the outer wall, Bagad?” Nahash asked.

“If you think that’s something, you’re gonna love the wall around the citadel.”

“It’s bigger?” Jephthah asked.

“Much bigger. That little thing is barely three man-heights. The wall around the palace is… well, you’ll see it.”

“How long could they stay there? I mean, if someone laid siege to it. They’d need a lot of food, wouldn’t they?” Shimei asked.

“They have it. There’s a huge store of food in there for that very reason,” said Bagad. “But you should have asked about water, which they have as well. The Zarqa’s headwaters are just upstream from Rabbah, and there’s a spring-fed cistern in the middle of the citadel. They pipe that up to the surface and use it to irrigate the King’s Gardens, which grows fruits and vegetables as well as flowers. They can stay there for a long time. Years.”

“Wait,” said Shimei, “the Zarqa’s the same river we call the ‘Jabbok,’ right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we should have been able to follow it right to the city when we first left Tabbath.”

“That’s right,” Jephthah said, “back when we were lost, and Master Shobi found us.”

“Yes. You must have left the main channel, followed some little trickle that was joining the river.”

“You also had to cross the King’s Highway at some point,” said Nahash, “the road we’re on right now. We found you east of it. Dad and I have talked about it a few times, but we’ve given up trying to figure out how you missed it.”

Jephthah and Shimei exchanged sheepish grins.

Just before they passed through the city gates, they dismounted. Each man led his horse, and Bagad led a camel as well. As they passed through the gate, the spaces between them and the other travelers diminished to nothing. Jephthah felt like he stood in the center of a scared herd when the animals’ flanks press in on all sides. Once they were through the gate, the pressure from the crowd released slightly.

“First thing we need to do is find a place for the night,” Bagad said, “Follow me.” He took them down a narrow street, and they had to go single file. Jephthah moved in right behind Bagad. He was trying to stay as close as possible, and at the same time, trying to understand the things he saw around him.

Years ago, when he and Shimei had fled from Tabbath and scurried up the Jabbok, Jephthah had seen a home in one of the villages that wasn’t a tent. It had four walls made of mud blocks, and the roof was a jumble of sticks and leaves. Aside from that, he had never seen a building before. Now buildings surrounded him on all sides, and they weren’t just mud huts, but houses made of stone. Some of them were small, the size of tents that he had grown up in, but others were so big that he couldn’t imagine who or what must live inside them.

And the people! They were everywhere: swarming in and out of buildings, hawking goods and food, leading animals, carrying loads of laundry, of fruit and grains, even the occasional load of lumber. Jephthah didn’t know that such chaos existed. He was used to a village with only a few dozen people in it, and even the people flowing into Rabbah had seemed like an immense crowd to him. Now, adrift in this sea of men and women, he was terrified that he’d be lost. He followed Bagad as closely as he could, nearly panicking every time he lost sight of him behind the animal he was leading, or the mass of people that pressed them on all sides.

Not long after he turned down the side street, Bagad ducked into a stable. They all followed him inside.

“Tie the horses and camel in here. I’ll go see about getting us a place to sleep,” he said. Then, looking at the three of them for a moment as though trying to choose one of them, he said, “Shimei, come with me. One of you needs to learn how this is done.”

When Bagad and Shimei left, Nahash said, “Strange, isn’t it? All these people around.”

“Yeah. I don’t like it.”

“Dad brought me here a couple of times, back before you came. It’s weird at first, but you get used to it.”

“I guess I knew that there would be people everywhere but… it just doesn’t feel right.” Jephthah stood looking out of the stable door, mesmerized by the people passing by. People of every sort hustled about in the late hours of the afternoon. Light skinned, dark skinned, wearing bright colors and jewelry or a few dirty rags, it was more than he could take in.

There, on the far side of the alley, a gnarled old man stood with his hand out to the passing crowd. Hunched, gripping tightly onto a staff nearly as knobby as himself, he didn’t look like he’d live to see another day. But Jephthah was apparently the only one who could see him. The people who passed him by, who even bumped into him in this crowded lane, didn’t even glance at him.

Then, on Jephthah’s side of the alley, just a few yards away, there was a fruit seller. There was no room for him and his wares in this narrow way, but he’d carved out a little spot just the same. He was catching a lot of irritated curses from the masses who had to fight and jostle their way past his stand, but he didn’t seem to care. The merchant was set up right next to a doorway, and Jephthah thought he saw something move down by his feet. He stared at the spot, seeing nothing at first. But then he saw a small head poke out at ground level. A tiny boy or girl, Jephthah couldn’t be sure which, was watching the fruit seller intently. Then the child shifted its gaze to a ripe melon near the vendor’s feet. It wouldn’t be long before the hungry child made a desperate grab. But Jephthah could see that the cagey merchant was aware of the kid. He was watching out of the corner of his eye. Was he baiting that poor little rodent? Jephthah wasn’t sure, but he could see the kid was in for a sharp kick pretty soon. How many beggars and puny thieves are in this city right now? he wondered.

Jephthah shook his head. He decided that he ought to be watching for men of fighting age, the ones who the king would force into battle. He saw a few of them go by, none of them armed. They were young and strong, but they were carpenters, smiths, tanners, cobblers, and such. These men would be his enemies one day. They’d be called up as soldiers whenever there was war. He would try to kill them, and they would try to kill him. But for now, they just went about their business, most not even glancing at the big man peeking out of the stable.

When Bagad and Shimei returned, Bagad said that if they wanted to see the citadel they needed to go right away.

“Can’t we just see it tomorrow?” asked Jephthah.

“Yeah,” said Nahash, “we’re going to stay for a while, aren’t we?”

“You might be gone as early as first light. That’s how Shobi wanted it,” Bagad said.

“What? Why?” asked Nahash. “Now that we’re finally here, we should look around a bit.”

“When we find the right sort of men we’re looking for, you’ll need to go whenever they go. And they’re not likely city dwellers,” Bagad said. “Come on, let’s go.”

It was much easier moving through the streets without the horses to jockey around. The boys began to enjoy the sights and sounds of the city. Bagad led them slowly, staying a pace or two in front of them, allowing the three to point, joke, and gasp at all the things they saw. Because they were hungry from the long road to Rabbah, they were especially interested in the merchants hawking vegetables, fruits, and dried meats. At one vendor, Jephthah stopped them and said, “Hey, Bagad, let’s get a little something to eat. Master gave us each some coins.”

“All right,” Bagad said, “but let Shimei buy it for you.”

Jephthah didn’t understand why Shimei had to buy the food, but Shimei just nodded and walked up to the merchant. Bagad stayed back but stood close enough to hear the exchange. Jephthah listened as Shimei and the merchant greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries. It seemed to Jephthah that they weren’t discussing the price of salted goat at all, but eventually the merchant quoted a price. And to Jephthah’s surprise, Shimei shook his head, and started to talk about other merchants and lower prices. Since they hadn’t stopped anywhere else, Jephthah wasn’t sure what Shimei was talking about. They continued to talk, even argue, and at one point, Jephthah was sure that Shimei was about to turn away and leave. But they settled on a price, and Shimei paid the man, and he passed out food to the rest of them.

“Good,” said Bagad. “If you end up paying about half of the first price you’ve done all right.”

They continued on their way, with Jephthah and Nahash on either side of Shimei. “What was that all about?” asked Jephthah.

“There’s a trick to buying things in the city. That’s why Bagad took me with him to get our room for the night.”

“Which is…” said Nahash.

“You have to pretend that you’re not very interested in buying anything at all, and that you know you can get it cheaper someplace else.”

“That’s nothing new. I’ve seen customers do it with dad.”

“Yeah, and that’s how it worked back in Tabbath too,” Jephthah said.

“Yes, but this is the city,” Shimei said. “These guys barter all day long, and they’re good at it. Bagad said we’ll be out of money in a day if we don’t learn fast. You should have seen Bagad getting the room. He seemed about ready to pull a knife.”

Jephthah missed Shimei’s last few words. He saw a woman standing in a doorway. Of course, there were men and women in every doorway, but this woman was staring at him as if she knew him. Though he hadn’t seen many women in the past few years to compare her to, he was sure she was the most beautiful in the city or anywhere else. She had long, glossy hair framing a soft, round face. And the look in those large, innocent eyes. He was sure that she wanted to speak with him. In fact, as she turned to go into her house, she cast a glance at him over her shoulder and motioned for him to come with her. He was about to follow when he heard Shimei call his name.

“Jephthah!”

Then Nahash called too, “Come on!”

He looked to his friends, who seemed to have gotten farther away than time had allowed. He looked at the open doorway one more time and ran to catch up with the rest.

“What were you doing back there?” asked Shimei.

“Nothing,” he said. Then he asked, “Shimei am I… I don’t know,” he stammered. “Am I good to look at? You know, good-looking?”

“Sure. You’re cute as a camel’s nut sack. Maybe more,” Shimei replied.

“Very funny. I wasn’t kidding.”

“Neither was I.”

“Well, you’re gonna look a lot worse than a nut sack in a second!”

“What’s going on?” Nahash said, as he and Bagad turned back.

“Jephthah wants to know if I find him attractive,” Shimei said. “For reasons unknown.”

“That woman back there was staring at me. She’s trying to get me to go inside with her.”

“'K, second lesson:” Bagad said, “That’s not a woman. That’s a whore. And when she sees you three idiots gawking at all the sights, she doesn’t see ‘good-looking’ or ‘bad-looking,’ she sees a few gold pieces out for a stroll that she can pocket with three minutes’ work. I know you’ve never seen a city before, but if you could try not to put that on display for the whole nation of Ammon, that would help the cause. Now, hurry up. I want to be back at the inn before dark.”

They continued following Bagad through the city. Because all three were attempting to look less conspicuous, they didn’t see the towering wall of the citadel until they were already in its shadow. Shimei was the first to glance up at it, and he stopped dead in his tracks. “By the gods,” he whispered. They all looked up.

Jephthah thought that Shimei was right: the wall had to be the work of gods, not men. It was made of stones fitted together so precisely that the blade of a dagger could not slip between them. It soared over them to five or ten times the height of a man. Jephthah couldn’t make a good guess at exactly how high it was because he’d never seen something so immense. There was no way over it or through it. Not even the gate was a weak point. The doors were made of thick, iron-strapped wood, set in a wide, arched passage through the wall, and there were men stationed along the top. Jephthah could see that they were not paying attention, as they leaned on their spears and chatted with each other. But if an alarm was sounded, and the gate was closed, they could rain down spears and arrows on the attackers. Never mind the arrows, Jephthah thought to himself, they could pry loose one of those stones and kill five men at a stroke. “We couldn’t take this place with ten thousand men, let alone one thousand,” he said.

“That’s what I was thinking,” said Shimei.

“Shut up, both of you,” Bagad hissed. “That’s not the kind of thing you say fifty paces from the wall of the citadel. If someone overhears you, our heads’ll line the wall by sundown.”

“Sorry,” they both muttered.

“So, there it is,” Bagad said, “the citadel of Rabbah. Behind this wall is the spring from the Zarqa, the great temple of El Most High, and Shanib’s palace.”

“You mean Shobi’s palace,” Nahash corrected.

“Yeah, someday, I suppose.”

“Can we go in?” Jephthah asked.

“We could. But it wouldn’t be smart. I’m known in the citadel. I’m a Friend of the King, an honor that comes in handy. But people will recognize me and ask who you three are. We could make something up, but it’s not worth the trouble. Besides, I want my supper, and that’s at the inn.” Bagad turned and started back the way they’d come.

Shimei and Jephthah followed, but Nahash stayed where he was. Jephthah saw him and stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong? Look at this place. There’s no way in there.”

“We’ll find a way in. We’ll get help.”

“From where? Have you been looking at these people? I mean really looking?”

Jephthah thought about all the vendors, farmers, and beggars they’d passed. “Sort of.”

“There’s not many fit to swing a sword, and the ones who are wear the king’s uniform.”

“Like your dad said, we’re looking for outlaws and we’ll find them. Somehow.”

“And if we don’t?”

“I’ll storm the place myself and put you on the throne single-handed.”

Nahash smiled and started walking back toward the inn. “So you think you’re that good, do you?”

“Till someone can prove me wrong… yeah.”

“Dad’s right about you.”

“What’d he say?”

“That you’ll either help us get the kingdom back or get every one of us killed.”

 #

“What’s your name?” the man demanded.

Jephthah sized him up. He was big, at least as heavy as Jephthah himself. And he was obviously a fighter: his nose was bent off to one side, and he had a hideous scar that ran from high on his left cheek, through his lips, and down to the right side of his chin, making his beard come in all twisted. Patchy and gnarled as it was, he kept his beard cropped short. Probably so no one could grab it, Jephthah thought. Taking a quick glance down at the man’s hip, he saw he was armed. He wore his sword in a stained scabbard that was stitched together in more than one place. The handle was worn smooth, and the hilt was nicked and notched as an old walking stick. That sword was not for show.

“That’s right,” the man said. He’d seen Jephthah evaluating him. “That sword’s claimed a thousand lives.” Jephthah doubted that, but a hundred lives didn’t seem out of the question.

After surveying the citadel’s walls, they had come back to the inn and found it quite full. Most of the men staying there were gathered in a common room where they were all eating and drinking. The innkeeper was bustling around the men who sat in groups of four or five. He had his hands full keeping the rowdy bunch supplied with food and drink, and keeping the lamps topped up with oil. There were more than twenty men packed into the hall, and Jephthah, Shimei, Nahash, and Bagad had to eke out a small space for themselves in a corner far from the nearest window. The place smelled like a stable, but there was nowhere else to go, and they ate and talked about what they might do and see the next day.

After they’d eaten, Jephthah went out to relieve himself, and when he was returning to their spot in the corner, he got a hard shove to his shoulder from behind. When he turned around, this clod had demanded to know his name. Now, he asked the same question, only louder.

“I said, ‘What’s your name?’”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Jephthah said. “But I don’t really feel like telling you.”

All the chatter around them ceased.

“Maybe you’ll feel like it after I spill your guts on the floor.”

It had been a few years since the clearing outside of Tabbath, but Jephthah remembered this game well, and he liked it. Everyone heard Jephthah defy him; they were committed to fighting now, but that was no reason not to toy with him. “Listen, we have no reason to fight, friend.”

“I don’t need a reason to kick your teeth in, friend.”

“Maybe not,” Jephthah said, “but you’ll need a few of your boyfriends.”

One of the men snickered. Jephthah turned to look at Shimei and grinned. Shimei just shook his head. Then Jephthah heard the innkeeper’s voice say, “In the street please, Mowra.” And before Jephthah had even turned his glance back to the man, Mowra had kneed him in the stomach, grabbed the back of his neck as he doubled over, and hurled him out into the street.

Jephthah rolled and regained his feet outside. Mowra was right behind him, but he didn’t attack immediately. He waited for everyone to come pouring out of the inn and circle up around them. As they did, Mowra stalked around, limbered up and joked with his friends. Jephthah nearly laughed as he watched the performance. So many years later, so far away from home, and it was exactly like the clearing. Jephthah hadn’t brawled for a mob in years. He finally had an audience again.

He looked and saw that Nahash had nudged his way in to stand in the inner circle. He was the very image of Shobi, watching with amused disapproval. Shimei was farther back, content to watch over the heads of others. He tilted his head down toward his shoulder, narrating the spectacle for Bagad who would only be able to catch glimpses.

“All right, boy. Time to bloody that smart mouth of yours,” Mowra said, walking up to Jephthah with fists raised.

“Hang on, Mowra,” someone said.

“Yeah, we’re still gettin’ the bets in,” said another.

But Mowra was not waiting any longer, and he threw a right at Jephthah that would have leveled an ox. Unflinching, Jephthah swept his left arm across his body in a forearm-block that deflected the blow harmlessly. Mowra blinked in surprise as this youth stood before him in a casual ready stance, but he was undaunted. He attacked again, this time kicking and punching at Jephthah several times in quick succession. And again, Jephthah effortlessly dodged and blocked Mowra’s hands and feet. A few of the men murmured their surprise, and one gave a low whistle.

“That’s some nice dancing, ya little prick-tickler, but it ain’t gonna save you,” Mowra said. Then he charged at Jephthah and latched onto his tunic with one hand. As soon as they were locked together, there was no more ducking and dodging, and the two brutes began to hammer at each other. The gang cheered wildly as each man landed a flurry of knees and fists on his opponent. The exchange ended when Mowra kicked at Jephthah’s midsection, driving the two of them apart. They stood panting for a moment. Both were bloodied and tired, but still ready to fight.

Jephthah decided that he had better end this quickly, before it turned into more than just a brawl. Mowra was looking frustrated, obviously not used to getting this much of a fight. Mowra approached and jabbed at him a couple of times. Jephthah blocked these easily, and he could tell that Mowra was worn out. But just as Jephthah was about to finish him with a shot on the chin, Mowra’s right fist lashed out and collided with Jephthah’s face, high on the cheek bone. Even as his head snapped back, and he heard the crowd roar, he knew that he’d been tricked. Mowra lulled him into thinking he was tired. But Jephthah knew that game too.

He let the force of the blow turn him around, and he put his hands up to his face. Then, when Mowra grabbed his shoulder to spin him back around, Jephthah twisted hard, driving his elbow into Mowra’s chest. Jephthah heard a muffled crack as one of the ribs gave in. And as Mowra stepped back, before the pain in his chest had even set in, Jephthah cuffed him across the jaw, knocking him sprawling in the street.

Jephthah began to walk over to Nahash, not sure of exactly what to do now, having just beaten a man in front of twenty of his companions. But as he neared Nahash, he was surprised to hear him say, “You’re not quite done yet.” Turning, Jephthah was amused to see Mowra getting to his feet. He thought he’d hit him hard enough to lay him up for the night, but there Mowra stood.

Mouth bloody, lips tattered, he sputtered at Jephthah, “You’ll die for that, maggot.” He leapt at Jephthah. This time he came like an animal, arms outstretched, teeth bared. Jephthah stood his ground. It looked as though he’d let the man maul him like a bear. But at the last second, Jephthah braced himself, stepped back with one foot and butted his head into Mowra’s nose. There was a wet smack, and the man dropped like a sack of barley. This time, everyone could see he wasn’t getting up.

Jephthah heard two swords draw right behind him. He whirled around, drawing his own sword, knowing that he would be too late, sure he’d feel the blades cutting into him before he was halfway around. But when he turned, he saw a man—Mowra’s brother he would learn later on—with his sword reared back, poised to lop off Jephthah’s head. But the man’s blade never moved. The edge of Nahash’s blade rested against the man’s throat, moving slightly with the rhythm of his breathing. The man’s eyes were wide in terror like a spooked horse. Nahash looked completely at ease, calm. He wasn’t even looking at the man, but at Jephthah.

Shimei had shouldered his way into the circle and stood next to Jephthah, hand on hilt. With Jephthah’s sword out, Nahash ready to make a new breathing hole for Mowra’s brother, and the crowd poised to draw and attack, another man stepped into the circle.

“It’s all right, boys,” he said to his gang. “Just a bit of fun, right?”

“That’s right,” said Shimei, seeing that they could avoid a bloodbath. “Just a few bruises and another story for the campfire.”

“And a good one too,” said the other. “Everybody just settle. Let’s go in and have a drink with these pups.”

“That sounds good to us,” Shimei said, looking at Jephthah. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jephthah said. “Sure does.” He lowered his sword and sheathed it. Mowra’s brother did the same, though he lowered and sheathed his sword much more slowly and carefully than Jephthah did. Finally, Nahash withdrew his blade from the man’s neck.

“Someone grab Mowra and drag him back inside,” the man said.

“And what if he’s dead?” Mowra’s brother demanded.

“Dead or alive, we can’t leave him out here.”

As it turned out, Mowra was alive, if not very handsome. His nose was even more crooked than before, and gore covered his neck and chest. Once he was fully revived, he laughed and drank with his friends, seemingly unconcerned by the whole incident. In fact, no one in the whole gang paid any heed to Jephthah, Shimei, Nahash, or Bagad, but left them to their corner of the hall. They were getting ready to head to their rooms for the night when the one who prevented the massacre in the street approached them.

“I’m Shuwal,” he said.

Jephthah nodded his head, and said, “Hi.”

Shuwal smiled, and said, “Well, are you going to tell me your name? Or do I have to fight you for it?”

“I’m Jephthah.”

“Well, Jephthah, can we talk a minute?”

“Sure,” Jephthah said, standing and taking a couple of steps away from the rest.

“You’re a hell of a fighter.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Yeah, I could see that just by the look of you and your boys. That’s why I sent Mowra to check you out.”

“Next time, send someone better.”

“He’s my best.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a tough guy. I get it. So you wanna run with us, or what?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look, it’s obvious you’re not merchants or shepherds. And I don’t think you’re a couple of farm boys who took dad’s sword into Rabbah to see the sights, not with the way you fight. Right?”

Jephthah didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what he should tell this man, and what he needed to keep secret. And he didn’t like finding out that the three of them stood out in a crowd.

Shuwal continued, “You’re not the King’s men, are you?”

“No.”

“So you must be in somebody’s gang. Or maybe you got kicked out of one, I don’t care. I’m asking if you want to come with us. We could use a few sturdy young pups.”

“But who are you? I mean, what do you do?”

Shuwal looked confused. “We’re Apiru. What did you think we were?”

Apiru. Jephthah knew the word. To the Ammonites, it was something close to the meaning of gypsies or wanderers. But for the Israelites, it meant something very different. “You’re raiders,” he said. “A bunch of bloody murderers.”

Shuwal shrugged. “You could say we do some killin’ here and there.”

“I’d go hang out with the lepers outside the city wall before riding with you pigs,” Jephthah said, turning away. But Shuwal grabbed his shoulder and turned him back.

“You better watch that mouth, boy. I got more than twenty warriors backin’ me. You’ve got two brats and a geezer.”

Jephthah knocked the hand off his shoulder, and said, “Put your hand on me again, and I’ll spill half your warriors’ guts on the floor before they can draw their swords. Maybe I’ll start with you… right now.”

Shuwal went for his sword, and Jephthah was about to draw too. But Bagad stepped between them. He pulled Shuwal aside, and said, “Give us a minute, all right? The boy’s still hot from the fight. You know how it is with these young ones, don’t you?” Shuwal was still glaring at Jephthah. “Don’t you?” Bagad repeated. “You know the type. They get all in a lather, and they can’t back down from anything? Just give me a minute to talk to him, all right?” Shuwal finally looked at Bagad and nodded his head. “Jephthah, just… back away, over by the wall.” Jephthah stepped back over to where Nahash and Shimei were standing. Both of them were judging the distance to the door, and how many men they would encounter if they had to carve their way out.

Bagad continued talking to Shuwal more quietly. “Listen, they’re great fighters, all three of them. Jephthah’s a bit of a hot head, but Shimei and Nahash are good lads. When do you leave?”

“Sunrise.”

“All three are ready to go. They have their own mounts and arms, everything.”

“The hot head will have to watch himself, or he won’t last a day.”

“He will. I’ll talk to him.”

“Okay. What about you?”

“Me? Gettin’ a little old for that life. Besides, I have business in the city.”

“In the morning then.”

“See you then.”

Shuwal walked back over to his men, who were all standing ready to attack. They had all been watching and listening since Jephthah and Shuwal had first raised their voices. Even Mowra was waiting for the signal, waiting for a second chance at Jephthah. But Shuwal spoke a few words, shook his head, and they all went back to their drinks.

Bagad went back to Jephthah, Shimei, and Nahash. “Now, listen,” he said to all of them, but looking directly at Jephthah, “tomorrow morning you’re riding out with them.”

“No,” Jephthah said.

“Yes.”

“Bagad, I’ll never join with those animals.”

“Go to our room,” Bagad said to Shimei and Nahash. “Don’t worry. Nothing else is gonna happen. I just need to talk to Jephthah for a minute.” When they were gone, he said, “What do you think we came here for?”

“I know. To find men, but not those kind of men.”

“Who else? This is exactly the kind of men Shobi sent you to find.

“No. Master Shobi would not like these guys.”

“Maybe not, but if you want to find men who know how to fight, you won’t do better than a gang of raiders.”

“But they kill innocent people.”

“Yeah. And you’re gonna kill your share of innocents too,” he said. “When you storm Rabbah, who do you think will be guarding the place? Shanib’s got a few hundred men who get paid to protect him, but he’ll be using farmers and shepherds to hold the city, men who know nothing of wars and rulers, and care even less. You’ll be cutting through a lot of common folk on your way to the citadel.”

“But… we shouldn’t… we can’t do that.”

“So go plow a field somewhere or raise some goats. But remember this, as soon as you got something worth taking, some gang will come rip it away and kill you in the bargain.”

“So I should be like them?”

“Oh, come on. Where’s that little barbarian who threatened to pin me to the ground years ago, huh? You’d have killed me, and any other Ammonite that gave you half a chance back then.”

“Master Shobi trained that out of me.”

“No. He trained you to control it,” Bagad said. “Gods, I’m glad we found such a pack of cutthroats for you to fall in with. You’ll learn the way things really are or die inside a week.”

“If I join with them, I’ll probably wind up attacking my own village.”

“So attack it. Why should you care? All they did was beat the piss out of you and call you whoreson.”

“How did you—”

“Shimei told me all about Tabbath. How your brothers chased you off.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s still my home.”

“Maybe it was. It’s gone now.”

“What are you talking about? How can a village be gone?”

“Look, I didn’t really want to tell you this. Shobi said it wouldn’t be a good idea—”

“Tell me,” Jephthah demanded.

“All right,” Bagad pulled out his dagger and began to draw on the packed dirt floor. “See here, this line from north to south is your Jordan River. We’re here, couple days’ ride to the east of it. To the west of it, a little farther away, is a sea bigger than anything you can imagine. Your people live on either side of the Jordan.”

Jephthah nodded. Shobi had explained a little bit about the layout of the Jordan valley.

“A long time ago, no one knows when, a new nation landed on the shores of that sea. These guys are serious. They built cities that make this one look like nothing. They’ve got warriors and weapons like you wouldn’t believe. They conquered the entire coastland, and now they’re coming east. As for Ammon, we’re expanding west. We want to grab up as much as we can before we have to fight these people from the sea. Philistines, they’re called.

“A few generations ago, they say your people were contenders too. There’s legends that say they swept through the land like a storm out of the desert, but they’re weak now. And they’re taking up space on rich land. The Philistines are raiding your western cities and villages, gobbling up your land and people as they go. And Ammon—”

“Is raiding the eastern villages,” Jephthah interrupted. “Like Tabbath?”

“No, you’re not hearing me. Ammon already took the eastern side of the Jordan. These days, the king’s prepping to meet the Philistines on the west side of the Jordan.”

“But… that can’t be.”

“Jephthah, I’ve been in the king’s council. I’ve seen our new settlements along the Jordan with my own eyes.” Jephthah didn’t respond. He simply stared down at the simple map drawn on the floor, where two great powers clashed over his homeland. “Jephthah, there’s no reason for you to hold back. Your village, your people… they’re already gone.”