Jephthah: Chapter 4

Read previous chapters here:

Jephthah: Prologue & Chapter 1

Jephthah: Chapter 2 & 3

Audio: Chapter 4

Jephthah heard voices. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open or shut. His head hurt, he felt sick, and he couldn’t remember what had happened. But even in this confused state, he thought there was something wrong with the voices he was hearing. The words sounded wrong. The speakers pronounced them strangely and jumbled the order too. Yet, he could still understand them.

“How are these two even alive? They can’t feed themselves.”

Another voice responded, “Any fool can live where they come from. Their land is covered in vegetation, and every green thing can be eaten.”

Before he lost consciousness again, Jephthah thought to himself that it wasn’t quite that easy in Gilead.

He’d been slung over the back of a camel like a sack of grain, and it was the camel’s constant sway that left him feeling dizzy and sick. He was shaken by a hand. He woke and gazed down the long flank of the camel to the gravelly ground below. The hand grabbed his hair and twisted his head upward. He could see the outline of a man, but the sun was blazing directly behind him, so he could see no detail. Then a tepid stream of water rushed down his face and into his mouth, and he had to drink or drown. He was desperately thirsty, but the water’s warmth and the camel’s stench nearly made him vomit anyway. He passed out again, and when he next awoke, he was no longer on the camel.

He was sitting in a tent, and Shimei was next to him slurping down a bowl of broth. There was another bowl sitting in front of Jephthah. He bolted it down before even speaking to Shimei. When they had both eaten, Jephthah asked, “How long has it been?”

“I don’t know. But I think just one night. I woke up just before you did. The food was already here.”

“I guess whoever’s got us is planning on keeping us alive.”

“Yeah, he gave us water a few times on the way.”

“On the way where?”

“I don’t know. But I feel better.”

“Except for the headache, right?”

“Yeah, except for that,” Shimei said, touching his forehead gingerly. There was a raised welt in the center of it. “How’s yours?”

“It’s killing me.” Jephthah carefully prodded at his own lump growing out of the back of his head. “The first time he turns his back on me, he’ll see how it feels.”

“He saved us.”

“He lured us in with water, clobbered us, and now he’ll keep us as slaves.”

“Probably,” Shimei conceded, “but without him we would have died for sure.”

“I guess,” said Jephthah. Then he asked, “Who do you think he is anyway?”

“At first, I figured he must be from another tribe of Israel.”

“And now?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s an Ammonite.”

“What? Why?”

“Because of the direction he was going. Think about it.”

“I can’t remember.”

“He—well, they, there were two of them—were headed southeast. I remember that, and we had to catch up to them.”

“We’re dead if they’re Ammonites,” said Jephthah. “I heard they eat their own kids.”

“Yeah, I heard that one too.”

“If they’re Ammonites… we have to find a way out of here.”

“Well, I think it’s a safe bet that they’re Ammonites.”

“Yes, we are Ammonites,” said a man. He stood at the entry way of the tent. They hadn’t heard or seen him enter, and they didn’t know how long he’d been listening. He looked about their fathers’ age. He was very tall and had a proud bearing and piercing gaze that had Jephthah and Shimei wondering if he was angry with them and hoping he wasn’t. His clothes led them to assume that he was rich. They weren’t ornate, but they were finely made. Jephthah and Shimei were accustomed to wearing whatever their families could make or trade for in Tabbath. This man’s clothes and boots looked like the work of a craftsman. Shimei wondered if he was a tailor. But what caught their attention even more than his attire and stature was the weapon he carried. In his left hand, he carried a stout bow, unstrung. It was deep red-brown in hue, and it had a glossy sheen to it. It was like nothing they had ever seen before. “Come with me,” he said, and left the tent.

Jephthah and Shimei saw no alternative but to follow him. It was bright outside the tent, and they had to blink several times before they could see the man to follow him. Once their eyes adjusted, they fell in behind him. He seemed to assume that Jephthah and Shimei would obey, since he never so much as glanced over his shoulder to see if they followed. Jephthah wondered if he had heard him say that he would attack him the first chance he got. If he heard it, he was utterly unconcerned. In fact, he seemed to be inviting Jephthah and Shimei to try something. While Jephthah never did attack, he was tempted. He planned the ambush in his mind. Maybe if he ran at the man, leapt, and kicked him in the small of the back, it would be enough to knock him off his feet. Shimei would be right behind him. Together, they would be mauling his face in an instant. He felt sure the two of them could overcome just one man. But something about the man suggested that he hadn’t turned his back out of carelessness but because he truly had nothing to fear.

The boys surveyed their surroundings as they followed him. They were walking away from three tents. The tents had been erected right in the middle of the desert. The terrain looked like everything else they had seen over the last few days. As they followed the man, they saw him ascend a gentle slope and descend on the other side. As they arrived at the height of the ridge, they saw a shallow valley open up below. Compared to the valleys cut by rivers and streams in Gilead, this was a mere scratch in the earth. It was only about fifty paces down to the bottom of the dry creek bed, which would have a tiny trickle of water in the rainy season. That is, if there was a rainy season out here.

There was a herd of forty or fifty goats feeding around the bottom of the valley, and a boy, the man’s son they assumed, stood watching them. Just as Jephthah and Shimei had evaluated the father, they took their measure of the son. He looked to be about their age. He was as tall as Shimei, even a little taller, but he was lean and lanky. They were both certain they could beat him up.

The man led Jephthah and Shimei over to his son. He held out his hand toward his son, who then handed him a shepherd’s crook. The man turned to Jephthah and Shimei for the first time since they’d left the tent. He looked at both of them in turn, then tossed the staff to Jephthah who caught it.

“You are the shepherd,” he said. “You are the shepherd’s helper,” he said to Shimei. “Up the valley, there is a small spring where you may water the goats. They will forage food on their own. As for yourselves, you will eat what I leave for you outside of our tent. If you steal from my herd, I will cut off your right hand. If you attempt to flee, I will not rescue you. Rabbah is the nearest civilization, one day’s ride that way,” he said pointing back past the tents. “If you made it that far, you’d be sold as slaves inside of an hour. And there are far worse uses for slaves than herding goats. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“You will call me ‘Master.’ I will check on you from time to time. Sometimes I will send my son, who you will call ‘Young Master.’” He turned with his son to leave, then he seemed to remember something he’d forgotten. “Oh, yes, take this,” he said, handing a sling to Shimei, “Lions are not uncommon in this region.” Jephthah and Shimei exchanged a quick glance. The Master saw it and smiled, almost with satisfaction. “Yes, I am aware this weapon can be used on men as well as beasts. But that does not concern me.” At this, he strung his bow, nocked an arrow, and drew, aiming up the valley. This motion alone was enough to awe both Jephthah and Shimei. The Master did not hurry, yet he strung the bow and produced the arrow from his quiver with such precision and quickness that he seemed to merely raise his arms, and he was ready to fire a shaft.

However, it was the shot itself that left them stunned. The Master hardly took aim before he released the string. The arrow flew impossibly far and straight before it stuck fast into the trunk of one of the shrubs that dotted the desert landscape. The trunk was perhaps half a handbreadth in width, and only twice that height before it branched off into tiny limbs. As for distance, a moment ago Jephthah would have said that the shrub was two bowshots away. There was no need for the Master to say he had intentionally hit that trunk, since there was not another mark anywhere nearby. As he unstrung his bow, he said, “My son is a quick study. I fear that this is the last season that I will be able to best him at archery.” The son smirked, and they walked back toward the tents.

As they stood watching the Master and son walk away, Shimei said, “He’s definitely not a tailor.”

“Guess we’re not going anywhere. For now.”

“For good. Or didn’t you see that shot?”

“He can’t always be watching,” Jephthah said.

“Okay, what if we got away? What then?”

Jephthah had no answer to this. They had not fared well in the desert. “Well… I’m not going to be a shepherd the rest of my life.”

“And I’m not spending my life as the shepherd’s assistant. I’m just saying that we’re not going anywhere for a long time.”

Jephthah decided that Shimei was right. “Do you have trouble understanding them?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“They say words different, but they’re still the same words.”

“Yeah, and they mix them around too.”

“I’ve never even heard some of the words he said, but somehow when he’s done talking, I know what he meant.”

“Me too. There’s a couple of old stories about Ammon and Israel. I bet they learned how to talk from us a long time ago, but they learned it all wrong, or something.”

“Well, he knows enough to understand us anyway. He knew what we were talking about back in the tent.”

“Which is another reason we can’t leave,” Shimei said. “He already knows we’re planning to get away as soon as we can.”

Jephthah and Shimei watched the goats for the rest of the day. They did what little exploring they could. About a five-minute walk up the valley, they found the little spring. They had been curious about it because “spring” was one of the words in the Master’s vocabulary that they hadn’t understood. It was a small depression in the creek bed where water came bubbling up through the earth. Jephthah and Shimei had seen springs in the mountains, but this was the first they’d seen in the desert. It made a little pool, and from that pool a tiny rivulet trickled downstream. The trickle only traveled a few paces before it was swallowed up by dry earth and stone. Nevertheless, the area around the spring, and the entire creek bed, sported a little bit of greenery that was sorely lacking in the rest of the landscape. The goats did their best to eat every bit of it.

Late in the day, they decided to find out what they would be eating during their sentence as slaves. They went back to the tents, which were by Jephthah’s old measurement two bowshots away, but were now well within range of an accomplished archer. They had expected to find little more than scraps, but there were two bowls of stew and two pieces of bread as well.

“At least he feeds his slaves well,” said Shimei.

“Yeah. I’ve had worse from my own father.”

As they ate, Jephthah gazed at the tents then said, “Where do you think everybody is?”

“I don’t know. How many people do you think there are?”

“Well, we’ve only seen the two, but look at the size of those two tents, a family of ten could probably fit in either one.”

“I guess so.”

“So where is everybody?”

Shimei stopped eating for a moment, looked around, and listened. The camp was eerily quiet. Any tent that could house that many people ought to be a hive of activity at that time of day. “I’ll bet he made it look like we’re alone just to see if we would run,” said Shimei. “Look, the camels are right over there.” The camels were tied up alongside the tent that they had woken up in.

“Wouldn’t he feel stupid if we did run and we got away too.”

“We wouldn’t stand a chance. Riding one of those camels, he’d catch up with us in no time.”

“We could take the camels.”

“Do you know how to ride one of those things? I don’t. Besides, we’d make pretty nice targets perched way up there.”

“I suppose. He’s probably hiding behind one of these tents with an arrow nocked.”

“And didn’t you say you wanted to see Ammonites?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, here’s your chance.”

“This isn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

Jephthah thought about his fantasies of marauding the hillsides of Gilead, killing Ammonite raiders by the dozen. It seemed silly now. They’d been captured by the first one they’d met. “I don’t know what I meant. I just didn’t mean this.”

“Think of it this way,” said Shimei, “if he keeps feeding us like this, it’ll be just like living in Gilead but without your brothers. Better, maybe.”

Jephthah smiled. “Yeah, I guess I’d take a slave master over Zephon any day.”

At this, the Master came out of one of the larger tents. “I see that you found your food. That is where it will be at both morning and evening. You will sleep with the herd. There is a blanket inside the tent behind you, and the goat’s dung burns well. You may come and find me here if there is any emergency, but you must never enter one of these larger tents. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Jephthah said.

The Master nodded and went back inside the tent.

Jephthah and Shimei finished their food and took their blanket back to where the herd grazed. He gathered the herd together for the night while Shimei made a small fire with kindling and branches that he’d brought from the tents. The Master had a good supply of it. As they laid down to their first night’s watch, Jephthah said to Shimei, “I’ll tell you one thing for sure.”

“What?”

“We’re going to find out what’s in those tents.”

 #

Jephthah and Shimei fell into a routine very quickly, since they both had a good deal of shepherding experience. In the first week of their new life, the Master left them skins and poles with their morning meal. With the supplies, they built a small lean-to shanty, and through the heat of the day, one kept watch while the other napped in the shade.

They didn’t speak with the Master or his son very often. The Master visited them only to gradually increase their responsibilities. By the end of their second month, they were delivering dung for fires, water from the spring, and goat’s milk to the Master’s tent on a regular schedule. Not only did they adapt to this new condition of slavery, but they enjoyed it. They soon discovered that their new lord was strict but fair. They began to suspect that they ate just as well as their captors, which was better than they’d ever eaten in Gilead. And because the Master and his son were hardly ever around, Jephthah and Shimei were free to run the herd as they saw fit, so long as they provided the Master with milk, meat, water, and dung.

The weeks and months passed quickly. Jephthah and Shimei learned the seasons of the desert. There was indeed a rainy season, but it was more brief and subtle than what they’d known in Gilead. They came to enjoy herding goats, which were more stubborn than sheep, but they were also hardier. They could eat anything. While sheep would nibble grass and crop it close to the ground, a goat would eat a plant—any plant—right down to the roots and beyond. They would eat branches off shrubs, even chew up sticks and twigs that they found along the ground. Jephthah once said they’d probably eat the shepherd’s staff if he left it untended.

Then, one day, the Master’s son came to talk to them, but not with the usual short message from his father.

“How is the herd, slave?” he asked Jephthah.

“They’re fine,” Jephthah said. “Do you need an animal slain, Young Mamzer?”

“Young Master,” the son corrected him.

“Sorry,” Jephthah said. “That one’s kind of hard for us to say.”

“You’ve had no trouble with it before.”

“No? Well, different ways of talking, I guess,” Jephthah said.

“Stop it,” Shimei said, giving Jephthah a small shove.

“Anyway,” Jephthah said, “you need a goat, or what?”

“No,” he replied. Then he stood there for a moment, silent. He looked as though he’d forgotten why he’d come. “The weather hasn’t been favorable. It must be hard to find forage.”

“Of course,” Jephthah said, “it’s always hard to find forage in this desert.”

“Desert? What do you mean?” asked the Young Master.

“What do I mean?” exclaimed Jephthah. “This place you live in, where there’s no trees, or water, or anything. That’s what I mean.”

“Jephthah, he probably just doesn’t know our word for it,” said Shimei. Then to the Young Master he said, “‘Desert’ is our word for a place where nothing can live, where there’s no water.”

“I know the word,” the Young Master said, laughing. “You mean, you really thought that this was the desert?”

“What else would it be?” asked Shimei.

“It’s the borderlands to the desert, but it’s rich and fertile.”

“Fertile?” said Jephthah.

“Sure. Look, you keep a herd of goats, there’s forage… water. What more do you need?”

Jephthah and Shimei had no response. They were still trying to conceive how anyone could believe that this land was fertile.

“The desert is off to the east,” the Young Master continued, “and you wouldn’t survive a single day there, maybe not an hour. There is nothing but dunes for as far as the eye can see.”

“What’s a dune?” Shimei asked.

“You people really don’t know anything, do you?” the Young Master said. “See way over there?” he pointed east. “That small hill made of sand is a dune. When you go farther east, you come to a place where that’s all there is. Nothing to eat, and not one drop of water.”

“And I suppose you could live there,” challenged Jephthah.

“No. We know how to cross it, but no one lives there.” Again, there was an awkward pause in the conversation, and Shimei and Jephthah could see he wanted to ask something, or say something, but he couldn’t think of how to do it. Finally, he asked, “In Israel, do the young men learn how to fight?”

“If you didn’t carry that bow with you everywhere, you’d find out soon enough,” Jephthah said.

“I’ll put my bow down,” returned the Young Master.

“Sure. And your dad would fill us full of arrows,” Jephthah said.

“I wouldn’t tell him.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” said Jephthah. “He’d see the blood.”

“I’ll tell him that I had an accident. That I… fell while mounting a camel.”

“Don’t do it. He’s trying to get you in trouble,” cautioned Shimei. He tried this quietly and quickly with their own Gilead accent, but the languages were too similar, and the Young Master heard and understood him perfectly.

“It’s not a trick,” he said. “I’m not challenging you to a real fight, just sparring. Do you know this word? Spar? To fight but not to harm?”

“Yes,” said Shimei, “we know it.”

“Well?”

“Yes,” said Jephthah, “I’ll spar with you.”

“This is a horrible idea,” warned Shimei. But he was too late. Jephthah had dropped his staff, and the Young Master had put down his bow.

Jephthah had imagined fighting the Ammonite many times. He knew that he was treated better than most slaves, but he was still a slave, and he fantasized about overthrowing his captors. The father was the real problem. As for this son of his, he was taller than Jephthah or Shimei, but he was scrawny as a desert twig. He was sure he could crumple him with one good shot, and he intended to do just that.

He strode in confidently, but before he was within striking distance, the Ammonite dealt him two sharp blows to the head. Jephthah took a couple of staggering steps backward. He could feel a hot sting on his cheek and lip where the punches had landed. He hadn’t even seen him swing his arms. Obviously, this kid was more of a match than he thought. Now he awaited Jephthah with fists clenched and knees bent in a ready stance.

Jephthah changed his tactics. This time, as he waded in, he set his guard better, keeping both hands and forearms close to his face to protect himself. The Young Master peppered him with kicks and punches with that long reach of his, but Jephthah ignored these blows, accepted the pain, and pushed himself forward until he could deliver a couple of punches of his own. He could feel that the Ammonite was ready for the first impact, the torso rigid and flexed where his fist landed. However, he landed a second punch in the same spot an instant later, and he felt his fist sink into the boy’s chest, leaving him slightly winded. Knowing he had a momentary advantage, Jephthah took a swing at his face, but the Ammonite was too quick. He stepped to the side and kneed Jephthah in the midsection. It hurt his ribs badly, but he tried not to let it show.

Jephthah now realized that he was outmatched in both speed and technique. If he wanted to win, he would need to get close to his opponent where reach and quickness wouldn’t be a factor. He waited for the Ammonite’s attack. When it came, it was the same as before: a right-handed blow, followed immediately by a left. Jephthah allowed the right hand to glance off the side of his head as he grabbed at the left arm when it darted forward. Latching onto the arm, he pulled the Ammonite toward him, simultaneously raising his knee into the guts. Jephthah savagely repeated the action several times, driving his knee into the belly and sternum of his Young Master until he was completely helpless. Then he let go of his hold on the arm, took one step back, and swung his fist at the Ammonite’s jaw with all his strength. But his punch never connected.

Once he had seen Jephthah grab the Ammonite’s arm, Shimei had known how this fight would end. And as soon as he saw Jephthah step back, he flung himself at Jephthah, wrapping his arms around him—almost tackling him to the ground—before he could strike the Ammonite’s face.

Jephthah was furious, and he fought to get free, but Shimei had him wrapped.

“What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Just stop and think for a minute.” Jephthah kept struggling. “His dad’s not gonna believe he fell off a camel, no matter what he says.” Jephthah relaxed and Shimei let him go. “You won, okay? Just leave it at that.”

As they scuffled, the Young Master had regained his composure. He did not seem upset. “You fought well, Israelite. Better than I expected.”

“So glad I could meet with your approval… Young Mamzer,” Jephthah spat.

Ignoring Jephthah’s tone, he responded, “From now on, you can call me ‘Nahash.’ But only when my father’s not around. He can’t know that I’m speaking with you.”

“I’m Shimei, and this is Jephthah.”

“I’d like to spar with you both, every now and then.”

“I say we finish it now!”

“Would you shut up?” Shimei said. “Look,” he said to Nahash, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“In exchange,” Nahash said, “I could teach you some things about this place, this desert, as you call it. Where to find water, food, that kind of thing.” He paused, then added, “And I could teach you how to use this,” holding up his bow.

Angry as he was, Jephthah had wanted to get his fingers on one of those bows since he had first seen one in the Master’s hand. They looked nothing like the bows he had seen in Gilead. They were striking, sheathed in a mysterious luster, and impossibly powerful: beautiful. “Yeah, I guess that sounds like a good deal.”

“All right. On days when my father is gone or busy, I’ll come and see you.” He nodded to them and started back toward his tents.

When he was gone, Shimei said, “I don’t think we should be fighting with the Master’s son.”

“Why?”

“We could get a beating for it… or worse.”

“It was his idea.”

“Yeah, but if he gets in trouble for it, maybe he’ll just say we attacked him. And who do you think his dad will believe?”

“It’s worth the risk. He’ll show us how to live out here and show us how to use that bow. Have you thought about that? We can escape someday if we learn how to live in the desert.”

“I guess.”

“And besides, it’s just sparring.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know the difference between sparring and fighting. You never have.”

Jephthah suddenly felt ashamed. He knew exactly what Shimei meant by this, but still heard himself ask, “What do you mean?”

“Every time you fight, it’s like you’re trying to kill the other guy. Maybe you hadn’t noticed, but you were gettin’ known for it at the clearing. Sort of like a certain brother of yours.”

Jephthah felt his face go hot with shame and anger. “I… I’m not like him.”

“Maybe not yet. But you can’t control yourself. You would’ve mangled Nahash’s face if I hadn’t stopped you. And we’d be sold off to some slave master in Rabbah, if not killed outright.”

Jephthah didn’t know what to say. Shimei was angry. He had obviously wanted to say this for a long time. Jephthah simply said, “I’m sorry.”

“Being sorry won’t do anything. If you want to fight with Nahash, you need to learn how to restrain yourself.”

“I will. I mean, I’ll try.”

“Oh, you won’t just try.” Shimei sucker punched him square in the mouth.

Stunned, tasting blood, Jephthah staggered back and yelled, “What are you doing?!”

“You wanna do some training with Nahash? Well, you gotta fight me first.”

“I’m not gonna—”

Shimei punched him again, this time in the chest. “Come on, tough guy,” Shimei said, fists clenched and ready.

“I don’t wanna fight you.”

“Then it’s lucky for you we’re just sparring. See if you can handle it.” Shimei stepped in and threw a jab.

Jephthah was ready this time and side-stepped it, and now he put up his guard. As they began to circle and throw a couple feints to judge distance, Jephthah realized he’d never truly appreciated how much bigger and stronger Shimei was. As they closed their distance, each landed a few glancing blows. Jephthah had the worst of it with Shimei having the greater reach. Even though they were mostly light shots, Jephthah could feel himself getting angrier and angrier that Shimei kept getting the better of him. Then, as Jephthah moved to avoid a kick, he lost his footing, and Shimei was on him in a second. Shimei wrestled him to his back, holding him down just like Zephon used to.

Jephthah screamed in rage. Shimei hadn’t managed to pin his arms, and Jephthah grabbed his tunic up close to the throat and pulled him down hard. As he did, he butted his head into Shimei’s face. He didn’t see where his forehead had connected, but it was enough to stun Shimei momentarily. Jephthah rolled, reversing their positions. He hit Shimei in the face once and reared back to unleash with both arms.

“See what you do,” Shimei said. He was looking up at Jephthah, not resisting.

Jephthah held back and slid off of Shimei. Sitting with his hands between his knees, he realized that Shimei hadn’t hurt him, not really. It was just light shots, moving in and out. But he was on the verge of mercilessly pummeling his best friend. His only friend.

Shimei sat up. And for a while, neither of them said anything.

“It can’t be like that with Nahash,” Shimei said. “You’ll get us killed. And even if he doesn’t tell his father, someday he’ll get tired of taking a beating and he’ll stick an arrow in you.”

“Right,” said Jephthah.

“And you’d better not try calling him ‘Young Mamzer’ again.”

“I thought it was funny.”

“Maybe. But even if he doesn’t know our word for bastard, I’m guessing his dad does, and he won’t like it.”

“Fine,” Jephthah said. “Sorry for… you know.”

“It’s okay. I was trying to get you mad.”

“Well, you did.”

“Besides, we probably need to start sparring with each other. We’re out of practice.” He paused, then added, “At least, you are.”

“What?”

“Nahash got in, like, three good shots before you even touched him.”

“He’s quick.”

“Yeah. You used to be quick too.”

“I’d have kicked your sorry hide back to Gilead if I hadn’t let up on you.”

“Well, I was going easy. Just trying to prove a point, really. You didn’t think I was really trying, did you?”

Jephthah and Shimei recounted their brief tussle blow by blow. At each instant of the battle, each of them claimed to have pondered and dismissed several contingencies, opting instead to allow the other to gain the upper hand.

 #

Jephthah shook Shimei awake.

“What?”

“There’s something stalking the goats.”

“Where’s the sling?”

“Here,” Jephthah said, handing him the sling and the stones they always kept ready. Shimei was the better marksman.

“Did you see it?”

“No. But everything’s gone really quiet in the last couple minutes, and the goats are acting funny.”

The animals were restless. They’d all gotten to their feet. They were milling around in tight groups, ears twitching, eyes wide.

“There, look,” whispered Jephthah. “It’s a lion.”

It was a clear night with a three-quarter moon. They had no trouble seeing the herd about ten paces away. Jephthah was pointing to their left where the cat crept toward the goats. The goats were out of the ravine, up on the level ground of the plain. The lion approached, finding subtle contours in the earth. Like water, it poured into shallow depressions and seemed to pool there, a shadow amongst shadows. It was almost invisible to Jephthah and Shimei who were looking at it side-long. The goats would see a much smaller silhouette of the lion as it inched toward them.

“What do we do?” asked Shimei.

“I don’t know. Can you hit it from here?”

“Yeah. But I can’t be sure I’d kill it.”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. Neither of them liked the idea of a wounded lion marauding the camp.

“Well,” Shimei said, “we can’t let it make off with a goat. There’s no way to prove that a lion did it.”

“Yeah, and I’d like to keep my right hand.” Jephthah said, remembering the Master’s penalty for theft.

Shimei readied the sling as they fretted over what to do, and the lion had steadily closed the distance between itself and the herd. The goats were getting panicky. One of them must have scented it, but it was too late. The lion’s tail made one last restrained flick, and it pounced at a goat on the fringe of the herd. At the last second, with the lion already in flight, the goat saw where the danger was coming from and darted away. But the lion’s method was tried and sure. It had leapt with forelegs extended, paws reaching. Before the goat could do more than turn tail, eight claws sank deep into its flanks, and the lion pulled itself forward and the goat back in one smooth motion. The goat bleated piteously as the lion then sank its teeth into the back of its neck. The lion did not bother to kill the goat immediately but readjusted its grip on the goat’s neck and turned to carry it away. The lion retraced its steps, this time with the high, prancing gait of the successful predator. This victory march was cut short as Jephthah smacked the lion’s head with his staff. The lion dropped the goat and turned toward Jephthah.

As the lion jumped at the goat, Jephthah had leapt as well. Shimei would have stopped him, but it never occurred to him his friend would do something so stupid. They were so close to the goat herd that Jephthah was already waiting as the lion turned to drag its prey into the desert. Jephthah swung the staff as hard as he could, certain that he was striking a mortal blow. But a lion’s skull is hard, and this attack merely turned the lion’s attention from the goat to the boy. In that moment, Jephthah knew that he was going to die. He had never seen a lion before. Now, as its prey, caught in its gaze, he saw how easily the beast would rip into him and tear him apart. He saw the immense canines protruding from the lips, and the bunched muscles under the sleek pelt. But most deadly of all was that gaze, the intense focus in the eyes that would not be diverted until the lion had killed and consumed him.

Jephthah didn’t have the instincts and reflexes of the goat, so when the lion sprang and sunk its claws into his shoulders, he didn’t even flinch. He was already falling backward with the lion bearing down on him before his mind could register the attack. But just as the lion’s teeth were about to clamp down on Jephthah’s neck, it let out a terrible noise, like a scream and a roar at once, and it fled.

“Are you okay?” asked Shimei.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Jephthah as he got to his feet. “What did you do?”

“I slung a stone just before it went for you. Well, as it went for you, I guess. I was aiming for its head, but it jumped just as I let go.”

“What happened?”

“I hit it in one of its hind legs. Just luck, really. How’s the goat?” They bent down to examine it. The lion’s jaws had snapped its neck.

“Well, at least we didn’t lose it to the lion,” said Jephthah. “The Master may not have wanted it dead, but at least he has the meat.”

“Yeah, we might not get punished. Hey, you’re bleeding.”

“What?”

Because of the dark, Shimei had not seen Jephthah’s wounds until they were bent over the goat and some of Jephthah’s blood dripped down onto its light hide. Jephthah didn’t notice it himself due to the shock and the sharpness of the lion’s claws.

“I’ll get the fire stoked up again so we can take a look at it.”

Once Shimei had the fire burning brightly and they took Jephthah’s tunic off, they could see four claw marks on each of Jephthah’s shoulders. Some were only deep scratches, but others bled freely.

“What should we do?” asked Jephthah.

“I don’t know. Does it hurt?”

“Well, I didn’t even notice it before, but yeah, it’s starting to.”

“Dawn’s probably still a couple hours off. Maybe the Master will know what to do.”

“Those wounds must be bound,” said a voice from beyond the firelight. Startled, the boys looked up to see the Master’s shadowy outline. “Don’t touch them. I will be back shortly.” The Master left and returned soon with strips of cloth. He studied the wounds for a moment, then began to wrap them in such a way that the binding applied pressure to Jephthah’s wounds but didn’t limit his movement.

“Master, how did you know we needed help?” Shimei asked as he worked.

“The horses and camels grow restless when lions are about. It usually wakes me. When I heard the lion’s scream, I thought you may be in trouble. Tell me what happened.”

Shimei relayed their story. When he was finished, the Master nodded his head and said, “Dress-out that goat and keep watch for the rest of the night.” To Jephthah, he said, “You, sleep and recover your strength. I will be back just after dawn.”

Once the Master was gone, Jephthah said, “He doesn’t seem too impressed that I took on a lion to save his goat.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to encourage stupidity.”

“What?”

“Jephthah, you could’ve been killed. Should’ve been killed.”

“Would you have just let it take the goat?”

“Why not? I don’t want to die.”

“But the goat—”

“The Master knows a slave’s more valuable than a goat.”

“A shepherd can’t just let a lion walk off with one of the herd.”

“Well, maybe that’s why I’m only the assistant to the shepherd,” Shimei said, smirking.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. This way, everything that goes wrong is your fault.”

“Great.”

“Why don’t you go to sleep like the Master said? You’ve had a rough night, Master Shepherd.”

“I think I will,” Jephthah said. “You’re in charge till I wake up.”

While Jephthah slept, Shimei went to work on the goat. There was no more trouble for the rest of the night’s watch. Not long after dawn, the Master came back. Shimei woke Jephthah when he saw him approaching.

“You obviously know nothing of lions,” he said. “Never force a confrontation with a lion; it will kill you. Lions are opportunists, so when you see one approach, simply let it know that you see it. Gather the herd together, sling a few stones toward the lion, and it will go look for easier prey. And always remember this: there is often more than one lion. While you were distracted by the one you saw, another made off with a goat. I tracked it this morning. Its trail joins that of the lion you fought, and somewhere at this moment, they feast on the best of my herd. That you might remember this lesson, you will not taste meat for a month.” Then he left them.

Shimei said, “That’s the most we’ve heard out of him since we got here.”

“Yeah.”

“How’s your shoulders?”

“Fine. Feels like the bleeding stopped.”

“Hey, look who’s coming now.”

As soon as the Master had gotten back to his tent, Nahash popped out of another tent and jogged over to Jephthah and Shimei. “I heard about the lion. Are you wounded badly?”

“No.”

“I haven’t got much time,” said Nahash. “Let’s get the herd down into the ravine.” They ushered the goats down to the creek bed, out of sight from the tents. “Dad will expect me in his work-tent soon. But I thought that you might like to shoot my bow today.”

“Yes, we would,” said Jephthah eagerly.

Nahash let both of them handle the bow first. It was perfectly smooth and shone in the sun’s early rays. At first, they had thought that the bow was made of a single piece of wood. But on closer inspection, they saw that it was wrapped in reddish brown strips.

“What are these strips all around it?” asked Shimei.

“Birch bark. It keeps the bow from getting wet.”

“Why would it matter if the wood got wet?” asked Jephthah.

“It’s not just wood. There are layers of wood, horn, and sinew. It’s… hard to explain.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Jephthah.

“My father is an excellent craftsman.”

“He makes these?!”

“Yes. He’s a bowyer.”

“And that’s what’s in the big tent,” said Shimei.

“Yes, that’s our workshop.”

“Can I shoot it now?” asked Jephthah.

“You can try,” said Nahash, “it is not easy to draw, even for someone who isn’t hurt. But first, we have to string it. Here, let me show you how it’s done,” he said, taking the bow from Jephthah. “We leave one end of the string bound to the bow at all times. The other end of the string has to be looped over the far end of the bow. It’s easier to do with two people. Shimei, stand with one foot forward, like this.”

“Okay,” Shimei mimicked Nahash, standing with all his weight forward on his left foot.

Nahash then braced one end of the bow, the end with the string already bound to it, against Shimei’s foot. Then he instructed, “Now, bracing this end against the ground with your foot, pull this end of the bow down and towards you so that it bends enough for me to loop the string over the end.”

Shimei began to bend the bow, but it was more rigid than he’d expected. He had to stop and try again. This time, he bent the bow far enough, and Nahash slipped the loop of string over the end of the bow.

“That thing’s really stiff,” said Shimei. “How do you string it when no one’s around?”

“There’s a technique for it. But there’s no need when someone else is here.”

“Your father seems to manage it pretty easily,” remarked Jephthah.

“Father is much stronger than he looks, and he has worked with bows all his life. His bow is the most powerful one he’s ever made. Most soldiers would not be able to string it or draw it. This bow is actually quite weak. He made it for me to learn with. Here,” he said to Jephthah, handing him the bow, “try drawing it.”

Jephthah took the bow and attempted to draw it. But, before he pulled very far, the cuts on his shoulders reopened. Dejected, Jephthah passed the bow to Shimei. “I guess I’ll just watch today.”

“What should I shoot?” asked Shimei, as Nahash gave him an arrow.

“Just take a shot at that shrub for now.”

Shimei clumsily fiddled with the arrow, trying to make the shaft of the arrow rest against the bow while fitting the notch at the end of the arrow to the string. Once he finally had it, he raised the bow toward the target and promptly dropped the arrow to the ground. Nahash allowed him to repeat this performance twice before he intervened.

“Let me show you a trick,” he said, taking the bow. “With this hand that holds the bow, use one finger to hold the shaft of the arrow against the bow. Then, fit the notch to the string and pull the string back lightly. If you hold the arrow against the bow firmly, that little bit of tension will allow you to let go with your other hand.” He demonstrated this as he explained it. He held the bow in one hand, finger looped over the arrow, holding it tightly in place. “Now you have a free hand, and the arrow is nocked and ready to shoot. Try it.”

Shimei took the bow and arrow back. This time, he was able to get the arrow ready to shoot with little difficulty. He then raised the bow and began to draw the string back.

As he did, Nahash said, “For now, keep guiding the arrow with your finger until you’re ready to shoot.”

Once Shimei had the bow drawn, he tried to take aim at the shrub, but his arm was shaking badly. He released the string and sent the arrow wildly off course. All three of them laughed as the arrow went whizzing high and to the left of the shrub, which was only about ten paces away.

“Look,” said Nahash, “you have to stand like this: not facing the target, but sideways. And you always draw the arrow back to the same place, right here,” he said, drawing his hand back and resting three fingers high on his cheekbone. “And remember, it’s not like a sling: you keep one eye closed while the other aims down the shaft of the arrow. Try this,” he said, handing Shimei another arrow, “without holding the bow, pretend you’re about to shoot this arrow.” Shimei extended his left hand toward the shrub and rested the tip of the arrow on top of his fist. “Now, do all the things I told you: sideways to the target, left eye shut. Good. Now, remember this stance, and try it with the bow.”

Shimei took the bow back, nocked the arrow, and drew. Again, his arms shook as he sighted down the arrow, but when he released the string, the arrow missed the target by a much narrower margin.

“Better,” said Nahash. “I have to go now. Come help me find the arrows first.” As he said this, he unstrung the bow and began to walk in the direction of the arrows.

“Why do you always unstring the bow?” Jephthah asked.

“It makes it last way longer. Years longer.”

“Have you shot anything with it?” asked Shimei.

“Sort of. Dad hasn’t taken me hunting with it yet. But he has let me shoot goats before we butcher them.”

“I wish you’d been with us this morning,” said Jephthah.

“Yes, I would’ve liked to have been there. Shooting a lion is dangerous. They can kill you even when they’re fatally wounded. But it would have been fun to try.”

“Your father said we wouldn’t eat meat for a month, since he lost a goat,” Jephthah said.

“Yes, that sounds like one of his punishments. When he catches me not paying attention to him when he’s instructing me on how to make bows, I do nothing but fletch arrows for a week.”

Jephthah and Nahash searched for the second arrow, while Shimei had run on to look for the other.

“If you keep it hidden, I will bring you some dried meat every couple of days.”

“Thanks.”

Nahash found the arrow and carefully inspected it before placing it back in his quiver. Shimei was panting slightly as he returned with the first arrow.

“This thing went pretty far. That’ll teach me to aim.”

“Missing has its advantages,” Nahash said. “We’ll be able to reuse both of these arrows.”

“Very funny,” said Shimei. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll wreck a few.”

“I will,” he said. “See you tomorrow.” And with that, he left.

Once he was out of earshot, Shimei asked, “Why do you think he keeps coming out to see us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because his dad isn’t exactly friendly.”

“I guess.”

“And he’s a bit harsh too. I mean, no meat for a month?”

“Could be worse. He doesn’t beat us.”

“True.”

“Besides, the punishment is fair,” Shimei said. “You are the head shepherd, Jephthah. You’re supposed to protect the flock.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Anybody who’s going to be the head shepherd should know how to deal with lions.”

“You’re hilarious. Hey, here’s something funny, as head shepherd, I say you take the watch from now till midday. I’m still not feeling too great. I think I need more rest.”

“Whatever you say… boss.”

Jephthah went back to their lean-to and collapsed there. He dreamt that he took a long journey, but he didn’t know what the journey was for. As he passed a vineyard, a lion came charging at him, roaring. Unafraid, he caught the lion as it sprang at him, and though it was enormous and hit with lightning speed, it didn’t even knock him off his feet. He grabbed it by the upper jaw in one hand and gripped its lower jaw in the other. It writhed and fought, but the teeth could not pierce his skin, and its claws found no hold. Hands still clamped to its jaws, he pulled the lion in close—so close he could smell the carrion on its breath. And then, with an inhuman burst of strength, he tore the beast in half.

Staring down at the carcass and at his bloody hands, he had the same sensation as he did during the vision when he fought Zephon, like this was more than dream. It was real, something that would happen to another man, a glimpse of someone else’s story.

 #

In the early afternoon, Jephthah woke and relieved Shimei at the watch. Shimei was exhausted from watching through part of the night, and the entire morning till midday. But he was still concerned about Jephthah’s well-being and asked him how he felt. Jephthah said he was tired, but not lightheaded anymore. All in all, they agreed that his wounds were quite minor, considering the nearly deadly encounter, and he would have some very impressive scars too. Still, he leaned heavily on the crook as he watched the goats milling around the water hole.

As one of the goats bowed its head to lap up the water, Jephthah was suddenly reminded of home, of Gilead. How long had it been since he tended sheep in the grassy hill country? He tried to work it out, but the weeks and months had gone by so quickly. They had adjusted to their new surroundings and responsibilities. They had fallen into a rhythm. He felt as though it could only be a month or two since their arrival, but he could distinctly remember several different changes in the seasons of the desert. Could it really have been nearly a year? He wondered if his brothers and father ever thought about him, or if they were glad he was gone. By now they would know that he was never coming back, that he had been killed, or taken in as a slave somewhere. He began to feel a strong longing for home, not for the people there, just the place itself. He’d grown used to the desert, but he was not of the desert. It would never be a part of him.

As though to prove this to himself, he stepped up out of the depression of the water hole and stared at the horizon. Too far off. The desert’s horizon was so distant, so unreachable. The land should be broken up by forests and mountains, not splayed out nakedly. Slowly, he looked around, starting in the east and turning northward. The changeless landscape still made him uneasy. As he stared to the east, he saw movement not far away.

Two men on horseback were approaching at a trot. He squinted and blinked. It had to be some kind of trick of the mind and eyes, which happened sometimes on the baking flats. But no, there they were. It didn’t make any sense. In the whole time that he’d been there, he’d never seen another person besides Shimei, Nahash, and the Master. What would somebody be doing out here in all this nothingness? Then he noticed that the men seemed oddly familiar, something about their clothes and gear reminded him of… he didn’t know what. Suddenly, he felt his skin go cold as he realized who and what they were. He had to warn the Master.

He ran towards the tent. As he went past the lean-to, he yelled, “Shimei! Raiders!” Shimei was in a dead sleep, but the panic in Jephthah’s voice woke him instantly. He saw Jephthah running past, picked up the sling, and fell in behind him. The Master’s tent was between Jephthah and the raiders, and though the raiders were only moving at a brisk trot, he could see that he would reach the tent only a moment before they did. He yelled as he ran, “Master! Master! Raiders are coming! Quick!” As he reached the tent, the Master rushed out, bow in hand and arrow nocked. Despite his quick movements, he appeared to be only mildly concerned. And when he saw the approaching raiders, he relaxed and lowered his bow. “Master, shoot them! They’ll kill us all, and take the herd, and—”

“We have nothing to fear from them, boy.”

“But—”

“Be silent.”

As the Master spoke, Shimei arrived, panting, and the raiders reined in their horses a few paces away. One of them smiled and said, “Have we startled you, Master Shobi?”

The Master grinned. “I’m still training my new shepherds. They’re not afraid of lions, but it seems they are terrified of guests.”

“Hmmm, I don’t foresee a long life for them,” said the other raider.

“No, perhaps not,” said the Master. “Nahash! Yasha and Bagad are here.”

Nahash emerged from the tent and both men dismounted to greet him. “Hello, cousins,” he said, as they each tousled his hair and made remarks on how much he’d grown.

“What brings you this way?” asked the Master.

“We’re meeting up with some others to sack a couple of towns in the morning.”

“But we thought we had time to stop by and bring you news of the kingdom,” said Bagad.

“Kingdom, indeed,” said the Master. “Bad?”

“No worse than usual.”

“We can discuss it over dinner tonight. Who are you meeting?”

“Penuel’s gang. Over on the east ridge.”

As they spoke, Jephthah grew more and more angry. Here they stood exchanging greetings and casually discussing a raid, likely a raid on his people, maybe his own village. If they stayed for the night, he decided the raiding party would be two men short.

“We’ll need to be off only a few hours past sunset.”

“Maybe we could rest in one of your tents after supper?” inquired Bagad.

“If you do,” Jephthah broke in, “I’ll cut your throats in your sleep.”

Immediately, the Master cuffed Jephthah on the side of his head, across the ear so that his hearing buzzed for hours after. “These are my honored guests. If I thought you worthy, I’d have you wash their feet after their journey.” To the raiders, he said, “Sorry about that.”

Bagad stared at Jephthah with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. He hadn’t quite understood, being unfamiliar with the Hebrew manner of speaking, but the hostility had been plain enough. For a moment, no one was sure whether he would skewer Jephthah with his spear or let the matter rest. Finally, he grinned and said, “Master Shobi, you should teach your slave to mind his manners as well as lions.”

“Yes, I will do that. Go make yourselves comfortable in one of the tents. I will see to an early meal.”    

Yasha and Bagad went to tie up their horses and sleep for the afternoon. Master Shobi turned back to Jephthah and said, “You insolent cur. If Bagad had fully understood you, he would have stuck his spear in your guts and given me the few pieces of silver that your tattered hide is worth. These men are my allies and close kin, and if you attempt to harm them, I will kill you myself. Now, you,” he said to Shimei, “have you dressed the goat?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now butcher it and prepare the choicest cuts to be cooked. Go.” He turned away from them and took Nahash back into the work tent.

“Well, that was smart,” said Shimei.

“Shimei, those men are going to kill our people tomorrow, maybe even our own families.”

“And you want to die too?”

“I want to do something.”

“Me too. But we have to wait.”

“For what?”

“How about until we’re grown, or free, or armed? You know, just because you beat up Zephon one day doesn’t mean you can kill a lion or fight a soldier.”

Jephthah didn’t respond. He hated being reminded of their situation. Sometimes, he could pretend that they were just two shepherds steadily increasing the size of their flock. But they were captives in a foreign land, barely more important than the goats they tended. He fumed, but he had no outlet for his anger.

He and Shimei passed the rest of the day without talking. Not long before dark, they were surprised by a visit from Nahash. They were sitting by their lean-to, watching the goats take their last drink before nightfall when he trudged up and flung himself down beside them.

“What are you doing here?” Shimei asked.

“Yeah, Thought you’d be in there with your cousins.”

“I would be,” he said. “But they’re talking business, and dad said I’m not old enough to be there.”

No one said anything for a while. They all knew what it was like to be left out of a conversation because they were too young.

“Hey, Nahash,” Shimei said, “why did those men call your father ‘Master Shobi?’”

“I don’t know. ‘Shobi’ is his name. Some of his relatives and friends who visit now and then call him that: ‘Master.’ Others who don’t know him so well just call him ‘bowyer.’”

“Do you think he’ll be mad at us for long?” asked Shimei.

“For what? The goat?”

“Jephthah’s threat.”

“No, he’s not like that.” Then he said to Jephthah, “I think he only hit you so Bagad wouldn’t do something worse. He’s our friend, but Bagad is… dangerous.”

“Oh,” Jephthah said. He hadn’t seriously considered the thought of Bagad hurting or killing him.

“So,” Shimei said, “what did you want to do? Shoot? Spar?”

“No, not really.”

They sat silently for some time, unsure of what to do. Then Nahash said, “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Do you guys want to see the tent where he works?”

“Yes,” said Jephthah and Shimei at once. They’d been wanting to go look in that tent ever since they were forbidden to, but Master Shobi seemed to be in there almost constantly. They hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse in the months that they’d lived there.

“They’re talking in one of the other tents,” said Nahash. “As long as we’re quiet, we should be fine.”

Nahash led them to the big tent. Without hesitation, he opened the flap and walked straight in, but Jephthah and Shimei paused at the opening. It was strange for them to simply barge in through the front entry. They would have been more comfortable slithering under one of the sidewalls.

“Come on,” whispered Nahash, poking his head back through the flap. Jephthah went inside and Shimei followed.

At first, they could barely see. They stood still, sensing that the space in front of them was full, crowded. Nahash knew the tent well, and he soon had a flap on the west side of the tent open, allowing the last light of the day to flow in. Jephthah and Shimei could not believe their eyes.

They saw hundreds upon hundreds of bows at various stages of completion. The tent was meticulously organized. There were five long racks that stretched the entire length of the tent, away from the entrance. Bows leaned against each rack from both sides, forming five long triangles. The sun coming in from one side sent wild, cross-thatched shadows playing across the tent floor. Jephthah and Shimei carefully picked their way along the rows in stunned silence, studying a few bows at each stage of assembly. They could see all the layers of different materials that Nahash had spoken of. They wondered at the craftsmanship, the attention to detail. It was a level of precision completely foreign to them. And then, the sheer numbers struck them afresh, hundreds of bows. Hundreds! And just beyond the racks, bundles of finished bows, weapons ready for the hand of a warrior.

“It looks as if he’s getting ready for a war,” muttered Jephthah.

Nahash replied, “He is.”