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CHAPTER 1
It was twelve years since the tall, brash, then, eighteen-year-old son of a farmer had decided to leave his home and family for the greener grass that never really exists outside a fertile, young imagination. It had been a turbulent twelve years in which Jared had tasted success and failure, love and loss, happiness and sadness. In short, Jared had grown up and as a man he realised that his place was back with his family.
Jared was the eldest of two brothers and a sister. His father, Malachi of Ashqelon, had pleaded with him to stay and work the family farm, but his words had fallen on the deaf ears of a headstrong teenager with wanderlust in his heart. Jared didn’t see anything wrong in wanting to leave the family unit. His father was a strong man, easily capable of all the work necessary to keep a farm running and his younger brother, Caleb, although only fourteen at the time was already an experienced, well-muscled farmhand. His mother, Ava, was herself, a farmer’s daughter. She was a sensitive and caring woman, but could be as tough as his father when it mattered. Even the youngest family member, Jared’s ten-year-old sister Hannah had been herding sheep and milking cows since she was six. No, Jared had had absolutely no misgivings about wanting to see a little more of life than a small, arid farming community had to offer. But that was then.
He was in Greece when news reached him of the unrest in Canaan. Neighbouring land had been taken over by a warlike people who had come from the sea. These sea people had established an area they called Philistia and were looking to expand their newfound territory. Ashqelon was on the border between Canaan and Philistia and so Jared decided to return home and join his family through these troubled times. He had learned a great deal in the years he had been away, from both his successes and his failures. He also suspected that the news that reached him regarding the unrest in Canaan was probably greatly exaggerated. One thing he did know was that all people needed to eat and an influx of fresh mouths to feed meant a much healthier economy for everyone, especially the farmers. This was going to be a golden opportunity for Jared to use knowledge gained abroad along with his acquired experience to help his family prosper, not through fighting, but through trading with these new neighbours of theirs who called themselves Philistines.
This last and shortest leg of his journey home had proved to be the most arduous. The boat was on a trading route and so had to stop at Cypress on the way, to unload cargo. Whilst in port there had been an horrific and violent storm, which snapped the mast and all but destroyed the sail. Repair materials were too scarce in Cypress and so the crew had to do a makeshift job of temporarily fixing the mast and patching up the badly damaged sail. As a result the boat could only manage about half its true speed, so the distance between Cypress and Canaan, which was about half that of the first leg from Athens to Cypress took the same length of time. So Jared, who had spent the first eighteen years of his life living in the coastal town of Ashqelon, was now deciding that once on land, he was not going to look at the sea for some considerable time to come.
The boat glided on. It was now possible to make out actual structures on the land as the boat limped the last short distance towards its final destination on this overlong voyage. Jared narrowed his eyes in concentration as he tried to remember if any of the buildings he could now see were familiar to him, but clearly much had changed and it was a different Ashqelon at which he was now looking. As a final coming home act he had managed to purchase a Canaanite robe before leaving Greece, but decided to remain dressed in his chiton until he acclimatised.
The captain ordered the ragged sail dropped, which caused the boat to slow quickly and considerably. The dock at Ashqelon was built over quite deep water, which meant that large boats did not have to moor off the coast. This made unloading cargo and disembarking passengers much easier. In a matter of minutes Jared was standing on the quayside looking back at the boat that had brought him this long way home. He picked up the small canvass sack that held all his belongings and threw it over his left shoulder. He smiled, gave a single wave to the captain with his free hand and nodded as the captain returned the gesture. Then, still smiling, he turned and walked away from the dock area towards the town on the other side of which lay the farming settlements and home.
Although still early in the morning, the streets were bustling with traders and workers. Jared zigzagged his way through the locals and along the narrow walkways. As he walked, he realised that he had not recognized one face, which seemed strange for a small village like Ashqelon where everybody tended to know everybody else. Still, he had been away for twelve years. Even little villages change in that length of time.
As he glanced at the sea of anonymous faces he felt a little uneasy. Over twelve years faces change, but expressions shouldn’t. He was looking at Canaanites all right, but a different breed. These faces had sternness about them, not the openness of simple, honest farmers that he remembered. Maybe it was he? Maybe they just didn’t like strangers? That was a sobering thought. He was now a stranger in the place of his birth.
These dark thoughts must have affected his ability to avoid all oncoming bodies and he brushed shoulders with a man who was walking in the opposite direction. This man was dressed like a soldier, but in a uniform that Jared didn’t recognise. He suddenly noticed that a lot of men were dressed like soldiers. He immediately apologised for bumping into the man and moved to continue on his way, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Remember what side of town you’re on, stranger,” glowered the soldier, suspiciously. Jared apologised again and explained that he had just landed at the docks and was simply looking for a room. He thought it strange that Ashqelon now had two sides, but he kept the thought to himself.
“Be on your way, then,” suggested the soldier.
Jared glanced around and immediately noticed the attention he was being given by the other men in uniform. He suddenly felt uneasy. He had travelled a long way. Home so he thought, but this place was like a foreign land to him. So, erring on the side of discretion, he smiled disarmingly, apologised and continued on his way.
“Philistine bastards!” The words drifted up to Jared from a small man disappearing into a narrow alley. Well that was something. At least he now knew what a Philistine looked like.
Jared continued on for a short time until he saw what he assumed was an inn. He didn’t know of any other businesses that had such a constant influx and outpouring of clients. Seeing this, made Jared suddenly realise that he had not eaten or drank for a very long time. He decided that it would not look too good to turn up on his parents’ doorstep after twelve years and, as his first homecoming act, immediately ask for food and drink. So he strode purposefully towards the hostelry and entered behind three people.
Once inside he felt a little easier. No matter where in the world you are, the one constant is an inn. The décor might vary. The people inside may have different coloured skin. They may have different facial features. They may dress differently. But the one thing that never changes is the atmosphere. An inn is always an inn. They all smell the same and feel the same. Jared began to feel a little more at home. Looking around he saw two people standing by a hole in the wall, which he guessed to be the serving hatch, so he carefully sidled between the many occupied, heavy, wooden tables and bench seats and joined the queue.
After a couple of minutes he reached the hatch and ordered a breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, bread and fruit. He thought it a little early in the day for wine and so opted for a pitcher of water. His meal came almost instantly and was handed to him on a small, round, wooden tray that was simply a section cut from the centre of a large log. He paid and looked around for a vacant seat. The only one he could see in the entire place was at a table directly opposite a huge Philistine soldier. The room was heaving, but this seat remained empty. After spending the last few weeks on board a boat that meant you spilled more food than you ate, Jared had no intentions of wasting so much as a mouthful by trying to eat standing up. It was just breakfast. No big deal. “To hell with it!” thought Jared.
He approached the table and placed his tray in front of the empty seat. The huge soldier, not moving his head, looked up at Jared with his eyes only.
“How do you know I’m not saving that seat for a friend?” enquired the soldier in a menacingly deep growl.
“Only one thing would keep your friend away from the table for as long as I’ve been watching the empty seat,” replied Jared. “And that is if he’s already eaten the food.” He made the comment with a straight face and emphasised his meaning by feigning a vomiting motion. The soldier looked at Jared for the briefest instant. He then gave a short single laugh.
“Sit down, traveller.” the soldier gestured. “Eat your meal.”
Jared sat down and ate in silence. He hadn’t realised until he heard the word traveller relating to him that he looked different to the other people around. All the time he was acutely aware of a great many eyes focused on him. The Philistine made no attempt at conversation, preferring to stare, silently into his large cup of wine, taking the occasional drink. Jared couldn’t understand why everybody seemed so interested in his seating arrangement. Sure, this Philistine soldier was surly and big, very surly and very, very big. But, apart from his opening comment, he hadn’t appeared threatening at all. Jared had a thought that maybe all the attention he was getting was because he was now a stranger. After all, the locals were clearly used to seeing Philistine soldiers among them, even giant ones. He kept forgetting that he’d been away for twelve years. To them it was possible that he didn’t even look like a Canaanite any more. To them he may have just looked like a stranger invading their small community.
Jared hurried and finished his meal. Whatever the reason, he was not at all comfortable with all the attention he was attracting. He had a final drink of water and stood up. The eyes of the soldier followed him as he rose. Once standing, he nodded to the soldier, picked up his bag and picked his way through the tables to the exit.
He still felt a hundred eyes boring into his back as he squinted into the ever-brightening strong morning sunshine. After taking a brief moment to get his bearings, he walked away towards the one place he knew he would feel totally secure.
The sun was considerably higher in the sky by the time Jared got his first glimpse of the small collection of buildings that had represented his whole world as a young child. At least here nothing had changed.
He had left the town of Ashqelon behind him some time before. As he strode purposefully along the narrow track, being careful not to trip in the well-worn cart ruts, he began to realise how absence can play incredible tricks on the mind. He had absolutely no recollection of the distance between the town and his home being so great. It should have been the opposite. He was much bigger and stronger now than he was at eighteen. The distance should have seemed much shorter than it used to be.
One thing that hadn’t changed, though, was the countryside itself, as rugged as the people who farmed it. The multitude of vivid shades of green blending seamlessly with the sun-bright yellow of the cornfields and all this interspersed with a plethora of groves. Polkadot orange; multi-coloured apple; plus the more subdued tones of the green and black olives whose colours were slightly darker versions of the red and white grapes ripening on the vines and all at incredible personal cost. Water was at a premium. Getting it to the fields was backbreaking toil, but it had to be done, by hand and sweat. There were untended fields whose only inhabitants were peacefully grazing cattle. Also, although unseen, Jared knew that in the distance, towards the higher, less accessible, terrain there would be thousands of sheep, fat, healthy sheep that would put food on tables and clothes on backs. It had been said that this was the land of plenty, which, indeed, it was. Unfortunately such a land would always be prized by many nations. If only they could be taught to trade instead of fight for its bounty.
Jared approached the thin track that ran directly to the farm buildings in the distance at a right angle to the road on which he was walking. There was a large stone placed at the junction, which bore the name Malachi, carved roughly into it. This stone marked the boundary to his family’s land. It was exactly as he remembered it twelve years ago when walking in the opposite direction. Actually everything wasn’t exactly the same. The stone now had a little girl sitting on it.
The girl never flinched as Jared drew nearer. So as not to alarm her he stopped a few feet away and asked her name. She told him that her name was Ruth, which he said was a very pretty name. Concerned that she was alone, he then asked her age. Without hesitation she told him that she was ten years old. Jared briefly mused as to why grown women couldn’t be so open? He shook his head to himself and smiled at Ruth. The answer to his next question would have made him physically start, had he not been blessed with extremely good self-control. When he asked her where she lived, she simply pointed in the direction of the farm at the end of the path.
This was the one thing that Jared could not possibly have expected, his family moving on. Even worse, were they still alive? It was only twelve years, but a lot can happen in that length of time, it had to Jared. And now to everything that had happened in his recent life, he would have to add this unkind memory.
He stared with a little more purpose at the face of the young girl. After a second his eyes opened almost imperceptibly wider.
“Who is your father?” asked Jared, gently.
“Malachi” replied Ruth with a smile and with the openness of youth continued, “My mother is Ava and I have an older brother and sister, Caleb and Hannah.
Jared was slightly saddened at not being mentioned in her list, but she had been born, and actually conceived, after he had left. Under those circumstances he too would probably have denied the existence of another sibling to an impressionable and curious child. So he had nothing to hide when Ruth asked him for his name. She asked him if he was just passing by and he replied that he had travelled a very long way to see her family. Showing a very trusting nature, Ruth immediately offered to escort Jared to the house, but warned him that in all probability only her mother would be in. As they walked side by side towards the house Jared suddenly realised that he had subconsciously aimed his arrival at a time when he knew most, if not all of the family would be out in the fields. That was one memory that hadn’t faltered. His entire family worked very hard. There was an outside chance that his mother would have returned home first to prepare the evening meal and that was what Jared had hoped: To be able to reacquaint himself with his family one at a time. That would be far less traumatic for everyone. He then realised that his subconscious plan was still on track anyway as his mother would have stayed at home to look after Ruth, who was far too young for a full days’ work. He could only guess at what reaction he was about to instigate with his return, but he suspected that the most forgiving treatment would come from his mother; at least that’s what he hoped. Jared did not let his trepidation show to Ruth as they continued up the narrow path to the home of his youth.
As they neared the main house, Ruth suddenly left Jared and ran towards the front door. As she ran she shouted “Look who I’ve brought! We’ve got a visitor!”
“I’m busy!” Came the reply from a familiar sounding voice, but with a slight edge to it and further continued by telling Ruth not to play any of her childish games. Jared realised that his mother had in all probability been working since dawn and still had a full working day to get through. He sympathised. Up until this moment he had forgotten what life as a Canaanite farmer entailed. It was harder than most.
Ruth had already opened the roughly fitted cedarwood door when Jared approached the entrance. He blinked several times to relieve the moisture that was beginning to cloud his vision at the first sight of the woman wiping the table with her back to the door. Nothing had changed. The clothes were the same, even the hair, although somewhat longer, still kept the sheen of a much younger woman. He did, however, remember her as not being quite so slender.
Ruth was doing her best to allow Jared a grand entrance as she ran round the table and pointed towards the door, but it seemed that the cleaning was all consuming and he continued to stand in the doorway, unnoticed.
After a short time Jared decided to make his presence felt and offered a cough, which ended as a hoarse “Hello”. At the sound of his voice the woman spun round, her eyes widening at the sight of him. She immediately grabbed a knife from the table and held it in her outstretched right hand pointing it threateningly at Jared, whilst simultaneously pulling the now frightened Ruth behind her.
Jared was as equally taken aback. He did not recognise the young woman menacingly brandishing the sharp knife at him.
“Who are you? What are doing here with my sister!” she demanded in a hard, no nonsense tone.
Suddenly it was crystal clear. Jared realised he was looking into the beautiful face of his sister, Hannah. The little girl he had last seen at ten years old had blossomed into a lovely, but at the moment angry, young woman. He began to smile, which seemed to raise the level of her anger even more. She jerked the blade at him asking why he was smiling and again demanded an answer to his presence in her house. He remembered the last time he had seen Hannah playing with a knife and reminded her how long it took him to stop the bleeding when she accidentally cut herself.
“Be careful,” warned Jared. “I don’t want you nearly bleeding to death like the last time.”
After staring hard at him for a few seconds, Hannah nodded slowly and dropped the knife onto the table.
“Jared,” she breathed. “You’ve come back….. You’ve grown and your beard…. You’ve changed.”
Jared agreed that they had both changed considerably in the twelve years since his departure and approached her with both arms outstretched. As he got close enough to hug her she suddenly slapped him hard across the face. Ruth, who had absolutely no idea what was happening, let out a shriek and ran through the door screaming for her mother.
Jared had expected a frosty reception. He had even imagined being turned away from the front door on his arrival. He had imagined every negative possible, but he hadn’t, for one second, harboured a single thought about physical assault. This was a placid family who co-existed quietly and peacefully with everybody. Of course he’d had no experience of a grown up Hannah.
He took a large step backwards and rubbed his face as he listened to the venomous tirade that spewed from the mouth of his sister as her face contorted, now looking anything but beautiful. Her eyes were wild and her flawless, olive skin now radiated bright red as her anger grew to rage.
“You scum!” She was almost foaming at the mouth. “You vermin! You pile of goatshit!” Tears appeared in her eyes. “How could you?”
A dozen years of suppressed anger gushed from Hannah as she audibly attempted to make sense of why the older brother she looked up to so much had abandoned his family. How could he have been so callous? Didn’t he realize how they would struggle? Didn’t he know the difference that the absence of even just one able working body would make to a small farmstead like theirs? Was he just totally unfeeling, or just totally stupid? Did he know that he was responsible for prematurely ageing both his parents and stripping his younger siblings of their childhoods? Was he even remotely aware of the misery he had caused? Did he even care? And now, twelve years later, more than half her life, he calmly returns as if he’s just been visiting friends for the day….
It was at this stage that Ruth returned with her mother. Jared, who had his back to the door, didn’t immediately understand why Hannah had ceased her bitter, verbal onslaught. Then he followed the line of her tear-angry eyes, which were staring over his shoulder, fixed on a point behind him. He turned slowly, his shoulders dropped and his head angled to one side at the sight of his mother, framed in the doorway holding Ruth’s hand. He immediately noticed, to his shame, that, Hannah had not exaggerated. His mother did indeed look much older than the twelve years should have made her. Regardless of everything, all he could do was smile uncontrollably.
Ruth, standing partially behind her mother, let go of her hand and fidgeted uneasily. There was a brief, eerie silence for the shortest time before Ava stretched out both her hands to beckon Jared into a warm, welcoming embrace. Even if Ava hadn’t heard Hannah’s explosive tirade, she would have recognised Jared in an instant. Taller, broader and with a thick beard, he was her son, it was as simple as that and now he had come back to her. The embrace was strong, squeezing tears from both Jared and Ava and would have continued except for the shrill cry from across the room.
“He stole your youth, my childhood….Our lives!” Hannah was unforgiving.
Ava broke away from her son and crossed the room to Hannah, taking both her daughter’s hands in hers and looking directly into her eyes. She knew that in Hannah’s eyes the damage she perceived as being done by Jared was irreparable, but Ava was far more experienced, far wiser than her eldest daughter. She knew that when something was destined to be, it would be and there was nothing in Heaven or on Earth that would prevent it. Even so, with all her life experience, Ava could not think of one word to ease Hannah’s torment. All she could do was to clasp her daughter’s hands tightly and smile into her eyes.
After a short time Ava released one of Hannah’s hands, half turned towards Jared and held her free hand out to him. As he moved to take it, Hannah broke away roughly and ran through the door almost knocking Ruth over.
“I’m so very sorry,” was all Jared could manage as he held his mother’s hand in both of his. Ava smiled again and shook her head, her eyes closing briefly in a slow-motion blink. In her mind there was nothing to forgive and she told him that. Ruth approached and Ava put a comforting arm around her as Jared clung to her other hand almost afraid to let go. The three figures then stood motionlessly in the semi shadow of the small farmhouse kitchen.
The temperature had already risen to a point that caused the sweat to run freely into Caleb’s eyes as he, his father, Malachi and their neighbour, Abdiel, put the last stones in place to repair the breach in the dry-stone wall that circumnavigated the entire field. This was an important field as it housed the family’s small herd that was grazing contentedly, oblivious to the backbreaking work the three men had just completed. Only Kelev, Malachi’s sand-coloured guard dog, was fresh. With no work to do the Canaan dog had chosen to doze in the shade of the wall.
“Father! The water!” called Caleb from outside the almost perfectly round stone structure. “If I sweat any more I’ll turn to dust!”
Malachi picked up one of the three goatskin water containers, removed the leather stopper and took a long drink. He then re-sealed the top and tossed it over the wall in the direction of his son’s voice. Caleb caught it gratefully and after removing the stopper, poured a little over his head. He shook his curly, black hair, watching the water droplets scatter in a thousand directions and emptied the remainder of the water into his parched throat.
“I hope you’ve left some for me,” called Malachi, jokingly.
“I heard you drinking your share, Father,” replied Caleb. “Besides, we still have two more bottles.”
“Only one and a half now,” added Abdiel. “And at half a bottle of water for all this,” he gestured at the newly repaired wall. “I think I am working much too cheaply.” Abdiel was only joking. It was common practice for neighbours from nearby farms to help each other out with the more difficult chores. The Canaanite farmsteads had flourished since they had adopted this cooperative lifestyle.
Caleb heard the rustle of small stones being disturbed along the path heralding someone’s approach. He turned to see three men moving slowly towards him. One was sitting on a shining chestnut-coloured Egyptian horse flanked by the other two, who were on foot. As they came closer Caleb recognised the rider as Elias of Hebron. Elias was the appointed “Judge” of the Ashqelon farming settlement. The two men walking alongside him were his guards. Both looked severe, dressed in heavy leather bodices and helmets. Each carried a spear and had a short-bladed stabbing sword in a sheath hanging from a thick, leather belt. Malachi tied Kelev to the gate.
There were numerous farming settlements throughout Canaan. To ensure legal stabilisation, each settlement was overseen by a priest/king known as a judge. Their word was law and their judgements final. Most of these high-ranking officials were honest and fair overlords, but a few were not. Elias of Hebron was one of the few. A deeply corrupt individual, he sought to enrich his already considerable wealth at any opportunity. The Canaanites were a religious and God-fearing race of people. Elias played on their devout beliefs to suit his own purposes. His methods were rarely questioned as to do so, appeared like blasphemy. Most gladly added to Elias’ coffers assuming they were pleasing God with their gifts. As to the begrudging few, Elias didn’t care what they thought, as long as they paid, which they did or they suffered God’s displeasure delivered through the rough hands of Elias’ guards.
Elias stopped his horse in front of Caleb as Malachi and Abdiel edged through the makeshift gate to join him. Elias wished the three men a general “Good day”, but remained seated on his horse. He looked over the wall into the enclosure and mentally counted the cows.
“I see you have two more cows than last week, Malachi?” queried Elias.
“I was forced to buy the extra animals to keep my milk yield up,” replied Malachi. “It has been an extra hot, dry summer. The cows are giving less than in previous years.”
“Nevertheless, as each animal is taxed separately, two more cows means two extra payments,” Elias’ voice was even and clinical, stating the facts as he saw them.
“And you need those two extra payments desperately, don’t you?” asked Abdiel in sneering tone.
Elias didn’t rise to the obvious bait. He calmly reminded Abdiel that all taxes collected were a direct tribute to God who had decreed that failure to pay meant that the individual concerned had lost his or her belief and must be punished. Elias ended the explanation the way he ended every proclamation, with the words “That is God’s will”. Abdiel fell silent, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet. Malachi told Elias that he did not carry money when working, but that he would bring the extra to him the next time he was in the town. Caleb suddenly tensed up. Malachi noticed the change in Caleb’s body language and calmly placed a hand on his son’s arm, squeezing it gently. Caleb glanced at his father whose gaze remained fixed on Elias and relaxed.
“Will there be anything else, Elias?” Malachi asked evenly.
“There will be from me!” interrupted Abdiel as he picked up a large rock, crooked his arm backwards ready to strike and approached Elias threateningly. “You’re nothing but a bloodsucker Elias. If God is indeed with you he’ll strike me down before I strike you down!”
Malachi shouted “Abdiel! No!” but was too far away from Abdiel to physically stop the intended assault on Elias. The man on the horse didn’t even move so much as a hair as his two guards moved fluidly into action. One thrust his spear hard into Abdiel’s stomach and twisted it savagely in an upward motion before jerking the tip out. Abdiel crumpled to the stony ground and lay still as his blood pumped into a spreading pool. In a final, callous and totally unnecessary gesture the soldier unsheathed his sword, raised it high in the air and brought it down with vicious force to almost cleave Abdiel’s head in two. As this was happening, the second soldier moved in front of Malachi and Caleb holding his spear forward in a way that could not be misinterpreted. Kelev barked and pulled at his tether in an automatic protective reaction. Malachi told the dog “No!” and again gently restrained Caleb. This time Elias did comment.
“Let the child learn from the father,” he said with quiet menace. “You know, Malachi, I could have him skewered just for the look in his eyes?”
Malachi pushed his son roughly away and ordered him into the enclosure to tend to the cattle. He obeyed instantly. As Caleb disappeared through the gate and behind the wall, Malachi glanced down at the lifeless body of his friend, which was almost floating, face down, in the huge pool of blood as it spread, toward the horse’s hooves. He looked up from the body into the cold eyes of Elias, who still had not moved.
The Judge briefly glanced down at Abdiel’s body and almost whispered, “You see? Gods will.” He then shifted his gaze to Malachi and added in a matter-of-fact tone, “You’ll bring the tribute to me, then?” “I told you I would,” Malachi answered, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.
Not another word was spoken. Elias turned his horse and was joined by his two guards as the trio walked slowly away down the inclining path without a backwards glance.
Malachi waited, motionlessly watching, until he saw the top of Elias’ head disappearing below the level of the hill. As he turned back towards the crumpled heap that was Abdiel’s inert body, Caleb reappeared through the gate. They both stood for a moment, silently staring downwards. Malachi glanced up and saw tears flowing freely from the eyes of his son. He was proud of Caleb’s compassion and hoped that they were not also tears of anger. Malachi had to blink several times to prevent his own eyes from blurring. He knew that he must keep the rage that welled inside him under strict control and hidden from his son. Caleb had been raised to know the exact difference between right and wrong. What the young man had just witnessed was going to severely test his powers of self-control. The last thing Malachi needed now was a vengeful son.
“Do you not want to chase after that animal and strike him dead?” Caleb cried.
“And what good would that do?” replied his father. “If you managed the act without being killed by the guards, you’d be a murderer yourself. No better than Elias. You’d be punished. You, yourself, would be killed. We would lose a child. Would any of this bring Abdiel back?”
Caleb again shuffled edgily. How could his father stand for this total injustice? What was right was right. Elias had cold-bloodedly murdered Abdiel even though it had not been he who personally administered the killing stroke. Something had to be done and yet his father was submissively, even meekly, standing beside the body of his slaughtered best friend clearly about to do absolutely nothing about this travesty of justice. A thought struck Caleb that caused an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was Malachi, the strong, unflinching father he had looked up to his whole life, a coward? What kind of message was Malachi sending? Abdiel is mercilessly slain in front of him and he seems almost forgiving.
It is an unfortunate fact of life that the very young see the world as a mono-dimensional, glossy wonderland. The grass is always green, the sky is always blue and every dog is just there to be petted and played with. As age envelopes the outer and inner person, cracks begin to appear in every idyll. The more one delves the larger the cracks become. Grass turns yellow, skies get dark and cloudy and some dogs bite. To a child the mother is beautiful, nurturing, loving and wise. The father is tall, strong, intelligent and brave. It is the biggest tragedy for every human being that he or she must mature. Maturity brings insight, insight brings reality and reality often brings disappointment.
Whatever Caleb thought of his father’s reasoning he had no intentions of emulating his behaviour by lying down like a lamb. Fire now burned in his eyes as he turned to go after Elias. Malachi, fearful of the consequences, knew that he must stop Caleb at all costs. Whatever the outcome of his son’s planned confrontation he knew their family could only lose. If by some miracle Caleb lived, the authorities would ensure that he would almost certainly be damned along with the rest of the family.
As he stepped in front of Caleb and saw the full extent of the seething hatred in the stone-like, fixed expression, Malachi was not even sure if he would be able to stop him. But he was going to have to try.
Suddenly the expression on Caleb’s face completely altered. Gone was the demonic blood lust, instantaneously replaced by an almost benign expression. Malachi followed the line of Caleb’s eyes and was a little shocked to see Hannah marching purposefully up the hill towards them.
It was actually the older of the two men who reacted and moved the quickest. Malachi almost ran to his daughter. As he reached her he positioned himself to stop her and, more importantly, to block her view of the top of the hill. Hannah was oblivious to any ulterior motive in her father’s rushing to meet her. A combination of anger, the hot sun and a brisk pace had left her somewhat breathless.
“Father! He’s home! He’s there, in the house! Bold as brass!” She blurted, panted on every alternate syllable.
When Malachi did not immediately respond, Hannah peered a little deeper into his face. He was looking at her, but his eyes were distant and glazed. She moved her head slightly to one side where her eyes were just above the line of her father’s shoulder. He moved, instantly blocking her view once again.
“What’s going on, Father?” Her voice now took on a reticent tone. “What’s wrong?”
Again she attempted to peer over his shoulder and again he moved to block her view.
“Where’s Caleb? Is something wrong with Caleb?” Her voice became higher pitched and louder as worry gripped her. “Caleb?” She yelled.
Caleb reached his father’s side as Hannah called his name and was instantly able to alleviate any immediate fear she had regarding his well-being. Hannah looked quizzically from one face to the other. Something was clearly not as it should be, but both her father and brother seemed all right. Again Hannah tried to look to the top of the hill. This time both men blocked her view.
“What is the matter?” She pleaded, the furrow across her forehead deepening. “I know you two. Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”
“There’s been an accident,” offered Malachi.
“Accident?” Caleb almost spat the word. “Tell her, Father!” He continued through grinding teeth.
Malachi placed both his hands on Hannah’s shoulders in a steadying manner. He explained in as few words as possible the incident that had just occurred and what had happened to Abdiel. Even without the worst of the details the shock registered on Hannah’s face as if she too had been stabbed. She buried her face in Malachi’s chest and sobbed uncontrollably. The two men did not realise it, but some of Hannah’s tears were actually out of relief that her father and brother were both unhurt.
Malachi gently turned his daughter and put an arm across her shoulder to guide and comfort her as he slowly walked her down the hill and away from the death scene. As they walked, Malachi called over his shoulder to Caleb telling him to stay with the body until he returned to help him take Abdiel home for the last time. As he saw Malachi and Hannah disappear below the horizon of the hill, Caleb absently untied Kelev and again glanced down at Abdiel’s body before sitting in the dust and leaning back against the wall that the dead man had helped he and his father repair only minutes before. He pushed his head back against the hard stone and stared up at the empty, blueness above. The dog lay down beside Caleb and put its’ head in his lap. This death was not going to go unavenged.
“Should he have reacted instantly to the heinous injustice meted out by the evil overlord, be it suicidal or not?” “Was his inaction cowardice or just the wisdom of age?” “Would his son ever be able to look him in the eye again?” Many thoughts flew across Malachi’s mind as he walked slowly homeward clinging to his daughter almost too tightly. Hannah was still crying so they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since leaving the top of the hill.
The house came fully into view as they rounded the final bend in the hillside pathway. The sight of his house caused Malachi to remember that there had been some underlying reason for Hannah’s excitable appearance at the cattle enclosure. He vaguely recalled her babbling introduction, but made no sense of it. She was still clearly upset and so Malachi decided to leave well enough alone. He was sure all would be revealed once they were finally home.
As Malachi and Hannah neared the front doorway Ruth came bounding into the sunlight shouting “He’s here! He’s home!” Malachi was convinced that she was going to run straight into them and automatically half stepped in front of Hannah to take the full brunt of the impending collision. Luckily, Ruth stopped just inches short of actual contact. Under normal circumstances Malachi might have paid a lot more attention to his youngest daughter as she jumped up and down still shouting “He’s here! He’s here! He’s back, Father! He’s come back!” Malachi’s mind, however, was still in turmoil. The action of the thoughts and unanswered questions caused his overworked brain to reject any outside stimuli. He barely heard Ruth.
Ava now came outside to greet them and was immediately aware that tragedy had struck somewhere. As with Hannah’s first thought, the absence of Caleb caused Ava to jump to the same inaccurate conclusion. The maternal instinct for protecting her young pushed all other thoughts from her consciousness.
“Caleb! What’s happened to Caleb?” she called; eyes wide with terror.
Malachi was about to repeat the story when his gaze fell on Ruth.
“Caleb’s O.K.” he said looking back into his wife’s slowly misting eyes.
He then jerked his head in the direction of Ruth and back to Ava. She understood immediately and told Ruth to go back into the house and wait for them to come in.
“Tell Father about Jared,” she begged.
Even with all that had happened and the unease in his mind, if one word could have solicited a reaction from the confused Malachi that word would have been the name of his eldest son. He slowly looked down at Ruth as if expecting the word to still be hovering in front of her mouth. Then a movement behind the girl caused Malachi to switch his gaze to the house. Every other thought momentarily left his head as he saw Jared standing, framed by the darkness of the doorway behind. What had taken twelve years to shape was condensed into a split second in Malachi’s mind. The boy had left, the man had returned.
The faintest of sobs from Hannah brought the other reality back into Malachi’s mind. He returned his gaze to Ruth and ordered her into the house. Something in his tone made the youngster turn and unquestioningly walk towards the house. Her shoulders drooped as she shuffled past Jared and disappeared inside. Ignoring Jared and still grasping Hannah, Malachi turned to his wife.
“Caleb’s fine,” he repeated. “It’s Abdiel.”
He then repeated the story he had told to Hannah for the benefit of Ava. As with his first rendition he omitted the more graphic details feeling that they would be unnecessarily painful to hear. With a deep frown Ava put her arm around her husband and gave him a short hug before breaking away. She knew that Malachi had only come back to escort Hannah and that he needed to return to Caleb. Ava squeezed his arm and he released Hannah to allow her to go into the house with her mother.
Jared moved to one side to allow the two women to enter the house. When they were inside Malachi walked to the side of the building and took hold of the handcart that normally held the milk urn. He began to walk back up the hill, pulling the empty cart behind him. Jared stepped a few paces away from the house and called to his father.
“I remember Abdiel,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Say a prayer for him, boy,” he answered without turning. “This is man’s work.”
Jared wasn’t sure how to react to the barbed parting comment of his father. His first instinct was to run after the retreating figure and offer an explanation. One thing that Jared had learned over the years was that first instincts could not always be trusted. So he stood, squinting against the strong sun as man and cart disappeared into the shimmering heat haze.
“He will need time.” The disembodied voice filtered through to him from behind.
He turned and gave an unconvincing half smile to his mother who had re-emerged from the house.
“But you have forgiven me. Why can’t he?” It was almost a plea.
“You are my son, Jared,” explained Ava. “I love you. I have always loved you. I love you whether you are here, or somewhere….” She shook her head and shrugged, “We didn’t know where. But wherever you were, you were still my son.”
A tear appeared in the corner of Jared’s eye.
“But I haven’t forgiven you,” she continued. “Life here has been hard. I’m not saying it would have been any different had you stayed. But it certainly would have made things that much easier for everyone, especially your father. He’s had to do the work of two men for the last twelve years. He never complained once. He did not agree with it, but I know he understood your need to leave, even though it did put extra burden on every member of the family. But that is something that you are going to have to sort out individually, if you can. It’s going to take time and patience…. on both sides.”
As Ava was speaking, Ruth came back out of the house. She walked purposefully past her mother straight over to Jared and hugged him.
“One down, four to go,” was all he could manage.
It was a glib comment, but Ava saw the truth of his feelings in the way he clung a little too tightly to his youngest sister as if letting her go would cause her to turn on him. It was true Ava hadn’t forgiven Jared yet and probably would not for some time. In the end, she knew she would, but she was not sure about her husband and Jared’s other sister and brother.
Ava could see from the direction of his eyeline that Jared, although still clinging to Ruth, was still deciding whether or not to go after his father. She knew this was not the time for forcing any issues, so she reached out, gently touched her son’s arm, turned and walked into the house. Jared dutifully followed her, with Ruth still hugging his waist as the pair walked slowly into the house. A couple of times Jared glanced over his shoulder, still caught in two minds, but he dismissed the thought and guided Ruth into the house.
As Ava entered, Hannah lifted her head. She had been sitting at the kitchen table, arms folded with her head resting on them in an attempt to simulate sleep. She had thought that slumber was the best way of removing the days events from her troubled mind, even if only temporarily. She looked at her mother’s frowning expression and was about to offer a few words of comfort when Jared entered just behind her with Ruth. The words stuck in her throat. All that crossed the room from Hannah was an icy stare so hard that it almost physically assaulted Jared.
Ava saw the look on her daughter’s face and immediately intervened. Although acutely aware of what must have been going through Hannah’s mind, she also knew that this was no time for confrontation and recrimination. Soon, Malachi and Caleb would be home and after the trauma resulting from this day’s vicious events they would be expecting some semblance of normality. More heartbreak was definitely to be avoided.
“I think you’d better leave, Jared,” Ava said keeping her voice as even as she possibly could.
She knew that there was no way he was going to understand her motives. In her mind this action was for the greater good. She had three deeply troubled family members and an impressionable child. At this moment in time the needs of the majority had to come first. She also knew that in Jared’s mind this action was almost certainly going to be seen as a bitter rejection. All she could hope for was the understanding of hindsight once he had thought the matter through.
“Maybe in a few days? Perhaps you will visit the Shivah house and pay your respects?” Ava suggested.
Jared was too stunned to understand his mother’s reasoning. All he saw was what his mother knew he would see…. rejection. He was too dumbfounded to even reply and meekly left the house without a word.
Jared was some distance away when the first of many realisations leapt into his mind. He mentally admonished himself that even after twelve years he had forgotten one of the basic customs of his people. It was an important custom and had to be respected. When a Jew dies, there is an immediate period of mourning called Shivah, which lasts for seven days. Shivah is the masculine form of seven in the Hebrew language. The masculine form is used because only the men pray. The close family sit humbly on low chairs in torn clothing and are visited by anyone wishing to pay their respects. After seven days the Shivah is over and those who sat can now stand. This custom dated back to the time of Abraham himself.
Jared also understood the reason for his mother asking him to leave the family home, even if only temporarily. After all it was their home. It hadn’t been his for twelve years. He had no right to make any demands. The reconciliation was going to take much longer than he had naively anticipated. He was just going to have to be patient and understanding. He walked on. “First things first”, he thought. A roof over his head was his immediate objective and once that was sorted out he could then begin the slow process of his reintroduction into the family. He also decided to wait until evening prayers the following night to visit the unfortunate Abdiel’s Shivah house.
The sparse buildings began to multiply, as countryside gradually became town. Jared followed the exact route in reverse to the one he had taken when leaving town that morning. The myriad of narrow criss-crossing streets formed a natural maze in which he did not wish to become lost. He had memorised various landmarks on the way and mentally ticked each one off as he passed it. Soon he saw the inn that had welcomed him for breakfast. He sighed as he entered; he had not thought to be re-visiting the establishment so soon.
The room was even busier now and certainly much louder. Again he noticed the disproportionately large amount of Philistine soldiers present as he made his way towards the innkeeper working behind the serving hatch that connected the main room to the kitchen. He picked his way around various seated and standing people being extra careful not to bump into anyone. He had not yet seen any open aggression from the soldiers, but the stories he had heard were enough to make him extremely cautious.
An enormous man suddenly stood up, without warning, right in front of Jared as he passed a table giving him no time for evasion. The huge soldier had his back to Jared who could not avoid colliding with him causing the soldier to spill his beer. He immediately spun around to face Jared with a maniacal look in his eyes. Jared recognised him as the soldier he had shared the breakfast table with that morning. Not that that seemed to matter. Even if the soldier recognised Jared it did nothing to alter the malevolent expression on his face. Jared had thought the Philistine was huge sitting down, but standing, he was absolutely enormous. This man-mountain was easily well over seven feet tall. To make matters worse, the three colleagues with whom he had been sitting had now all stood to join him. Jared realised that this delicate situation called for a great deal of tact.
“I’m really sorry,” he offered. “It was completely my fault. Please let me get you and your friends another drink.
“You are not a local, are you?” asked the giant whose voice was as deep as he was tall.
Jared thought carefully but quickly before answering. Obviously a great deal of what he had been told about these Philistines seemed to be true, although it was possible that the real trouble only came from a small faction. Unfortunately he seemed to have stumbled onto one of these factions and one of them was definitely not small by any stretch of the imagination. At this table alone he was completely out-numbered and there were many more of them dotted around the room, some already becoming curious. Jared was not a coward, but he had learned when to pick his fights.
“I arrived this morning from Greece,” he replied. At least he couldn’t be accused of lying. “I’m not looking for trouble. Please let me replace the drink I spilled?”
There was a pause that seemed to last for about an hour in Jared’s mind, as the gigantic soldier looked to each of his friends in turn and then back to Jared. Finally the soldier squared his huge shoulders. He reached out an arm as thick as a tree trunk, roughly placed a giant hand on Jared’s shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. Jared’s body went rigid as every muscle in his body tightened at the same time. If he was going down, he was going down fighting.
“Well, man from Greece,” boomed the soldier. “I thought I heard you offer to buy drinks for all four of us?”
Jared relaxed and nodded.
“My pleasure,” he said as he moved around the temporary blockade and carried on to the serving hatch. “I’ll bring them right over!” he called over his shoulder as he negotiated more tables.
After queuing for a short time Jared reached the hatch. He decided to take care of his own business before ordering the soldier’s drinks and arranged for a room, which he told the innkeeper he would need until further notice. Only after that was agreed did he buy the promised four cups of beer. He paid for the drinks and left extra money as deposit for his room. He noticed with some amusement that the innkeeper spat in each Philistine’s drink as he poured it.
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