Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank

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СКАЧАТЬ us! Will the Assyrians really rule this land? We all know their cruelty.

      The mighty one has broken the gates of the city,

      he has plundered the villages round about,

      he has felled the people by the sword

      and destroyed their children with fire,

      so that they will be remembered no more

      and their inheritance has been laid to waste.”

      Amnon was silent again, deeply troubled.

      “So you have brought her here,” the woman brought him back to the present.

      “Yes, she is hungry and needs rest. She was wandering aimlessly through the hills. And mother, she looks as if she could do her share of work.”

      The old woman inspected Rivkah. “And who is she?”

      Amnon leaned over to Rivkah and whispered, “It’s Rivkah isn’t it?”

      “Yes,” she answered.

      “Mother, this is Rivkah, daughter of the blacksmith of Lachish.”

      “Shalom Rivkah, daughter of Lachish. Come in.” The old woman turned to the cave again.

      “This is my mother, Ayalah,” Amnon explained as Rivkah followed.

      Rivkah climbed down the steps into the cave. At first she could hardly see in the dim light. But then her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was in a rectangular room with a low ceiling. It was about four by six cubits wide. Opposite the entrance there was a door to another chamber. To the left, too, another room went off the main chamber she was now standing in. Rivkah knew immediately: this was a grave! What were they doing among the dead?

      * * *

      The wind had turned. The westerly breeze now blew the smoke of the smoldering ruins of Lachish away from the camp. The stench had hung over the valley throughout the night and day. Itur-Ea hardly noticed the change of wind. He stood among the other soldiers watching the leaders of Lachish being tortured. Their pleas for mercy to the king had gone unanswered and he had handed them over to the wrath of his officers. The anger of the officers knew no bounds. One of the Judahites had been hurled to the ground. An officer hauled him up by his hair and at the same time thrust a dagger into his side. The man tried to wriggle out of the way, but a soldier kicked him in the belly, causing the man to double over. Silent tears welled in his eyes. The officer drew him up again and began to hack the skin from the flesh. The man’s screams of agony were met by the laughter of the soldiers. He did not last long. The screams died away as the man sank into a lifeless form, the blood draining red into the dust.

      The Assyrian fury was not spent yet. Several archers grabbed two Judahites and stripped them naked. The two stood motionless, giving no resistance as derisive shouts pelted them like stones. The sport had only begun. Four archers stepped forward and each took a leg of the men, pulling them off their feet. Like a cat swung by its tail, so the men were used as living slings and swung through the air. Their heads smashed together before being bashed onto the ground. As one soldier became tired, another took his place and grabbed a leg. The spectators howled in delight. They participated in the sport by dealing an occasional blow to the victims lying on the ground or as they swung through the air. Where was the courage of the Judahites now, where their defense?

      Itur-Ea laughed out loud. Just watching them suffer released his anger. He shoved his way to the front of the group. One of the Judahites lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, a shattered body fighting for breath. There was still a spark of life in him. In rage Itur-Ea kicked the man’s head. Other soldiers joined in and stomped on the limp body. Its life was snuffed out and when the horde moved on, it left only a dismembered mess of blood and cracked bones in the dust.

      Itur-Ea watched at least a dozen men being tortured and killed that afternoon. It was part of the sweet victory over such determined a foe. As the cool of evening approached, the Assyrian soldiers went to their tents where they celebrated the fall of Lachish with streams of beer. The beer had been distributed for the occasion, to celebrate the victory of Ashur.

      * * *

      Outside, the raindrops were pounding on the parched ground. The fall rains had arrived. From the safety of the cave Rivkah was staring at the showers outside. How cold it had become! Rivkah shivered. Drawing her knees up to her body she hugged them tightly. Her clothes just weren’t warm enough. Not on a day like this.

      Amnon sat opposite the entrance and greeted the arrival of the first rain:

      “Blessed are you LORD

      for you have remembered your people.

      You send the rain in its season,

      both the early and the late rains.

      The ground is thirsty and dry,

      the fields are withered and parched

      and you bless them with showers of gentle rain,

      you moisten them with downpours of water.

      O LORD, you ride on the clouds,

      like a warrior you pass through the heavens.

      Listen, listen to the thunder of his voice

      and the rumbling that comes from his mouth.

      He thunders with his majestic voice

      and he does not restrain the lightnings when his voice is heard.

      From heaven’s chamber comes the whirlwind,

      and cold from the scattering winds.

      God loads the thick cloud with moisture,

      the clouds scatter his lightning.

      God thunders wondrously with his voice,

      he does great things that we cannot comprehend.”

      The hymn had built up to a climax as Amnon’s voice grew louder. Now he suddenly broke off and continued in a gentler voice.

      “O LORD, pour your strength into the earth,

      make the ground fruitful, oh God,

      that the dust may bring forth fruit

      and the fields stand heavy with grain.

      May the ears of wheat stand like rows of soldiers,

      sons of the mighty one.

      Blessed are you LORD

      for you have remembered your people.

      You send the rain in its season,

      both the early and the late rains.”

      Amnon gazed out into the rain. His old mother Ayalah sat beside the smoldering embers of the cooking fire. Head down, eyes closed, she had listened intently to the old hymn. Beside her sat Naarah, Amnon’s wife. СКАЧАТЬ