Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank

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      * * *

      The city on the hill loomed dark ahead. Its towers and walls were clearly visible in the pale moonlight. The impressive fort in its centre rose above the jumbled assortment of houses crowding inside the city walls. No light came from the city. But round the base of the hill the odd fire flickered—evidence of the Assyrian army that had encircled Lachish.

      This was how it had been for the last two months—two whole months since they had first set up camp on this low hill. But tonight felt different. Itur-Ea paced the open platform of the camp tower. He had asked to have another look at the city before the attack tomorrow. Opposite him, the siege ramp rose steadily against the city mound. It still seemed impossibly steep, but they had brought their siege machines up that slope before.

      “Nervous?” The guard on watch grinned at Itur-Ea.

      “No, just assessing the likely direction of any possible major resistance. I have to know where the fire might come from.”

      “Right.” The guard didn’t look convinced. “You know,” he continued, “the king has consulted the gods and tomorrow is a favorable day. Ashur will grant us victory.”

      “Oh, I do not doubt that tomorrow is the perfect day. It’s just . . . you have to be prepared for battle.” How could Itur-Ea explain what he felt before a battle? Everything stirred within him. In battles he felt the presence of the great goddess Ishtar so acutely. In the night before a battle he always longed for the mystic union with Ishtar as he had experienced it in the temple of Nineveh.

      “Well, I’d better go back to the tent.” Itur-Ea nodded towards the guard. He had to be alone. He didn’t want anybody watching him right now. Nor did he need any glib comments. Placing his feet carefully on the ladder, he climbed down from the tower to the dark camp below. Finally he felt the ground under his feet. Turning around he walked past tents where soldiers were still making their last preparations for the battle ahead. He did not go to his tent immediately but, rather, felt his way to the siege machines. Placing his hand on the leather shell of his machine, he breathed in the scent he knew so well. It was darker here—no fires were nearby. And so the thoughts came flooding back.

      Itur-Ea was a follower of Ishtar, a worshipper of the goddess of war and love. He could still remember the first time he had gone to the temple. Its splendor was inspiring. The surroundings had awed him. The vivid pictures of the brazen and sensual goddess had set his heart racing. The chants and swirling clouds of incense had taken hold of his mind. The union with the temple maid had set his whole body aflame. And he had realized who Ishtar was, had felt her presence. He had taken his fill and was satisfied; he had given his everything and was spent. Life until then had just been a hazy drudge, but now he had burst into a new reality, a clarity of life as if he had finally surfaced from the dark, primeval waters.

      Itur-Ea had stumbled like a drunk when he walked back out onto the street. The encounter with Ishtar had overwhelmed him. And he had known that he was a new man—that he was a man. From then on he would return often to the temple. Yes, Ishtar was demanding—the temple fees were significant. Ishtar was fickle—his life was no longer so settled since he had devoted himself to her worship. But she had often blessed him these past years and he would continue to worship her as long as he could, as long as she did not turn against him or tired of him.

      His religious life had changed completely since he lived in Nineveh. Back in the village they had mainly worshipped Ea, the god of the deep and of wisdom. Each year at the festival of Nin-aha-kudu, the manifestation of Ea as the god of rivers and irrigated gardens, the image of the god and his daughter had been carried through the village. He himself was even named after the god—Itur-Ea: “Ea has become merciful”. While he had become excited as a boy when the festival of Nin-aha-kudu approached, it could not compare with the experience in the temple of Ishtar. How he longed for that experience now!

      In the dark night Itur-Ea pressed himself against the cold leather panels. What would tomorrow bring? Would he feel the presence of Ishtar? With a sigh he turned and went to his tent which he shared with a dozen other soldiers.

      * * *

      Was Nepheg dreaming of a sumptuous meal, fresh fruit and juice? He loudly smacked his lips in his sleep and chewed on non-existent food. Now and then it sounded as if something had got stuck in his throat. But with a sudden rasping noise he always cleared it again, took a deep breath, and then moved his lips once more, smacking and slurping. He’s probably drooling, too, Rivkah thought. It was pitch dark, so she couldn’t see his face. Nepheg had never been a quiet sleeper, but he must be really hungry tonight.

      In the evening, like every evening, they had taken the mats and blankets from the alcove and spread them on the floor in the main room of the upper storey. The children slept together here, except for Susannah, who was with Mother and Father in the little bedroom. In summer they would often sleep on the roof, but Father had thought it unsafe while a war was going on. So they had to endure the night in the heat of the living room. And it did get quite warm up here towards evening, with the day’s heat trapped inside the house.

      Shallum was sleeping peacefully beside Rivkah. His breathing was quiet and regular. To her left lay Shomer. She had rolled over again and was leaving precious little space for Rivkah. When they went to bed they had had enough room, but Shomer encroached on Rivkah’s space during the night. Why did she always have to twist and turn? Could she not remain still when sleeping? Shomer pushed her elbow into Rivkah’s side. Rivkah sat up. She gently tried to nudge Shomer to roll back away from her, but had little success. At long last Shomer did move a little.

      Rivkah did not lie down again immediately. She stared into the dark and listened. The sounds of her sleeping siblings seemed to recede into the background and she thought she could hear the footsteps of soldiers hurrying across the street below. Even at night they kept watch over the city, defending it against the enemy outside its walls. What did they see as they watched and listened into the dark, trying to detect any movement by the enemy?

      And what did the Assyrians see? A city fortified by strong walls, defended by determined men? Did they dream of riches inside the walls? The governor in the citadel had some opulent furniture and the incense stands in the sanctuary were beautiful. But Rivkah had heard of the wealth of Assyria. They had buildings covered in gold, intricate ebony reliefs on temple walls and purple curtains on windows. The city of their great king was so large it took three days to cross it and all its houses were fine and luxurious. No, they wouldn’t find any such riches in Lachish, where people had just enough to survive.

      Maybe it was the brutality of the Assyrian army that caused them to continue this siege. Rivkah had heard of their viciousness and violence. Were they out to plunder and to kill?

      Rivkah shuddered. She put her hand against her chest and clasped the amulet. It was a figure of Isis with the infant Horus. Rivkah felt the outline of the goddess’s face framed by the full Egyptian hair. In her lap Isis cradled the child-god Horus.

      Would the charm of the goddess help her? Isis was a protector in times of strife, a helper to those in trouble, a source of life. Powerful and skilled in magic, she was the great healer. According to legend, the goddess had prevailed against the cruel god Seth, who had slain her husband. Everything had seemed lost. Through her determination and magic she had conceived a child—Horus, the falcon, who would avenge his father and banish the evil Seth. From death and despair, Isis persevered to the birth of a child who would give victory and life.

      Rivkah’s fingers glided over the hieroglyphs at the back of the little figurine. Through these marks the power of Isis was with her, the protection of the goddess effective for her. Would Isis guard her at this time of danger? Would the power of СКАЧАТЬ