Daughter of Lachish. Tim Frank

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      “Ah, come on Simchah. I’m just pointing out the obvious. I am helping you after all.”

      “Thanks, but it’s still not fair.” Simchah clearly had other things in mind than preparing tomorrow’s bread.

      “Your mother would probably have you doing something else if you weren’t occupied with the flour. So don’t hurry too much,” Rivkah whispered.

      “But I really want to find out what’s been happening at the southern wall. They’ve been fighting since dawn. Soldiers are hurrying along the street from the citadel. Even my father has gone to fight today,” Simchah complained.

      Yes, today was different. Everybody sensed it. People were following any news from the clashes with apprehension. Rivkah had helped around the house earlier today, but then slipped off to see Simchah at the first opportunity. Mother was so irritable and unreasonable today. Even Shomer got confused. You were never quite sure just what you were supposed to be doing. First she sent Rivkah to the loom, then realized she didn’t have the wool she wanted for the fabric; next she told her to get more water and, after frantically searching for an empty jar, had thought it too dangerous to go to the well; then she had given dozens of contradictory orders and became upset when Rivkah wasn’t doing what she had told her. Mother must be totally confused. But then this siege got to quite a few people. Father, of course, was just busy in his workshop, hardly saying a word. He certainly didn’t want any girls standing in the way.

      “Rivkah, another handful.”

      “Sorry.” Rivkah hadn’t paid any attention. She poured a few more grains onto the quern.

      “Do you think it’s true?”

      “Think what is true?” Rivkah asked.

      “That some people are selling their jewelry just to get a bit more grain?”

      “Oh, I can believe some people are doing it. They are hungry.”

      “But their jewelry!” Simchah put in vehemently. “It’s normally so expensive. And they won’t be getting the full price now.”

      “No, they’re not getting a good price,” Rivkah agreed.

      “I would never give away my shell necklace.”

      Simchah had a beautiful necklace of white shells and narrow, red faience beads. She wore it only on special occasions, but the two girls had looked at it together many times, admiring its beauty. Once, Simchah had even allowed Rivkah to try it on.

      “But your necklace is special, Simchah. Nobody would give that away. Some people just sell what they don’t need. Even you said that you’d be glad to get rid of your earrings.”

      “Only if I would get new ones, I said. Mine don’t really suit me. They’re just too plain. No decoration, no color at all. I really need to get some nice ones. Do you think anybody would sell me theirs?”

      “And how would you pay? Barley?”

      “I could put a bit away each day. Nobody would notice and I’ll just eat a bit less.”

      “You would never be able to pull that off. You’re already starving now. Even if it’s only barley bread, you’ll still want something to eat.”

      “I reckon I could do it.” Simchah sounded offended.

      “But what if your parents found out? They wouldn’t be happy,” Rivkah put in another word of caution.

      “They won’t find out. I’ll make sure of that. I know where I’ll put the grain.”

      “Will it be safe from mice there?”

      The question seemed to throw Simchah a bit. She frowned, moved her tongue across her lips and answered slowly, “Yes, it’ll be alright. I just have to ensure the lid fits well.”

      “Do you think it’s a good idea? It does sound a bit risky.”

      “It’s the best way to get some new earrings soon. I desperately need them.” Simchah’s mind seemed set. She moved the stone furiously across the quern.

      Suddenly she stopped. “Hold on. How much to go?”

      Rivkah showed her the bowl. There wasn’t much barley left in it.

      “Just two more handfuls, Rivkah. I’ll put the rest away.”

      Rivkah giggled, “Suddenly you’ll be all keen to grind the flour each day. Just imagine that.”

      Simchah looked directly into Rivkah’s eyes. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

      “No Simchah, I will not tell anyone. I’m your friend.”

      * * *

      Only one siege machine was still battering the walls of Lachish. The others stood, surrounded by the rubble of the crumbling city defenses, as battle platforms. Archers crowded on their decks providing cover for the stormers pouring into the city.

      The Assyrians met stiff resistance. The Judahites drove chariots up the counterramp, turning the siege into a field battle. But the close-quarter fighting gave the unwieldy vehicles no advantage. Horses and drivers fell.

      It did not take long until Assyrian troops had conquered the first tower. Shouts of triumph came from the soldiers now standing on the open platform. They were echoed by those still outside the walls. Without the threat of attacks from above, ladders were placed against the tower and a lieutenant led his platoon of archers upwards. From the elevated position they commanded a wide area, inflicting further damage on the defenders.

      Itur-Ea took a deep gulp from his water flask. His lips were dry and his throat ached. The occasional arrow still struck the siege machine, but there was hardly any danger of torches reaching it now. He no longer had to keep the sides moist.

      Looking back over the siege ramp and across to the hill, Itur-Ea could see the Assyrian camp and nearby the seat of the king, the great Sennacherib. There was a hive of activity with messengers arriving at, and departing from, the command center. The king must be assured of victory now.

      Soon the order came for the siege machines to withdraw from the southwestern ramp. They could do no more damage to the city walls and stood in the way of the attackers entering Lachish. They had done their part.

      It was a staged withdrawal. One machine after the other descended the ramp past lines of soldiers climbing up the hill.

      After the heat of battle, Itur-Ea felt strangely weak and tired when he returned to the camp. He ate some bread and grapes—not much, but it felt good. He couldn’t rest long anyway; the battle still continued. They would take the city, he was sure, but not without more fighting. It seemed those Judahites were eager to fight to the bitter end. Somehow they were not able to accept the fact of their weakness when faced with the might of Assyria. Their stubbornness may have something to do with their trust in that strange god of theirs. The city itself did not even have its own god, he had heard it said. Rather, they had one god for all of Judah—the god of Jerusalem. This god, they were convinced, could never bow to Ashur. Now they were taught their lesson.

      * СКАЧАТЬ