Among the Gods (29 page)

Joshua gazed at him, his face creased with sorrow. “Either way I lose you, don’t I?”

“That’s right. So decide how you want it to be.”

Joshua sighed deeply, and for the second time in his life, Nathan had a premonition of him as an old man, dying. He had to remind himself that Joshua was barely forty years old.

“You win, Nathan,” he said at last. “Come up to the fort with me. I’ll get your orders changed.”

Miriam stood on the dock, staring upriver at the swirling water long after all of the troop ships had departed, long after all of the other soldiers’ families had returned to their homes. With Joshua and Nathan both gone, she had no reason to return to an empty house.

How would she ever cope with the long, lonely months of waiting that stretched ahead of her? How could she stand the uncertainty and dread that would stalk the empty silences? She let her crutches fall onto the wooden pier, then collapsed beside them, not even caring that she had no way to pull herself to her feet again. She tried to pray but no words came. She felt utterly alone.

After a long time, the pier began to rock slightly as someone walked out to the end where she sat. Miriam turned and was surprised to see Prince Amariah. He stopped beside her and stood with his hands on his hips, gazing silently into the distance for a long moment. Then he crouched beside her.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

When she shook her head, he sank down with a sigh, dangling his feet over the edge of the pier. The silence stretched comfortably between them. Miriam thought of all the memories they shared and how much time had passed since they’d first met. She knew the prince had been thinking the same things when he suddenly said, “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we, Miriam? It seems like a very long time ago that I paid thirty shekels of silver for you in Jerusalem.”

“You paid fifty. Don’t forget the twenty you gave my mother.”

“That’s right,” he said, laughing softly. “I forgot about that. But I’ve never forgotten how you helped me escape from Jerusalem.”

“Dressed in women’s clothing.”

“Yes, in women’s clothing.” He shook his head in mock dismay. “I violated the Torah shamelessly dressing like that.”

“It wasn’t my idea, it was Joshua’s—” As soon as she said his name, Miriam’s tears were unleashed. She covered her mouth to stifle her sobs, but nothing could stem the flow of grief that washed down her cheeks. Amariah wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, allowing her to weep. She didn’t realize how much she needed the release, how badly she needed to be held, until her tears were spent and she sat quietly beside him once again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He hugged her gently. “Don’t be. Each of us is alone in some way, living with circumstances that no one else can understand.” He let his arm drop from her shoulders. “Do you feel like talking?”

“You go first.”

He exhaled slowly. “You know, Miriam, this royal blood flowing through my veins is such a mixed blessing. Today it kept me from going to war with all the other men—and it will keep my sons here, too, where it’s safe. But it’s flowing slow and heavy with guilt right now, like the Nile when it’s loaded with silt. I feel relieved that I don’t have to fight, but I feel guilty because I’ll be safe while better men than me have to suffer and die.” He glanced at her anxiously, as if afraid that he’d said the wrong thing; then he looked down at the river again. “But would my life have any meaning if I didn’t have King David’s blood? Am I being ungrateful when I despise this special gift from God? Sometimes I try to imagine how different my life would have been if I was just an ordinary man, but it’s hard to imagine something I’ve never experienced.”

“And you can’t miss something that you never had,” she said softly. “You know what I’ve been thinking? It was better for me before—when Joshua didn’t love me. I had nothing, but I also had nothing to lose.”

“You don’t really mean that, Miriam. Would you honestly give back these last ten or twelve years that you and Joshua have shared? Do you really wish you’d never known his love, just to avoid the pain you’re experiencing right now?”

Miriam recalled Joshua’s tenderness and his passion, the peace and joy she felt in his arms, knowing that she was utterly loved and cherished by him. The memories brought fresh tears, then suffocating panic at the thought that she might never see Joshua or feel his arms around her again. She took slow, deep breaths to combat her panic.

“I never wanted to play the part of a cripple,” she said shakily. “I never wanted to weigh Joshua down with the burden of my helplessness. And so I couldn’t tell him how much I needed him. I couldn’t beg him to stay or tell him just how alone and scared I feel sometimes, how terrified I am of my own helplessness. When his boat pulled away from shore I wanted to scream, ‘How can you go? How can you leave me all alone like this?’”

Amariah rested his hand on top of hers. “He went for your sake, Miriam. He had to be the man you fell in love with.”

“That’s crazy! He’s already a hero for marrying me, for loving me even though I can’t give him children. I don’t need him to play the part of a brave warrior for my sake.”

“But he needs to play it, Miriam. It’s who he is. You’d lose him forever if you made him stay here. He was very concerned about you, though. He asked me to assign Nathan to the home guard for your sake.”

“Nathan would have hated that. It would kill him to stay here while everyone else went to war.”

“I know. And he and Joshua are very much alike, aren’t they?” She nodded slowly. “If you understand why Nathan had to fight, then you can begin to understand why Joshua did, too. He agonized over leaving you, but he did the loving thing, Miriam. It’s better for you to lose a whole man than to hang on to a bitter, empty shell.”

“The darkness would swallow him,” she said, finally understanding. “I would lose him to his private darkness if he stayed home.” She looked up at Amariah as a sudden realization struck her. “I finally understand how Joshua feels. I know how he suffered all these years after God stripped him of everyone and everything that he loved. I know what it means to feel so alone and yet so afraid to trust God because He sometimes gives hard answers to your prayers.”

“Miriam, you can trust God’s love. He’ll do what’s best—”

“No. That’s the answer I’ve always given Joshua—‘Trust God; He won’t do anything to hurt you’—and now I can’t accept it any more than Joshua could. I’m still a cripple. I’ve lost Abba, Mama Jerusha, and both of my babies. If I lose Nathan and Joshua, I’ll have nothing left. And if I trust God and it’s His will to take them, then I might lose my faith in Him, too.”

She saw the sorrow and understanding in Amariah’s eyes as he met her gaze. “I have no answers for you, Miriam. I’m sorry.”

“Waiting will be the hardest part. Waiting and not knowing what will happen. That’s what Joshua always said—he was so tired of waiting for God to act.” She turned to stare into the dark river again, watching the reflections of the clouds on the water. “O God, I want Joshua to come back…. I need to tell him how sorry I am.”

“For what, Miriam?”

“For telling him he shouldn’t question God. For never really understanding the terrifying darkness that haunted him—until now.”

“Miriam, I promise you won’t be alone while he’s gone.”

“I know.” She listened to the lapping water for a moment before asking, “How bad is this battle going to be? You’ve been through some life-and-death ordeals with me; you know I can handle the truth.”

“You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.” He smiled slightly, but it quickly faded. “The Assyrian army is the best in the world. That’s why they’ve conquered most of it. But none of their emperors has ever been able to annex Egypt.”

“Could they conquer it this time?”

“They’ve already advanced farther than they ever have before. They are career soldiers with the finest organization and equipment in the world. Our soldiers from Elephantine are probably no match for them. But David was an unlikely match against Goliath, too. In the end, the outcome rests with God.” He stood and offered Miriam his hand, helping her to her feet. “Dinah and I will always be here for you. Just ask.”

“Promise me you’ll tell me what you know about the war, whenever you hear something?”

He bent to retrieve her crutches. “I promise, Miriam. It’s the very least I can do.”

22

T
HE SUN BLAZED IN THE COPPER SKY,
as pitiless and unrelenting as the enemy. Nathan doubted he would ever live to see nightfall. He was in Sheol itself; or if not Sheol, then certainly the valley of the shadow of death. He could never have imagined such unending horror.

They were losing the battle. The Assyrians raged against them, as numerous as grains of dust in a sandstorm, burying them beneath their weight, blotting out hope like the sun. Nathan’s friends were falling all around him, cut down ruthlessly with sword and spear. He wondered why he was still standing. He gripped his sword as if his hand were welded to it and swung it until his arms trembled with fatigue, but still the Assyrians surged forward.

As stinging sweat streamed into his eyes, blurring his vision, he thought of Joshua—forced to fight half blind, his perspective distorted, his field of vision limited. Nathan longed to be with him, to draw sanity in all this horror from Joshua’s rocklike strength and faith, but he doubted if he would ever see him again. More than likely they would both be dead before nightfall. Nathan wasn’t sure how he had survived this long.

War didn’t bring the glory and excitement Nathan had dreamed of—only unending terror. One mistake, one momentary lapse of vigilance would cost Nathan his life. He no longer fought to defeat the enemy but simply to stay alive—stabbing, killing, spilling blood without end, without choice. For every Assyrian he slaughtered, three more appeared out of nowhere, streaming forward ruthlessly, driving him back inexorably. He saw hatred and bloodlust in their black eyes and swung his sword again and again. He was so exhausted he considered lying down and feigning death, but the Assyrians mutilated their dead, then rode their chariots roughshod over the bodies. If he was this weary with fatigue and thirst, how could Joshua possibly survive this massacre?

As his will to survive staggered toward lethargy and resignation, Nathan suddenly heard the trumpet signaling retreat. He gazed in amazement at the handful of men still standing with him, not certain he’d really heard correctly; then he turned and ran from the enemy along with all the others, weeping with relief at the sound of his salvation. Only Nathan’s commanding officer continued to fight, vainly trying to stem the flood of enemy forces until his men had a chance to escape. It was something Joshua would do.

The fact that the enemy chose not to pursue them was the only thing that prevented every last man from being butchered. Instead, the Assyrians left to join the main body of their forces fighting at Memphis, while Nathan staggered with his comrades back to their encampment, helping the wounded, leaving the thousands of dead and dying behind. He was weary, splattered with blood, quivering with exertion, but miraculously unharmed.

How is this possible?
He didn’t deserve to be alive. Better men than he had fallen.

After a long, exhausting walk, Nathan finally reached camp, sagging to the ground in front of his tent. He wanted to go home—to Elephantine Island. He would be content to join the ranks of the home guard now, and he realized that Joshua hadn’t been trying to punish him by making the request but instead spare him. He must have known what hell this was, and he’d acted in love. Nathan longed to tell him he was sorry.

Slowly, his regiment gathered to regroup. So many were missing, so many wounded, that the survivors huddled together in a daze of shock, many of them weeping. Two out of every three men had died. Nathan’s body shook uncontrollably, as if trying to shed the horror of this day of combat as a dog shakes off water. Scenes of the battle replayed endlessly in his mind like a waking nightmare, and he shrank from the thought that he would have to go back and fight the Assyrians all over again tomorrow.

“You fought well and very courageously,” Nathan’s only remaining officer said as he tried to boost morale. Nathan hadn’t felt brave but terrified. He and the others stared at the ground in guilt, wondering why they were alive when so many of their comrades were dead.

As the horror-filled events of the day seeped deeper and deeper into Nathan’s soul, he found himself longing to talk to Joshua. Only his wisdom and keen sense of perspective could help Nathan cope with the brutal reality of war or help him find the courage to face it all over again tomorrow. When he’d eaten a little food and regained some of his strength, Nathan decided to walk down the road to where Joshua’s regiment was encamped.

“I’m looking for your colonel—Joshua ben Eliakim,” he told the standard-bearer. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The man shook his head wearily. “No one has seen him since the battle. Colonel Joshua and both lieutenants are among the missing.”

The slippery, sick feeling of dread crawled through Nathan. “Hasn’t
anyone
seen him?”

“Ask them,” he shrugged, gesturing to the listless soldiers. Joshua’s regiment had fought closer to the front lines and sustained even more losses than Nathan’s had. With no officer to regroup or comfort the men, they sat slumped like corpses, lacking the will to eat or quench their thirst or even to tend their wounded.

“Have you seen Colonel Joshua? Do you know what happened to him?” Nathan wandered through the camp, asking again and again, his voice growing louder and more desperate, until he’d questioned nearly every man that had survived. No one seemed to know.

“Are you in this regiment?” one of the survivors finally asked. “Was the colonel your commanding officer?”

“No, he’s … he’s my father.” Something broke inside Nathan as he spoke the words for the first time in his life. He began to weep.
Joshua was his father
. Why had he waited so long to acknowledge it? Why now, when it was probably too late? “He’s my father,” he murmured again. He barely comprehended what the other soldier was telling him.

“The colonel fought beside me for a while. He was wounded and bleeding pretty badly. When we heard the call to retreat, he kept fighting. He stood his ground so we could all get away. That was the last I saw of him.”

No, God. Please
.

It shocked Nathan to discover that he was praying. He repeated the prayer in an endless refrain as he made his way to the makeshift field hospital to search for Joshua among the wounded. Hundreds of blood-soaked men lay sprawled on the ground while the Egyptian physicians tended them with a mixture of medicine and sorcery. The air was filled with moans, with pleas for something to ease the pain, with the anguished cries of those who feared death. Nathan wandered among them in a daze, searching the faces for his father’s familiar eye patch. The torn and mangled bodies that were spread across the earth barely seemed human. Nathan was in a nightmare, and he longed to wake up.

“I’m looking for my father. His name is Colonel Joshua ben Eliakim. Have you seen him?” he asked one of the medics.

The man seemed as weary as his patients. “We don’t have time for names.”

“He lost his right eye a long time ago. He wears a black eye patch.”

“We look at wounds, not faces…. There are so many. Can you give us a hand?”

“I have to find my father first.”

With nowhere left to search, Nathan started down the long road of retreat, back to the battlefield, back to hell itself. He would never be able to accept his father’s death unless he gazed at his familiar, scarred face one last time and held him in his arms. He needed to say good-bye. And that he was sorry.

All along the way the wounded and dying who had fallen beside the road begged for his help. At first Nathan tried to give drinks of water, words of encouragement, but there were so many dying men … too many. He saw several of his friends among the dead but not Joshua. Nathan walked for nearly an hour as if treading water—seeing the same mangled soldiers begging, dying—until he finally came to the field of trampled flax where the battle had taken place. It was strewn with thousands and thousands of bodies and discarded weapons, like flotsam along the banks of the Nile after a flood. The hot, stagnant air was filled with an eerie silence now that the battle was over, and the stench of decay filled his nostrils. The only movement was the rustle of wind through the grass and the slow circle of vultures wheeling overhead.

So many dead. God of Abraham, so many. Please help me find him
.

It was like trying to find one drop of water in a vast ocean of slain. Heart-weary, Nathan staggered forward, turning over bloated bodies, gazing into staring eyes, searching for his father’s familiar face and black leather eye patch. It devastated him to realize that in all the years since Joshua first offered to be his father in the shack in Jerusalem, Nathan had never once called him “Abba.”

“God of Abraham … help me find him,” he wept. “Let him still be alive. Please give me a chance to call him Abba … just one time … just once….”

At last, after hours of fruitless searching, grief and exhaustion and loss overwhelmed Nathan. He sank to his knees and retched. He wished he could heave all the pain and sorrow from his heart, as well, but it was bottomless. He wept uncontrollably as he had so long ago in Jerusalem, a small, lonely boy crying for his abba.

He remembered the day he’d turned thirteen and had cried in Joshua’s arms, so afraid of losing him to the new baby; the day he’d been flogged and his father had begged to take his punishment, then carried him home and tended his wounds; the night his father had dragged him from the pagan worship festival, then fallen at the elders’ feet, pleading for mercy for his son. All those years, Nathan had denied that Joshua was his father, but now he finally understood; Joshua had loved him as much as any flesh-and-blood father ever could. Nathan had found his real father—and lost him.

“I’m sorry, Abba,” Nathan wept. “Please forgive me … I’m so sorry.” He knew he was no longer talking to his earthly father but to God.
He’s the Father you’ve longed for all your life,
Joshua had once told him.
Only God can fill that empty place inside you
. Nathan had rejected God and rebelled against Him all his life, just as he’d rejected and rebelled against Joshua.

“I know it’s too late to make things right between me and my father,” Nathan prayed, “but please give me another chance with you, Lord. Let me try to be your faithful son.”

As Nathan bowed his head to the blood-soaked ground, even the breeze suddenly seemed to grow hushed all around him. In the unnatural stillness, he heard Joshua’s familiar voice in his heart, repeating the words he’d vowed so long ago:
I won’t let you go, Nathan. I won’t give up on you. I promise
. His father had been true to his word. In spite of all that Nathan had done, his father had never stopped loving him. And Joshua’s love and faithfulness were mere shadows of God’s.

Nathan lifted his head as the sun slipped over the horizon in a wash of vibrant color. He knew—as surely as he knew that it would rise again in the morning—that God loved him, that He had forgiven him. After twenty years of searching, Nathan had found his true Father at last.

Stars filled the sky by the time Nathan staggered back into camp. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep to forget the horror of this day, but the moans of the injured and dying carried across the field to him in the night. Remembering his promise to come back and help tend the wounded, Nathan made his way to where the exhausted medics were still hard at work.

“I’d like to help. Tell me what I can do.”

“The men are hungry. You can distribute food and help the ones who can’t help themselves.”

Nathan ladled rations by torchlight and made his way in the dark among the rows of men, serving food to those who could sit and eat. Then he returned with more rations to help feed those who couldn’t. He crouched beside a bedraggled soldier who had one leg and both hands bandaged.

“Are you hungry? Here, let me help you sit.” Nathan lifted the man’s head, then froze when he saw his father’s face. “Abba?” he whispered.

Food spilled to the ground as Nathan clutched his father in his arms. A moment later he felt Joshua’s crushing embrace in return. “Nathan! Thank God!”

“Abba … Abba …” It was all he could manage to say, but he thanked God that he could finally say it.

At last Nathan released his father and leaned back to look at him, staring as if at a mirage. Joshua’s uniform was ripped and tattered into rags, and his eye patch was gone. Nathan barely recognized him without it. His hands trailed over Joshua’s face, his shoulders, his chest. “Are you all right, Abba?”

“I’ll live,” he said, wiping his tears. “What about you? What are you doing here, son?”

“I came to look for you. I had to find you … I had to tell you …”

The wall Nathan had erected around his heart suddenly toppled to the ground, crumbling as if struck by an Assyrian battering ram. He fell into Joshua’s arms again.

“I love you, Abba.”