Daughter of Deliverance (28 page)

Othniel shook his head. “No, I didn't run out. I came back,” he said, speaking slowly, his eyes fixed on Caleb, “to ask your forgiveness, sir. I've brought shame to my family, on my father's name, and on you. And on all of you.” He waved his hands. “So there's nothing I can do about the past, but I ask you to give me a chance to redeem myself.”

Ariel got to her feet, her face flushed. “How can we believe you? You've failed everyone who has trusted you.”

Ardon was even harsher. “Your name is rotten among the troops, Othniel. The worst thing a soldier can do to his fellow soldiers is to run away. He leaves a hole in the line in which the enemy can come. There are men among our troops that have threatened to kill you themselves if you ever came back.”

Caleb remained silent while his daughter and son spoke harsh words to Othniel. He was watching the face of the young man, searching for something. Finally he said, “You have been a disappointment to me, Nephew. Why do you come now?”

“As I said, Uncle, just give me a chance.”

“All right,” Caleb said firmly. “I will give you one final chance to redeem yourself. You will serve as the lowest soldier in the toughest troop in our army. You've been spoiled all your life, Othniel, and you've failed at everything except being a prodigal. But you will serve Captain Benzai, and I will give him orders to make life as hard for you as he can. My fondest hope is that you will survive long enough to die a soldier's death and wipe out the shame that you've brought to your father's name. Now get out and wait until I finish, and I'll take you to Benzai.”

Othniel said quietly, “Thank you, Uncle.” He turned without another word and left the tent.

“You can't trust him, Father,” Ariel said angrily. “He'll just hurt you again and all of us.”

“That's right,” Ardon said. “He'll run the first time he has to face the enemy.”

Caleb turned to face the two. “When I was a young man,” he said slowly, “I performed a rather disgraceful act. Everybody in the family was disgusted with me except one uncle. He believed in me. If he hadn't, I wouldn't be standing before you right now. I probably wouldn't even be alive. I'm giving Othniel one small chance. It might kill him, but it might also make a man out of him.”

****

Captain Benzai was sitting down, casting lots with some of his fellow soldiers. As Caleb approached, he immediately got to his feet, a tough, burly man with features battered from many a battle. “Commander,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Caleb motioned Othniel to come forward, but he kept his eyes on the face of Benzai. He saw recognition and also disgust. “I see you recognize my nephew, Captain.”

“I know him,” Benzai said in a curt voice.

“You're going to take my nephew and make a soldier out of him.” Caleb smiled grimly at the expression on Benzai's face, but he did not hesitate. “I want you to make him the lowliest recruit in the whole army. Give him every dirty job that comes along. Work him until he drops and then work him some more. Do whatever you must to make a soldier out of him. Show no favoritism just because he's my relative. You understand me, Captain?”

Benzai grinned. “Are you giving me a free hand, Commander?”

“I am. I know what you can do, Benzai. I'll never question your methods. If he dies by them, I'll never say a word.” Caleb put his gaze on Othniel, waiting for a protest, but Othniel's face did not change. He nodded to Benzai and the other soldiers and said, “I'll leave him in your charge.”

As soon as Caleb was out of sight, Benzai scowled at Othniel and called out, “All of you men come here!” He waited until those men within hearing distance gathered around, forming a circle around Benzai and Othniel. “We have the most famous runner in history here. Some of you witnessed what a fine runner he is. He ran away and left his companions in the lurch. So we know he can run away, but now the commander has told me he wants us to change him so that he runs forward. So I'm giving you orders. All of you, be as tough on him as you please.”

A howl of pleasure and yells of excitement went up from the crew. They were a tough-looking bunch. As Caleb had said, they were the toughest unit in the entire army.

Tobiah, a giant of a man with snaggle teeth and a scar running all the way from his eyebrow down to his neck, stepped forward. “Just let us have him, Captain. He can't run from us.”

“Don't kill him,” Benzai said. “But anything else you have to do to make something of his rotten carcass is fair.” He reached out and cracked Othniel across the cheek with his hard palm. Othniel was driven sideways and sprawled in the dirt.

“Get up!” Benzai said. “What are you doing lying down? You think this is a rest camp?” He turned and winked at Tobiah, then left.

Tobiah reached down, grabbed Othniel, and pulled him to his feet. He slapped him across the face with two ringing slaps and grinned. “You know what I think, runner? I think you'll not last until the battle comes. And even if you do, you'll do your running at the enemy. If you try to run away”—he pulled a gleaming knife from his belt and held it to Othniel's throat—“I'll kill you myself.” He sheathed the knife, pulled his sword, and nodded at the sword that Othniel wore. “Now, let's see what you can do with that fancy sword, runner….”

Ardon brushed the flies away from his face, and the effort was almost too much for him. He had slumped down beside a spring and had drunk deeply from the cool water. The past six days had been filled with marching and battles, and the entire army was exhausted. They had defeated Libnah, but now Joshua had sent word that they were going to attack Horam, the king of Gezer, without a single day's rest.

A fierce hunger gnawed in Ardon's belly, but in order to eat he would have to get up, and he was too exhausted to even do that. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Captain Benzai coming toward him.

Benzai was thinner than usual, worn down by all the fighting. Now he fell facedown and drank thirstily from the spring. When he had finished, he rolled over and sat up, wiping his mouth. “That was good,” he said. “I had quite a thirst.”

“How many dead and wounded did you have in your company?”

“Too many. How about you?”

“We lost some good fighters.” Ardon glanced over east in the direction of Gezer. “We could use a rest.”

“That's what I said, but Caleb and Joshua say different, and they're the commanders.”

Benzai unhooked a bag from his belt, tilted it up, and drank some of the wine. He handed it to Ardon, who took a few swallows then handed it back. “How big an army do you think we'll be facing at Gezer?”

“Nobody knows. Joshua doesn't seem to care. He just finds the enemy and runs us right at 'em. I always thought this was a land of milk and honey. That's what the prophets all said, but all I can see is fighting and blood.”

The two men sat quietly, almost too exhausted to talk. Finally Benzai groaned. “I've got to go see that the men get something to eat. You know,” he said after he rose, “I don't believe in much of anything, especially in men, but that cousin of yours—Othniel—he fooled me.”

“What's he done now? Run away again?”

Benzai laughed. “No. That's what I thought he'd do, but I put him up in the front line right next to me. When it came time to charge, why the fool ran ahead of the rest of us. He hit their line all by himself, slashing and yelling like a demon. I didn't believe it. Neither did the other men.”

“I can't believe it either.”

“We treated him rough, rougher than we should have maybe. Let him do the dirtiest work. Worked him until he couldn't stand up. I figured he'd run away, but he didn't. I told the men to cut him down if he ran.” Benzai rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Don't know as I ever saw a soldier do any better. You never know what's in a man, do you, until you see him in battle.”

“I can't believe it, Benzai. He ran like a rabbit the last time I saw him in action.”

“Well, now he's like a man possessed.”

“You'd better watch him, Captain. He's let us down more than once.”

“He acts like a crazy man when the battle starts. I wish I had a thousand more like him!”

****

The battle had raged all day, and now that the sun was down, Othniel was fighting alongside Tobiah. Othniel's mouth was dry, and he had a slight cut on his left arm. His right arm was almost dead, for he had struck many blows. Now he suddenly heard a shout of alarm, and Tobiah grabbed him by the arm and said, “Look. They're sending in fresh troops over there to our right. We can't stay here!”

“We can hold 'em.”

“No, we can't. There're too many.”

Othniel narrowed his eyes. “Look,” he yelled. “There's Captain Benzai. He and some of our fellows are trapped up there.”

Tobiah stared and shook his head grimly. “They're lost,” he said.

“No, they're not.”

Tobiah stared at Othniel, who had leaped to his feet and was running, yelling, and waving his sword.

Tobiah laughed and yelled to the rest of the men. “Come on, you weaklings! Would you let a running coward like that have all the glory?” He jumped to his feet, and the men threw themselves into the battle. The action swirled, and men fell, bled, and died, but finally the men of Israel drove the enemy back.

Benzai was on his feet but wounded. He sat down and shook his head. “I'm dizzy.” He turned to see that Othniel had come to kneel down beside him.

“Are you all right, Captain?”

“I'll live,” he said grimly, then grinned. “What were you trying to do, commit suicide? You had no chance against the enemy.”

Othniel grinned also. There was blood on his face and his garments were spattered. “I don't want to have to break in another captain,” he said.

Benzai studied the young man and laughed. “Well, it was a noble charge, my boy. Your uncle Caleb will be proud when I tell him of it.”

****

Ardon had been on the left wing of the army. He had fought until he could barely stand and finally had been attacked by three soldiers that he had managed to beat off, but one of them had given him a bad wound, ripping the flesh in his side. Some of his fellow soldiers had joined in to kill them, but then he had slumped down. One of them stopped, but Ardon waved him on, crying weakly, “Go on. Don't wait for me.”

After that he had passed out, and when he awoke, the sunlight was fading. The action was somewhere over to the left, and he thought he heard the cries of triumph. “I hope those are our fellows,” he muttered. He got to his feet, and his head swirled. He staggered, caught himself, and dropped his sword. When he bent over to get it, he fell headlong. For a long time he lay there, feeling the blood seep from his side. He pressed his hand against the wound, knowing he would bleed to death if he didn't get help. Getting to his feet, he started back but discovered he had lost his sense of direction. “Which way is the camp?” he muttered. He was unable to decide and then desperately took the way he thought would be most likely. Twice he fell and each time crawled back to his feet. Finally he was shocked when he heard a woman's voice.

“Who's there?”

“I'm a wounded man.”

In the moonlight he could see the shape of the woman now. “Are you a Hebrew?” she asked.

Ardon knew that if she were one of the enemy and he said yes, she would kill him and he would be unable to stop her. At least she would call for help. But he could only say, “Yes. I am a Hebrew. Who are you?”

“I'll help you. Come.”

“I can't go far.”

“Our camp is over here. Everyone has run away because of the battle.” The woman came closer and looked down. “You're wounded?”

“My side.”

“Come.” She touched him then, and he smelled the musk of her perfume. She took his left arm and put it over her shoulder. “Lean on me,” she said strongly. “You have to get to the tent.”

****

Ardon did not remember much about the trip to the woman's tent, except for a great deal of pain. She could only half carry, half drag him until finally she said, “There. There's the tent.”

She led him inside and said, “Lie down now.”

He did not need that command, for he collapsed on the spot. As he drifted unconscious he wondered if he would ever wake.
Maybe this is death,
he thought, and then the blackness swallowed him.

****

“My name is Mardiah. What is your name?”

“Ardon.”

“That's a funny name.”

Consciousness had swarmed back to Ardon, and now he had found his upper garments removed, and the woman had worked over his side. “I had to sew you up,” she said.

“It's all right. I'm weak as a baby,” he complained.

“You lost much blood, but you'll be all right. You need to drink as much as you can.” She lifted his head and pressed a cup to his lips. He discovered he was thirsty and drank eagerly.

When he lay back, she said, “You will be all right. You will not die.”

“I need to get back to our camp.”

“How will you go? You can't walk.”

“I guess you're right about that.”

“You are a handsome fellow. Are all Hebrews as good-looking as you?”

Startled, Ardon looked up at the woman. She was sitting beside him, and he saw that she had taken off her outer veil that most desert women wore. She had a strong face and a light olive complexion. She was bold and attractive, with well-shaped, deep-set eyes that studied him carefully.

“I suppose I'm average.”

Mardiah laughed. “How many wives do you have?”

“None.”

“Well, I have no husband. He was killed by a bear a year ago. Maybe we'll do something with that.”

Ardon was so weak he could hardly make sense out of the woman. She was laughing at him, and he saw that she had white, even teeth that showed brightly against her olive skin. He did not fail to notice that she was a shapely woman, too, but then he began to lose consciousness.