Sunrise on the Mediterranean (60 page)

Immediately RaEm was in the presence of Hiram’s one-breasted soldiers. They gestured to each other, then one disappeared into
another part of the tent. Hiram appeared in the doorway. RaEm did not want to seduce him, but still she wished she looked
better. “I have taken the liberty of ordering a bath for you,” he said. “After our excursion.”

RaEm went from pleasure to impatience. “To blend with the night I advise blackening your face; thus you would need another
bath before returning to your camp.”

His plan made sense, but she hated to feel so unkempt. “I will abide by your suggestion,” she forced herself to say. “This
plan was quite clever.”

Hiram smiled, a beautiful, perfectly cold expression. “Shall we dine briefly first? The tribesmen are congregating for dinner.”

It was a quick meal of grains and poultry. Then he presented her with dark clothes, makeup for her face. He excused himself.
Within the decan he showed up—made as invisible as a shadow at night. His gaze, visible only because of the whites of his
eyes, raked her. “You are sufficient. Shall we go?”

“Where are we going?” she asked. It had dawned on her while she dressed that he could be planning to kill her in the darkness
of the tunnels.

“You wondered if he had gold, did you not?”

RaEm nodded.

“Therefore I will give you a tour of his coffers. Then, should you have cause to demand, you know what his capacity is.” He
glanced at her mouth. “It is good to know the other side’s ability to meet your needs, is it not?” He smiled again. “Besides,
you were bored witless sitting on your mountainside as they scurried around after their god.”

“What do you get out of this?” she asked abruptly, somewhat offended that he understood her so well.

He shrugged. “It amuses me.”

“Everything amuses you,” she snapped. “Did your little Egyptian scribe amuse you, too?”

His eyes burned as he looked at her, and RaEm revised her earlier opinion. He wasn’t without soul; he was a demon. “Never
breathe a word about that again, or it will be your last.”

“My soldiers would simply kill you,” she said haughtily. “I cannot die.”

T
HAT NIGHT IN THE SUKKAH
, which Dadua’s energetic children had built, Dadua stood up. “I sinned,” he said. “In this land, I dared to mingle our neighbors
and ourselves.” He looked away. “We did not know how to treat the totem, the Be’ma Seat. Along the way we have forgotten the
Sages’ words. Never again. A scribe will always be there to remind us, to keep us close to the words of Shaday. Just walking
on this land is not enough.” His voice cracked, but he continued.

“I have made Tziyon into an object. If we worship her, the very soil of the mountain, we will be no better than idolators.
But”—he looked at us intently—“if we remember what she means—that our history is our future, that Shaday is giver and creator
above all we have or imagine—then we will have created an everlasting ideal. Then Tziyon will be eternal.”

You have
no
idea, I thought.

“For this reason, while we seek the face, the favor, of Shaday, we will become a people who know the truths of our God. It
is not enough to recite the stories on feast days. We must know every word he has ever said to our people.”

I tightened my grip on my cup. It hadn’t occurred to me before—which was stupid, it should have—but there was no Bible at
this point.

“
Ha
Moshe brought us laws, laws we follow, though we do not know why. For the next week, every evening we will gather and learn
why we follow these laws. We will learn how to please Shaday.

“In doing this, may we avoid his wrath.”

A hesitant knuckling grew loud. “Additionally,” Dadua said, “I have taken steps to structure our city as a royal city. This
way, more attention can be given to the following of Shaday. Chavsha the scribe will take down the words of the priests, the
tzadik
, so that nothing is lost. This chronicler will—”

I sank to my haunches, behind the ranks of slaves and concubines. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be! But I had memorized the
books; it was one of the things I recalled from those lessons long ago and far away. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers,
Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, Samuel I and II, Kings I and II,
Chronicles I and II!
I was dizzy; I wasn’t believing this!

“We start a new beginning as tribesmen,” he said. “We will build Y’srael and Yuda into a united monarchy. We will be a nation!”

We knuckled in response. N’tan stood up. He was in priestly attire, his golden cap reflecting the multitudes of lamps. He
intoned a prayer to Shaday, then gestured to Dadua.

Dadua spoke. “Shaday will do this for us,” he said. “It is not the work of our hands, but our obedience to him.” He took a
deep breath. “Because of this, Shaday’s words need to be inscribed in our
nefesh
, be a part of our blood.” There was a sense of expectancy. “N’tan will teach us these words, we will breathe them and remember
them!”

We knuckled approval as the
tzadik
walked forward. “Tonight we learn the first law!” N’tan shouted. “Shaday is the only God for the tribes!”

T
HE MOON WAS BEHIND
a cloud, proof that the tribes’ god was forgiving them because he was going to send rain. Rain, RaEm shuddered. Nasty, unnatural
stuff. The only good part of rain was lightning—which was thrilling. She and Hiram crept up the wooded side of the hill, toward
a section of wall with no gates, just homes. Hiram walked to a large tree, felt around on the bark.

It opened outward! A section of the tree was a doorway! RaEm was speechless. “How?” she asked in wonder.

“We hew them out in Tsor, leaving the roots remaining. Then they can be transplanted, easily covering up this,” he said, removing
a wooden plate. “This particular example is a dirty one, quickly executed. My other work is neater, but …” He shrugged.

RaEm looked down the hole. It was darkest black, narrow, and reeked of manure. Hiram crawled into it backward, his long skirts
tangling between his legs. He held himself on the edge for a moment, then dropped from sight.

She heard a thud, then silence. The interior of the tree was slightly bigger than her shower stall in modern Egypt. “Are you
coming?” she heard from below. For a moment she hesitated. Could she trust this man? He waited a moment longer. “Smenkhare,
you remind me of a boy who cannot choose if he wishes to bed a female or be bedded by a male. Decide!”

He didn’t shout, but his point was made: Stop wasting time.

RaEm edged herself down the hole, feeling nothing but air until his impersonal touch gripped her ankles. He placed her feet
on his shoulders, then she was through the hole. They crawled from a limestone room into another tunnel. There were no lights,
no lamps, no candles. She moved through at the sound of his voice.

They walked crouched for a while, then he broke the silence.

“We are within the city.”

Almost immediately the environment changed. They dropped down into a limestone tunnel that was tall enough for them to walk
upright. Hiram produced an oil lamp and they walked on.

“We’re beneath the Rehov Shiryon,” he said. “Can they hear you?” she asked. “They sit down to hear the prophet about now,”
Hiram said. “They leave us to invade at our leisure.”

T
HE
GIBORIM
LEANED FORWARD
, intent on N’tan. They seemed interested in learning, though I would have said that was like a wrestling team showing interest
in needlepoint. Maybe I had judged them wrong?

“Our God,” N’tan said, “is a zealous God.”

I frowned. I heard he was jealous … were those words interchangeable or something? I prodded my almost nonexistent lexicon
and got nothing.

“Why can we not serve other gods, lesser gods?” one of the
gibori
asked.

N’tan shrugged, his hands upraised. “Why would we?” They stared at him blankly. I stared blankly, too; it was such an obvious
question, but I’d never have thought of it. Cheftu was scribbling down his words. Even he stared, puzzled, at N’tan.

“Let’s say you are
haMelekh
of a town,
ken?”
the
tzadik
suggested.

“Ziqlag,” the soldier supplied readily. “I rule as
haMelekh
of Ziqlag.”

That had been where Dadua first ruled. Everyone laughed as the man drew himself up, adjusting his dress as though it were
Dadua’s blue robes. Dadua just smiled, watching with a fervent glitter in his eyes.

“You want to defend Ziqlag from the marauding … highlanders,” N’tan said. There was laughter. “Now, you can choose to send
a whole division, or you can send a giant, an
anaki.
One man who will fight every single soldier and slay them all. Or you can send seven hundred men who might draw even with
the highlanders. Which do you send?”

“The giant. Why bother with all the others when you get the same results with the one?”

“Nachon,”
N’tan said. “Other gods are nothing but the soldiers. They can be effective, but not as effective as the giant, our Shaday.
So: There is no need for another.”

“Why did Shaday pick us?” someone asked.

N’tan leaned back, playing with his beard. “Avram lived in a society with many gods. Now look: He yearned for more than just
statues and sacrifices. He could imagine a god who could not be portrayed in clay or gold or glass.” N’tan raised his gaze
to meet the questioner’s. “Avram could believe. He could see nothing, yet know it was everything.”

I glanced at the audience. Were they getting this? A few looked confused, but the majority nodded. Was I getting this? This
was more of Dadua’s concept of being “chosen.”

“However, we needed to have something else,” N’tan said. “Discipline, we needed discipline. This could only be taught through
hardship, hence Avram’s journey. He had to learn, as now we have to learn, to discern between what is holy and what is daily.
This is why we have the law—to show the differences.”

The
tzadik
leaned forward. “Shaday selected us, because we are the fruit of Avram’s journeys. Because we understand that the universe
is Shaday’s, but he is not in the trees, or the earth. He is above the other gods, just as the giant is beyond the division.”

N’tan was a good teacher. I found myself enthralled. “So that is the first law: No one but Shaday for the tribesmen.” He looked
at Cheftu. “Do you have that, Egyptian Chavsha?”

“Nachon!”
Cheftu said, wiping his quill.

We were living the Bible.