they near Mareshah?”
“No, farther away. But if you look towards Mareshah you might see the hills of Hebron away in the distance. Joshua apportioned Hebron to Kaleb and that is where he lived to the end of his days. He had many sons and a beautiful daughter.”
“A beautiful daughter?”
“Yes, her name was Achsah. Kaleb gave her in marriage to his nephew Othniel. For when Kaleb and his men marched against Debir he said, ‘I will give my daughter Achsah in marriage to the man who attacks and captures this town.’ Othniel was a courageous warrior and he desired Achsah because she was beautiful. And so he fought bravely against Debir and took it.”
“Did Kaleb have a beautiful wife?”
Bath-Shua lifted her eye-brows. “Kaleb had many wives.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a rich man, a leader of his tribe.”
“But why did he not love one? Was one not dearer to him than all the others?”
“He may have liked one more. And she was probably very beautiful. But Kaleb was a man. And men are not easily satisfied. They always want more. Still, Kaleb was a great man, a courageous man.”
* * *
“The gate has fallen!” The news was greeted with joy by the Assyrian troops assembled in the camp. Ready to be deployed in another phase of the attack, they stood awaiting orders. “No need for us then,” one of his comrades whispered to Itur-Ea. No, if the main defenses had fallen, there was no longer any use for the siege machines. It would be street fighting and close-quarter combat until all resistance had been crushed and the inhabitants flushed out of the city.
Something was not quite right though: a small battering ram was ordered to go into the city. Had the defenders barricaded themselves in somewhere? Were they mounting a last stand? They must be. Itur-Ea got the chance to find out. His unit was sent into the city to clean up and find any pockets of resistance. As they were marching up the roadway, prisoners were herded through the gate, out of the city. Itur-Ea had seen it all before: women dressed in dirty, shabby rags, the loss and fear clearly etched into their tear-stained faces; skinny children afraid and confused, clinging to their mothers; old men without hope or dignity, staring at the ground with empty eyes. They were clutching bundles of their most important belongings, of food and drink.
Somehow the suffering repulsed him. But it made the difference so obvious—he was part of the resplendent, victorious Assyrian army, they were the dirty, defeated scum that had been trodden into the dust.
And then Itur-Ea saw him. Head erect, looking proud and controlled, the Judahite warrior was led down the road. Even in defeat he would not submit. He wouldn’t be like that for long. The Assyrian army had ways and means to crush a proud spirit. Would he still be silent if his skin was torn off, or would he scream and squirm in agony? It was men like him that had defended the city for so long and those stubborn men would surely feel the anger of the Assyrian soldiers.
The gate was a massive structure. Of course, it was nothing in comparison with the gates of Nineveh. Still, the courtyard between the outer gate and the inner gatehouse formed a large square any city could be proud of. Surrounded by walls and towers, any enemy that had the misfortune to get stuck here would be attacked from all sides. But the inner gatehouse was even more impressive. Itur-Ea guessed it to be nearly fifty cubits long. It had three chambers on each side. Assyrian soldiers now guarded the gate.
As the unit entered Lachish, it became clear that the fight was not over yet. At the end of the road leading straight from the gate, Itur-Ea could see the Assyrian army attacking the citadel. Apparently, the defenders had fled there and were determined to fight to the end.
But Itur-Ea did not join the fight at the citadel. The captain led the unit away from the main road and into the maze of narrow streets. The first few houses they entered were empty. But then they found a family huddled together in the backroom of a house. “Look what we’ve found here!”
“Get up! Out with you!” The Assyrian soldiers shouted at the frightened group. No matter that they couldn’t understand them. The daggers in their hands talked loudly enough. Dragging some meager belongings with them, the captives were dispatched to the gate under the guard of two soldiers.
They found only a few more people hiding in houses. Most surrendered without resistance and joined the other prisoners outside the city. One man tried to defend his family. He must have been involved in the fighting earlier, for a fresh bandage covered his injured shoulder. With a determined look he brandished a sword, shouting at the soldiers. Itur-Ea stepped forward and feigned a thrust with his dagger. The man swung his sword, attempting to strike Itur-Ea. As the man committed, Itur-Ea stepped aside and the sword cut through the air. Catching the man off-balance, Itur-Ea turned around and thrust the dagger into his enemy’s chest. Easy! Blood spurted from the wound as Itur-Ea drew back the dagger. The man collapsed to the ground and breathed his last.
There was reason why he had tried to protect his family: his daughter was quite pretty, even in the rags. A couple of soldiers ensured she would not leave Lachish undefiled. That man had been a fool! Had he thought he could save his family by his sacrifice?
* * *
“Do you know the story of the hero, Keret?” Bath-Shua asked.
“I’ve heard it before, but can’t remember it,” Rivkah replied. They were still sitting in the shed waiting, though Rivkah did not know what for. Bath-Shua seemed to know. She was so calm, so unafraid. Telling stories, she made Rivkah forget the dreadful destruction around them, made her turn her mind on other things.
“Keret was a great king, a good man. He protected his people from the swift raiders. He passed judgment at the gate. He fed the orphan and heard the cause of the widow. But he did not have a son, no rightful spouse at his side.
He did take a wife, but she departed;
the second passed away before she could bear children;
the third one died in her prime;
the fourth was snatched by the plague;
the fifth Rephesh, the messenger of death, carried off;
the sixth the servants of Yam, the god of the sea, claimed;
the seventh was felled by a spear.
So Keret was crushed, his family had come to an end.”
“Did he mourn for his wives? He must have been heartbroken?”
“He may have been sad. But he was a king. It was important for him to have a son, to continue the line. He could not mourn a wife when he needed to continue his quest for an heir. All of his wives failed him, for they did not give him children. That was their role, that was why he married them. He was heartbroken because he had no son. He entered his chamber weeping and the tears streamed down his face.
“Sleep overcame him and on account of his tears the god El visited him in his dreams.
‘Why do you shed tears? Do you not have silver and gold, slaves and cattle, chariots and horses?’
“But Keret spoke and said, ‘What need do I have of silver and gold, slaves and cattle, chariots and horses? I am weeping because I have
