Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Awake

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Who can bring a clean thing out of an unclean? There is not one.” Job 14:4

A shapeless voice seeped into Atarah's drugged slumber.“Wake up!’ Someone gripping her                shoulders . . . shaking her. “Wake up  . . .” The faint voice faded in and out. “Atarah!” Hands pulling . . . pushing . . . heavy darkness . . . . “Wake up.”            

Shua? Crying . . .  Gadreel ? Atarah struggled against numbing stupor. Leaded eyelids refused to open.

“Lady Elika!” Shua’s voice wooly. “Her eyelids fluttered.”

“Thank the gods!” Mother’s voice at a distance. “Thank the gods!”

 Quick footsteps. A cool hand stroking her face and hair. “Atarah!” Mother’s urgency drifted through the haze. “Dagaar’s due with another dose of sleeping drug any moment. Wake up!”

Atarah strained against the spidery threads of sleep that entwined her, tugging her back into nothingness.

“We’re losing her again.” She could barely

hear Mother’s voice now.  “Quickly! A            

wet cloth.” Hands grasped Atarah’s shoulders, shaking her again . . .  “Atarah, stay with …” Mother’s voice faded. 

Atarah undulated down into warm quicksand. Nympha pirouetting on the head of Ninlel . . .head thrown back in laughter . . . loose hair cascading to her ankles . . . kissing Gadreel  . . . gracefully tossing him from a balcony . . . Atarah screaming . . . screaming . . . open mouthed . . . soundless . . . pumping legs . . . Gadreel   . . . arms stretching toward Atarah as he falls . . . soundless cries  . . . twirling in slow motion . . . arms extended above her head . . . reaching for him . . . loud crying  . . .

            Shua’s voice sifted through the void swirling around Atarah. “Shhh, Gadreel . You mustn’t cry.”

            “No, let him,” Mother said.  “The sound seems to be rousing her.”  Atarah wrapped her mind around the child’s persistent cries, using them to pull upward. She fought, forcing open unfocused eyes. Concentrating on the blurred baby and the slave pacing the floor and bouncing him.

            “Only you can save Gadreel .” Mother sounded desperate, her face directly over her daughter’s.

            Atarah opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Slowly, she lifted a weighted hand and let it flop back onto the bed. Something terrible was about to happen . . .  but what?

            “Wake up, Atarah! Take Gadreel away from here.”

       Memory trickled back. Father. The library. She ran her tongue over thick, dry lips. “Gadreel ?” Did that husky whisper come from her?

            Mother held a cup of foul-smelling liquid under her nose and Atarah turned her face from the pungent odor.

      “Drink it.”  Mother’s voice was sharp. “You need it to wake up.”

      Yes. She had to wake up.

      Mother’s arm slipped behind her back, helping her to a sitting position while she tipped the cup to her lips. Atarah sipped, then shuddered. Ghastly.

       “You’ve been asleep for days,” Mother said. “Nympha will be here for Gadreel any

moment. She has asked the priests to come here to consecrate him for tomorrow’s sacrifice.”

            Tomorrow? Mother’s words wrenched Atarah back to reality. Fully conscious now, she understood the danger. Nympha had dedicated Gadreel to the gods and the child would die if Atarah didn’t rescue him.

 Nympha’s giggle drifted in from the hallway and panic flushed Atarah. 

“She’s coming for the baby,” Shua whispered through pale lips. “The gods help us.”

“God of Noah!” Atarah whispered. 

Mother snapped a look her direction. The look told Atarah she heard the prayer. As if he understood Atarah’s desperation, Gadreel began to shriek.

            From just outside the door, Nympha purred, “Do we really want to get him so soon? We could spend a few more minutes together first.”

      A masculine voice murmured something Atarah couldn’t quite make out and the door to Nympha’s bedchamber opened and closed. Nympha would be occupied elsewhere for a while.

            Mother gripped Atarah’s shoulders. “Hurry!”

            Atarah knew Mother and Shua would be killed if they were caught helping her. They risked everything. Atarah’s head throbbed even as gratitude overwhelmed her. “Mother, you shouldn’t be doing this. Father will…”   

“I can’t let my grandson die. The gods forgive me I won’t let them have Gadreel . If you hurry maybe no one will ever find out I helped.”

Atarah tried to stand, but her knees wobbled and she sank back onto the bed. “I can’t. My head is spinning.”

“Fight.” Determination hardened Mother’s voice. “Get moving and it’ll help the sleeping potion wear off.”

            Shua set Gadreel on Atarah’s lap. She kissed the top of his head, but didn’t have enough arm strength to hold onto him. Shua hoisted him up where he could place an open-mouthed kiss on Atarah’s chin. Immediately, he stopped crying and snuggled into his aunt with the slave supporting him.

“I need more time,” Atarah murmured.

Voices floated in from the balcony outside that ran the length of the private quarters. Her sister and a male companion ambled past the windows of the double exterior doors and leaned against the balustrade, never taking their eyes from one another. Atarah stiffened then breathed a sigh of relief as they moved out of her line of vision. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. 

“That buys us a little time,” Shua whispered.

 “No! You mustn’t wait any longer.” Mother said.

“We can’t leave by the balcony stairs now. They’ll see us!” Shua argued.

 “Dagaar’s late with Atarah’s drug, but he could show up any moment.” Atarah noted Mother didn’t reprimand Shua’s insolence. The two women worked together as unlikely equals today.

Apparently remembering that Atarah was finally alert enough to comprehend, Mother explained. “I sent him on an errand, but that won’t delay him much longer.” She edged to the balcony doors and peeked outside.

“Dagaar has kept me drugged?”

A shadow passed over Mother’s face.

“At your father’s instructions,” Shua said.

A sense of betrayal and loneliness flickered through Atarah, but she pushed it away. No time for indulging in self pity. She eased Gadreel off her lap, kissed his cheek and rose from the bed, holding Mother’s arm to steady herself.

“Change of plans,” Mother said. “Balcony’s out of the question.”

Shua sat on the bed and pulled the baby onto her lap.

While Shua entertained the baby, Mother quickly helped Atarah out of her silk tunic. “I’ll call a meeting of the household slaves. While I keep them busy, you leave by the secret door in my chambers.” She handed a brown slave tunic to her daughter.

“But we have to walk right past the main stairs to get there and Dagaar will see us.” Atarah dragged the rough fabric over her head and paused, panting from the effort.

“I’ll try to divert his attention.” Mother tugged down the tunic then held onto Atarah’s arm, supporting her as she tested wobbly legs.

“Father will never let you do this.”

“He can’t stop me. He’s not here,” Mother responded grimly.

The determination in Mother’s voice, along with the feel and smell of the unfamiliar itchy fabric, made Atarah wonder what the future held for all of them.

Shua stayed near them to keep the baby close to his aunt so he wouldn’t start crying again. “Your color is returning,” she said approvingly.

Atarah heard the downstairs entry door open and then Dagaar’s voice. Footsteps ascended the stairs. Urgency surged through her, pumping power into her limbs. She grabbed Gadreel from Shua and shifted him to her hip.

Throwing her free arm around Mother’s neck, she buried her face in the graying hair to say her farewells. Mother wrapped both arms around her daughter and grandson and for a brief moment they held each other. “I’ll never see you again.” Atarah’s voice, choked with tears, was barely audible. She could feel her mother trembling.

 “I love you, my sweet.” Mother kissed Atarah and Gadreel before she drew away, tears coursing down her cheeks. She looked forlorn, as though the world was coming to an end. “Goodbye, precious lamb,” she whispered to Gadreel, using Atarah’s pet name for him.

Dagaar’s footsteps continued up the stairs. Trapped.

 “Hurry!” Shua hissed.

Mother stroked her grandson’s head one last time, then turned abruptly and strode toward the door. She hesitated with her hand on the metal handle before squaring her shoulders and walking through the arched doorway, head held high. She closed the door behind her. Grief coiled around Atarah’s heart like a serpent. Mother’s hands would weave the dark colors of pain and loneliness into her carpet tonight.

“Dagaar,” Mother said just outside the door.“Assemble the slaves.”

     “I’ll tend to your daughter first.” Dagaar’s footsteps didn’t pause. 

      Atarah’s heart flipped and she met Shua’s eyes. They were big with fear. Mother spoke

again, sharply this time. The door handle moved almost imperceptibly, and Atarah guessed Mother was holding it closed. Dagaar muttered something Atarah couldn’t make out.

     “You will call the other slaves to the Room of Candles.”  Mother’s adamant tone demanded obedience. “You can handle your other tasks after we’ve finished.”

     The footsteps paused. “I will not disobey my master.” Rebellion congealed in Dagaar’s

voice.

    “You will obey me.”

    “Will you answer to your husband then?”

    “Call the slaves. Now!”

    Atarah felt a rush of pride at the resolute way Mother whipped words like a sword.Where had her sudden courage come from? Slowly, Dagaar’s footsteps descended the stairs followed by Mother’s lighter ones. Outside, opposite Atarah’s rooms, Nympha and her companion crossed the balcony on their way back to her chamber.

      Shua waited for a couple of beats before binding Gadreel to Atarah’s stomach with a          

long brown scarf that functioned as a sling. She could now move hands-free.

“Hurry! Balcony’s clear.”

“No.” Atarah had her wits about her now. “Nympha might go back out there for some reason. We’ll stick to Mother’s instructions.”

“We’ve defied the gods and we’re going to die,” Shua moaned.

With the baby comfortably in front of her, Atarah dropped back onto the bed, suddenly faint. Shua pawed through her bag and held a wedge of cheese toward Atarah. She scowled and pushed the food away.

“Eat.” The command sounded strange coming from a slave accustomed to taking

orders. “You’ll need your strength.” She was right. Atarah had no idea when she’d eaten last.

Behind the thick door, she could hear the voices of slaves filing through the downstairs toward the Room of Candles and Mother’s meeting. Occasionally the low hum of voices wafted in from Nympha’s bedchamber. Now was the time to eat what she could force down.

While she reluctantly nibbled cheese, Shua outlined the plan of escape she and Mother had concocted during Atarah’s sleep. They would first make their way to a secret passage leading from the slave quarters to a covered alley. From there, they’d have to find a way through the city wall. Something Atarah had always heard was impossible.

The buzz of voices from the floor below faded and Atarah opened the door a crack

to check the hallway. Cradling her nephew, she rocked from side to side quieting him, hoping he wouldn’t scream again once they started. Even if he remained silent, they had only a slim chance of pulling this off.

“How many earthquakes while I slept?” Atarah asked as she listened.

“I lost count.”

“Did boulders block the passage from the slave quarters during the first one?”

“Yes, but the path got more treacherous with each additional quake.”

“You’re sure we can get through?”

“I spent nights digging out rubble while the other slaves slept. The passage still looks blocked, but there’s enough space for us to squeeze through since we’re both small. Of course we’re in trouble if another quake hits.”

Shua indicated the bag hanging from her shoulder. “Food. In case we need to modify our plans. I have more hidden along the way. As soon as we get past the wall behind the summer kitchen, I’ll lead you out of the city over the route only a few slaves know.” She pulled a brown scarf over her hair.  “If we don’t go now we won’t make it.”

Appreciation for Shua rushed through Atarah, but she said only, “I’m ready,” and tightened her hold on Gadreel. He was already asleep.

Carefully, she cracked open the door. Mother’s muffled voice rose from below. Atarah inhaled deeply through her nose then exhaled. “We can’t wait any longer.” For the first time in her life, she drew a brown slave scarf over her hair, grateful the rough scarf would keep anyone from recognizing her as the daughter of an aristocrat.

Shua looked at her grimly. “Think you can keep your baby quiet?”   

“I hope so.”  Warmth spread through Atarah at the term “your baby.” She angled her face away so the slave wouldn’t see her smile, but she knew Shua understood the impact of those words on her mistress. They were Shua’s way of encouraging Atarah.

The two women entered the hallway. Two cubits ahead, the main staircase wound

down to the entry on the main floor. Ararah looked quickly left. Nympha’s door remained tightly shut. Still safe. Past her sister’s chambers, at the far end of the hallway, the entrance to Father’s private library stood open, but the interior of that room was dark. Not a threat. The closed door on the other side of the library led to Father’s spacious chambers and usually stayed locked. Also no problem.

The difficulty lay in the fact that Mother’s chambers occupied the opposite end of the hallway, to the right of Atarah’s room. Atarah would have to walk past the stairs to reach Mother’s door, but they had to go to Mother’s room.

With no walls separating them from the lower level, Mother’s voice rose clearly from below. Atarah could see Dagaar leaning against the door frame of the Room of Candles, his back to them. Beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as she tiptoed past the winding stairway in full view of anyone who might happen to glance her way. She kept fear-filled eyes fastened on Dagaar, praying he wouldn’t turn around. He didn’t. Every slave faced away from them, listening to Mother’s speech. Bless her!

Atarah kept her breathing shallow and nearly silent as they crept the length of the

corridor. Reaching Mother’s chambers, she eased open the door. The hinges didn’t squeak.

“Praise the gods!” Shua whispered as soon as the door closed behind them.

Atarah released a shaky breath. “We have to move quickly.” They crossed the room, hurrying past Mother’s bed hung with opulent red velvet brocade tapestries.

On one side of the room, windows and double doors led to the outside balcony that ran the length of the second floor. Atarah peeked out to make certain Nympha hadn’t reappeared. The balcony was empty.

            “We can use the outside stairs now.” Shua started for the balcony doors. “That’ll be faster.”

“No!” In charge once again, Atarah placed a restraining hand on the slave’s arm. “It’s not safe. We’ll stick to the plan.”

She led the way to a fireplace flanked by mahogany paneling. Pressing on the face of a lion carved into the wood, she slid open a secret door. The two women slipped through and Atarah closed the door behind them. They found themselves on a rickety landing in a dimly lit passage. Atarah had been here before, but not for years.

When she was a child, Mother made a game of teaching Atarah and Nympha how to quietly hide inside this secret space from imaginary intruders. Mother taught them the game herself since she couldn’t allow even her most trusted slaves to know of the hidden place. They practiced over and over. Sometimes Mother would playfully awaken them in the middle of the night to play. The game had been fun, but eventually Atarah caught on that Mother feared real danger from gangs or giants. As a result this place made Atarah uneasy.

“Mother thought ahead to light a torch for us.” The recognition of her mother’s foresight along with the familiar musty odors from childhood brought a choke of emotion. “The darkness down here feels like a solid wall when there’s no torch burning.”  

They made their way carefully down the uneven steps that would lead into a place concealed by bushes under the balcony. Atarah trailed her hand along the wall to avoid a misstep. Feeling the warmth of breath where her lips rested against the line of curls on Gadreel ’s head, she wondered who was comforted more by the touch, her or the sleeping baby?

The small door to the outside scraped noisily over loose stones when Shua pushed

it open. Atarah sucked in her breath hoping no one heard. She squinted against the sudden burst of bright light and peered outside. The sight in the garden ahead stunned her.

Chapter Five

The Trial

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“When Lamech had lived 182 years, he fathered a son and called his name Noah, saying, ‘Out of the ground that the LORD has cursed this one shall bring us relief from our work and from the painful toil of our hands.’ Lamech lived after he fathered Noah 595 years and had other sons and daughters.”

            Noah’s sons proceeded to the city gate at daybreak hoping to speak with Father before his trial. Shem’s stomach rumbled with hunger at the smells wafting from the open market, already bustling with early-risers. Inexpensive meat, left over from temple sacrifices, roasted over open fires. Bakers pulled cakes from earthen-dome ovens. Booths piled high with yellow corn, mounds of red papayas and oranges tantalized him.

      “We could grab a piece of fruit and eat it on the way,” Ham suggested.

      “No time. We’d have to haggle over the price.”

At the city gate, heavily-armed guards patrolling the area refused to allow them access to the dungeon. The brothers retreated into the shadows and leaned against a cold stone wall, waiting for the outer gate to open so Ham could return home as Father had instructed. Shem found himself wondering what would happen if Ham stayed. Could the two of them together do something – anything – to save Father?

“I won’t leave.” Pain lingered in the depths of Ham’s eyes and Shem felt a flash of affection for his brother. “I may never see him again.”

 “You’ll disgrace Father.” Shem’s matter of fact tone belied the intense conflicting emotions he battled, but this was no time for wavering resolve. “Father trusts God and it will break him if we don’t show our trust also.”

But Shem wasn’t so sure he did trust God. The odds against Father were stacked too high. God couldn’t possibly rescue him this time. What influential person would care enough to satisfy the legal requirements by standing up for Father and paying the cost of his release?

Rizpah, Father’s childhood playmate?

Not likely. Wasn’t she the one responsible for the charges against him?

A small detachment of guards arrived and the heavy outer gate creaked open.  “Time to go,” Shem said.

“If you have a chance to talk to him,” Ham’s voice broke, “tell him . . . tell him. . .”

       Shem pulled Ham to him in a brusque farewell embrace before he climbed the stairs to the walkway at the top of the city wall. He leaned against the chest-high masonry, arms resting on the ledge, watching the receding form of his brother. A caravan trudging up to the city passed Ham, but the usually-gregarious brother didn’t acknowledge them.

A twinge of nostalgia mingled with sadness swept over Shem as he watched his brother thread his way down the mountain and disappear around a bend in the road. Shem couldn’t help remembering trips to the tar pits with Ham, Japheth, and Father to gather pitch for waterproofing the ark. He’d enjoyed them only slightly more than the forays into the forest with mother to collect herbs for drying and storing in the ark.

Voices from below interrupted Shem’s reverie. Before he descended the stairs and crossed to the Chamber of Justice, he craned his neck for one last look at the ark in the clearing on the very highest point of the opposite mountain. The ark stood as a massive memorial to the One True God. A memorial to Father’s obedience. Even from so far away the ark looked massive. He lifted his chin with pride. Father had succeeded in one thing: No one in the city could avoid thinking about Noah’s God.

The ark spoke out for the One True God every day.

      People were already filing into the chamber in groups of threes and fours by the time Shem stole in unnoticed and pressed against the back wall, waiting for his father’s hearing to begin. The sounds of agitated voices echoed through the large elaborately-furnished room.

     The entire place had been constructed of natural rock. The judge’s podium, chiseled from a single block of black stone and polished to a high shine, rose from the center of the room. Grapes entwined with vines and leaves wrapped around the rim of the piece. On one side of the judge, at floor level, stood a stool of the same material. Behind a barrior separating the judge’s platform from spectators, rows of seats ran the circumference of the courtroom. Most were smooth marble benches, but directly in front of the judge’s podium Shem could see several large seats with high curved backs. Colorful embroidered cushions adorned the seats. While the people sitting on the benches behind the judge might see nothing more than the his back, the people occupying those privileged places would have eye-contact, and influence, with the judge. Shem fully expected to see Rizpah and her cronies enter and lay claim to them.           

Shem took his place at the end of the back row in the section facing the judge. If Father sat on the witness stool, Shem would be able to see his face during the trial.

The hall filled and the mood grew openly angry. Everyone seemed focused on attaching blame for all the city’s recent problems on Noah. They blamed him for the earthquakes and the changing weather. They blamed him for their business failures. They despised him because he accused them of evil and violence. 

      “Hatred bursts from the man like hot lava from a volcano,” a man directly in front of Shem shouted to the noisy crowd. Scattered applause came from the few who could hear him above the clamor. 

       “Not after today.” A sneer hardened the face of the woman beside him.

        Shem marveled at the irony of the name of the hall, Chamber of Justice. Father would get no justice here today; everyone present intended to kill him. And Shem, alone in a gathering mob, was helpless to stop it. Even if Father were to change his mind and allow Shem to help, what could one man do against such a crowd? Reasoned logic wouldn’t faze anyone present, and a sword wouldn’t fare much better.

      With all seats occupied and the trial ready to commence, Rizpah floated in wearing her signature crimson robe with dark embroidery at the neck. Nodding to onlookers on either side of the aisle, she led her entourage to the plush seats in front of the judge’s podium. The room quieted. Before settling herself she pivoted slowly, eyes searching the room until they came to rest on Shem. She arched her eyebrows to acknowledge him briefly before she flowed into her seat.

The room rustled with the sound of people twisting in their seats to follow her line of vision. All hopes of the safety that results from anonymity vanished. Shem muscles tensed. He clenched his fists in order to maintain control and stared straight ahead.

The judge entered and claimed his position of authority at the podium. “Are the witnesses present?”

One of the men flanking Rizpah spoke. “They are.”

“Bring in the accused.” The judge banged his gavel.

Soldiers escorted Noah into the courtroom, two leading, two behind and one beside him. Though obviously injured and stiff from two weeks in the dungeon, Noah walked slowly, but erect. His hands and feet remained shackled causing him to stumble every time the soldiers jostled him. Noah’s eyes searched out his son and crinkled with pleasure when he spotted him.

The scene felt dreamlike to Shem. Nightmarish. What had happened to his strong father who lifted beams single-handedly into place on the ark? Where was the man who plowed with seven teams of oxen? Why had Noah stopped resisting evil? Why wouldn’t he at least let his son fight for him?

Noah sat on the backless stool reserved for the accused. The desire to rush to the front and stand by his father gripped Shem. He involuntarily shifted forward, but clenched his fists and forced himself to stay put. The physical effort drew a line of sweat across his brow.

The judge called for witnesses.

Rizpah stood, her silk garments contrasting sharply with Noah’s worn goat hair tunic. When the judge gave her permission to speak, Rizpah’s satiny tones mesmerized her audience. “This man Noah threatened my life as well as the lives of other city officials.”

      A man in a turban fastened with a large blue topaz confirmed her testimony.

      Another gentleman near the end of the row rose to his feet. “You know the sacrifice my family is making for this crisis.” His voice thickened with sorrow and he dropped his head to compose himself so he could continue. “How dare we let this rabble-rouser go free when my innocent Gadreel gives everything?”

      “Can anyone refute these witnesses?” The judge surveyed the room.

      Shem locked eyes with his father who shook his head nearly imperceptibly.

      The judge rolled up his scroll and tapped the parchment on the hard edge of the podium. “Very well then. Noah son of Lamech, son of Methuselah, you must die.” 

      Shem felt like a camel had kicked him in the gut.

      “Would the prisoner speak in his own defense?” the judge asked.

      “I would.” Noah’s voice rang strong. His shackles prevented him from rising without help so he addressed the crowd from the stool. “Disaster is immanent. The One True God loves you, but you serve false gods that have no power to save or help you. Believe on the One True God and escape the Flood.”

      The crowd exploded and the soldiers guarding Noah closed rank around him.

Noah shouted above the roar. “There’s room on God’s ark for all of you!”

      Suddenly Shem understood. Father had deliberately chosen this time and place to plead with as many souls as possible. The public trial might risk his life, but it offered hope to many who might not have heard him otherwise.

      Rizpah’s face contorted. “He believes himself superior to us!” 

Calls of, “Kill him!” “Butcher the hate monger!” rumbled through the room.

      Extra soldiers muscled into the crowd, but the pandemonium thundered unchecked. Noah tried to speak. The crowd drowned him out. The judge banged his gavel repeatedly.

Finally, the room quieted and the judge spoke to Noah. “Your own words condemn you.” His lip curled in disgust. “I knew your father, Lamech. Good man. I praise the gods who in their mercy gathered him home to his fathers five years ago and spared him the shame of seeing you, his oldest son, the son he called his “comfort”, so filled with rebellion and stubbornness. His heart would break.”

      Shem couldn’t believe his ears. Grandfather Lamech had lived with the family, hammered nails into the ark, waterproofed it with pitch. After he grew too full of years to leave his bed, he still snapped green beans for canning and prepared apples for drying.

      “Your property now belongs to our great city” The judge banged the gavel twice to conclude the matter. “You shall die in our great temple before the sun sets unless, as the law states, a person of great influence redeems you.”

      Shem sat unmoving. Helpless. Numb. He should obey Father and leave, but he could not move.

      There was a commotion at the doorway and a large man with silver streaking his beard and gold threads woven into the collar of his striped tunic appeared under the arch. The crowd parted and he moved with authority to the front of the room, his head held high. A condescending smirk played over his face. Jeweled rings adorned every finger. “I am Paseah, judge of Heber.” 

Shem recognized the name and heat rushed into his face. 

“I choose to redeem this man.” Paseah snapped his fingers and a slave leading a heavily-loaded camel appeared in the door of the Chamber of Justice. Thick gold chains draped the camel’s neck. Bells tinkled from just above padded hooves. “What’s his price?” 

“Ten thousand dremata,” the judge answered. Few earned that sum in a lifetime.

Silence descended on the chamber.

The crowd stared openmouthed as Paseah reached into his camel’s saddlebag and began counting gold and silver coins onto the podium. Shem could hear nothing but the clink, clink, clink of coin after coin dropping onto the mounting pile. Heaped-up gold spilled over the edge and clattered to the floor.

Why was he doing this?

Deliberately, Paseah lifted a single coin between his thumb and forefinger and held it over his head. “One thousand dremata.” He dropped it from that height onto the pile as his gaze slid around the room. “Any of you worth so much?” His mouth curved upward, but his eyes glinted with the hardness of black diamonds. 

He started a second pile on the floor in front of the judge. When he finished, the camel’s adornments and two of the man’s bulky rings lay with the ten mounds of coins.  “Ten thousand dremata,” he announced triumphantly.

The judge placed the scroll into Paseah’ hand. “Noah is yours.” He spat the words like a man expelling poison.

No one spoke. Shem held his breath.

The soldiers unshackled Noah. 

And it was over! Just like that.

Stunned, Shem followed his father and Paseah from the room followed by the slave leading the camel. Shem stole a furtive look over his shoulder and saw Rizpah, surrounded by the subdued mob, glaring at them angrily. Not one person had moved.

Outside the courtroom they joined the caravan Shem had watched enter the city just before the trial. Without a word, Paseah mounted a camel and motioned for Noah to mount another. Shem tried to help him, but Noah shook him off and managed the feat without assistance. The two men rode to the iron gate and out of the city. Shem walked behind them in front of several slaves and camels, one of which no longer carried a load. Like a sleepwalker, he moved down the winding road he had watched Ham travel earlier.

No one spoke until they crossed the meadow and started up the ark’s mountain. With the city out of sight and almost a distant memory, Noah and the stranger dismounted and embraced. “I thought I would never see you again,” Noah said. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

“Nor I you,” responded Paseah, “though I do think of you whenever I pass this way and view your disgrace on the top of that mountain.” 

“Come here, Shem.” Ignoring the stranger’s insult, Noah beckoned his son. “I want you to meet my youngest brother who I love more than life.”

“You are the oldest son, are you not?” Shem heard little warmth in his words.

“Yes.”  How did he know? 

“I’ve heard all about you from the locals. Whenever I pass this way on business, they are only too happy to discuss Crazy Noah and his family.”

“They know you’re Father’s brother?” Shem asked.

 Paseah tipped back his head and let loose with a belly laugh. “Of course not! I would never share that information with anyone.”

Shem wasn’t quite certain how to react to this newly-found uncle who was willing to give up a fortune to save his father’s life while insulting him every chance he got. “How can I thank you for what you did?” he said.  “God used you to rescue my father!”

Paseah spat on the ground. “God had nothing to do with anything. I alone am responsible.” His tone softened. “I owed my brother.”

Noah interrupted, “What brings you to our part of the world?” Shem recognized Father’s reaction as Noah’s way of avoiding the embarrassment of praise.

“I’m here because of a series of coincidences.”  Paseah mused. “Strange. Very strange.”

      Noah pointed at a bubbling spring a short distance from the trail and the brothers sat down on large rocks where they could catch up. Without a word, one slave filled a skin of water for Paseah and Noah before watering the camels. Another slave immediately hobbled the camel that had carried Paseah’ gold into the Chamber of Justice then dodged as the animal flattened its ears and hurled at him. A glob of spittle nearly as large as his fist darkened the ground inches from his feet. The slave scowled and retreated to a safe distance.

      The camel was without question the biggest and nastiest Shem had ever seen. 

“Coincidences?” Noah asked. 

“Well, five days ago, a runner came to my neighbor’s house offering an opportunity to make a great deal of gold. My neighbor is greedy and would never have shared the information, except . . . ” Paseah grinned. “His wife died the week before and the mourning period wasn’t over, so he couldn’t take advantage of the opportunity. Plus, I needed to search for a runaway out this direction.

 “So,” Paseah continued cheerfully, “I agreed to make the trip and consummate the deal. He thought we could share everything.” He grinned slyly and leaned toward Noah. “And I just might if there’s anything left after paying my brother’s fine.” 

A shudder of distaste skimmed Shem’s
heart. Uncle was very different from Father. “You’ve got that same self-righteous look on
your face your father always used to

have.”

Shem colored. “I’m sorry I didn’t . . .”

“You think I cheated my neighbor?” Paseah’ question was aggressive as well as rhetorical. “I risked danger from robbers and injury. Did he? No.”

 “We’re not criticizing you brother,” Noah’s stepped in. Shem could tell he desperately wanted this reunion to go well. “Tell us the rest.”

“There’s not much left.” Paseah relaxed and launched into his story again as though nothing had happened. He appeared to love the sound of his own voice. “I gathered a few slaves and camels, traveled here and transacted my business. Fortunately for you, as we were passing the Chamber of Justice we heard you hysterically offering rides on your ark. I decided to treat old Buzz with kindness by lightening his load.”

Paseah smiled and winked, seeming for the first time since they left the city as the gracious gentleman who had rescued Noah. He slapped his brother on the back. “You sound exactly like you did four hundred years ago.” 

The ups and downs of his uncle’s personality left Shem dizzy. “Buzz is the camel?”

“Yup. That humungous nasty disaster of a camel was carrying the gold I paid for your father. Meanest camel I ever owned, but I think it’s the meanness that makes him so strong. He carried a thousand dremata in gold like a load of feathers.”

“Where’d you buy him?” Noah asked.

Paseah laughed again. “Didn’t. I took him from a slave trader who made a habit of beating the poor thing until he bled. Found Buzz standing over him by the side of the road early one morning. The fellow was dead. Looked like he’d been trampled. I figured maybe he beat old Buzz one too many times, but you never know. Could have been robbers.”

They proceeded up the trail toward home again, Paseah walking between Noah and Shem with slaves leading the camels a respectful distance behind. Buzz, his legs unshackled, moved forward with a rocking motion, ears flat against his head, shouldering another load of gold taken from two other camels to ease their loads.

“You haven’t said anything about the coincidences.” Paseah said.  “Impressed?”

Noah beamed. “Don’t you see? Coincidence didn’t bring you here. God did. He wove circumstances so we’d meet again.”

Paseah narrowed his eyes and bunched his lips.

Noah didn’t notice. “God has given you one more chance!”

“God!?” Paseah snapped. “I’m the one who saw you in the court room. I paid my good money to rescue you because you wasted your own fortune on that monstrosity up there.” Red-faced he nodded toward the top of the mountain. “You’re just like Father. You have no common sense. The shame you created for the family forced me to relocate.”

Noah recoiled as though his brother had struck him. Shem half-expected a red welt to rise on Father’s cheek. Shem understood Noah’s pain. Father was terrified that his own brother might die in the Flood.

Chaper Four

To the Rescue

© Jeannie St. John Taylor

“Noah was a righteous man, blameless in his generation. Noah walked with God. And Noah had three sons, Shem, Ham, and Japheth.” Gen. 6: 9, 10

Shem and his younger brother Ham tramped along the footpath that wound away from the ark through numerous switch-backs, around thick tree trunks and down the mountain. Vertical rock rose to their backs. In front of them, when trees bordering the trail thinned and opened the view, Shem caught glimpses of the broad valley below spread with meadows of brilliantly colored wildflowers and rectangular fields of corn, barley and sugar cane. Vineyards and fruit orchards swelled over the foothills reaching up toward the walled City of a Thousand Gods, their destination. 

The city perched atop the red granite cliffs of the mountain facing them. Numerous small dark spots, an indication of shallow caves, peppered the face of the cliffs below the city. Some appeared almost rectangular -- as though hacked out by human hands. He counted more than a dozen waterfalls trickling over the precipice, white thread tumbling down gleaming rocks polished smooth by years of falling water. One especially large waterfall seemed to burst from the base of the city itself.  Those falls, as well as the flat slippery precipices on every side, prevented unwanted visitors from entering. The city stood unassailable.

Their father said giants had attacked long ago. Though many people lost their lives in the battle, residents fighting from the walls and windows of the only gate into the city managed to keep the huge creatures at bay. After a few weeks the giants consumed all the crops in the valley and left.

Though the city could not be breached, earthquakes and the violence of its own residents had weakened the city of late.

Because Father grew up within its walls and several of his friends from childhood still lived there, Father loved the city and its people. Two weeks earlier, convinced that the increased incidence of earthquakes and wind storms signaled the immanence of the approaching Flood, Father had disappeared inside the gates. He intended to plead with the residents one final time, hoping to convince former friends that he’d prepared enough space on the ark for them. All who chose, could demonstrate a belief in God by coming aboard. But he hadn’t returned home, and Shem worried he might have been injured in a quake. Or worse.

Despite Father’s strict rule that his sons never under any circumstances come to his aid if he disappeared, Noah’s sons marched on a rescue mission today. The trees thinned again and Shem shielded his eyes against the glaring sunlight reflecting off the granite. They still had a long distance to hike.

He pushed back his worries and inhaled the earthy odors of rotting wood and damp rock carried on the breeze from the cool woods. A squirrel skittered across the path in front of him. He always enjoyed this part of the journey where the downhill slope allowed him to relax a little.

 “We’re gonna have to pick up the pace if you plan to get there before the gates close,” his brother shouted from a short distance behind. “Want me to lead?”

“No need to shout.” Shem measured his tone. “I can hear you.”

“Guess you’re planning on a good soaking again.” Laughter played just below the surface of Ham’s voice, but Shem rarely found him humorous.

            True. They often postponed trips until too late in the day and hit the valley floor right as mist floated up from the ground. Today Shem had delayed the trip because he knew Father would be upset if they came. So when Ham badgered him, Shem ignored his sibling.

He glanced over his shoulder to level Ham with a glare. “You should have stayed home. Mother needs you. I don’t.” He didn’t intend to budge a finger-breadth to appease his brother today.

            “Trying to cheat me out of excitement?” Ham asked, waggling his eyebrows and ears at his brother. Was Ham being sarcastic or did he really think this would be an exciting venture? Why did Ham always respond to difficult situations by making a joke of things? 

            A large boulder and several fallen trees blocked the path ahead. Shem looked up to study the spot where the rock had sheered off the mountain. “That last quake changed the face of the mountain. If they keep getting worse, one could knock the ark off its frame.” 

            “Oh, no!”  Ham said in mock dismay. He bent to scoop up a handful of loose stones. “Whatever would we do then?”

The two men threaded their way around the boulder with Ham now in the lead. He tossed stones against trees. Always playing games.

“You don’t think a quake could actually damage our ark, do you?” Ham laughed.  “Every plank in the thing is as thick as my leg.”

“You’re exaggerating.” 

“Not much. A quake might dislodge the supports and plunk a lot of gopher wood to the ground, but nothing else would happen to it. Except Father would probably make us try to hoist it back up.” 

            Shem smiled despite himself. “You’re right.” The path widened and leveled out. They loped along side by side. Running on the flat was easier on his legs than walking downhill.

            “You know how the ark is kind of rounded on the top and bottom?” asked Ham, his eyes dancing. “If an earthquake knocked it off its struts maybe it would start rolling down our mountain, pick up enough speed to cross the meadow and start up toward the city. Can’t you just see the people watching that huge thing coming at them?” Ham made a rolling motion with his arms that got faster and faster until he banged his hands together. “That would put a nice little dent in the temple of Gug, wouldn’t it? And they think they don’t like the ark because it’s ugly.”

            Both men laughed hard, the sort of hysterical laughter that accompanies tension. “You don’t think rolling across the meadow and climbing the hills to the city would slow it down?” asked Shem.

            “All that mass? It might roll right over the top of the city, down the other side, flatten all the grain fields and splash out to sea.” 

“That might actually give it a chance to do what we built it for.” Thoughts of the Flood sobered Shem. “Think it’s too heavy to float?”

The two men walked in silence for a while before Ham voiced Shem’s thoughts. “Maybe Father is crazy like they say.” Shem preferred Ham’s joking to his despondency. “Do you believe all the stuff Father says? Do you really think we’re going to escape some colossal Flood by floating away in the ark?”

Why would Ham choose this particular time to start voicing thoughts neither had ever spoken? Shem didn’t want to say anything disrespectful about his father. He didn’t want to admit he often had the same doubts. Not now. Not with Father missing. “God told him to build the ark; I believe that.”

“Oh, come on,” Ham snorted. “How logical is that? Has God ever talked to you?”

Just off the trail ahead a movement of tawny fur caught Shem’s eye, sparing him the necessity of answering his brother. Shem crouched and pointed to a pair of large cats under a tree just off the trail. “Shhh!” 

Ham’s eyes widened and he dropped to the ground beside his brother. “Those are lions, aren’t they?” he whispered.

“I think so. What do you suppose they’re doing here?” Father’s prediction about animals coming to the ark flashed through Shem’s mind. “You don’t think . . . ?’

“Nah.” Ham’s denial came a little too quickly.

Shem tried to remember what he knew about controlling cats. Not much. Mother sometimes tossed water on the house cats to shoo them off the table. Wouldn’t work here. No water. Bigger cats.

After several beats, Ham whispered. “I hope cats have bad vision.”

“Me, too.” Moving only his eyes, Shem looked sideways at his brother.

“I hope nothing eats us,” Ham said without smiling.

Shem’s sentiment exactly.

After a few minutes, the lions stood and meandered out of sight. Relieved and puzzled the two men resumed their journey carefully, peering into the woods by the trail, alert to possible dangers.

Up ahead a family of deer crowded close to the trail. Not a problem. Deer were common and harmless except when they browsed the crops Noah’s family grew in the fields surrounding the ark. Shem and Ham had stored an abundance of dried venison on the ark. Ham spoke to one nibbling bark off a tree. “Eat your fill, Sweetie. That’ll plump you up and make you nice and tasty if Father sends for more meat.”

“Also might weaken the tree and make it easier to fell.”

“Don’t need wood. The ark’s done and that tree isn’t gopher wood.”

“We still need wood for the fire pit. Gotta have heat for our mythical journey.”

The obvious criticism of Father bothered Shem. He shouldn’t disrespect his father by listening. He snapped at his brother. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk any more.” The appearance of lions on the mountain had started him thinking.  

“We lost a lot of time back there.” Ham resumed his slow run.

“Yep.” Shem ran with him.

“I saw a couple of ostriches up by the ark the other day.” Ham said.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“And the point would be . . . ?  There are strange animals everywhere these days.”

“The quakes must be changing animal habitats.” A rabbit ran across the trail right in front of Shem, nearly tripping him.

             “How long has Father been saying God was going to send animals to fill the ark?” Ham asked.

            “As long as I can remember.”

            “Me, too.” Ham parroted Father’s sometimes-preachy tone. “‘Two of every kind of animal on earth will show up just before we embark.’”

            “Maybe all the strange-animal sightings prove Father right.” Shem couldn’t bear to think about the events about to take place if Father’s words were correct. The thoughts of all the people perishing made him literally sick to his stomach. If God was good, as Father claimed, why would he destroy humankind? And without a mate, how would Shem bear the loneliness for the rest of his life? “Kind of scary.”

“If the Flood is getting close, I’ll die without ever having sex. That’s what scares me to death.” Ham’s brow furrowed for a moment. Then he grinned and switched to mock concern. “I can think of one upside to the whole thing. We can leave the snakes behind when we float away.”

             

They came off the mountain and started on a footpath leading through the neck-high grasses growing over the valley floor. They avoided the easier trip through fields of crops and wildflowers, choosing instead to follow the more direct route. As though on cue, a gentle mist lifted from the ground.

“What’d I tell you?” Ham shot an accusing look at his brother and they reached down simultaneously to remove their sandals. Shrugging out of robes and tunics, they tied the clothing into bundles for easy balancing on their heads and resumed walking.

“The lions delayed us,” Shem said.

Ham snorted.

They lapsed into silence, following the narrow footpath clad only in undergarments. The mist offered relief from the hot day. Never mind the wet weeds slapping their legs and upper torso.

Shem decided to enjoy the fragrance of purple and yellow wildflowers. Other trails, broadened over the years from extensive usage, crossed their path. “Easy to tell no one travels to our place.” Ham said. “Ever wonder if one of Father’s brothers or sisters will follow one of these to visit us sometime?”

“They didn’t show up when Grandfather Lamech died.”

“Maybe they didn’t know.”

“Father sent a messenger. They wanted Grandfather’s body burned to one of the gods they worship. Father said no. They refused to come.”

“Maybe Grandfather would have wanted Father to compromise. Just a little. To reconcile the family.”

Shocked, Shem glanced back at Ham to see if he was joking. He wasn’t. “You know better than that. Grandfather loved his family, but he revered the One True God.”

They walked along without speaking further. Shem’s thoughts wandered back to the fact that no one used this path except for them. Sometimes it bothered him that everyone feared the ark so much they stayed away. Other times he appreciated the security it offered since violence was a problem everywhere else.

When they reached the cobbled road leading up the mountain to the city they donned clothing, but walked in the dirt and weeds beside the road. Slick cobblestones had caused many a traveler to end up with bloody scrapes and bruises. Especially on steep winding inclines. They were tired and dark was falling by the time they saw the gatekeeper getting ready to close the iron gate.    

“Let’s go!’ Ham shouted.

The brothers took off at a healthy clip.

“Hey!” Shem yelled to the gatekeeper. The man waved, signaling he’d let them in.

            “If,” Ham said as they ran shoulder to shoulder, “it is almost time . . . for the Flood . . . I have to . . . find a wife. You’re okay as a brother, but I’d rather spend the next five hundred years with someone prettier.”

            Despair washed over Shem. He knew that finding a wife was impossible because he’d tried often. He once inquired after a wife when he visited the City of a Thousand Gods. He’d searched for a suitable companion in other towns and villages during trips to the tar pits. No virgins remained anywhere. All the girls engaged in vile sexual practices in their gods’ temples from a young age. Brash and seductive, those women held little appeal for him. He didn’t understand why or how God expected him to endure hundreds of years of loneliness, but that appeared to be his destiny. Better to live alone than with one of those women.

“Japheth found a wife,” Shem reminded his brother. “God will provide for us, too.” He felt like a hypocrite repeating things he no longer believed.

            “What if he doesn’t? I’d rather die in the Flood with everyone else.”

            “Don’t say that.”

            “You youngsters arrived just in time,” the gatekeeper said as they ran panting through the entrance. He barred the heavy wood and iron gate behind them.

            “Thanks.” Shem bent over, hands on thighs, catching his breath. Ham paced with his hands locked on top of his head. Loose rocks littering the paved road inside the walls showed evidence of the recent earthquakes. Ten or twenty armed guards patrolled the area.

One separated from his squad and approached Shem. “State your business.”

“We’re looking for a man named Noah,” Shem said.

“Crazy Noah?” The man spat a finger-width from Shem’s foot. “We arrested him.”

Shem’s eyes met Ham’s. 

 “Know where he is?”

“Dungeon.” He nodded toward a door just inside the closest part of the gate.

“Why’d you arrest him?” Ham asked. 

The solder eyed them suspiciously. “You his sons?”

They nodded in unison.

“Trial’s right here first thing in the morning.”

Right here meant the City Gate which encompassed far more than the metal door that closed the city off at night to protect inhabitants from wild animals and intruders. The massive stone structure built into the city walls consisted of several large public buildings on two levels. Soldiers walked the wide walls and kept guard from the upper levels. Leaders transacted all official business in the gate. The spaces for government business occupied the lower level and opened onto the road. Vendors did business and judges held court in those places.

That’s where they’d find Father tomorrow.

The sky was dark now and Shem could see no one but the soldiers and the gatekeeper on the road. He heard the clop of a solitary horse and saw torch-lights flickering outside what he knew to be an inn some distance away. No one else was in sight. He supposed people were afraid to wander abroad these days.

“Can we see him for a few minutes?” asked Shem.

“Make it quick.” The soldier pointed to a doorway where a flight of stairs descended to the dungeon below. Under the broad arch, more debris was strewn across the paved floor. The threshold had been worn into a depression from years of use. “Door at the end of the corridor.” A sneer curled his lips. “And behave yourselves or you’ll end up sharing his luxurious lodgings.” He spat on the stone and ascended a flight of stairs to the guard rooms above.

More guards flanked the entrance to the dungeon.

The brothers made their way down the narrow steps and through a damp, musty corridor lit with torches that smelled of lamp oil. It dead-ended at a heavy plank door. Through an iron-barred opening, Shem could see his father. Noah sat on the dirt floor of a large otherwise-empty room, chains suspending his wrists above his head, more chains binding his ankles together. The smell of feces and urine was overpowering. Rats scurried across his legs and crowded around a crust of bread near his feet, but Noah slept, oblivious to everything. No one guarded him. The spluttering light of a torch danced on his face and white hair.

At the sight, Shem’s heart caught in his throat. Noah looked like an angel.

“Father,” Shem said.

Noah didn’t move.

“He’s hard of hearing.” Ham sounded uncharacteristically afraid.

Shem called louder. “Father!”

Noah’s eyes popped open.

“Are you all right?” Shem asked, noting the dried blood on his father’s forehead.

Before answering, Noah arched his back and rolled his shoulders. “My back is a little stiff.” He smiled. “How’s your mother?”

“Worried. Are you injured?”

“That quake bounced a stone off my head once I settled in here. And my new friends gave me a couple of fancy bracelets.” Father grinned and rattled his wrist restraints. “Otherwise it’s been pretty calm.”

Frowning, Ham chided Noah. “This is serious Father.” The jokester didn’t recognize himself in his father’s actions. Shem couldn’t help smiling.

“Don’t worry. God won’t let them kill me,” Noah said. “Not after I spent a hundred and twenty years looking ridiculous building a boat on the top of a mountain. Everyone knows God told me to do it. How would he look if they killed me now?”

“What happened?” Shem asked.

Sadness clouded Noah’s eyes. “I went to the temple to warn them one last time.”

One last time? Shem had guessed correctly.

“Rizpah trumped up some charges against me.”

“What charges?”

“Threatening the lives of city officials.”

Shem felt like someone punched him in the gut. “Threatening officials’ lives! That’s punishable by death. She wants you dead so the city can confiscate the ark.”

Noah pulled himself stiffly to his feet, and for the first time Shem could see where the iron shackles had cut into his ankles and wrists. Shem flinched when his father grimaced with pain.

 “We’ll figure something out,” Shem said.

 “We’ll get you out of here.” Ham added.

            “No. I forbid you to do anything except pray. God will protect me.” Noah’s sons knew he meant every word.

Shem studied his father’s face, feeling completely powerless. “Please, Father.”

            “No. If the Lord wants to save me, he will. If he’s through with me he’ll rescue the rest of you as promised.” Noah looked across the room at his middle son. “Ham, first thing in the morning you go home and comfort your mother. Tell her I love her.”

Ham stormed up the stairs. He’d cry as soon as he got past the soldiers. Noah spoke to his oldest. “Shem, you stay only until you know my fate, then get out fast and carry the news home. No matter what happens.”

            Despair closed around Shem, but he knew better than to argue with the patriarch of the family. With grief making every step an effort, Shem climbed back up the stairs. Halfway to the top his father called after him.

“When a man is completely helpless and his only hope is the One True God, that man’s strength is greater than an army of thousands who refuse to serve God.”

A soldier stood on either side of Ham when Shem emerged from the dungeon.

“It’s not safe after dark with all the violence in the city. You can’t spend the night out here,” he said when Shem walked up. “You’re a guest of the city. We’ll escort you to the inn.” He beckoned two more soldiers.

With a pair of soldiers leading and two more behind, the group traversed the length of the street running between official-looking buildings before they turned toward an open market. The “escort” felt more than a little unfriendly.

They marched beneath a canopy of trees and past luxurious houses with windows illuminated by glowing candle light. Shem couldn’t help comparing those houses to the small wooden dwelling where Noah and his family lived beside the ark. These homes were many times larger than Noah’s. Many revealed the cracked walls and fallen rocks indicating earthquake damage. Noah’s home had survived unscathed.

They passed one particularly beautiful mansion with a jasmine-covered arch tucked into the stone wall protecting the home. The blossoms smelled sweet, but the armed gang leaning against the wall out front stunk of malevolence. One of them, a muscular man with a serpent neck-tattoo, shouted an obscenity at the brothers. Shem silently thanked God for their escort. He and Ham couldn’t afford a fight tonight.