eyes bright with that fanatical fury Barak knew too well. Barak kept walking, forcing Nimri to fall in alongside him.
“What is it, Nimri?”
“It’s the Sabbath, that’s what.” A snarl in the man’s voice.
Barak’s eyes hardened. “The Law says: if your cattle fall in a ditch, it is no violation of the Covenant to haul them out. I have no cows in a ditch, but I may have dead in my vineyard. No other tribes are coming, Nimri. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
Nimri’s face twisted. “What I’d expect,” he muttered, “from a man who took a heathen girl to wife.”
Barak stopped short, and his voice went cold. “My father was a Hebrew, Nimri. My mother too.”
“I do not deny it.” Nimri smirked, then cast a glance down toward Barak’s groin, and sneered when he lifted his eyes. “Yet you stink of them.”
Barak fought his anger. He had no time for this. His fingers twitched, but he did not reach for the knife at his hip. “Before you insult me again, think carefully about whether you want a battle with
me
.” If his voice had been cold a moment before, it was ice now. “Stay here and wait if you will. I will leave horses, such as I have; you can catch up when you’ve done as we agreed.”
Nimri tried to speak, but Barak held up his hand. “Enough,” he growled, and turned away, walking on through the camp. Hisback was tense, but he did not expect a knife in it; Nimri was trouble, but he was no coward. Barak did not look over his shoulder to see if Nimri still stood there or whether he had gone back to his tents. He just proceeded through his own camp, stopping a man every once in a while to give a command or ask a question. Already men were folding the tents. The wind was back, and all about Barak loose canvas flapped in the wind, with a sound like a hundred giant birds all taking flight at once. Strangely, the sound calmed him a little. Surely a camp that could make that much noise would prove large enough to cleanse their land of the dead.
If Nimri had spoken as he had in the hearing of other men, Barak could not have ignored it. But he ignored what he could afford to, for he was used to it. Since the day he had seen Hadassah by the well in Walls and looked into her dark eyes, the day he’d met with her father and taken her to his house, he had heard the jeering of other Hebrews. That he, who had been known as a man raiders from the sea might fear—that he should take a heathen girl as a wife rather than a slave.
Still struggling with his anger, Barak reflected that at least Nimri would be out of his camp for a while. And perhaps Nimri was the kind of man he should leave behind to push at the priests of Shiloh, in any case. A man with a passionate faith in the power of God and his Ark and his Law, but who would not be awed by any other man, even a levite, even a priest. Nimri would not be likely to back down at a refusal.
MISHPAT
D AWN’S COLD light. The Sabbath bride had visited the People for a night and a day. This was now the morning that followed. Lappidoth had already left to see about a horse for his wife. In his tent, Devora dressed swiftly but with purpose; she was acutely aware that what she wore this day, and what she carried with her, might be as important as any words she spoke. Even as she cinched tight the girdle about her white dress—white, the color of the Levi tribe—her fingers faltered an instant. She glanced at the bundles and parcels at the back of the tent, her eyes drawn to one long, slender bundle in a corner, half-concealed beneath the rest, a bundle bound with a red cord. Two things there must go with her as well, two things she had not taken in her hands in a long time. If she was to ride into the north and see fields that were occupied by the hungry dead, she could not leave it to others to carry out her judgments. To do so would be to invite a kind ofblindness. The kind that kept her from seeing the weight that the burden of executing her judgments
“What is it, Nimri?”
“It’s the Sabbath, that’s what.” A snarl in the man’s voice.
Barak’s eyes hardened. “The Law says: if your cattle fall in a ditch, it is no violation of the Covenant to haul them out. I have no cows in a ditch, but I may have dead in my vineyard. No other tribes are coming, Nimri. We’ve wasted enough time here.”
Nimri’s face twisted. “What I’d expect,” he muttered, “from a man who took a heathen girl to wife.”
Barak stopped short, and his voice went cold. “My father was a Hebrew, Nimri. My mother too.”
“I do not deny it.” Nimri smirked, then cast a glance down toward Barak’s groin, and sneered when he lifted his eyes. “Yet you stink of them.”
Barak fought his anger. He had no time for this. His fingers twitched, but he did not reach for the knife at his hip. “Before you insult me again, think carefully about whether you want a battle with
me
.” If his voice had been cold a moment before, it was ice now. “Stay here and wait if you will. I will leave horses, such as I have; you can catch up when you’ve done as we agreed.”
Nimri tried to speak, but Barak held up his hand. “Enough,” he growled, and turned away, walking on through the camp. Hisback was tense, but he did not expect a knife in it; Nimri was trouble, but he was no coward. Barak did not look over his shoulder to see if Nimri still stood there or whether he had gone back to his tents. He just proceeded through his own camp, stopping a man every once in a while to give a command or ask a question. Already men were folding the tents. The wind was back, and all about Barak loose canvas flapped in the wind, with a sound like a hundred giant birds all taking flight at once. Strangely, the sound calmed him a little. Surely a camp that could make that much noise would prove large enough to cleanse their land of the dead.
If Nimri had spoken as he had in the hearing of other men, Barak could not have ignored it. But he ignored what he could afford to, for he was used to it. Since the day he had seen Hadassah by the well in Walls and looked into her dark eyes, the day he’d met with her father and taken her to his house, he had heard the jeering of other Hebrews. That he, who had been known as a man raiders from the sea might fear—that he should take a heathen girl as a wife rather than a slave.
Still struggling with his anger, Barak reflected that at least Nimri would be out of his camp for a while. And perhaps Nimri was the kind of man he should leave behind to push at the priests of Shiloh, in any case. A man with a passionate faith in the power of God and his Ark and his Law, but who would not be awed by any other man, even a levite, even a priest. Nimri would not be likely to back down at a refusal.
MISHPAT
D AWN’S COLD light. The Sabbath bride had visited the People for a night and a day. This was now the morning that followed. Lappidoth had already left to see about a horse for his wife. In his tent, Devora dressed swiftly but with purpose; she was acutely aware that what she wore this day, and what she carried with her, might be as important as any words she spoke. Even as she cinched tight the girdle about her white dress—white, the color of the Levi tribe—her fingers faltered an instant. She glanced at the bundles and parcels at the back of the tent, her eyes drawn to one long, slender bundle in a corner, half-concealed beneath the rest, a bundle bound with a red cord. Two things there must go with her as well, two things she had not taken in her hands in a long time. If she was to ride into the north and see fields that were occupied by the hungry dead, she could not leave it to others to carry out her judgments. To do so would be to invite a kind ofblindness. The kind that kept her from seeing the weight that the burden of executing her judgments
Similar Books
