20

Adah darted toward the south gates, careful not to twist her ankle on the rocks, mortar pebbles, and sticks strewn around the outside of the wall. Her breaths came in gasps and pants. Her throat burned. She leapt over the low lying mortared stones. Hanun’s kin met her entry with wide-eyed disbelief, dumbstruck that a woman halted their labors.

No one challenged her intrusion. No blades were drawn. Had her people so soon forgotten the armies who had challenged Nehemiah? Perhaps it was her oversized cloak and her unruly, half-covered hair giving these men of Judah a start.

“Soldiers are heading toward the Dung Gate. Hiding in wagons.” Her chest heaved as she blurted her warning. “We must sound the shofar and alert our people.”

A broad-shouldered laborer assessed her chipped toenails and windblown ringlets. “You’re a woman.” He waved her off. “We have guards posted. Why do our brothers not come with this news?”

Her heart flogged her chest and sent a loud boom echoing from one ear to the other. “I am disguised to fool our enemies.” She tugged on the hood of her cloak. “Would you let them do the same to us? I saw a man swathed in veils pretending to be a wife. Do not let these false women be your undoing.” Gesturing wildly toward the Dung Gate, she said, “Soldiers are hiding in those wagons. Bevakasha. Listen. Follow me. It is only a short run. I know, for my father oversees this part of the city.” She scanned the group of men, meeting every laborer’s stare. “I will not stay silent about danger to my city.”

“We’ve all heard rumors of attacks.” The broad leader assessed his fellow workers. “We will take heed. “He pointed to the laborers closest to the wall. “Stay and defend this section.” With a sigh, he turned toward the others and patted his blade. “The rest, come with me and the girl. If this is a trick of war, we will meet the enemy.”

Thank you, Lord.

She warned everyone laboring in her path as she dodged around campfires and maneuvered past axes and mallets strewn on the ground. “Be brave and courageous,” she called out to the small band of fighting men who believed her story and followed after her. “God will act.”

Will you act this time God? Confuse our enemy? Halt their evil?

When she reached the southern entrance to her city, only a few men labored on the wall abutting the Dung Gate. The stench of animal waste hung in the air. Less than half a dozen priests stood watch. Why weren’t more men securing this entry? Jerusalem had no wooden doors to keep out the wicked.

“Warn these workers,” she huffed to her muscled neighbor. “We must sound a horn.”

His strides slowed. “If you’re certain.”

“I am.” She bent at the waist to control her breathing. “I most definitely am.”

Rising and arching her back, she spied Delaiah, a priest, on the other side of the small clearing inside the Dung Gate. He drank from a tall water jar. A ram’s horn hung from his shoulder.

She sprinted across the wide entryway, her throat burning, her lips parched. Catching sight of the donkeys lumbering closer to the gate, she petitioned God to intervene. Do not forsake us, Lord. Yellow-orange torch flames from the first wagon taunted her prayers.

“Delaiah, sound the shofar,” she rasped, coming upon the imbibing priest.

The temple official sputtered and spilled water on his tasseled robe. His contempt bore down on her. “What is the meaning of this interruption?” He gripped the horn at his hip as though she were a thief and the trumpet was cast of pure gold and in need of protection.

“Those wagons are full of soldiers.” She lowered her voice to keep the enemy ignorant.

Fixing his gaze on the wagon master and his shrouded wife, Delaiah scowled. “Nothing is out of the ordinary. You would have me cause an uproar and distress our governor over a few late travelers?”

“Yes!” She balled her hands into fists and beat the air like a drum. The lead wagon was breaching the gate.

He backed away from her shrill affirmation and flailing hands. “You are the daughter of Shallum.” He jabbed a finger at her nose. “The governor has called a meeting because of your false accusations.”

She didn’t care if this holy man held her in disregard. At this moment, her home and her people were in danger. She would act the mad woman to save the City of David from destruction. Lunging, she gripped the shofar and drew it toward her face.

Before she could place her lips on the mouthpiece, Delaiah clawed after his precious horn, scratching her chin. He grasped her perfumer’s necklace and twisted. His fist crushed her throat.

Her eyes bulged. Gagging, she jerked away. Sandalwood and chrysolite beads sailed into the darkness.

Hands still on the horn, she yanked it closer to her lips. One gust of breath was all she needed to alert her people.

Delaiah stepped forward. His strap went slack. The horn struck her teeth. Hands on her shoulders, he shoved her to the ground with the force of an enraged bull. As she attempted to rise, wooden orbs from her necklace embedded in her palm.

Sneering, the priest tsked a reprimand. “Your father will hear of this lack of respect.” He shifted the shofar behind his body and kicked at her sandals.

Her father’s rebuke was the least of her worries. If she did not warn the people, someone could die. “Sound the trumpet,” she screamed. She would not allow the second wagon to enter her city.

Shaking his head, Delaiah continued drinking.

Righting herself, she spied grass growing from the base of the waist-high watering jars. She bent and picked the longest blade of grass visible in the dim light. Othniel had serenaded her with long leaves before. Placing the blade lengthwise between her thumbs, she pressed her knuckles together, cupped her hands, and blew. A squeaking rumble erupted into the night. She blew over and over so the ghastly whine centered all attention on the crazed woman with the whistle.

“Draw your swords.” She unsheathed her weapon and pointed the tip at the wagon driver. Her lips still hummed with the vibrations of her reed. “Our enemies are upon us. Wield a sword for the Lord!”

Flying into the air, the tarp released armed warriors into the courtyard. Rolling off the cart, foreigners engaged in battle with the closest Hebrew.

Delaiah sounded the shofar.

At last! Praise the Lord! The second wagon remained on the road outside the city.

Shouts. Cries. Clanging. War overpowered the routine clinks of the masons at work. Dust clouded the air. Jittery donkeys attempted a retreat away from the fight.

Adah needed to retreat as well, away from a bloodthirsty enemy.

A foreigner broke free from the chaos and charged her direction. His blade was curved and ready to kill.

Adah raised her sword. Hands trembling, the weapon wavered. How could she pierce her enemy’s studded-leather breastplate? Delaiah drew a jagged-edged knife. Its sharpness may have slit a goat’s throat for temple offerings, but their foe’s weapon went unmatched.

If you won’t act, God, then I will. She shoved the waist-high drinking jar. Water flooded the sun-dried soil. Shining chrysolite gems bobbed in the small river. Her assailant stomped one sandaled foot and then a second and slipped and crashed into a thin layer of mud.

“Retreat,” she shouted at the ruthless man. Her heartbeat boomed with the command. “Don’t make me kill you.”

A broad-shouldered builder appeared sword at the ready. “I don’t mind.” He impaled their enemy with a two-handed thrust of his blade. Blood splattered and wet the ground.

Cupping her mouth, Adah heaved. Her throat burned. Her tongue tasted like sour raisins.

Crack! The spooked donkeys wedged their wagon lengthwise across the frame of the gate, narrowing the path of escape for the spies. Grunting subsided. Enemy soldiers retreated and scaled the cart, rushing to freedom. Their cowardly forms faded into the shadows of the wilderness.

“Check the wall,” her surly priest commanded to the nearest laborers. “Protect any openings.” If only he had used this voice earlier for a warning.

Men from the city advanced into the clearing from nearby streets. Nehemiah rode toward her atop one of the king’s horses.

With her fellow Judahites, she ran along the inside of the wall, dodging bodies of fallen fighters face down in the dirt. Any testimony required of her would have to wait. She had to get back to her post and see about her sister, Telem, and the brothers.

As she neared the tower of stones where she had kept watch, a woman’s frantic shrieks stood out from the male voices awakening the night. Judith? Adah’s cheeks flamed. Was her sister injured? She shot through the opening in the wall.

A short distance away, she saw him, by the pitch pot, face up on the ground. It was Telem. Fresh blood seeped into the woven threads of his tunic. Her twin sister clawed at her long dark hair and hovered over their fallen mason.

“No,” Adah wailed. It can’t be. It just can’t be. She stumbled and dropped to her knees by Telem’s side.

“Where were you?” Judith’s blade quaked in her hands. “The enemy came right through the wall.”