18 |

Approaching Elath
10th Century BC

 

Jonathan eyed the port ahead, one of Menelik’s men already informing them that the boats had been arranged to take them through the gulf and into the Red Sea, then finally its western bank.

Yet they were never to have boarded the boats.

The expected messenger from King Solomon had never arrived. He had no explanation. They had to know their route, and would know this was one of their stops along it. He could only hope that a messenger was waiting for them in the city ahead, but if they were, it could prove problematic.

The caravan was long, and his carefully laid plan had assumed the messenger would approach from the rear. His men had moved the cart with the Ark farther along the caravan, mixing in with the tail end of Menelik’s entourage. Their orders were to rejoin him and the others should a messenger arrive, so that when they searched the caravan for the Ark, it would be found among Menelik’s men, with the messenger never having a chance to see it was guarded by the firstborns.

But if the messenger approached from the front, he would travel the length of the caravan looking for the firstborns, and the first he would encounter would be those guarding the Ark.

It would mean the complete failure of his plan, and this time killing the poor soul wouldn’t be an option, as Menelik would see the man.

The entire situation had his heart pounding as they entered the valley leading to the port ahead, the glistening waters normally a beacon to those who approached, but for him, it was a constant reminder of impending doom.

For once they boarded the boats, no messenger would ever reach them, and he and the others would be doomed to spend the prime of their lives serving this bastard child.

Though there was another possibility.

His own friends might turn on him. He had heard grumblings, several already vocally blaming him for their situation, yet he had to remind them, firmly, that if he hadn’t stolen the Ark, then no messenger would have ever been sent. It was his actions that had given them the only hope they had to escape their fate.

Though if his plan failed, and they were faced with no other option but to board the boats and leave their homeland behind, his friends might turn regardless.

“Raiders!”

He turned in his saddle, then redirected his gaze to where Zimri was pointing. He cursed. Two dozen riders lined the top of the ridge. He checked over his shoulder and cursed again, another two dozen on the opposite.

It was an ambush, and though the caravan had superior numbers, it was drawn out in a long line. By the time Menelik’s men could reach them to help, many of his brothers would be dead.

“What’s going on?”

Jonathan turned to see David and the others guarding the Ark arrive. “What are you doing here?”

“We heard shouting,” replied David. “I thought it was the signal.”

Jonathan shook his head, drawing his sword then pointing it at the raiders now cresting the ridge and rushing toward them. “We’re about to be attacked, you fools!”

A roar went up and his men split into two ranks, one each to face the bandits. Arrows from several of those skilled in archery were loosed, but they were few, most firstborn of Jerusalem preferring the sword to the less honorable bow.

“The cowards are running!” yelled David.

Jonathan readied himself for the onslaught, no intent to retreat evident, and glanced behind him to find the same. But as his eyes returned to the enemy he faced, he spotted what David had.

Menelik’s men were abandoning them, racing for the ships.

And to his horror, taking the cart containing the Ark with them.

“We have to stop them!”

But it was too late.

He swung his blade, catching his opponent in the chest and knocking him from his saddle, then pushed forward, realizing there was little he could do now. He made eye contact with the next of his enemy and shifted in his saddle as his horse, well trained and experienced in battle, snorted in anticipation.

His opponent swung and Jonathan parried the blow, leaning back in his saddle as the deflected blade slid up his own and over his head harmlessly. He righted himself, turning to reengage when Zimri finished the man off before he had a chance to regain his balance.

“They’re trying to cut us off!”

He checked to his right and cursed at the sight, the caravan now in the distance, inside the city, the gentle slope that led to the port giving him an unfettered view of Menelik’s men rushing their leader to the safety of the sea.

Though tempted to condemn them for their cowardice, they were merely doing their job. If the roles were reversed, and it was King Solomon that he was protecting, he too would leave Menelik’s men behind to deal with the threat while leading his liege to safety.

Yet the roles weren’t reversed.

It was he and his friends left to die.

“Regroup! Archers to the center!” he ordered, the half-dozen masters of the bow falling back behind the rows of cavalry, shielded from the enemies’ swords. “Target the left flank! Pick your targets!”

Arrows flew as his men closed ranks, the heft of their steeds, pressed together, creating an impenetrable wall against the raiders, all reduced to battling by sword except the archers, who quickly thinned the enemy on their left flank.

To the point they broke ranks and turned tail, rushing back up the ridge from whence they had come. Jonathan smiled, turning to face those who would keep them from the sea and the Ark. “Archers, target the right flank!” He motioned for those defending the now abandoned left flank to follow him. “To the sea!”

They charged forward, penetrating the dwindling numbers they faced, Jonathan delivering one last fatal blow before breaking through and racing toward the port ahead. He could see the boats being prepared, Menelik’s men quickly loading their cargo with the help of workers no doubt generously rewarded by the wealthy man.

“Retreat!” shouted someone behind him, and he stood in his saddle, staring back to see what was happening, and gasped in horror. Dozens more were now on the ridges, pouring into the battle, the remaining firstborns now racing after him.

He had split their forces, a mistake his enemy had no doubt counted on.

You fool!

Yet he had no choice. He couldn’t let the Ark leave without him. It would be an unforgivable sin. But his decision had left the others weakened and vulnerable, all their provisions and cargo, including gifts for the queen, Menelik’s mother, now vulnerable.

Things can be replaced. The best and brightest of Jerusalem can’t.

He waved for them to follow, his own voice joining the call to retreat, those left behind abandoning the fight and rushing to join the others, leaving the heavily laden carts behind.

A small price to pay for his friends’ lives, though he wondered if Solomon would feel the same way.

The bandits immediately set upon their bounty, forgetting those they had just engaged, their purpose not to kill, but to loot caravans foolish enough to fall into their trap.

Yet it was a bold move. The caravan had been large in numbers, though the wealth on display must have been too tempting a target.

Thank God Menelik’s men took the Ark with them, even if it was unknowingly.

He stared ahead and cried out at the sight before him. The first of the boats was already departing, no doubt with Menelik aboard, its sail full, God blessing them with a good wind, the oars in the water barely needed.

“Hurry! We can’t let them leave!”

They charged through the city gates and through the streets busy with merchants and travelers, their way blocked on too many occasions as more boats departed. As they finally approached the harbor, his brothers left behind now safely inside the city, the raiders unlikely to pursue them, he stood in his saddle, waving at the departing boats, the last of Menelik’s men pulling from the dock.

“Stop!” he cried, collapsing in his saddle as he spotted the cart he and his father had used to steal the Ark, now empty, its covered cargo nowhere to be seen.

What have I done?

He spotted Menelik at the stern of the lead boat, waving to them. “Take the boats, follow us!”

“You must wait! You have the Ark!”

Menelik shook his head, pressing a cupped hand to his ear. “What?”

“You have the Ark of the Covenant!”

But it was no use. The man couldn’t hear him, and even if he did, what could he expect of him? There was no turning back, as the risk was too great, and what possible incentive would he have to wait for them?

Their choice was clear, and it was unfortunately the only one left to them.

“To the boats!” he ordered, the firstborns rushing onto the remaining boats, their horses loaded onto the decks as the sails were unfurled, the oars manned.

Yet there was no wind. He turned, staring after Menelik’s boats, their sails full, the distance rapidly growing between them as the others rowed as hard as they could, none trained for the task, the crews provided by the boats’ owners merely there to man the tiller and navigate.

Please God, give us the wind like you did Menelik!

But the sails remained empty as the boats containing the most important possession of the Jewish people disappeared on the horizon, God already delivering His judgment, and finding him and the others unworthy of His help.

Forgive me for what I have done.

He stared up at the heavens, dropping to his knees as he clasped his hands in front of him, tears streaking his cheeks.

“Please, God, punish me for what I have done, but do not punish my people! They still require your protection!”

The response was deafening in its silence. The sails remained empty, and Menelik was out of sight, with the future of the Jewish people unknowingly in his possession.

Never again to see the lands of his people.