The sunlight bled through Ezekiel’s eyelids, waking him with a start the following morning. He quickly realized the privacy the darkness had afforded him was gone with the rising sun. Grabbing his cloaks, he jumped behind a tree and donned his tunic.
Lifting his sword, he tested its weight in his hand. It seemed well-balanced. He had never used a sword in his life, so, facing the tree, he thrust the blade into its trunk. It took some force to remove it. He tried a new method, swinging the blade downward in a chopping motion. The sword bounced off the tree, smacking him in the face. Embarrassed, he looked around to see if anyone was watching.
Off in the distance was a group of men coming up the path. He could hear them laughing. Surely, they hadn’t witnessed his foolish mistake from that far? He hid the sword in his cloak. As the men drew closer, he felt beads of sweat on his forehead. Wiping his brow, his hand came back red. He leaned down beside the river to wash his face. Crimson drops dissipated in the water as the men approached.
He looked up, and the four men just stood there smiling. One of them, clearly the leader, folded his arms and said, “It looks like you had a fight with yourself and lost.”
The rest snickered as Ezekiel’s face turned red. Touching his forehead, he felt a gash and a bump. “I’ve never wielded a sword before. I decided to try a blow against that branch.”
“First, you’re holding it all wrong. Try this.” He reached for the sword buried in Ezekiel’s cloak. Ezekiel let the man have it.
Swinging the sword in an effortless motion, he said, “See? If you grip the sword like this, you have more control.”
Ezekiel marveled at the skill the man demonstrated. “What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Sittish. I come from the Hittite country. You must excuse me and my men. It’s been some time since we had such a laugh.”
“Can you teach me?”
“To what? Get yourself killed?” Sittish paused for a moment. “Out of curiosity, why do you want to learn?”
“It just seemed like a good idea . . . in case I need to defend myself.”
“Well, the world is a dangerous place. Let me look at your weapon for a moment.” Sittish went silent as he tested its weight. “It’s not very balanced. I’m afraid if you’re as unskilled as you say, it won’t serve you well.”
His men said something in a language Ezekiel didn’t understand. They reluctantly bowed and went on while Sittish stayed behind.
“First, an axe is made for chopping a tree. A sword is not. When you wield a sword, you must think of it as an extension of your arm. When I hold my arm out, it doesn’t go to the tip of my fingers but to the tip of the sword. If the blade is unbalanced, you have to build up the strength to wield it.”
“How do I use it if I’m attacked by a Roman?”
“You don’t. Just pray they have mercy on you.” Sittish, still holding Ezekiel’s sword, pulled out another one. Holding each, he moved fluidly, swinging both swords as if they were counterpoints to the same weapon. His movements were so skillful Ezekiel just watched, mesmerized.
“You see, when the weapons become extensions of your arms, you can use them any way you want.” Sittish stopped an inch from Ezekiel’s face. Impressed that he didn’t flinch, Sittish lowered the weapons and bowed. Ezekiel clumsily bowed back.
“I can teach you for a few hours then I must be on my way.”
For the rest of the day, Sittish worked with Ezekiel. With each drill, Ezekiel improved his skill and felt more confident he could hold up in a fight.
“You’ve been a wonderful student. Now I must go and become a student as well.”
“Really? Who’s to be your teacher?”
“I must go and find him. His name is Yeshua.”
“I know him.”
“You know the great teacher of the Jews and yet you don’t want to follow him?”
“It’s complicated.” Ezekiel looked down.
“It always is, my friend. I want to learn all I can from teachers who have wisdom.” Sittish picked up his cloaks and sword. “Good luck with your Romans. I hope you don’t end up on one of their crosses.”