Take This Cup (11 page)

Someone posed a question I could not overhear, but Zimri’s answer was clear enough: “We’ll kill the old man and sell the boy. That way we get something out of this mess.”

My instinct was to burrow instantly back into shelter and pull dirt over my head, but I had to know what we were facing. I bellied-crawled to the lip of the ledge, my face and body sheltered from view by a clump of wild pistachio shrubs, and peered over.

Three switchbacks below, about two hundred feet of elevation and a half mile of traversing the hillside, was a single file of eight horsemen and a riderless ninth animal led by a rope. So my father and our servants had accounted for four of the raiders. My spirits rose with that observation, even though it left unanswered my parents’ fate. I also noted with grim satisfaction that Zimri’s forehead was bandaged, and another bandit had one arm in a sling.

It would take them no more than twenty minutes to climb the rest of the distance to the ridgeline and the fallen yew tree. When the rebels reached there and saw that the footprints stopped, they would scour the area.

Should I rouse the rabbi now? Could the two of us flee ahead of the horsemen to another hiding place?

I felt a sprinkle of water on my head. Wind from the thundercloud spattered me with raindrops. Would the rain come soon enough and hard enough to wipe out our tracks?

Rabbi Kagba was still asleep! His breath was hoarse and his color not good. Even if I could rouse him, could the elderly man move swiftly enough to escape?

Back out onto the ledge I found the choice no longer existed. After the rain squall passed, the trackers were coming on faster now.

Hope and pray and hide were the sole options that remained.

I scrunched as far back beneath the overhang as I could. I resolved to make the bandits dig us out. I would not go easily into slavery or let them kill my friend.

Outside the shelter, storm clouds spilled over the brink of the peaks and tumbled down, misting the gorge with vapor. Above me thunder boomed and rolled, bouncing off the walls of the ravine.

A solid sheet of rain swept toward me, like a gray curtain blotting out sight and sound.

Time passed. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated the underbelly of the storm before the day was shattered by a crash so immense that the ground jumped under my stomach, and I with it. I held my breath.

Rain—soaking, glorious rain—turned soil into mud and erased footprints while forming puddles in every crack and
crevice. Maybe the storm was ferocious enough that the riders turned back to seek safety at a lower elevation.

A horse snorted and called. Another answered, sounding nervous amid the clashing peals of thunder and slashing rain. When Zimri spoke again, his voice came from right above my head. The raiders had drawn up alongside the fallen yew tree!

“Well?” Zimri demanded.

“It’s not good, Captain,” the tracker responded. “Washed out. Their tracks are gone. Nothing since that last switchback.”

I felt like cheering until I heard Zimri say, “Maybe they went to ground right around here. We should search.”

I lifted my hand to the tree trunk, as if trying to push them away, ward them off.

A centipede, perhaps driven to seek protection from the storm, skittered over my hand. Yet my gasp of alarm and Kagba’s tortured breathing were both covered by the stamp of impatient horses.

Another bolt of lightning slammed into a tree across the canyon, making it explode. The thunderclap that followed terrified the horses. I heard several riders shouting, “Hold up!” and “Stupid beast!”

“Captain,” the tracker said, “we didn’t meet them coming back down, and there’s no place to hide around here. It’s more likely they went to ground up ahead, where there might be caves to crawl into, not here on this unprotected stretch.”

Without wanting to sound cowardly, the man was suggesting it was not wise for men on horseback to remain outlined on the highest part of the ridgeline in a lightning storm.

“All right,” Zimri grudgingly agreed. “We’ll push on.”

When the hoofbeats moved off in the distance, I breathed a sigh of relief. Wiping my forehead, I checked my friend. The good rabbi was still fast asleep.

Throughout the afternoon Rabbi Kagba slept while I kept watch. We remained in the shelter. I did not think that if the raiders turned back along the trail they would stop and search the yew tree. Still, I would not give them any chance to catch me unawares, or leave any sign that might give us away.

The thunder and lightning moved off toward the east, but the rain continued to fall, almost without letup.

When there was no more than an hour of gray daylight remaining, a trickle of water managed to thread its way through a crevice to drip into Rabbi Kagba’s ear. The scholar groaned, rolled over, and awoke. Rubbing his eyes and coughing softly, he asked, “Nehemiah? Have I been asleep long?”

I smiled. “Nearly the entire day, Rabbi. It’s almost sunset again. The storm has lasted all afternoon.”

“Ah?” Kagba stared out at the drizzling rain. “So it was good we had cover here, even if there was no threat.”

I explained how our hiding place had served a greater purpose than just shelter from the weather.

Rabbi Kagba looked distressed as he listened, then laughed. “Truly it is written, ‘He will take pity on the weak and the needy and save the needy from death.’
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And perhaps it should be added, ‘He also pities the ignorant and insensible!’ ”

“Do you think we could go out now?” I asked. “Since they went up the trail past us, couldn’t we turn back toward Father’s camp?”

Though I did not speak it, I was anxious about my father and mother.

Aware of what was really being asked, Kagba said kindly, “We should not attempt to go down the dangerous slope in this
weather. Besides, as soft as the ground is now, we might not hear riders approaching. No, it’s best not to chance it. We should remain here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll go out, if the way is clear. I have an idea that should serve us well. Have we anything to eat?”

“I saw some nuts . . . pistachios, I think . . . growing in the bushes near the ledge. I could crawl out and gather some.”

“Excellent!” the rabbi praised. “Only wait until after sundown, when it should be completely safe.”

When I returned from my expedition, I emptied a half pound of nuts from a makeshift pouch formed in my robe. I had also gathered a double handful of red berries such as the birds fought over. “What about these?” I asked.

The rabbi praised me again. “Here we have shelter and provision both. These are yew berries. The leaves and the seeds are poison.” He paused to pat the tree trunk like greeting an old friend. “But the fruit is sweet and can be eaten. Well done, Nehemiah. It seems the Almighty has provided both food and drink for us! As it is written, ‘Stay awake and you will have food to spare,’
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and again, ‘Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters.’
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Eat and drink and rest again, boy. Tomorrow we must journey.”

Chapter 10

T
he second morning after we took refuge beneath the yew tree, dawn’s curtain lifted on a day that was overcast and chilly. The threat of rain was not great, and the air was sparkling clear. A covey of quail chirping and pecking in the brush could be heard from across the canyon. A hawk screaming above the highest peak to the east made himself known, though a mile and more away. If a group of men, especially a troop of horsemen, was anywhere near, the rabbi and I would hear them at a great distance.

“Now we’ll go back to Papa’s camp,” I said.

“I’ve been giving that much thought,” the rabbi replied. He pointed to the saddle between two peaks to the southeast. “There is a village just over that pass. If we make for that location, there should be no risk at all of encountering Zimri and his men. There are easier routes, so no one will think to look for us there.”

Sticking out my lower lip, I also narrowed his eyes. “But my papa and mama will be worried about me,” I said stubbornly.

“True enough,” Kagba agreed, “but once at the village we can send word to them. Remember, your father instructed me to keep you safe, and I must do what I think he would want.”

I nodded slowly. I did not like the plan but I accepted it.
Picking at the tattoo of scabs on my face, I asked, “How long will it take us?”

“No more than two more days if we leave soon. We’ll have to shelter on the mountain tonight but tomorrow we should easily reach our goal. Gather more nuts and berries, and we’ll eat them on the way.”

Descending the first fifty yards into the ravine from the ridgeline was scary. The hillside was steep, and Kagba would not let us use the trail, in order to avoid leaving tracks. We deliberately crossed rocky ground, sliding at times and catching hold of scrub brush to slow ourselves. I gritted my teeth as each precarious handhold dug into the lacerated flesh of my palms.

The creek at the bottom of the gorge was full of the runoff of the storm. We quenched our thirst, then crossed the stream by jumping from boulder to boulder.

It was the hike up the other face that gave us the most difficulty. Even though I located a game trail for us to follow, the slope was precipitously steep. Despite rest and nourishment, Rabbi Kagba was barely capable of the ascent. After the first hundred yards he could manage no more than ten paces at a time without stopping to rest and breathe.

I seized the dried, gnarled branch of a juniper, already bent at one end to form a handle. This I gave to Kagba to use as a walking stick.

“Thank you, my boy,” Kagba wheezed. “And give me a handful of those juniper berries. I will inhale their scent. It helps clear the lungs.”

Despite the use of the cane and the aid of the juniper aroma, Kagba grew slower and slower until he was barely creeping. It was clear we would not reach the summit of the pass before nightfall, despite our best efforts.

Even worse, we remained exposed to the view of anyone using the switchbacks on the other hillside. Once more I missed having Beni’s alert watchfulness of sight, sound, and smell. How I longed for him to be able to give me warning.

It was on another of our frequent halts that I heard it: the unmistakable sounds of a horse snorting and harness jingling. I eyed the top of the ridge we had left and the hillside on which we now stood. It was not good. We would be fully in view from the trail. There was not even brush enough to crouch behind.

“Rabbi!” I said urgently. “Riders! Riders coming. We have to hide!”

“Eh? What?” The scholar returned between gasps for air.

I doubted if Kagba even heard the warning over the sounds of his own labored breathing. Without trying to explain, I grasped the rabbi’s hand and tugged him up the slope.

From my sudden burst of speed the rabbi caught the urgency and did what he could to move faster.

A series of rocky ledges terraced the hill like giant steps. They provided no cover, but at their top was a larger clump of junipers. If we could reach that foliage, we might be safe.

After I leapt easily atop a stone block, I then had to haul up my friend. Kagba dropped the cane, which clattered down the slope. No time to retrieve it!

Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I caught the glint of sunlight reflecting off something on the trail across the canyon. We had only moments before we were spotted!

The next rank of boulders was even taller than before. I would have trouble climbing it and much more difficulty hoisting my friend. What to do?

A rocky outcropping resembling squared stones protruded from the rest, making an overhang above the shelf of slate.
Could we possibly squeeze into the narrow space, like rabbits hiding from a fox?

Then I spotted it. Right in front of the overhang there was a gap in the ledge, a crevasse that plunged into the mountain. I peered over the edge. It was a drop about the height of a man, but was wide enough to admit us . . . and there was no choice.

“Rabbi, follow me!” Lying flat on my stomach, I pivoted so my legs hung over the lip of the chasm, then pushed myself into the void.

I landed, sprawling, but picked myself up immediately. “Hurry!” I urged. “I’ll help you.”

Guiding Rabbi Kagba’s toes onto tiny ledges in the rock, I eased the scholar downward until both of us were concealed behind the rock wall. We stood panting with fright and exertion. His words fractured by coughing, Kagba said, “Thank . . . you.”

In the expanse of stone at the back of our landing was another small opening. It could not be seen or even suspected from the outside. Only by falling into the crevice, or climbing down inside it as we had, could the entry be discovered.

Once through the arch the cave increased in height until there was room for Kagba to stand upright. The passage stretched upward into darkness, reaching toward the heart of the mountain.