you’ve paid taxes! And haven’t you received protection from the Judaean hillsmen?” The Canaanite farmer shrank back from her glare. I kept my mouth shut, knowing that my temper would get the better of me if I spoke up; besides, a young soldier like me wasn’t likely to produce a calming effect on the villagers. But I grasped my signal horn, just in case.
“Subjects of the Melek,” Zaggi then bellowed, “the Lady Delai will recommend your excellent village to her husband the Prince, and to his brother the Melek! But now we must pass on to be in Gath before dark.”
Already the sun was well past the zenith, though still hot and glaring. Inspired by Delai, Zaggi’s words had sounded good enough, but something about his bearing caused a negative reaction in the crowd. The Canaanites must have sensed their advantage when Zaggi mentioned the coming of night—and revealed his anxiety to pass. They gave no sign of separating to allow our wagons through.
For all we kinew, these people had no intention of attracking our caravan. Certainly they knew well the retribution they would suffer at the Melek’s hands: at the least, the death of their elders and the plunder of their town; at worst, their village razed and the entire population slaughtered or sold into slavery, the extent of their punishment corresponding to the damage they might do to us.
Perhaps, then, they wished only to embarrass and toy with Zaggi, driving home their grievances—while doing nothing overtly treasonous. But the situation was explosive. They might feel that they’d already incurred Zaggi’s wrath, and so couldn’t back out now. In that case, they might plunder our wagons and flee to the hills, while we would be hard put just to protect Delai. Any abrupt or threatening move on Zaggi’s part could touch off their anger and fear.
“My Lord,” the elder said, his voice again bordering on mockery, “we beg you to stay a while as our guests. Spend the night here and bring joy to our humble town!”
“I will consult with my people,” Zaggi promised, and turned to me: “They think that night will give them a better chance to murder and steal,” he whispered. Delai overheard his words and shuddered. Zaggi now determined to do something, anything. “Sound the trumpet for Jaita and then we’ll charge into them!” he ordered.
“Better to pretend we’re staying—and gather our wagons together, as if for the night,” I replied. “The longer we stall, the more chance Jaita will arrive.” Our whispered conversation, however, was having a very bad effect on the crowd, and they appeared about ready to fall upon us. I turned to the Canaanites: “We will stay for the night after we water our horses; and we’ll pay you for helping hands in drawing water from your well.” I moved my hand away from my sword hilt and smiled at the crowd.
Suddenly, they became very quiet, and I imagined that I had succeeded in calming them down; but then I saw that they were looking past me, up the road to the west. It was Jaita and our platoon!
Axles creaking, harness jingling, the chariots came slowly into Micherar, leaving a swirl of dust behind them. My troopers were dirty but splendid in their honor guard armaments. They were tall and grim looking men—a driver and two warriors to a chariot—with daggers and broadswords dangling from their belts, round, bossed shields strapped to their backs; their feather-crested helmets added to their appearance of gigantic size. Some were archers, and others carried long, iron-tipped Karian spears, or bronze javelins. Despite the small number of them, they looked—and were—very formidable, and the Canaanites began to step away from our wagons.
Actually, as we soon learned, our soldiers weren’t grim at all. They were quite light-hearted, in fact, anticipating the wine and women of Gath . But they were tired from their maneuvers, and they rode into Micherar with grimacing faces because of the dust and
“Subjects of the Melek,” Zaggi then bellowed, “the Lady Delai will recommend your excellent village to her husband the Prince, and to his brother the Melek! But now we must pass on to be in Gath before dark.”
Already the sun was well past the zenith, though still hot and glaring. Inspired by Delai, Zaggi’s words had sounded good enough, but something about his bearing caused a negative reaction in the crowd. The Canaanites must have sensed their advantage when Zaggi mentioned the coming of night—and revealed his anxiety to pass. They gave no sign of separating to allow our wagons through.
For all we kinew, these people had no intention of attracking our caravan. Certainly they knew well the retribution they would suffer at the Melek’s hands: at the least, the death of their elders and the plunder of their town; at worst, their village razed and the entire population slaughtered or sold into slavery, the extent of their punishment corresponding to the damage they might do to us.
Perhaps, then, they wished only to embarrass and toy with Zaggi, driving home their grievances—while doing nothing overtly treasonous. But the situation was explosive. They might feel that they’d already incurred Zaggi’s wrath, and so couldn’t back out now. In that case, they might plunder our wagons and flee to the hills, while we would be hard put just to protect Delai. Any abrupt or threatening move on Zaggi’s part could touch off their anger and fear.
“My Lord,” the elder said, his voice again bordering on mockery, “we beg you to stay a while as our guests. Spend the night here and bring joy to our humble town!”
“I will consult with my people,” Zaggi promised, and turned to me: “They think that night will give them a better chance to murder and steal,” he whispered. Delai overheard his words and shuddered. Zaggi now determined to do something, anything. “Sound the trumpet for Jaita and then we’ll charge into them!” he ordered.
“Better to pretend we’re staying—and gather our wagons together, as if for the night,” I replied. “The longer we stall, the more chance Jaita will arrive.” Our whispered conversation, however, was having a very bad effect on the crowd, and they appeared about ready to fall upon us. I turned to the Canaanites: “We will stay for the night after we water our horses; and we’ll pay you for helping hands in drawing water from your well.” I moved my hand away from my sword hilt and smiled at the crowd.
Suddenly, they became very quiet, and I imagined that I had succeeded in calming them down; but then I saw that they were looking past me, up the road to the west. It was Jaita and our platoon!
Axles creaking, harness jingling, the chariots came slowly into Micherar, leaving a swirl of dust behind them. My troopers were dirty but splendid in their honor guard armaments. They were tall and grim looking men—a driver and two warriors to a chariot—with daggers and broadswords dangling from their belts, round, bossed shields strapped to their backs; their feather-crested helmets added to their appearance of gigantic size. Some were archers, and others carried long, iron-tipped Karian spears, or bronze javelins. Despite the small number of them, they looked—and were—very formidable, and the Canaanites began to step away from our wagons.
Actually, as we soon learned, our soldiers weren’t grim at all. They were quite light-hearted, in fact, anticipating the wine and women of Gath . But they were tired from their maneuvers, and they rode into Micherar with grimacing faces because of the dust and