The soldier leapt forward and drew his sword in a smooth motion. Shimon grabbed for his own weapon, but in his bent position was slower than his enemy. The sword flashed in an executioner’s cut. Shimon threw out his empty left hand to block the blow, but bone is no match for metal. His arm shattered, just like the soldier’s sword in our last battle. The tattooed soldier aimed another blow and Shimon fell limp to the ground.
My teeth sliced my lip—I must not scream. I swallowed to hold back the tears. Shimon was beyond my help. I must save my master.
The priest ran forward, screaming in his guttural tongue. He slapped the soldier’s face and gestured wildly at the men waiting to get through the roadblock. But he was no longer in charge.
The tattooed soldier called to his comrades lining the hillsides flanking the road. They were eight in all, and the tattooed one seemed to be their leader. He pointed to Shimon’s body, and another soldier ran forward, grabbed Shimon’s arms, and dragged him to the side of the road.
They may have been heavily outnumbered, but the Tzidonians were the only ones armed. They bunched together under the carob tree, backs to the trunk, ready to defend themselves.
Though shock and anger flashed across the faces of the Israelite men, their fear prevailed. No outcry cut through the stillness of the rolling hills at Shimon’s murder; no one advanced to attack. The only serene face was Uriel’s.
Seeing that they were unchallenged, the soldiers broke their defensive position. The tattooed soldier pushed the priest back toward the Baal. Then he screamed at the man in front of the line, “Come. You bow now!”
The man dropped to the ground, his eyes avoiding the blood-stained earth. The priest reasserted himself and waved the soldiers back to their positions. One soldier returned to the front of the crowd; the others remained clumped under the carob tree.
Another man stepped forward. Uriel stood next in line.
This farmer groveled in the dirt before the Baal. A soldier grew impatient and kicked his hip. The farmer didn’t need a second urging to move on; he jumped to his feet and ran toward the open road. Uriel approached.
The prophet stepped up to the priest.
“You bow. Then go on.”
Uriel’s face had none of Shimon’s defiance—it was radiant, his eyes distant, heedless of the priest.
The priest stepped closer to whisper in Uriel’s ear, and dropped a copper to the ground.
The smile on Uriel’s face stretched as he bent his head forward. My heart leapt—he was bending down to pick up the copper! But Uriel merely brought his chin to his chest and held it there.
At first, I didn’t understand what my master was doing. I could barely contain the urge to scream, “Take it! Take it!”
Then I understood.
The prophet would neither bow nor pick up the copper. He wouldn’t fight or resist. He was offering the back of his neck to the sword. Uriel would give up his life quietly, a martyr before a mass of witnesses. His death would be a symbol of the brutality of the Baal and the Queen. Just as he desired.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Why hadn’t I let Shimon fight? He was already armed and surrounded by fifty men. The priest’s reaction showed that the soldiers’ presence was intended to evoke fear, not to kill. Would they have melted away before an organized resistance?
And Shimon may have received the Divine spirit again—then nothing could have stood before him. But now he lay dead on the side of the road, because he listened to me, while Uriel stood with his neck exposed, awaiting a similar fate.
The tattooed soldier remained by his post at the side of the road, but had still not sheathed his sword. Another group of pilgrims reached the roadblock, swelling the number of Israelites observing the scene to more than sixty men.
I reached under my tunic and gripped the handle of my father’s knife. If I fight, will I receive the same spirit Shimon had? If I’m determined to succeed, will the Holy One give me the strength to battle these foreigners?
The tattooed soldier advanced toward Uriel. The priest stepped between them, pointing back toward the side of the road. The soldier pushed him out of the way.
I loosened my blade in its sheath, my fingers whitening on the hilt. If I was going to act, the time was now.
A surge of energy tingled through my muscles. As I drew the blade from under my tunic, Zim’s voice rose in my heart. “Remember, if you believe it, it’s true.”
The soldier raised his sword above Uriel.
I sheathed my knife and ran forward screaming, “Grandfather, Grandfather!”
The soldier’s arm stopped.
I grabbed Uriel’s hand, placing myself between my master and the sword.
“He’s not right in the head,” I begged the soldier, loud enough for all the Israelite men to hear.
A shadow of doubt dimmed the tattooed soldier’s eyes.
“He’d bow to your sandal if you wanted him to, but we’d never get him up off the ground.”
“He bow.” The soldier swept his arm across the waiting crowd. “They all bow.”
“He’s just an old man,” I insisted.
Murmurs of protest rose from the waiting men. They watched Shimon die, but were now starting to rouse themselves. A tall farmer at the front of the line shoved his chest against the arm of the soldier holding him back. “Let the old man go through!”
I turned to the priest. “Could my grandfather have one of those pieces of copper? It would mean so much to him.”
The priest stepped forward, pushing the tattooed soldier back. “Go,” he said. “Don’t bow, just go.” The priest thrust a piece of copper into my hand and pushed the two of us through.
Uriel allowed me to guide him out of the shade of the carob tree, past the remaining soldiers. The radiance departed from his face. He said nothing as we fled, just walked on in silence.
As the roadblock shrank into the distance behind us, the reality of our situation settled in. My success sealed our fate: we were heading into hiding. We’d live in the darkness of the cave until redemption came.
Shimon’s scarred face hung above me. He’d saved my life, stood by my father when no one else had, and followed me to his death. Had I been wrong to fight him? Or if I had given in, would Uriel and I now lie beside him?
