The Journey Begun (31 page)

The man lying on the floor moaned and lolled his head to the side. He appeared a young man. The light brown whiskers shading his chin appeared not yet to have seen the edge of a trimming blade. A mop of dark hair, matted with bits of straw and dust, lay in a tangled mass beneath his head. His eyelids fluttered, Jonah knew, in battle against the effects of Jachan’s drugged wine.

Jonah stepped back a pace, not sure what Moshe had in mind. His friend remained motionless, his eyes locked on the girl.

He didn’t hear the scrape behind him until it was too late.

A sharp pain between his shoulders dulled the sound of the rough timber board as it sent him sprawling across the floor. He collapsed onto the unconscious stranger, struggling to regain his breath.

Moshe whirled and raised his staff just in time to block the timber Jachan swung at the back of his head. The crack of wood against wood reverberated through the stable as the old soldier leapt back to his feet, swiping the end of his rod toward his assailant’s midsection.

But Jachan was too quick. Dodging Moshe’s attack, he brought his weapon around and caught the old warrior on his limp shoulder. With a roar of pain, Moshe teetered back and struggled to regain his balance. With his only defensive weapon now jammed against the floor for support, it left him open for Jachan’s thrust into his midsection. The jab doubled him over, and his assailant brought the board up, connecting with Moshe’s forehead.

The crippled veteran went over backward onto the floor.

Wide-eyed and panting, Jachan pivoted to face the two men still sprawled on the floor. Neither of them moved to interfere, so the fiend turned his wrath on the girl cowering in the corner. He stalked to the corner and yanked her to her feet by the hair. A backhand across the mouth cut her scream short.

“Shut up, you little whore, or I’ll shut you up for good!”

The blow toppled the stunned girl back into the corner. Jachan swore as he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet. “Move! Out! Now!”

Jachan swung toward the door and jolted to a stop midstride with a gasp. He dropped the girl as his back slammed into the wall, pinned by the butt of a wooden staff thrust into his midriff. Jachan squirmed and choked for breath as Moshe leaned into the rod wedged beneath his breastbone. His face contorted in agony as Moshe pressed forward. Levering his staff under his arm, he hoisted the writhing villain off the floor and scraped him up the wall until his head bent sideways against a crossbeam of the low ceiling. The veteran jammed his end of the rod into the dirt floor, leaving Jachan squirming against the wall. Fists flailing against the impaling staff, Jachan fought to free himself. The fists began missing their mark, slowed, and then dropped to his side. A final spasm twitched his purple face, and his head drooped forward against his chest.

Moshe, his chest heaving, glared at the grotesque corpse pinned against the wall. After a moment, he turned toward the girl cringing in the corner. Her eyes grew wide. She scrambled up and bolted for the door. The deft old fighter caught her and pulled her back against his chest. She kicked at her captor’s legs and thrashed against him with her arms. Moshe tightened his grip around her waist, and at last she went still.

Jonah struggled to his knees as Moshe lowered the limp girl to the floor. The old soldier’s face softened. He knelt beside her but said nothing. The girl shivered and wrapped her arms across her chest, keeping her eyes on the floor. She stiffened as Moshe brushed a shred of the veil back from her face.

“It’s all right, little one. No one’s goin’ ta hurt ya. Not anymore.” His voice was still gruff, but it carried a gentleness Jonah had never before heard from the old soldier. He tucked a crooked finger under her chin and lifter her face toward his. She kept her eyes downcast. Jonah watched Moshe’s jaw tighten as he surveyed the welts Jachan’s backhand had raised on the girl’s cheek.

Jonah rose to his feet and limped to where his friend crouched. He paused as Moshe lifted his travel cloak over his head and eased it around the shuddering girl, draping it over her bare shoulders, arms and legs. The young girl’s diminutive form was buried in the folds of the large cloak, with only her pale head and auburn hair showing from beneath the pile of coarse cloth. Gradually, the trembling subsided, but she did not look up.

Jonah moved to his side and knelt to face the girl. His breath was still shallow from the blow across the back, and he coughed as he studied the girl’s face. “Is she all right?”

Moshe nodded.

At the sound of Jonah’s voice, the girl’s eyes jerked up and widened at the white-haired man whose silver she’d tried to steal less than two weeks ago. She shrank back, but Jonah held his hands up gently and smiled through his pain. “Don’t be afraid. Please. You’re safe now.” He glanced at Moshe. “We are safe, now, aren’t we?”

“As safe as ya can be in this part o’ town.” Moshe’s voice was low. He had not taken his eyes off the girl.

Jonah looked back at the frail child huddled in Moshe’s cloak. “What’s your name, girl?”

She looked up but didn’t answer.

Moshe squinted at her. “Ya do have a name, little one, don’t ya?”

Silence.

A rustling noise behind them drew Moshe and Jonah’s eyes around as the young stranger managed to raise himself onto one elbow. He rubbed his forehead but stopped when he looked up. He jolted at the macabre sight of Jachan’s corpse suspended against the wall. His eyes widened and shot around the stable. His gaze finally fell on the two men hunkered a short way across the room. He frowned and looked back at Jachan’s limp form. Moshe and Jonah turned back to the young girl.

“We prob’ly oughta get goin’. Ari’ll start wonderin’ where Jachan is. No one else’ll care, but Ari gets a cut of Jachan’s take for lettin’ him work out o’ the tavern.” Moshe began to push to his feet but stopped when the girl’s small hand appeared from between the folds of his cloak and grasped the hem of his shirt. The girl’s soft gray-green eyes stared into Moshe’s. Jonah sensed a mixture of anxiousness and uncertainty that could not yet be called hope in the girl’s tear-streaked face.

Moshe wrinkled his brow. The waif’s eyes returned to the floor, but her fingers gripped his hem until her knuckles shone white. Although his touch was gentle, she flinched when he covered her hand with his. He drew her up as he rose and she teetered stiffly to her feet. She was a curious sight, a tiny disheveled figure with an oversized travel-worn mantle piled around her feet on the floor. The coarse old soldier leaned forward, encircled her waist with his good arm, and lifted her effortlessly to his chest. She clung to his neck with both arms and clasped her legs around his burly waist. Her head rested against his chest, her eyes locked in a blank stare.

Moshe stepped over to the staff propping Jachan’s lifeless form against the wall. He hooked his foot around the base of the rod and jerked it loose from the dirt floor. The staff clattered to the hard surface, and the corpse crashed into a heap at the base of the wall. Moshe glanced at Jonah and then at his rod. He pivoted on his heel and headed for the low doorway across the room.

Jonah retrieved his friend’s staff, careful to avoid touching Jachan’s crumpled body. His stomach lurched at the fiend’s wide unseeing eyes and protruding tongue. He stepped back and turned to the young man now sitting cross-legged against a rotted dividing wall of a broken-down stall, his head cradled in his hands.

“Are you all right?” Jonah eyed the stranger.

“I think so.” The man’s strained voice carried an accent unfamiliar to Jonah.

He nodded, retrieved his own walking stick, and turned to go. Pausing again, he turned back toward the young foreigner. “There are better places in Megiddo than Ari’s to get a cup of wine.”

Startled, the man glanced up. He nodded and then returned to massaging his forehead.

Jonah headed for the door. Reaching it, he peered both ways into the darkness.

“Here.” Moshe’s hushed voice came from down the alleyway to the right.

Jonah stepped into the street and felt his way along the wall toward the voice.

Lll

As soon as the white-haired man cleared the doorway, the young foreigner leapt to his feet and crossed over to Jachan’s corpse. He kicked the body onto its back, bent down and groped through the folds of the cloak until he felt the lumpy bulge of Jachan’s leather pouch. He ripped it loose from its thong bindings on the dead man’s belt.

“Leave him! Follow the prophet!”

He grabbed his head. “Yes, yes.”

“Leave no traces.”

The stranger raised his head, his eyes flitting around the room. They settled on the oil lamp still flickering on the low shelf. He fetched the lamp and peered into its shallow basin. Half full. That would be enough. Crossing back to the corpse, the stranger kicked a pile of moldy hay and straw into a pile around the body. Stepping back, he dropped the lamp, shattering the clay and splaying burning olive oil across the floor. Flames scurried along the tracks of oil and flared into a single blaze when they reached the tinder pile of dry straw. The fire grew quickly, engulfing the corpse and racing along the tufts of straw strewn over the floor toward the wooden stalls. As smoke began to fill the room, the young man backed toward the door. He stumbled over the board Jachan had used for a club. He picked it up and then hurried to the doorway. With one glance back, the stranger slipped into the darkness of the alleyway.

The wooden panel swung closed, and the scrape of wood against wood echoed into the night as the plank wedged the door closed against the flames.

Lll

The eastern sky swelled with the subdued aura of a new day, forcing the moonless night to surrender its hold on Megiddo’s mount. The craggy silhouettes of dilapidated shacks and tool sheds loomed against the predawn gray. Moshe ducked beneath low beams protruding from the walls, as he threaded his way between them, his precious cargo clutched to his chest. Jonah hurried along as quickly as the shadows would allow, keeping track of his comrade by the raspy breathing and occasional hacking cough.

Without warning, he stumbled through a breach in the masonry of a wall he’d been tracing with his hand. He found himself in a narrow gap between a taller building and the continuation of the wall. Pausing, he strove to hear the sound of movement ahead above his own panting. Nothing. He dipped his head and strained his eyes into the shadows as he edged forward, probing the space before him with his walking stick. Rounding the corner of the building, he was surprised to see the broad expanse of the empty marketplace open before him. A faint movement halfway across the open forum caught his eye, and after a moment he recognized Moshe’s stooped form stumping across the pavement.

Jonah caught up with his companion just as they turned the corner where Hosea’s inn dominated the side street nearest the square.

“Where...where are we going?” Jonah’s hushed words tumbled out between gasps.

“Here.” Moshe jerked his head toward the door of the inn. A faint yellow light showing under a heavy door signaled that breakfast preparations had begun.