Battle Speeches

Ouch. Its getting to that time. 100,000 words later, in the second last scene of my book, and its time to rewrite THAT battle speech.

I hate them. They're so over done, but oh-so-necessary. Here's my fourth attempt at a second re-write (if that makes sense).

[Joshua at the 2nd Battle of Ai]

‘Every man must face his darkest fears. But fear cannot be seen or touched. It has no sword or spear, no face or name. Its within us. How do we conquer ourselves? Courage. Have the courage to believe, or go back to slavery.’

‘We’ll never be slaves again,’ shouted Amminadab from amongst the ranks, ‘we’re sons of Abraham.’

‘Are we?’ Joshua replied, ‘Who is a child of Abraham?’

By the stunned expressions on every Hebrew, clearly no one had ever asked that question.

‘Is it a birthright? Then your fathers would be here today. Achan would be here today. But who is here?’ Joshua pointed towards Rahab, who seemed embarrassed to be singled out.

‘Who is here, I ask you? You who have believed. Believe again. In victory or defeat, through heartache and loss, believe. In life or death, believe. And if like Joseph, you die in faith and send your bones into the promised land, then you may call yourselves sons of Abraham.’

A Captive Market

Somewhere in the distance, nauseating cries of slaves broke the silence of dawn. Rahab feared she might grow numb to their suffering. Not that she had, but that she could. It had become so routine, so perversely monotonous, everyone acted like it was normal. A new “normal” for a city under siege.

In the dark storerooms beneath the wall, Rahab heard the faint jingling of coins filtering through the narrow ventilation holes in the stonework. Merchants were preparing for another days trading to a captive, hungry market. War was good for business, and though the judgement of God stood at the very gates, Jericho did not repent.

Things not spoken are fascinating.

One of the little gems I've discovered while writing about Joshua is his encounter with the Captain of the Lord's Army. Commonly thought to be a pre-incarnate form of Christ (because Joshua would never bow down and worship an angel), this being said so much with so few words. What's more, what he didn't say was even more fascinating. consider the following:

1. The Manner of Jericho's Demise.
God chose to destroy the wall, yet he makes no mention of Rahab, whom he knew lived on the wall. This would have freaked out Joshua, perhaps even causing him to question whether he made the right decision to honour the spies vow to protect Rahab.

2. The Ark of the Covenant.
God told Joshua to march with the ark at the back of his troops, the exact opposite of what Moses did, and a very symbolic gesture. Big shoes to fill and a tough call to make - Joshua had to have faith to obey this unusual request.

3. The Sabbath.
Joshua was asked to march seven days - it had to include a Sabbath. Again, a big call for a new leader with big shoes to fill.

Sin

Forty hard years had passed since crossing the Red Sea, and although Joshua kept a strong healthy frame for his age, the passage of time added lines to his face, subtracted hairs from his head, and multiplied the burdens on his soul.

All was not well in the Hebrew camp.

Walking briskly towards the tabernacle that evening, Joshua passed countless rows of people struck with the plague. Lying on mats outside waiting for a miracle, old men coughed up blood in between desperate gasps for air and young children screamed uncontrollably in the arms of loving parents.

The horrifying sights were almost too hard for Joshua to bear. He had to harden his heart and just keep walking, if only to convince himself that he was doing something to help.

Entering the tabernacle, he was encouraged to see hundreds of elders inside already down on bended knee praying fervently. Following behind, Salman and Phinehas planted their spears at the entrance and hurriedly caught up with Joshua inside.

“Where’s Othniel?” asked Joshua

“Still searching,” replied Phinehas, “You know the kid, always something to prove.”

“Don’t write him off,” Salman interrupted.

“Either way, I'll have to tell Moses the news,” said Joshua.

“Better you than me,” Salman murmured under his breath.

At the front of the meeting, the wise old prophet Moses prayed earnestly on his knees before the altar. Far older and more human than anyone dared to admit, his heartfelt prayers seemed too holy to be interrupted.

“Lord, remove this plague from us, as we have removed those joined to Baal. Lord forgive us. We have wandered from your ways, we have hardened our hearts and now we eat the fruit of our sins. Save us from ourselves.”

Joshua hesitated, looking back again at the entrance of tent just as Othniel arrived and planted his spear in the ground. The young baby-faced soldier was barely seventeen years of old, and what he lacked in height, he more than made up with his stocky frame. Unfortunately for Joshua, Othniel shook his head in disappointment. He was empty handed.

Joshua turned back again and reverently approach his mentor.

“Moses, we've searched everywhere. We can’t find the culprit. We don’t know who caused this plague. I don't understand”.

The old prophet slowly rose to his feet and turned around to face him. A chill raced down Joshua's spine as he saw the fire in Moses' eyes. But he was staring at someone else at the back of the meeting.

At the entrance of the Tabernacle two young lovers stumbled into the assembly - a young Hebrew man called Zimri and a pretty Moabite women wearing a lot of jewelry and not much else. Both were drunk with wine and lust.

She was strangely pretty, but it was an ugly sight. Much of her scantily clad body was covered in the idolatrous symbols of Baal. To make matters worse, despite hundreds of elders gasping with horror at this blasphemous spectacle, the two lovers burst into uncontrollable laughter and quickly ran away into the night.

“Murderer!” yelled Phinehas as he sprung to his feet in righteous zeal and ran to fetch his spear. “Come on, let's catch a whore,” he appealed to Salman and Othniel.

“Phinehas! Careful what you do with that spear!” Joshua yelled. But it was too late, he was off in a flash with the others not too far behind.

For Joshua’s old legs however, it took a little longer.

There is no God, just stories.

The King thought deeply for a moment, then arose from his throne to proudly inspect the idols displayed around his walls.

“You know I’m one to ramble on with stories of my youth. I've studied all religions, the tribes of the upper Nile, the Chaldeans, even beyond the mountains of Persia.”

He held up a golden figurine and waved it like a toy.

“There is no God, just stories.”

Elam threw the idol to the floor, smashing it to a thousand pieces.

“See, I knew it was clay underneath. Don’t worry, I have many more.”

Hashum took his Father’s arm and drew him close.

“What if you're wrong?”

Elam despised the look of fear in Hashum’s eyes. “Faith is the deceitful cloak of conquest, and Joshua's is no exception.”

“So what do we do with the spies?” Giddel asked impatiently.

Elam pulled away and slowly paced the floor, circling his sons and stroking his beard. He relished in the theatrics of weighing up the moral implications of this decision. The spies were like a dangerous species approaching extinction.

“The Hebrews are the only people on earth without a king. They have only one god, with no name and no idol to worship.”

“And no land,” said Giddel. “So shall we arrest them or kill them?”

“Wouldn't it be better to keep them alive?” asked Hashum, “to trade them later.”

“Why?” asked Elam, “What do the Hebrews have that I need? Nothing more for my collections. They’ll vanish into the scrolls of history soon enough.”

“As you wish,” said Giddel, grateful to finally get the answer he wanted.

“Good, and be sure to tie their heads to a post at the crossing,” the King coldly remarked.

“Their heads?” asked Hashum.

“Let me put it like this. I could imagine more crude and offensive things we could tie to a post, but vultures steal them easily and they don’t identify the bodies.”

Elam’s matter-of-fact reply got the desired response. His two sons turned to leave the throne room.

“Oh, and I almost forgot, the whore should be rewarded; perhaps after your mother retires for the evening.”

Giddel scowled and barged out the door, with Hashum in his wake.

Elam chuckled to himself. He knew Giddel always had eyes for Rahab. Like most accomplished dictators, his manners were like fine silver cutlery - reserved only for special occasions.

Rahab the prostitute

Reaching bottom of the staircase, Salman looked up and noticed an attractive young woman opening the door of the inn. Two men were leaving; they weren’t the typically rough types he expected, in fact, one seemed vaguely familiar as he passed by on the staircase - but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Besides, it was the woman that really grabbed his attention.

Salman only caught a glimpse before she went back inside, but it enough to take his breath away. She was simply stunning, in her late teens or early twenties, with straight black hair, and deep beautiful brown eyes. Her clothing, headpiece and jewelry were lavishly feminine, but not so overdone as to appear gawdy.

On reaching the inn, Salman hesitated with his clenched fist poised to knock on the door.

“What is it?” whispered Phinehas.

“Nothing. It's fine,” replied Salman.

He knocked briskly, and within a few moments a peek hole in the door promptly slid open.

“Gentlemen, its too late in the day,” said the young woman, sizing them up, “Unless ...you want to stay for the night?”

“I do. We do.” Salman nervously replied, trying not to gaze into her gorgeous eyes. “We’d like a bed. Two actually, of our own. Two beds of our own... without you. I mean in your house, but just to sleep.”

She opened the door and laughed, “You’re not from around here, that’s for sure. I don’t bite. Come on in.”

The inn was fortuitously placed directly on top of the wall, with wooden shuttered windows overlooking both the fields outside and the city square. A large dining table occupied the centre of the inn, capable of seating twenty or more at a banquet, with a fireplace to the right and corridor leading to two bedrooms to the left.

The men were graciously ushered to their room, where they promptly dumped their belongings and quenched their thirst with a large jug of water. Within minutes, they were devouring an exquisite meal of lamb stew brought straight from the pot above the fireplace and served at their bedside table.

Tired and sore from a long day’s journey, the men finally kicked off their shoes and tried to relax with a modest portion of wine. But it was an impossible task, with their host scurrying in and out of the room, carrying dishes and topping up glasses. Indeed, Salman and Phinehas were so intrigued by her unquestionable beauty that they had completely forgotten to ask her name.

From the window on the outer wall, Salman pretended to absorb the magnificent view of the moonlit fields in the east towards the Jordan. Phinehas resigned himself to remain seated at the table and focus on his meal.

“Is there any...” Phinehas couldn't finish before the woman placed a large flask of water on the table.

“Water?” she interrupted, a little too close for Phinehas’ liking.

“Yes thank you, that’ll be all. You... you can leave us alone now.”

But she didn’t.

And neither Phinehas or Salman knew knew what to say.

“I am Rahab,” she replied.

They were three simple words, spoken like someone from a long forgotten dream. Her voice sounded so intriguing, Salman no longer pretended to look out the window.

“I'm Rahab, and this is my Inn.”

Both men were speechless, hanging on her every word.

“And you have names?”

“Forgive me, I'm Salman and this is my companion Phinehas.”

Rahab smiled. The ice was broken.

“Well gentlemen, welcome to Jericho.”

Trouble at the well

Jericho echoed with the sound of the Gatekeeper’s horn. It was time to shut the city for the evening.

Salman casually turned around and observed Adin close the iron-plated gates in his customary routine. Too late to turn back now, he thought, even if I wanted to.

“So we sleep in the square, or take our chances with the locals?”

“Water first,” replied Phinehas as he unpacked a goatskin water bag, “because you never know...”

CRASH. The sudden noise caught them by surprise. A second gate made of solid iron bars slammed shut about twenty feet behind the main one underneath the stone archway.

“Well look at that!” Salman noted. “A clever trap don’t you think?”

“A cage for rats,” replied Phinehas. “Boiling oil from above, archers from behind. Eeesh! No thanks.”

“Come on, lets find somewhere for the night.” said Salman.

“Don’t you listen? Water first. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

It was difficult to disagree with Phinehas when Salman's own mouth was parched from the long walk.

The two men promptly headed towards the middle of the square, where an entire caravan of camels were drinking from several large troughs. One of the smelly beasts was pulled aside by its keeper as a matter of courtesy, to make room for the men to draw from the well.

It was an ancient but remarkably solid construction, with a circular stone wall, perfectly round and reaching up to waist height. A sturdy wooden beam across the top secured a large bucket suspended on a rope deep into the water underground. It’s clever builder had even thought to seal the mouth of the well with two wooden shutters, to stop small animals contaminating the water.

Just as Phinehas was about to draw water, Salman noticed the Gatekeeper pushing his way towards them through the camels, short tempered and ready to pick a fight.

“Hey! You filthy foreigners. That's not yours, its for locals. You have to pay for water at the Inn. You think we want your diseases?”

“What diseases?” Phinehas replied angrily.

Salman motioned for Phinehas to calm down. The Gatekeeper was either too stupid to consider the camels, or else he genuinely believed the men were inferior. Either way, it was pointless arguing.

“Where exactly is this Inn?” Salman asked.

”Over there.” Adin pointed towards a staircase on the right side of the wall beside the main entrance to the square. “Don’t worry, you’ll be well looked after.”

On closer inspection, Salman realized there were many houses built into the wall - three levels in fact. This meant the walls were hollow, and not nearly as strong as they first appeared.

“We don't want to cause any trouble,” said Salman casually. “Please excuse my brother, he's a bit slow. Thanks for your help.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Adin replied with a disturbing politeness that seemed out of character for such a coarse man.

Naturally, Salman didn’t wish to reveal his deep ceded suspicions, nor allow Phinehas the opportunity for more trouble. So he promptly grabbed his arm and forcefully ushered his “brother” towards towards the staircase.

“Ok this dumb brother trick is really getting to me,” whispered Phinehas.

“No, I think it suits you,” replied Salman cheekily.

Phinehas scowled with displeasure. “And I won’t be the guest of a whore.”

“He didn’t say she was a prostitute.”

“Oh come on, ‘you’ll be well looked after.’ Whats that supposed to mean?”

“Well even if she’s a lady of questionable character,” Salman whispered, “please don’t kill her. Knowing your luck, all Hell would break loose.”

“Very funny,” Phinehas replied, gritting his teeth. “I’m bursting with laughter.”

The Captain of Jericho

The King of Jericho's youngest son was a superb fighter in his mid twenties by the name of Giddel. As Captain of the Guard, he conducted the daily training armed only with a wooden staff. Surprisingly, his opponent was barely sixteen years old, for on closer inspection Salman realized all his students were just boys.

Although the youth was armed with a real sword, Giddel seemed undisturbed by the threat of genuine harm. He carried no shield or armor, except for a large belt around his waist and a row of tough leather ribbing strapped along his powerful right arm. His strength and reflexes were something to admire, though Salman sensed he was merely toying with the teenager for he barely broke a sweat. Nevertheless, this was rookie training - brutal, fast and nasty.

Giddel swerved to sidestep an overhead strike, then tripped the boy and stole his sword while he fell to the ground.

“Get up,” Giddel shouted then tossed the sword back to the ground. “I carry my weapon in one hand, but I have three other limbs to strike you. I could have just as easily broken your jaw with my left arm.”

"It's not fair" replied the boy as he scrambled to his feet.

"Fair? Oh we can play fair. Shall I call for my sword?"

"No Sir."

Giddel looked over to the next boy waiting in line for a cruel initiation. “Lets make it easier. You, join him over here.”

A second boy stood by the first, bracing themselves for another round.

Giddel closed his eyes, threw his wooden staff away and turned his back to them. This was a lesson they'll never forget.

“Attack.”

Dropping to the ground, Giddell rolled to one side and dodged a wild strike from the first boy. A quick kick to the groin, and the lad was paralyzed with pain.

The second boy lunged aggressively with his sword, but Giddel was already on one knee. He grabbed the boy’s fighting arm and threw him over his shoulder like he was tossing a bale of hay.

Giddel sprung up, and stood over his bruised and battered opponents. They had barely enough time to swipe the dust from their faces before realizing that Giddel held both their swords an inch from their throats.

“I had nothing but my bare hands. Its what you do with what you have - thats what counts. Never forget it.”

“Yes Sir,” they replied as they returned to their positions.

Salman and Phinehas could not believe what they were seeing.

“If this is how they train boys...” Phinehas whispered.

“What about their men? I know.” Salman interrupted, “And by the way, the wall is twenty one paces thick.”

Phinehas looked at Salman with a hint of fear. “They expect Joshua to attack. They're getting ready.”

“Getting?” Salman replied “I’d say they’re well and truly ready.”