Signs and Wonders (42 page)

A man named Achior answered. He was a captain of the Ammonites. “O Holofernes,” he said, “they who oppose you are descended from the Chaldeans. One family of them refused to worship the stone gods of the Chaldeans and left that land and went into Mesopotamia. There they began to worship an invisible god. The family grew and became many tribes. They were conquered but never dispersed, enslaved but never subdued. In Egypt they broke the bonds of slavery and wandered again in the wilderness, and the Egyptians who pursued them were drowned in the sea. Then, it is said, their god spoke to them from a mountain and gave them many laws. They marched through the wilderness toward Canaan. And when they kept the law of their god, it is told, they prospered. They triumphed in battle. When they disobeyed their god, they were vanquished. Now this generation has returned to its god, and has come together from all its places of exile, and has taken the city of Jerusalem again and the hill country of Judah. It was desolate but these people restored it, and they dwell there, worshipping their god.”

Holofernes roared with fury, “Man, I ask you a simple question and you stand there ranting and raving like a maniac! What do I care about their invisible god and their ridiculous history? I want to know about troops, chariots, archers, spearmen—where their forts are and who their captains are. For, know this: There is no god but the king of Assyria, and these Israelites will be kissing the toe of his statue before a week has passed.” Holofernes turned to his men and said: “He’s a Jew in his heart. Bind him. Take him to the foot of that hill. Leave him there so that he may be found by the Jews and killed before he has a chance to tell them how much he loves them.”

The guards seized Achior and bound him and took him into Judah until they came to the foot of the hill. But when the men of the mountain city of Beth-el saw the horsemen, they took up their weapons and rushed out of the gates, and the horsemen galloped away, leaving Achior there. The Israelites went down; they loosed his bonds and brought him into the city. They knew the man had something to tell, and they called an assembly. Achior told his story, how Holofernes had questioned him and how he had answered—and how the Assyrians were preparing to attack.

“Behold!” cried Ozias, the high priest. “This Ammonite is our friend. He has done us a service this day.” They made Achior welcome. Then the entire assembly went to the temple to pray.

Holofernes kept questioning the princes and captains of Canaan. An Edomite spoke up: “My lord, do not attempt to attack this land by marching through its mountain passes. These passes are narrow. You will find them blocked by walls of rock and defended by spearmen who will make a hedge of spears in the narrow way. And while you are attempting to dislodge the spearmen, lo, others of Judah, lurking on the hillsides, will shoot arrows down upon you and hurl huge boulders down, crushing man and horse, crushing your chariots like beetles. We Edomites have attempted these passes, and we have seen our armies destroyed. Also, if you force these passes with a great loss of men, you will find the entire population of each city arrayed behind its walls—women and children fighting alongside the men. Those who cannot handle weapons will pour boiling water on the heads of your men, and ladles of burning pitch, and drop heavy objects upon them.”

“Are you saying they cannot be taken?” growled Holofernes.

“Not at all, my lord,” said the Edomite. “I am suggesting this: The city can be taken by a simple trick. The city of Beth-el, which sits upon the first hill commanding the passes, takes its water from springs that gush at the base of the mountain. Therefore, send men secretly at night and stop up these fountains. The people will have no water to drink. They will die of thirst. Their cattle will die of thirst, and the people will starve. So the city will fall to you without a fight.”

“Good counsel!” cried Holofernes. “We shall do this. We shall stop up their fountains.”

He sent men that night. They went to the base of the mountain and stopped the springs of water. Then Holofernes threw siege lines around the hill so that no one could come down out of the city. He kept to his tent, and waited for the city to surrender.

The cisterns dried up in Beth-el, and the people thirsted. Water was rationed; it was measured out cup by cup, and no one had enough to drink. People swooned and fell down in the streets. The men no longer had strength to bear arms. They cried out before Ozias and the elders; “Make peace! Make peace! God has sold us into the hand of the Assyrian. Therefore, send a message to Holofernes. Open the gates! Let us submit! We cannot wait here and see our infants die before our eyes. Anything is better.”

Ozias spoke: “Do not lose courage so quickly. Let us endure five days more and see whether God turns merciful toward us. After five days, if God still withholds salvation, then I will do as you say, and open the gates to the enemy.”

Now, there was a woman of that town named Judith. She was a young widow. Three years before, her husband had died of a heat stroke while harvesting barley. She was the most beautiful young woman in the city, tall and graceful, with pearly skin and long black hair. But no man looked upon her beauty. When her husband died, all the passion of her heart was turned to grief. She plunged into mourning as she had into marriage, and shunned everyone except her servants. She made a tent on the roof of her house and wore sackcloth, and rarely left her tent, and never left the house. No one violated her privacy or spoke evil against her, for she had been highly esteemed in the city.

Judith did not attend the assembly, but her serving woman brought her the news. She went down out of her tent of grief into the house and sent messages to the elders, and to Ozias, the high priest, inviting them to call upon her. They came.

She said: “The people have spoken out of their agony, calling upon you to surrender. And you have asked for five days to give God a chance to save us. O wise men of Beth-el, you have done wrong! You cannot put a time limit upon God’s mercy. He is beyond our time as He is beyond all our measurement. It was He who wrought the firmament and hung our sun and moon, which make our night and our day and mark our time. He cannot be bound by such small artifacts, such small ideas. You cannot threaten God, you cannot hasten Him; you will only provoke Him to greater angers.”

“Sage words,” said Ozias. “But what would you have us do?”

“We must keep up our courage and implore God’s mercy, which He will grant us in His own good time, if it pleases Him. This generation has not strayed from His way. We have not run after the gods of the Canaanites, stone Baal and Ashteroth of the grove. We have not done this, and God should not abandon us. Let us go to the temple and thank God for testing us in His mysterious way, and beg Him to deliver us from the enemy.”

“Your understanding is deep; your heart is good,” said Ozias. “But the people thirst. They have made us swear to surrender the city within five days unless help comes. If we refuse, they will slay us and surrender the city themselves. All I can say to you, Judith, is pray. Pray for rain. Perhaps God will listen to you.”

Standing there among the defeated old men, Judith suddenly felt herself changing. She felt as though the spirit of God were shining upon her—like the sunlight lancing through the window. She was filled with gaiety and with courage. She knew what she had to do.

She said: “I have prayed, and I think my prayers have been answered, or are beginning to be answered. Listen now. Open the gate for me tonight. I shall go out with my waiting woman. Within the five days that you have given yourselves before surrender, I will bring the vengeance of God upon our enemies.”

“How?” cried Ozias. “What do you mean to do?”

“Do not ask me,” said Judith. “For I cannot tell you. I must act in secrecy, and alone.”

“You shall act as you see fit,” said Ozias. “God knows, there is no one else with a plan.”

They departed. Judith fell upon her face and cried out: “O God, O my God, hear me. The Assyrians glory in the strength of their spearmen; they trust in chariots, in sword and bow and sling. They do not know that you are the Lord of battle who breaks down shields and tramples chariots. Behold their pride and send down your wrath upon their heads. Deliver them into my hand; let the great captain be brought down by the hand of a woman.”

She listened. She heard a great hush. But there was a fullness in it, not a silence. She cried out again, “O God, God of the afflicted, helper of the oppressed, upholder of the weak, protector of the forlorn, savior of them who are without help, I pray you, I pray you, give me strength for the deed I must do.”

She arose. She pulled off the sackcloth, put off her garments of widowhood, and washed herself with the last water in the house. She anointed herself with sandalwood and myrrh. She braided her hair and threaded jewels in its blackness, and put on a gown of scarlet and gold. She put on armlets and bracelets and rings and earrings. She looked at herself in the glass for the first time in three years and wept when she saw herself, for she was as radiant as on her bridal day. She took a bottle of wine and a cruse of oil, filled a leather bag with parched corn and figs and bread, and gave it to her servant. They went to the city gates.

She went down the mountain path into the valley. A man came toward her, bearing a spear. He wore a tall plumed helmet. He was an Assyrian. “Who are you?” he said. “Where do you come from, and where are you going?”

“I am a woman of the Hebrews,” she said. “And I am fleeing from them. Now take me to Holofernes, your captain. I know a secret that will deliver the city into his hands.”

The man stared. In that moonlight she was beautiful beyond all dreams of beauty. He trembled with desire. But he did not touch her. He knew that Holofernes would delight in the sight of her, and thoughts of advancement danced in his head.

“I will escort you to the captain’s tent,” he said. He conducted her through the sentry post to the tent of Holofernes. Word flashed among the captains and among the men.

“If there be others like her in Beth-el,” said one young man, “I will scale this mountain and batter down the walls of the city singlehanded. An hour with such a woman is worth the torments of eternity.”

She was ushered into Holofemes’ tent. The great warrior rested on his bed under a canopy of purple and gold silk. Silver lamps burned in the tent; bowls of incense smoldered. Judith sank to the earth before Holofemes.

“Rise,” he said. “Arise, fair visitor, and do not fear. But tell me why you have fled your city and come to us.”

“I have left my city because I know it will fall,” said Judith. “In my soul I despise losers.”

Holofernes roared with laughter. “Truly, victors are to be preferred,” he said. “Your wit matches your beauty.”

“I have come to tell you how you may take Beth-el without losing a man,” said Judith. “It is secret knowledge; he who possesses it must vanquish us despite our hills and our narrow passes, and our men of valor. You heard the words of the Ammonite whom you cast out. He spoke truth to you, but partial truth. We are a special nation. No one can prevail against us unless we sin against our God.”

“Are these your words of good counsel?” said Holofernes. “Is this why you have left your city and come through the night, to tell me this, that I must wait for your people to sin before I can vanquish them?”

“Do not be angry, my lord, but hear me out. For they must sin. And you must prevail. You have stopped up the springs; the cisterns fail. They suffer thirst. They hunger. Now, human flesh can bear just so much. They fear God; they fear to break His laws, and they will hold out longer than you might think possible. But finally their hunger and thirst will drive them to eat unclean meat and drink its blood. Thus they will sin against God and He will punish them. You are their punishment.”

“Now your words begin to please me,” said Holofernes. “Speak on.”

“If you attack before they have committed their sin, you must lose many men. But I can assist you. I am versed in matters of ritual. I shall stay here in your camp, if you permit me. And each night I shall go out, go to the city gates and observe what is happening inside. When I see the people of the city sinning, when I see them eating forbidden food and defiling themselves, then I will come straightway to you and lead you through the passes, and God will open the gates of Beth-el to you.”

“So be it,” said Holofernes. “You shall be given a tent, and permission to come and go as you please. But each night after you have visited the city, you must report to me here in my tent.”

Judith dwelt in the camp of the Assyrian. Each night she went out, but did not go up to the city. She tarried on a hillside, then came back, and went to Holofernes’ tent and said: “Well, my lord, I climbed the hill to the gates and looked into the city. They suffer but do not sin. It is not yet time.” She looked full into his face as she spoke, and sat near him. Each movement of her body, each glance of her eye uttered meaning beyond the words she spoke.

Holofernes was intoxicated with her beauty. On the fourth night he could wait no longer. He had his servants prepare a small feast and pour out the finest wines, and he sent a man to Judith. “My lord, Holofernes, invites you to dine in his tent,” said the man. “To drink wine and be merry with him, and to be received this night as a daughter of the Assyrians and a noblewoman in the house of the Great King.”

“Tell your lord that I am honored,” said Judith. “I shall change my garments and go to him.”

Her servant bathed her and anointed her, and scented her with sandalwood and myrrh and essence of the night-flowering jasmine. She plaited diamonds and pearls in Judith’s black hair, and clad her in a gown of blue and silver.

When Judith went to the tent, she found Holofernes there alone. The table was set and the wine was poured, but he had dismissed his servants. Tapers burned in the tent; there was a heavy musk of incense.

Holofemes wore no armor. He was clad in cloth of gold. His beard was braided in the manner of the Assyrian court and he wore a lotus flower in his hair. He was a huge man, powerful as a bull, and of ravenous appetite. He had never wooed a woman before. Next to the king he was the greatest man in the empire. Men trembled at his look, and women hastened to obey him before he spoke. A woman like Judith, of wit, understanding, and bold, free spirit, was a total novelty to him. She not only awoke his lust but caught his imagination. For the first time in his life he was in love.