Christ the Lord - Anne Rice [24]
All the women rushed at the man, hurling their jars at his horse.
We reached the creek bed as, assailed on all sides, the ruffian let loose of Avigail, pulling her veil and mantle free as she slammed to the rocky ground. Brandishing her robes like a flag the man, ducking low to escape the hail of stones flung at him, rode away as fast as he could.
Avigail scrambled up, drawing her knees under her and bending forward. She was in her long-sleeved tunic and her hair was streaming over her face and shoulders. Little Isaac threw his arms around her to shield her from all eyes.
I reached her and went down on my knees in front of her and took her by the shoulders.
She screamed my name and clung to me. Blood ran from her forehead and her cheek.
“They're gone,” cried James. All the women surrounded us. My aunt Esther cried she'd gotten the man good with her jar. She'd broken it on his very head. The children were sobbing and running to and fro.
Cries came from above.
“The other one's gone. He was the distraction,” declared James. “They wanted a woman, the godless heathens, will you look at this, look what they've done.”
“It's over,” I whispered to Avigail. “Let me look at you. These are scratches and scrapes.”
She nodded. She understood me.
Then I heard a voice over my head.
“Stand back from my daughter. Get your hands off her.”
I could scarce believe these words were meant for me.
My aunt Esther gestured for me to draw back. She took her place by Avigail as Avigail climbed to her feet.
“She's unharmed,” said Aunt Esther. “We were all here and we gave him rocks and stones and blows for his pains, I can tell you.”
There was a chorus of agreement.
Shemayah stared at Avigail as she stood there, shivering, in her long wool tunic, her hair disheveled, the cuts bleeding on her face.
I took off my mantle and quickly put it over her shoulders. But he thrust me back and off balance as she took it. The women hastily put it over her. Her tunic was modest enough. It was plenty enough. But now she was fully draped as usual in a mantle over her shoulders and down her back. And my aunt Salome drew back Avigail's loose hair.
Shemayah picked up his daughter. He picked her up in both arms as if she were a child and carried her up the hill.
The women ran after him, and the children, crowding and hampering his every step.
James and I waited. Then slowly we climbed the hill.
When we reached his door, the women stood outside staring at the wood.
“What is this? Why haven't you gone in?” I demanded.
“He won't let us go in.”
My mother came out of our house with Old Bruria. “What's happened?”
Everyone told a version of it at once.
Old Bruria pounded on the door. “Shemayah,” she cried. “You open this door now for us. This girl needs us.”
The door opened, and out came Silent Hannah flung at us as if she were no more than a bundle of clothes.
The door slammed shut.
Silent Hannah was terrified.
I knocked on the door. I put my voice close to the wood, gesturing for James to stay back and not try to stop me.
“Shemayah,” I called out. “The women are here to tend to Avigail, let them in.”
“She was not hurt!” declared my aunt Salome. “We all saw it. She fought, and he dropped her! You all saw it.”
“Yes, we all saw it,” said Aunt Esther. “All of you men go, leave here, you leave this to us.”
We backed up as they told us to do. More women had come. James' wife, Mara, and Mary of Little Cleopas and Silas' wife and at least a dozen more. The older women pounded all together on the door.
“Force it!” said Esther, and they flung themselves at the door, kicking and pounding, until it rocked free of its pivots and fell in.
I moved to where I could see into the dimly lighted room. I caught only a glimpse before it was filled with women. Avigail, white and crying, disheveled as before, like a bundle flung in the corner, the blood still dripping from her head.
The roaring protests of Shemayah were drowned out by the women. Isaac and Yaqim and Silent Hannah tried to get into the house but they couldn't get in. It was too filled with