The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [115]
“What is your plan?”
He put his hand inside his dingy robes and withdrew his pipe and tobacco pouch.
“First, tell me why you have brought us here.”
“To Jezreel? I told you my mother’s name, I believe.”
“Yes, it was Judith, was it not? Not Mary McCarthy. Refresh my memory of the story, Russell. I try to forget things that I will not need in my work, and tales from the Bible normally fall into that category.”
I smiled grimly. “Perhaps this is one story you may see a use for, Holmes. It is one my mother and I read when I was seven. She was the granddaughter of a rabbi, a small woman, quiet, possessed of a remark-able wisdom. Although the story is Apocryphal rather than from the Hebrew canon, she chose this as the first story we studied together be-cause she did not believe that religion should be an easy thing. Also, it involves her namesake.”
“The Judith and Holofernes story.”
“It happened here, or at any rate the story was set here, in a small town astride the Jerusalem road that we have just come up. Holofernes was the commander of an army from out of the north, sent to punish Jerusalem. This little town barred his way, so he cut off its water and laid siege to it. After thirty-four days the townspeople gave God an ul-timatum: Provide water within five days, or we stand aside and Jerusalem can have this army.
“Judith, a wise, upstanding, wealthy young widow, was disgusted with them. She put on her richest clothes, summoned her maid, and left the town to walk out to Holofernes’ camp. She told him she wished to be saved from the coming destruction and paraded herself around in front of him for a few days. He, of course, invited her to his tent. She got him drunk, he passed out, and she cut off his head and took it back with her to the town. The invasion fell apart, Jerusalem was saved, and two and a half thousand years later women named for her give their children nightmares with the story.”
“A stimulating tale, Russell, though hardly one that I should choose for a seven-year-old.”
“My mother believed in starting theological training early. The fol-lowing year we did the Levite’s concubine, which makes the Judith story sound like a nursery rhyme. Still, that is why I wanted to come here, to see where Holofernes arrayed his troops. Does that answer your question?”
He sighed. “I’m afraid so. Then you did see what I was thinking, on the boat?”
“I could hardly miss it.”
“And you offer this as an alternative.” He waved one hand at the darkening plain.
“Yes.” I would not consider the implications, not until I had to.
“No. I am sorry, Russell, but I will not have you place yourself within the enemy camp. I do not believe that you would find this op-ponent of ours an obliging drunkard.”
“I won’t be sacrificed, though, Holmes. I refuse to abandon you.” I was relieved, but all the same I would not be a coward.
“I am not suggesting that you abandon me, Russell, only that you appear to do so.” He rose and went to his tent and came back with a familiar wooden box in his hand. He set out the pieces as they had been in the game we had played off Crete, before my queen had fallen. He then turned the board around to take possession of the black. This time it was I who captured his queen, I who pressed and chivvied him into a corner. The game shifted, however, for I knew his intentions and refused to be drawn in.
The moves lengthened, slowed, as our two diminutive armies clashed. Pieces fell and were removed from the field of battle. The first stars emerged unnoticed, Ali brought over a small oil lamp and set it on a rock between us, and Holmes laid a pincers movement that took my second bishop. I took a rook (a hollow victory; Holmes scorned their stolid directness) and two moves later lost one to his knight. (Holmes’ knights were terrible weapons when a certain mood was upon him, more like Boadicea’s bladed chariot with its wholesale mowing-down