A Destiny Fulfilled - J C Laird (summer reading list .txt) 📗

A Destiny Fulfilled

Nisa’s body molded against his, her warmth banishing the chill air of early morning. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and he would have to wake her soon. She was his concubine. Malek regretted never taking a wife or having children, believing that his chosen profession prevented that. He had availed himself of many prostitutes in the past, but Nisa had become his favorite—his only. Not only was she young, beautiful and intelligent, she understood his life, its inherent dangers, and willingly accepted them, and him. Although she had a separate room in his tent, he preferred to be with her the night before he went into battle. And most other nights.

Malek of Gath, the greatest warrior in all Philistia, stared at the ceiling of the large goat hair tent, the darkness ebbing as the sun threatened to rise in the east. He sighed in the early greyness of the day, brushing his lips against the dark hair of his woman, wishing things could be different. He’d rather stay with her under the blankets for as long as he wanted, loving the day away. But on this day he would have to battle the enemy’s mightiest warrior.

He drowsed, his mind wandering back through his childhood memories to his early days in Gath. Malek was skilled with the sword and spear at an early age, bringing attention to himself. His mother had died when he was only seven, and he never knew his father, a nameless man who had abandoned them when he was a baby. But Malek had survived. Maybe his destiny lay elsewhere than in the city of Gath, because a captain in Gath’s militia, Baheen Abaza, had adopted and raised him as part of his own family.

As he grew Baheen trained him in the use of all the weapons of war: sword, dagger, spear, javelin, bow and arrow, slings and ox goads, even teaching Malek how to drive a chariot. Malek smiled at the memories, especially those of the ox goads. The metal tipped ten foot poles were used to goad oxen, but could be a formidable weapon in the hands of someone strong enough to wield them. And Malek was more than strong enough. As the years passed his hand-to-hand fighting skills became refined, honed, and ingrained. His strength and prowess on the battlefield was legendary, setting him apart from other soldiers. He became Gath’s greatest warrior.

Nisa’s arm was resting on his chest. He picked up her delicate hand and gently laid it on the blanketed swell of her breast. Then, with the same gentleness, he tried to extricate his shoulder and arm from beneath her head. He failed, and with a sleepy moan she opened her dark eyes, eyes that tried to focus on his face. Seconds passed as she became fully conscious. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“Did you forget that today I have a duel—a fight to the death?”

As his comment and its import registered with her, she turned her head away, silent. Several more long seconds passed. “No, I didn’t forget,” she replied, staring at the tent wall. “But I still don’t know why someone else couldn’t fight today. There are others…” She lapsed into silence as she dismissed the foolish thought.

Malek slipped out from under the blanket and rose from their sleeping mat, picking up and donning his loin cloth from the floor where he had discarded it the night prior. He finished covering his nakedness by slipping a woolen tunic over his head and shoulders. He lifted his arms above his head, stretching upward with a low groan and a grimace, attempting to loosen the aches and pains of a fitful night. What he couldn’t undo was the burden of the accumulating years upon his body and the injuries inflicted on him by the battles with his challengers.

Nisa was gazing at him again, her dark eyes still troubled. She was from the small village of Ekron by the Great Sea. She still couldn’t believe Malek had chosen her to be one of his concubines and, even more amazing, had kept her to the exclusion of all others. “Dear Malek, why do you hide your nakedness from me? I have been your woman for over a year now, and you are still as modest as a young boy courting his first girl. Maybe we should just marry and grow old together, so that you might relax and wander through your old age with me,” she chided.

Her master’s eyes flashed at her comments, and Nisa worried she had overstepped her bounds again as she often was wont to do. But his flint-like expression, feared by his enemies, softened as they always did in her presence.

“Too many scars inflicted by my enemies upon my body need not dismay your beautiful eyes, my sweet Nisa,” he replied with a sigh.

She sensed pain behind his words. “But they are dead, and you are alive, shy Malek. Your scars are but reminders of the great victories over your enemies,” she said, trying to sooth him.

“Are my enemies really any different from us?” he asked. “They must have wives, concubines, children, hopes and dreams, and fear death as much as me. When I was younger I was proud of my battle scars, even this one.” His hand went to the side of his face, his fingers tracing the arcing scar starting at his hairline and ending at his jaw bone. “The fierce Moabite, Kadir, did this in our combat. He almost bested me. I am tired, getting old, and fearing death more with every duel. I wonder what Dagan has written for my ultimate destiny. Fighting and warring my whole life, killing and maiming, only to die in battle myself? Is that my only purpose, my only end? There must be a reason for my life….”

Nisa could sense Malek’s growing agitation, and she again tried to calm him. “You fight for the glory of our tribes, our country, to defend your people from its enemies. I shall pray to the great god Dagon to protect you and to shine the light of knowledge upon your destiny. You will be victorious, as always, my invincible Malek.”

He snorted and walked around the central tent pole to the back of the tent, opening the window flap. He returned to the front and did the same to the entrance, pulling back and tying the heavy sheepskin. “While you’re at it, you can also pray to Astarte, his mistress. I can always use the help, and with the aid of both a god and goddess I should be back in your arms before the sun is down.” With hands on his hips he dismissed the gods and arched his back again, stretching his long frame. “There, now we have a little breeze in here. I’ll go out front and start the cooking fire so you can prepare our morning meal.”

The sun was rising over the low mountains to the east bathing their armed camp in soft morning light, the foothills covered by the tents of almost two thousand soldiers gathered from the cities of Ashdod, Ekron, Gaza and Ashkelon. Numerous morning cooking fires already smoldered around the huge tent city, the smoke wafting upward in the early morning air. Across the broad valley to the east the Semitic encampment of their current enemy was also stirring. Malek’s duel would take place in the valley between the two when the sun was at its zenith.

His larger tent was set apart from the other smaller ones, suitable for his stature as their greatest hero and warrior. And, as befitting their custom on the days of single combat, no one, other than his shield bearer and armorer, would approach or engage Malek in conversation. They would leave him alone as he prepared for his coming battle to the death.

He fanned the banked fire and added wood until it burned freely. He filled the iron pot with water, hung it over the fluttering fire next to the cooking spit, and returned to the tent. Nisa, standing nude in a corner of the tent, had filled a large clay pot with water from a goatskin and was washing herself. She was unashamed of her nakedness in front of her master. With silent footsteps Malek walked to a wooden bench nearby, sat, and watched her, admiring her glistening young body.

When Nisa was done she playfully flicked water out of the bowl at Malek, her face radiant. “Do you like what you see?” she chided.

Without a word he stood, and with one long stride was beside her. She squealed with delight as he scooped her up in his muscled arms. He swung her around, a feather in the wind, and clasped her close to his body as he buried his face in her damp hair. “Very much.” Malek’s voice was muffled by her thick tresses. He pulled back and shook his head in wonder. “I only wish I could spend the rest of my days loving you instead of constantly warring, fighting and killing.”

Arms around his neck, Nisa pulled herself farther up on his scarred torso and kissed him on the lips. “Do we have time for more loving before you have to go, my champion?”

“I fear not. My shield bearer, Kabeer, will be here soon to help me with my armor and preparations, and I do not want to chance anyone seeing you like this, except me. Besides, I won’t have any strength left if I again succumb to your feminine treasures.” With a wistful look and thoughts of the coming day intruding into his reverie, he set his woman down on the soft, matted floor. “But right now you need to prepare my breakfast. I need my strength for my coming struggle. Tonight after I slay my foe we can be together again,” he added.

Nisa’s smile waned as the thoughts of the coming day overcame her. She feared for her man as any woman would. She grabbed her clothing, and without a word slipped on a short linen skirt and a sleeveless, knee length woolen tunic, colorful in its dyed reds and yellows. Malek watched from his seat on the wooden bench. When she finished she asked, “Am I presentable, my noble Malek of Gath?”

“As beautiful as the moon and the stars on a clear desert night, my beautiful Nisa of Ekron.”

When they had finished eating their meal of roasted lamb, a boiled mush of lentils, beans and chickpeas, the sun had risen much higher in the sky. They lay in the shade of the tent on soft mats, savoring fresh olives, propped up by a small mountain of pillows. All the window flaps were open, and they stared out the open entrance at the nearby bustling to and fro of the army camp, awaiting Kabeer’s dreaded, inevitable coming.

Nisa’s expression grew pensive. “I know that when Kabeer arrives, you will become a different man, presenting him and the world with the more acceptable demeanor of a great warrior: fierce, confident, boastful, scornful, and loud. An arrogant man, so unlike the gentle and thoughtful person you are when we are together. The one I have come to know and love. I understand you cannot give me any time or attention until your fight is finished. You will wear your mean scowls, and I will be alone.”

Although she had managed a smile when she spoke, Malek looked away, staring at the floor, knowing the truth of her words.

Nisa raced on, “I want to ask you another question before Kabeer arrives. I think I know the reason for the single, winner-take-all combat, and it is good. It makes sense, but I can’t help but hate it, because you are the one who has to do it. But in the name of Dagon where and