The Days of Peleg (82 page)

This new and fiercer view of Baal meshed nicely with the regional beliefs, since now it was possible to wage war in Baal’s name,
and
send your fallen enemies to
meet
him in the underworld.

But Mamre’s new friend, Abram, had called the red wanderer “Nergal”, using his Chaldean tongue, so Mamre had decided to use it as well, imagining he was calling it by a more accurate name.

His friend, Abram, had also taught him about the Creator, showing him the fallacies of the Queen of Heaven cult, and also teaching him the supremacy of
Yahweh
above all creation. Abram’s teachings had freed him from the fears and obligations which traditional superstitions and guilt had once imposed upon him.

He watched patiently as the moon moved inexorably across the sky, the twin horns of its crescent moving slowly in the direction of Nergal. Mamre estimated that the shining silver arc would collide with the glowing red dot within the next half hour.

It never happened.

Instead, Nergal simply vanished! It disappeared, just as Abram had said it would.

This was the signal.

Mamre headed toward King Chedor-lao'mer’s tent.

Abram watched as the leading edge of the moon, invisibly dark between the two luminescent horns, covered Nergal, eclipsing its dark red radiance. Phase one had begun.

His men waited restlessly, but silently, in the grasses, now eminently aware that they were fully committed to the imminent attack. They were three hundred and eighteen servants turned soldier, spread out along the southern border of the enemy encampment. They were armed only with simple swords—and a fervent determination to return with Abram’s nephew and his family at any cost.

Abram waited with them, deeply concerned for Lot’s welfare, and that of his family. He had pleaded with Lot,
not
to move near King Bera’s city, but Lot had been so enticed by the flowing, green landscape, and (if truth be told) the easy accessibility to the parties and alcohol of Sodom, that he had left the Oak Groves of Mamre and taken his family and livestock to become tenants—and ultimately subjects—of King Bera.

This was a situation that Abram had not anticipated back when he had left Haran and set out on this journey. It was an unknown journey, to an unknown destination, motivated solely by the promises and assurances of an unknown Creator, who seemed content to keep His purpose and plan, also unknown.

Abram’s mind had turned to the Creator when he was a child, inspired by two events which had made a permanent impression in his young mind, and had forced him to view the world much differently than other children his age.

The first event was something that had affected everyone, and had actually occurred more than ten years before he was born. But it was an event which had sent distress and fear into the community and created an environment of dread, which was still quite palpable years later to the impressionable, sensitive Abram as he was growing up.

It had been the death of his Grandfather Nahor. Death from old age was terrifying enough (although it was becoming more frequent). But dying in this manner at so young an age, while one’s father and grandfather still
lived
, was incomprehensible—at least in the Shinar regions. Perhaps (if certain rumors were to be believed) such incidents did occur in regions further to the south, but never
here
. And yet it
had
happened here. And the cloud of fear and uncertainty which Nahor’s demise had produced hung over the city and never completely dissipated.

As with other young people his age, Abram sensed this air of trepidation which surrounded them. Unlike his peers, however, Abram had not been able to ignore his internal anxiety by the normal diversions of parties, wine, and other distractions of youth. However, the only apparent alternative was to spend his time dwelling on death and despair—as some of his more “intellectual” friends chose to do.

Thanks to the
second
event (which had happened when he was five) Abram had been able to develop a third alternative. An alternative which had expanded his perspective in a very unprecedented manner, and had forever altered his outlook on life and the course that it would take.

It had happened that day when a strange man, who called himself Shem, appeared at one of his father’s warehouses and started an unusual conversation with his nephew, Lot. Abram’s older brother, Haran, had intervened, upset at what the old man was saying (and angry that his four-year-old son was the recipient) and had thrown the old man out into the street.

Abram had been dutifully dusting and polishing, trying to avoid contact with the strange man; yet eavesdropping intently on their conversation, trying desperately to comprehend the astonishing words spoken in that unusual accent.

He distinctly remembered looking down at the brass sculpture of
SipaZi-Anna
, the Great Hunter, in which diamonds were imbedded to indicate his corresponding constellation. Of course, the young Abram knew that the
real
constellation up in the night sky was the place where the moon had rested when the
Anunnaki
had fled and found refuge during the Great Calamity.

As Shem spoke, Abram had looked at the sculpture and suddenly thought,
This IS just a piece of metal
—and almost dropped
SipaZi-Anna
on his head. Shem then said some other disparaging words about their merchandise, one of which was “trinkets”; which had finally summoned his older brother’s wrath from the other room.

After Shem left, Abram could not get the concept of an all-powerful Creator out of his mind.
Everything had to have a source
. Shem had said
His
name was
Yahweh
, and from that day, Abram had secretly determined to discover all he could about this unknown deity.

His search was lonely and empty, without instruction, yet he believed, simply because it
had
to be true. There were many times when he sensed the Creator communicating with him, but there were just as many times when he was convinced it was all in his mind—or that he was going insane.

He worked hard into adulthood, assisting his brother Haran, and they both became quite wealthy. Eventually, Haran decided to expand the family business and established a small trading community far to the northwest. Abram and the aging Terah joined Haran and his family, leaving young Nahor in charge of the business in Ur.

While in Haran’s community, Abram married a beautiful and thoughtful woman named Sarai, and for the first time in his life, he was content. His own household and business grew with hired managers and servants, and he assumed that he would spend the rest of his life here with Sarai.

Then the day came when his father, Terah, died, and Abram was again forced to confront the issues that had driven him to the Creator. But this time, when he sensed the Creator speaking to him, he was confident of His message—and His instructions.

That had been the beginning of his unknown journey. He had sold all of his belongings and business interests, converting his wealth into the universal currency of the plains: livestock.

So as a young, middle-aged man of seventy-five, Abram took Sarai (they still had no children), Lot and his family, and all of his managers and servants (with their families) and headed out towards the new life which, the Creator had promised him, would be revealed in due time.

The Creator led them to the plains of Moreh, but that region was in the midst of a massive famine. Abram had great difficulty imagining that this was truly
His
destination, so they struck out for Kemet, also known as Egypt, in search of food.

The average life expectancy in Kemet and the surrounding cities was about one hundred and twenty—barely half that of the inhabitants of the Mesopotamian regions from which Abram had just departed. So Abram knew that there would be wealthy men and rulers who would be extremely interested in Sarai. She was still a gorgeous woman, barely showing signs of middle age at seventy-four, and Abram knew that there were many men in this region would want her—if only to somehow increase the longevity of their offspring. The rulers of Kemet were so obsessed with increased lifespans, that they would even mate brothers and sisters of long-lived parents, just to try and maintain the bloodline of anyone who showed signs of superior longevity.

In fact, as they drew closer, Abram became afraid that someone might actually steal her away. He knew that the rulers of Kemet had strict moral codes concerning adultery—but they didn’t have many compunctions about killing foreigners! At least, that is what he had heard. He feared there was really nothing to stop someone from killing him, and then stealing her away and marrying her.

In a moment of weakness, he instructed her to pretend to be his sister, hoping this would spare his life. And sure enough, once they entered the capital, every male eye latched on to Sarai, and soon the city princes had informed the King, and a message was sent to Abram.

Abram’s wealth had dwindled slightly during the hard months of travel, so it was easy to succumb to the bribes of livestock and servants which the king offered Abram in exchange for some heredity building sessions with his “sister.” And when the King found that Sarai had never given birth, he was more excited, looking forward to the challenge, with the assumption that the firstborn would also be the healthiest. The King assured Abram that, after he had produced a few children with Sarai’s help, she would be returned to Abram, and that Abram should anticipate a great deal more compensation in exchange. Of course, everyone in Abram’s party would receive full food and housing, and be able to enjoy all of the luxuries of Kemet during their stay.

Abram had nervously accepted, but the Creator had intervened, striking the King with sickness and revealing Abram’s lie. The King angrily returned Sarai before anything had been consummated. He would not risk the wrath of his gods for taking another man’s wife; and in a move that both shocked and relieved Abram, he drove Abram and his fellow travelers from the city, and, even more astonishingly, allowed Abram to keep the bribes that had been offered.

The outcome had been so unbelievable that Abram was forced to acknowledge the Creator’s intervention. And he also came to understand more of Shem’s words pertaining to
Yahweh
, the provider.

They returned to the plains of Moreh and began the process of establishing a community. However, their wealth began to accumulate to such a degree, that soon there was not enough land to accommodate the livestock of both Abram and Lot.

That is when Lot had decided to go and lease land from King Bera. They parted ways, and Abram moved his headquarters to the oak groves of his new friend, Mamre.

Mamre.

His thoughts returned to the present. Mamre, his new friend, who was at this very moment, assisting him in rescuing his hardheaded, foolish nephew.

Fires began to sprout up from the enemy camp, shaking Abram from his reverie. They were now committed to battle. His normal quiet and meek manner was gone. Somehow, in the buildup to this conflict he had discovered a strength and fearlessness that he had never known before. A great anger welled up inside. No one assaulted his nephew and survived.

The attack of Mamre and his brothers had begun, and Abram and his men hoped that the resulting disarray would be sufficient for them to enter and complete their rescue. They were stretched out in a large semi-circle, with more than sixty meters between each man.

Every eye was trained on the shining edge of the moon, waiting for the silent signal that would instigate their assault.

Eschol’s campaign was a great success. King Tidal, his entourage, and all of their supplies had blossomed into a spectacular blaze as fires traveled from tent to tent. He killed a general, who had rushed out to impede him, and torched his tent, which sent all of the men in the nearby quartermaster’s supply station running. Then he secured a very fine sword from the armory—whose Master of Arms would also fight in no more battles. He ignited several more tents during his search for the captives, and lost count of the number of officers that fell from this fine sword of their own making.

But he still had not found any sign of the prisoners. The one item he had brought with him was a small ram’s horn, kept in a watertight skin/sheath strapped to his back. But it didn’t appear like he was going to need it.

He had found most of his men, and they slowly began to herd the screaming, disorganized men, who were helpless without their officers, in a northerly direction—towards Aner and his men waiting for them in the rocks beyond.

King Chedor-lao'mer’s tent was empty when Mamre approached it, and, although he was disappointed, he still torched it quickly and headed for the nearest officer’s tent. Silhouettes of his other men emerged from the swamps, each intent on their own mayhem.

Mamre hadn’t found any weapons like Eschol had, but he had his dagger—and his personal braided horsehair garrote attached to his left arm. He was particularly proud of his skill with this simple weapon.

With the tent in flames, he waited in the shadows of the blaze as desperate men passed him, coughing and screaming. He quickly quieted some of the disoriented men with his dagger, and then moved on to another tent.

An officer suddenly appeared in front of him, shouting orders, but when Mamre lunged at him, the officer sidestepped, striking Mamre’s knife hand with his arm, sending his dagger flying. Mamre spun from the impact, almost falling, but managed to spin to the right. The officer charged Mamre from behind, but as Mamre quickly ducked, the officer lost his balance and tripped over the nearly prone Mamre, who was already preparing his garrote.

Before the officer started to stand, Mamre was already on top of him. One end of the garrote was always attached to Mamre’s left wrist, and he quickly grabbed the braid in the middle where it tugged at the other end, hidden up his left sleeve, and pulled it free, burning his shoulder. Wrapping the free end once around his right wrist, he grasped it firmly and reached for the officer’s head as it began to rise slowly from the ground.