here are threatening signs. An army does not waste its...

Each day saw the arrival of more soldiers, and the governor mused about the amount of water necessary for all those men. In a short time, the entire city would be defenseless before the enemy army.

“Can we attack now?” the high priest asked the commander.

“Yes, we can. We shall lose many men, but the city will be saved. But we must decide quickly.”

“We must not do that, Governor. The gods of the Fifth Mountain told me that we still have time to find a pacific solution,” Elijah said.

Even after hearing the conversation between the high priest and the Israelite, the governor feigned agreement. To him, it made little difference whether Sidon and Tyre were ruled by Phoenicians, by Canaanites, or by Assyrians; what mattered was that the city be able to go on trading its products.

“We must attack,” insisted the high priest.

“One more day,” said the governor. “It may be that things will resolve themselves.”

He must decide forthwith the best way to face the Assyrian threat. He descended from the wall and headed for the palace, asking the Israelite to go with him.

On the way, he observed the people around him: the shepherds taking their flocks to the mountains; the farmers going to the fields, trying to wrest from the arid soil sustenance for themselves and their families. Soldiers were exercising with spears, and a few newly arrived merchants displayed their wares in the square. Incredibly, the Assyrians had not closed off the road that traversed the valley from end to end; tradesmen still moved about with their merchandise and paid the city its tax for transport.

“Now that they have amassed such a powerful force, why have they not closed the road?” Elijah asked.

“The Assyrian empire needs the products that arrive in the ports of Sidon and Tyre,” replied the governor. “If the traders were threatened, they would interrupt the flow of supplies. The consequences would be more serious than a military defeat. There must be some way to avoid war.”

“Yes,” said Elijah. “If they want water, we can sell it to them.”

The governor said nothing. But he understood that he could use the Israelite as a weapon against those who desired war; should the high priest persist with the idea of fighting the Assyrians, Elijah would be the only one who could face him. The governor suggested they take a walk together, to talk.

THE HIGH PRIEST REMAINED ATOP THE WALL, OBSERVING the enemy.

“What can the gods do to deter the invaders?” asked the commander.

“I have carried out sacrifices at the Fifth Mountain. I have asked them to send us a more courageous leader.”

“We should act as Jezebel has done: put an end to the prophets. A simple Israelite, who yesterday was condemned to die, is today used by the governor to entice the people to peace.”

The commander looked at the mountain.

“We can have Elijah assassinated. And use my warriors to remove the governor from his position.”

“I shall order Elijah killed,” replied the high priest. “As for the governor, we can do nothing: his ancestors have been in power for several generations. His grandfather was our chieftain, who handed power down to his son, who in turn handed it to him.”

“Why does custom forbid our bringing to power someone more efficient?”

“Custom exists to maintain the world in order. If we meddle with it, the world itself will perish.”

The high priest looked about him. The heavens and the earth, the mountains and the valley, everything fulfilling what had been written for it. Sometimes the ground shook; at other times—such as now—there were long periods without rain. But the stars continued undisturbed in their place, and the sun had not fallen onto the heads of men. All because, since the Flood, men had learned that it was impossible to change the order of Creation.

In the past, only the Fifth Mountain had existed. Men and gods had lived together, strolled through the gardens of paradise, talking and laughing with one another. But human beings had sinned, and the gods expelled them; having nowhere to send them, they created the earth surrounding the mountain, so they could cast them there, keep vigil over them, and ensure that they would forever remember that they abided on a plane far inferior to that of the dwellers of the Fifth Mountain.

The gods took care, however, to leave open a path of return; if humanity carefully followed the way, it would one day go back to the mountaintop. So that this idea would not be forgotten, they charged the priests and the rulers with keeping it alive in the minds of the people.

All peoples shared the same belief: if the families anointed by the gods were removed from power, the consequences would be grave. No one now remembered why these families had been chosen, but everyone knew they were related to the divine families. Akbar had existed for hundreds of years, and its affairs had always been administered by the ancestors of the present governor; it had been invaded many times, had been in the hands of oppressors and barbarians, but with the passing of time the invaders had left or been expelled. Afterward, the old order would be reestablished and the people would return to the life they had known before.

The priests’ obligation was to preserve this order: the world had a destiny, and it was governed by laws. The era of attempting to fathom the gods was past; now was the time to respect them and do their will. They were capricious and easily vexed.

If not for the harvest rituals, the earth would bring forth no fruit. If certain sacrifices were neglected, the city would be infested with fatal diseases. If the god of weather were provoked anew, he could cause wheat and men to cease to grow.

“Behold the Fifth Mountain,” the high priest told the commander. “From its peak, the gods rule over the valley and protect us. They have an eternal plan for Akbar. The foreigner will be killed, or return to his own land; the governor will one day be no more, and his son will be wiser than he. All that we experience today is fleeting.”

“We have need of a new chieftain,” said the commander. “If we continue in the hands of this governor, we shall be destroyed.”

The high priest knew that this was what the gods desired, in order to put an end to the writing of Byblos. But he said nothing; he was pleased to have evidence once again that, unwittingly or not, the rulers always fulfilled the destiny of the Universe.

WALKING THROUGH THE CITY with the governor, Elijah explained to him his plans for peace and was made his counselor. When they arrived at the square, more sick people approached, but he said that the gods of the Fifth Mountain had forbidden him to heal. At the end of the afternoon, he returned to the widow’s house; the child was playing in the street, and Elijah gave thanks for having been the instrument of the Lord’s miracle.

She was awaiting him for the evening meal. To his surprise, there was a bottle of wine on the table.

“People brought gifts to please you,” she said. “And I want to ask your forgiveness for the injustice I did you.”

“What injustice?” asked Elijah, surprised. “Don’t you see that everything is part of God’s design?”

The widow smiled, her eyes shone, and he saw for the first time that she was beautiful. She was at least ten years older than he, but at that moment he felt great tenderness for her. He was not accustomed to such sentiments, and he was filled with fear; he remembered Jezebel’s eyes, and the wish he had made upon leaving Ahab’s palace—to marry a woman from Lebanon.

“Though my life has been useless, at least I had my son. And his story will be remembered, because he returned from the kingdom of the dead,” the woman said.

“Your life is not useless. I came to Akbar at the Lord’s order, and you took me in. If someday your son’s story is remembered, I am certain that yours will be also.”

The woman filled two cups. They drank to the sun, which was setting, and to the stars of heaven.

“You have come from a distant country, following the signs of a God I did not know but who now has become my Lord. My son has also returned from a far-off land, and he will have a beautiful tale to tell his grandchildren. The priests will preserve and pass on his words to generations yet to come.”

It was through the priests’ memory that cities knew of their past, their conquests, the ancient gods, and the warriors who defended the land with their blood. Even though there were now new ways to record the past, the inhabitants of Akbar had confidence only in the memory of their priests: one could write anything he chose, but no one could remember things that never were.

“And what have I to tell?” the widow continued, filling the cup that Elijah had quickly drained. “I don’t have the strength or the beauty of Jezebel. My life is like all the rest: a marriage arranged by my father and mother when I was a child, household tasks when I came of age, worship on holy days, my husband always busy with other things. When he was alive, we never spoke of anything important. He was preoccupied with his trade, I took care of the house, and that was how we spent the best of our years.

“After his death, nothing was left for me except poverty and raising my son. When he becomes a man, he will cross the seas and I shall no longer matter to anyone. I feel neither hate nor resentment, only a sense of my own uselessness.”

Elijah refilled his cup. His heart was beginning to give signs of alarm; he was enjoying being at this woman’s side. Love could be a more frightening experience than standing before Ahab’s soldier with an arrow aimed at his heart; if the arrow had struck him, he would be dead—and the rest was up to God. But if love struck him, he alone would have to take responsibility for the consequences.

“I have so wished for love in my life,” he thought. And yet, now that it was before him—and beyond doubt it was there; all he had to do was not run away from it—his sole thought was to forget it as quickly as possible.

His mind returned to the day he came to Akbar, after his exile on the Cherith. He was so weary and thirsty that he could remember nothing except the moment he recovered from fainting, and seeing her drip water onto his lips. His face was very close to hers, closer than he had ever been to any woman in his entire life. He had noticed that she had Jezebel’s green eyes, but with a different glow, as if they could reflect the cedar trees, the ocean of which he had often dreamed but never known, and—how could it be?—her very soul.

“I should so like to tell her that,” he thought. “But I don’t know how. It’s easier to speak of the love of God.”

Elijah took another sip. She sensed that she had said something that displeased him, and she decided to change the subject.

“Did you climb the Fifth Mountain?” she asked.

He nodded.

She would have liked to ask what he had seen there in the heights and how he had escaped the fire of the heavens. But he seemed loath to discuss it.

“You are a prophet,” she thought. “Read my heart.”

Since the Israelite had come into her life, everything had changed. Even poverty was easier to bear, for that foreigner had awakened something she had never felt: love. When her son had fallen ill, she had fought the entire neighborhood so he could remain in her house.

She knew that to him the Lord was more important than anything that took place beneath the sky. She was aware that it was a dream impossible of fulfillment, for the man before her could go away at any moment, shed Jezebel’s blood, and never return to tell of what had happened.

Even so, she would go on loving him, because for the first time in her life, she knew freedom. She could love him, even if he never knew; she did not need his permission to miss him, to think of him every moment of the day, to await him for the evening meal, and to worry about the plots that people could be weaving against the foreigner.

This was freedom: to feel what the heart desired, with no thought to the opinion of the rest. She had fought with her neighbors and her friends about the stranger’s presence in her house; there was no need to fight against herself.

Elijah drank a bit of wine, excused himself, and went to his room. She went out, rejoiced at the sight of her son playing in front of the house, and decided to take a short walk.

She was free, for love liberates.

ELIJAH STARED at the wall of his room for a long time. Finally, he decided to invoke his angel.

“My soul is in danger,” he said.

The angel said nothing. Elijah was in doubt about continuing the conversation, but now it was too late: he could not call him forth for no reason.

“When I’m with that woman, I don’t feel good.”

“Just the opposite,” answered the angel. “And that disturbs thee, because thou canst come to love her.”

Elijah felt shame, for the angel knew his soul.

“Love is dangerous,” he said.

“Very,” replied the angel. “And so?”

He suddenly disappeared.

His angel had none of the doubts that tormented Elijah’s soul. Yes, he knew what love was; he had seen the king of Israel abandon the Lord because Jezebel, a princess of Sidon, had conquered his heart. Tradition told that King Solomon had come close to losing his throne over a foreign woman. King David had sent one of his best friends to his death after falling in love with his friend’s wife. Because of Delilah, Samson had been taken prisoner and had his eyes put out by the Philistines.

How could he not know what love was? History was filled with tragic examples. And even had he no knowledge of sacred Scripture, he had the example of his friends, and of the friends of friends, lost in long nights of waiting and suffering. If he’d had a wife in Israel, it would have been difficult for him to leave his city when the Lord commanded, and he would be dead now.

“I am waging combat in vain,” he thought. “Love will win this battle, and I will love her all of my days. Lord, send me back to Israel so that I may never have to tell this woman what I feel. Because she does not love me and will say to me that her heart lies buried alongside the body of her heroic husband.”

THE NEXT DAY, ELIJAH MET WITH THE COMMANDER AGAIN and learned that more tents had been erected.

“What is the present complement of warriors?” he asked.

“I give no information to an enemy of Jezebel.”

“I am a counselor of the governor,” replied Elijah. “He named me his assistant yesterday afternoon. You have been informed of this, and you owe me an answer.”

The commander felt an urge to put an end to the foreigner’s life.

“The Assyrians have two soldiers for each one of ours,” he finally replied.

Elijah knew that, to succeed, the enemy needed a much larger force.

“We are approaching the ideal moment to begin peace negotiations,” he said. “They will understand that we are being generous and we shall achieve better conditions. Any general knows that to conquer a city five invaders are needed for each defender.”

“They’ll have that number unless we attack now.”

“Even with all their lines of supply, they will not have enough water for so many men. And the moment to send our envoys will have come.”

“What moment is that?”

“We shall allow the number of Assyrian warriors to increase a bit more. When the situation becomes unbearable, they will be forced to attack. But, with the proportion of three or four to one of ours, they know they will end in defeat. That is when our envoys will offer peace, safe passage, and the sale of water. This is the governor’s plan.”

The commander said nothing and allowed the foreigner to leave. Even with Elijah dead, the governor could still insist on the idea. He swore to himself that if the situation came to that point he would kill the governor, then commit suicide, because he had no desire to witness the fury of the gods.

Nevertheless, under no circumstance would he let his people be betrayed by money.

 

“TAKE ME BACK to the land of Israel, O Lord,” cried Elijah every afternoon, as he walked through the valley. “Let not my heart continue imprisoned in Akbar.”

Following a custom of the prophets he had known as a child, he began lashing himself with a whip whenever he thought of the widow. His back became raw flesh, and for two days he lay delirious with fever. When he awoke, the first thing he saw was the woman’s face; she had tended to his wounds with ointment and olive oil. As he was too weak to descend the stairs, she brought food to his room.

AS SOON AS HE WAS WELL, Elijah resumed walking through the valley.

“Take me back to the land of Israel, O Lord,” he said. “My heart is trapped in Akbar, but my body can still continue the journey.”

The angel appeared. It was not the angel of the Lord, whom he had seen on the mountain, but the one who watched over him, and to whose voice he was accustomed.

“The Lord heareth the prayers of those who ask to put aside hatred. But He is deaf to those who would flee from love.”

THE THREE OF THEM supped together every night. As the Lord had promised, meal had never been wanting in the barrel nor oil in the vessel.

They rarely spoke as they ate. One night, however, the boy asked, “What is a prophet?”

“Someone who goes on listening to the same voices he heard as a child. And still believes in them. In this way, he can know the angels’ thoughts.”

“Yes, I know what you are speaking of,” said the boy. “I have friends no one else can see.”

“Never forget them, even if adults call it foolishness. That way you will always know God’s will.”

“I’ll see into the future, like the soothsayers of Babylon,” said the boy.

“Prophets don’t know the future. They only transmit the words that the Lord inspires in them at the present moment. That is why I am here, not knowing when I shall return to my own country; He will not tell me before it is necessary.”

The woman’s eyes became sad. Yes, one day he would depart.

ELIJAH NO LONGER cried out to the Lord. He had decided that, when the moment arrived to leave Akbar, he would take the widow and her son. But he would say nothing until the time came.

Perhaps she would not want to leave. Perhaps she had not even divined his feelings for her, for he himself had been a long time in understanding them. If it should happen thus, it would be better; he could then dedicate himself wholly to the expulsion of Jezebel and the rebuilding of Israel. His mind would be too occupied to think about love.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” he said, recalling an ancient prayer of King David. “He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me beside still waters.

“And He will not let me forget the meaning of my life,” he concluded in his own words.

ONE AFTERNOON he returned home earlier than was his wont, to find the widow sitting in the doorway of the house.

“What are you doing?”

“I have nothing to do,” she replied.

“Then learn something. At this moment, many people have stopped living. They do not become angry, nor cry out; they merely wait for time to pass. They did not accept the challenges of life, so life no longer challenges them. You are running that same risk; react, face life, but do not stop living.”

“My life has begun to have meaning again,” she said, casting her gaze downward. “Ever since you came here.”

FOR A FRACTION of a second, he felt he could open his heart to her. But he decided not to take the risk; she must surely be referring to something else.

“Start doing something,” he said, changing the subject. “In that way, time will be an ally, not an enemy.”

“But what can I learn?”

Elijah thought for a moment.

“The writing of Byblos. It will be useful if one day you have to travel.”

The woman decided to dedicate herself body and spirit to that study. She had never thought of leaving Akbar, but from the way he spoke perhaps he was thinking of taking her with him.

Once more, she felt free. Once more, she awoke at morning and strode smiling through the streets of the city.

 

“ELIJAH STILL LIVES,” THE COMMANDER TOLD THE HIGH priest two months later. “You have not succeeded in having him killed.”

“In all of Akbar there is no man who will carry out that mission. The Israelite has comforted the sick, visited the imprisoned, fed the hungry. When anyone has a dispute to settle with his neighbor, he calls on him, and all accept his judgments, because they are just. The governor is using him to increase his own standing among the people, but no one sees this.”

“The merchants have no wish for war. If the governor finds favor enough with the people to convince them that peace is better, we shall never be able to expel the Assyrians. Elijah must be killed immediately.”

The high priest pointed to the Fifth Mountain, its peak cloud-covered as always.

“The gods will not allow their country to be humiliated by a foreign power. They will take action; something will come to pass, and we shall be able to grasp the opportunity.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“I do not know. But I shall remain vigilant for the signs. Do not provide any further truthful information about the Assyrian forces. When you are asked, say only that the proportion of the invading warriors is still four to one. And go on training your troops.”

“Why should I do that? If they attain the proportion of five to one, we are lost.”

“No. We shall be in a state of equality. When the battle begins, you will not be fighting an inferior enemy and therefore cannot be branded a coward who abuses the weak. Akbar’s army will confront an adversary as powerful as itself, and it will win the battle—because its commander chose the right strategy.”

Piqued by vanity, the commander accepted the proposal. And from that moment, he began to withhold information from the governor and from Elijah.

TWO MORE MONTHS PASSED, AND ONE MORNING THE Assyrian army reached the proportion of five soldiers for each of Akbar’s defenders. They could attack at any moment.

For some time Elijah had suspected that the commander was lying about the enemy forces, but this might yet turn to his advantage: when the proportion reached the critical point, it would be a simple matter to convince the populace that peace was the only solution.

These were his thoughts as he headed toward the place in the square where, once a week, he was wont to help the inhabitants of the city to settle their disputes. In general, the issues were trivial: quarrels between neighbors, old people reluctant to pay their taxes, tradesmen who felt they had been cheated in their business dealings.

The governor was there; it was his custom to appear now and again to see Elijah in action. The ill will the prophet had felt toward him had disappeared completely; he had discovered that he was a man of wisdom, concerned with solving problems before they arose—although he was not a spiritual man and greatly feared death. On several occasions he had conferred upon Elijah’s decisions the force of law. At other times Elijah, having disagreed with a decision, had with the passage of time come to see that the governor was right.

Akbar was becoming a model of the modern Phoenician city. The governor had created a fairer system of taxation, had improved the streets of the city, and administered intelligently the profits from the imposts on merchandise. There was a time when Elijah had asked him to do away with the consumption of wine and beer, for most of the cases he was called upon to settle involved aggression by intoxicated persons. The governor had told him that a city could only be considered great if that type of thing took place. According to tradition, the gods were pleased when men enjoyed themselves after a day’s work, and they protected drunkards.

In addition, the region enjoyed the reputation of producing one of the finest wines in the world, and foreigners would be suspicious if the inhabitants themselves did not consume the drink. Elijah respected the governor’s decision, and he came to agree that happy people produce more.

“You need not put forth so much effort,” the governor told him before Elijah began his day’s work. “A counselor helps the government with nothing more than his opinions.”

“I miss my country and want to return. So long as I am involved in activity, I feel myself of use and forget that I am a foreigner,” he replied.

“And better control my love for her,” he thought to himself.

THE POPULAR TRIBUNAL had come to attract an audience ever alert to what took place. The people were beginning to gather: some were the aged, no longer able to work in the fields, who came to applaud or jeer Elijah’s decisions; others were directly involved in the matters to be discussed, either because they had been the victims or because they expected to profit from the outcome. There were also women and children who, lacking work, needed to fill their free time.

He began the morning’s proceedings: the first case was that of a shepherd who had dreamed of a treasure buried near the pyramids of Egypt and needed money to journey there. Elijah had never been in Egypt, but he knew it was far away, and he said that he would be hard pressed to find the necessary means, but if the shepherd were to sell his sheep to pay for his dream, he would surely find what he sought.

Next came a woman who desired to learn the magical arts of Israel. Elijah said he was no teacher, merely a prophet.

As he was preparing to find an amicable solution to a case in which a farmer had cursed another man’s wife, a soldier pushed his way through the crowd and addressed the governor.

“A patrol has captured a spy,” the newcomer said, sweating profusely. “He’s being brought here!”

A tremor ran through the crowd; it would be the first time they had witnessed a judgment of that kind.

“Death!” someone shouted. “Death to the enemy!”

Everyone present agreed, screaming. In the blink of an eye the news spread throughout the city, and the square was packed with people. The other cases were judged only with great difficulty, for at every instant someone would interrupt Elijah, asking that the foreigner be brought forth at once.

“I cannot judge such a case,” he said. “It is a matter for the authorities of Akbar.”

“For what reason have the Assyrians come here?” said one man. “Can they not see we have been at peace for many generations?”

“Why do they want our water?” shouted another. “Why are they threatening our city?”

For months none had dared speak in public about the presence of the enemy. Though all could see an ever-growing number of tents being erected on the horizon, though the merchants spoke of the need to begin negotiations for peace at once, the people of Akbar refused to believe that they were living under threat of invasion. Save for the quickly subdued incursion of some insignificant tribe, war existed only in the memory of priests. They spoke of a nation called Egypt, with horses and chariots of war and gods that looked like animals. But that had all happened long ago; Egypt was no longer a country of import, and the warriors, with their dark skin and strange language, had returned to their own land. Now the inhabitants of Sidon and Tyre dominated the seas and were spreading a new empire around the world, and though they were tried warriors, they had discovered a new way of fighting: trade.

“Why are they restless?” the governor asked Elijah.

“Because they sense that something has changed. We both know that, from this moment on, the Assyrians can attack at any time. Both you and I know that the commander has been lying about the number of the enemy’s troops.”

“But he wouldn’t be mad enough to say that to anyone. He would be sowing panic.”

“Every man can sense when he is in danger; he begins to react in strange ways, to have premonitions, to feel something in the air. And he tries to deceive himself, for he thinks himself incapable of confronting the situation. They have tried to deceive themselves till now; but there comes a moment when one must face the truth.”

The high priest arrived.

“Let us go to the palace and convene the Council of Akbar. The commander is on his way.”

“Do not do so,” Elijah told the governor in a low voice. “They will force on you what you have no wish to do.”

“We must go,” insisted the high priest. “A spy has been captured, and urgent measures must be taken.”

“Make the judgment in the midst of the people,” murmured Elijah. “They will help you, for their desire is for peace, even as they ask for war.”

“Bring the man here!” ordered the governor. The crowd shouted joyously; for the first time, they would witness a conclave of the Council.

“We cannot do that!” said the high priest. “It is a matter of great delicacy, one that requires calm in order to be resolved!”

A few jeers. Many protests.

“Bring him here,” repeated the governor. “His judgment shall be in this square, amid the people. Together we have worked to transform Akbar into a prosperous city, and together we shall pass judgment on all that threatens us.”

The decision was met with clapping of hands. A group of soldiers appeared dragging a blood-covered, half-naked man. He must have been severely beaten before being brought there.

All noise ceased. A heavy silence fell over the crowd; from another corner of the square could be heard the sound of pigs and children playing.

“Why have you done this to the prisoner?” shouted the governor.

“He resisted,” answered one of the guards. “He claimed he wasn’t a spy and said he had come here to talk to you.”

The governor ordered that three chairs be brought from his palace. His servants appeared, bearing the cloak of justice, which he always donned when a meeting of the Council of Akbar was convened.

THE GOVERNOR and the high priest sat down. The third chair was reserved for the commander, who was yet to arrive.

“I solemnly declare in session the tribunal of the Council of Akbar. Let the elders draw near.”

A group of old men approached, forming a semicircle around the chairs. This was the council of elders; in bygone times, their opinions were respected and obeyed. Today, however, the role of the group was merely ceremonial; they were present to accept whatever the ruler decided.

After a few formalities such as a prayer to the gods of the Fifth Mountain and the declaiming of the names of several ancient heroes, the governor addressed the prisoner.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

The man did not reply. He stared at him in a strange way, as if he were an equal.

“What is it you want?” the governor repeated.

The high priest touched his arm.

“We need an interpreter. He does not speak our language.”

The order was given, and one of the guards left in search of a merchant who could serve as interpreter. Tradesmen never came to the sessions that Elijah held; they were constantly occupied with conducting their business and counting their profits.

While they waited, the high priest whispered, “They beat the prisoner because they are frightened. Allow me to carry out this judgment, and say nothing: panic makes everyone aggressive, and we must show authority, lest we lose control of the situation.”

The governor did not answer. He too was frightened. He sought out Elijah with his eyes, but from where he sat could not see him.

A merchant arrived, forcibly brought by the guard. He complained that the tribunal was wasting his time and that he had many matters to resolve. But the high priest, looking sternly at him, bade him to be silent and to interpret the conversation.

“What do you want here?” the governor asked.

“I am no spy,” the man replied. “I am a general of the army. I have come to speak with you.”

The audience, completely silent till then, began to scream as soon as these words were translated. They called it a lie and demanded the immediate punishment of death.

The high priest asked for silence, then turned to the prisoner.

“About what do you wish to speak?”

“The governor has the reputation of being a wise man,” said the Assyrian. “We have no desire to destroy this city: what interests us is Sidon and Tyre. But Akbar lies athwart the route, controlling this valley; if we are forced to fight, we shall lose time and men. I come to propose a treaty.”

“The man speaks the truth,” thought Elijah. He had noticed that he was surrounded by a group of soldiers who hid from view the spot where the governor was sitting. “He thinks as we do. The Lord has performed a miracle and will bring an end to this dangerous situation.”

The high priest rose and shouted to the people, “Do you see? They want to destroy us without combat!”

“Go on,” the governor told the prisoner.

The high priest, however, again intervened.

“Our governor is a good man who does not wish to shed a man’s blood. But we are in a situation of war, and the prisoner before us is an enemy!”

“He’s right!” shouted someone from the crowd.

Elijah realized his mistake. The high priest was playing on the crowd while the governor was merely trying to be just. He attempted to move closer, but he was shoved back. One of the soldiers held him by the arm.

“Stay here. After all, this was your idea.”

He looked behind: it was the commander, and he was smiling.

“We must not listen to any proposal,” the high priest continued, his passion flowing in his words and gestures. “If we show we are willing to negotiate, we shall also be showing that we are fearful. And the people of Akbar are courageous; they have the means to resist any invasion.”

“This prisoner is a man seeking peace,” said the governor, addressing the crowd.

Someone said, “Merchants seek peace. Priests desire peace. Governors administer peace. But an army wants only one thing: war!”

“Can’t you see that we were able to face the religious threat from Israel without war?” bellowed the governor. “We sent neither armies nor navies, but Jezebel. Now they worship Baal, without our having to sacrifice even one man on the battlefield.”

“They didn’t send a beautiful woman, they sent their warriors!” shouted the high priest even more loudly.

The people were demanding the Assyrian’s death. The governor took the high priest by the arm.

“Sit down,” he said. “You go too far.”

“The idea of public judgment was yours. Or rather it was the Israelite traitor’s, who seems to command the acts of the ruler of Akbar.”

“I shall settle accounts with him later. Now, we must discover what the Assyrian wants. For many generations, men tried to impose their will by force; they spoke of what they wanted but cared not what the people thought—and all those empires have been destroyed. Our people have grown because they learned how to listen; this is how we developed trade—by listening to what the other person desires and doing whatever was possible to satisfy him. The result is profit.”

The high priest nodded.

“Your words seem wise, and that is the greatest danger of all. If you were speaking folly, it would be simple to prove you wrong. But what you have just said is leading us into a trap.”

Those in the front row heard the argument. Until that moment, the governor had always sought out the Council’s opinion, and Akbar had an excellent reputation. Sidon and Tyre had sent emissaries to see how the city was administered; its name had even reached the ears of the emperor, and with some small good fortune, the governor might end his days as a minister at the imperial court.

Today, his authority had been challenged publicly. If he did not make a decision, he would lose the respect of the people—and no longer be capable of making important decisions, for none would obey him.

“Continue,” he told the prisoner, ignoring the high priest’s furious gaze and demanding that the interpreter translate his question.

“I have come to propose an agreement,” said the Assyrian. “Allow us to pass, and we shall march against Sidon and Tyre. When those cities have been overcome—as they surely will be, because a great many of their warriors are on ships, occupied with trade—we shall be generous with Akbar. And keep you as governor.”

“Do you see?” asked the high priest, again rising to his feet. “They think our governor barters Akbar’s honor for an office!”

The multitude began to roar in outrage. That half-naked, wounded prisoner wanted to lay down rules! A defeated man was proposing the surrender of the city! Several people rushed forward to attack him; with much effort, the guards managed to keep control of the situation.

“Wait!” said the governor, trying to speak above the din. “We have before us a defenseless man, one who can arouse in us no fear. We know that our army is better prepared, that our warriors are braver. We need prove that to no one. Should we decide to fight, we will win the battle, but the losses will be enormous.”

Elijah closed his eyes and prayed that the governor could convince his people.

“Our ancestors spoke to us of the Egyptian empire, but it is no more,” he continued. “Now we are returning once again to the Golden Age. Our fathers and their fathers before them were able to live in peace; why should we be the ones to break this tradition? Modern warfare is carried out through commerce, not on the field of battle.”

Little by little, the crowd fell silent. The governor was succeeding!

When the noise ceased, he turned to the Assyrian.

“What you are proposing is not enough. To cross our lands, you must also pay taxes, as do the merchants.”

“Believe this, Governor: Akbar has no choice,” replied the prisoner. “We have men enough to raze this city and kill its every inhabitant. You have long been at peace and have forgotten how to fight, while we have been conquering the world.”

Murmurs began again in the crowd. Elijah thought, “He cannot betray indecisiveness now.” But it was difficult to deal with the Assyrian prisoner, who even while captive imposed his conditions. Moment by moment, more people were arriving; Elijah noticed that the tradesmen, concerned about the unfolding of events, had deserted their places of work to join the audience. The judgment had taken on a dangerous significance; there was no longer any way to retreat from making a decision, whether for negotiation or for death.

THE ONLOOKERS began to take sides; some defended peace while others demanded that Akbar resist. The governor whispered to the high priest, “This man has challenged me in public. But so have you.”

The high priest turned to him. And, speaking so none could hear, told him to condemn the Assyrian to death immediately.

“I do not ask, I demand. It is I who keep you in power, and I can put an end to that whenever I wish, do you understand? I know sacrifices to appease the wrath of the gods, if we are forced to replace the ruling family. It will not be the first time; even in Egypt, an empire that lasted thousands of years, there have been many cases of dynasties being replaced. Yet the Universe continued in its order, and the heavens did not fall upon our heads.”

The governor turned pale.

“The commander is in the middle of the crowd, with some of his soldiers. If you insist on negotiating with this man, I will tell everyone that the gods have abandoned you. And you will be deposed. Let us go on with the judgment. And you shall do exactly as I order.”

If Elijah had been in sight, the governor would have had a way out: he could have asked the Israelite prophet to say he had seen an angel on the Fifth Mountain, as he had recounted. He would recall the story of the resurrection of the widow’s son. And it would be the word of Elijah—who had already proved himself able to perform a miracle—against the word of a man who had never demonstrated any type of supernatural power.

But Elijah had deserted him, and he had no choice. In any case, it was only a prisoner, and no army in the world starts a war because it lost one soldier.

“You win, for now,” he told the high priest. One day he would negotiate something in return.

The high priest nodded. The verdict was delivered at once.

“No one challenges Akbar,” said the governor. “And no one enters our city without permission from its people. You have attempted to do so, and are condemned to death.”

From where he stood, Elijah lowered his eyes. The commander smiled.

THE PRISONER, FOLLOWED BY AN EVER LARGER THRONG, was led to a place beside the walls. There his remaining clothing was torn away, leaving him naked. One of the soldiers shoved him toward the bottom of a hollow located nearby. The people gathered around the hole, jostling against one another for a better view.

“A soldier wears his uniform with pride, and makes himself visible to the enemy, because he has courage. A spy dresses as a woman, because he’s a coward,” shouted the governor, for all to hear. “Therefore I condemn you to depart this life shorn of the dignity of the brave.”

The crowd jeered at the prisoner and applauded the governor.

The prisoner said something, but the interpreter was no longer at hand, and no one understood him. Elijah succeeded in making his way through the crowd to the governor—but it was too late. When he touched his cloak, he was pushed away violently.

“The fault lies with you. You wanted a public judgment.”

“The fault is yours,” replied Elijah. “Even if the Council of Akbar had met in secret, the commander and the high priest would have imposed their will. I was surrounded by soldiers during the entire process. They had everything planned.”

Custom decreed that it was the high priest’s task to select the duration of the torture. He knelt, picked up a stone, and handed it to the governor; it was not large enough to grant a swift death, nor so small as to extend the suffering for long.

“First, you.”

“I am being forced to do this,” said the governor in a low voice so that only the high priest could hear. “But I know it is the wrong path.”

“For all these years, you have forced me to take the harshest positions while you enjoyed the fruits of decisions that pleased the people,” the high priest answered, also in a low voice. “I have had to face doubt and guilt, and endure sleepless nights, pursued by the ghosts of errors I may have made. But because I did not lose my courage, today Akbar is a city envied by the entire world.”

People began looking for stones of the chosen size. For a time, the only sound was that of pebbles and stones striking one another. The high priest continued. “It is possible I am mistaken in condemning this man to death. But as to the honor of our city, I am certain we are not traitors.”

THE GOVERNOR raised his hand and threw the first stone; the prisoner dodged it. Immediately, however, the multitude, shouting and jeering, began to stone him.

The man attempted to protect his face with his arms, and the stones struck his chest, his back, his stomach. The governor wanted to leave; he had seen this many times before and knew that death was slow and painful, that the man’s face would become a pulp of bones, hair, and blood, that the people would continue throwing stones even after life had left his body.

Within minutes, the prisoner would abandon his defense and lower his arms; if he had been a good man in this life, the gods would guide one of the stones to strike the front of his skull, bringing unconsciousness. If not, if he had committed cruelties, he would remain conscious until the final moment.

The multitude shouted, hurling stones with growing ferocity, and the condemned man tried to defend himself as best he could. Suddenly, however, he dropped his arms and spoke in a language that all could understand. Dismayed, the crowd interrupted the stoning.

“Long live Assyria!” he shouted. “At this moment I look upon the image of my people and die joyfully, because I die as a general who tried to save the lives of his warriors. I go to join the gods and am content because I know we shall conquer this land!”

“You see?” the high priest said. “He heard and understood everything that was said during the judgment!”

The governor agreed. The man spoke their language, and now he knew of the divisions in the Council of Akbar.

“I am not in hell, because the vision of my country gives me dignity and strength! The vision of my country brings me joy! Long live Assyria!” he shouted once more.

Recovered from its surprise, the crowd again began throwing stones. The man kept his arms at his sides, not attempting to resist; he was a brave warrior. A few seconds later, the mercy of the gods manifested itself: a stone struck his forehead and he fell unconscious to the ground.

“We can go now,” the high priest said. “The people of Akbar will see to finishing the task.”