Rezon
T wo days earlier, just after dusk the same night on which Pekah dreamed of his encounter with the emperor, Rezon’s army camped outside the city walls of Ramathaim. A rich, green aurora billowed near the southern horizon. Embers glowed bright in the campfire next to General Rezon’s tent, where four Gideonite guards stood at attention, one at each side of the lodging. The flickering of a torch within danced upon the thin canvas walls. In the cool, still air, Gideonite soldiers in the camp huddled in small groups around steaming pots of dinner, ignoring the watchman fires upon the high city walls behind them.
On their way to the general’s tent, three soldiers hastened past some troops who slurped on thin stew. Nearly tripping over each other as they went, the tallest of the three fumbled with the straps of his breastplate, while another held his sword and shield. Once they arrived at the general’s pavilion within a tight cluster of tents, the three men approached the guards and stated their business. One of the guards disappeared through the tent flaps and then returned, motioning them inside. They stooped through in single file and found themselves standing before the seated general.
Rezon looked up from a map spread over the table in front of him. He studied the three visitors through strands of sandy brown hair that had fallen out of a thin leather band about his head. He brushed his hair to the side as he stood, then stepped toward the men as two of them saluted him in unison, raising their hands high. The third soldier gawked at the general, staring at his unusual hair color. He did not salute.
Almost amused by the staring Gideonite, a smirk crossed Rezon’s lips. Embarrassed, the soldier’s gaze fell to the ground.
Rezon scratched the stubble on his unshaven face, and then said with indignation, “I’m sorry the color of my hair causes you such.. . concern. My mother was a Danielite.” He returned to his seat and grabbed for a goblet. The soldier still did not look up. Rezon sipped a mouthful, swished the liquid around, and swallowed. He pointed at the soldier who had stared. “You are excused! As you leave, tell the guard at the entrance to see me at once.”
The man finally did salute as he left, his expression dejected. The posted guard appeared through the tent flaps, saluted, and waited for orders.
“Have that man arrested immediately,” Rezon barked. “Take him to the center of camp and flog him. Do not kill him, however. I want him-and those who witness his punishment-to remember it.”
The guard raised his hand and ducked out. The other two soldiers remained at attention before the seated general. The face of the tallest remained expressionless, even stolid, yet the other wore a crooked smile.
After a thoughtful exhale, Rezon addressed them again, using his goblet to motion in their direction. “Which one of you is Ilan and which is Zev?”
The tall soldier blurted, “I am Ilan, and this is Zev.”
“I like the name Zev, ” Rezon replied as he set his goblet down and crossed his arms. “I need a wolf right now. In fact, I need an entire pack of wolves. Do you know why my chief captain chose you?”
Both Ilan and Zev said, “No, sir.”
Rezon regarded the two soldiers, inspecting their uniforms. Both were outfitted in the characteristic fashion of other Gideonite captains, and even had a remarkably similar appearance. They were of pure Gideonite descent, with short-trimmed, wavy hair almost as black as night, complemented by clean-shaven faces. Both were battle-hardened, about thirty years of age, and their darkened eyes showed the signs of many years of indulgence in various vices. This pleased Rezon.
He stood, drew the dagger from his belt, and placed it on the table in front of him, deliberately pointing the blade at the two soldiers. Recognition lit Ilan’s and Zev’s faces, and they stiffened. The general moved to stand next to his table and placed his fists at his side. He then spoke in soft tones intended to keep the outside guards from overhearing their conversation.
“You were chosen because Jael trusts you. You are trustworthy, are you not?”
Both men enthusiastically answered, “Yes.”
Rezon paced to the edge of the tent. “How very unfortunate the other man proved to be less than qualified.”
Returning to the table, he pointed at each of the men in turn. “You are here to help me. I have been given the delightful task of bringing Daniel and Uzzah into subjection. This task will be complete within a few days from now. Once I’m done, I am to return to Ain. If they can be found, I will present either the scepter of Daniel, or the head of the heir himself, to the emperor. I am confident the Danielite escaped here, to the great Uzzahite holy city. He surely has the scepter.”
Rezon paused and reached for his goblet again, draining all that remained. He looked at the wineskin hanging from the center pole of the tent, but did not retrieve it. Instead, he set the goblet down, and then almost shouted, “I do not want to bring them to Manasseh!” He stopped, wanting his statement to have some shock effect on the two men. They only stood straighter.
“Manasseh, the Great Emperor of Gideon, has asked that I do all of this for him, thinking that the peoples of Daniel and Uzzah will submit to his will as an ass does to its master, while they grind corn together at the mill. I know something of Daniel, however, and they will never follow a man of Gideon.
“But I… am not just a man of Gideon!” His piercing gaze held both soldiers still.
“What would you have me do?” offered Zev, with evident anticipation.
Rezon turned away. Purposely avoiding eye contact, he spoke to the tent wall. “If only the emperor could be… convinced.” He turned back, his eyebrows high, lips curled.
Zev leered at Ilan, his grin sinister. He stepped up to the table and picked up the general’s dagger, holding it in his right hand. Wincing, he squeezed the razor-sharp blade. A drop of blood appeared on the bottom of his grasping hand. Zev placed the dagger back on the table, and then opened his hand, showing two fresh cuts in his palm and fingers. A small amount of blood pooled in his hand, covering other cuts which had previously healed.
“I will remove Manasseh from his place, else I will be removed from mine,” Zev said as he wiped the blood across his own bare neck with the final word.
Without hesitation, Ilan also approached the table to take the dagger, his eyes fixed on Rezon. He repeated the same oath, in the same fashion as Zev. When both of the men standing before him had blood smeared across their necks, Rezon picked up his dagger and wiped the flat of the blade on the palm of his right hand. He then sheathed the weapon without cleaning it.
“I am very pleased. Leave tonight, and return to me when it’s done. I have arranged for your provisions and for horses.”
Ilan and Zev smartly saluted and turned to leave. Rezon called them back. He unbuckled his leather belt from around his green tunic, slipped the dagger and sheath from it, and set the belt down on the table.
“Here,” Rezon said as he handed the sheathed weapon to Zev. “Use this with care.”
Zev gave a bow, and the two soldiers left.
Rezon stood alone in silence. He let out a laugh, so deep and low it sounded like a grunt. The prospect that he would soon be in command of the entire Gideonite army danced in his mind, his greed and lust for power making his pulse quicken.
He returned to his chair after replacing his belt, at a loss of what to do next. While tapping the table with the bottom of his empty goblet, his mind wandered. Thoughts of the coming siege held his attention briefly, but then he called to the guard outside his door.
“What is your wish?” the soldier asked when he entered.
“I’m lonely. Bring me a prisoner-and I will not be pleased if she’s ugly.”
The guard saluted and left. Rezon refilled his goblet, then sat down. A coin on the table caught his eye. He picked up the solar and flipped it over to see Manasseh’s image. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the surface of the coin with his thumb and smiled.