The well-worn road to Jericho was on a slight uphill grade, four kilometers beyond the west bank of the Jordan River. Deker was beginning to feel the exhaustion that should have overwhelmed him hours ago. His legs continued to ache even now from that grapevine hold the Israelites had put him into back at Shittim. The crossing of the Jordan hadn't helped. Bracing himself against the fast current had taken its toll on his already overtaxed muscles. His throat seemed to be perpetually parched in the dry air, and the unfamiliar scents of the field and vegetation on this side of the Jordan inflamed his sinuses, giving him a headache.
On second thought, he had had a headache ever since his torture back in Madaba.
Maybe it was the exhaustion or just the simple lack of plausible alternatives, but Deker had finally accepted Elezar's theory that they were now living among the ancients circa 1400 BC.
"If this is real, Elezar-if by some miracle or curse we're back in time-I refuse to live out the rest of my life hiding from history in hopes of not changing it. You said yourself, that horse has left the barn."
"Whatever fate has befallen us, we must see it through," Elezar said. "That means we follow the orders of our IDF superiors, and in this epoch that's General Bin-Nun. We spy out Jericho and get out before the gates close at sundown. Then we return to Shittim to give our report."
"And if we fail?"
"Then there might never be a Jewish nation, present or future. We're the Palestinians in this world, Deker, and the fortresses of Canaan might as well be modern Israel. Get used to it."
Elezar seemed a bit too eager to play a starring role in history by helping the Jews steamroll into the Promised Land. Deker, for his part, refused to surrender his own fate to history. But he had to wonder if the young zealot Salmon was right: this wasn't the plan. He and Elezar were not supposed to be here. If anything, their presence now could only threaten Israel's future, not ensure it.
And yet, where else could they run to in this world?
They were walking at a steady pace over the verdant land, passing early day laborers until the road widened as it bent toward Jericho and the hills beyond. Apart from the dust, they were dressed in the appropriate attire, and it amazed him that they looked as if they belonged in this land.
Field workers wore basic tunics while the traders and rich had finer clothing and jewelry: bronze cloak fasteners, gold bracelets and rings. The faces here didn't seem all that different from those he was familiar with across the Middle East, except that there were fewer beards than he expected, and mostly on older men like Elezar. Younger men shaved, the razor apparently having been invented some time ago.
The modern man in this world, much like himself, was a clean-shaven one.
Every now and then a convoy of oxen and carts carrying produce would pass by, the Bronze Age version of eighteen-wheelers. This was a trucking route as much as a passenger trade route. Deker and Elezar would acknowledge the drivers and workers with a nod but not exchange words.
The ground started to shake and for a moment Deker thought it was a seismic tremor. The region was riddled with faults. But when he looked back over his shoulder, he saw a cloud of dust coming their way as four horsemen thundered toward them.
"Must be military," Elezar said. "They'll be armed."
The patrol had to be based out of Jericho, Deker thought, as horses didn't have the long-distance water capacity of camels. They had probably made a circuit between the nearest highway oasis and the city.
Elezar said, "Move to the side of the road to let them pass."
But instead of speeding up, the horses began to slow down as they approached. Deker counted four armed soldiers dressed in the heavy body armor of the regular Reahn army-bronze helmets and breastplates-and radiating a distinctly menacing aura.
The nearer the horses came, the smaller Deker felt. He hadn't been next to a horse in years, and the pounding of the hooves on the packed dirt rattled his backbone. Their muscles rippled in their legs, their eyes blazed and foam formed around their mouths. Deker would have gladly faced an armored tank instead of these fearsome, fast and powerful means of war.
"It's kill or be killed if we're blown," Elezar told him. "They go down or we do, and with us the future of Israel."
Deker couldn't argue with Elezar's first statement, or the rest. He instinctively reached back beneath his tunic and felt the bone handles of the two bronze daggers he had slipped behind his back.