Chapter 2: The First Thing He Saw
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Nobody had heard anything from the army in over a week. Rakel had cheerfully said to Marit that no news was good news, but Marit thought the cheerfulness was a bit forced. She had escaped to visit her friend Sabra as often as she could. Sabra had wide hips, a shapely bottom, and large round breasts, which meant that a number of young men were interested. Like Marit, she was also still a virgin which was the way their parents wanted it until they got married. It also meant that both girls were quite interested in sex.
"What do you think of my brother, Tadeas?" asked Sabra. The girls were sitting on a secluded warm rock outcrop beside a stream, sunning themselves naked after swimming. Nature remained peaceful, cheerfully full of wildflowers, birds and rushing water, as if there was no war. And no worries over the safety of fathers and brothers. Tadeas was with the army as well. It was all but arranged that Marit would marry Tadeas as soon as the details could be worked out.
"He's okay," said Marit. "He never seems to say much to me."
“Well, he’s quite nice,” said Sabra, “when he’s not so tongue-tied by your charms that he acts like a complete idiot.” She giggled.
“My charms aren’t that big,” said Marit, cupping her small breasts. Her areolae were flushed and the combination of cool water, the breeze and thoughts of Tadeas had made the pink tips hard.
“The size of them won’t matter, if your nipples do that every time you see him,” said Sabra, laughing as she saw Marit blush. “So, you do like him.”
“Oh, alright. Yes, I Iike him,” said Marit. “I went to see him before the army left. The night before. I gave him my red scarf to carry for good luck. He kissed me. I feel things when I’m with him.”
"If you marry him, you can feel all sorts of things with him any time you like," said Sabra.
"It's about time too," said Marit. "I mean, I'm not allowed to talk to a young man unless there are other people around. I really wanted to just stay with Tadeas the other night, but Papa has this guilt thing about being the son of a prostitute. If I'm not a proper virgin at my wedding, he'll probably die of some apoplectic fit, babbling on about my whorish grandmother."
"Well," said Sabra, "my parents had better hurry up arranging things with Vadik's parents, or I'm going to end up pregnant before the wedding."
"You...! With Vadik!?"
"No," said Sabra, "I didn't. Yet. But I'm not waiting forever. I feel things too, and I want a man for my bed. Anyway, we can't do anything about it one way or another right now. Not until the army comes back."
Both girls knew the mood was broken. The worry was back, even in the cedar scented seclusion of their rock. They pulled on their clothing and headed home. As they reached the outskirts of the city, where their houses were arranged around a central square, they noticed some bustle and activity not usual in the mid-afternoon heat.
Marit said a hasty goodbye to Sabra and ran across the square to her house, a whitewashed stone house with domed roof. She went inside. "Mother, what's going on, is there news?"
Rakel was bustling about the kitchen of the house, two of the servant girls laying out bread and cheese. There was an amphora of good wine, and some sort of meat was roasting.
“Just make sure we have garlands of flowers on all the windows, and above the door, and – Oh! Marit! There you are, finally. Change your dress, put on something clean, new, pretty. It’s good news! Oh, it’s so good! They’re victorious! The enemy was routed and ran away. They won, they won…” Suddenly Rakel broke down into sobs.
Marit ran to her and embraced her mother. “I’ve been so worried,” said Rakel, gasping through her tears, “so afraid that they would die, or that we would all be enslaved, that I would never see your father again.”
“But it’s over, mother,” said Marit gently. “My good and noble father is coming home.”
“Yes,” said Rakel, “we must welcome them home as befits conquering heroes. There will, of course be music and a feast in the city near the temple, but first we will have a smaller welcome here. Your father said something about not wanting a welcome when he returned, but that’s silly. And, Marit,” said her mother more conspiratorially, “I hear that young Tadeas is coming home alive and well, too. Someone apparently gave him a good luck scarf. I thought you might like to know.” Marit blushed and ran from the room.
She put on her best dress. Her father was safe. He was victorious. How happy and proud he must be, she thought. And she would run out to meet him. Already she could hear her friends from neighboring houses congregating in the square in front of the house. She grabbed a tambourine and ran outside.
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Sabra was there, also dressed up. All the young girls from the houses were milling around, girls whose fathers and brothers had gone to fight, sisters and daughters of heroes now, grateful to the God for the victory and simply happy to have their fathers, brothers, and boyfriends home safely. Behind the girls stood their mothers, wives of the older soldiers, mothers of younger soldiers, smiling and happy at the excited chatter among the girls.
“Here they come!” cried a girl’s voice.
“Marit should be in front,” said Alia, another friend of Marit and Sabra. “Her dad is the General, after all.”
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“No, it’s okay…” Marit protested weakly as her enthusiastic friends pushed her into the front.
“Look, there they are!” said Sabra, and the small group of girls surged forward to meet the returning men, shouting greetings and singing. Marit and a few others kept the beat with tambourines and clapping hands. Some of the older men played folk songs for them to sing on instruments as the girls ran forward.
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The returning men looked up at the music and noise and their eyes lit up, seeing their wives and daughters coming out to meet them. All except Yifteh, marching in the front. He looked up and the first thing he saw was his Marit, running toward him playing a tambourine and singing. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, showing her relief that he was home safely.
He should have been touched, happy, he thought, but he was hit with a coldness, a numbness. He remembered his oath. His men knew of his oath. The story of it had been like a talisman for victory. Most were convinced that they had won because of it. And he knew they had seen the moment when his eyes found Marit.
The sacrifice was his daughter, his only child. Surely there was something else. But there were no animals, nothing else from his house here. It was her. It couldn’t be. Even as she reached him, throwing her arms around him, he was overcome with anger. Anger at himself, at the God, at all priests, and anger at her for being here and putting him through this.
“Papa!” she cried, holding him tightly. “Papa, you came back, just as you said. I’m so proud, so happy…”
He grabbed her shoulders, glaring at her, seeing the light of happiness drain from her face, “Why are you here?” he growled, “did your mother not say that you were not to meet us? Now you have killed yourself and destroyed me!” His anger gave way to a frustrated sound like a suppressed sob. He pushed her away and stalked away from her into the house.
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Rakel looked on in stunned silence from her vantage point at the large dark wood doors of their house. Her husband had tears in his eyes as he strode past her and through the doors. She looked at Marit standing in sorrowful confusion in the centre of the square, all alone now, her tambourine hanging at her side, her shoulders sagging, as other families joyfully went to their houses to prepare for the great thanksgiving that evening at the temple. She went to Marit, still staring after her father.
“What did I do, Mama?” she whispered, trying not to cry. “I wanted him back so badly, and I was so happy to see him.”
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Rakel just held her close. “I don’t know, darling. We’ll find out. It’s probably just fatigue.” She helped Marit to her feet and they crossed the square back to their house.
Yifteh was inside, still agitated. “Why didn’t you follow my instructions?” he asked Rakel as the two women entered. “Why did you have to be out there to meet me? I said, don’t come out and don’t let Marit come out when we return.”
“Really, Yifteh," said Rakel. "A girl isn’t going to welcome home her heroic father? She loves you!”
“I had to swear an oath to the God," Yifteh's voice rose in frustration, "in front of witnesses and the Priest Gaidar, to secure the God’s favour for our army. If I was victorious, I vowed to sacrifice the first thing from my house that I saw. I saw Marit! I came through the streets and into the square, and the first thing I see is my beautiful Marit, running toward me. All my men saw it too.”
“Don't be stupid. You can’t sacrifice Marit,” said Rakel matter-of-factly. “The God has never permitted sacrifice of people.”
“Oh, my poor Marit,” cried Yifteh. “I did so wish to see you. I longed to hear you sing, to see you laugh, to hold you in my arms.” He grabbed her in a desperate embrace. “What have I done? My stupid arrogant vow.”
Rakel, grabbed him by the arm and turned him to face her. “Did you hear me?” she said sternly. “The God has never permitted human sacrifice. The oracle must mean for something else to be sacrificed.”
It finally registered in his mind. “Perhaps,” said Yifteh. “Yes, we will go to the festival. We will dance and sing with our friends. I will sacrifice my charger, my prized horse. Surely that is something of great value, and it is from my house. It will be fine." He seemed to convince himself. "I’m sorry, my darlings, I was not thinking clearly. We will go to the thanksgiving.”
“That’s better,” said Rakel, giving her husband a kiss. “Know that you are welcome home.”
“I hope the welcome will be more enthusiastic than that later,” said Yifteh, winking at her. Rakel blushed. “And you, my little sparrow,” he said.
“Yes Papa?” asked Marit.
“I will speak with Caden, father of Sabra and Tadeas. Tadeas has proven himself a man in battle. Now he can prove himself a man to you as husband, too, eh?”
“Oh, Papa!” Marit cried, and jumped into his embrace again. Rakel swiped a small tear from her eye as she went to embrace them both.
* * *
The festival of thanksgiving was going full swing as Yifteh, Rakel, and Marit arrived in the large plaza in front of the temple. She nodded and smiled at several people she knew. Most waved joyfully, or came over to say hello, but a few looked alarmed or uneasy and would not return her smiles. She found that odd.
“Go find your friends,” said Yifteh. “I want to take your mother dancing.” He and Rakel moved off toward a group of torches marking a dance floor, where musicians were playing. A number of couples were dancing, while others stood and watched.
Marit wandered through the throngs of people in the temple plaza. The temple itself took up the bulk of one side of the plaza, high white stone walls with torches on the parapets. In the centre of the expanse of wall were the large beaten bronze gates that opened into the temple court, where the altars were. She remembered going to the temple and helping add incense when she was a little girl. Now she would go there to marry Tadeas. She smiled.
She finally found Sabra and Alia by some food sellers. She had seen a few more people giving her the odd “why are you here?” look. Now Alia looked alarmed.
“Why are you here?” she whispered.
“What do you mean?” asked Marit. “And why are you whispering?”
“Don’t you know?” Alia whispered again. “Your idiot father (sorry), swore an oath to the God that he would sacrifice you, well not you, but the first thing…”
“What she means,” said Sabra, looking serious, “is that my brother and a number of other men seem to think that your dad swore to sacrifice the first thing that came out to meet him, or something, and that was you, so now some people seem to think you need to be sacrificed.”
“We don’t do sacrifices of people,” said Marit.
“I know,” said Alia, “but my dad says that this time it won’t make a difference. It was a big battle so it will need a big sacrifice (sorry).”
“No,” said Marit, “My father is here now, dancing with my mother, and then he will talk to Sabra’s father to arrange my marriage to Tadeas.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Alia.
“She’s right,” said Sabra firmly. “We never have done human sacrifice. It must be something else.”
Just then the large bronze gates of the temple opened. They moved silently, and yet everyone turned. A line of temple guards emerged in two lines, followed by the Priest, Gaidar, and the Virgin Oracle. As was required, Marit saw her father moving to the front. As the General of the army, he would receive the blessing of the God and give the first prayer of thanks.
“Sorry,” said Marit to her friends. “I want to see this.” She moved briskly through the crowded plaza until she stood beside her father. Sabra and Alia followed. “I’m so proud of you, Papa,” she said squeezing his hand.
The priest and oracle moved forward until they were in the large square opening of the gates, towering above them. Gaidar raised his hands, ready to speak.
“People of the God,” he intoned, “we have had a great victory, the glory of our soldiers and of our God. We come this day to give thanks for the God’s love for his people and the goodness he has given us. We shall give thanks and sacrifice to the God.” There was murmuring in the crowd as Yifteh stepped forward to stand in front of the priest. He said a few words of thanks to the God for the victory. He then turned to the people and said, "Praise the name of the God."
“And what of your sacrifice?” asked the Oracle. “For we remember your oath to the God.”
“As I swore,” said Yifteh, “so shall I do. I shall sacrifice my great warhorse, for tuly it is the thing from my house that is of greatest worth to me.”
There were further rumblings in the crowd, as his words were relayed to those around.
“His daughter!” called a voice suddenly. And the murmurs grew, until there was a swell of voices that formed into a chant: “His daughter. His daughter.” Marit looked around in alarm. A man, dressed as a soldier, saw her and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward into the light by the temple gates.
“You have seen your daughter,” said the Oracle sadly. “The first thing that greeted you when you returned.”
“But she is my daughter,” said Yifteh. “The God does not allow for the sacrifice of people.”
“Normally this would be true,” said Gaidar. “But because of your oath, you are bound. The people bear witness. Many saw you look up to your house and see your daughter as you came home.”
“The oath lives until it is fulfilled,” said the Oracle. “It must be fulfilled. The girl will be sacrificed.”
Suddenly Marit found herself held in the strong grip of two men of the temple guard. Yifteh looked stricken. "I made a vow," he said, "but I did not intend to sacrifice any person of my house. You cannot sacrifice her."
"We will not," said Gaidar. "It was your vow. You must sacrifice. It is for you to do."
“No,” whispered Marit, "please Papa, no!" and then more loudly, “No! You can’t. There must be a mistake. We don’t sacrifice people. The God has forbidden it in the holy laws.”
“Your father has sworn an oath,” said the Oracle. "He must fulfil his oath, or the wrath of the God will fall on the people."
“I did not swear this oath,” said Marit. “I thought I would be betrothed tonight. Now you say I will be sacrificed."
"I cannot sacrifice her," said Yifteh miserably. "Not tonight."
"He'll bring down the anger of the God on us," yelled one man. The sentiment around Marit seemed to be that it was very unfortunate that she had to die, but nobody would interfere if it kept the God happy. After all, big sacrifices were needed to give thanks for big victories.
Marit looked through the large gates of the temple, past the priest and Oracle and saw the stone sacrificial altar where sheep and sometimes oxen were sacrificed. They were killed with a knife and then their blood was painted on the stone, and the carcass was taken to the burning pyre behind the altar, where fire was kindled and the entire carcass was burned. She shuddered to think of it happening to her.
The priest appeared to have reached a conclusion. “Hear my words!” he said loudly to the people. “Yifteh has made an oath of sacrifice. Many believe he is required to sacrifice Marit, his daughter. He is not willing to accept this judgement. The God has said human sacrifice is an abomination. We must consider this. We must consult the God and pray that He delivers her and provides a substitute. If no substitute is shown Marit will be taken to the altar and offered to the God. In two months we will know, and a sacrifice will be made. I have spoken."
The people grumbled, but accepted that the priest knew his business. The Oracle was nodding, and so far the God had not sent down a lightening bolt. The crowd dispersed, some going to the wine tables, others going back to the musicians.
The temple guards let Marit go and she fell into her mother's arms trembling. "How could you make such a vow?" Rakel hissed at her husband.
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“Go!” said Yifteh to Marit, as he pulled her out of her mother's arms and pushed her toward Sabra and Alia. “Take your friends and go to the mountain. Stay there for the two months. Have faith. We have two months to fix this. It will be alright.”
"Where are you sending her now?" wailed Rakel
"I need to fix this," said Yifteh, "find a substitute sacrifice. But that won't work if some hot head decides he has to kill her to appease the God before the two months. You saw some of these people. They want it all done now, so they can imagine the God is pleased. They don't want to wait. She needs to go away to be safe. In two months, come back. I will fix this, little sparrow, I promise you."
Sabra and Alia pulled her away. She couldn’t believe this was happening. People actually wanted her to be sacrificed, people she had lived with all her life, people who had daughters like her. Two months suddenly seemed like a short time. "Save me, Papa," she said, as her friends pulled her away.
(to be continued...)
They always get worse. 
