Scene 13: The Ancient Book of Tobit

“Ah, Nineveh!” Raphael pointed to the dark rectangle on the horizon. “We’ll arrive before nightfall.”

The thought filled Tobias with fresh energy, and he lengthened his stride. “Home!” he called over his shoulder to Sarah on her donkey. Her two maids rode beside her, followed by a wagon of goods trailed by herders and drovers with sheep, goats, oxen, and cows.

Tobias laughed at the sight. He had left home a boy on an errand with one companion; he returned a man with a wife and an entire caravan. What would his parents say? As he looked again toward Nineveh, his smile faded. What indeed would his parents say? They had no idea he was returning. He could hardly show up at their gate unannounced and expect them to host the whole entourage with no notice.

Raphael cleared his throat. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? We should let your father know you’re returning.”

“We’ll send a runner with a message,” said Tobias.

“Better yet, you and I can run ahead,” said Raphael. “Do you still have the fish gall?”

Tobias glanced sidelong at Raphael, who after all these weeks still seemed in many ways a stranger. The man obviously had unusual powers and insight, but this fish business was weird. “Fish gall,” Tobias muttered, digging into his waist pouch. “I still have it.”

“Keep it in hand.” Raphael shot him a challenging grin and sprinted ahead.

Tobias broke into a trot, careful not to squeeze the packet, which to his dismay, he could now smell quite well. Fortunately when they reached Nineveh’s massive walls, the odor mingled with scents of the city. He and Raphael shouldered through crowds swarming through the main gateway, a grand tunnel that echoed with shouts and calls and clattering carts.

By the time they reached the street where Tobit’s house stood, the matter of the gall had retreated to the back of Tobias’s mind. But as he headed for his father’s gate, Raphael tugged him aside and spoke in a low, serious voice. “Remember how I instructed you to get rid of the demon?”

Tobias nodded. “With the fish heart and liver.”

“That night you were afraid enough to try anything,” said Raphael. “This time you are not afraid.”

“Should I be?”

“I’m talking about trust. You trusted me last time because you were afraid. This time you must simply trust.” Raphael nodded at the packet of gall. “Open it and smear it on your hands.”

Tobias hesitated, but Raphael’s eyes searched his. Trust. Tobias swallowed his protest and untied the smelly packet. A bitter taste swelled in his throat.

Raphael nodded his approval. “As soon as you see your father, rub the gall on his eyes. It will sting.”

Tobias eyed Raphael warily as he smeared the fish gall on his fingers. Then he approached his father’s gate, humiliated. Over the past few weeks he had been bathed, perfumed, and robed in silks. Now he was to present himself to his father, smelling like a fisherman returning from a year at sea. He shot Raphael a glance of disgust.

“Trust me,” said Raphael.

Tobias knocked.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Illustration Tobias and the Angel by follower of Andea del Verrocchio, c. 1470-5 courtesy Dover Books, Angels.

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Scene 12: The Ancient Book of Tobit

A ruddy-cheeked magistrate robed in layers of silk eyed Tobias as he set a golden bowl before the newlyweds. Tobias and Sarah smiled, bowed and spoke their thanks. “So many guests!” Tobias whispered.

“You know why,” said Sarah, offering an admiring smile and a flutter of long lashes before turning to a woman decked in coin necklaces, who handed her a fine alabaster jar.

Tobias did know why. And it wasn’t just because Sarah’s father, Raguel, was known for his lavish entertainments. People had come from far and wide to gawk at the groom, the demon-slayer. Women in roving groups cast furtive glances at him as they chatted with each other. Some of the men gazed at him openly and saluted with their cups. Others were more reserved, but Tobias could feel their stares.

He scanned the crowd for Raphael, then reminded himself that this was only the first full day of the wedding celebration, much too early to expect Raphael’s return. If he returned at all.

That night Tobias entered the bridal chamber again with dread. Sarah was much more relaxed. He could tell she trusted him to banish any demon that might appear, so he made sure the incense was burning. But he had no more fish heart and liver. Only the packet of gall remained, so he set it beside the incense just in case.

But the demon did not return that night. Neither did Raphael.

On the fourth day of the celebration, as Tobias sat by Sarah among the guests feasting on peacock, honeyed fruits, and Persian wine, he looked up to see Raphael at the door. The man fairly glowed as he nodded at Tobias and took a seat at the table. Soon a servant slipped a small scroll to Tobias. On it was one word: “Success.”

That night when Tobias examined his father’s money bags, he found their seals unbroken. His spirits soared, thinking of his father’s joy at his successful return. For the next ten days, Tobias held his eagerness in check. But the morning after the festivities ended, he approached his father-in-law, who had returned to his customary place on a cushion in the garden, where he was sipping pomegranate juice.

They exchanged pleasantries as a servant handed Tobias a cup. But before he drank, Tobias blurted, “I must go to my father now, or he will give up on me. I’ve been away far too long.”

Raguel waved away the comment. “Stay. I’ll send a message to explain.”

Tobias sipped the tart juice, then squared his shoulders. A bit of haggling was to be expected, but he was not of a mind to skirt the issue. “Thank you, but no. I ask that you send me to my father – with your blessing I hope.”

Raguel grunted and called for his scribe. While Tobias stood by, Raguel dictated a writ bestowing half his property – slaves, cattle, and money – on his new son-in-law. With each addition to the list, Tobias’s jaw dropped further and his eyes widened until he felt like a fool who might drool at any moment.

With a flourish Raguel signed his name to the scroll and said, “May God give you prosperity before I die.”

Tobias closed his mouth. God just had.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photograph courtesy morguefile.

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Scene 11: The Ancient Book of Tobit

While Tobias worried that he had foolishly lost his father’s money, his father and mother worried that they had lost Tobias. Each morning, blind Tobit ran his fingers over the marks he had scratched on a wax tablet, counting the days. Each evening, he took up his stylus and scratched one more mark.

One morning Tobit heard the footsteps of his wife, Hannah, crossing the courtyard. At this time of day she left to take mended garments to her customers. Instead, she walked toward him.

He straightened, alert as she sat beside him and took the waxed tablet from his lap. “What is it?” he asked.

“The days required for a journey to Ragae have long passed,” she said. “Is it possible that Gabael refuses to release your money?”

Tobit nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible.”

“Perhaps Gabael is dead, and Tobias petitions someone else.”

Tobit nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Perhaps Tobias lost the receipt.”

Tobit nodded. “It’s possible.”

Hannah lowered her voice to a whisper. “How well did we know his traveling companion. What’s his name?”

“Raphael.”

“Perhaps this Raphael turned on Tobias. Our son could be lying in some ditch mortally wounded. Or . . . or . . . dead for all we know.”

Tobit nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Is that all you can say? It’s possible?” Hannah dropped the wax tablet into Tobit’s lap and rose.

He heard her sandals slap halfway across the stone yard. Then she stopped and wailed, “My child has perished! Oh, my child! Do I not care because I let you go, you, the light of my eyes!”

Tobit huffed. It was the light of his unseeing eyes that was gone. “Calm yourself, Hannah,” he said. “Tobias is young. This is his first journey away from us. Give him a few more days to discover the world.”

“Discover the world? Small comfort that is. He may choose to take the money and never return to us.”

Tobit leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s possible.”

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photograph courtesy morguefile.

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Scene 10: The Ancient Book of Tobit

Tobias left the frenzy of festive preparations at Sarah’s house and wove through Ecbatana’s busy streets toward the bazaar, accompanied by a muscular young man named Phineas. Raguel had appointed Phineas as his son-in-law’s personal guard, though Tobit suspected the guard’s main task was to make sure Sarah’s husband didn’t leave town.

An errant goat loped their way, chased by a shouting girl, and Tobias sidestepped. He had to admit he was tempted to leave town – just for a day or so to retrieve his father’s money from Gabael in Ragae. On the other hand, he didn’t want his new bride to think he had abandoned her, and if she couldn’t go with him . . . well, that’s where Raphael might come in. If he could find the man.

Tobias edged into the milling crowd of shoppers, where the odor of spices and leather and sweat mingled with a tinge of garlic. Over the clamor he called to Phineas. “You’d recognize Raphael, wouldn’t you? Tall. Brown hair with reddish streaks. A leather band across his forehead.”

“I saw him when he arrived at the master’s house, sir.” Phineas craned his neck, eying the swarm of people. “There he is!” He pointed over a sea of heads.

Tobias tried to wedge past shoulders and elbows.

“Let me, sir.” Phineas bulled his way through.

Tobias followed at his heels, admitting that a personal guard did have its benefits. He sidled up to Raphael.

“Ah, Tobias!” Raphael handed him a light blue cloak, finely woven, edged with gold embroidery. “Your appearance is timely. I thought you ought to own something nicer for your wedding celebration.”

Tobias fingered the soft fabric, fit for a prince. “I can’t yet pay –”

“A wedding gift,” said Raphael, counting coins into the merchant’s glad palms. Motioning for Tobias to follow, he headed through the crowd to the far end of the bazaar, where curls of smoke drifted into the air along with the scent of meat. “You have to try the lamb,” he called over his shoulder. “Unusually spiced.”

Soon they were seated on a mat shaded by an awning, while Phineas stood guard outside. A jowly serving woman plunked a plate of sizzling lamb cubes before them. Raphael speared a bite on the tip of his knife, blew on it, then plucked it off with his fingers and popped it into his mouth.

Tobias slipped out his own knife and did the same. Over the juicy mouthful, he said, “You knew I’d live through the night?”

“I didn’t know,” said Raphael. “You might not have followed my instructions.”

“But I did.”

“And I . . . ” Raphael stabbed another bite. “. . . let’s just say I sensed the demon’s departure. I believe you sent him all the way to Egypt.”

Tobias chewed slowly. Egypt. He speared a cube of lamb. “Did you know that Sarah’s father wants me to stay for a fortnight of celebrations?”

“He told me.”

Tobias pointed his knife at Raphael. “You, sir, have interesting powers. Don’t you?”

Raphael raised his eyebrows. “Be careful where you point that knife. A man might take offense, you know. Luckily yours has meat on the end.”

Tobias lowered the blade and his voice. “Your ritual worked to rid us of the demon. Can you say a spell or conjure a vision that would persuade Gabael to bring my father’s money to me from Ragae? I can’t wait a fortnight.”

“I do not conjure or cast spells,” said Raphael. “But, yes, I do have powers. One of the most reliable is known as a long stride. I’ll walk to Ragae on the morrow and retrieve your father’s money from Gabael. You have a receipt for it?”

“I do.” Tobias dug in his waist pouch and found the small scroll beside the packet of fish gall. He handed the receipt to Raphael. “Shall I throw out the gall now?”

“No.” Raphael shot him a stern look and tucked the receipt into his pouch.

As Tobias watched Raphael arrange his cloak to hide the pouch, his chest tightened. What had he done? That receipt was the only proof of money owed to his father, and he had just handed it to a man he hardly knew. One with strange powers and a long stride and a plan to leave town.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Illustration courtesy Dover Angels.

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Scene 8: The Ancient Book of Tobit

Sarah’s father, Raguel, lay in bed with his eyes wide open, staring into the post-midnight darkness, listening to his wife snore. He imagined the demon at that very moment strangling Tobias. Leaning up on his elbow, he shoved his wooden neck support to the floor. “Royalty can have these blamed bolsters,” he growled and grabbed a cushion for his aching head.

His wife, Edna, roused. “Can’t you sleep?” she mumbled. “You should be exhausted.”

“I am.” He punched the cushion. Not only had he hosted his daughter’s wedding festivities, but after the wary couple had entered the bridal chamber, he had dug Tobias’s grave. He was more than exhausted. He eased back onto the cushion. Straightened his legs. Bent them. Straightened them again.

Edna groaned. “Send one of the maids to the bridal chamber. Let her see if he’s still alive or not.”

“And if not?”

“Bury him.”

“At this time of night?”

“For mercy’s sake,” said Edna. “You’re already awake. Besides, if you bury him now, no one will witness it. We’ll say he backed out at the last minute and ran.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Raguel sat up. “Then maybe I can get some sleep.”

“Then maybe I can get some sleep.” Edna turned her back and pulled the covers over her head.

Raguel padded into an atrium lit by a small hanging oil lamp. He snapped his fingers at a startled watchman, and ordered the man to send a maid into the bridal chamber. The guard asked no questions. All house servants well knew the likely fate of the eighth bridegroom.

Bleary-eyed, Raguel paced the halls as he waited. He ended up in the garden and sank to a cushion.

A tousled maid dashed in and bowed. “They’re asleep, sirrah.”

Raguel straightened. “Both of them? Sleeping? You’re sure?”

She nodded, clutching her robe at the neck. “I checked. Leaned in close. They’re both breathing. Do you wish me to wake them?”

“No, no.” Raguel waved her out. A smile crept over his lips and grew wider until he was grinning like a fool. “Let them sleep! Let them all sleep!” He leaped to his feet and strode back to his bedchamber where Edna was snoring. He started to wake her but changed his mind. Let her sleep. The news would keep.

He fluffed his cushion, lay down, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then opened them again. The creep of dawn had soothed the dark of night into a soft gray. He grinned. He would host a feast for his daughter and her new husband, a feast greater than the town of Ecbatana had ever seen.

He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable. He lay on his side. Then on his back. He drummed his fingers on his belly. The rooster crowed.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photo courtesy morguefile.com

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Scene 6: The Ancient Book of Tobit

With every step toward Raguel’s house, Tobias struggled to word his argument in a way that wouldn’t offend Raphael. Should he flatly refuse to let Raphael speak to Raguel about marriage? Or should he try to reason? Seven men had died trying to wed this girl. The odds were not in his favor

“There’s the house.” Raphael pointed to a large, whitewashed, flat-roofed building. Only its upper story was visible above the vine-covered wall that enclosed the property.

Raphael quickened his pace, but Tobias slowed. A shift of light through one of the upstairs latticed windows gave him the feeling that someone was watching. He trotted to Raphael and caught his sleeve before he knocked at the gate.

Raphael turned, his fist poised to knock. “Yes?”

Tobias cleared his throat. “About that marriage offer . . .”

Raphael knocked.

Tobias broke into a cold sweat. “I think –”

The gate opened, and a slender young woman leaned out, slipping a storm-gray shawl over her shiny black hair. Tobias froze with his mouth open as her dark, clever eyes assessed them. Raphael made introductions, but Tobias hardly heard.

“I’m Sarah, daughter of Raguel.” She opened the gate wider. “Step in. I’ll fetch my father.”

As Sarah swished into the house, they stepped into the tree-shaded courtyard. Raphael turned to Tobias. “What were you about to say?”

Tobias clamped his mouth shut. “Nothing.”

Sarah returned to the door and beckoned them inside. They followed her through a tiled entrance hall and down a wide hall to a reception garden perfumed by pink and white blossoms lacing the potted bushes. In the center of the garden a rotund man lolled on a floor cushion with a scribe at his feet. Sarah extended a bangled arm toward him. “My father, Raguel.”

The scribe scuttled out of the garden, and Raguel rose, eying Tobias. “Young man, you are a replica of my cousin Tobit!”

Tobias warmed. “He’s my father.”

“Ha!” Raguel returned to his seat as servant laid out floor cushions for his guests. “And Tobit is well?”

Sarah and her mother stepped in as Tobias told about Tobit’s blindness. The family frowned, shook their heads, and spoke their regrets. Then servants carried in trays laden with savory meats, dried fruits, and warm honey cakes. As they feasted, Raguel entertained them with tales of his relations. Daylight dimmed. Lamps were lit.

Tobias, well-fed and charmed by the evening, leaned toward Raphael. “Might now be the time to speak of . . . what we talked about?”

“Why not?” Raphael raised his cup to Raguel and made the proposal.

Sarah bit her lip. Her mother, Edna, grabbed her hand. Raguel leaned back, patting his full belly. “Nothing would please me more, except . . .” He exchanged glances with Edna.

“Except what?” asked Tobias.

“Except it must be done tonight.”

Tobias stared at Raguel. Tonight? He had expected a betrothal period. He knew his father would counsel him to be wary of a man too eager to make a deal. Raguel was not only eager, he was desperate. But with dark-eyed Sarah standing near enough for Tobias to catch the sweet scent of her perfume, he felt desperate too. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Tonight.”

Raguel saluted with his drink. “Let it be done. Wife, get the bridal chamber ready.” He refilled his guest’s wine cups, and the house became a flurry of activity.

When Raguel left the garden to find his scribe to write the marriage agreement, Tobias felt the blood drain from his face. He turned to Raphael. “What have I done?”

“You’ve arranged a nice match for yourself.” Raphael drained his cup.

“You mean I’ve arranged my own death.”

“Ah.” Raphael licked his lips. “The demon.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you still have the goatskin pouch with the fish heart and liver in it?”

“And the gall?” Tobias nodded, wrinkling his nose. He wondered if it was his imagination or if he was really catching a whiff of it.

“Save the gall. You won’t need it tonight. But take the liver and heart with you. There’s always incense in a bridal chamber. Add the fish heart and liver to the ashes of the incense until the mixture smokes. The demon will smell it and flee, never to return.”

Tobias wondered if Sarah would smell it and flee as well.

“Then you and Sarah must kneel and pray together for protection,” said Raphael. “Don’t be afraid. She was destined for you from the beginning.”

“Are you sure?” asked Tobias. “How do you know these things?”

“I make it my duty to be informed.” Raphael refilled his own cup and offered more wine to Tobias, who drank another cup before Raguel returned with his scribe.

After the marriage agreement was signed, Sarah entered wearing a white wedding robe and flowers in her dark hair. With servants attending as witnesses, Raguel gave Tobias the hand of his daughter in marriage.

As they danced, ate, and drank late into the night, Tobias watched the worry creep into Sarah’s eyes, and his own fear grew. Would he have to fight a demon? What did a demon look like? Was Raphael trustworthy? Did he want Tobit’s son to die so he could gain access to Tobit’s money? By the time Tobias and Sarah were escorted to the bridal chamber, he was questioning his own sanity.

Raguel smiled stiffly as he watched Tobias and Sarah enter the bridal chamber. As soon as the door closed, he excused himself, went outside, and dug Tobias’s grave.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photo courtesy Dover Angels.

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Scene 3: The Ancient Book of Tobit

Since Tobit had prayed for death, he set about preparing for it. After calling for his son, Tobias, he scooted into the cool shade of a fig tree and rubbed his unseeing eyes. Then he snorted at his foolishness. Did he think he could wipe away his blindness?

Tobias’s footsteps approached with a confident stride. “You wanted to see me, Father?”

Tobit couldn’t help but smile. His son was tall now, and though still young, he was fully a man. Tobit wished he could see Tobias’s face, newly bearded, and his dark eyes, surely as handsome as his mother’s.

As Tobias sat beside him, Tobit felt for his son’s broad back. “I wish to speak to you of my death.”

“But Father,” Tobias protested, “you’re healthy still.”

Tobit held up his hand. “One never knows about the matter of death. You are apprenticed to the scribes. Excel in your work. Make yourself worthy of the highest positions in the land, for when I die, you must provide for your mother as long as she lives. When she dies, bury her in my grave beside me. Always give your surplus to the poor. Be sure to take a wife from among our people. And ask advice of every wise man.”

Tobias cleared his throat. “All this I will do, Father. But may God give you a long life so that you may be that wise man.”

“We don’t know the future.” Tobit patted his son’s well-muscled shoulder. “I deposited ten talents of silver with Gabel in Ragae in Media. Go and ask for it.” He pressed a receipt into Tobias’s palm. “Find someone to travel with you. I’ll pay him.”

Tobias stuffed the receipt into his waist sash and reluctantly left to tell friends and trustworthy acquaintances that he sought a traveling companion. But two days of searching yielded no one able – or willing – to travel to Ragae. On the third day, Babin the wool merchant pointed him to a broad-shouldered man wandering through the crowd at the bazaar.

“But he’s a stranger,” said Tobias. “Do you think he’s honest?”

Babin shrugged. “The man bought bread, and when old Marya gave him too much change, he gave the coins back. With interest!”

Tobias eased closer to the cloaked man, whose brown hair was streaked in red. The man, a head taller than the shoppers milling around him, was watching the bladesmith sharpen a knife. As Tobias edged nearer, he turned, looked Tobias up and down, and smiled. “You may be just the companion I’m looking for. I’m traveling to Ragae and would rather go in company. I’ll pay you if you’re interested.”

Tobias blinked in surprise. “Ragae? You would pay . . . me?” It was supposed to work the other way around.

“If you’re willing to travel.” The man wore a thin leather band across his forehead, and when he offered Tobias a round of bread, his cloak gaped, revealing the silver hilt of a sword. “I’ve no cart or donkeys, so we’ll go by foot. And we leave today.”

“I, too, must go to Ragae.” Tobias took the bread. “But I’ll have to run home and fetch a journey pack.”

“Of course.” The man examined a knife from the display of wares. “You’ll find me somewhere around here when you’re ready to go.”

Tobias half bowed and wormed through the crowd, munching on the herb-flavored bread, but he went only a stone’s throw before he realized he had no idea who the man was. He wove his way back to the man. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “My name is Tobias. And you?”

“Raphael.”

Tobias bowed back through the crowd and headed home, hoping the stranger with the silver-hilted sword was trustworthy.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photo courtesy clipart.com.

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Scene 2: The Ancient Book of Tobit

The physician examined Tobit’s eyes. “You’re blind,” he said.

“I know,” snapped Tobit. “That’s why I’m here! Is there no cure?”

“Not with me.” The doctor placed a hand on Tobit’s slumped shoulders. “No doctor can heal the blind.”

Tobit hunched over as if he were already the beggar he feared he would become. This doctor had been his last hope. One physician had given him a worthless salve. Another had told him to place goat liver on his eyes each night. At least this doctor was honest.

Tobit did lose his job, for his nephew, royal cupbearer and signet keeper, had no use for a blind assistant. Fortunately his nephew held a strong sense of family loyalty and supported Tobit for two years until the royal position was moved to Elymais. Then Tobit’s wife, Hannah, joined a group of women who took mending and weaving jobs. Tobit had been ashamed of living off his nephew. Depending on his wife’s earnings caused his shame to grow dark and bitter.

One day as Tobit sat in his courtyard trying to weave a basket and failing miserably, he heard Hannah returning home. As the gate scraped open, he heard a bleat. He scowled and growled, “Where did you get a goat? Is it stolen? Take it back to its owner. We’ve no right to eat someone else’s goat.”

“The goat was a gift,” said Hannah. “Given in addition to my wages.”

Tobit’s hands curled into fists. “You would steal and lie about it as well?”

“You!” Hannah blurted. “You once believed in charity. You gave to the needy. But when we need help, you refuse it. Charity travels two directions. Had you never thought of that?”

Tobit’s mouth fell open at such a sharp tone from his sweet Hannah. “I –”

“Don’t say it,” she snapped. “You know everything. Of course!” Her footsteps faded around the side of the house, along with the bleating.

Tobit smacked the wall with his fist as tears welled in his eyes. “Look at me, Lord! I’m not only blind but ignorant as well. I’d rather die than live. Release my spirit from this life, and return my body to dust.”

Miles away in Ecbatana, a young woman named Sarah knelt by her window and prayed, “Lord, I turn my face and eyes to you. Release my spirit from this life, and return my body to dust.” She bowed her head and wept.

Sarah had been widowed seven times, each husband dying before the wedding night – and she was still young. She had hardly left childhood when her father, Raguel, had first bargained her in marriage to seal a prestigious business deal. But after the wedding, as Sarah and her new husband entered the private bridal chamber, a dark cloud rose from the rushes on the floor and wove itself into the form of the horned demon Asmodeus. Before either bride or groom could cry out, the demon’s clawed hands gripped the thick throat of the bridegroom and squeezed away his life. Sarah ran.

By the time Sarah returned with help, the demon had vanished, leaving behind the stench of death and hell. Sarah’s father immediately arranged another advantageous union. But on the wedding night, Asmodeus reappeared, and the second bridegroom died. All in all, seven husbands married Sarah, each claiming to be braver and more worthy than the last. Each had died in Asmodeus’s murderous grip, leaving Sarah young and lovely, but unloved.

Townsfolk muttered, “She strangles her husbands before they reach the bed.” The household maids whispered, “She might as well follow her bridegrooms to the grave. She’ll never see husband or children while she’s alive.”

Now at her window, Sarah bowed her head. “Why must I live any longer?” she moaned.

In the heavens, the angel Raphael shook back his windblown brown hair, angled his head, and listened to the burbling stream of voices, soul songs flowing in gratitude, pain, delight . . . and despair. His dark, compassionate eyes scanned the earth and focused on two desperate prayers. Tobit. Sarah. They didn’t live too far from each other. He spread his golden wings and began his descent.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Tobit, circa 200 BCE. Photo courtesy morguefile.

 

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Scene 10: Tales from the Ancient Book of Enoch

Enoch braced himself on the waist high stone altar in the mountain grove, dropped his gnarled staff to the ground behind him, and knelt. From the fold in his belt, he removed a scroll, which he unrolled and held to the late afternoon light that sifted through the branches. Sheepskin scroll. Black ink. Simple words. A plea for forgiveness. Nothing to reveal the prideful anger smoldering behind Azazel’s eyes when he reluctantly assented to Semjaza’s wording.

Swords hissed from their scabbards.

Enoch stumbled to his feet to face three angels who stood on the far side of the altar. One, with ruddy-streaked brown hair and gold-tinted wings, bore a silver sword that glinted in the lowering light. Another, with scarlet wings and a tunic of woven copper, held a sword that glowed like molten metal. Gabriel, with his black hair and midnight-purple wings, stood between the two, unarmed.

Enoch froze. Had he offended the heavens? Then he realized that the angels’ daunting glares had locked onto something behind him. He turned to see six Watchers step into the clearing. Semjaza led with Ezekeel and Arakiba. Azazel and two of his supporters followed. Only Azazel had drawn a sword. Enoch glanced back and forth between Semjaza’s group and Gabriel’s and quickly decided he was not fool enough to stand between angels holding swords. He hobbled aside without his staff.

Semjaza inclined his head to each of the three in turn. “Raphael, Uriel, Gabriel. Peace to you.”

“Peace?” hissed scarlet-winged Uriel. His sword brightened.

Gabriel scanned the Watchers. “Did Enoch not convey the wishes of the Great One?”

“He did.” Semjaza picked up Enoch’s walking stick calmly, but Enoch knew he was anything but calm. “We asked Enoch to convey our response,” said Semjaza.

“And he is agreeable?” Gabriel turned to Enoch, his dark eyebrows arched.

“I am,” said Enoch, “if it’s allowed.”

“Shall we find out?” Gabriel extended his hand to Enoch. Semjaza held out Enoch’s walking stick, but Gabriel waved it away. “He won’t need it.”

Azazel strutted forward, returning his sword to its scabbard. “We’ll wait here,” he said.

Gabriel shrugged. “So will Uriel and Raphael.” The two did not lower their swords.

Enoch had never felt the grove so full of tension, as if one spark would engulf it in flames. He gladly took Gabriel’s pulsing hand, and they headed up the mountain, Enoch’s old, tired legs reviving with every step.

- to be continued -

© 2012 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Enoch, 220 BCE – 100 CE. Photo courtesy morguefile.com

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Scene 6: Tales from the Ancient Book of Enoch

Atop the bald mountain the scarlet-winged figure crouched so still he seemed carved of stone. The setting sun brightened his copper chain mail and ruddy hair. He tightened his grip on a longbow as his dark green eyes scanned the smoke rising from the plains below, then locked onto a dark smudge on the horizon. Most angels could see distant objects so clearly they appeared to be only an arm’s length away, but Uriel’s sight was sharper than most.

A gold-winged angel in gilded armor settled behind him, holding a silver spear as a staff. Red streaks wove through his brown hair, which matched the color of his dark, compassionate eyes. Raphael squinted at the drifting smoke. “They escaped?”

Uriel didn’t move. “Most of them.”

“The old man?”

“He was here in the mountains deep in contemplation and saw the attack too late. He’s headed down the mountain now, but all he can see is smoke. He doesn’t know if anyone survived.”

“I’ll tell him.” Gabriel drifted down, folding his midnight-purple wings against his thick, silver tunic. He swept stray strands of black hair off his sharp featured face, and his gray eyes glinted purple as he peered through the woods below the treeline, sensing the small figure of Enoch scrabbling down the slope.

“He can probably track the survivors,” said Uriel. “Unless the giants find him first.”

“If giants return I’ll intervene.” Michael strode into view, his long blonde hair and white wings glowing in the lowering light. Glints from the sunset sparked off his silver armor. His blue eyes narrowed as he flexed his hand over the pommel of his great sword. He growled, “If I had been there –”

“Where was Semjaza?” snapped Raphael. “And Azazel?”

“Semjaza is away on Watcher business,” said Uriel. “He’s tried to live dual lives, and it’s cost him. Azazel doesn’t even try anymore. He’s now the head of the tribe’s war council.”

Gabriel snorted and headed down the slope. “It’s going to cost them all. More than they know.”

He found the old man huffing and stumbling over roots and rocks in an effort to descend in a straight line instead of following his usual meandering path. Gabriel retained his ethereal form, for Enoch was a Seer and had met with Gabriel before. The angel caught the old man’s arm and steadied him.

Enoch clutched Gabriel’s sleeve, looking up in surprise. Then his lined eyes searched Gabriel’s face, and he whispered, “You’re my answer.”

Gabriel nodded toward the plain. “Many escaped. Your tribe moves south. I’ll take you there.”

Enoch’s grip tightened, and his gaze bored into Gabriel. “You can present our cause to the Great One. Plead for us.”

“Your cries already reach the gates of heaven.” Gabriel glanced up the mountain. “Perhaps you can deliver your petition in person. I can take you as close as the Great One will allow.”

Enoch stared at Gabriel. “I?” He not only gripped the angel’s sleeve, he tugged. “I could get closer?”

“You’ve already come closer than most.” Gabriel grinned as the old man’s eyes sparkled like a child’s. Enoch turned around, leaning heavily on his staff. Gabriel took his other arm, and they headed up the mountain.

- to be continued -

© 2011 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved. Based on The Book of Enoch, 220 BCE – 100 CE. Photo courtesy morguefile.com.

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