“Today we start a great work,” shouted the leader, tall, dark and handsome. “This was once a mighty city,
and we will restore it to the grandeur it deserves.”
A large crowd of men surrounded him, men whose skin was burned dark by the sun and whose hands were rough from years of working with stone.
They stood together at the edge of a rugged piece of land. Uneven and blackened, its steep mounds and dark holes suggested the long-neglected rubble of a ruined city. No grandeur, just an untidy shambles of stones strewn hither and thither. Faint paths
criss-crossing the waste suggested that many of the holes had animal inhabitants.
“Last week,” continued the leader, “we did what we could to burn off the cover of bushes and trees. Now we can begin the real work of removing the old stones so that rebuilding can start.”
Tall, dark and handsome Hiel of Bethel might be, but he was also determined, and the rebuilding of Jericho was his goal. In his mind, leaving Jericho as a pile of rubble was missing an
important opportunity.
Many others had seen the opportunity, but had been overwhelmed by the local opposition to rebuilding. There were rumours, stories, undercurrents of horror that surrounded the place – at least, if one listened to the locals.
Hiel had swept all before him, overcoming the opposition of superstitious locals, as he viewed them, and even obtaining royal permission for the project. Jericho would be rebuilt and Hiel would have special a
dispensation to collect taxes in the city for the king. When these taxes were collected, Hiel would pocket his share before the money went into the royal treasury.
And well would he deserve his share, for rebuilding a ruined city is no small task, and the costs were formidable. Already they were exceeding his initial estimates because of the timid reluctance of the locals. No-one would take on the work without receiving extra pay. Hiel had gritted his
teeth and paid up.
Hiel continued: “We have set up stockpiles in four locations around the city. As you collect the stones, they are to be moved to the closest stockpile. Start on the outside perimeter and gradually move in to the centre. Any questions?”
No-one responded, so Hiel said, “If anyone has any problems, ask your supervisors. If they can’t help, ask me, or if I am not here, ask my son, Abiram. Now, to work!”
It was
hard work, but gradually the ordered piles of stones in the stockpiles grew and the rough hillocks became even ground. True, there were some nasty surprises with snakes and rats and other animals who objected to having their homes dismantled, but overall it wasn’t too dangerous.
One day, Abiram asked his father, “How long has this city been ruined for?”
“About 500
years”
“How did it happen?” Abiram continued.
“The superstitious say that Yahweh made the walls fall down, but no-one really knows.”
“And why has no-one rebuilt it before now? Hasn’t anyone even tried?”
“No, no-one,” said Hiel. “Everyone has been scared off by a superstition that there is a curse on the place.” He laughed and then teased: “You’d better hope they’re wrong, Abiram, because part of the
curse involved the death of the oldest son of the one who rebuilt Jericho. But there you go, it’s all just old wives’ tales.”
“Of course,” agreed Abiram, laughing, but maybe a little unsure.
After several months, the wasteland of hillocks had finally been reduced to a clear, level surface on which the rebuilding of the city could begin in earnest.
Hiel was a
careful planner, but also a bit of a showman.
The largest of the stones retrieved from the site had been set aside as the base for a large temple to be built in the middle of the city. As the clearing work neared completion, some of the men were put to work digging trenches in which the foundations of this first building in Jericho would be placed.
Hiel planned a big ceremony to which all the important people of the area and all the workers and their
families would be invited to witness a special event, followed by a feast.
All day the preparations went on. Food was brought in carts and on the backs of donkeys; fire pits were readied and cooks prepared the food for cooking. Servants were instructed in their duties and the site was finally tidied. The four large foundation stones that were to be placed in the shallow trench during the ceremony were readied so that they could be lifted into their final
positions while the guests looked on. A small platform had been built so that Hiel could direct the proceedings from its raised surface, admired by the crowd. At intervals through the day, he pictured the scene in his mind’s eye and a satisfied smile crossed his handsome face. Already, he had achieved more with this site than anyone else had in 500 years.
Finally the time came; an enthusiastic crowd watched as Abiram supervised the placement of the stones
while many men hung on the ropes to keep one of the massive stones in the air. Others slowly edged the arm of the derrick around to move the stone into the right place, just a short distance from the next stone. Abiram stood in the gap between the stones, making sure that there was just enough space to move between them. After a few small adjustments, the stone was in just the right position and ready to be lowered.
“Lower away,” said Abiram, resting his hand
on the stone so that he could guide it down into place. Maybe he felt the stone hit something, or maybe he just wanted to make sure the way was clear: whatever the reason, he knelt down between the stones to see under the stone that was now being quickly lowered into place.
“Wait…” he said. It was the last word he ever spoke. It all happened so quickly, as the other end of the stone landed on a large log that had been used to support the ends of the large
stones earlier in the day when logs were being placed underneath as rollers. Inexplicably, no-one had noticed that it had been left in the very place this stone was to occupy, and now it supported the opposite end of the stone from where Abiram was bending as the lowering continued. With the log supporting one end and the rope lowering the other end, the stone suddenly began to tilt towards Abiram and there was nowhere for him to escape. In an instant, his head was crushed
between the two massive stones and his life was snuffed out.
There was no celebration that night. Hiel’s oldest son was dead and all the ancient superstitions had been revived. The locals looked knowingly at one another and their whispered conversations always stopped as Hiel approached. It made him furious. Abiram’s death had been a terrible accident – time and chance at its
worst – but surely no-one could possibly link it to that old superstition?
Hiel sent away all of the men who had been involved in the operation. He could have had them punished or executed for their carelessness, but he was not a vindictive man.
Work on the city continued, a few civic buildings for the administration of the area and a massive wall surrounding the entire site. Over time, the whispered conversations ceased and Hiel was again able to
enjoy the feeling of success that comes from a job well done.
His other three sons were working with him now, replacing Abiram, whose tragic death he still mourned every day. Even Segub, his youngest son, was working on the site, although Hiel’s wife had strongly opposed that decision. But Segub had been eager to be involved and Hiel had felt justified in overriding his wife’s excessive caution. Boys had to grow up some time.
Tall, thick
walls now surrounded the rebuilt town. No more major accidents had taken place – it seemed as if the gods were blessing the work. Gatehouses presided over the newly constructed roads that led into the almost empty city, and in only a few days the walls and gates would be complete and inhabitants could be brought into the newly secured city.
One by one, the large wooden gates were fitted into place and the bars that enabled them to be locked at night or in time of
war were shaped and eased into place. These were massive pieces of wood, more like tree trunks than beams, able to withstand the fearsome blows of a battering ram should an army attack.
Finally, it was time to finish the work on the last gate. Hiel resisted the temptation to organise a special celebration. His wife had said that would be tempting fate – that there would be time enough for celebrations once the work was complete, new inhabitants were pouring
into the city and their gold was pouring into Hiel’s treasuries.
But he did allow himself a small party. He called all of his family together so that his sons and his wife could enjoy his success. He would have liked to remind her that her superstitious misgivings had been proven wrong, but he wanted her to decide that for herself. He had no time for superstitions.
They all gathered in the gatehouse where the men were making some final
adjustments to the hinges on which the massive doors swung. And then it was time to fit the bars. Most of the work had already been done, but some final work with an adze was needed to make sure that the huge bulk of the bars would slide easily into the supports on the gate but without any extra free movement that would badly weaken the gates. Segub was really too young to help much, but he was popular with the men and they moved apart a little to make space for him as they
placed and replaced the massive bar while the carpenter worked his skilful refinements.
A scrape here, a tap there, until the shavings lay around the gate and the men could put the bar in its slots with little effort. There was just one last small area that was still binding a little, so the men lifted the bar again as they had so many times. Possibly it was fatigue or maybe enough slipped on the shavings at the same time that the weight became unbearable for the
rest; whatever it was, suddenly the bar was falling as all the men jumped back. All except Segub. He slipped and fell to the cobble stones, and the massive timber bar fell across his shoulders.
Jericho was rebuilt and filled with people once more. Hiel of Bethel was a household name admired by all. His coffers were filling nicely, too. But in his home and at his table
there were two vacant places. Building Jericho had cost him dearly and still the locals whispered behind their hands about that old curse spoken by Joshua of old:
“Cursed before the Lord be the man
who rises up and rebuilds this city, Jericho.
“At the cost of his firstborn shall he
lay its foundation,
and at the cost of his youngest son
shall he set up its gates.”
He had laid the foundation at the cost of his oldest son, Abiram – tall, dark and handsome like his father. Finishing the gates had cost him his youngest son Segub: but it was all just blind chance, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
