“He’ll be thirsty,” he said.

I mumbled some words of gratitude, then asked, did he himself not need to drink?

“Water doesn’t quench my thirst,” the Man from the Valley told me. And then, for no apparent reason, he said, “Don’t go tonight.”

Clearly he thought I was a callow boy; to him I was my brother, Adir, who’d been wounded and had little experience in battle. He need not have worried for me. “I’ve fought men many times,” I assured him. “And they’ve suffered because of it.”

He nodded. His glance didn’t meet mine. “But this is your first time among us. You haven’t been at war. You haven’t raided a village.”

That was true, the bloodshed I’d known on the eastern side of the Salt Sea had been on the grasslands, along the King’s Highway.

“It’s my duty to go,” I said simply.

I felt his glance upon me, but I looked away now to hide the truth of who I was.

“When the time comes,” the warrior all others avoided advised me, “stand beside me.”

A MIST had come up to cover the ground as my gray cloak covered me. This was considered an omen of good fortune, for it would allow us to surprise our enemies. My bow was readied as we came down upon the village where the travelers were. The air had cooled, but the ground was still burning from the heat of that day. The earth itself seemed to have a beating heart, and the thudding of my pulse met its rhythm. I saw Eleazar ben Ya’ir in the dark. He was saying a prayer, and he wore his prayer shawl, for he fought for the glory of God. He gathered us together a last time. Before him we resolved to be one in battle. We vowed we would never take slaves.

“We would not want our women and children enslaved,” Ben Ya’ir said. “We do the same for those we meet in battle.”

People said that our leader had seen those closest to him crucified in Jerusalem, brothers and friends, dying in agony before him. Afterward, the Romans had cut the heads from the bodies and tossed them into the road for the mourners, but without bodies there could be no lamentations, no burials, no peace. Ben Ya’ir spoke the words of our God.

Whoever is disheartened should go back home, for he might cause the heart of his fellows to melt as his does.

But our home was Jerusalem, and Zion had fallen, and not a single warrior turned away from the battle to come. I saw Amram lift his spear along with the others to cheer and honor our leader’s words. Only the Man from the Valley did not join them in prayer or in their fevered shouts. Perhaps he had already said prayers of his own. Perhaps the single prayer he recited was a song for the departed. He did not wear a prayer shawl or even a robe, merely a tunic and the metal he wound around his arms. He wanted pain, I saw that in him, and what a man wants he will often manage to find.

We went in stillness as the moon began to rise. I followed near Amram, so that I might keep watch over him, the dog at my heels, the great beast as silent as we were. The heart of the earth was pounding. The world was shrouded in silence until we came upon the guards. Then there was a wild shout and instantly the frantic calls of men in the village. Quickly, the shouting became deafening and the fray began. I went to one knee and began to work my bow, doing my best to ensure the safety of those who went before me. I killed two men right away, and they fell before Amram. Perhaps he thought an angel was beside him, for he gave thanks to God right there.

My dog barked whenever the enemy neared. His warning allowed me to know in what direction I should aim, for there were men approaching from every angle and chaos all around. I might have panicked but for Eran, and I vowed to keep him close from then on.

Our warriors had the best of the townspeople before long; the bodies of the slain were everywhere. I spied the Man from the Valley, a whirlwind with his ax. In the midst of four of the enemy, he brought each one down, then stood among them, appearing to dare their corpses to rise again and battle once more. When yet another villager raced at him, leaping upon his back, he calmly drew his enemy from him and split him open with his ax. The Man from the Valley looked for the next to be slain, diving into the chaos with an intensity that belied the danger around him, his weapon readied. I could feel my blood racing and a kind of joy rising inside me as I shot a man who dashed toward him. I thought that, if my father knew how many had fallen to my arrows, he would be proud to take me to him as his son.

The night was hot with blood, the ground slick, the scent of death everywhere. There were locusts in the air, humming and rising before us. Because I wore silver-scaled armor beneath my cloak, my limbs ached and were heavy, and I was drenched with sweat. I used my head scarf to wipe the film from my eyes, rising from my knees.