Noah had managed to live 499 years without giving much thought to his own mortality. But as he searched the faces of the crowd just ahead, he calculated his chances of being stoned to death by day’send were pretty good.
Raucous voices dropped to a whisper when he entered the city gate. Two hundred of his countrymen gathered at midday to meet the trade caravans returning from the east.
“With what words do you seek to reproach us today, Preacher?” came a loud voice from the far end of the crowd that silenced the murmurs.
All eyes turned to Malluch, a person of medium height clothed in a dark gray robe, a man Noah knew intimately. Twenty years earlier, he’d lost his father and brother at the Garden of Eden. Since then, he’d become the leader of a group of men intent on deposing the city’s governorship. He was flanked by his two lieutenants, Shechem and Bohar.
Clean-shaven, with lightly salted acorn hair, Shechem stood a bit taller than Malluch. He presented a stark contrast to the slovenly appearance of Bohar standing next to him, whose outer garment was so filthy it masked its true color. His oily hair and scraggly beard added to the look of a man indifferent to the importance of personal hygiene.
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