The evolution of Goliath

I received one of those annoying, AI-powered flattery emails the other day. Fellow authors will know these missives tell you how brilliant your book is, and would you like to learn how to get more sales on Amazon?

It was obvious the robot hadn’t actually read the named book because ‘it’ thought Bernard Cornwall would be enthralled. As a Cornwell fan, I promise you the book is as far removed from Sharpe or Uhtred of Bebbanburg as you can get.

This is how Hal the Bot opened the spiel:

“Line in the Sand isn’t just a retelling of David and Goliath, it’s a spy thriller in sandals, dripping with grit, betrayal, and impossible odds. You’ve taken one of the most famous underdog stories in history and turned it into an espionage adventure Bernard Cornwell himself would raise a goblet to. 🍷”

Technically true apart from the Cornwell reference, and designed to hit home to any author who takes pride in his/her creativity.

But Line in the Sand didn’t start out like that. Far from it. I’ve always wanted to dig deeper into familiar Old Testament stories and around 15 years ago, I was in touch with an archaeologist, Aren Maier, who was excavating the ancient city of Gath, one of the city-states of ancient Philistia (modern-day Palestine). His team found a reference to a name that translates to “Goliath”.

I researched thoroughly, found several Biblical contradictions, and then asked myself, exactly who was Goliath? He was abnormally large and one of several oversized “men of renown” way back in earliest days of the Biblical narrative.

My research took me to this verse in the first book of the Bible:

The Nephilim were on the earth in those days when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown – Genesis 6:4

“Sons of God”? Were they angels? Ancient Billy Graham blueprints?

“Daughters of men”? These “sons of God” saw that the Creator had come up with some fair maidens and God encouraged them to get on down and do some old-fashioned procreation. The result of this supernatural coupling between godlike creatures (some would guess aliens, of course) were known as Nephilim, which means “fallen ones”. Hercules and Beelzebub rolled into magnificent specimens of demonic power.

Being an impressionable sort, I immediately started writing. The original novel was entitled “Goliath” and would focus on the mysterious origins of the giants and the oh-so-human outcome of a pebble flung with great skill at the forehead of the most famous warrior of all time.

Then the manuscript passed through the hands of a literary agent (who subsequently declined it) and several publishers (no thank you) until eventually one was foolish enough to take a punt on it. But get rid of that prologue, said the publisher, it’s way too woo-woo.

Sourced by Bing

I obeyed, of course. But I was so proud of that prologue it kept it tucked away on the back burner. Until now.

So for those who are interested, here’s that woo-woo introduction which, to be fair, bears little relation to the rest of Line in the Sand and would put the great Bernard Cornwell right off his goblet of wine.

PROLOGUE

Southern Mesopotamia, Early Bronze Age

There had been no caravans since the light storms. Now the desert was shrouded with thick dust that blotted out the sun and shrieking winds tore at the tents. Forlorn camels formed ghostly mounds as the sands were whipped into a stinging frenzy. The tempest screamed with demonic voices.

Fear gripped the old man even before he saw the shadowy forms approaching. He sensed an enemy but his fear made him weak for the first time in his long life. He could not even reach for his sword nor cry out to his women and his sons who huddled in the tent behind him. His eyes, the only part of his body not concealed by his desert robes, blinked rapidly as the warriors floated towards him. The last thing he saw was the face of a god.

Aleia stood, the only one not whimpering in terror. The women and children cowered in the darkest recesses of the flapping pavilion, but Aleia knew her destiny had come. She stood facing the laced entrance and knew that her husband and protector was dead. She pulled her robes tightly around herself, allowing the rough weave to reveal the flashing eyes and the strong, oversized nose that her mother had always told her were her best weapons to overcome the brutality of man.

A blade like no other she had ever seen sliced easily through the tent cords and the desert’s rage extinguished all but one of the torches. The god stooped to enter. Aleia shivered, weakening, her stomach lurching with overwhelming fear, but she stood with a straight back and allowed her eyes to flash defiance as her mother had taught her.

His head was bound in a black warrior’s turban flecked with silver threads. Folds of the same cloth hung extravagantly from broad shoulders, shimmering in the feeble light. Where the shifting robes allowed, Aleia had a vague impression that his body was oiled metal, contoured around grotesque muscles and thighs like shaped cedarwood.

She craned her neck to look up into a face that turned her knees to wax and stole the fire in her eyes.

* * *

When her time came near, the god carried Aleia beyond the tribe’s huddled tents to the ridge that overlooked the great river where she could see the land of her birth. He carried her gently. She had no need to cling to his neck because his arms were so large that she was cradled within them like a sparrow in its nest. She buried her head in his hairless chest as he walked, enjoying rhythmic swaying motion of his huge strides. Touch was her only communication with him, apart from the moment when he had told her his name. She had persisted, repeating her name with her hand on her breast, then pressing her fingers to his. ‘Kerek,’ he had said, though it sounded more like Krick, like the first bite on a roasted locust. It was the only word he had spoken to her, yet he was not unintelligent as the lilting chatter with his men revealed; but Kerek’s was a language she never even began to understand, and he showed no interest in hers.

He took a phial of olive oil from his belt and slowly untied the loose cords of her robe, pushing the folds aside so he could lay a bear-like hand on her swollen midriff. The oil was at first cool as he poured, then hot as it drew the fire from her stretched belly, but it soothed her. She was a mother to three children and knew that this child would surely kill her – no woman, however strong, could birth a child the size of one of the barley sacks that are carried to Ur on the grain ships.

She looked into Kerek’s strange eyes. They were green now, like a cat’s, hooded and superior. But when he had taken her they were black with streaks of crimson and smouldered with power and lust. Those eyes had devoured her, and his immensely strong body had almost broken her as pain and pleasure washed through her. It had been the same for her sister and the womenfolk from the other tents, all now grotesquely distended, sacrifices to the netherworld gods of Kur.

* * *

On the day Aleia sensed the baby would be born, her last with her people, she sent her children to bring scented water, then to fetch Kerek. She knelt uncomfortably before him where he sat on the chest containing her dead husband’s possessions and took linen cloths to wash his feet. If surprise could have overcome her great sadness she would have exclaimed at what she noticed for the first time. Kerek had six toes on each hairless foot. But she said nothing and bowed low to let her hair fall into the aromatic water, then she draped it on the god’s feet as she wept.

‘Who are you?’ she sobbed. ‘Who is within me?’ She did not expect a reply.

Then, slowly and gently, Kerek leaned down and lifted her chin. Through a film of tears she looked into his green eyes. His power washed over her, calming in its unspoken eloquence. Her pulse slowed.

Eventually he spoke. Just one word.

‘Nephilim.’

If you’ve read this far, you’ll be gagging to read the whole book which of course you can by going right here.