Chapter One

And so, slowly, reluctantly, I have been driven back to my starting-point, like a man who at the end of a tremendous journey is told that he has been sleepwalking. —Lawrence Durrell

In ordinary times and circumstances the comely city of Shechem sat like a beautiful queen amid the foothills of Mount Gerizim and Mount Ebal. Her sand colored cyclopean walls and towers glistened in the morning sunlight as the city faced eastward over the Plain called by her name. In regal splendor Shechem sat enthroned in the vale between the two sentinel-like peaks. Commercial traffic from Beth-Shan, Damascus, Haran, and other markets in Aram (Syria) and Mesopotamia flowed into her Northeast Gate. Caravans from the Phoenician coastal cities entered by the Western Gate. Traders from Bethel, Beer-Sheba, the Negev and Egypt passed by the ancient Well of Jacob and through the South Gate. Strategically situated in this central mountain pass at the junction of mainly traveled highways, the royal city of Shechem formally awaited the coming of soldier, merchant, ambassador and priest. When first seen by a weary traveler, the splendor of her stately walls and gates must have inspired awe. The largest fortress-temple in Palestine loomed high above the city. Its quiet reserve and dignity would strike reverential fear in babbling priest and humble saint alike. Even the later temple of King Solomon in Jerusalem was not to surpass its gigantic size and height.

On an unnumbered day in a year approximating 1230 BCE, the stately city of Sh