The tenth century b.c. grips the Levant in a severe drought. Laborers dig narrow channels through baked clay to divert scarce water to royal vineyards. The sun beats down on sweating backs. Guards stand watch over the exposed fields with iron-tipped spears. Constant vigilance drains the men of their strength. They drag heavy stone rollers to crush clods of dry earth. A cold evening wind finally brings sleep and physical relief to aching bones.
King Solomon codifies state law in Jerusalem. He drafts maxims comparing the sovereign mind to an agricultural ditch. Farmers know water flows where the trench directs it. The Lord holds the king's heart just like the farmer controls the sluice gate. Men plot their own paths through the rocky hills. They buy warhorses imported from Egypt for 150 shekels of silver—a fortune equal to fifteen years of a field worker's wages. A tall steed offers speed and height in a skirmish. Yet the Sovereign alone determines the outcome of the battle.
An irrigation trench requires constant physical maintenance to prevent collapse. Men build earthen dams and clear debris to force the water toward dying crops. The king issues decrees to manage a sprawling nation. He believes his own intellect governs the empire. True control remains entirely outside his grasp. The Creator easily bends human authority just as water conforms to a dug channel. Human effort prepares the bronze chariot rims and grooms the cavalry. The actual victory depends on a higher command.
Men can forge heavy shields and breed fast horses, but the sky alone decides who survives the fight.
The bronze bits of the chariots eventually corroded into green flakes beneath the sand. The royal irrigation canals silted over and vanished into the desert pavement.