Providence (13 page)

“We will need the other Hebrew guest as well.” Gil spoke as if Konath had agreed to his company. “He is from the tribe of Manasseh.”

Did Gil know no fear? She was trying to save his life and now he added another demand? She looked at the indentations surrounding Benjamin's ribs. The scabs on his face. He had fought bravely in the pit to halt her undoing. Her conscience would not leave him to ruin.

“Who is this tribe that I should be concerned with them?” Konath's voice shook with anger.

Gil stepped forward. “A great commander plans victory not defeat.” His insult rang out over the troops.

Konath lunged at Gil and backhanded his face. Blood seeped from Gil's lip.

Veins ridged Gil's taut muscles.

“He speaks the truth.” She spoke boldly like a judge. “The city of Mahanaim is a holy city. The land belongs to the tribe of Levi, but the hills are patrolled by the tribe of Manasseh. They mix Egyptian vowels with their Hebrew.” She turned to Naabak. “Master, they are sharp-witted fighters.”

“Bind her husband's hands.” Naabak spoke with authority and loud enough for his officers to hear. “He will not abandon his wife. If there is truth in what they say, he will be useful. Bring the other and secure a place for them in the front lines for all of Manasseh to see.”

“Lord, what does a girl know of such things?” Konath lowered his voice, but he did not step closer to his commander. His cadence was as smooth as eastern silks. “This Jew seeks for us to taunt Israel. Will not war follow?”

She leaned over the planked side of Naabak's bed and touched his arm. “Master, I am no soldier. I seek only peace and healing. May no blood be upon my hands, nor yours.”

Naabak glanced at Konath and then turned his attention to Hannah. She did not look away from his deformity, but searched his gaze for the man he once was.

“Bring the rope.” Naabak sputtered and coughed from the force of his demand.

“Heed your commander's orders,” Konath shouted to two foot soldiers. He turned and assessed her form, slowly, seductively. She shivered as if she had jumped into the River Jordan.

“You play pious well. But you will not win.” His mumbled words reached her ears alone.

Konath strode toward the line of chariots and assumed command. Maybe he thought by the end of this trip, he would be in charge of Aram's forces.

A soldier knotted a rope around Gil's wrists. Hannah's bones hollowed as if the marrow had drained to her feet. Gil was no common thief. He was an honest man captured in an illegal raid. But if this humiliation would spare his life, she would bind him herself.

Gil winced at the final cinch.

When the soldier stepped away to bind Benjamin's fists, she secured a covering on Gil's head with a strip of linen. “This will keep the sweat from your eyes and the sun from your skin. May our people recognize you as one of their own.” She brushed the side of his face and thumbed the blood from his mouth. Touching him gave her soul flight.

Gil let the weight of his jaw rest in her hand. “You will be safe in the center of the caravan,” he whispered. “If our brothers, the men of Manasseh come, you must hide. Call out to our people to protect you. Let them know you are a Hebrew captured by the enemy.”

“And what of you at the front by Konath's side?” Her throat tightened as though tied with twine.

“My soul will be at peace knowing you are safe on our land.” Gil straightened.

She took his hands and stroked his wrists, massaging the skin under the scratchy ropes. “You cannot leave me. Not even in death. If you do—” Her voice squeaked as her lungs constricted. “I will not find rest.”
And I will not find another.
She glanced at Naabak's decaying body. “But do not think ill of me if I do not slip away when the soldiers of Manasseh come to meet us. I owe a debt to Naabak. If the prophet is near, I will beseech him to heal the commander.”

“Is it an oath that binds you?” Gil's stance went rigid.

“I will not break the laws of a vow, and I have vowed that the prophet can heal him. He travels at my urging. How can I watch him be slaughtered? Would I not be responsible for taking a life?”

“What binds you to me? Who am I that my death should have concerned you for more than a sunrise? I am the offspring of a man that defiled an innocent woman in the gleaning fields.” He spoke as if he believed that lie.

Her bones trembled. “I will not listen to such slander. There is good blood in you. You escorted me out of Jerusalem and through the wilderness at great risk to your name.”

“Another man would have done the same.”

She shook her head. “No.” Her throat grew reed thin as tears welled in her eyes. Choking out her truth, she said, “You did not turn me out onto the street when you found me in your dwelling place. You shared your food and you stood up to my brother as if I was worth your trouble, worth something. No one has ever done that for me save my father and mother. I will not lose you, Gilead.” She looked into the depths of his brown eyes. “My husband.” Her heartfelt declaration hung in the air. “You have the boldness of seven kings.”

Gil shuffled forward and tipped her chin with his finger. He seemed taller, broader. “You give me the confidence of ten kings. And if you will not run, then stay close to Naabak's shield and the letters from the palace. Pray whatever prayers your father recites in the temple. For the men of Manasseh will come out to meet the armies of Aram.”

The caress of his finger filled her with a fleeting hope. She and Gil may have been God's people, chosen and set apart, but this day they were aligned with an enemy of Israel.

A soldier jerked on Gil's tunic. He pulled Gil from her grasp and pushed him toward the front of the caravan.

Benjamin mouthed, “
Shalom
.”

She sank to her knees and prayed.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone.

When she looked up, Gil had vanished amidst the fighting men of Aram.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God…and you Lord have cursed me. If you hear my petitions, heed this request.

Restore Naabak. But I beg you to rescue my Gil.

17

Hannah threw Naabak's uneaten lamb into the fire. Cinders sparked then blackened the meat to ash. The constant tromp of hooves, wheels, and footfalls had ceased, and only the occasional cadence of orders rang into the night. Darkness hid the sculpted cliffs that marked the entrance to her homeland.

The longing in her heart remained. Longing for Gil. Longing for her family and for her city. Why had God allowed her capture? Wasn't she seeking the mouthpiece of God in the land of the Levites?

“I have been faithful all my life,” she muttered to a winking star. “Do not abandon me when I have come so far in search of your prophet.”

The crush of pebbles startled her.

“I knew you to be mad. Shrewd, but mad.” Konath knelt by the fire and glanced toward Naabak's cart. “And what of our commander?”

“He lives.” She drew back from the heat of the flames. And from him. One swift move and he could drag her into the darkness.

“Pity. Death would spare us a battle.”

His laugh rippled along her skin snake-charming the hairs on her neck and arms.

“You have breached this border before.” She switched the subject from death. “Did you not leave any plunder?”

“There will be spoils.” The sweep of his gaze toward Reumah's bedchamber caused Hannah's throat to gag. “And sport. Your husband may be able to fight one or two of my men, but a dozen? His flesh will feed the vultures from here to Damascus.”

Spit pooled in her mouth. The desire to slap his face wooed her. She swallowed the temptation. “You are wicked. Do you not fear God? The men of Manasseh?”

“Who is the wicked one? You tease me and run for refuge. Interrupt my pleasures. Snatch sport from my arena. Plot schemes with my commander.” He stalked around her like a hunter until his breath bathed her face. “Soon, I will answer to the King of Aram. No one else. Not your false god.”

“That is blasphemy.” She ducked from the cage of his body, nearer to Reumah's cart.

He blocked her path.

“I have been in wait for this command for too long. I am as great as Naabak. Have I not risen to fame in his absence? He is diseased. He must let go of his life.”

“You boast while Naabak suffers? What a vile man.” She spit forth the truth.

Konath chuckled. He beat his chest, reveling in the decay of his commander.

“I fear Reumah will not be enough for me when I am second to the King. I will be in need of concubines.”

She dodged the stroke of his fat fingers. “I may be contagious.”

He held his ground. “You look healthy.”

“I would die first.”

“How about you die after?” Konath's seductive smirk was a millstone in her belly.

Doubling back, she ran to the safety of Naabak's infirmary. Sitting cross-legged in the corner of his bed frame, she gripped the planked oak. She scraped the wood grain with her thumbnail, willing her heart not to burst forth through her ribs. Naabak's cart was her anchor in Konath's savage storm.

Aramean phrases filtered from Reumah's cart chamber. Hannah recognized Konath's hiss. She recognized Reumah's silky excuses. Hannah did not understand all the foreign bickering or the guttural threats. She did understand Reumah's final word to Konath. “No.”

Hannah had not realized she had fallen asleep until the
ah-wooh
summons of a ram's horn jolted her awake.

Naabak struggled to right himself. A cloth fell from his forehead.

Horse hooves drummed the ground, clopping closer.

“Commander,” a man shouted.

Hannah whipped open the drape. Her eyes flickered from dawn's light and a newly disturbed cloud of dirt.

“Men are waiting in the valley. Archers lurk in the cliffs,” the soldier's alert rushed from his mouth.

“Strength?” Naabak asked.

“One hundred men on the ground.”

“Weapons?” Naabak rocked forward. No fear or surprise agitated his voice.

“Swords. Spears. Bows. Arrows. Shields.” The soldier's gaze did not move from Naabak as the weapons were recited.

“Do they have horses? Chariots?”

The soldier shook his head. “None to speak of. The leader and a few men have mounts.”

“Do they fear us?” Naabak tented the sheet with his knees. It appeared he contemplated leaving the cart.

The soldier did not shrink away from Naabak's deformities. “Some. Most seem confident. The Hebrew slave has called out across the lines.”

“Your men have come to greet us.” Naabak set his gaze on Hannah's face.

She squelched the pride billowing in her chest. “You doubted their steadfastness. They will die protecting the land God gave them. Gave us.” Her people were not any different than the Arameans. But the men of Aram not only protected their borders, they raided to expand them.

“We seek your prophet, not bloodshed. They will respect the King's letters?” There was a hint of question in Naabak's statement.

She leaned closer to Naabak, her pride bursting forth. “My people are just.”

A choked dismissal came from the soldier.

She threw a wad of bandages his direction.

He ducked and stepped backward. His shadow grew smaller on the cloth wall.

“You must go to the front, Israel.” Naabak turned to the soldier. “And not due to her aim.” She thought she saw Naabak's mouth quiver. “Her husband will speak to the enemy for us. He will not jeopardize her life. The cost is too high if he betrays us.”

Would Naabak's confidence in Gil be so steadfast if he knew she and Gil were not married? Gil was a fighting man of Judah, a Hebrew before all else.

She wetted a cloth and placed it in Naabak's palm. “For when I am gone.”

After mounting the soldier's spirited mare, she righted her head covering. The men and priests of Mahanaim did not need to know she was cursed. The Damascus holy pattern on her tunic would be offensive enough.

She assessed Naabak's army. Rows of sword-ready men stood by chariots. All looked ready to devour the enemy. How had it come to this? She wanted to be right with God, not start a war. Her father had been diligent in his petitions for healing, but the prophet had turned her away. Turned his back on the line of Zebula. What would her life be like this day if the man of God had healed her curses? Would she have crossed paths with Gil? And if not, could she have found happiness with another? Gil consumed her thoughts, her feelings, her being. She did not want to dwell on a life without him.

Konath sat perched on a stallion. His front line spanned the width of the valley. He was flanked by two men. Susa, the soldier Naabak had sent to Damascus, accompanied Konath on his right side. The tormentor from the arena rode on Konath's left side. She searched for Gil. Her heart sped. Where was he? She dismounted and weaved her way to Konath.

The leader of Manasseh's forces trotted his horse forward.

A reverent silence descended on the valley as if life or death would be declared in the words that followed.

“What scheme of Aram brings you across our border?” the warrior shouted. He edged his horse under a battered acacia tree for cover. “Does not enough of our blood drip from your swords?”

Konath consulted his armor bearer.

Gil and Benjamin were led out from the ranks.

Relief flooded her limbs. They were alive and had not been cast off.

Gil and Benjamin wore embroidered tunics, bold in color with bronze rivets in their belts. How crafty of Konath to hide the stripes on their chests. They were no longer tied like sheep at shearing time.

Gil strolled into the expanse separating the two armies. Benjamin followed, along with a guard.

Gil raised his hands as if he planned to embrace all of Manasseh's men. “Aram seeks the prophet of Israel,” he shouted. “Shall we deny them the wisdom of
Adonai
?”