Among the Gods (13 page)

“I wasn’t held against my will. I was an accomplice in Joshua’s plot.”

Benjamin gave a snort of frustration. “King Manasseh doesn’t know that. Listen, we’d be helping each other. I’m responsible for this mission, and if I don’t capture Joshua, my life is over. I’ll be sitting in the palace dungeon beside you. Why don’t we help each other? Tell me where I can find him, son.”

Amariah hesitated, tempted by the opportunity to escape certain death, aware that Joshua had manipulated all of them into this mess by his blind quest for vengeance. Then he remembered Hadad. “I can’t do it, General. None of this would have happened in the first place if I hadn’t betrayed a friend. I won’t betray another one. You told me you admired my father’s courage. Well, I’d also like to be remembered as a man of courage.”

“But you’re signing my death warrant as well as your own!”

“I know, and I’m sorry. Now let’s get this over with.”

Amariah had decided to accept his fate and face the inevitable consequences when suddenly, for the second time, he felt an absurd ray of hope.

“Wait a minute, General. I think I know how we can both get out of this alive.”

“How?”

“Why don’t you escape to Egypt with us?”

Benjamin glared at him. “And walk out on my sworn duty? Leave all my men?”

“We live on an island in the Nile, a military garrison. We could use someone with your experience and skill to help with the training. You swore allegiance to the House of David and to God—well,
I’m
an heir of David, the only one who’s still faithful to God.”

“I can’t just walk away from—”

“From what? From evil? From immorality? What’s keeping you in Manasseh’s service besides fear?”

He witnessed the struggle being waged in General Benjamin’s soul as decades of duty and loyalty battled his wish to live. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. “I can’t leave my family.”

“Who’ll take care of them if my brother executes you? Listen, even if you capture Joshua, even if Manasseh lets you live, you’ll forfeit your soul if you continue to follow my brother’s orders. ‘Above all else, guard your heart,’ the Scriptures declare, ‘for it is the wellspring of life.’”

Sweat trickled down Benjamin’s face, leaving trails on his dusty skin. “I need time to think,” he breathed.

Amariah sank down at the base of the tree again as hope turned his knees to water. “I can wait.”

12

A
MARIAH WAS STILL WAITING
FOR General Benjamin to reach a decision when he spotted another soldier moving toward them. “Someone’s coming, General.”

He looked up. “That’s my aide. I was supposed to meet him outside Timnah.”

When Amariah saw the icy determination in Benjamin’s eyes, fear pounded through him. “Do the right thing, General. Come to Egypt with us.”

Metal hissed against leather as the general drew his sword. He turned and waved it high in the air to catch the approaching soldier’s attention. The aide spotted him and waved in return, then began jogging toward them. Amariah stayed where he was, too weak with hunger and fear to stand, but Benjamin strode forward to meet his aide. They were too far away for Amariah to hear their words, but he saw the general gesturing broadly as he talked, and the younger man nodding, pointing behind him in the direction he’d just traveled. Amariah’s chest ached from the relentless hammering of his heart.

Finally the two men parted—the soldier heading back the way he’d come, Benjamin returning to the tree where Amariah still sat. The general’s face betrayed nothing as he sheathed his sword. “Tell me what our escape route would be. How did you plan to get out of Judah and back to Egypt again?”

“You’re going with us?”

“I’ll point my men in the wrong direction, then meet up with you and the others. Tell me where.”

Amariah couldn’t speak. What if he was walking into another trap? What if the general was using him to lead his men to Joshua? And what should he do about Dinah?

“We didn’t have an escape plan,” he finally managed to say. “Joshua never imagined that his plot would fail.”

Benjamin shook his head impatiently. “I don’t believe you. I trained Joshua better than that.”

“I … I’m sorry, General … but how do I know this isn’t a trick?”

He smiled slightly. “You’re not as naïve as I always thought you were. And very wise to be suspicious. But you can trust me. A soldier is a man of his word.”

“Hadad wasn’t.”

“I’m not Hadad. I won’t betray you.”

Amariah had never made a decision of this importance in his life without turning to Joshua or someone else for guidance. He didn’t know what to do. So many people’s lives were at stake, including his own. He thought he now understood how it had been for his father when he was forced to decide whether to trust God or surrender to the Assyrians. This was what leadership was all about—and what Amariah had always tried to avoid. He needed to make a decision. He would have to trust God to help him make the right one.

Benjamin gestured impatiently. “Look, we know you probably smuggled everyone into the country on a caravan—Hadad told us that much. I figure that’s how you’re getting everyone out again, right? What city are you leaving from and which caravan is it?”

Amariah whispered a silent prayer, then told him. “The village of Nahshon. We’re leaving with Ishmaelite spice traders.”

“Good. Now go back to your hiding place and stay there. I’ll clear all my men out of this area so you can make it to Nahshon after dark. I’ll meet you there early tomorrow.” He was gone before Amariah could reply.

Uncertainty consumed him as he watched General Benjamin disappear over the rise. There was nothing more Amariah could do. He turned and slowly made his way back to the thicket where Dinah was hiding.

As the sun set and the first stars appeared in the sky, Miriam still lay unconscious. Joshua no longer considered leaving her as long as she was alive. If Manasseh’s men found him, so be it. It was time he paid for his own mistakes instead of involving innocent people.

Hunger gnawed at him, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. His sword wounds, coated with dirt and dried blood, throbbed and burned like fire. He should cleanse them to avoid getting a fever, but he didn’t have any water. Besides, if he was going to die of something, it would probably be of thirst, not his wounds. He couldn’t recall ever needing a drink of water so badly. He’d lost both sweat and blood, then sat exposed to the sun all day with nothing to drink. He knew the dangers of going too long without water, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Miriam’s side, fearing she would awaken and spend her last moments of life alone.

He still gripped her hand as he’d promised. It had felt icy all day in spite of the warm afternoon sun. Now that the sun had set, the air would turn cool in the Judean hills. Joshua took off his outer robe and covered Miriam with it. Then he lay down beside her to share the warmth of his body with her.

He lost all track of time after darkness fell, but no matter where his thoughts wandered, they always seemed to drift back to Miriam. If he thought of his childhood—his home, his family—he would remember the crude shack Miriam had called home, the pitiful scraps of love she had been accorded. If he thought of the work he’d done and the praise he’d received for it, he would remember the hard, thankless labor Miriam had performed since joining his family two years ago, the indifferent way he’d treated her in return. Joshua had been given so much, Miriam so little. They had both faced enormous losses, yet hatred had emerged from his, love from hers. In spite of all she’d been through, her sweet, uncomplaining nature had never changed.

Miriam deserved better than a cruel death at the foot of a cliff. She deserved to live, to marry a man who loved her, to raise a family. Joshua knew that the odds against her survival were very great. But the odds that he would survive as a premature infant had been equally great. His father’s prayers had beaten those odds. Joshua closed his eyes and cried out to God.

As the constellations marched across the sky above him, Joshua prayed harder than ever before, pleading for Miriam’s life.

Joshua awoke with a start, angry with himself for falling asleep. It was still night. A pale moon had risen above the cliff behind him, bathing the valley with silvery light. He shivered in the chilly air and leaned on one elbow to check on Miriam. Her eyes were open. She turned her head to look at him, and a faint smile crossed her lips.

“You’d better pray that I die,” she whispered.

“No, I’m praying that you’ll live!”

“But the Torah says if you sleep with a virgin, you have to marry her.” Tears shone in her eyes. “You were asleep. I heard you snoring.”

He gaped at her, too stunned to speak. Her smile widened.

“Don’t look so horrified. It was a joke.”

“A joke?”

“You do know what a joke is, don’t you, Joshua?”

“Of course, but I—”

“Do you know that in the two years I’ve known you, I’ve never heard you laugh or seen you smile? I’ll bet you have a nice smile, too. Like your mother’s. She told me that ‘A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.’”

Joshua tried to smile, but his heart felt as if it were breaking. “Would it help you to heal faster if I laughed?”

She considered for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I think the shock would probably kill me.”

He did laugh then, but it was bittersweet. He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks because he knew that she couldn’t do it herself.

“You’re right,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed. And I’m so tired of feeling this way. Grief has affected every area of my life—it’s hamstrung my work, blinded my judgment, poisoned all my relationships—but I don’t know how to shake it off. I can’t get free of it.”

“It isn’t grief that did all that,” Miriam said. “It’s hatred.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because your mother’s grief was every bit as deep as yours, but she never tried to kill anyone.”

Joshua saw the truth of her words, and her insight stunned him. “I thought that if I killed Manasseh, if I could return to the life I once had, the pain would go away and I would be myself again. But now … now I know that I’ll never get my old life back again.”

“It wasn’t your life that changed, it was your heart. You were so tender that first day Abba brought you home. You gave him your cloak and your shoes, you thanked me for nursing your fever, you bought salve for Mattan’s leg, and you spoke so kindly to Nathan when you offered to be his father. You said, ‘I know how much a father means to a boy. I’ll try to be a father to you if you’ll let me.’ I still remember your words and the way that you said them.”

“I didn’t keep my promise, did I?” He felt the sick, dull ache of guilt when he remembered how poorly he had treated Nathan, how he had driven him from the island. And Miriam had known about Maki all along. When Joshua recalled how his grandfather had adopted Maki as a ragged urchin, deep shame settled in his soul. He hadn’t followed the godly example Grandpa Hilkiah had set. Miriam was right; his heart had changed.

“Joshua, when you get back to Egypt—”

“You mean when
we
get back?”

She smiled slightly. “All right, when
we
get back … could you give my brother another chance? Please?”

He couldn’t face her. “I think it would be more appropriate if I asked him to give
me
another chance.”

“Promise?” she whispered.

He forced back the lump choking his throat. “I’ll make it legal, Miriam. He’ll be my son. I’ll give him my name, I promise.” He saw the relief on her face, as if a weight had been lifted from her.

“See? You do have a tender heart underneath it all,” she said after a moment. “But you’ve grown so hard on the outside, like the crust on a stale loaf of bread. You don’t let anyone get close to you, Joshua. In fact, everyone is afraid of you. It’s as if you have a poisonous snake coiled inside you, and no one knows when it will leap out and strike.”

Joshua groaned. “I know, but I can’t help it, I can’t control it. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? I’ve ruined people’s lives, people I loved. I’ve killed three men and I would have killed a fourth if someone hadn’t pried me off him.”

“And when your hatred has finished destroying everyone around you, Joshua, it’s going to destroy you.”

“God help me, it already has … look at me!” He touched his hated eye patch, then let his fingers trail down his scarred face. “And this is just the damage on the outside. But how can I stop it? How can I kill this monster before it kills me?”

Miriam was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “You have to stop feeding it.”

“Feeding it?”

“It grows on your anger; it’s hungry for vengeance. Don’t store it up in your heart anymore.”

“I wish I could get rid of it … but I can’t forget what Manasseh has done.”

“Of course you can’t forget. But deciding to let go of the anger or hold on to it is a choice you can make every day. Jerusha says that if you give your hatred to God, He’ll make something beautiful out of it.”

He studied Miriam in the moonlight and thought she was the loveliest, most courageous woman he had ever known. “Have you been this wise all along, Miriam … and I never knew it?”

She had saved his life two times; now if only she would save him from himself. He twined his fingers in hers and lifted their joined hands so she could see them. “You can hold on to me,” he told her, “if you’ll let me hold on to you.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“What is it, Miriam? What’s wrong?”

“I used to dream that someday you would hold my hand this way. And now that you are, I can’t even feel it.”

Joshua wiped her tears away as they fell. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Then, not knowing what else to do, he lay down beside her again and rested his cheek where she could feel it, against her own.