Providence (11 page)

Hannah leaned over Naabak's shriveled form. “How can I ever repay you?'

Naabak's eyes fluttered open. No sound came from his sore-laden mouth.

The scrunch of pebbles filtered into the cavern. Konath lingered in the tunnel. He hissed words at Reumah, but he saved his best just-wait leer for Hannah.

She turned, faced the ground, and prayed aloud. She would have sworn a spider crawled down her side.

When Konath was out of view, she slumped against Naabak's bed. Her bones were as paste. It took all her fortitude to stand and offer her gratitude to Reumah.

“I am doubly in your debt,” she said, standing close enough for Reumah to hear her thankfulness, but not close enough to spread the disease. “You spared me humiliation in that pit. And now you champion for Gil's life.”

Reumah stepped backward and briefly removed the veil from her nose. “Do not thank me for what has yet to be done. I do not know how much fight is left in your husband.”

Tears pooled in Reumah's eyes. Hannah wondered if the woman truly spoke of Gil, or if the guilt of leaving Naabak to suffer alone while she committed adultery weighed on Reumah's soul.

“The stench is too much,” Reumah sobbed.

Distant curses ricocheted off the tunnel walls.

If there was a time to beseech Reumah about the prophet, it was now.
Hannah licked her lips and dredged up compassion for this woman with whom she had shared fellowship.

“Where is Hadad's miracle? Did the advisor not speak to the gods on your behalf?” She spoke as if to a weeping child. “Come to Israel. I will lead you. If Naabak is healed, your status does not change. You remain a wealthy woman with armies at your feet. If he dies, what will become of you?”

The linen fell from Reumah's face. “I have a home—”

“Has Konath sworn an oath to you?” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper as if she spoke a confidence. “Does he comfort you every night?”

A flash of doubt stilled Reumah's expression. “Konath is a man of position.” Reumah smoothed the folds of her gown. “He is not always in camp.”

Was Reumah blind to what awaited her? Did she truly trust Konath with her future? Hannah had to show Reumah that she may not end up a wife, but a concubine. “Does your king not have daughters of marrying age?”

“Stop it.” Reumah shuddered and hugged her chest. The smell did not seem to be as rotten as the thought of her widowhood.

Hannah continued, “Bring me vessels of fresh water, hyssop, and cedar wood. Bandages and clean clothes. Your husband will be well enough to travel in a few days. The God of Israel will succeed where Hadad fails. His prophet resides in Mahanaim, but for how long I do not know.”

Konath's return interrupted her plea.

“You want this circumcised fool?” Konath shoved Gil into the small room. Gil stumbled and sank to his knees. Blood and bruises covered his body.

Cramps seized her stomach. How dare they whip Gil like a stubborn ox? Ignoring the pulsing pain in her belly, she rushed to Gil's aid.

“You should not be near the fever.” She shifted Gil toward the wall for support. His armpits were the only part of his upper body not lashed and raw.

Konath chuckled. No remorse showed on his face. “You have lost a servant for the night.” He guided Reumah down the hall. “I will not allow such freedoms with my slaves.”

Hannah followed them to the threshold. “Please. Clean water and hyssop.” Her voice echoed in the corridor. She didn't care if the soldiers heard and thought her brash, she would fight for Naabak's survival. “Tunics and strips of cloth.”

Reumah hesitated. Her gaze fell to her feet. Had she caught her sandal on a rock or did she stumble from the shame of abandoning her husband in a burial chamber?

Reumah returned to the entrance of the catacomb.

Konath inspected his knuckle as if a scratch was more important than his intended bride.

“My lot is cast,” Reumah said. “Leprosy has destroyed my husband and my future.”

“Let me take you to the Holy Land.” Hannah took a small step toward Reumah. “All things will be made new.” The thrust of her last word was aimed at Reumah's conscience.

Naabak coughed.

Reumah's eyes glistened. “Not for me.”

Konath called out in Aramean.

“Trust in the One True God,” Hannah shouted. “You have to trust.”

The guard stared at her as she beheld an empty tunnel.

A gurgling noise came from the bed.

She hurried to Naabak and patted a sponge to his disintegrated mouth. “Master,” she whispered. “Seek the prophet in Israel. He can restore your body. I have seen flesh grow. New flesh. Right before my eyes.” She swatted at the gnats wanting to nest on Naabak's face and wondered where she and Gil would finish their days. In the arena? In the pit? Or worse, she in Konath's bed while Gil rotted in a grave.

She picked up Naabak's nearly empty pitcher and poured a few drops of water in Gil's mouth. He brushed her arm like she had given him a feast.

“She is a daughter of Aaron, the brother of Moses.” Gil's voice was uncharacteristically flat. No amusement rang in his words. “Her father atones for Israel's sins. It is the priest's duty to inspect skin for disease. Leprosy knows no borders between Aram and Israel.” Gil closed his eyes. His declaration had worn on him like another beating.

“I know of what my father and brothers recite,” she said, returning to Naabak's side. “It is the treatment given by our God. But I am not the equal of a priest.” She replaced the cloth on Naabak's forehead. Heat clung to the linen. Even the water was warm. And dirty.

“You know more than all of us,” Gil said in a half-conscious moan.

Naabak gazed at her. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it was devoured by threats of death.

“Seek the God of Moses. The hour is late and Hadad has not answered your prayers.” She shooed a fly from Naabak's eye.

“If Hadad wills—”

She fisted the bed sheet. “Call out to my God.”

“He is not mine.” Naabak turned his face from her. A pool of rose-colored sweat wetted the cloth underneath his head.

And look what your god has done. Nothing.
Her pulse drummed down to her fingertips
.
“What if another god triumphs over Hadad? You have fought many battles and won. What if there was a god with your prowess? One who is mightier than all the others?”

“Your God,” Naabak gurgled.

“Yes.” Her voice rang out with a righteous fervor. She dipped a sponge in the insect-infested water. “Come with me to Mahanaim. To see the prophet. To seek a new life.” She wiped a drip trickling down his swollen cheek. “Win this last battle.”

His eyes closed. “It is too late, Israel.”

“Then it is too late for me.” She wrung out the cloth not caring if leprosy overtook her pores. Without Naabak she would not live long. Without Gil, she would not care to live.

15

A moan rumbled from Gil's lips as she tied a bandage around his arm.

“You have treated that wound.” Gil tried to stretch out his body. He looked as agile as her elderly aunt.

“I have nothing to clean it with, but this will slow the bleeding. If the skin is pulled together, it may not scar.”

“What is one more mark?” He flinched at her touch.

“I should warn you. My father would pronounce me unclean. I have touched Naabak's rags.”

Gil's grunt became a snorted laugh. “Heathens have handled me all day. I lived in their filth.
Adonai
will have to overlook our transgressions. Do not stop. I was dreaming of your touch. Now I wake to find my dream has come true.”

A wave of desire filled her belly. “You should not speak of such things. We are not alone.”

“I will shout it in the fields. Without hindrance.” His voice grew louder. “I have found a wife.” His breath warmed her nose. “I can give you more children than that old priest.”

If she could have voiced a reply without feeling wanton, she would have encouraged his passion. She wanted to fall asleep on him and feel his strength, his warmth. But they were in captivity, awaiting Konath's wrath.

“It would be a blessing to give you a child and to watch your mother hold your babe.” She curled into his chest, careful not to press into his bruises. “Though I doubt I will even bear one child. I will perish here in Aram.” She glanced at the jagged rock cave. “This is our last resting place.”

“My mother has her husband's sons to fill her lap.” The weight of his chin pressed against her head covering. “I care only to fill your lap, and I shall make it so.”

The desire in his words delighted her. Oh, if she could only have his strength and vision.

She looked into Gil's battered face. “You are your mother's flesh and blood. A son she is proud to call her own. She told me you were a good man. You would help me in my time of need. I have seen that goodness tenfold.”

Gil's head rocked side to side against his stone backrest. “Do not tell anyone here. I have worked hard at my troublesome reputation.” His voice held a subdued tease.

She snuggled against his bandaged arm. Only a little scarlet stained the wrap. That was good. The sweet fellowship of being with Gil weighed on her eyelids. A brief nap would cause no harm.

After what seemed like an hour of restful sleep, Hannah woke to threats traveling down the corridor. She knew that agitated, know-it-all, Moabite voice.

Mereb appeared in the doorway. He slapped at the hesitant servants, urging them forward into the room with their large jars of water. A slave held a tray at arm's length like the bronze was already diseased. Mereb pushed the slaves forward, barking directions from a cautious distance. It seemed Reumah had honored her requests for clothing and aloes.

Naabak did not acknowledge the visitors. He stared at the ceiling as if bewitched by the stone.

Gil's head balanced on his bent knees. He was either unconcerned with Mereb's interruption or in a deep sleep. She rose and directed the slaves where to place the supplies. Had Reumah come to her senses? Was she willing to save her husband and her position?

“Provisions from the house.” Mereb opened his arms as though he were welcoming her to a banquet.

“Do not expect gratitude from me. You are a wicked man who betrays women.” She clenched her teeth to keep from spewing more mockery.

Mereb stood his dirt. “I bring you food, water, and clothing, and this is how you greet me? With hatred?”

“Is it time to throw me into another pit?” The memory of lust-fueled hands assaulting her was like a serpent crawling over her skin.

Mereb crossed his arms against the sheen of his damask sash. “Did you not seek him?” He pointed a finger at Gil. “If he is your husband, it is I who should be angry. Your soiled virginity would have been learned by the advisor's loins.”

Her heart hammered against her chest. She restrained her rage, not wanting to wake Naabak with her wailing. She had not lied to Mereb initially, and she would not undo the lie that had saved Gil's life. Another fist in Mereb's nose would be righteous revenge. “What allegiance do I owe to you? Have you not sent me into danger at the house, at the temple, and in this mountain?”

“Hah.” Mereb's head rocked backward. “Did I not send Reumah to find you?” His voice lowered. “If you had not insisted on saving your man, you would be asleep on your mat.”

“Only after a beating for refusing to unite with a pagan priest.” Voicing the events made her feel even more corrupted. “You forced me forward.”

Gil flinched at her confession. He began to rise.

Mereb started and turned to leave. “Wash your filth. Our mistress will return in the morning. She is expecting a miracle from your herbs. And from you.”

“My wife.” Naabak rolled onto his side. “Does she desire my healing?”

“We all do.” Hannah gave Gil a raised-eyebrow look that insisted he stay silent.

“This had better not be a trick,” Mereb uttered under his breath.

“These remedies come from God's law.” She fisted her hands. “I assure you it is not a game.”

Turning from Mereb, she rushed to attend to Naabak's sores. She poured fresh water in a basin and scrubbed all the way from her fingers to her elbows. How she wished she could submerge her whole body and be ceremonially clean. But bathing before she handled Naabak's flesh was useless and a waste of their precious water.

Tearing the hyssop leaves into pieces, she swirled them in a jar.

“Do you not fear illness?” Naabak asked, his eyes intent on her preparations.

“I am confident the hyssop that cures your infection will protect my skin as well.” Bending over the bed, she loosened his burlap-colored bandages.
Oh, to have a fire to burn these in.

Naabak shuddered as his flesh clung to the cloth.

“The sap from the leaves should soothe your skin,” she added to calm his apprehension.

“You put too much faith in this ritual.” Tremors shook the commander's body as if her hands were spiked blades.

She placed a wetted cloth on his stubbed feet. “The faith I have is in my God and His Law. But you must rest your mouth. When I am done tending you, our meal shall be cool enough to eat.” For a moment, she envisioned herself back in Jerusalem, serving her father and mother. Her days away from home seemed like years. Would her family still accept her after all the strife she had caused?

“It is stew.” Gil held the pot's lid in his hand. “The meat is pork.”

Her stomach argued for its portion. “Are you certain?”

Gil breathed in deep. “Yes. With
nana.
Mint.” He held out two bowls. “I will take out our portions before you dip the commander's bread. It may do little good, but his open flesh will make the meal unclean.”

A grunt of humor came from Naabak's throat.