Providence (9 page)

Laughter, deep and taunting, drifted out over the stone walls.

She stilled.

And listened.

To familiar words. Hebrew words. Words of judgment. The jeers reminded her of Gil's teasing tone when he mimicked his mother's call.

Can it be?
Her body became light as air. Her heart pounded hard and fast like a celebratory drum, sending a ripple down her back as if a palm frond fanned her flesh.

Tank. Tank. Clink.
Curses roared out. The praise of her God echoed over the wall.

She soared out of the chariot.

“Where are you going?” Mereb's words slurred together as if he was stunned by her initiative. “I will not risk rebuke coming to your defense.”

“I am not asking you to.” She charged toward the entrance to the ring. Her nerves sizzled like a frog landing on hot rocks.

Mereb trailed after her. “You fool. Come back in the cart. You will not get far.”

She whirled around. Tears of joy welled in her eyes. “Go back to your perch. This does not concern you.”

Mereb squinted in her direction. “That is Hebrew I hear. Do you know someone fighting in that arena?” Mereb crossed his arms and made a questioning humming sound.

She left him planted halfway between the chariot and the enclosure. Peering into the arena, she searched for the voice. Please let it be him.

A soldier pointed a sword at the back of a man clad in a loin cloth. The man had no tunic to absorb the blood streaking down his left arm. The pair walked toward the mountain to a gated entrance. Before they entered, the injured man scuffled with one of the guards. The first soldier seized the man's arms, twisting the bloody gash. She cringed at the pain he must have endured.

The wounded man shouted curses at the soldier.

She knew that defiant stance.

His head swiveled her direction.

She knew that defiant grin.

Blood pounded from her temples to her toes. Praise leapt from her lips.

My Gil is alive.

But for how long?

12

The delight in finding Gil alive was a bitter root. The Aramean soldiers had not slain Gil in the village, but by the looks of his bloodied body, they would cast him off soon enough. Gil's place was in the fields outside of Jerusalem, not in a fortress outside of Damascus.

Her throat tightened. She would not leave Gil to die alone in a mountain. His life would not end in anguish.

She called to Mereb. “Where does that opening in the mountain go?”

Mereb eyed her as though she had asked for the King's secrets. “There are caves in the mountain. Captives are held in them. It is of no concern of yours, or is it?”

She rushed into the arena, tripped, and fell in the dirt, her thoughts and plans outpacing her feet. She had to go to Gil. He'd protected her. She could not abandon him to a slow death. Not at the hands of these barbarians.

“Oh Adonai, give me wisdom,” she mumbled as she rose.

“Have you been in the heat too long?” Mereb grabbed hold of her sleeve. She swatted at his hand. “Those caves are dark. The souls of the men inside are darker still. They will ravish an innocent like you. And woe to the woman who does not die swiftly.”

She marched ahead. She was not afraid of dying. How often had Gil faced death in the arena? Every day?

“If you enter the mountain, it is almost certain you will not come out. You think yourself too good for the priest, but you will give yourself to a host of brutes?” Mereb chastised her as though she were a wayward child. “Reumah will hold me accountable for your rebellion. No one is worth this calamity.”

“Yes, someone is.” She licked her lips. Her tongue had little moisture to share. “If Naabak is in the caves, he will help me.” Her hope became her prayer.

“It is not for certain Naabak is inside. Or that he would favor your request.” He held out his hand to her. “Come back to the chariot. Do not upset Reumah any more than you already have.”

She met Mereb's authoritative gaze. Guilt and longing and shame pulsed behind her eyes, into her temples.
Gil suffers because of me. Lowly, sinful me.

“You are returning to the house?” Mereb nodded as if she had already agreed to his wishes.

“I am going into the caves.” She continued her journey through the arena, toward the mountain. She had one purpose, and one purpose only, to rescue Gil. She willed her hands to stop trembling.
Hear O' Israel, the Lord is our God.

As she neared the mountain, the gate opened.

She halted and clasped her hands behind her, feigning an assignment.

The chariot driver stood in the doorway, hands on his hips.

“Charges obey or they are beaten until they do.” The driver reached for her arm.

She stepped backward. “And what of the charge given us?” She indicated a far-off Mereb, statue still. “Our mistress desired we console her husband and bring word of his health.” Her indignation rose to the heavens. “You ran off before we could inquire of you.” The louder she spoke, the bolder she became.

The driver snorted a laugh. “No one sees Naabak except for our new commander. Konath is protected from the plague by the gods.”

Were these the same gods that protected Naabak? Konath seemed sure of his immortality.

Mereb arrived at her side, catching his breath from an apparent hurried stroll.

She shot the Moabite a crinkled-nose glare. Was he going to help her see Naabak after all, or was this another scheme like his trickery in the temple?

“Naabak is the commander until his death…or until removal by the King…not Konath.” Mereb spoke between breaths. “To speak otherwise is punishable by death.”

“How dare you question me?” The driver grabbed Mereb's cloak. “You are nothing but dung for the fire.”

“You speak the truth.” She placed a protective hand on Mereb's shoulder, unwilling to see Mereb bloodied like Gil. He may be of some help to her with his knowledge of the caves. “Our lives are worth far less than the lives of the King's soldiers. That is why we were sent to seek out Naabak. If we perish, others will come to take our place.” Her declaration seemed to calm the soldier's rage. Bowing with her face to the ground, she added hastily, “Great are you defender of Aram.”

She glanced up at their driver. It took memories of Gil's beating to flood her eyes with tears of sincerity. “May I ask for your protection inside the mountain? We began this journey under your authority.”

The soldier released Mereb, but she remained low, beseeching him from the dirt.

Mereb knelt beside her. His lips moved but no sound came forth.

The soldier scanned the area. “Get up.” He shoved Mereb toward the opening. Her forced humility and flattery had worked.

Leaving the afternoon sun behind, she stepped into the shadows of a large mountain tomb filled with rock and shadows and tunnels. The tunnels wound to the right and left of the opening. Torches cast a halo of light but left a trail of soot on the rock. She touched the wall to steady herself and shuddered from the cool stone.
Oh God, I do not need to slay thousands as King David. I need to save one man, one of your servants.

Mereb and the driver turned to the east. She followed. They headed toward a planked door with an armed guard.

The scuff of sandals echoed in the corridor. Was it Naabak? Had he been told of visitors?

Up ahead, men emerged from a bend in the passageway. Her heart seized, beating like a frightened dove's wings. Konath and two soldiers blocked their path. She recognized one of the men. He had mocked Gil.

“My Lord,” the driver said, clearing room for Konath to pass. “Naabak's wife has sent her servants to aid her husband.”

Hannah glanced back the way they had come. Could she race to the light without getting caught? To the chariot? And what then?

Konath's breath warmed the top of her head. His hand brushed her cheek while his grip on her arm stopped the rush of blood.

“You could not stay away from me?” His chuckle hollowed her stomach.

An answer gurgled in her throat. “We came to—”

“Seduce me? Or satisfy my men?” Konath backed her against the stone wall. Juts in the rock pricked her skin. Her thin dress did little to stop the pain.

“Naabak gave me to his wife,” she said, hoping the name of the king's commander would spare her ruin.

“She is not here.” The rumble in his voice raised the hairs on her skin like a swarm of locusts had come to feed on her flesh. “And my captives thirst for a woman.”

“No,” she screamed, pushing his chest in earnest to dislodge her prey. “Leave me be. What you do to me, you do to Reumah.”

“Wait,” Mereb said.

She stilled, but her muscles tensed, ready for a fight. Thankfully, soldiers bore witness to this injustice. Naabak had saved her from his second-in-command before. Surely, Konath saw the peril in harming the commander's gift to his wife.

Mereb pointed toward the arena. “I believe she seeks a man. A Hebrew. One who recently fought outside.”

“He lies!” Traitor!
“I seek Naabak. No other.” The force of her denial burned her throat. Jerking her arm, she squirmed to get free.

Konath held fast and lifted her closer to his foul mouth. “What sport to see a Hebrew dog fight to save his bitch.” Konath's cackle made her soul tremble.

She dropped her weight to the ground and kicked in a frenzy. Flailing her right arm, she lashed out at anything in the path of her fist. Her hand met bronze-embedded leather. Her knuckles throbbed and her fingers numbed. She needed Naabak. Where was he?

Breath surged from her lungs. “Naa—”

Konath's hand muffled her scream. He dragged her toward the planked door.

“Open it,” Konath demanded of the guards.

Air rushed from her nostrils. She continued to summon Naabak. His name reverberated in Konath's palm.
Clawing at the ground with her feet, her curled toes bent the leather of her sandals.

Metal scraped on metal as the latch lifted and the door opened.

Konath shoved her into the dark cave, face first.

“Mereb. Please.” Her scream rang out as she skidded on her chest in a slop of mud.

She scrambled to her feet. Her body tensed, ready for what lay in wait for her in the shadows.

The glow from the torch in the tunnel revealed bodies. Men's bodies. Moving toward her.

“I will see you after,” Konath jeered. “One riot is enough for today.”

The door slammed shut, leaving her in darkness. Muffled congratulatory laughter rumbled on the other side of the planks.

In a breath, hands ripped at her clothes like vultures tugging on raw meat. She punched and pounded and bit.

“Gil,” she rasped, frantic for his answer. “
Shalom.
Merciful God.”

“Hannah?”

His voice was like an angel's trumpet. “Gil. I am here.”

He cursed, loud and guttural. The would-be rapists were cast aside like rags. A protective arm encircled her waist.

“You uncircumcised pagans. Unhand my wife.”

13

She hid behind Gil, the man who had declared to the barbarians that he was her husband. Could it be that their bond still held even though Gil suffered in this pagan pit on her account?

Shouts, some of them Hebrew, some of them foreign, erupted from the darkness. Backing into a wall, she ravaged anything that reached around Gil's protective shield. Flesh pounded on flesh. Bodies fell. Groans rose from the floor. Panic seized her muscles. Her arms trembled from the tension.

Squinting into the darkness, her eyes sought Gil. How long could he last? Against how many men? She remembered his bloodied arm from the arena and lashed out at any brush of her clothing. It was not much help, but it was some.

“Benjamin. Stand for me,” Gil called to another in Hebrew. The intensity of his request sent shivers dancing over her exposed skin.

A careful arm embraced her shoulders. Gil enfolded her into his chest. It was slick. She hoped not with blood.

“Come. Now.” Gil pulled her from the fight, leaving the crazed men to devour each other.

Gil led her through the darkness. How could he navigate without light? It was not impossible, but with every step she feared tumbling or striking stone. A sea of harsh rocks pierced the soles of her bared feet. She ignored the pain, relishing the distance from the other captives.

She jerked sideways. Gil lifted her off the ground and set her in an alcove. Damp stone guarded her back. Gil guarded her front. She was safely wedged in a recess with a man she feared had been murdered because he fought for her.

Gil's breath tickled the side of her face. “I prayed you were safe. Now you share my pit.”

“Will they not follow?” She pressed her cheek against his. She wanted to feel the rumble of his words. The bristle of his beard. The hammering of his heart.

“Benjamin is tall and strong.” She could almost hear a grin in his voice. “There are only three others and one is injured.” Three?
It seemed they had fought a legion.

She collapsed into his chest. His embrace joined their bodies. She reached up and stroked his jaw. He held her fingers on his face. There would be no chastisement for their closeness. Gil was alive. God had answered one prayer.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered through ragged breaths. “I looked for you on the journey…” Tears slowed her words.

“I was bound and gagged like a criminal. They slung me over an ass and left me with the herds.” His voice was hushed, but she could hear the anger low in his throat.

“When I saw you today. With the soldiers. I could not leave you to die. Not again.” She quieted her sobs and nestled into his neck. “We should have stayed in Jerusalem.”

He shook his head. “I wanted to come on this journey. Whatever happens, remember that.” His hands slid into her hair and stilled over her ear nubs. His jaw tensed. “What have they done to you?” Fury hovered in his hushed voice.