Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) (28 page)

“It’s easier for you to be sure of that,” said Sarai. “You’ve
heard
his word.”

“And so have you. When you spoke to Neb-Towi-Re and the words came to you with such certainty that you couldn’t doubt them. Have you already forgotten?”

“No, but . . . this doesn’t feel like that.”

“It doesn’t have to feel that way to you,” said Abram. “You’re not leading these men into battle. It only has to feel that way to
me.
”

“Then don’t get angry with me for not having the same certainty you have.”

“I wasn’t angry,” said Abram.

“You were something,” said Sarai. “Disappointed in me? That’s worse. Worried that I might be falling into unbelief? Ashamed of me?”

“Not disappointed, not worried, not ashamed.”

“What then.”

“All right, I was angry, but I see now that I was being unfair to expect you to have the same confidence I feel when you haven’t received the same assurance God gave me. I can’t help how I feel, anyway.”

“I just don’t want you to go away from me into battle with anger in your heart.”

“The only thing I’ll be feeling is dread.”

“But you said that God had assured you of victory!”

“Many men will die,” said Abram. “Some of them at my hand. Only an evil man could head joyfully into battle, even when the cause is just. And God does not fight the battles of evil men.”

“Except for the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah,” said Sarai.

“They’ll just be spectators. In
their
battle, God did nothing for them.”

“Send me word, Abram, that’s all I ask. Send me word of your victory.”

“I’ll ride home to you myself, faster than any messenger could come.”

“No you won’t,” said Sarai. “That’s very sweet of you to say and it made my heart jump when you said it, but you’ll have a thousand decisions to make and tasks to do and it will take you days to get home and I want to know as fast as possible. So will all the wives and children of the other men. Send us word.”

“I will send a messenger,” Abram promised. “With a list of all the men who have been killed or injured. You’re right that no one should worry for a moment longer than necessary.”

They rode in silence for a while. Then they talked of other things—plans for weddings of several of the young men of the household who had found wives, supplies that were running short and would need replenishing, the need to acquire a servant who knew metal-working at a higher level than any of the men now in the household, the need for a new loom. Only as they came in sight of the camp did they speak again of the battle to come.

“I used to think,” said Sarai, “that it was good that I didn’t marry a king, because kings have to lead soldiers into war, to defend the city or drive off enemies. Kings have to bloody their hands with the judging of criminals. I was glad that I was married to a man who had no such painful memories, none of the wounds that such things can cause to a man with a gentle heart. But now, Abram, now I see that I did marry a king after all.”

“Only the servant of a king,” said Abram.

“No, Abram. All kings are servants of God and servants of their people, or they’re not worthy to be kings at all.”

“Melchizedek in Salem,
he’s
a king. A whole city of people who live in holiness, whose every possession is consecrated to the service of God. I’m just a shepherd.”

“You are king over the land God has given you, Abram. Don’t argue with me on this. I’m right, and it’s only because you take such pride in your humility that you’re even arguing with me.”

Abram laughed at that, laughed loud and long. “Pride in my humility,” he said, and laughed again.

But he didn’t argue with her anymore.

They rode off that morning, Abram at their head, quite a formidable looking army to anyone who hadn’t seen the horde in the Jordan Valley. At least they didn’t leave with jesting and boasting, as Sarai had seen soldiers do back in Ur-of-the-North. Abram offered sacrifice on the altar at dawn, and the soldiers left with solemnity, knowing that if they succeeded, they would be sending many of the enemy back to God, and probably some of their own number would make that journey, too. It was with grim determination to be a fit weapon in the hands of God that they went, and not with any pride in their own strength. They well knew that they were armed shepherds, not soldiers who also tended sheep.

And when they were gone, the camp was Sarai’s to command. There were boys to send as runners to the various flocks and herds scattered throughout Canaan, making sure that all was well with them. There were women to keep busy in the work of the camp and in the spinning and weaving that occupied them always. And through it all, Sarai could not show her own fears and doubts, for she had to set an example of cheerful confidence and faith.

Faith. She felt hypocritical, pretending to a confidence she did not feel. Of course, she could hear Abram’s voice in her head, saying that to give the appearance of confidence
was
an attribute of faith, for to behave as if you were certain when you had no certainty was to throw yourself into the hands of God, and encourage others to make the same leap. But if she could not be certain in the first place, it was hard to then be certain of the rightness of her pretense of certainty. It was like the way four-legged creatures moved across ragged ground. Having three legs to stand on while the fourth found a new step, their bodies remained steady and their forward progress smooth. But Sarai was a two-legged creature, and so when she walked the same ragged ground, she lurched back and forth like a drunk. She just didn’t have as many legs to balance on, when it came to faith.

And yet she did what needed doing, day after day, until a girl started shouting, “A rider! A rider!”

Sarai arose from her place at the door of her tent and walked toward where she could see what the girl saw. Hagar trotted after her, and soon all the other women and children and old men of the camp had left their work to watch the rider approach. He did not have his horse at a gallop—he was not giving a warning, and it was not worth the life of a horse just to deliver news, good or bad. Still, it was maddening to watch as the horse varied from canter to trot to walk, depending on the path. Finally, as the horse came nearer, the rider himself became impatient. He leapt from the back of the beast and ran on light feet toward the camp, leaving the horse to follow at its own leisurely pace. That was when Sarai knew that the news was good, for no man would have run on his own feet to deliver news of grief.

“Victory!” cried the man. “And not one of ours is dead!”

“Bring him food and drink before he says another word,” said Sarai. “And make sure all the runners are here to listen to his tale, so they can carry the same word to all the herdsmen. You may tell the rest of the tale without me.” Then she returned to her tent.

She could hear them murmuring behind her. Why didn’t she want to hear the tale herself?

Hagar reluctantly followed her toward her tent, but Sarai sent her back. “I can do this work for myself, and you’ll want to hear the whole story.”

“But don’t you want to hear it?”

“In due time,” said Sarai.

Hagar went back to the group gathered around the messenger, who was gratefully drinking from a carafe and gobbling bread. Sarai went inside her tent and quickly packed some extra clothing into a bag for herself and for Hagar. Then she made her way to the tent by the cookfires where food was kept and put traveling food into another bag. Only when she started loading these things onto the back of a horse did anyone come to help her. And then they understood why she hadn’t bothered to listen to the details of the story—she was going to have the messenger lead her back to Abram.

Soon she, Hagar, and the messenger were mounted and, leading a single pack horse, set off across the same country the messenger had just traveled. Then at last she heard the tale. Abram’s little army had remained out of sight in the hills as Chedorlaomer’s host journeyed up the broad valley of the Jordan. The invaders were not in a hurry now, and so instead of hurrying across the desert they were taking the great circling route through the well-watered lands, to join the Euphrates somewhere in Syria and then use the river to carry their spoils down to the cities that they ruled. Knowing their plan, Abram did not have to remain close enough to be detected.

Even when the enemy began to make their way up the narrow roads into the hills on the road to Damascus, Abram kept his men back, and the messenger was candid about how some of them began to wonder if Abram was afraid of the battle to come. But no, he simply knew that the right opportunity had not yet presented itself. It was not until the enemy camped near Hoban, not far from Damascus, that the circumstances were right. The enemy camp was divided among several small valleys, and steep-walled hills made them complacent. The mercenary soldiers drank and ate copiously, and Abram waited until the camp was still.

Then he led his men quietly on foot down the steep slope. The plan was simple—to move swiftly and quietly toward the tents of the four kings, and Abram divided his men into five groups—four to attack the kings where they slept, and the other group to free the prisoners and keep them safe in the ensuing battle. Abram’s men did not stop to kill drunken soldiers in their sleep, but rather passed them by—passed by the sleeping sentinels supposedly on watch, passed by even the guards at the doors of the kings’ tents. Only inside the tents did the shouting—and the killing—begin.

The shouts of those who were wakened by swords, the clash of weapons, and the screams of the dying finally roused the camp, but by the time the soldiers had found their weapons and staggered out in search of an enemy, they saw the tents of the four kings already burning and their erstwhile prisoners now free and armed, joining in the battle against them. Since most of these soldiers had entered this army for the pay and the spoils of war, they had no reason to stand and fight once their paymasters were defeated. Their only hope was to try to run away with as much of their booty as they could carry.

So the actual fighting did not last long. Three of the kings died in their tents. Chedorlaomer himself managed to get out and, with a few of his retainers, fled on horseback. Abram was not content, however, to let them or any of the soldiers get away. The men he had left with his horses brought the herd down to the valley and his soldiers were soon mounted. Leaving the former captives to guard the camp with all the treasure that had been abandoned there, Abram led some of his men in pursuit of Chedorlaomer and rode him down in the valley of Shaveh, where he and all his men were killed from horseback. Meanwhile, other parties of Abram’s soldiers gave chase to the escaping soldiers, killing or capturing any who stood to fight—though there were few of those. Most of the soldiers understood what was happening, and dropped their heavy spoils and stripped off their outer clothing so they could run faster—and so Abram’s men could see that they had abandoned what had been stolen from Sodom.

By dawn, the fighting was done. Abram’s men directed the few captives in gathering up the abandoned treasures. Beyond that, the messenger knew nothing, for Abram had paused only to be sure none of his men had been lost before sending him to give word to Sarai.

On the way to Hobah, they met another messenger, this time bearing the news that Lot and all the other hostages and captives from Sodom and Gomorrah and the other towns of Siddim were unharmed and free. Sarai shared food and water with him and sent him on his way, first to the camp and then on to Sodom itself, where rejoicing would immediately take the place of mourning.

When Sarai reached Hobah, where the cookfires of the camp were a beacon that drew her through the gathering darkness of the evening, she was surprised that it was not Abram or Abram’s men who greeted her, nor Lot, nor any of the kings or citizens of the cities of Siddim, but rather Melchizedek, the king of Salem, who recognized her and welcomed her. Sarai was bewildered to find him there—had he been captured, too?—but Melchizedek cheerfully explained: “The Lord sent Abram to do the fighting, but I and some of my people came also, not to fight, but to provide supplies and beasts of burden for the return. We’re not fighters in Salem, you see—our protection is God alone. But we have been blessed with plenty of food and drink to share, and beasts to bear, and strong arms to labor and legs to travel. And so we journeyed in the path of destruction left by Chedorlaomer’s army, feeding people who were returning to their ruined and despoiled homes, sending them to Salem and the other hill towns for succor.” It was just what Sarai should have expected, and she embraced the young king of Salem and let him lead her to where the former captives now feasted on the supplies left by Chedorlaomer’s vanquished army.

Lot greeted her with a shout and an embrace, and told them all that this was Sarai, the wife of Abram, who had delivered them. She was made welcome, and listened to each of the five kings of the cities of Siddim as they told their own account, in which, not surprisingly, they turned out to have been heroic, too—at least in the awfulness of the suffering which they endured during their captivity.

But Abram was not there. He had not yet returned from Shaveh, where the labor of gathering up the abandoned treasure was still not finished. Already his men had made several trips back to Hobah with fully laden animals, only to return for another load.