The Gate of Heaven (2 page)

The trio wandered brazenly around the camp, making crude comments about the women. Isaac kept his eyes on the largest soldier, taking him for the leader. The shortest of the three grabbed a girl, who kicked and screamed for help. Isaac stepped forward and spoke to the leader. “Sir, my name is Isaac. Tell your man to release the girl.”

“My name is Ahad,” the captain announced boldly, ignoring Isaac's demand. “We require food and wine.”

Isaac kept his eye on the big man but was most concerned about the girl. The short, swarthy soldier was laughing at her attempts to escape. “Have him turn the young woman loose,” Isaac implored. “Then we'll sell you some food.”

“Sell! Nothing was said about selling! We're your guests.” Ahad put his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes mocking the smaller man. “I advise you to keep us happy. It'll be safer for you, shepherd!”

Unarmed, Isaac hesitated. He knew the soldiers would take whatever they wanted, and he feared for the safety of the women. “You must not molest our young women,” he said firmly but quietly. “Tell your man to release the girl, and I'll have a meal prepared.”

Ahad paid no attention to Isaac's words or the young woman's cries. “Where is this magician I've been told about?”

“Magician? We have no magician.”

“Oh no? What about the old man called Abraham? Bring him out.”

“That is my father, but he is no magician.”

Ahad marched forward and stared down at Rebekah, who was wearing a dark blue dress and a scarf over her head. The warrior put his hand under her chin. “Well, now, she's a pretty one! Is this your wife?”

“Yes,” Isaac said, his heart racing. He wanted to lash out and knock the man backward, but he hesitated.

“Well, you've been doing your duty, I see. I don't blame you with such a pretty bauble as this.”

Isaac stepped forward despite his fear. “Take your hands off of her!” he ordered, but his voice sounded thin.

Ahad easily pushed him backward. “Why, you puny little shepherd! Keep your mouth shut or I'll slit your throat!”

The short man laughed and drew the girl he was holding closer. Her eyes were large with fear, and she begged, “Sir, don't let him do this to me!”

“That's right, shepherd.” Ahad grinned cruelly. “Don't let him do that. Get yourself a sword. Do some magic for us. Maybe you can beat him.”

“That'll be enough!”

Ahad turned quickly to see a figure that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. The speaker was a tall man wearing a simple shepherd's costume, a staff in his hand, his silver hair tied back with a leather thong. Though he was quite old, there was still strength to be seen in the cords of his arms and the depth of his chest. His lean and rugged face reminded Ahad of a predatory bird—especially the dark eyes that were now fixed on him.

“Well, is this Abraham, the famous magician?” Ahad laughed and winked at Magon. “Let's see some magic, sorcerer! Make our swords turn to dust!”

Abraham was unperturbed by the man's arrogance.

His calmness angered Ahad, who swaggered over to stand before him. “So you're the big warrior I've heard about, are you? Old man, get out of my sight or I'll gut you like a fish!”

“Take your men and leave,” Abraham ordered quietly. “Your manners are bad.”

“Teach him about manners, Captain!” Magon shouted, waving one of his fists at Abraham.

The captured girl took advantage of the moment and yanked herself free. The burly soldier shouted and took a few steps after her, but she was too fleet. Spewing a stream of expletives, Magon returned to stand beside his captain. Remez stood apart from the others, carefully watching Abraham.

“I don't think you're a magician, old man, or a warrior either!” Ahad snapped, drawing his sword.

Abraham did not move.

Then Magon yanked a curved dagger from his belt and waved it at Abraham. “He's as ancient as the hills, Captain. I'm not afraid of this old man.”

Ahad felt rattled by the old man's calm yet bold demeanor, but being a captain he could not lose face before his men. He cut the air with his sword and laughed roughly. “I think I'll just cut off your beard!” As he moved forward, Rebekah uttered a cry of distress.

Ahad reached out to grab Abraham's beard, raising his sword with the other hand. But Abraham's staff shot out, catching the Hittite in the pit of the stomach and bringing him to an abrupt halt. The breath gushed out of his mouth as Abraham circled his staff in the air. He struck again, this time catching Ahad on the side of the head. The bronze helmet prevented the warrior's skull from being crushed, but the force of the blow drove him to the ground.

Magon stared blankly at his captain, who lay motionless, blood seeping out from under the bronze helmet and spreading into the dust. The warrior threw himself forward with a wild yell, his dagger raised, but once again the staff in Abraham's hands moved swiftly. The butt of it took the soldier right under his chin, striking him in the throat. Magon gagged, dropping his dagger and grabbing wildly at his throat, his eyes rolling upward as he staggered back.

Then Abraham faced the third soldier. “What about you?”

“I'm not in this!” Remez's voice was high and unsteady, for he could scarcely believe his eyes. His companions were tough, hardened warriors, but Abraham had swept them aside as a man sweeps away troublesome flies. Remez recalled his grandfather's tales about this fierce old fighter. The sight of his two companions—the one lying lifeless on the ground, the other staggering, clutching his throat—kept Remez utterly still.

“You Hittites are a wearisome bunch,” Abraham commented, as untroubled and calm as a man could be. He studied Remez thoughtfully. “I bought a burial cave from a Hittite named Ephron for my wife Sarah after she died. Do you know him?”

“Yes, sir. He…he was a distant relation of mine.” This was a lie, but Remez thought it might pacify the tall man, who held him with a steady gaze.

“You need to learn some manners from your forefathers.”

“Yes, master, that is probably true.”

Abraham signaled to some young men who had gathered. “Put the captain in his chariot and help these fellows get on their way.”

Remez quickly helped the young Hebrews pick up Ahad, who still did not move. They carried him to the chariot and unceremoniously dumped him in. Magon put up no argument as Remez grabbed his arm and piloted him to the chariot. His face was pale, and he could not speak because of the damage to his throat from the fierce blow. Still making gagging noises, he slumped down in the back next to the unconscious captain.

Remez untied the horses and took the helm. He slapped the animals with the reins, and they surged forward. Remez took one backward look and saw Abraham staring at him with a mild expression on his face. Sweat popped out on the soldier's forehead. “That old man could have killed all three of us!” He glanced at Ahad's bloody head and grimaced. “I don't think the captain will want anything more to do with those Hebrews!”

Abraham watched the dust from the chariot grow smaller in the distance. He turned and smiled at his son, who was pale and shaken. “Those Hittites are arrogant at times.”

“I-I'm glad you came along, Father.”

Abraham did not answer, turning his attention toward Rebekah instead. She was trembling and swaying back and forth, her mouth open and a distressed look in her eyes. “Here, Isaac. Let's get your wife inside the tent where she can lie down.”

“Yes, of course, Father.”

The two got on either side of Rebekah, lifting her by the arms. They half carried her into Isaac's tent and lowered her gently onto the mat. She lay on her back, holding her stomach and gasping.

Abraham knelt beside her, compassion in his eyes. “Are you all right, daughter?”

“Oh, Father…it's like a battle going on inside me.”

“Maybe two babies together are hard for a woman, but you'll be fine.” Abraham rose and stood back while Isaac sat down beside Rebekah and took her hand. He comforted her, rubbing her belly and muttering consoling sounds. Finally, after she began to breathe more easily, he rose and stepped outside with his father.

“You're going to be a proud man, my son,” Abraham said, putting his hand on his son's shoulder. “There's nothing like being a father. I've told you many times how long I waited for you, and how proud and happy I was when God Most High sent you to me and your mother.”

Isaac had heard the story all of his life, how his mother had been childless until well past childbearing age. But God had appeared to his parents and told them that Sarah would have a child. Abraham and Sarah had never let their son forget that he was a very special gift from the Lord.

Right now, however, Isaac was not feeling particularly special. His mind was troubled over the scene with the Hittites. He stared at the ground, tracing a pattern in the dust with the toe of his sandal. “I should have fought those men.”

“No, that would not have been wise,” Abraham countered.

Isaac looked up, misery in his mild face. “Ishmael would have fought them.”

“I suppose he would have.”

At one time Abraham had fervently hoped that his firstborn son, Ishmael, would be the chosen of God to carry on the family line. But Ishmael was the son of Hagar, a mere bondservant, and God had made it clear that Isaac was the true son, the one chosen to carry on that line.

Abraham noticed the troubled look on his son's face. “You are the promised son, Isaac. There is no other like you, and I thank God for you every day of my life.”

Isaac's heart grew warm at his father's praises, for he loved him dearly. He had always felt inadequate, however, compared to his stronger half brother, wondering if his father did not favor Ishmael over him. Isaac had never been a violent man and was not given to fighting, so he could not compete with Ishmael in battle. But Isaac was an excellent herdsman and took good care of his father's flocks, helping the family to prosper. Still, even after all these years, he sometimes wondered if that was enough.

“Go in and sit beside Rebekah, son,” Abraham said, breaking into his thoughts. “She needs you at this time.”

“Yes, Father.”

Going back in the tent, Isaac sat down beside Rebekah. She reached out her hand, and he caught it and held it next to his cheek.

“Stay with me, husband. I'm so afraid!”

“Of course I will.” He held her hand in both of his and then kissed it. He reached out and caressed her cheek and saw that this pleased her.

“You're such a gentle man,” she said, smiling up at him. “You always were.”

“I wish I were tougher like my father—or like Ishmael.”

“No! Don't ever wish that,” Rebekah responded. “You're just the husband I need.”

“I don't know, Rebekah. I didn't even court you. My father arranged our marriage.”

“That doesn't matter.”

Isaac smiled at her but wondered if she really meant her words. After all, it had been his father who had sent his friend and the steward of his house, Eliezer, to find a bride for him.

For Rebekah's part, perhaps she did, at times, wish that Isaac were more forceful. But she had spoken the truth. He was a gentle man, exactly the kind of husband she needed.

“I've thought so much lately of how I was unable to have children and how you prayed for me, Isaac.” She squeezed his hand and elicited a smile, despite his discomfort. “You prayed, and God Most High answered your prayer. I think that's more important than being able to fight.”

Her words pleased him, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I hope our son is just like you. Or better still, since we're going to have two babies, I hope one of them will be a beautiful
girl
just like you.”

Rebekah gripped Isaac's hand. She would not have been so frightened if she carried only one baby in her womb, but she feared that the birth of twins would be more difficult than she could bear. She lay still as Isaac began to sing to her in his soothing voice. He was the best singer in the tribe, and he often made up love songs just for her that no one else ever heard. Rebekah clung to his hand and then whispered, “Sing to me some more, husband!”