Providence (8 page)

“You have given me a thought. Naabak has seen the priests at the temple but not the king's advisor. He has the standing of a god. I shall ask the king to grant me a personal meeting with his priest. He knows Naabak is loyal to him. There is no greater power in all of Aram. If the king's priest hears what the God of Israel can do, he should be able to do more.”

“It is not the same.” Hannah jumped to her feet. “My eyes have seen a miracle of the Most High God.”

“Israel does not house all the gods. I will send a swift chariot to the king's palace tomorrow.” Reumah leaned forward. “You and Mereb be ready to accompany me to the house of Hadad when our letters arrive.”

“I cannot attend you in the worship of another god.” Her heart raced at the thought of breaking the Commandments of God. She gripped the bed to steady herself. “My father and brother are priests.”

“You forget your place, slave.” Reumah lunged across the bed and grasped Hannah's tunic. “We will go to the house of Hadad, and I will show you there are powerful gods in Aram. The king's priest can intercede for us and save my husband.” Her grip loosened. “Now ready me for bed.”

Hannah struggled to untie Reumah's sash. How could a daughter of a Levite priest step foot in a pagan temple? There was no sacrifice grand enough to wipe away this sin. She could hide this abomination from her family, but with the Hebrew God, there were no secrets.

But she was a slave now. How did a slave ignore the order of a master and keep her life? Especially when the master was Konath's mistress?

Panic seized her. She would be breaking God's first commandment not to worship any other gods. Would a jealous Jehovah overlook her entry into the House of Hadad? Tears wetted her eyes as if she walked through a windstorm in the wilderness.

A spited God did not heal curses.

10

Three days passed before letters from the king arrived. Three more days passed before Hannah and Reumah were rid of their flow. And she endured three face slaps for refusing to travel to Hadad's temple.

You shall have no other gods before me.

Commandment broken.

Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.

Another commandment broken.

How many more coals could be heaped upon her head?

She clutched the side of a sleek war chariot and tried to stay on her sandaled feet. Mereb stood at her back, a fortress wall keeping her from fleeing. Reumah traveled alone. Her indigo and scarlet scarves fluttered faster than the stallion's mane.

Hannah pulled her head covering tight to preserve the elaborate braids Reumah insisted she wear to impress the pagan priest. She shielded her face from the windblown dirt, kicked up by speed of the horses while the rock strewn terrain jarred the cart of the chariot. The loose cut of her dress rippled against her body.

A hollow sensation filled her bones as the domed temple came into view. Her stomach churned like a violent sea. Damascenes leaned out of windows, curious to the pounding of hooves and wheels that normally whisked soldiers to battle.

Columns stood, one after the other, on both sides of the doors to Hadad's place of worship.

As the chariot slowed, she turned and clutched Mereb's robe. A fine layer of dust lightened the grooved scowl in his dark-raisin skin.

“I cannot do this.” Her voice quaked with a holy fear.

“You must do as our master's wife says.” Mereb gripped her wrists.

“
Which
master?”

“You will do what Reumah asks of you. Nothing less.” He pulled her toward the back of the chariot. “Our mistress waits.”

Official-looking men stood outside the temple, heads shaven, bodies dressed in finely woven tunics. Their arms and ankles glimmered with polished-bronze bands. Slow of stride, she and Mereb followed behind Reumah. The bald men clasped their hands together and smiled broadly as Reumah sauntered toward the entrance to the temple.

“What will my duty be?” she whispered to Mereb while the officials greeted Reumah. “You must have accompanied Reumah here before.”

“Do not worry. You will be shown what to do.” Mereb hooked his arm through hers as they entered a dim foyer. An official's gaze dropped lower and lower as he inspected the drape of her gown. His seductive stare slithered across her skin.

She slowed her steps and adjusted to the lack of light in the large room. In the distance, lamps burned in a semi-circle around a statue she assumed was Hadad. The Aramean idol had eyes sculpted like flaming suns and a gaping mouth, which seemed to mock her.

They walked on a stone bridge, over a sunken arena, and toward the false god. Something moved below the bridge. A haze of incense smoke clouded the room, making it difficult to see what lay below.

She squinted into the depths. “Are those snakes?” she asked Mereb.

Mereb's chuckle blended into the faint chants and moans that filled the arena. “You would think of animals with your Hebrew sacrifices. Those are people. Worshipping with their bodies.”

“Together?” Her mouth gaped open.

More Moabite laughter.

She coughed from the smoke, or shock, or both. “But we are not…I mean…Reumah is not here to have relations?”

No answer.

She hesitated. Would Hadad's priest lie with a foreigner? Her ears buzzed with the gasps from the shadows.

Mereb tightened his grip on her arm.

They followed Reumah through a door and entered a private, candlelit chamber.

Blinking, she welcomed the brightness of the room. An older priest sat on a golden throne, fully clothed in an embroidered robe and flanked by an ornately dressed elder. Releasing a pent-up breath, she mumbled a prayer and embraced the calm like a cool trade wind. At least she wasn't in that wanton arena.

“Holy one.” Reumah bowed before the priest. Her voice was reverent but unsteady.

Hannah locked her knees in protest. How could she bow to this man?
You shall have no other gods.

Mereb yanked her down to the floor. Her arm went numb.
Forgive me, Lord.

The priest reached out to Reumah. “I have heard of your need. If your offering is acceptable, I will intercede with Hadad on the king's authority. Your husband will be spared.”

The priest stood.

The robe fell.

Hannah gasped. All she saw was flesh and gold. Gold bracelets on the man's arms. Gold piercings through his nipples. A gold ring through his navel. She scanned no further.

The man looked from Reumah to…her. “She is a virgin?”

Reumah nodded.

No, no, no!

He stretched his gold-ringed hand toward her.

A shiver streaked through her veins. The walls swayed—leaning left, spinning right. This was not what her father and brothers practiced in the temple.

Hannah scrambled to her feet.

Mereb fisted a clump of her skirt.

She kicked at his chest. “You told me not to worry.”

“I lied.”

11

Hadad's priest snapped his fingers at Mereb. “Bring her to me.”

Hannah desired to see Naabak healed but not in this manner. She would not lay with this pagan priest, a priest with no power to restore Naabak. Touching his nakedness was unthinkable, unclean, an abomination to her God.

She punched at Mereb's treasonous arms. A holy rage wracked her body. She would not betray her heritage, her father, the line of Zebula. “
Shalom.
Please. Let me go.” Her plea echoed in her ears.

Reumah rose from her knees. “Servant, bow low and do as the advisor says. You are in Hadad's chambers.”

“I beg of you,” she rasped, her throat tight and dry like a nomad's rope. “You do not want me. I am cursed.” She ripped off her head covering. “See.” She lifted the hair from her ears. “I am crippled. Unworthy.”
Lord, have this curse be good for something.

“Now,” Reumah demanded.

Mereb circled her waist with his arm. His rough hand cupped her mouth. Or was it the elder's? She did not know. Time moved too fast.

“Liar.” Hannah's words vibrated against the fleshy palm of her vile captor. She struggled to get free. With no weapons within her reach, she attacked with her fingernails. She clawed at any arm, any face, any strip of bare flesh.

“Is she possessed?” The priest raised his arm to strike her.

Reumah laughed as if the priest's comment was a compliment from a younger lover. “A frightened virgin is all, my Lord.”

Hannah bucked her head to dislodge Mereb's hand from her lips. “Yes. Posse—”

Mereb's palm flattened her tongue.

Reumah stomped her foot and chastised her servants.

Mereb cinched Hannah's waist and lifted her feet from the floor. “You will submit for Naabak.”

She would not submit for Naabak or anyone. Flinging her head back into the Moabite's nose, she used his tight grip on her waist as leverage to kick her feet. His thumb slipped back into her throat. She bit down and gagged.

A wave of pressure rose from her stomach. Her throat sizzled. Vomit filled her mouth. Mereb tried to dam its outpouring. She couldn't breathe.

Her body tensed. She would not die here. Not in a foreign land. Not in a foreign temple. She had to get air. She had to move Mereb's hand from her mouth. She had to, for God, for Gil, for—

She catapulted her fist into her fellow servant's eye.

Mereb stumbled backward.

Bile splattered from her mouth. Brown and yellow chunks covered the false priest's nakedness. Would this insult mean death?

The priest leapt from his chair. Reumah jumped backward. Bits of food clung to the hem of her gown.

“The spirits are attacking her.” The priest swung incense in her direction. “Remove her.”

Two bald elders flanked Hannah's sides. “To where?”

“Anywhere but here.” The priest thrust his arm at the door in dismissal.

Praise be to the One True God. You have spared me a vulgar humiliation. Now spare me my master's wrath.

As they shoved her from the chamber, Reumah fell at the advisor's feet.

Hannah cleared her throat and ignored the searing pain in the center of her chest. She would show no weakness to these heathen guards. She would save her strength and forge a way back to her homeland. The land promised to her people.

Mereb followed in her wake. The bridge seemed longer now that they were leaving. He clutched his bruised eye and muttered hissing curses she did not understand.

Outside the temple, the afternoon sun commanded the sky. It had not changed since they entered the devil's den. She almost had. She almost lost her virginity to a vile Hadad worshipper. The crawl of beetle's legs shivered across her skin.

The chariots waited under the fronds of a fig tree. As they neared their cart, Mereb rounded on her. “How dare you attack me? Are you so lofty, Jew, that an Aramean man is beneath you?”

She clenched her molars to keep from spitting at him. The breeze could not cool the heat raging through her body. “Is that the task you were given? To get me beneath him? You wrestled me like livestock! Is it feeding time? Or are you like the priest needing pleasure?”

The whack of his hand rung in her ears. Her lip moistened. She touched it. Blood stained her fingers.

“We are here on Naabak's behalf. On your urging.” Mereb boarded the chariot.

“My urging was to see the prophet in Israel. In Mahanaim. Not Damascus.” Her accusation prompted a glare from the chariot driver.

“Where is the commander's wife?” The driver looked to Mereb for an answer, but his gaze inspected the stains on her garment.

Mereb leaned against the side of the cart. “Delayed. We are to return without our mistress.”

She climbed into the chariot and stood behind Mereb.

“You are a perverse and wicked man. Your mouth spills forth lies.” She kept her voice low and definite. “You have sent me into danger twice, but no more.”

Mereb turned, cocked his chin, and peered down his nose. “What does a woman know of danger? Tell me after our mistress calls for you.”

She slumped against the metal wall of the chariot. Should she have remained silent about the prophet of Israel? No. She spoke the truth. She owed a debt to Naabak for his kindness. But she would not wait for another bone-jarring beating. Tonight, she would be slave to Reumah's hand. But soon, too soon, it would be Konath's vengeful hand. And worse, his vile body.

Her bones would not disintegrate in Damascus. She would not allow it.

Escaping to Mahanaim was her only chance at seeing the prophet. He had to heal her this time so she could return home and ask forgiveness of her parents. That is what she and Gil had set out to do. She would finish their journey.

The chariot slowed as it neared the outskirts of Naabak's camp. The driver veered the horses toward the cliffs, toward a harvest-moon-shaped wall that joined a mountain. Six feet of vertical stone gave shade to the chariot and relief to her uncovered head.

“Why are we stopping?” Mereb asked. “We serve at the house.”

She remembered what Reumah had told her that first day about leaving the house. Had Reumah withdrawn her protection because of the scene at the temple? Was this stop meant for revenge? Hannah shuddered at the thought of being left to fend off a group of men. She eyed the arena, the rows of seats, the driver.

The driver secured the reins.

She started as a loud clank sounded from within the stone walls.
Clank. Clink. Clank.
The clash of metal on metal rose from within the stone barrier. A battle of swords?

Mereb touched the soldier's shoulder. “Why the delay?”

The driver brushed by Mereb. “I go to see if it is still Naabak you serve.”

“Naabak is here? Not in a tent?” Hope rose within her. The commander had saved her from punishment once before. Would he spare her again?

The driver jumped from the cart. “In his condition, he requires the coolness of the caves.” The driver consulted two soldiers standing guard under an archway bearing the image of their fiery-eyed, false god. The three men strolled into the arena.