Providence (5 page)

Gil inhaled deeply. “Sheep. There must be a herd nearby.”

“We are fortunate you can smell them.”

“I'm not.” He turned and strode backward, eyeing her gait. “We could use shelter and a rest.”

She lengthened her stride. “If you must.”

Halting at the edge of a plateau, she and Gil scanned a valley and noticed a sprawling village. Olive groves and animals took nourishment from the fertile soil between the rugged cliffs.

Gil's pace quickened. “Come. The valleys of Manasseh are not far from Mahanaim. I have heard talk of their bounty.”

Hannah lifted her face to the sun. Its rays seemed brighter as she grew near to her destination. She followed Gil down the slope. Her arms swung wildly as if she had wings and could fly into the valley, taking Gil with her in one glorious swoop. Elation overcame her. She remembered the same feeling of joy when her father had slipped the ruby bracelet on her arm and proclaimed that the prophet would have her unshackled from her curse by noonday. Her heart pained when she pictured leaving the ruby bracelet by her sleeping mother and slipping into the night to meet Gil.

When they reached the rows of olive trees, she walked next to the grooved trunks, relishing the shade and closeness to Gil.

She picked up a leafy branch from the ground and used it as a fan. “Perhaps we will find some ripe pomegranates in the village.”

“You have tired of my mutton?”

“Mostly of my bread. It is as hard as this.” She tried to snap the olive twig but it bent instead.

Gil broke off the end and handed it back to her. “You will be able to taste how sweet the fruit is after you are healed.”

“We can both sing praises of
Selah
.” She bowed in jest, making sure he did not see that there was more to her healing than of what she had already spoken. She let out a silly laugh.

A flock of ravens shot heavenward, darkening the sky, cawing in protest. Did the playful noise disturb their rest?

The ground trembled.

She looked to Gil. Was it an earthquake?

Dust rolled through the grove like it was driven by a windstorm. But there was little to no wind. Not a breeze that would ruffle a skirt.

In the next lane of trees, a shepherd boy raced by them. “
Ratz!
Run,” he shouted, his voice shrill with panic.

Gil stiffened. He grew to his full height, let go of her hand, and reached for his sword.

“Run.” He pushed her in the direction of the shepherd, of the buildings they had passed.

Hannah glanced over her shoulder.

Hoof beats thundered in her ears. Shouts. Sheep bleating. Foreign gibberish. .

She grasped Gil's arm. “Come with me.”

“Go.” He shoved her—hard. “Please, Hannah. Hide.”

How could she abandon him? She couldn't. Blood pounded in her temples. She choked out a refusal.

“I won't watch you die or worse.” His shouts pained her ears. He stiff-armed her in the direction they had come.

She shook her head, “Ple—”

“Now!
Ratz!
” he screamed.

He didn't have to scream twice. She fled. She left Gil. Left him alone to face the danger.

Fear propelled her down the path. Her feet pounded the dirt but her legs lightened as if they were empty, filled only with wind. She bunched up her cloak to keep herself from stumbling. Gil needed assistance and she would find help.

“Thieves are upon us,” she yelled as she neared a village.

A sound like an avalanche of rocks muffled her warning. She whipped around. Across the field, she saw horses stampede forth from the olive trees. Men in breastplates with arms-length swords slashed at wayward livestock, slicing them in half with their weapons.

People appeared from the stable, from the houses, from the garden, ignorant of the ensuing battle.

“Raiders,” she screamed. “Enemies.”

A man stood in her path. His eyes were wide and his jaw gaped.

“Grab a weapon. Fight,” she urged, gasping for air.

The man pushed her aside and fled toward town.

She followed him and darted into a stable. Stripping off her outer garment, she fumbled for her father's carving knife. The clop of horses' hooves grew louder. Her lungs seemed too small to hold the air she needed. Her chest shuddered. She coughed and ducked under a window, crawling behind bales of hay stacked in the shadowy corner of the barn. The day filled with shrieks, familiar and foreign. She thought of Gil defending himself against the charge and sank to her knees and prayed.
Adonai, spare my Gilead.

Curled in a ball, she waited.

Creeeaaak.

The stable door whined as it opened. A sliver of light slipped between the bales. A horse neighed. Straw crunched beneath footsteps. The foot falls came closer. Hannah held her breath.

A man called out. She did not understand his words. One word, in Aramaic, she recognized. He was indicating a stallion.

Her heart crashed against her ribs, sending jolts of pain across her chest. She staggered her breathing and tried to be silent, undetected.

Horses clopped out of the building. The shuffling of feet stopped. So did the mumbling of voices. The stable door slammed shut. She remained untouched. Sinking into the brittle bales, she thanked God she wasn't beaten, bloodied, or badly used.

Peeking out from the wall of hay, she grasped a small paring knife and prowled toward the stable door. She listened. A woman sobbed in the distance, but on the street, there was no uproar. She had to find Gil. Dead or alive, she needed to be with him.

She opened the door the width of her foot, no more.

A face appeared. Male. Dark. Sweating. Bloody.

She inhaled. The man clamped a hand around her throat. Her vision blurred and she lurched forward, struggling to breathe.

Stab him.
Hit him. Hit something.

She thrust the knife forward.

The tip of her blade struck bronze. A club struck her fist. Fire burned in her bones. Her fingers splayed in agony and her knife dropped. The man dragged her into the street.

“No. No. No.” Kicking, she fought her abductor. “Leave me be.”

The man mocked her in a tongue she barely recognized. He raised the club.

Bhaamp.

Her vision sparkled with graying sunbursts.
Will I see Gil in death?

Then darkness fell.

6

The trot of a horse jostled her awake. Her ears thrummed with an echo like the summons of a far off ram's horn. The wet withers of a horse glimmered below her chest, arms, and bound hands. Her stomach burned from being flung across the shoulders of a bobbing animal. She could not flail her legs. Her thighs were pressed together. Her ankles were probably bound as well.

She struggled to raise her head and get her bearings despite the pulsing, painful rhythm in her temples. Her head covering was gone. No cloth hid her foul ears. The sun tormented her flesh without it.

Reins cracked against her backside. She flinched. Her flesh stung, sizzling at first and then waning to a throb. A man's voice spoke. The language was strange, sprinkled with words one hears in trade. His blunt, hard laugh ricocheted between her ears.

“The Hebrew coward awakes.”

She understood his insult, not his dialect. His common Aramaic was crude. She shifted and twisted her neck to view her captor. He was one of the eastern peoples. He sat tall on the horse. His broad, armor-adorned body blocked the sun just enough for her to scan his sharp, angular face. Blood spotted the bridge of his nose and above his brow. Was it hers? Or Gil's?

His hand slipped between her thighs. “Are you anxious?”

Her back went rigid. Her shoulders shook with a chill. She would not let this heathen raider take her virginity. She had to escape and find Gil. Rocking her body side-to-side, slamming into the rider's thighs, she prayed the S
hema.

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. Love—”

He removed his hand.

She blew out a pent up breath.
Shalom, Adonai.

An all-out gallop silenced her holy prayer. Dust embedded in her eyes, churned up from the pounding hooves. Each bounce of the horse's cantor bruised her belly, and by the time tents came into view, she swore she had been disemboweled. At a fevered pace, she worked her wrists against the scratchy rope in hopes of loosening the knots before her captor fondled her body with fervor.

A forceful push on her hip sent her careening head first toward the ground.

Air gusted from her lungs. The stallion pranced. It side-shifted its hooves away from her neck and head. At least one thing had gone right today.

With a quick glance around, she noticed she was in a valley. High cliffs. High caves. No shade. Many tents. No sign of Gil. No sign of other captives.

Footsteps crunched the pebbled ground. Her captor barked commands at soldiers standing nearby. Grumbling protests followed.

She rolled on her back and faced her abductor. He licked his lips, rustling the black hairs of a mustache that needed trimming. His mud-brown skin, ridged and worn from weather, was darker than hers. He was not a Hebrew.

“Let me go,” she said, half in anger, half as a plea. “We are not at war.”

He stared at her like she was a celebratory feast.

Her heart skittered, rallying a cry of run, run, run, run, run. “I have nothing to offer you.”

The soldier's head rocked backward. A chest-jiggling cackle filled the air.

“Demands?” He knelt beside her, grinding her waist into the dirt with his knee. “You are a lowly slave. One who I see has been bad.” His fingernails scratched her cheekbone as he gathered the hair away from her ear. “I shall take my pleasure.”

He lifted her from the ground as if she were an empty sack and pinned her against the side of a plateau. Dirt crumbled from its base.

A blade flashed in the corner of her vision. She shut her eyes at its blinding reflection and dwelled on the sparkling bursts behind her eyelids. If only she could fly away into the light. The ropes binding her ankles loosened. Her skin breathed air.

He raised her hem, exposing her legs.

“No,” she screamed, lurching forward.

“No one denies Konath.” He pinned her with his chest, his armor warm and heavy. “You will serve me and then”—his hand fisted in her hair—“you will entertain my men.”

She struggled. She had to get away. She would not be violated by a pagan. She flattened her bound hands against his breastplate and bowed her legs. Her heart pounded in protest, in utter disgust, in outrage, but she smiled wide like a barterer with flawed goods. The sides of her mouth trembled as he came in close. Too close. She jerked her knee upward like a battering ram of wrath.

He roared. Bent over. Covered his pain. His agony echoed through the camp.

She fled.

Toward the tents. Away from the soldiers and their horses. Away from the direction they had come.

She needed cover. A place to hide. But where? She passed stacks of wood, hanging animal carcasses, tents, and more tents.

Shouts sounded behind her. Konath was coming.

A large dwelling stood anchored at the edge of camp. Its flaps were tied. Did it house slaves? Spoils of war? Her bound hands fumbled with the knots. A buzzing blanket of horseflies bombarded her face. She whipped her hair around and wondered if there was a carcass or food inside. This refuge would only buy her time. She needed a miracle to escape Konath. And God remained silent.

She entered the muted shade of the shelter and drew the flaps flush as best she could. Turning to scour the contents of the room, movement caught her attention. She turned and cupped her mouth, suppressing a scream.

A man lounged on an ornate wooden chair. The exquisite carvings of petals and claws matched his decorated armor. His half-lidded eyes studied her from either side of an oozing sore. He had no nose. Only gaping, scarlet openings.

He pointed at her with a finger. His hand lacked others.

“Did you not smell the plague?” His tone held her in contempt. “The gnats hold court where I live.”

Hannah dropped to her knees. She didn't know if she had done so willingly or if her knees had buckled. Her stomach heaved.

Konath called to his men from outside the tent.

Her rape was imminent.

“Have mercy on me.” Her voice squeaked out among sobs and her body rocked like an inconsolable mourner. “We share a bond. We do. My nose is as worthless as yours. I cannot smell a thing.”

The man's brow furrowed. Did he understand Hebrew? She began to speak in Aramaic.

He held up his fingerless hand. “I speak your language.”

“My Lord Naabak, did a captive interrupt your rest?” Konath emphasized every word as if his superior was drunk or dumb. His loud cadence slithered like an asp over her shoulders. “Send her out for the sport of your men.”

Hannah's body fell limp. She was the daughter of the chief priest, a descendant of the brother of Moses, but she was not too proud to crawl. She crawled toward this Naabak and latched onto his boot. The shoe caved. She flinched. No toes supported the leather. Her tears spotted the dust covered boot. She wiped the wetness with her hair not caring if her ears were bared. She doubted he had any ears left under his helmet.

“I beg you. Spare my honor.” She slid her bound hands along the side of his boot and anchored herself to him. He did not pull away. They would have to pry her off of him. “I am the daughter of a priest. To die this way…as a whore…I cannot.”

“I shall send in a soldier to remove her.” Konath's voice rose with impatience, sounding uncertain, like he needed permission.

She hugged the ankle of the boot to her chest.

“She is within my control.” Naabak called out. He fidgeted in his chair, but did not pull his leg away from her. “She will stay with me for the evening.”

Silence reigned outside the tent. Hannah wondered if she would meet the same fate inside the hide walls as outside, but then she remembered Naabak's leprous fingers.