The Journey Begun (6 page)

Jonah nodded.

The donkey grunted as the cart bumped over tree roots and through ruts that skewed the narrow road. Jonah lifted his eyes and squinted at the hillside beyond Gath-hepher’s mount that hosted the Ben Amittai property. Elias noted his uncle’s increased anxiousness, but he couldn’t fathom what weighed so heavily on his mind.

“Let’s hurry.”

Elias frowned. “It’s not an easy climb for Sheba, pulling us and the cart.”

“Then let’s get out.”

Jonah swung his legs over the side of the wagon and slid to the ground. Elias shrugged and laid down the reins. He dropped from his seat and squeezed between the cart and a boulder to get to Sheba. He grasped the donkey’s halter, but Jonah was already five paces ahead
[B6]
 
.

At last, Elias reached the top of the hill, panting and drenched with sweat from his struggle with Sheba, who snorted and tossed her head at the forced march. He spied his uncle at the far end of the town square hurrying past the winepress toward the slope leading up to the family homestead.

Elias paused to settle Sheba and to catch his own breath. He shook his head at his uncle’s figure disappearing around a dilapidated work shed at the edge of the plaza.

“Let’s catch up, old girl.” He climbed back into the wagon and slapped the reins on the donkey’s rump. She wheezed and stepped off at a slow trot as though grateful once again to be back on level ground.

Lll

Jonah limped over the rise to the tanning yard. In spite of his burning leg muscles, he quickened his pace when the house emerged around the last copse of trees.

“Uncle Jonah!” Jesse jumped off the fence and raced down the slope. He slid to a stop just in front of Jonah and turned to pace him. “I’m supposed to come get you.”

Jonah looked down at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I think something’s wrong with Grandmother Deborah. Mother was screaming and—“

Jonah didn’t wait to hear the rest. He broke into a run up the path. “Mother!”

Five

hud slouched in his chair and drew a honing stone along his knife blade. “I wonder what Boaz would do.” He raised his eyes at Jonah. They rarely spoke of their elder brother, who had gone missing years before after answering a call to arms under King Jehu. Jonah was lost in thought and didn’t answer.

It had been two weeks since their mother’s stroke, and she showed only light improvement. Kidding season was in full stride and caring for the flock consumed precious time they’d rather spend with her. Jonah was grateful for Miriam and Sarah keeping vigil at Deborah’s side, but they also had chores needing attention. Elias spent much of his time corralling the twins, as they were coming of age in less than six months and their religious and social instruction was lagging. Jonah knew everyone felt the strain. Still, none of them complained over the time invested in tending to Deborah.

He shifted his head and glanced out the window as the sun fired its final volley of magenta between two mountains across the valley, releasing another day into rest. Beneath the tip of a canted crescent moon, the evening star commanded a cobalt sky, suspended as though having rolled through the lunar dish and flipped over the edge on its descent toward the horizon. Terebinth and wild olive trees rustled in the breeze against the backdrop of limestone, its rolling strata bathed in the pink-orange glow of a glorious sunset. Up the valley, a wooly mantle of cloud awash in gold and purple coated the ridgeline, its hem disappearing into the gray-blue valley below. Jonah sighed.
How does life just go on?

“So, what do you think?”

Jonah glanced up. “About what?”

Ehud sighed. “About Boaz.”

Jonah averted his eyes. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time.” He pushed away from the wall and tugged at the thongs of his leather apron, a yawn stretching his face. Tossing the apron across the table, he dropped onto a low seat with a grunt and bent to massage his sore legs. He reflected on the long day working the slopes, checking on the new kids and their nannies, as well as those yet to deliver. That afternoon, an agitated ram still in rut chased Ehud across the hillside, the sight evoking the hardiest laugh from Jonah in months. He swallowed his mirth, though, when the ram came after him. He pursed his lips at the memory .
I’m getting too old for this
.

“Are we closed up for the night?” Jonah straightened and rubbed his eyes. He retrieved his own knife from the table, slipped it into its leather pouch, and hung it on a wall peg.

Ehud frowned. “Just about. Window flaps need lowered and the lamp put out.”

“I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you head back to the house? It’s getting dark.”

Ehud paused as he stood and pushed his chair against the table. “We can still talk about Boaz, you know.”

Jonah looked up and managed a half-smile. “I know.”

Ehud shrugged and turned for the door. “Don’t be long.”

Jonah stood as the door creaked closed behind his brother. He took his time straightening up the room, allowing his mind to wander back to the day God’s messenger
first appeared in this very room to deliver the tanner’s call to prophesy. The angel’s voice rang as clearly in his mind this evening as it did in his ears that afternoon long ago.
“Prepare yourself”
was the message
.
Simply “prepare yourself.”

What an adventure had blossomed from those two words, sending him to Samaria on his first mission as a prophet of
Elohim
Adonai
, the God of his forefathers. He fingered aside his collar and drew out a gold medallion suspended on a leather thong around his neck. Even in the fading light he could make out the deep cleft marring the ornate
menorah
etched in the disc. He rubbed it with his thumb as he relived his encounter with the Samarian palace guards during the assassination attempt on King Jeroboam. He would have been impaled against the palace wall, if the pendant beneath his shirt hadn’t blocked the thrust of the guard’s spear. Instead, he was left with an ugly bruise on his chest where a gaping wound should have been. He fancied his knees still ached at the memory of a second guard’s spear shaft slamming into them from behind. It was only six years ago, but it seemed a lifetime. He slipped the pendant back beneath his shirt and yanked at the cords securing the rolled leather window flap. As it slapped against the window frame and quivered to a standstill, a sudden chill pricked his spine and raced up his neck. He froze.

Ehud picked his way to the holding pen gate in the deepening twilight. Had he chanced a look back, he would have noticed
a
[B7]
 
sterile white glow seeping under the door of the tanning shed.

Lll

King Jeroboam reined in his horse at the fork south of Hazor and scanned the sky. The column of troops trailing his chariot rippled to a halt, allowing the cloud of dust swirling around their legs to settle onto the roadbed. The army was battle-weary, but elated at their recent string of successful forays beyond Israel’s borders. Wagons laden with gold, silver, precious stones, weapons, spices, and other treasures from their victory at Damascus creaked under the weight of the spoils. No one was more elated than Elihu ben Barak, the Senior Commander of Troops.

Elihu, the grandson of Naboth, the vintner whose property King Ahab coveted and who Queen Jezebel had executed for that land, revived the family business after King Jehu restored the land to the family after Ahab’s death. King Jehu selected him as his armor bearer at age seventeen and the army became his life—and one to which he was well suited. He answered every call to arms the House of Jehu issued, and control of the family business soon fell to his younger sister, Hadassah, and their chief steward, Amaziah. He thrived in the challenges of battle tactics and military strategy, and the senior corps soon noticed the strapping lad’s inherent leadership qualities. Elihu ben Barak never failed in his duty or wavered in his loyalty to Israel. His reputation led him now to the pinnacle of his service—second in command only to the King.

Elihu urged his steed up to the lead chariot and followed the king’s gaze skyward.

“What is it, my lord?”

“I believe we will camp here tonight. I am of a mind to take the road west to Acco, to see how the garrison there is faring. The weather may influence that decision.” He nodded at a dense cloud bank hugging the mouth of the valley through which the road to Samaria led. Its canopy obscured the summit of the western mountain ridge and pulsing thunderheads bulged into the deep blue pre-evening sky. “We have been fortunate with good weather since Damascus. It has been easier on the troops, and they deserve a rest after the grueling marches and intense battles of these past few campaigns.”

Elihu dismounted and stepped to the king’s side.

Jeroboam pointed at the southern sky. “Do you see the clouds pushing over the ridge? They are going to stall against the mountains and crawl down that valley, and when this cool air forces its way into them, I believe the land will be in for some heavy rain.” He looked over at Elihu. “There is no sense in walking the men through it, or slogging in the mud after it. Yes, Acco may be the way to avoid the foul weather and give the men a respite by the sea.”

Elihu’s admiration for the king had grown since he first observed him handle the aftermath of the assassination attempt in Samaria. Jeroboam listened to his commanders and accepted their advice, but there was never any question who was in charge. Moreover, his uncanny ability to assess the elements—from gauging the weather to reading the lay of the land—was a decisive factor in several victories. What impressed Elihu the most, though, was that the king used his acumen for the welfare of his troops, not just to aid their fighting.

“I agree, my lord. Damascus was a challenge—worthwhile, but a challenge nonetheless.” Elihu smiled at the memory.

“The intelligence we received in Hazor seemed to favor a raid into Aram. I recall your prophet according us the lands southward from Lebo-hamath, but this exceeded even that great promise. The capital city of the Arameans! What a prize!” He smiled and grasped his commander’s shoulder.

“Yes, my lord. I was concerned at first that we might overextend ourselves, but everything lined up perfectly. The treasury in Samaria will certainly feel the joy of the conquest, as well, no?” Elihu grinned and nodded over his shoulder at the treasure carts lining the road.

The king released Elihu’s shoulder. “Yes, indeed it will.” He raised an eyebrow at his chief officer. “So, what will you do with your time in Acco? Sun that old hide of yours by the sea or seek some pleasure in the city?”

Elihu’s face grew serious. “By your leave, my lord, I ask to part company with you here. My home is at the other end of that valley and I don’t mind getting a little wet to see my family. Zebulun is more than capable of assuming command of the troops, and I can join you again either in Megiddo or Samaria, at your pleasure.”

Jeroboam nodded. “You have my leave. You have earned a furlough and more. Take a gift to your family. Anything from the treasure carts is yours.”

“That’s most gracious, thank you, my lord. I may choose a bolt of embroidered damask for my sister. I saw some beautiful pieces on one of the wagons and I know she’d love to have it.”

“With my blessing. Take what you like.” The king smiled at his lieutenant. “The sun is still high. You may leave anytime you wish. Leave instructions with Zebulun that we will camp here.”

“Again, I thank you, my lord.” Elihu bowed his head.

Jeroboam paused. The king’s taut jaw caught Elihu’s attention.

“My lord?”

“Zechariah.” The regent returned his gaze to the sky. “How did he perform?”

“Your son did well, my lord. He held his position.”

“’Held his position.’” Jeroboam pursed his lips. “In the rear ranks.”

“He is very young, my lord. All soldiers start out in the rear echelon until they’ve tasted battle.” Elihu frowned, searching for the best words. The situation between the king and his son was delicate and one in which the old soldier had no desire to become involved.

“Young.” The king turned his head and met Elihu’s eye. “He is only one well-aimed arrow away from the throne of Israel, Commander.”

Elihu dipped his head. “Yes, my lord. It’s important for that reason that he learn the art of warfare at its roots. Only by understanding what it means to be a foot soldier in the ranks can he become the best commander—and king.” The veteran chanced a look at his monarch. “A king worthy of the strong throne you will leave him, my lord, but I pray, as
Adonai
lives, that will not be for a very long time.”

Jeroboam paused again, but said nothing.

Elihu dared a closing sentiment. “And I take it as my personal responsibility to ensure there are no well-aimed arrows, my lord.”

Jeroboam’s tone was direct. “Zechariah lacks aptitude in military matters.” It was a statement, but it demanded a response.

Elihu hesitated. Military strategy was one thing, personal counseling was another.