Naaman: Leper Warrior
Published by Neil Stott at SmashWords
Copyright 2011 Neil Stott
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Prologue
The sun beat unmercifully on Naomi's neck as they walked. She often went for long walks with her parents and was used to hard work in the house and the field. However, this particular journey was wearing upon her. Naomi was only twelve, their only child and was used to accompanying her devout Israelite family from their home in Samaria to Jerusalem. Twice a year they undertook the journey to worship at the temple and attend the prescribed festivals. Many others in the Northern Kingdom did not match their religious zeal, preferring to worship the Baals instead. However, in this family, Cabal the father and his wife Miriam had served the God of Israel all of their lives. Now they had a new purpose to their journey. The Prophet. She looked up from the dusty track, wondering where exactly the great prophet lived. She had felt so confident when, as a family, they had prayed together before they left their home in Samaria. You will serve the prophet. It seemed so clear, so right when her father and mother had announced it ... was that only two days ago? A stone caught her foot and she stumbled. She would have fallen except for Cabal's strong arm.
"Careful, daughter." Her father said, "The track is rough here." She nodded; she knew she had been daydreaming and not watching her way. The day's journey from Samaria had been uneventful, firstly travelling with a caravan heading south to Judah. In the midst of the merchants and their guards, they felt confident of their safety. They left the caravan at the junction of the great pass, a few had walked with them but as they trudged on a half a day more, they were alone. Naomi looked around her and thought for the first time of bandits. The rolling hills were empty except for grazing cattle and planted crops and small farmhouses. A land at peace. She looked up and saw that her father had stopped at the crest of a small hill and was pointing,
"Here. We are here." Her heart leaped, all doubt was gone. They had reached the prophet. She ran forward to join her father and mother and they walked down the hill to stand outside the prophet's hut. It was a simple affair, on the high side of a running stream surrounded by fields of wheat almost ready for harvest. Respectfully they stood for a while outside the hut hoping for the prophet to become aware of their presence. When it was obvious nothing was going to happen Cabal stepped forward and called out,
"My Lord. Your servants Cabal and Miriam come with a message from our Lord and our God and a gift." The words were barely out of his mouth when the door opened and a short, thin man with heavy beard and long hair emerged. He walked up to Cabal and stood in front of him.
"What gives you the right to speak on behalf of our Lord and God?" he demanded. His eyes locked on Cabal as if searching his innermost thoughts. Cabal looked down at his feet,
"My Lord. We have faithfully served the Lord all of our lives. We have refused to bow down to the Baals. We have even journeyed to Jerusalem to make our sacrifices at the temple." He paused, turned to Naomi and waved her forward, "My Lord. This one. All three of us have had a dream. Naomi is to serve a great man of God. In obedience to the will of God, we bring her so that she might serve you." Elisha smiled and then laughed.
"A servant girl. What need do I have of a servant girl?" he laughed again and Naomi blushed. Ashamed, crushed and rejected by the man of God. Tears began to roll down her face. Elisha seemed to be oblivious and waved to the fields around them. "I have no need of a servant girl. I work in the fields, I till the soil, and I carry the water. For other tasks of I have Gehazi," and then yelled out. "Gehazi. Where are you, you lazy goat? Are you asleep again?" The door opened and a fine looking, strong and healthy young man emerged. He blinked in the light and ran up to his master,
"Yes, Master?" Elisha waved to the family,
"Bring some water. Some food. We shall eat together and hear more of this story of this girl servant." Elisha laughed again before he sat down beneath the large tree next to his house and motioned to his guests to sit. As food arrived, he waved to them,
"Tell me this story of how God has given me a girl to serve me." Cabal looked at his wife and daughter, nodded and began his tale.
God fearing and determined not to follow the ways of the Baals, Cabal and Miriam had nothing to give as an offering to God. As Naomi came of age, they decided that she could serve the prophet. For Naomi it was a fearful as well as wonderful opportunity. All of Israel knew of the exploits of the prophet and his great miracles. To think that she, a mere girl could serve the great man of God was almost overwhelming. It had not been a decision the parents had taken lightly. It was the dreams, three nights in row that had determined that it was the right course. First, the father dreamt of the pillar of fire that saved Israel of the vengeful armies of Egypt and he was struck with the persistent thought, All had forgotten the Lord ... except a few. Like he and his wife, there were few true believers left in the Northern Kingdom. Then his wife dreamed of his daughter, serving in a great man's house, a man of God. Finally, Naomi herself had a dream as if watching herself from far away; she saw herself speaking, Go to the prophet Elisha. When she had awoken and shared her dream with her mother, both parents shared their own dreams; dreams they had not spoken of before. After each had spoken, Cabal had announced, it is clear. God is speaking to us. We must take our daughter to the prophet so that she may serve him.
"So my Lord. We are here, in obedience to God." As Cabal finished speaking, he looked at the prophet. The mocking smile had gone. Elisha was thoughtful as he looked at both parents and again at Naomi. They finished their meal in silence, sat back and waited. Elisha looked once more at Naomi and called the girl over. She sat before him, head bowed. He touched her gently under the chin and lifted her head up to look into her eyes. It was then that the Word of the Lord came to him.
"Child. Indeed, you are to serve a great man of God, but it is not I but one from the north. You will face loss, pain and tribulation but have no fear, for the Lord will be with you." Elisha broke his stare, smiled and patted her hand. "Yes, you will serve a great man." He turned to the parents who were holding each other in awe of the prophet's words. Cabal timidly asked,
"When my Lord. How will we know?" Elisha looked at the man and the woman. He saw their future, two paths stretched before them. A choice ... a difficult choice. Such are the ways of God he thought to himself. Aloud he said,
"Ahead there are two paths. May the Lord your God give you wisdom on which path to choose." Abruptly Elisha stood and they all rose with him. He reached out and touched them on their heads,
"God's peace upon you," and turned and walked back into his hut, not looking back. Cabal began to gather their belongings.
"What does it mean?" Naomi asked. Her father stopped packing.
"Child. Our future is in God's hands now. We trust in Him." Naomi nodded, gathered her own things as they began the walk back to the caravan trail all the time wondering, who is this man I am to serve?
Part 1 - "Love and War"
Chapter 1
Siege of Samaria - 857 BC
Naaman stood tall in the saddle as he watched his father's troop march past. The call from the King had come two nights before and his father had sent messages throughout the province. They were heading off to war against their hated enemy, the Israelites. For Naaman, it would be his first campaign; though he had fought many battles against raiders, thieves and assassins, this would be the first time that he could join his father in a campaign in which the entire nation would go to war. As he stood beside the Damascus Road, his thoughts drifted away from the coming fight to the previous evening. His hand lifted to his neck, around which he carried the scarf of the finest woman in the land. He lifted the edge up to his nose and drew in the sweet aroma of her scent. Shutting his eyes, he allowed his thoughts to take him back and feel again the touch of her hand, her lips on his. A sharp object jabbed him in the back and thrust all thoughts of that last precious away. He roared with pain at the sharp prick and turned, ready to delivery an appropriate response either with word or with sword to his protagonist. He stopped suddenly when he saw it was his father, Gorak, face beaming with delight at his small joke. In a mild rebuke he said,
"So, Naaman. If you are going to war like that, how soon would it be before an Israelite sword is thrust into your unsuspecting back, eh?" Naaman's face darkened with shame. "Still thinking of that girl?" his father probed. Naaman said nothing. Their meetings had always been in secret, not even his father should know. He thrust the scarf out of sight and instead waved his arm towards the marching soldiers.
"They look like fine men." He remarked casually. His father was not to be drawn.
"So tell me lad, who is this woman that has so taken your heart?" This time he could not hide the red blush that rose from his neck to his face. His father just laughed a deep bellow that brought smiles to the faces of the nearest soldiers. They thought well of Gorak and willingly offered their swords and their very lives in service to him and his house. They knew nothing of the growing conflict between Aram and Israel and cared little for the King and his thirst for glory. They well knew that the King was a dangerous and bloodthirsty man who had more than once ordered men to their death for the sport of it. However, Naaman's father was of different stock. He worked beside them, defended them when raiders came, provided food when their crops failed, gave liberal gifts at times of celebration and feasting. Of all the provincial kings, Gorak held the most favour with the people.
A second horseman drew near to them, Gorak's commander and trusted friend, Remak.
"So young Naaman." he began with a none too subtle wink at his father, "Tell an old soldier about your adventures last night." Naaman looked fiercely at him and wondered to himself,
Who in this damn province doesn't know! He chose his words carefully and chose to admit only a little, "A woman of rare quality. It would shame her to speak of this as if she were a common whore." Remak's face brightened even more as he continued to probe.
"A woman of quality. Hmm?" he paused with a theatrical flourish. "Who could possibly fit that description from the provinces?" He turned to Gorak and went on, "My Lord. Do you know of any available women of rare quality within the province?" Gorak stroked his thick long beard as if in thought.
"None that I know of. And I know all the quality women in the province."
"Hmm," Remak finished the sentence, "So she must be from another province, perhaps Damascus itself. Perhaps a woman of noble birth?" A sudden shudder of fear went up Naaman's spine,
Damn them, he thought bitterly to himself, they know! Be damned if he would confess to them. He eased back in his saddle in a pose of feigned indifference. The two older men were silent for a time and Naaman refused to turn to look at them. Finally his father spoke, very softly and very kindly,
"My son. Have no fear. Your secret is safe. You must remember that nothing goes unnoticed in the province without me finding out." Naaman cursed himself for thinking he could get away with his secret meetings here. He should have gone to Damascus, at least have the opportunity to be lost in the crowd.
"So it is Jophiar then, the daughter of the King," his father revealed without recrimination. "This one has taken your heart." This time Naaman looked at his father, admitting the truth.
"Yes, father. We very much love each other."
"Love!" Snorted Remak. "As long as she can bear you many sons, that should be enough!" Naaman flashed him an angry look and Remak laughed at his discomfit. He well knew what love was, but the young boy had much to learn in life.
"Does the King know?" Naaman asked uncertainly, turning his attention back to his father. Gorak shook his head,
"As far as I know, he does not. Or if he does, he shows no care for what she does." Naaman let out his breath, not realising he had been holding it in.
"You play a dangerous game, boy." Remak observed. This time Naaman could only agree, nodding slowly. He well knew the risks both he and Jophiar were taking. King Ben-Hadad was brutal, vicious and certainly not known for his kindness or his compassion. To let her marry him would cost Naaman's father a great deal for a dowry. Naaman was not sure he had the right to ask his father to give up so much. It was as if his father was reading his mind and asked that very question,
"So you will marry this girl?" It was not even a question but a statement of fact. Naaman sat erect in his saddle and looked steadily at his father,
"Father, with your permission, I would." His father looked back into the eyes of his son. His breast swelled with pride as he looked at how he had grown into a man and now was making a man's choice.
"My son, I would be honoured to welcome her into my house." He urged his horse closer in order to place his arm on his son's shoulder smiling broadly, as Remak chuckled.
"But first, my son, there is a war to fight and a war to win. You must not let your thoughts of this girl draw you away from the task before us. If you don't she will never bear your name!" Naaman nodded, as always, his father was right. Together, the three reined their horses forward and trotted to the front of the column of soldiers.
* * *
Remak reined his horse up, her flanks covered with foam, sweat and blood. During the fighting he became separated from Gorak and Naaman and now found himself in the midst of a running fight between random groups of Aramean and Israelites, killing anyone who came near in a frenzy of irrational bloodletting. The two armies had clashed on the plains on the approaches to Samaria, the smaller Israelite force stood firm as the Aramean foot soldiers battled fiercely with them. It was not until the King ordered the horsemen and the chariots forward that the Israelites broke and ran. It was in the chaos that followed that they were separated. Sworn to protect his master and his son, Remak was not going to let anyone stand in his way until he found them again.
Having fought off one more attack, he urged his horse forward again but only travelled a few yards when another band of Israelites rounded a grove of trees to confront him. There was no time to think, no time to flee. The battle rage consumed him as he urged his horse forward and lifted his battle-axe as the Israelites charged toward him. He struck the first a crushing blow to the head, which sent him spinning, already dead, to the ground. Two more swung their swords, one striking Remak's shield, the other slashing the sides of the horse. The horse reared back in pain and Remak tumbled backwards to the ground losing his grip on his battle-axe. The Israelites roared with triumph and closed for the kill. Stunned and winded, Remak lay there, certain of his impending death.
He did not hear the sound until he saw the first soldier stagger and then fall, an arrow protruding from his chest. The other paused, fear in his eyes as he sought out this new threat. Again, no sound until another arrow thudded into his throat. Blood streamed onto the dust as he fell, thrashing and gurgling out his life's blood. The remaining three soldiers turned and fled, leaving Remak surrounded by bodies. Slowly he rolled over to his side and began to push himself to his knees. As he did and looked up, he saw horses approaching. As he pulled himself to his feet, he recognized the broad features of Naaman, a bow and arrow at the ready, with Gorak holding a broad sword, ever vigilantly looking around for new enemies. Satisfied there was no immediate threat, Gorak dismounted and walked over to Remak,
"Are you all right, old friend?" Remak nodded, annoyed that he, who was supposed to protect his master, had to be rescued instead. Gorak knew his thoughts and said nothing.
"Naaman." He called to his son, "Find another horse for Remak. There is a war still to fight."
"Yes, father.' He answered at once. All around them were the remnants of war. Chariots, spears, swords and bodies. In the midst of the carnage, horses stood alone and Naaman reined one in and trotted back to the pair. Remak nodded his thanks, found his battle-axe and mounted. The surge of the battle had carried the fighters far from them. As they turned their horses towards the retreating Israelites, a trumpet sounded a clear note.
"It is the recall. This battle is over." observed Gorak. Remak nodded and they wheeled their horses back towards where the King had his camp.
* * *
Ben-Hadad, King of Aram stood atop the hill outside Samaria and considered the momentous victory won on the plains, a victory he had won. A victory greater than anything his father had done. He thought of the songs that would be sung about Ben-Hadad the Mighty King, Ben-Hadad the Mighty Warrior. Already, twenty thousand Israelites lay dead in the fields the remnants surrounded in Samaria without hope of relief. His scouts to the south had assured him that the Judean army remained securely in Jerusalem not daring to confront the Arameans to rescue their northern cousins. There was no doubt that Rimmon; god of war had smiled on them.
The defeated remnants of the Israelite army manned the walls waiting for the Aramean assault. To both sides, there seemed to be little doubt that the city, surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered, cut off from food and water, would soon fall. Ben-Hadad sat on his throne, erected on the hill looking down on Samaria. Somewhere in the city was Ahab, the arrogant King of Israel. He had no desire for a long, drawn out siege. His Generals had urged him to attack the city in the morning, breach the walls and promised him the head of Ahab on the end of a spear. The picture of Ahab's head on the end of his spear, he smiled at the thought. However, it was not enough. Yes ... humiliate him ... have him beg for his life ... bow down as a servant of the great King Ben-Hadad. Yes.
"Bring me the scribe." The scribe appeared with writing bench and parchment ready. Ben-Hadad began to dictate and as he spoke, strutted about, all the more confident. Yes, all the world would know of the greatness of King Ben-Hadad. No lengthy message, it told much about Ben-Hadad's limited education, brought up as a soldier. He had disdained the education of the teachers in his father's court; instead, he concentrated on the craft of war and betrayal. When his father was old and frail, the young Prince had killed all his brothers in a bloody coup that had left him King. The provincial kings who included Gorak, Naaman and Remak listened to the demands that the scribe had recorded.
"Your silver and gold belong to me, as well as the best of your wives and children."
No one dared to speak. This was the King's moment. He smiled and had it read to them again, so no one could doubt the content. The Commander of the Army Hezeal drew his sword and raised it to the sky,
"Hail, Rimmon God of War. Hail King Ben-Hadad." The provincial kings and the princes followed his lead and the hilltop was filled with the roars of the assembled warriors. There were smiles all round. Servants brought wine. They drank several toasts and roared to the heavens again. Finally, Ben-Hadad sealed the message with his signet ring and handed it to one of his messengers with orders to deliver and read it only in the presence of King Ahab of Israel. As they awaited the reply, Ben-Hadad continued to stride about the tent, with the aura of supreme confidence. As he spoke to each of the provincial kings, they all confirmed his own thinking that Ahab would surrender without further fight. Even Gorak had to admit that there seemed little doubt that victory was assured.
* * *
Within the inner walls of Samaria, there were no celebrations in King Ahab's palace. Few ate and drank, they had suffered a severe defeat and Ahab knew that he could expect no help from Jehosophat in Jerusalem. They had met several weeks before when Ahab had outlined his plans to attack and defeat the Arameans. The fat King's response shocked Ahab. He had dared to rebuke him. If he had not been so determined to fight the Arameans, he would have gone to war against the Judeans there and then, cousins or not. Ahab had been the smallest of his father's sons. He should not have inherited the throne, except for the encouragement of his Phoenician princess lover, Jezebel, daughter of Ethbaal, king of the Phoenician empire. Sex and vanity had been Ahab's weakness and Jezebel exploited both, ensuring that the marriage placed her, not just in control of the Phoenician empire through her father but of Israel itself. Except now, it seemed that this latest war had turned out badly for the Israelites. She sat beside the King as Aaron; the Commander of the Army listed the losses. Their army had been routed and humiliated. Now the damned Arameans were all around the city. They had nothing left to fight with. The sense of gloom was immense. Jezebel wondered if she should quietly call her servants and ready them to flee the city back to Phoenicia. A servant entered the King's chamber and spoke to Aaron. A brave man, he hesitated in the face of the news. Ahab leaned forward,
"Come. What is it? What more bad news can you possibly bring?"
"My Lord. Ben-Hadad has sent a message." Ahab waved his hands,
"Well. What does that goat herder want?"
"My Lord. The message must be spoken only to you." Ahab slumped in his throne. What more indignities would he have to endure?
"Bring him in." Aaron waved the servant away. In moments the Aramean messengers arrived, full of the swagger and confidence of the victorious. They walked up to King Ahab, only stopping as two of his soldiers stepped forward. The messengers nodded and bowed slightly to the King.
"Well. What does your King have to say?" The messengers broke the seal before the King and read the blunt message out aloud, making sure that everyone in the King's chamber heard the words and understood the depths of their plight and the full extent of King Ben-Hadad's victory. The messengers waited for the King's response. He waved them away,
"Get out. I will give you my answer when I am ready." the messengers bowed and withdrew. Marching to the door, their smiles were in sharp contrast to crestfallen looks on the faces in the Israelite court. As the door closed behind them, he called his most trusted advisors into his private chamber.
"Do we have any choice?" Ahab asked bitterly looking at each man and seeing in his face the same answer. Finally, he called the messengers back to him and dictated his response, sealed the scroll and handed it to the messengers. They took the scroll and said nothing in response as they bowed and withdrew. Ahab slumped down into his throne after they had left drunk desultorily from his cup of wine, wondering how much more Ben-Hadad would demand of him.
What would be left of his kingdom? Jezebel said nothing, instead rested her hand on his arm. Perhaps later, she would comfort him, if the Arameans did not attack first.
* * *
The messengers galloped into the Aramean war camp. They said nothing to the soldiers that gathered around them, however, their look of pride and exultation carried its own message and the soldiers began to shout and cheer. The cheering followed the messengers as they marched into the King's war tent. They strode up to the King and knelt before him.
"Yes?" he demanded. They stood and the leader held out a scroll, sealed with Ahab's royal ring.
"My Lord. The Israelites are defeated. King Ahab has sent his reply."
"Read it." the King ordered. He was not very literate and relied on his scribes and advisers for that. The messenger handed the scroll to Hezeal, Commander of the Army who broke the King's seal, unrolled the scroll and began to read.
"My master and king, I agree to what you say. I, and everything I have, belong to you." Ben-Hadad shouted in exultation and all of the kings and princes shouted with him,
"Hail, King Ben-Hadad. Hail Rimmon, God of War."
* * *
Ben-Hadad finally ceased his pacing and sat on his throne, the vision of his destiny to greatness lay before him. He would make the Israelites a servant state. They would constantly come and bring homage to him, King Ben-Hadad ruler of the greater Kingdom of Aram. Even now, in his mind's eye he could see his armies besieging Jerusalem and bringing the damn self-righteous Judeans to their knees. Could even Egypt escape his great power? All around him, the kings and princes were feasting and drinking; victory was theirs and now was the time to celebrate. The Arameans knew how to fight but also knew how to enjoy the pleasures of victory. Food, drink, music and even women were provided.
As they were eating and drinking, a thought continued to nag at the King. For too long, Ahab had been a thorn in his side. He would take this opportunity to humiliate him totally. The thought captivated him and he could picture Ahab's humiliation as his men carried the best from his city. Aram would truly be great in the sight of all. Slowly he stood to his feet and lifted his hand in a command to silence. The music ceased and all those assembled stopped their high-spirited conversation and turned to look once more at their King.
"Call the messengers." He commanded. "I have a new message to take to Ahab." Naaman was standing near the entrance to the tent and as the messenger arrived, looked to his father for some understanding. Gorak held his finger to his lips. Naaman said nothing listened as the King spoke again,
"Have this message sent to Ahab. I told you before that you must give me your silver and gold, your wives and your children. About this time tomorrow, I will send my men, who will search everywhere in your palace and in the homes of your officers. Whatever they want they will take and carry off."
Naaman looked at the faces of the provincial kings and princes. Flush with drink they began to shout, cheer and laugh and began to mock Ahab as the messenger left the tent and mounted his horse. Naaman looked again at his father and began,
"Father, do you think this is wise?" He saw the doubt on his face but was cut off by a wave of his father's hand,
"Not here. Not ever. The King's spies are everywhere." Naaman nodded, saying nothing, sipping quietly from his own goblet of wine. He needed no words from his father to confirm he shared Naaman's own concerns. Ben-Hadad may have over-played his hand. Ahab and his advisors would have surrendered women and children and silver and gold to them and the victory would have assuredly been with Aram. This latest demand may be too much of a humiliation for the Israelites to accept. Even an enemy must be left with some semblance of pride, otherwise, like a cornered dog, he will lash out, thinking there is nothing more to lose. Following his father's lead, Naaman kept those thoughts to himself as a sense of pending disaster surrounded him in the midst of the feasting, music and dancing.
* * *
When the messengers demanded entrance once more to Samaria, Ahab shook his head in dismay and ordered them brought to the throne room. Ahab was determined, that whatever else may unfold, these men would report to Ben-Hadad that they had come into the presence of a true King. The Aramean messengers were brought forward. He looked at them with sullen defiance and then slowly spoke,
"What message does your King send this time?" The messenger brought out the scroll and read out Ben-Hadad's words. He had not finished speaking when Ahab leaped to his feet shouting in a bitter rage. Gone was the resignation to defeat. This latest demand was too much. Ben-Hadad had gone too far. He looked at the two men and pointed accusingly at them,
"Who is this man to demand that his men parade around in this city and take what they would wish!" The messengers were shocked. Only hours before, the Israelite King had been a beaten man, compliant, subservient. Now to see him so stirred to action, they realised that the King's plans for an easy victory may have vanished. A sudden calm descended over Ahab's features as he turned to his own scribe and quietly dictated his response. Checking the contents, he rolled it up and sealed it, leaving no doubt that this was a message sent from the King of Israel. Handing it to the messenger, he looked the man in the eyes, saying nothing. The messenger needed no words to see the fierce determination in Ahab's eyes.
* * *
Upon their return to the camp, the messengers were full of fear. They well knew the wrath of the King and they knew they did not bring good news. As they were ushered into the Ben-Hadad's tent, he waved impatiently for them to speak out the message. The messenger bowed deeply and handed the sealed scroll to the King and gave his report,
"My Lord. I delivered the message to King Ahab as you have said it. The words greatly distressed the King and began to rage. He instructed us to bring you his reply." The messenger paused, looking for some comfort from those around him, but found none. Ben-Hadad tore open the scroll and seeing it written in Hebrew angrily passed it over to one of his scribes to translate. As the man read the words, a look of horror crossed his face,
"Come on man, speak!"
The scribe, visibly shaken, nodded and read Ahab's response.
"I will do what you said at first, but I cannot allow this second command." At the words, Ben-Hadad raged about his tent in an uncontrollable fit of anger. In his frustration, he struck dead his own messenger with his sword. The kings and princes, who had been sharing in Ben-Hadad's glory, now fell silent, averting their eyes from the King. The King's tirade of anger seemed to go unabated as he overturned tables, throwing food and drink from one end of the tent to the other. Finally, he recovered enough to command,
"Send this message to that damn worm, Ahab. Tell him this: May the gods punish me terribly if I do not completely destroy Samaria. There won't be enough left for each of my men to get a handful of dust!" The scribe hurriedly recorded his words, sealed it and handed it to the remaining messenger. Thankful to be still alive he bowed and quickly left the tent. Panting from his exertions, the King looked angrily around at all of his provincial kings. None dared speak. A smile suddenly crossed his face and he began to laugh, exuding new confidence,
"Ahab is a snivelling coward. He has no stomach for a fight. Unless he surrenders now, we will attack in the morning and level the city. Nothing will be left standing. I will have my revenge!" The last words he yelled.
Having announced the plan to attack he would have dismissed the commanders to return to their troops, but in a rash moment he said instead,
"Come. Let us drink to our success." The kings and princes looked at each other, but did not dare to defy the King. Obediently, they joined him at the feast table, which the servants had righted and quickly restocked with food. The atmosphere soon returned to the earlier triumphant spirit as they waited for the King's messenger to return with Ahab's final response. Ben-Hadad was certain that faced with destruction, Ahab would surely comply and surrender the city.
* * *
It was several hours before the King's messenger returned. Naaman watched the unfortunate man enter, not with the confidence of a man bearing good news. However, despite his fear, he stiffened his back. He knelt before the King and presented Ahab's response to him. He knew that the last bearer of bad news had been slain. He kept his face to the floor as he waited for death. This time, the King gave the message to one of his advisor's, the old man Hemal. The messenger discreetly stood and moved off to one side, his duty done, his honour and his life retained. He stood next to Naaman and Naaman gripped his shoulder in a tight squeeze. The messenger looked at him and just nodded, appreciative of the support.
"I am Naaman."
"I am Paak." the messenger replied. Any further words were stopped by the King's demand,
"Come, Hemal. Read to me Ahab's reply." The old man looked horrified, but meekly complied and unrolled the scroll and read the words,
"'The man who puts on his armor should not brag. It's the man who lives to take it off who has the right to brag."
"What!" roared the King and drew his sword in a rage crashing it down on the hard wooden table once more sending food and drink spilling to the ground. "He shall pay for this outrage." He looked about him, his mad rage demanded blood.
"Where are the Israelite prisoners?" In moments, they brought in a string of captured soldiers, hands and feet shackled. They were still in their armour but without weapons. The King faced them and his assembled leaders,
"This is what we will do to all Israelites," and plunged his sword deep into the bowel of the first prisoner. As that man fell, the King swept the sword across the neck of the next, the head bouncing onto the rug at his feet. Ten brave Israelites died to feed the lust of the King. As the last died, the King stood with his bloodied sword raised and then pointed to the assembled kings and princes.
"Rally the army. We attack. We shall show them no mercy! I shall have Ahab's head on the end of my spear!" Blood lust filled the hearts and minds of all those assembled and the kings and princes rushed from the tent calling to their commanders. Soon, trumpets were blaring and the Aramean war camp stirred for the coming fight.
* * *
Ahab stood on the outer wall and watched the preparation of the Aramean army as they readied to attack. There was no doubt that come first light, they would overwhelm the defenders. He felt a fool to let his own pride dictate what should happen to the city.
Perhaps I should have given the Arameans what they wanted. Would not that have been better than the slaughter that would soon be unleashed on my people? As he stood, staring out through the failing light toward the Aramean lines, one of his commanders approached,
"My Lord. One of the Prophets of Yahweh wishes to speak with you." Ahab looked up; a sudden flash of hope filled his heart only to dismiss the thought. All that the prophets of the God of Israel had to say to me was bad. Why would this message be any different? However, he could not afford to turn the man away.
"Very well. Bring him to the Great Hall. Assemble the Commanders." He left the city walls, surrounded by his bodyguards and marched back to the palace.
With his Commanders and advisors assembled, he ordered,
"Bring in the Prophet." Ahab looked at the man. He was constantly amazed at how pitiful some of these prophets looked, under fed and wearing the poorest clothes. He wondered how they drew any satisfaction from the life they lived. The prophet walked slowly forward until Ahab raised his hand and gave him permission to speak,
"My Lord. The Lord your God of Israel would say to you: Send forth the young officers of the District Governors. They will win you a great victory this day." Ahab shook his head in disbelief. He turned to his army commander and asked,
"How many officers is that?" The commander paused a moment to think and then announced,
"Two hundred and thirty." Ahab shook his head. How could two hundred and thirty men defeat the great Aramean army? He looked back at the prophet who had not moved.
"So, prophet. Your God does not seem to be a great military leader. Tell me how two hundred and thirty men are going to bring me victory?" The prophet held the King's stare and calmly replied,
"The Lord God of Israel, he who parted the red sea and freed the captives from Egypt, the Great I Am. He will perform this mighty deed." Ahab did not believe in the old Israelite myths, but the superstition within him refused to dismiss the words of the prophet out of hand. He also knew that militarily, he had nothing to lose. He turned again to his army commander.
"Assemble the officers now. We will not wait until the morning. We will attack now!" The Commander looked once at the prophet and then back at the King. Secretly he believed in the great power of the God of Israel. With sudden confidence he said to the King,
"The Lord will bring us victory." The words struck deep in Ahab's heart. Is it possible? He said nothing, instead waved the prophet and the commander away.
"Go. Go. Both of you. Bring me those officers."
* * *
The sounds of the war camp readying for battle made King Ben-Hadad happy. He had never been happy to simply rule from his palace in Damascus. He lived only to fight and wage war. His thirty kings and their princes had rejoined him for a final briefing before the battle. The army was in position to attack in the morning; they had only to wait for the sun. Hezeal had been outlining the city defences and pointing to the main target of the morning's attack when a messenger came running in and spoke to Hezeal. He turned immediately to the King,
"My Lord. The Israelites. They are coming." Surprised the King wondered aloud,
"What! They have no hope against us!" Even as he said it, sudden doubt filtered through the alcoholic fog. In uncharacteristic caution, he ordered his scouts to report to him. As they assembled, he commanded them,
"They may be coming to fight, or they may be coming to ask for peace. In either case capture them alive." The scouts were young, cocky and proud. The previous day they had killed many Israelites. They were not afraid when they approached the young Israelites who carried a torch in one hand and a sword in the other.
"Ho." The scouts called out. "In the name of the King of Aram. Do you come in peace or do you come to fight? Or have you come to surrender and beg for mercy?" They laughed loudly at their joke. The leading Israelite held his sword aloft and before the speaker could react, slashed down across the man's throat. Blood sprayed into the air as he toppled from his horse. The other Israelites charged forward and in moments, the ten Aramean scouts lay dead in a pile on the road. These young Israelites, inspired by this early victory, remembered the words of the prophet and with fresh confidence raised their bloodied swords to the skies and roared,
"Victory is ours. The Lord will give us victory. Victory to Ahab." They charged forward urging their fighting horses toward the waiting Arameans. Behind them, the remaining Israelite warriors had assembled, waiting the command to attack. They watched how easily the first Arameans were cut down and now the two hundred and thirty officers charging the enemy. Filled with fresh courage, they too began to shout and wave their torches as they bellowed a fierce war cry into the night as they charged the Aramean lines.
The assembled army had watched the approach of the Israelites. They had seen the scouts go forward and watched with horror the ease their own men were slain. The Arameans were simple-minded men. Easy to rouse to anger, fierce in a fight but extremely superstitious. Like an omen of doom, the young Israelite officers continued on toward the Arameans, filled with a brazen arrogance, shouting their battle cries. A sudden wave of fear swept through the Aramean ranks. They had been expecting to launch an attack against a weakened and spiritless enemy, hiding behind their walls. Instead, they found themselves under attack by an aggressive, seemingly unstoppable army. Uncertainty swept their ranks. Their leaders were still in the King's tent. Confidence evaporated and the ranks closest to the approaching Israelites threw aside their weapons and began to run crying out,
"Flee for your lives. The Israelites are coming. Flee for your lives."
Those behind them, seeing their brethren in fearful flight wavered and also lost heart and joined the headlong rush back to Damascus. The shouts and the rush of running men roused the kings and princes from the King's tent, Naaman and his father among them. Futilely they tried to stem the tide, to turn the men back to face the enemy but to no avail. If they had been with their own troops, they may have had a chance to rally them. However, the troops had lost all sense of discipline as fear overcame all rational thought. The army had been routed and was in full retreat. Neither threat nor plea could turn them back again. The war was lost!
As they looked past the fleeing masses of their own army, they saw Israelite horsemen moving towards them with their sole intent to kill or capture the King. Gorak looked around for support. Remak and Naaman stood at his side. The King's bodyguard were gone, lost in the turmoil of battle. Only the King's messenger, Paak stood near.
"We must protect the King." Gorak commanded. Paak drew his sword and stood at their side.
"I am yours to command." Paak said.
"Go with Naaman and bring horses." Paak looked at Naaman and led him to the rear of the King's tent while Gorak approached the King, still shouting curses upon Ahab and the Israelites.
"My Lord. The battle is lost. You must flee." The King looked at Gorak and saw Naaman and Paak arrive with horses. Face contorted with rage, fear and the effects of the drink. He stopped his own ravings for a moment to look around him. His kings and princes had all fled, his army was streaming away from the battlefield and closing upon them was the victorious Israelite army killing every Aramean too slow to flee. Clarity returned to his thinking. He took the reins of the horse from Naaman. The King looked into the young man's face and then quickly mounted the horse. With a last look behind him, the King fled.
Chapter 2
They had pushed the horses hard; making sure the pursuing Israelites had no hope of catching them. They passed many of their own army, only the fit survived. The wounded had been abandoned to the Israelites. Along the way, they found warriors from their own province who took heart at the sight of Gorak. Unfortunately, Naaman noted how few they were. It was only when the first rays of the morning sun appeared that the black shirted King's guards found them. The guard's relief at finding the King alive was palpable. If the King had died, the lives of those men would have been forfeit. The gathered around the King as their Commander took hold of the reins of his horse. Ben-Hadad appeared not to see them, sitting stupefied in the saddle, spittle around his mouth, mumbling incoherently. Gorak looked at Paak who had stayed with them through the long march.
"You should go with the King." Paak nodded and rode up to the trio and solemnly shook their hands.
"It has been an honour." before reining his horse in beside the King. The guard Commander gave a cursory wave and urged his horse forward, careful that the King followed. As the King rode away the soldiers on the road parted to let him pass. The King stirred from his stupor and focussed on the demoralised men around him. He began to shout and curse,
"Damn cowards. Traitors. Death to all traitors," and began to rave. Naaman and Remak drew close to Gorak and watched the King ride away. When finally out of earshot, the soldiers around them began to curse, throwing dirt and stones in the King's direction. Naaman looked at his father,
"Father, why do you continue to follow that man?" Gorak looked at his son. Naaman looked from his father to Remak and back. His father looked away. It was Remak who replied,
"Your mother was a sister to the King." Naaman sat back in his saddle before he responded,
"The King is my Uncle?" Gorak nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. Remak continued,
"She made your father give a pledge. The King ... he has always been ... unstable."
"What pledge?" Naaman asked as he wrestled with the thought, the King is my Uncle. Gorak found his voice,
"Your mother made me swear ... on your head ... to always protect the King." Naaman looked back at his father.
"But ... even if he is insane." He asked.
"Because he was insane." Remak spoke out. Gorak looked at his friend and Remak said no more. There was more than just the pledge to his beloved. Gorak knew what disobedience or rebellion would bring. Every year the King called the nation to war and Gorak obeyed. To watch the senseless loss of loss, yet more defeat and failure. Gorak was a brave man, an honourable man. He did not fear his own death. However, he knew that if he refused, not only his life, but also the life of his entire household would be forfeit. His lands would be given to another, one who would exploit every person under his protection. He looked at his son,
"The King doesn't truly rule. Yes, at his word, men die. However, there are those behind him who use the power of the King to gain power for themselves. We live in very dangerous times, Naaman. I have tried to protect you from all of this. Now, you have been to war and seen for yourself what we face. You must too protect the King. If he dies, then these others will tear this country apart in their lust for power. As bad as the King is, the others ... they are far worse." As if to finish the conversation, Gorak turned his horse up the road toward Damascus and urged his horse forward. Naaman and Remak followed in silence. As he thought of Jophiar, he was filled with fear. What will become of us?
* * *
The King's arrival into Damascus and with it, the news of the army's defeat with the loss of thousands of men brought a sense of fear and doom to all with the city. The populace barricaded themselves in their homes. The streets were empty. For days after his return, Ben-Hadad seethed at the shame, the ignominy of the defeat. The army continued to straggle into Damascus. Roving bands of Nationalists would seize some unfortunate and spear them, leaving their carcass hanging from walls and doors throughout the city. The provincial kings and princes had returned to their estates. However, they knew a time for retribution would come.
By the end of the week, that time had arrived. Ben-Hadad ordered all of his Princes, advisors and Commanders to meet with him at the palace, with them, Gorak, Naaman and Remak. Naaman was torn by mixed emotions as they entered the palace grounds. He sensed his father's fear and apprehension. No one could predict how Ben-Hadad would react to this devastating defeat. Already they had heard rumours of summary executions within the palace. As he rode between Remak and his father, he was thinking once more of Jophiar. Perhaps he may have a chance to see her, even if from a distance. Members of the King's bodyguard met them as they dismounted in the courtyard. From there they were ushered politely, but firmly into the King's main meeting room. Naaman looked in vain for Jophiar before they reached the King's meeting room. It was already filled with a throng of Princes and Commanders. There was little conversation and every face bore the tight looks of fear and concern. A trumpet announced the arrival of Ben-Hadad who strode in, face flushed. It was obvious that he had already been drinking heavily. His eyes swept the room as if seeking for enemies in their midst. Naaman felt a chill run down his spine as a thought came; People are going to die today. He looked with renewed apprehension at his father by his side.
Surely, he could not be blamed for the defeat. He looked again at the King's face. He did not see a picture of rational thought and shivered again. Involuntarily his hand fell to the sword strapped to his side. Gorak, sensing his son's movement quietly rested his hand on his arm and Naaman dropped his hands to his side.
Then the King began to speak. It was an incoherent, rambling tirade against the failures of the army, the failure of the Princes and of his advisors. Their lack of courage. No one was excluded from the raft of accusations. No one dared to speak, most avoided looking directly at the King. Finally, the King stopped his pacing and then demanded,
"Who is going to pay for this betrayal? Who shall pay for this treason?"
Treason! There was no doubt as to where the King was heading. Someone or many someones were going to die as traitors to the King. Naaman could not help but look around the room. Most were sweating heavily, even though the morning was still mild. The King began to walk along the bunched groups of assembled Princes and Commanders. He looked each man in the face, as if by looking at him, the King could determine if he was loyal or was in some way, been personally been responsible for their defeat. Then he began to point,
"You." Then moved further and said it again. As he pronounced the word, his bodyguard moved quickly to take the victim by the arms and lead him to the centre of the room. There was nothing the accused could do; no words, no actions could save them from their fate. Most submitted to their fate, except for one, young, strong and brave soul who pushed the bodyguards away and drew his sword, yelling,
"You will not take me." The King heard his words and yelled pointing at the man in near hysteria,
"Traitor! Traitor! Kill him! Kill him!" The man fought bravely but was no match as ten of the King's bodyguards surrounded him. As he fell from multiple sword wounds, Remak leaned towards Gorak and whispered,
"At least he died a warrior's death." Gorak gave the merest hint of a nod but said nothing. Today's killings were still not over. In the middle of the room, disarmed and surrounded by twenty bodyguards, ten men waited their fate. The King then strode along the length of the room, looking at each man again,
Were there more traitors still to be weeded out? Naaman wondered to himself. What would I do if they chose me or my father? Fight or submit? He did not know. The King stopped opposite them and a look of recognition crossed his face. He nodded, acknowledging that they, amongst all the rest, had at least served their King well. Seemingly satisfied by his inspection, he turned back to the ten doomed to die.
He nodded to one of the bodyguards who led the first victim to the middle of the room and forced him to his knees. Drawing his sword, he raised it above his head and waited. The King had walked back to his throne, extending the moment of tension even more dramatically until he gave the order. The sword swept down slicing cleanly through the man's neck and struck the stone floor with a crack. The head tumbled away as the body slumped forward pouring blood onto the stone. One of the King's attendants announced with a surprisingly steady voice,
"Death to all traitors of Aram." Two servants raced forward to drag the body away as the bodyguard led the next man to the middle of the room; he died in similar fashion. The sickening carnage was repeated eight more times before the King stood again.
"Now get out of my sight." Those left alive needed no encouragement to leave. All were careful to walk to where the King sat and bowed deeply before they departed. Gorak, Naaman and Remak were near to the last to approach the throne and bow. As they lifted their eyes, the King motioned to them to come near. Next to him was Lumah, Hemal and Jorab, the King's most trusted personal advisors as well as Hezeal, Commander of the Army. Of all the commanders in the field, Hezeal seemed to be immune from the rage of the King. As the three drew near the King, he said quietly,
"Stay and eat with me after the rest of these cowardly fools have left." Gorak could only nod and reply with a respectful face,
"Of course my Lord. It would be our pleasure."
As the last of the Princes and Commanders left the King's Meeting Room, servants began scrubbing the stone floor to remove the stain of the blood. The King smiled grimly and then turned to the trio and said, almost apologetically,
"There are some things that a King must do." They joined the King who led them to his morning room, an informal courtyard where the King often came to relax. It contained beautiful scented flowers, trees and a water fountain. The contrast to the King's meeting room was so dramatic that Naaman stopped at the entrance. Above, the roof ended with an open space that allowed the morning sun to pour through onto the cobbled courtyard. There a table was laden with cooked meats, vegetables, fruit and a variety of freshly baked bread. Despite the carnage that he had witnessed, Naaman felt ravenously hungry. He wondered to himself how he could feel hungry after watching eleven of his fellows brutally executed. The King led them to the table where servants stood waiting to serve them.
"Come, good friends. Sit and eat." Naaman looked across at his father and Remak. Both moved without hesitation to the table, took hold of a large piece of meat each, and began to eat. Naaman followed their lead watching as the King did likewise. There was little talking as they ate their fill. Servants poured them a thick morning wine. It was sweet and sickly but quenched their thirst. They ate in silence until the King threw down a half eaten leg of lamb and sat back in his chair, sipping from a goblet of wine, looking from one to another. He took a long drink and waved to Gorak,
"So, Gorak." The King said softly, in complete contrast to his rage in the throne room, "Tell me your view of the war." Naaman's heart chilled at the question. It was so obviously a trap. The King wanting his father to trap him in his own words, thereby proving his disloyalty to the King. Yet, even as that thought came, he wondered,
If he wanted Gorak dead, why not do it in the meeting room with all the others? Thoughts continuing to rage. He kept wondering if being a distant relative would save them. He used all of his will power to prevent his hand from shaking as he placed it carefully on the table and waited for his father's answer. The King continued to look directly at Gorak who looked back at him, his face betraying nothing. In preparation for his answer, he lifted a piece of meat from one of the plates holding it upright on the end of his knife.