Providence (10 page)

She withdrew her hands from his face and tried to pull his fingers from her deformed skin. “Nothing. They have done nothing. I have been this way since birth.” She hesitated and held her breath, anticipating that he would pull away. Abandon her to the other prisoners. But he remained close.

She clasped his hand in hers and held it over her heart.
Do not pull away for me.
“It is another curse.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” He brushed the hair from her nub. “You told me about the other curses. Did you not trust me with this?”

The hurt in his question caused new tears to flood her cheeks. She closed her eyes for she had not been forthright.

She was glad she could not see his expression clearly, or he, hers. She slumped against her stone backrest. “You cannot see the others. But my deformity is ugly. I am ugly. For look where I have brought us.”

“You did not bring us here. Those heathens did.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I wanted to be with you. I still do.” His thumb outlined her lip. “Now. And afterward. If God is willing.”

Breath hitched in her chest. Was there even a chance at an afterward? Did he believe they would escape from this prison? That she would be healed? That her betrothal to Azor would be forgotten? Oh, if it could be so. But she was not whole. Her vessel was still stained. How far had the chief priest's daughter fallen that she wore vomit-stained rags in a pit full of lustful pagans.

“God is deaf when it comes to my prayers. But he should not forsake you and Benjamin on my behalf.” She reached for Gil's arm. He winced. “Oh, Gil, you suffer and bleed. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

“It is not you I have to forgive. The kings of Israel and Aram signed for peace. Were we not on our land? Seeking our prophet?”

“Because I am cursed.” She burrowed her face into the curve of his neck. “One day I hope to learn of my ancestor's offense and why God chose to punish me.” Her voice faltered. “I do not want you punished because of my transgressions.”

“I am not afraid of a fight. I have grown up fighting. It is but a sport to me.” His voice rose as if he remembered sparring in Jerusalem's alleys.

“Back. Back,” rang out in the cave. Echoes of Hebrew came first. Then Aramaic.

A tremor shot through her body. She desired to be strong for Gil, but her strength grew weary.

“Benjamin is one with us,” Gilead assured her. The weight of his chin rested on her head.

“I do not want to perish at Konath's hand. He is a wicked man.”

Gil's body stiffened. “Has he hurt you?”

“No,” fled from her mouth. She didn't want Gil thinking she had been defiled. “Naabak offered me protection. I serve his wife. If I had refused his offer, I would have served Konath. And I would have begged to die by the flash of a sword.”

Gilead's hands slipped between her back and the stone wall. “God spared you.”

“For a season. But Naabak lies dying of the plague. When he is taken from this life, I will belong to Konath.”

“Never. It will not be.” Gil's tone held the fight of a caged animal.

Her fingers wove into his hair. His thick curls were like tendrils coiling around her skin. His breaths fell atop of hers. His lips hovered at the side of her mouth. When he whispered her name, she wished he had spoken it between her lips.

Heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks. The pump, pump, pump of her heart radiated out over her limbs like a storm waking the Dead Sea. How cruel to have such yearning for a man and not be bound to him.

“Gil,” she whispered, “We may have no other time than this moment. I am willing to begin an afterward.” She turned so her lips were a hair width above his.

His lips descended upon hers. His desire consumed her. A geyser of pleasure burst within her belly.
Oh God, Do not take him from me.

Noise interrupted their kiss. Rebukes.

“Where is that Hebrew?” A man bellowed.

Flickering light split the darkness.

Gil turned and wedged her into the nook with his body. They were trapped. His bravery was useless.

“Hannah?” Reumah's summons was like a luxurious soak in eucalyptus oil. “Mereb insisted she was in here. Where is my servant?”

A torch flame bathed Hannah and Gil in light. The fire bearer unsheathed his sword. “She is here,” he announced.

Two soldiers tore Gil from her. He thrashed in defiance.

She gasped at the blood and dirt covering his body. The darkness had been kind to spare her his plight.

“I dream of spilling your blood,” a soldier said, scratching at Gil's dried wounds.

“Stop,” Hannah shouted for all of Damascus to hear. “Let him be.” She stepped closer to the light bearer. “If you touch him, I will awaken your gods with my screams.”

“What if I touch you?” The torch flickered in her direction. A wicked grin crossed his face.

“Mistress! I am here. Save us.”

The flames moved closer to Gil's curly hair.

“Bring her to me.” The tremble in Reumah's voice hinted her patience had waned. “She was a gift from my husband.”

She stretched to her full height and glared at the guards as if she were Naabak's daughter. Pointing at Gil, she said, “I will not leave here without him.” She would not abandon Gil in this filthy cave.

The soldiers squabbled in Aramean before pushing her toward Gil. Sheathed swords prodded their backs as they made their way to the entrance. Captives lined the entryway where Konath had thrust her to her ruin. Her brow furrowed at the men who had attempted to remove her clothing.

She stopped in front of a young man. A man she remembered from the village running to save his sheep. This must be Benjamin. Bruises darkened the side of Benjamin's face. She owed him a debt. Benjamin's strength and bravery had given her and Gil time to hide and be together. He had suffered abuse on her behalf. Her soul ached at his battered body.

“
Toda raba
, Benjamin,” she whispered.

His eyes shone through the shadows. “Are we not one people?”

“Always,” she said, glancing at Gil.

When Hannah crossed the threshold, Reumah backed away, fanning her nose.

“Hah,” Konath snorted. “This is what your husband gifts you? A whore in soiled rags?”

Gil spat on the floor. “Do you not fear God? Or your commander?” His reprimand hung in the corridor.

The
whaa-aack
of a whip split Gil's shoulder.

Hannah screamed and lurched forward to shield Gil from another attack.

A soldier seized her arms.

Gil folded in pain, but guards held him upright.

Blood seeped from the lash. She struggled against the soldier's strong hold. His restraint kept her from comforting Gil.

“Next time leave the punishment to me.” Konath unhanded the whip from his soldier. “Take him to the arena.”

No! Gil did not deserve to die. Her body tensed. “Reumah,” she called using her private address, “I beg of you. Bring him to the house.”

The soldier escorting Gil hesitated.

“Take him outside,” Konath roared. His cheeks turned a deep shade of plum. “He is of no use to the lady.”

“Spare him, Mistress.” Her gaze did not leave Reumah's face. “Has your sacrifice at the temple pleased Hadad? Has he acted on your behalf?”

Reumah waved Hannah's soldier off and stepped away from Konath. Gil disappeared down the tunnel.

“In time. The gods will act.” Reumah fingered the loop of her gold earring.

“Are your gods asleep?” Hannah accentuated her last word. Her gaze darted to Konath.

Konath petted his sword.

“Is your god any better?” Reumah spat her last word in Hannah's face.

Hannah tilted her head and pretended to be the mistress while Reumah played the offending servant. “You will never know,” Hannah said in the voice of a noble. “And neither will Naabak.”

Reumah jerked away at the mention of her husband's name. She licked her lips over and over as her eyes blinked a code.

“Wait,” Reumah called out. “I could use a strong servant.”

“So you want me to make the dog a eunuch?” Konath laughed as if he preferred this request. He lowered his piercing eyes until they were even with Reumah's. “You are the commander's wife. We shall make the Hebrew fit to suit you.”

Was there no end to this wickedness? Heat engulfed her neck and burned hotter than a stoked furnace. Flashes of light blurred her vision as her bones became like piles of ash. She turned toward Reumah, tears streaming down her cheeks, into her mouth. “He is my husband.” A righteous lie.

A calloused hand smothered her mouth. But flesh could not stop her plea. Her voice continued to squeak and beckon.

“My head splits with all this turmoil,” Reumah stuttered, “I need rest.”

“The woman does not know what she wants,” Konath said, dismissing Reumah with a flip of his hand. His yellow-toothed grin fell on Hannah. “Kill the boy. Let the birds have a feast.”

Hatred roared inside Hannah's soul. Hatred for Aram, for Konath, for her own God. A God who had abandoned her at birth. Gilead was faithful to the Law. He did not deserve to be skewered like a rabbit on a spit.

She whirled on the torch bearer and struck his arm. Cinders flew into the air. Reumah screamed.

Hannah ran. Not toward the light of the arena, but into the shadows of the tunnel. She raced deeper into the mountain, around the bend that Konath had appeared from. Her lips pleaded, over and over, for Naabak.

Every breath she took beckoned the commander. “Please. Naabak. Answer me.”

She would follow the line of torches to the borders of Aram if need be. Her eyes flooded with tears of mourning. Gil had to stay alive.
Naabak's name screeched from her mouth. The sound, sharp like a blade on a silversmith's wheel, threatened to unearth the rocks around her.

Heavy footfalls followed her. The thunder grew louder. A tug on her tunic foiled her flight.

She slid in the pebbled dirt.

“Naabak. Help,” she screeched. The fire in her chest made her lungs feel like roasted dates. A soldier up ahead blocked her path.

A triumphant cackle blared behind her. Something grazed the flap of her ear nub. “Hah!”

Her shoulder collapsed in pain. She slumped to the ground. The
thunk
of a wooden club narrowly missed her hip. She cried out for Naabak.

Konath cursed. His weapon was at the ready to pulverize her bones.

“Israel?” The voice came from a room up ahead.

Konath stilled and looked toward the guard.

Everyone had heard the summons. It was weak, yet somehow powerful.

“Naabak, I am here.” She struggled to her feet, clutching her collar bone.

The guard stepped away.

“Bring her,” came the order.

She didn't wait to be brought. She sprinted toward her salvation.

14

Hannah rushed through the rounded opening in the mountain's inner wall. The soldier standing guard did not follow. He skidded short of entering Naabak's infectious tomb. A flickering lamp illuminated the cave and what looked to be a partially decayed corpse.

“Master?” Hannah gasped. Her rescuer had little hair, no ears, no lips, few teeth. Only rotting wounds covered his once-rugged face.

Dropping to her knees beside a raised bed, she whispered, “Oh, Master. What has become of you?”

Naabak struggled to speak. Coughing and sputtering he choked on his spit.

She quickly grabbed a cloth from a water basin and dabbed at Naabak's face, moistening his raw, festering skin. Heat radiated from his scalp.

“You are with fever.” She hesitated to touch his forehead, but she needed this man alive. “I can help you.” She did not look away from the swollen slits of his eyes, but beheld his deformity with the reverence of a daughter. “But I need you to help me in this moment as well. You must save a Hebrew slave for me. My beloved. My Gilead.” Her plea stuttered from her parched throat.

Naabak raised a stump of a hand and tried to motion her away from the bed.

He was kindhearted to think of her health but all she could think about was Gil and the beating he suffered at the hand of Konath and his men. Her body shook.

Her arms trembled as she placed a cloth on Naabak's forehead. “Do not save me. Save my Gilead. I beg of you.”

A raspy “Who?” came from the opening that once was Naabak's mouth.

“Her husband.” Reumah answered from the doorway, a veil covering her nose. Tears streaked her alabaster-powdered cheeks.

She met Reumah's gaze. Naabak's wife had saved her once this day. Would she show mercy again or remember the scene at the temple?

“He is her lover.” Konath stood behind Reumah in the tunnel. Neither came near Naabak.

She would not allow a corrupt heathen to tarnish Gil's name or cast her as a harlot.

“Gil accompanied me to see our prophet.” Her throat swelled as she remembered what Gil had suffered by escorting her on this journey. She sat tall on her knees so Naabak could see her earnestness. “Do not let him die for his kindness to me. For I know you can be kind and just as well.”

Naabak struggled to sit up. Fresh blood stained the sheet where his hands lay. His breathy groans filled the room. “Bring me the Jew.” Naabak's command sounded like a determined whisper. He raised his arm toward the guard in the doorway.

The soldier did not move.

“Did you not hear?” Reumah shrieked, her eyes wide with indignation. “Your commander has spoken. Bring him the slave from above.”

Konath brushed by Reumah and gripped the soldier's shoulder. “My Lord, the slave is as good as dead by now. This girl has troubled you for nothing. She does not know her place.”

“If the Hebrew has survived this long, he has skill. Make haste. The men will listen to my second.” Naabak's eyes closed.

The guard bowed toward Naabak and hurried off to carry out the order.