THE western or southwestern gate of Damascus, that which looked toward Israel and Egypt, had seen much coming and going of late. Varied features and varied dispositions, people large and small, old and young, bond and free, soldiers and civilians, on all manner of business and pleasure they had passed, but never a couple more likely to attract attention than the maiden and the boy who now approached. There was something inexpressibly gentle and refined in her appearance which contrasted oddly with her tattered garments and the leopard’s skin drawn closely around her. The boy seemed more fitted for the wilderness and the hardships they had evidently endured.
They were talking low and eagerly. “Thinkest thou, Rachel,” with a touch of scorn, “that the Lord would send an angel in these times and to us as he did to our fathers?”
She was sweetly reasonable. “Then how dost thou explain the fire with no one near it the night when I thought I should die with the cold; and this leopard’s skin we found next morning near the embers; and the food—so much we have had enough and to spare; and the water-skin filled with life-giving water for which we thirsted; and even these strips of cloth to bind up our bleeding feet, cut on the sharp rocks, bruised on the rough road? Nay, no matter what thou sayest, Nathan, I have learned that Jehovah is merciful and gracious, full of loving-kindness and tender mercies with which we have been surrounded. Indeed, now that our perils are nearly over, I feel that all I have gone through hath been but a spiritual experience. The Lord hath been my strength, just as Miriam told me, and he is about to become my song. Soon we shall reach the home of my kinsman, Ezekiel, where we shall not only be safe and well cared for ourselves, but he will know what to do concerning Miriam.”
“Look out, Rachel!” Nathan was glaring after a man with a heavy load who had stumbled against them. “A good thing it is that the road is straight and smooth. Keep thou close to me and watch thy steps.”
They had need to. As they proceeded the travel increased. They were jostled; they jumped quickly out of the way of those who rode, only to be pushed in another direction by those who walked; they met frowns and ill-natured remarks and, what was harder to bear, smiles and unmistakable jests. They had about concluded that Might rather than Right was the rule of the highway when their opinion was confirmed. As they came within the shadow of the city gates, but before they could enter, they were espied by a gay party, looking for sport.
By the very simple device of joining hands, a circle was formed around the two unfortunates and they were thus entirely at the will of their tormentors. Nathan’s rage and Rachel’s entreaties merely added to the amusement. The circle advanced and retreated, dragging its victims along with it. They were mimicked with exaggerated pantomime. They were forced into ridiculous and undignified postures. One, bolder or more facetious than the rest, indulged in hair-pulling and pinching.
The roars of laughter attracted the attention of passers-by, who joined the gathering, some to jeer and encourage, others to inquire and protest. The crowd grew, the noise increased, the road was obstructed and, trying to force a passage, many came to angry arguments and finally to blows. The excitement was quelled only by the arrival of soldiers, who finally hurried to the scene and in no gentle manner dispersed the mob. To Rachel, bruised and humiliated, this was a welcome relief. She did not notice the curious gaze of the soldiers, the changing expression on the face of one, nor that another looked at her intently for a moment, then, urging his horse to full speed, set off in the direction of the House of Naaman.
Nathan, with wits sharpened by terror, lost none of these things nor a host of others, and hastily came to the conclusion that their deliverance was cause only for additional fear. He clutched Rachel’s hand: “We must go back as we came. Hearest thou? We cannot go into the city to-day. Dost thou not see that these are the soldiers from whom we escaped? They will know me and guess whom thou art, even without thy veil.”
He was violently pulling backward; the crowd, so long detained and anxious to make up for lost time, surging forward. As well try to stem the Jordan with bare hands! They were swept apart, and before Rachel realized it, she stood within the portals of Damascus, dismayed and alone. With Miriam in captivity and Nathan lost, it was more than ever imperative that she find Ezekiel and that without delay, but how? She stood at one side of the busy footway, anxiously waiting to see if Nathan would join her. When he did not and she found herself again attracting attention, she singled out one in the hurrying throng and appealed to him timidly: “Canst thou direct me to the House of Ezekiel in the street of the merchants of Israel?”
The man looked at her, shook his head, and answered in a language she did not understand. Others she tried, but with no better success. They were not unkind, merely uncomprehending—and indifferent. Peradventure if she walked along slowly, constantly seeking, constantly asking, she might—she must—somewhere discover one of her own people, or at least one whose speech was the same as her own. Already the sun was casting long shadows and with a sinking heart Rachel proceeded on her way, never seeing a soldier who followed her cautiously and at a safe distance. He also watched the sun. At last he approached near enough to hear her question, put now not so much with timidity as with desperation. He addressed her in her own tongue: “I know the man thou seekest. Thou hast but to come with me.”
Although his pronunciation was distinctly bad, she turned with pleasure at the words, but at sight of the speaker she shrank back, shivering.
“Thoughtest thou to escape?” He was regarding her with a kind of cruel exultation. “I have found thee again as I swore I would, and now—”
His hand rested compellingly upon her shoulder. The girl pleaded tremulously: “Is it not enough that thou shouldst have taken me captive in Israel? Yet did the God of my fathers preserve me then and later on the road hither. I shall believe that here in Damascus I shall fare no worse. Thy name, I know, is Lemuel, and there must be some law, some protection for the innocent—”
Despite the bravery of the words her voice faltered. She was weary and heartsick. Had she endured so much only to fall into danger at every step? Her captor had drawn her within an alley-way and in the fast gathering dusk the hurrying pedestrians neither saw nor heard aught amiss. He spoke in a tone of easy confidence, secure in possession, but Rachel heeded not. She was planning escape, yet weighed down by a sense of her own helplessness. With a grip on her arm which made her wince with pain, she felt herself hurried along to an unknown destination.
Emerging upon a less frequented thoroughfare, they unexpectedly encountered two men on horseback, riding slowly and straining their eyes into the night as if in search of something or somebody. The man at Rachel’s side glanced carelessly; again more intently and with a muttered exclamation partially relaxed his hold. That instant’s indecision lost him his prey. With a strength at which she wondered Rachel tore herself out of his grasp and fled, whither she knew not. A few moments had sufficed to change her into a fugitive, afraid of people, afraid of the torches which the few travelers still abroad were compelled to carry. She sought only some dark corner in which to stand panting and then, afraid lest even its kindly shelter be sinister, to hurry to another.
It was in the intense darkness and stillness which precedes the dawn that the girl, utterly exhausted, crouched in the shadow thrown by a large dwelling and fell into a deep sleep. When the world turned gray two men on horseback extinguished their torches and approached the entrance to this abode. The face of one was ashy with fatigue and disappointment. Observing the huddled figure he bent over it and uttered a joyful exclamation, beckoning for the other.
“Our search is ended. While we roamed abroad by night, she whom we sought found her way alone to protection. Quickly, bring food and water and borrow a cloak from one of the maid servants, while I remain here to guard the maiden.”
The voices awakened the sleeper. Startled and confused, Rachel found herself gazing into the face of the very young captain who had commanded the little company of soldiers under whose escort she had been brought from Israel. She recalled to mind the respect with which he had seen to it she was treated; his courtesy the day he had discovered her hiding place, yet fear made her suspicious. She would have fled once more, but before she could rise she noticed the compassion in his look, the deference in his manner. His reassuring words were spoken in her own tongue and as though it were native to him.
The incident at the gate, he said, and Rachel recalled her experience with a shudder, had attracted the attention of his servant, who had brought him word. Together they had sought her through the streets of the city throughout the night, hoping to aid her, to give her a better impression of Damascus than she had evidently formed. As they had returned, almost persuaded that she must have found friends with whom she was sheltered, they had discovered her asleep, at the portal of the House of Naaman, of whom she had doubtless heard and who was as good as he was great. The servant had now gone for some refreshment. When she had partaken and her strength was somewhat restored, she would permit him, he hoped, to assist her to make plans for the future.
All at once the nerve-tension relaxed and Rachel found herself strangely weak and trembling. She answered with puzzled relief: “Thou dost not look altogether like my people, but thou speakest as one. Canst thou direct me to the House of Ezekiel, in the street of the merchants of Israel? He is my kinsman.”
The anxious expression left the young man’s face. “Yea,” he said, “as soon as thou hast eaten and drunken—and here cometh my servant-thou wilt find that I am the way. Behold, I go before thee. Follow thou me.”
An hour later Rachel, guided by the soldier, arrived at the street and the dwelling she had so greatly desired to find, but disappointment awaited her. “Ezekiel? Yea, he was here,” she was told, “but a month ago he died and only yesterday his family started back to Israel.”
Rachel was not Isaac’s only problem. There was Miriam. That she was related to the shepherd who had nursed him with tender care through a long illness meant, to the young man, that he should see to her welfare; that the gift he had brought his master’s wife from the enemy’s country should be unappreciated, that the child was unwanted and unwelcome, stirred him to profound indignation; and that she grieved for the home and loved ones from which he had ruthlessly taken her roused his deepest pity.
In compensation he gave her the best of himself—his leisure moments, his most unselfish thought. All at once he became critical of his own motives and those of others. Miriam had such an uncomfortable way of looking him straight in the eye and innocently inquiring, “Thinkest thou Jehovah would be pleased?” He had never thought before nor cared. “Jehovah” was a name his mother reverenced and to which his sister was not indifferent, but it had meant nothing in particular to him. Now, however, with the obligation of answering the frank questions of this small maiden, who seemed to believe him the embodiment of wisdom, he began to observe and compare conduct, to ask himself what was worth while and why. As the weeks and months went by, such considerations could not fail to react upon his own ideals nor remain unnoticed by others.
In his wife’s apartments lingered Naaman, soldier-statesman of Syria. “What thinkest thou, Adah, of the little maid who is of the Land of Israel?”
His wife toyed with a silken tassel. “I know not indeed, having seen her but a time or two and that from a distance.”
“Then thou dost not care for the present Isaac brought thee, with such elation, from afar?” Something there was in the cool displeasure of the tone which caused the lady suddenly to remember that Isaac’s parents had served her husband’s family; that Isaac’s mother had been Naaman’s nurse; and that Isaac himself had been born in that very house.
She hastened to her own defense. “The maid of whom thou speakest hath been so woe-begone I felt I owed it to myself not to be troubled by her sadness. Milcah hath borne tidings of her and I was not attracted.”
His reply was dictated by long observation and much worldly knowledge. “Milcah taketh precautions lest she be supplanted later. Fear hath eyes of its own and its vision is oft distorted. Thou wilt be wise, I think, to judge of the little maid for thyself. It hath been my experience that where there is a drop of Israelitish blood, there is trustworthiness. Oft have I wondered if their religion had aught to do with it. Look thou at Isaac. Because he understandeth the tongue of Israel, I sent him with Lemuel, kinsman of thy friend, to spy out the land to the south of us. Of the two, Isaac brought back the more detailed and reliable information.”
Adah was glad to turn the conversation into this new channel. “Was it for this thou didst reward him with the captaincy of a small band? My friends were somewhat displeased, hoping no doubt for such preferment for Lemuel.”
The man frowned. “Should I not reward justly? Isaac is young, thou sayest? Ah, but age is not a matter of birthdays. He joyeth in responsibility.” The speaker smiled. “Hast thou not observed his care over the little maid?”
Later and alone, Adah, wife of Naaman, sat wrapped in reflection. It were undoubtedly right and politic to please one’s husband. His judgment concerning the little maid should be respected. He was impulsive but astute. Of course, when properly trained, even a tiny maid would be useful, but oh, the tediousness, the annoyance of the training! She would be awkward and heedless. Nay, for the present at least it would be best to wait.