NAAMAN, freed from the bondage of physical suffering, made plans for the future with all the abandon of a joyous child. The first day of the return journey he talked much with Isaac, whom he graciously permitted to ride beside him, the target for both the flattery and the malice of his less-favored associates.
“There remaineth, Isaac, most of the treasure we brought to this land, despite our trifling gifts to King Jehoram and to the prophet’s servant for his master’s almsgiving. Had it not been for thee I should not now be healed. Behold, the gift is thine.”
Isaac bowed low. “Nay, my lord, for had it not been for the little maid we should not now be in Israel.”
The great man pondered. “The maid shall be suitably rewarded, but what desirest thou for thyself?”
Thus encouraged the young soldier dared to speak of what had been in his mind since that day of healing at the Jordan. “Yea, my lord, much more than thou wilt wish to give, but if, oh my lord, I have found favor in thy sight, grant, I pray thee, that Miriam be allowed to return to Israel and to her home as she longeth to do, and that thou shouldst also allow to return with the maid her brother Benjamin, a friend to whom I am much indebted, but who, being a shepherd, was carried into captivity with his flock by Eleazer’s band about the time I took Miriam.”
“But for thyself, Isaac, what for thyself?”
The soldier gazed beseechingly at the older man. “For myself do I ask these things. Do they not mean the reward of a conscience at peace? And that is something, my lord, I have not had this long time.”
Naaman was silent a moment, lost in thought. At last he spoke: “It shall be done, Isaac, even as thou desirest, but more. This treasure will I divide between thee and the maid, and when she is old enough she shall be given thee in marriage. I see thou hast a tender affection for her. It is well.”
With a gesture of dismissal Naaman was turning away, but Isaac caught hold of the fringe of his garment, speaking with unmistakable earnestness. “Thou hast spoken truly, my master. I love the maid as she cannot now comprehend and she loveth me, but not in the way I would wish. There be many kinds of love, and when she is old enough to consider such things I pray thee help her to be happy.”
Naaman could not hide his amusement. “I see, Isaac, that I was not wrong when I accused thy good looks of leading thee into experiences. Thou speakest of love wisely.”
The amusement faded into seriousness. “Oft have I thought, Isaac, that thou hast shown discretion far beyond thy years. As thou knowest, my steward groweth old. In time he must be supplanted by a younger man, and even now he needeth to lean upon the stronger arm of youth. Where can I find one more diligent and less self-seeking than thou? Behold, from henceforth thou shalt be no longer a soldier, but greater responsibility shall be given into thine hand. In time thou mayest be over all of my substance as was thy father before thee.”
Isaac stammered his thanks, but its lack of enthusiasm irritated his master. “Carest thou not for the reward I would give thee? Peradventure thou hast some other request. Speak and conceal it not.”
And Isaac spoke, too utterly miserable to be prudent. “Could I be born and grow up in thy house, my master, and not wish to be even as thou art, a man of war? Could I be thine armor-bearer and not feel that war is more glorious than peace? Could I be promoted to the captaincy of a small band and not wish to lead a greater? Could I follow thee and not wish to be like thee? Thy wealth thou hast inherited, but the affection of the people thou hast won by thine own valor, thine own worth. I had dreamed even of this. Once I gained the favor of Naaman, Captain of the Host. Henceforth thou dost ask me to seek only the favor of Naaman, the rich man.” He ceased speaking, his breast heaving, tears in his eyes.
Naaman stared at the dejected figure with incredulity and growing displeasure. Why all this show of emotion over a benefit he had thought to confer? His kindness was misconstrued. His thoughtfulness was considered intrusive. He was defied and rebuked by a servant. Yet he might have expected ingratitude. It was the way of the world. He had imagined that Isaac was different, but he had been disillusioned. His tones held the sadness of disappointed hope.
“I had believed thou wert glad to serve me, Isaac, but thou art like the others: thou wouldst rather serve thyself. It is well that I should have learned this before making any mistake.”
With a disdainful gesture he turned from his one-time favorite. Isaac, shocked into full understanding of the mischief his tongue had wrought, dropped to the rear of the chariot and by degrees to the rear of the company, affecting not to see the curious and surprised glances with which his action was greeted by his companions. Lemuel rode forward hastily. Passing Isaac he leaned from his saddle, speaking in so low a voice that even the soldier nearest could not catch the words, much as he tried:
“Thou fool! Knowest thou not his imperious temper? Couldst thou not bear with his impatience? Thou shouldst have considered only the reward. Thou hast had thy chance and lost it. Next to thee he hath seemed to regard me with favor. Peradventure the opportunity thou hast thrown away will be mine. Behold, I go to do his bidding.”
He pushed his way to a place just behind the chariot, where he rode for a time, respectful and attentive. Naaman, saddened and perplexed by Isaac’s outburst, accepted Lemuel’s attentions with a certain degree of grateful appreciation which gradually became relief and even pleasure, and when evening fell, Lemuel’s tent was pitched next Naaman’s, in the very center of the encampment, while Isaac kept to the outer circle. The evening meal was long since eaten; the bustle of the camp had quieted into the soundlessness of night; not a figure moved among the dark tent-shapes and masses of camp paraphernalia. Even the pack-animals were quiet, but hour after hour Isaac lay awake.
The stars looked at him with far-off, unsympathetic faces. He was bitterly humiliated. Why had he so rashly thrown away his master’s favor? Why had he treated his future advancement as a child would lightly discard a withered flower? It was not merely of himself he should think, but what would Miriam say when she knew? The impetuous youth who had never faltered before a foe quailed now, in imagination, before the clear vision of a maid’s disapproval. And then the remedy flashed through his mind. Discarding it at first as absurd and impossible, he ended by weighing carefully reasons for and against. At last he rose and stealthily went for his tired horse. No watchman questioned his action or interfered, but the significance of this did not occur to him until afterward.
Leading the animal apart from the camp he stopped in the shadow of a great rock. He was facing the road which led to Damascus. A little farther along there crossed it the no less important highway which went down into Egypt. It was well known to every traveler and each twist and turn of it had been familiar to Isaac since his scouting days. He would have no difficulty finding his way. Egypt was his destination. There would he be a soldier. The ruling power was always anxious to recruit its forces with any foreigner willing to serve, and how much more would he be welcomed when it was known that his father had been an Egyptian!
Although the decision was made, the young man hesitated. To be a soldier for pay, and pay alone! To fight, not to defend the weak and repulse the strong but to uphold the quarrels of a master he should hate! To leave the impulsive, impatient but kindly and generous Naaman, the only master he had ever known! To cut himself off from jealous, loving Milcah and repudiate the home of his mother! Most of all, never to see the maid again! What would she think of this desertion? He shuddered at the word, yet it was that despicable thing—desertion of duty. He wavered an instant, then his face set into lines of bitterness. By whatever name it might be called it was necessary. Was he not already disgraced? Had he not foolishly and without just cause forfeited his master’s favor? Did he deserve or could he expect sympathy or even respect from Milcah and Miriam?
Still he did not start. Before his mind’s eye passed quickly a panorama of all his dreams, now brought to naught. Brushing a mist from his eyes he sighed and mounted the fiery little steed of the desert, once a gift from his master. Motionless he sat in the shadow, staring, for down the road, like a moving picture, came a band of mounted men. Was his dream coming true? Was this the phantom command he had often seen in imagination? And then he came back to realities with a start. His horse seemed to feel the suspicion which passed through his rider’s mind and was instantly alert, responsive, trembling slightly, but eager for the fray.
On the company came. There was no mistaking the camels and the armed men, though not a sound of their advance came to the sensitive horse and to the man who crouched in the shadows, listening. It was this silence which proclaimed their errand. They were robbers coming by night with the feet of their animals muffled, their object being no other than Naaman’s treasure, upon which they hoped to pounce while the camp slumbered, exhausted by a hard day’s travel. And then it occurred to Isaac for the first time that the watchmen should have seen and reported. He remembered that he had noticed no passing to and fro on the usual rounds. Was there a traitor within the camp? But he had no time for investigation. He lifted his face to the stars for an instant and through the cool stillness of the night sent a long, weird call.
It was the Syrian battle cry. The camp responded without delay, and Isaac, dashing out of his shadowed retreat, led the first charge against the oncoming robbers, made desperate by the miscarriage of their plans and the surprise of the attack. It was a longer fight than might have been anticipated. Their numbers were almost evenly matched and both sides felt that so much wealth was worth fighting for. Naaman’s party, however, had the handicap of weariness, for its leader was pushing toward Damascus at a forced speed. Isaac never understood how it was that he and his master and Lemuel became separated from the rest and cornered. He only knew, with the clearness of vision which comes in a time of emergency, that the chances were all against them and in favor of the robbers.
In that moment, also, there swept over him the certainty that he had never cared for Naaman the soldier and even less for Naaman the rich man, but that Naaman his master was dearer to him than all the world except the little maid. He saw the battle-line draw closer and closer about them. He noted the spear-thrust which Lemuel avoided and which Naaman, though he did not see, would soon feel unless, by a quick movement on his own part—in Isaac’s side he felt a sharp and agonizing pain as if he were being burned with red hot lead. His strength suddenly forsook him. Crumpled up on the rocky road, held fast in the grip of a dull torture and a nauseating weakness, the struggle surged around and over him and he cared not, nor knew when it ceased.
It was long past daylight when his dull eyes opened upon his surroundings and his stiff lips tried to frame a question. It was Naaman himself who bent over him tenderly and answered with a matter-of-factness in itself reassuring:
“Three of our men have we lost and four beside thyself are dangerously wounded. The others are able to be about the camp and to minister to the sufferers. We shall rest here for two or three days and then resume the journey slowly. Yea, the treasure is safe and we have buried many of our enemies. But rest thou and so shalt thy strength return.”
The speaker gave his patient a drink of something that was cool and refreshing and bathed his wound with a mixture of oil and wine which was supposed to have great virtue in soothing and healing. But Isaac could not rest until one more query was answered.
“And thou?”
His articulation was feeble, but it was understood. As his master stooped to reply two scalding drops fell upon Isaac’s hand and the words came chokingly:
“Safe—thanks to thy fidelity.”
And then Naaman did a strange thing for one who was merely a master. He gathered Isaac within his arms and wept openly over him.
“That I should have forgotten how high flame the fires of youth; its ambition and its courage and its boldness; its longing for achievement and its impatience of restraint. Yet of these is manhood born. Ah, if thou stayest with me, Isaac, I will remember, yea, I will.”
The younger man looked up into his face wonderingly. Stay with him! What did he mean? He was not going to Egypt. Not now. He was going back to the little maid, and home. He was, however, too weak and too weary to make explanations, so he closed his eyes and when he opened them again the stars were out once more and his master still lingered beside him.