The Damascus Way

by Janette Oke

  The clamor outside was fierce. In the darkened chamber, however, the stillness seemed complete. Abigail whispered, “Jasmina, can you hear me?”

  The woman upon the pallet was as narrow as her husband. Even in the throes of her agony, she was a strikingly attractive woman, with refined features and lustrous dark hair. The only sound she could permit herself was a soft moan.

  Abigail set the cloth aside. She laid one hand upon the woman’s shoulder, the other upon her forehead. Her prayer was simple, a request for God to do his will in this room. The noise beyond the chamber receded further still. Abigail felt a small body snuggle up next to her. She started to tell her daughter to return to the corner, but there was a sense of rightness to the moment, a strong feeling of being enveloped by unseen angels, and she put an arm around the child.

  Abigail did not know how long she remained, kneeling by the woman with Dorcas at her side, praying. Only that a moment finally came when she did not rise, but rather was drawn to her feet by the same power that she felt when watching Philip pray. Here, in this room, in this chamber, there was space for only one thing.

  Abigail spoke in a voice that she hardly recognized. “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, be healed, Jasmina! Be healed, and rise up!”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  The Megiddo Plains

  Jacob started awake. He sat up and listened for whatever had drawn him from sleep. The caravan camp was utterly quiet, and it was dark, though he thought glimmers of dawn nudged the edges of the eastern hills. He rose from his pallet to look around the wagon, but all was still, the women evidently remaining asleep within its tapestry walls. His eyes swept the camp’s perimeter. The guards on duty strolled calmly yet alert. Even so, something had disturbed him. Jacob was certain of that.

  Their westward progress had proven much slower than hoped for. A camel had calved far earlier than any of the drovers expected, delivering twins. The calves were pale as a desert sunrise, with dark and liquid eyes. No one save Jacob had objected to remaining encamped for a night and a day so the camel had time to recover. The next morning they set off once more, with the calves lashed on the back of a camel plodding just ahead of their mother. Their plaintive cries and the mother’s lowing response were a source of great humor up and down the line. They did not travel fast, then halted at midday for the caravan to deliver supplies to a Roman outpost. Which meant they had scarcely entered the Megiddo borderlands by nightfall.

  Jacob now drank from the waterskin slung on the back of the wagon and studied the night. But his sense of unease grew stronger in spite of the quiet.

  A low voice demanded, “You feel it too?”

  Jacob turned to find the caravan master observing him. A sturdy man, his moustache curved about his cheeks and into his beard, giving him a fierce air, particularly now, when the only light came from a waning half circle of moon.

  Jacob was about to say he had no idea what had left him so uneasy when it happened.

  Far off in the distance the rumble of thunder.

  The hairs on Jacob’s neck stood on end.

  The caravan master said, “How long do you give it?”

  “Not before midday,” Jacob said. “Too far to be certain it will strike us at all.”

  “Strange that a servant of two wealthy women has a nose for desert storms,” the master said meaningfully.

  “I am loyal to Jamal,” Jacob replied quickly. “Jamal is your trusted ally. That is what you need to know.”

  “Well said.” The master grinned. “What would you do, my knowledgeable servant lad?”

  “We stand in the funnel where the Tiberias hills meet the opening to the Megiddo Plains,” Jacob said slowly. “We must leave this region and seek safety in a town. Unless the Romans will grant us refuge.”

  “The closest garrisons are more than half a day in either direction. Both too small to take us all in. Even if they were willing. Which they would be, for a bribe large as my fee for this trek.” The caravan master put two fingers to his lips and shrilled the alarm whistle. “Have your women ready to travel by the time the animals are up and packed, or we will leave you behind.”

  “We are ready now” came a voice from the wagon.

  The master grinned again. “I would expect nothing less from Jamal’s household.”

  As the caravan leader departed, Julia pulled the tapestry back and asked, “What is the matter, Jacob?”

  “A khamsin, mistress. Windstorm. Several hours away still. Perhaps it will miss us. But we must find shelter in case it comes our way.”

  “We will hurry.”

  Jacob was busy hitching the first horse to the wagon when Julia climbed down. “What can I do?” she wondered.

  “It is not fitting, mistress.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Everyone is too busy to notice. You need help. And you know I’m familiar with animals.”

  Though he did not welcome the reminder of their first awkward meeting, in truth Jacob appreciated the offer of assistance. “The horses need an extra feed in case we cannot rest them for a time. The sack of oats is on the ground next to where I tethered the donkeys.”

  Julia hurried away, her sandals slapping against the hard-packed earth. By the time Jacob returned with two buckets of water for the donkeys, she was fastening the first feed bag into place.

  “Do you truly think the storm will pass by?” she asked directly.

  He hesitated, then decided to offer her the truth. “No, mistress.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can taste it,” Jacob replied. “Can you feel the prickling of your skin, the way one’s hair drifts off the neck, the way clothes rub harshly? It is the storm’s approach that causes this.” He pulled the first donkey over and tethered it to the back of the wagon. “The wind is straight out of the south. It will drive the storm right at us.”

  “But there is scarcely any wind at all.”

  “That is the myth that has fooled too many desert travelers. Even when the storm finally appears on the horizon, the wind still will appear too mild to be of worry. All the power is held in the storm’s closed fist. When you finally do feel the wind, it is too late.”

  Julia checked the bridles and reins for each horse with a practiced hand. “But every caravan trader has survived storms.”

  Jacob did not wish to worry her unnecessarily. So he merely said, “That is correct, mistress.”

  “Have you?”

  “Many times.”

  “Then why . . . ?” She must have seen the answer upon his features, for she said, “Bandits?”

  Jacob nodded. “They have begun striking caravans from behind the curtains of sand. It is a very risky maneuver. They might miss us entirely. They might become overwhelmed by the storm themselves. But because caravans are becoming more well guarded, bandits have taken to such tactics out of necessity.”

  Julia spoke slowly now. “A bandit who is so desperate as to hide inside a sandstorm would truly be . . .”

  Jacob refused to supply the word savage. But the stories of caravans that had been attacked in this manner gave him reason to quicken his steps.

  With every creak of the carriage wheel, every snap of a drover’s whip, every cry from a nervous beast, Jacob grew more certain of two things. First, the storm was headed straight for them. Second, the storm was massive.

  Behind them little tendrils of reddish dust rose into the sky, twisting and turning like fragile dancers. Telltales, the old caravan drovers called them. The more telltales one saw, the greater the coming tempest.

  By the time the sun crested the eastern hills, so many telltales rose into the southern sky Jacob could not count them.

  Still the wind did not come. The air was breathless. Yet the oppressive sense of danger was everywhere. Jacob scratched at his robe and drew sparks. The horses snorted and pulled against each other, despite his best efforts to keep them working in tandem. The camels ahead of their wagon brayed with genuine fear and sought to bolt a
head. Drovers shouted and plied their quirts and hauled on leads. And all eyes watched the empty southern sky.

  Every now and then, there came a rumble of thunder. To Jacob’s ears it sounded like an angry beast slowly emerging from its cave.

  Ahead of them, the plains seemed endless and utterly empty. There were no other caravans with whom they might join and increase their strength against their two still-hidden foes – the storm and the enemy it no doubt sheltered. Hard as they pushed the animals, the hills seemed to grow no closer. Julia drew the front drape aside and demanded, “The storm is coming our way, is it not?”

  As if in response, the caravan master shrilled once again from up ahead, signaling a change in direction, urging his drovers to even more speed.

  “I fear so, mistress,” Jacob answered over his shoulder.

  “Where is safety?” When Jacob hesitated, she added, “Please do not humor me with platitudes. I am my father’s daughter. I must know the truth.”

  “The lines of hills you see to either side will focus the storm and heighten its strength. No village can survive here in the Meggido Plains.” Jacob pointed ahead to where the caravan was veering off to the north. “The master is taking the track you see there.”

  Julia moved further out, peering across the empty reaches. “But I see no village.”

  “The village will be hidden behind the hills in the distance. Just like Tiberias. They will settle where there is protection for their fields and animals. Not just from such storms as this, but from bandits. And where there is a village, there must also be water.”

  “But what if there is no village?”

  “If there is no village, mistress, why is there a road?”

  Jacob heard Helena’s voice from within. “Julia, come back inside the curtain. It is not fitting.”

  Julia started to retreat, then said softly, her voice low yet confident, “I am glad it is you guarding our safety, Jacob.”

  For the first time that day, he found a reason to smile. “Hyah!”

  Jacob had no idea why the caravan master had chosen this road. The route they took was little more than a faint imprint across the plain. Perhaps the man had family who farmed there. Perhaps he had taken refuge there before. Or had heard from someone else that there was a protected alcove where the caravan could wait out the storm as well as find refuge from possible bandits. Jacob had no idea. The only thing he could have said for certain was that they were not going to make it in time.

  Jacob pushed his animals very hard indeed. Though the horses labored to the limits of their strength, they could not keep up with the camels. Jacob stopped applying the whip. He could see from their lathered sides and the rolling whites of their eyes that the animals were giving him every bit of power they could. But the carriage was not made for speed, especially over such terrain. The wheels jounced and rattled and tossed them about. And with every passing minute, the distance between them and the rest of the caravan grew greater.

  Finally Jacob could wait no longer. “Mistress, we must make a decision,” he called softly.

  Behind him, the drape was pushed aside. Julia said, “Tell us.”

  Jacob pointed to where the last of the caravan’s animals were disappearing in the dust ahead. “We are falling behind. We must abandon the carriage. We have no saddles for the horses. Your mother and Zoe can ride the donkeys. I can ride the horse on the left bareback – he and I have come to understand one another. I am afraid you will need to ride behind me.”

  “No,” responded Julia. “You must take Mother. She is not used to handling animals.”

  Jacob nodded his understanding. There was no need to explain further. “The second horse must carry our supplies.”

  “It sounds to me as though you have already made the decision for us, Jacob,” Julia said quietly.

  “No, mistress. The choice is this: Do we follow the caravan north, or not.”

  “What other choice do we have?” The tension in her voice was evident.

  “Look at the hills over there. They are closer than whatever destination lies straight ahead. And see those dark spots along the base?”

  There was a moment’s silence as Julia and Helena studied the landscape where Jacob was pointing. But the jostling ride made any thorough inspection very difficult. Finally she asked, “Are those caves?”

  “Perhaps. Or it could be simply sunlight and shadows. But I think caves. The wind hollows out many such depressions. They would be too small for the entire caravan. But we might find refuge.”

  “And you think we would be safer aiming for what we can see?”

  “It is a risk, mistress. A very large one.”

  “But you think we should go there?”

  “I do.”

  “Then we will do as you suggest.”

  Jacob hauled on the reins and called for the horses to halt. “We must hurry.”

  The three women swiftly followed his instructions, lashing together all their food and water – not enough, for most of their supplies were piled upon animals that were fast disappearing to the north. But Jacob had no time for such regrets. The air remained eerily still. Julia finally approached him and said, “Are you certain the storm will strike?”

  “It comes.” Jacob finished unharnessing the first horse and turned to the second.

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Look to the south. See how the cloud rises from the earth?”

  “I see nothing but a hint of color. It is beautiful.”

  “So is the adder, and the cobra and the tiger.” Jacob pointed to the donkeys. “Find blankets to cushion your ride, and quickly.”

  But there were no saddle blankets, only finely woven quilts intended to soften the carriage’s interior. They were quickly folded, slung over the animals, and tied into place.

  Just as Jacob was assisting the women upon the donkeys’ backs, he heard it.

  Helena asked, “What was that?”

  Julia said, “It sounded as though the whole world moaned.”

  It happened again, louder this time, a low groaning that was more felt than heard. The donkey holding Julia shrilled a frantic protest. Jacob watched approvingly as Julia hauled back on the reins and forced the animal to submission. He pointed to the shawls wrapped around the women’s hair. “Tie those as tight as you can across your faces, just below the eyes.” He handed them two more he had taken from the wagon. “Tie these across your beasts’ eyes. But not until the storm touches you. For doing so will slow us to a crawl. If you fall from your mount, whatever you do, hang on to the reins and let it lead you forward.”

  The two horses were fastened together with the donkeys, all in one line. It meant slower progress, but Jacob did not know how long before the wind struck, and once it did, he could not lose contact with the women. He first boosted a solemn Helena up on the animal’s back, then took his position in front of her and firmly grasped hold of the reins. “We go!”

  He felt Helena clinging firmly to the back of his tunic. He could hear her tight breathing and feared that in her fright she might lose her balance and fall. “Clasp your hands about my waist,” he ordered. “Hang on tightly.”

  To his relief she did not hesitate to obey. He could feel her head buried against his shoulder. He wondered if in her fear and confusion she wept, but he heard no sound save for the low moaning of the coming wind.

  The animals balked at first, lashed together in such a manner. But Julia and the servant woman followed his lead and applied the quirts, shouting and hauling upon the reins. Soon they were progressing as swiftly as Jacob might have hoped. Which was good, because behind them the storm grew ever louder. The sound was of some great beast in agony, a mournful note that rose and rose and rose, until it filled their entire world.

  They were less than half a furlong from the rock face. Jacob now could see that his hopes were indeed realized. He counted three caves almost directly ahead, each deep enough for the rear walls to be lost to the shadows. He dug his heels into his
mount, shouting at the frightened animals and using the whip with all his might.

  And then the storm attacked.

  One moment there was only the sound chasing them. Then the storm filled the air to nothingness.

  The blasting sand came at them from every direction. Jacob tied his head scarf tighter and slipped from the horse’s back. He tied cloths about the two horses’ eyes, wound the reins around his wrist, and pulled.

  His mind was so taken with fighting their way to safety that there was room for only one other thought. One regret. He and Jamal had used the women’s presence as a cover for his journey to Joppa. A caravan including women made for a suitable ruse to hide contraband activity. Jamal and he had planned well. But what neither of them had taken into account was the danger from desert storms. Particularly a storm with the ferocity of the one that now surrounded them. If anything happened . . . Jacob could not even bear the thought. All he could do was pray and fight harder.

  He had heard tales around the caravan fires. Of drovers who had lost contact with their caravans in the middle of the storm, and whose bones were found after the winds passed, the dust having eaten away the flesh. How some were within a few paces of safety, but were so blinded by the storm they simply gave up, lay down, and were no more. This storm was as fierce as any he had ever known – or heard of. It filled his senses. He could not think, not even question whether he continued in the right direction. There was nothing save the wind and his need to take one more step. Then another. For to stop walking was to die.

  When his hand touched the rock, he would have wept if only he still had tears to shed.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  The Megiddo Plains

  Julia shifted in an attempt to ease the discomfort of the rock against which she leaned. Tucked closely against her side was her mother, with Zoe next along the cave wall. Helena, though pale and weak from the recent experience, had fared rather well on the horse’s back behind Jacob. Julia felt proud of her, knowing she had never mounted and ridden a horse before. Yet the woman had clung to Jacob through the terror-driven ride and managed to fall into his arms as they took shelter in the cave.