Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Assam’s cries grew louder, as if he thought to drown out his sisters’ shouts. She closed her eyes, drew in a breath, and whirled about to storm into her daughters’ room.

  “What is wrong with you?” She yanked Ku-aya’s hair until the girl’s screams grew real, then shoved her away. Rage lashed her. She turned on Kammani, raised a hand, and struck her across the mouth. “Your brother never sleeps! When at last he does, you can’t keep quiet for even an hour?” Her whole body shook. “I will lock you out in the street to sleep with the wayward ones tonight. Don’t think I won’t!”

  Melah stared down at her daughters, not really seeing them, barely hearing their cries, now quiet whimpers. Assam’s wails pierced the air, and the girls fell silent.

  He couldn’t possibly be hungry again. Her milk let down at the thought, her instincts alert. She could not still the trembling as she hurried to his side. Hadn’t his sisters been half again as big?

  Her touch silenced his pitiful cries, and she settled into a cushioned chair, guiding his small mouth to her breast. She felt his tug, but her milk came too fast and he nearly choked, pulling back. She cursed, grabbing a cloth from beside his bed to stop the flow.

  “There, there. It’s all right.” She drew in several breaths, but she could not relax. Weariness and fear had dogged her since his birth. And now, with each effort, only a little milk found its way into his stomach. “Come now, sweet child, if you are not hungry, why do you cry? Why will you not grow?” Had she somehow offended Ningal? Or was this the work of Abram’s God?

  A door opened and slammed from across the house, and heavy footfalls hurried in her direction. Lot’s anxious voice called to her until he stopped at the threshold of her room.

  “There you are.” He drew in a labored breath. “Does he eat?”

  She shook her head and could not stop the tears. “I don’t know what to do for him.”

  He regarded her, then stepped closer to her side. “There is trouble.” He touched the babe’s head and stroked the fine, dark hairs. “King Bera and his allies have rebelled against the heavy taxes Chedorlaomer has placed on us. They are gathering to war against Chedorlaomer and his allies in the Valley of Siddim.”

  She pulled her baby tighter against her chest. What did she care of war? “So let them go. The king takes too much from us as it is.”

  A snort of disgust came from Lot’s lips, and he knelt at her side. “Melah, I don’t think you understand. This is a foolish act on the part of the king. Sodom and Gomorrah and their small-town allies are no match for Chedorlaomer and his forces. They’ve already defeated the Rephaim, the Zuzim, the Emim, and the Horites in their hill country as far as their border of the wilderness. Then they turned back and defeated all the country of the Amalekites and the Amorites. There is no stopping them.”

  A shiver of fear worked through her, not only at Lot’s words, but at the intense anguish in his dark eyes. “But what can we do? You cannot stop the king. You barely know him yet.”

  He nodded and stood, running a hand over his beard. “There is nothing to do but leave.”

  “What?” Her heart fluttered at his meaning as her gaze traveled to look at their son. “Where do you propose we go? We cannot travel with Assam.”

  “We must. I have already told the servants to begin packing. We must leave Sodom and escape to my uncle’s until the danger is past. There is no other way for me to keep you safe.”

  “I cannot go.” She stood, clutching Assam to her breast, her breath agitated even as she tried to still her racing heart. “Have you not seen the way Assam seems to grow hungry every time the flutes play at Ningal’s temple? It is as though Ningal is waking him to remind him to eat. If we leave, Assam will not hear the flutes and then he will not eat at all.” She was crying now and barely felt Lot’s arms as they attempted to pull her close.

  She broke free of him, her mind hurrying ahead of her pacing feet. “Surely Ningal will protect us from any silly war. You don’t really think, after all of my sacrifices to her, after how faithful I have been, that she would abandon me now, do you?” Was that her voice rising in pitch and volume? The sound seemed so far away.

  Another cry pierced her consciousness as Lot’s hands gripped her shoulders. “Melah, stop! You are scaring Assam.”

  His tone snapped her thoughts into submission. She looked at Lot, though his face seemed distorted before her eyes. “I’m not scaring Assam.” She stroked the baby’s cheek, then lifted him to her shoulder and patted his back. His cries settled again, and the room grew still, broken only by the distant chatter of servants. Even the girls’ bickering had ended.

  “Melah, listen to me. We cannot stay here if we expect to survive the coming invasion. Chedorlaomer will defeat Sodom. You can count on it.”

  A laugh escaped before she could stop it. “And what else should I count, dear husband?” She touched his face. “The new worry lines along your brow? Surely if King Bera has decided to go to war with this Chedor fellow—”

  “Chedorlaomer, and he is not someone to take lightly.”

  “Well, then King Bera won’t take him lightly if that’s the case.” She sank back onto the cushioned seat, her energy drained. There was no reasoning with Lot when his mind was so set.

  “King Bera is taking this war far too carelessly, and I can see that my wife is no different!”

  “How will I ever get Assam to nurse if you keep fussing at me! You know how many nights he has kept me awake? How hard it is to calm him then?” She lowered her voice to a mere whisper and patted Assam’s back, rocking back and forth.

  Lot looked at her as though he did not know her, his gaze finally resting on their son. What was wrong with him today? So much worry over a little war. She had far more to worry over with the child. If he did not start to eat better soon . . . She could not think about that now. She had already lost so much.

  “All right, Melah. I know I will live to regret this, but if you think the babe is too weak to travel—”

  “He is. He most definitely is.” At last he was listening to her! And giving in as he always did. Such a good husband he was to give her whatever she asked of him. A sigh escaped her, and she turned her attention to the babe, pulling him from her shoulder and trying once again to coax him to eat. When she looked up, she saw no sign of Lot.

  “Come on, sweet child. A little more milk and you will be strong like your father.”

  20

  The steady vibration grew, its pulse matching the rapid pounding of Lot’s heart. He stood on his roof, taking in the sight from a home that no longer felt safe, his wife and daughters sleeping below. Torches dotted the Valley of Siddim, moving fast, headed toward Sodom. The battle could not have gone well. A sinking feeling turned to stone in his gut.

  He should never have listened to Melah. Though there had been only a few days to travel, they could have reached his uncle’s camp by now, safe from the marauding invaders whose swift horses and iron chariots would weave around the tar pits and across the plain to Sodom’s gates long before morning light. He must do something. But the very movement of light coming toward them held his feet to the roof, weighting his legs.

  Oh, Adonai, what have I done? He glanced at the stars, sensing the truth his uncle had tried to teach him. The Creator God was the only true God, the only real Savior. If ever he needed to be rescued . . . But would Melah heed his words? Even now, would she follow him if he readied his household to flee? How far would they get before the chariots would swoop down on them?

  The thought spurred him from his sluggish inaction, and he turned toward the stairs, grasping the railing in his hurried flight. He nearly bumped into his steward, dressed in his night tunic.

  “My lord, I thought I heard a noise.”

  “Undoubtedly you did.” Lot grabbed the torch from the outer courtyard wall and motioned the servant to follow. “You must dress quickly and run to my uncle. Tell him that Sodom has been captured and we are all prisoners.” He pointed to the servant’s roo
m. “Take your robe and staff and go!”

  The servant blinked, his groggy gaze quickly replaced by fear. “But . . . we are not prisoners. Sodom is not captive.” It wasn’t like his servants to argue, but the man’s fatigue seemed to be slow in leaving, probably exacerbated by too much drink.

  “Can you not hear the chariots and the racing hoofbeats? Listen, man!” He cocked his head toward the direction of the sound. They were approaching faster than he had anticipated.

  The servant shook himself as though coming out of a stupor, his eyes growing wide as the sound grew closer. Shouts and an accompanying war drum suddenly burst the thin night air, and in the next instant, the clatter of wheels over cobbled stone streets drew near.

  “Do as I say!” Lot swore at the man, then left him, rushing down the halls toward his wife and children. How could he possibly protect them? To surrender . . . Was there another choice, another way to escape?

  Fear filled him as he stood at the threshold of Melah’s room, the babe nestled against her breast, her exhaustion evident in the dim torchlight. Should he wake her? But how could he not?

  He rushed into the room, setting the torch in its stand. “Melah, wake up!” He shook her rougher than he’d intended. She startled and cried out.

  “What is it?” She shifted to face him. “I just got him to sleep.” She sounded angry and near tears.

  “I’m sorry, dear wife, but you must rise. The city is being invaded. We must flee. It may already be too late.”

  She looked at him as though his words did not register. “Where would we go?” She lifted up on one elbow and glanced at their son, still sleeping and peaceful, though even in this light he lacked a healthy glow.

  “To the hills, to my uncle.” He gripped her arm to tug her out of bed, but she pulled back and lifted the child like a shield between them.

  “I cannot go. Assam is not well.”

  The shouts from the street did not seem to penetrate her stupor. He wanted to shake her, to make her see, but there was no talking to her like this. “Stay then. I’m taking the girls and going.” Perhaps that would rouse her. He left her side and grabbed the torch from the wall.

  “You can’t leave me!” Her screeched words drew him to a quick halt, the sound like that of a trapped and wounded animal.

  He stood, indecision thickening his blood, making him suddenly weary and helpless. He slowly turned at the sound of her weeping. How had it come to this? In the early days, he had known how to charm her, but after he wed her, he couldn’t bring himself to care. At first. When at last she meant something to him, the child had come between them. He didn’t know her anymore.

  The squeal of iron wheels clattered against the stone streets until the pounding of horses’ hooves died away, replaced by the screams of his nearest neighbors. Banging against the outer door sent a jolt through him. Footsteps of servants rushed down the halls. The cries of his daughters restored life to his blood.

  But the splintering sounds of the doors and windows caving in nearly paralyzed him. He rushed to his daughters’ room, snatched them both from their beds, and dragged them to Melah’s room. A prayer died on his lips as Chedorlaomer’s soldiers barged through the door.

  Sarai stood over the pot of sheep’s milk and stirred the mixture with a fig branch, being careful not to let it burn. She darted an anxious look at the sky. The wind had picked up in the last few moments, threatening to extinguish the flames beneath the pot. A storm was surely coming.

  “Perhaps we should have the servants bring an awning to protect us.” Lila called to her from close by, where she stirred her goat’s milk with an equally anxious gaze. “A little protection might keep the fires from going out.”

  Sarai agreed. “Hagar!” The girl lifted her bent head from the millstone. “Find a tent to put over us. Get some help if you need it.” She looked over at Lila as Hagar bowed low and hurried to do Sarai’s bidding. “I didn’t expect a storm today.”

  “Nor I.” Lila’s smile warmed Sarai. “I hope Abram and Eliezer are not caught in it unawares.”

  Lila’s gaze moved beyond Sarai to the group of children in the field nearby gathering flowers for dye and twigs for the fire. Lila and Eliezer’s young sons were with Eliezer now, helping in the fields, but their daughters were nearby, one just beginning to help her mother while the other still nursed at her breast. Sarai followed Lila’s gaze. Lila’s children were like grandchildren to her. If not for Adonai’s promised child, she might have contented herself to adopt Lila and Eliezer and never long for more.

  She stirred the milk, noting the soft bubbles rising in the creamy liquid, as Egyptian servants hurried to where she worked, carrying the goat’s hair canopy. She glimpsed Hagar again as she settled once more over the millstone, grinding the endless grains beneath the hard surfaces. She was a plain girl, and her foreign looks hadn’t captured any of the male servants’ notice.

  The curds slowly separated as Sarai turned her attention back to the boiling milk, wishing she could rush the process. She could smell the storm on the wind.

  Distant male shouts made her look up. She glanced at Lila, whose concern matched her own, but she could not leave the cheese until she squeezed it through the cloth.

  “Shall I run to see what has happened, my lady?” Hagar stood at her side as if sensing her thoughts.

  Sarai gave her a curious look. The girl said little, and despite the nine years she’d lived with them in Canaan, Sarai knew almost less about her than she had during their short stay in Egypt.

  The shouts increased in the distance—men calling Abram’s name. Whatever it was sounded urgent. “Go, and be quick to return.” She clenched her jaw, silently cursing her own lack of agility as she watched the girl sprint away, slim brown legs peeking beneath her lifted tunic as she ran. The young woman had no modesty, but then Egyptians were a barbaric people.

  Sarai looked at Lila. “I hope the Canaanites aren’t stirring up trouble with the wells.”

  “It’s probably nothing.” Lila’s reassuring words did not match the lines across her brow. She called to her girls, her voice carrying on the wind.

  “Of course, I’m sure it’s nothing.” But worry swirled inside Sarai just the same.

  Abram dug his staff into the dark earth, bracing against the steady wind. Eliezer stood nearby conferring with the camel herder while Abram spoke with the merchant who had just returned from the east with his goods. From the field just over the rise, the sounds of his captains barking orders during training exercises carried to him. Though he had made alliances with the Amorites Mamre, Eshcol, and Aner, he could not risk attack by others who did not view his presence here so kindly.

  “The prices from Damascus were higher than those from Ebla and Kadesh. Their king has imposed higher taxes, so I thought it wise to spend the gold in the other cities,” the merchant said. He opened up his leather bags.

  Abram inspected the wares and nodded. “A wise choice. Damascus has had its struggles of late.” Though he would always be grateful to the place for giving him Eliezer.

  “Master Abram! Master Abram!”

  He turned to see a man come to an abrupt halt and fall to his face at Abram’s feet. “Master Abram, let your servant speak a word with you.”

  “Catch your breath, then, and speak.” Abram summoned Eliezer to join him. “Bring the man some water.”

  The messenger sat back on his heels, hands to his knees, sucking in great gulps of air. A servant handed him a skin of water. He sipped slowly, his breath returning.

  “I have come from Sodom, where Chedorlaomer has been at war with Bera, King of Sodom, and his allies. Sodom is defeated, and Chedorlaomer has swept down and taken all that belongs to Sodom, including its people. Your nephew Lot was also taken captive along with his family. I alone escaped to tell you.”

  Abram drew a long breath. Hadn’t he warned Lot of what living in such a place might mean? Anger stirred within him, but he held it in check. “When were they taken?”

&nbs
p; “Early this morning, my lord. Before dawn.” The man sipped again and slowly stood. “Lot did not sleep for fear of them. If he had not spotted them from the roof coming toward Sodom, he would not have sent me to tell you in time. I would have been swept away with the rest. Please, my lord. You must come to rescue them.”

  Abram nodded once, then glanced at Eliezer, the grim set to his jaw telling Abram he did not like the odds. Chedorlaomer’s exploits were well-known, his contests without defeat. “Find the captains and send messengers to Mamre and his brothers,” Abram said. “We will meet in my tent at dusk to plan and then leave at first light.”

  He glanced at the man, then glimpsed another lone figure hurrying toward him from the direction of the camp. A woman alone? What now?

  He dismissed the man and went to meet the servant, recognizing Sarai’s Egyptian maid. “Is your mistress all right?”

  The girl nodded. “She is fine, my lord. We heard the shouts calling your name and—”

  “She sent you to find out?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Abram regarded the slave for a moment, then shook his head. “I will explain the news to Sarai myself. Tell her we will have guests for dinner.” He turned then, making his way back toward Lot’s messenger.

  21

  Sarai glanced at the darkening sky, grateful that the threat of a storm had passed, then lifted the lid on the stew pot once more. The cheeses were done, the bread baked, yet still Abram and the guests Hagar had told her to plan on had not come. Where was he?

  That he had refused to explain the news to a slave and wanted to tell her himself both worried and pleased her. She had no intention of giving up her rights as Abram’s wife to know his plans, especially to a slave girl—and a young one at that—but in the anxiety of the moment, it had seemed the prudent thing to do. Now she almost wished Abram had given a hint to what he was planning. Yet a part of her feared knowing. If the news was good, might not Abram have already hurried home to share it?