Foreboding settled around her with each passing breath as dusk turned to darkness and the fires dimmed.
“Any sign of them yet?” Lila appeared at her side, holding her youngest daughter on her hip. The girl would wean soon, and they would hold a celebration among the women, much smaller than the kind given Lila’s sons.
“None. I’m sure nothing is wrong.” She looked into Lila’s dark eyes, assessing. “Do you think something is wrong?”
Lila shook her head. “You know how men are.” She laughed, the sound lighter than the look in her eyes. “Perhaps these guests have not yet arrived, and they are waiting by the road.”
“Perhaps.” But the worry would not leave.
Sarai bent over the pot and stirred the stew once more. Voices drifted on the gentle wind, their sound growing louder. Abram had returned! Relief filled her. She laid the stirring branch aside and moved from under the canopy to where torches lit the path to the central fires. Abram and Eliezer approached with three men following behind. She recognized Mamre, Eshcol, and Aner, the three Amorite brothers who had allied themselves with Abram, before they settled near the large oaks.
“My lord,” she said, bowing to Abram.
He bent to kiss her cheek. “I am sorry we are so late, my love. When the food is served, you may wait in your tent.”
He passed her then, moving toward the circle where a low fire glowed. She would not learn more from him until he came to her that night. Whatever business he had with these men, the women were not welcome to witness it. The earlier foreboding returned in full force as she hurried to serve Abram and his guests.
Darkness crept far into the night, but Sarai could not sleep. Surely the men would end their conversation and Abram would come soon. She stifled a yawn, picked up her mending, and dipped the bone needle and wool thread into the tear of one of Abram’s tunics, barely able to see the stitches by the light of the clay oil lamp. The flap of the tent rustled, and Abram came inside, his expression grim. He removed his robe and sat down on the sleeping mat beside her.
“What is it, my lord? You have made me wait these many hours, and I fear I will burst with the need to know.” She took his hand between both of her own and clutched it to her heart. “Why were Mamre and his brothers here? Why couldn’t I listen as you spoke?”
He placed a finger to her lips. “Sarai, Sarai, you are speaking faster than I can think! I know you are curious, which is why I will tell you now.” He stroked her cheek, his gaze turning somber. “Sodom has been invaded, and Lot and his family captured. I must go to rescue them.”
She leaned away from him, stunned. “No! That is, you can’t. Surely there is someone else who can go.”
“Sarai.” His look held reproach. “You know there is no one else, and Lot is kin. I must rescue him.”
She stared at him as silence filled the space between them. “When do you leave?” She hated giving in so easily.
“My men are ready to leave at first light. Mamre and his tribe will join us. Adonai will make a way for us to rescue Lot.” He reached for her then and pulled her to him. “Don’t worry over me, Sarai. Adonai will protect us. Not one of us will be harmed.”
“How can you know such a thing?”
“I just know.” He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulders. “I will be back in a month, perhaps sooner.” He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “Do not worry, my love.” He kissed her as though his words were enough to allay her fears.
“How can I not worry? You are a foolish old man to think I won’t!”
He chuckled, making light of her comment, then kissed her again to silence her protests. But she meant what she said, and only wished she had the strength to fight him.
Sarai stood on the hill overlooking the plain, watching Abram head for Sodom, the distance between them a wide chasm. She drew her shawl across her neck, the pale light of dawn lifting like a mist. But even the brightening sky could not lift the veil over her heart.
If Lot had not foolishly chosen to live in such a wicked city, he would not be in danger now. She folded her arms, clutching them to her chest. Melah was surely to blame for such a move. Lot didn’t have the strength to stand up to his wife. She would be his ruin—Sarai knew it deep down. Yet the thought pricked her conscience in its stark criticism, filling her with guilt.
She felt Lila’s presence beside her, the silence between them comforting. They stood watching until the men disappeared beyond a ridge, the height of a hill obscuring them from view.
“A month.” Sarai looked at Lila, unable to keep a shiver at bay. “Do you think that’s all it will take? Abram suggested as much.”
Lila placed a comforting hand on Sarai’s arm, her gaze drifting to the plain once more. “Eliezer thought it could take two. With the time it takes to travel to Chedorlaomer’s land, rescue the people, return them to Sodom, and then come home again, it could be at least that long. He said not to worry if it took that long, or even half again as much.”
Sarai moved away, irritated that her husband had not bothered to reveal the truth, choosing to let her believe the impossible. Much like he believed the impossible about the child, telling her to trust.
“Let’s go home. We have work to do.” She hurried, reminding herself that Abram, above all men, could be trusted. If he said he would return safely in a month or so, then she would believe it. She didn’t have any other choice.
Melah slumped in a corner of the cave, Chedorlaomer’s temporary prison in the hills, and clutched Assam to her breast, weeping. The forced move, along with a shortage of food and water, had weakened the boy. Now they were huddled in a cave like animals. Her milk had slowed to a trickle, and what little remained barely made it past her son’s throat.
He would die soon.
She closed her eyes, tasting the salt of her tears. The weight of Assam’s small body pressed in on her as her daughters rested against her shoulders, smothering yet comforting her. Lot’s heavy snores were a stone’s throw from where she sat.
She glanced once more at the babe in her arms. She could barely distinguish his features in the darkness, but alarm shot through her when she realized that what she had assumed was his even breathing was in fact her own.
She shook him. Gently at first. But a hand to his cheek and forehead told her what her heart already knew. His last breath had already come. Had she known it all along yet simply refused to accept it? How long had she held him thus, weeping? By the cool touch of his skin, she sensed that his spirit had left him some time ago. When had he stopped his soft mewling?
A soft cry escaped her as she stared into his light, unseeing eyes. She must wake Lot before the barbarians returned. A sacrifice must be offered . . . but she had no way to reach Ningal’s temple, and they had no lambs to sacrifice to Abram’s God in this forsaken cave. She looked into the child’s serene face, her tears dampening his soft tunic. Lot stirred, shifted on the hard ground, and rolled onto his side, unaware of her pain.
She must wake him, and then together they would gather stones and build a small altar. Lot could steal a torch from the enemy, and they would offer their son’s body for the protection of those who remained. She drew in a shuddering breath and slowly released it. Surely Ningal would be pleased with such sacrifice.
She twisted, freeing herself from the grip of her daughters, and rose to her knees, then crawled with the boy the short distance to Lot’s side. She touched his arm. He jerked upright, instantly alert.
“What is it?” He glanced around, then rested a concerned gaze on her. “What’s wrong, Melah?” Why did he look at her so strangely?
She brushed the tears from her damp cheeks and clutched the baby to her breast. “You must help me. We cannot let the barbarians touch him.”
“Why would the—” He stopped, looked at her. “Is he . . . ?”
She nodded. “I just now realized he had stopped breathing some time ago, while you slept. We must quickly build an altar and sacrifice his body to th
e gods. I will not have him left in this desolate cave.”
Lot squeezed his eyes, then rubbed a hand over his face as if he were trying to awaken from a dream. She tried to read his expression in the pale light coming from the lone lamp they were allowed.
“How do you expect us to build an altar? And how can you even suggest such a thing to do to our son?” His whispered words carried rebuke and anger.
“I . . .” She looked at him, suddenly uncertain. “We can’t bury him here. We will never see him again.” She choked on a sob and clutched the boy tighter.
He touched the blanket-clad body of their son. “I will take care of him.” He held out his arms, but she could not release him. “No one will harm him, Melah, and you can rest here with the girls, protect them.” He cupped her cheek, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “Trust me.”
“You can’t take him from me. I will go with you.”
“Then who will stay with the girls?” He wrapped his hands around the boy’s body and gently tugged. “We cannot build a fire or others will notice.” He bent forward to kiss her cheek. “Please, trust me.”
Melah felt her son’s body slip away, her hands useless limbs at her side. Lot wrapped the boy in the crook of his arm and picked his way further into the cave. Melah collapsed in a heap, begging the earth to swallow her, wishing she could die with her son.
22
Lot turned a corner, taking another corridor in this labyrinth of caves, praying he would be able to find his way out again. Darkness settled around him, dispelled only by tiny slits of moonlight seeping through cracks in the cave’s ceiling above him. Oppressive silence heightened his labored breathing. At least he was hidden from the watchful eyes of Chedorlaomer’s men. He paused, dragging in stale air, feeling the weight of his lifeless son pressed in his arms. Grief pierced him, and he stumbled to his knees against the uneven rock wall.
He would not build the altar Melah had suggested. A troubled sigh escaped at the thought. Where did she get such an idea? Even in death he would never think to offer a child in sacrifice. Adonai would not be pleased with such a thing. She could only have gotten the notion from the foreign goddesses she worshiped.
Sweat broke out on his brow. Distant voices carried faintly to him. He paused to listen, then satisfied that they were not growing closer, he set the boy gently against the wall. He crawled on hands and knees, feeling for rocks of any size, gathering a pile large enough to cover the boy’s small body. When at last the pile would suffice to keep animals from discovering his remains, Lot looked one last time at his son’s ashen face, then wrapped the blanket securely around any exposed skin and tucked him beneath the stones to take his final rest.
The job done, Lot leaned back on his heels, overcome, his hands pressed against his knees. He had little strength to stand or the will to return to Melah and the future that awaited them as captives to Chedorlaomer. How could he protect her or his daughters from such a large army of unscrupulous men? He should never have brought them to Sodom.
Uneasiness mingled with sudden, overpowering grief as he stared at the mound he could barely see. Tears filled his throat not only for his son but for his own ineptness and foolish choices.
Adonai, if You will see fit to rescue us, I will do all in my power to obey You as Abram does.
The prayer surged from a place deep within him, but even as the words left his heart, he wondered if he could keep them. He had never been strong like Abram. If Adonai asked the things of him that He had asked of Abram, could he obey?
He searched his heart, found it wanting. Abruptly casting the thoughts aside, he stood on shaky legs and brushed the dirt from his robe. Somehow they had to get away from their captors and return to the life they knew. If that meant leaving Sodom and living in tents again to please Adonai, despite Melah’s protests, he would do it.
Abram stood at the crest of the hill looking down on the valley just north of Damascus, where tents spread out like a sea of black locusts. Torches dotted the camp, but Chedorlaomer’s men did not appear to move. At the crunch of stones, he turned, spotting Eliezer in the moon’s dim glow.
“The men are ready at your command, my lord.” Eliezer stopped at Abram’s side, his haggard gaze matching Abram’s own. The trek from Hebron had taken longer than they expected, though he could be thankful they had yet to come upon the rainy season. They were able to avoid floods in the wadis and cross the unpredictable streambeds on dry ground.
“We will divide the men into two groups. One will go this way,” Abram said, waving a hand to indicate they should circle around behind the camp. “The other will attack from the front. I will take the lead group.” With Adonai’s help, they would see victory long before morning light.
“What signal shall I give when we are in place?” Eliezer looked from Abram to the sleeping camp below.
“Flash your torch once, then hide it behind a shield. Flash it a second and third time. On the third flash, attack from behind, and we will attack from before. May Adonai give us quick success.”
“It will be as you have said.” Eliezer dipped his head, then turned and crept down the hill.
Abram waited until Eliezer’s footsteps faded, then studied the outline of the camp once more. He lowered himself to his knees and put his face to the rocky earth.
In You, Adonai, I put my trust. Give us command over these people that have kidnapped Lot, and help us to rescue all.
He lay there a moment, his heart attuned to the night sounds of insects and wind rustling in the trees dotting the hills. No voice responded to his prayer, no inner sense of guidance, only a quiet assurance and a measured peace. He stood and descended the hill, his staff keeping time with his determined feet, and went to lead his men to victory.
Battle cries woke Melah from a restless sleep. She startled, her heart thudding swift and sharp as the memory, the fear of Sodom’s invasion, surfaced. She blinked twice, her eyes adjusting to the cave’s dark walls. The sounds came clearer now, swords clanging and men screaming, guttural wails and angry outcries. She sat up, fully awake, and disentangled herself from her daughters’ sleeping arms. Lot stood nearby and turned, offering her a hand to help her rise.
“What is it?”
“A battle.”
“Of course it’s a battle. But whose?” She drew close into his embrace and breathed in his earthy scent. None of them had bathed in days, weeks even, but the smell reminded her of his years in the fields with the sheep. The thought was somehow comforting.
“If I knew that, I would have already told you.”
“Have you tried to get close to the entrance to see?” If he wouldn’t do so, she would.
“I thought protecting you and the girls might be a better choice. I have no weapon, so what good would it do to venture into the fray?” He released her and moved forward several paces. “Never mind. Don’t bother to answer. I’ll go.”
She lifted a hand toward him to stop him, but he had already slipped into darkness. She wrapped both arms over her chest. A touch on her arm made her jump, and the sounds of others in their group rousing brought her fear to the surface once more.
“What is it, Mama?” Kammani slid her hand into the crook of Melah’s arms. “Where is Abi going? And what is all that noise?”
Melah glanced at the corner where Ku-aya still lay sleeping. “Keep your voice down. I don’t know. Your father went to go see.”
“It sounds like men fighting.” Her voice sounded small. “Will they hurt us?”
Melah put an arm around her and squeezed, wishing with the pain of loss that she was still holding her son.
“We will not let them hurt us.” Melah hoped her tone held more conviction than she felt. “We will fight them with all of our strength.”
“But if we fight them, won’t they hurt us?”
Melah’s stomach tightened, and the dread she had known since the moment of their capture quickly returned. She had used Assam as a shield to protect herself from the men who eyed her, and Lot had
thus far been able to keep the barbarians from touching the girls. But what if something happened to Lot? Assam was gone, and she had only herself to offer in her daughters’ place. A shiver worked through her, and she pulled Kammani close, resting her chin on the girl’s head.
“We will stay away from them and we will pray.” She turned, taking Kammani’s chin into her hand. “We will give them whatever we must to stay alive so we can go back home again.” She wondered if Kammani knew what she was suggesting, praying to whatever god was listening that her daughter did not understand the implications. She would wash the feet of their lowest slave before giving her daughters to those men.
The battle sounds grew distant and faint as she stood there watching her neighbors crowd near the cave’s entrance, still waiting for Lot to return with news. Kammani left her side and settled against her sister. As dawn broke a path through the cracks in the cave’s ceiling, Lot returned with several men following behind. Melah squinted, her heart squeezing in recognition.
“Abram.” She rushed forward and fell at his feet. “You are a prisoner too? Oh, how can this be?”
At his touch on her head, she looked up. “Rise, Melah.” He offered his hand. “Come out of the cave. We are going home.”
She placed her hand in his, disbelieving. Then all at once, her limbs quivered, weak as a newborn lamb’s. Lot caught her as she stumbled.
“We’re going home?” She choked on a breath. “Truly?”
“We’re going home.”
As the men gathered her daughters, Melah wept in her husband’s arms.
Sarai Page 17