He rushed off to join their sons before she could respond. Her heart tripped. “God go with you, my husband,” she called after him, but the winds whisked her words away.
Talya paced her mother’s small goat-hair tent, watching through a slit in the opening as the rain came in sheets, coating the grassy mountaintop. “How long is it going to do that?” She pointed to the door, feeling like a bird caught in a snare. If she had brought a change of clothes besides a tunic, she would brave the storm just to escape the confines of the tent with only her mother for company.
“As long as God allows,” Deborah said, pulling her spindle and wool from a goatskin sack she’d carried on her back. “Sit down and help me untangle these threads. You will wear me out just watching you.”
“I am weary of sitting.” Talya frowned, then peeked around the opening, only to be met with misty air. She whirled about and released a sigh. “We should have stayed in caves along the side of the mount.”
“The rain will not hurt us, nor get through these tents.” Her mother’s calm voice only irritated Talya’s mood.
“At least in a cave we could have talked to Father and Lavi and Elior.” And Barak, though she did not say so. She was not sure she wanted to speak to the man again anyway.
“And Ghalib?” Deborah asked quietly. “And Barak?” She lifted her gaze and gave Talya a knowing smile. “You did not resolve the argument you had with Barak, did you?”
Talya sank onto the mat and took up the wool her mother handed to her, roping one end around her palm and turning the rest to create a ball. “The man is impossible, Ima.” She leaned closer to be heard above the pounding rain. “Why does he suddenly seem so squeamish about allowing me to go to war?” She continued with the yarn but gave her mother an imploring look. “He knows I am as capable as any man. And if the men find me distracting, then they are thinking thoughts they ought not to!” She huffed and mumbled words she did not care to say aloud.
Her mother ignored her outburst, but a humorous smile lit her eyes. “Dear child. If you have no idea how easily men are taken with women, then it is truly time your father and I seek a husband for you.” She took one end of the wool Talya had wound and fastened it to the spindle.
Talya sat in silence, watching. “I want to marry,” she said softly. “But I did not come here to seek a husband. I came to kill Sisera.”
Deborah’s brows lifted, and Talya knew by that look that she understood more than Talya wished her to. “I sincerely doubt that your motives were purely military, my daughter. Look at me and tell me truthfully that you did not hope to impress Barak with your skills.”
Talya looked away, toward the tent door. At last she shrugged, then sighed. “I do want to kill Sisera.”
“I know you do. And perhaps you will.”
“But you know Barak was of interest to me once.” She picked up another mound of tangled wool and began to turn it into a ball.
“But no longer?” Her mother’s spindle did not stop with the question. “Is it Ghalib you have now set your heart upon?” She moved the distaff in time with the spindle.
Talya stopped winding the thread and shrugged. The raindrops had slowed in their drumbeat upon the tent’s roof. “Ghalib is a kind man,” she said, lowering the pitch of her voice, “but I think he pines after a cousin in Judah.”
Her mother’s gaze searched hers. “Perhaps that is best.”
“It is better if he marries within his clan, and I wed within my tribe.” It wasn’t a question, but Talya waited for her mother’s response just the same.
Deborah angled her head to better meet her gaze. “Yes.”
Silence fell between them for several moments. “Then who? If I am so beautiful as you say, if I’m such a ‘distraction’ as Barak says, then any man should want to wed me.” The words came out more petulant than she’d intended. “Let’s just not talk about it anymore.” She was weary of men, but worse, she was confounded by that last conversation with Barak. If she didn’t know better . . . She had sensed a change in him. But perhaps it was simply his anger at her for “distracting” everyone.
She tossed the wool into the bag, frustrated with the work, with the waiting, with the rain, with the men who had tents spread around hers in a circle of protection. She wanted to step onto the mountain’s grasses, run the length of its summit and back again, do something to quell her leashed energy.
She peered into the night again, feeling the mist of the rain still dampen her cheeks. Behind her, she heard her mother pack away her tools and unroll her mat.
“Come, daughter, get some rest. It is too wet to light a fire, and the dates and nuts we ate will have to suffice for the meal for all of us. Dawn will come soon enough, and the rain will stop by then.”
She turned to see her mother roll onto her side, her back to the tent’s wall, sling at her side. Talya heaved a sigh, discontent still raging through her. But her mother was right. It was too wet and too dark to make a daring move like climb down the mount and infiltrate the enemy camp. If Sisera didn’t capture and kill her for such a bold act, Barak would surely confine her to her mother’s tent and set a guard over her.
She picked up her own mat and rolled it out onto the hard ground. But as she lay there trying to sleep, her mind would not rest. Barak’s commands and authoritarian tone grated her every nerve. Whether he found her interesting or just a nuisance, she did not know, and she did not care. She had come here for one purpose. To kill Sisera. Tomorrow she would find a way to do just that, whether Barak liked it or not.
24
Jael felt Daniyah move imperceptibly closer in the dark tent while thunder clapped its mighty hands overhead. Nadia and Raja had also taken to sleeping with Jael, but no one slept this night, with the storm flashing bright behind the dark goat-hair coverings and the voice of God booming with the light.
“How long will it last?” Daniyah’s whine reminded Jael of the girl’s childhood, and the times when her daughter used to wiggle beneath Jael’s wool blanket during a storm.
“As long as it does,” Nadia said, placing a hand on Daniyah’s arm. “There is no sense in fearing something we can’t control.”
“But what about what we can control?” Raja stroked her belly in a protective gesture and spoke softly, though even with the rain her words were heard. “What if Sisera returns while our men are away? If he comes with a troop, it would not take long for them to search the area and find the cave.” She shivered, though the air was hot and sticky.
Jael looked from one woman to the next, pulling Daniyah closer into her embrace. “Raja is right,” she said, her mind whirling with the thoughts she’d had since Heber took her sons to war. “While we can fight back, we are not trained to attack as warriors. Heber left me this”—she lifted the dagger and held it out—“but I cannot fling it at a man and hope to hit him. I have practiced with the trees, and the blade bounces to the ground every time.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I think we need another plan.”
“What plan?” Raja rubbed her middle again, and Jael wondered how well the girl could travel in her condition.
“We should have left weeks ago if we thought to return to my father’s tribe in the Negev,” Nadia added.
She was right, but Jael refused to admit it. “If we keep to the byways and avoid the main roads, we could arrive there in a week or so. We could leave after the rains stop.”
“Would the guards go with us?” Daniyah poked her head up from beneath her mother’s arm.
Jael gazed down at her daughter, glanced at each beloved daughter-in-law, and looked toward the tent’s door. The rains still pummeled the ground outside the flaps, and before long she feared the roads would be flooded.
“We couldn’t very well leave without telling them. They would notice we were gone and come looking for us.” She looked around the tent. They could travel light. The guards would allow them safe passage.
“Will Uncle Alim welcome us in?” Raja asked.
“He is family,”
Jael said firmly. “He will do right by family when we are in such need no matter what trouble there was between us.” Though the memory of Alim’s anger brought with it a palpable sense of doubt. If Alim would choose to disavow his brother over an enemy slave, what proof did she have that he would protect her girls from such enemies now?
“Why has your sister no husband?” Ghalib’s question to Lavi caught Barak’s ear as he stood near Mount Tabor’s ridge. He didn’t mean to listen where the subject did not concern him, but just the mention of Talya made him pause.
“Talya? She is young yet.” Lavi brushed Ghalib’s question aside as though waving at a fly. “My parents will seek a match soon, I am sure.”
Ghalib said nothing, and it took all of Barak’s strength not to turn around and watch his expression. He looked to the left, scanning the valley below, but perked up when at last Ghalib spoke again. “Would your father entertain your sister’s marriage to a foreigner? We are not of Israel, but we are related in a sense through your ancestor Moses.”
Barak felt a swift kick to his gut, the question more than jarring him.
“I do not know the mind of my mother and father, Ghalib. But I do think they hope she would wed someone from our tribe. It is the way we do things in Israel.” Lavi’s words only partly appeased Barak. He was not of Deborah’s tribe, but neither were Lappidoth and Deborah of the same tribe—Lappidoth coming from Zebulun and Deborah from Ephraim. Barak himself was from Naphtali. And yet Deborah had offered a match had he been ready to accept one.
He turned slowly in an arc, searching the area below. The rains had created a valley of slick mud, and though the chariots were not yet in battle array or heading closer to the mountain’s base, the men were struggling to slosh through the black tar-like muck. Fighting them and avoiding the valley floor would be tricky. Hand-to-hand combat would be impossible.
Perhaps Talya with her bow could be of use to them after all. But he squelched the thought as he turned toward Lavi and Ghalib and casually walked closer. “Is all in readiness?” He looked at Lavi, his gaze glancing off Ghalib’s. Good. The man did not suspect his purposeful listening.
“All is ready, my lord,” Lavi said. “My mother said to meet her here.”
Barak nodded, resisting the urge to run a hand over the back of his neck. He looked out over the camp instead. Men stood in groups broken by the divisions Barak had given them three days before. He squinted against the bright rays of dawn’s glow, searching. No sign of Talya . . . There. She emerged from the tent with Deborah, and the two moved toward him with determined strides.
Deborah reached him first, as Talya held back. He glanced at her, but she would not meet his gaze. The girl belonged in her mother’s tent, not here.
Deborah seemed oblivious to Barak’s frustration. She walked to the edge of the summit, to an outcropping of rock that hid her from the men below. Barak walked toward her, holding back a moment while Deborah studied what lay before them. Time stilled, and he wondered if she was seeing more than Sisera’s men. She tilted her head as though listening but said nothing. At last she turned to face him, fire in her dark eyes.
“Go!” she commanded. “This is the day the Lord has given Sisera into your hands. Has not the Lord gone ahead of you?” She straightened her back, the wind whipping the scarf from her face.
Into his hands? Had the Lord changed His mind? Would Sisera be given into his hands after all? Bolstered by the thought, Barak gripped the sword at his waist. The belt held secure. He reached instead for his bow and pulled an arrow from its quiver. He turned to the men behind him and shouted, “For the Lord and for Israel! To victory!”
“For the Lord and for Israel!” Ten thousand men repeated the words down through the ranks until the mountain shook with the sound.
Talya watched Barak lead the charge while her mother stood to the side. This was a man’s fight, she had said again that morning. There had been no more discussion. Talya was not to descend into the valley. She was not to bring her bow or nock an arrow aimed at a Canaanite’s heart.
She caught the look on Ghalib’s face as he raced after Lavi. He wanted to speak to her, wanted her to promise him that she would wait for his return. She knew it without him uttering a word. She prayed for his safety, but she was glad he had not voiced his thoughts. She did not want him to beg a promise from her that she was not prepared to give.
A sigh escaped as each troop rushed past first her, then her mother. She slowly moved backward, easing her way toward her mother’s tent, not wishing to distract them as Barak had so insisted she was capable of doing. She slipped into the dark tent and rummaged through her sack. She quickly placed the dark veil over her head, twined the ends into a rope, and wound them around her head like a turban. Satisfied, she pulled her robe and tunic between her legs and secured them into her belt. She glanced down at her chest, readjusting the robe to completely conceal her breasts. If a Canaanite caught her and discovered her secret . . . She shuddered. She dare not risk it.
Her heart thumped hard as she double-checked the pouch with the stones and secured the sling to her wrist. Her quiver was slung over one shoulder and the bow over the other. She must sneak down another way, not past her mother, or she would be caught. But not so far as to be completely away from the battle.
Her breath quickened as she peered out of the tent. Her mother still stood near the edge of the ridge watching the men, no doubt praying for their success. Guilt filled her at that thought. Had she prayed over what she was about to do, she probably would not be doing it. She would obey her mother and Barak instead and sit quietly in the tent spinning wool while the world fought the fiercest war of her lifetime all around her.
Pray God forgive and protect her, for she could not sit idle. Not when she had trained for this. Not when she knew she could shoot the bow as well as any man and better than most. And not when she despised Sisera for all the horror he had caused Israel with such fierce hatred that it took her breath. She could not live with herself if she let the day go without acting.
She went around the back of the tent out of sight of her mother, bent to the earth, and rubbed her legs with mud left from the rains the night before, then edged her way toward the side of the mountain where her mother’s back was turned. Shouts of angry men met her ear, but she did not turn to look until she had dipped below her mother’s line of vision. At last she faced the south side of the fray, saw the men slipping in the muck, heard the war cries, and smelled the heavy metal scent of blood the closer she drew.
Chariot wheels stuck fast, and horses whinnied and struggled in a pathetic vain attempt to free themselves. Talya’s heart raced to the beat of the distant war drum as men abandoned their chariots in frustration.
She crouched low, seeking her bearings. Barak’s men were within an arrow’s shot, and some had made their way closer to the valley floor. Canaanites shouted words she could not understand. She darted a look here and there, using the scrub as cover.
She paused for breath. Peeked her head around a tall pine. Braver now, she moved stealthily down the mountainside, keeping Israel in front of her and Canaan beneath. She could do this.
Her breath grew even, more confident now. Even her mother would be proud of her once she proved herself, once she took down a few Canaanite men.
An arrow whizzed past her head.
She hit the ground on hands and knees and looked quickly in every direction. Her heart thumped hard. She blinked, catching the scent of smoke. The Israelite men were shooting flaming arrows at the captive chariots.
She slowly rose, pulled an arrow from her quiver, and caught sight of Ghalib looking in her direction. Disbelief and . . . was that anger? . . . filled his gaze. He turned to his companion—Lavi, whose sudden recognition made her pause.
“Talya!”
Barak turned at Lavi’s shout. Her disguise had not fooled them.
She turned away. She had little time to prove herself now. The arrow nocked, she shot at a fleeing Canaanite. He fell
, lifeless.
She pulled another arrow, repeated the same, then another, until her arrows were spent. She dared a look toward Lavi but saw no sign of him. Good. Padding quietly toward the fallen men, she yanked the arrows she could retrieve and headed closer to the lines where the men were flailing in the mud. Where was Sisera?
Barak appeared at her shoulder. He touched her arm but said nothing, simply nodded toward a Canaanite, then hurried off in another direction. She shot her arrow and hit the mark, only slightly relieved at Barak’s apparent acceptance.
25
The leftover raindrops encased Jael’s sandals like dew the following morning, and sunlight caused a mist to rise from the forest floor. The earth smelled sweet, refreshed, and suddenly the fears of the night before faded. She looked around at the trees, the tents, the quiet of dawn, knowing her girls would soon rise to begin preparations for their trek to the Negev.
But as Jael neared the base of the berm, she paused. Water covered the grasses ankle deep and rolled from the road over the small hill. To step further would soak her sandals and ruin the leather, or at least make the walk uncomfortable. She moved away and sought another path to the road, but everywhere she looked she found that the rains had hemmed them in.
She returned to her tent just as Daniyah and Nadia emerged. “Raja is just waking,” Nadia said, jug in hand. “Daniyah and I thought we would let her rest while we filled the jugs from the barrels of rain.”
Jael nodded and glanced toward Raja’s tent, where the barrels stood. “The ground is soggy, so take care that you don’t slip.”
The girls walked off and Jael ducked into her tent. Raja was sitting on her mat combing her hair. “You are up.”
Raja stifled a yawn. “I could have kept sleeping. The rain was soothing.”
“And everything is wet and mucky now that it has ended. I fear we will not be able to travel like this.” She knelt at Raja’s side. “It could be several days before the waters settle upon the earth. The downpour last night will have made the roads, especially the byways, nearly impassable. We dare not risk it.”
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 20