Hatred for the man surfaced, and with it heat curled inside Jael, rising until her face flamed. He would pay for what he had done. The men would make sure of it. Deborah had promised it. Surely, surely, they would be rid of him soon.
Barak kept up a steady jog from Sisera’s city around the muddy Jezreel Valley and circled toward Heber’s tents and his own home of Kedesh-naphtali, zeal flowing through his veins. They would pass each village on their way toward Hazor, where Sisera was no doubt headed.
He turned to glance behind him just as Lavi drew close, huffing next to him. Ghalib and Keshet and his men were swift on their heels. “Word has come from the ranks, my lord,” Lavi said as he caught up to Barak. “Not a man of Canaan is left of those who joined Sisera.” He slowed his pace, and Barak did the same.
“Any sign of Sisera?” He asked because he had to, but deep down he knew the answer.
Lavi shook his head. “No sign. They say even his house was empty of all but the slaves. We rescued all those of Israel and took the others until we can decide what to do with them.”
Barak nodded and scratched at his beard, continuing at a fast-paced walk. “They say he has a mother somewhere. If his mother was not at his house, then he must have hidden her safely away in another city.” Barak tilted his head, listening. Was that rushing water in the distance?
“If Sisera’s mother is hidden, no doubt she is somewhere in Canaan. Perhaps she is at the palace in Hazor.” This from Keshet.
“Hazor is well fortified,” Barak agreed. If he were Sisera, he might put his parents in such a city.
“The sooner we get to Hazor the better,” Ghalib said, his tone sharp. “The place is evil. Their king is evil. And if Sisera is there, he will be well protected.”
They drew closer to the sound of a river, and Barak stopped to look around. “We will find Sisera before he gets to Hazor.” He spoke the words to make them true, but he said a silent prayer for success just the same.
“If Sisera is on foot, which way would he have gone?” Keshet met Barak’s gaze as they reached the river’s edge. Vines hung low from overhanging trees. If they would hold, a man could use his weight as leverage and let the vine carry him to the opposite bank, or at least give him something to hold on to as he managed the protruding rocks.
“My guess is he would first head south, away from the battle to throw us off, then turn north to Hazor. If he crossed this river, he could be far ahead of us. If he avoided it, we will have a better chance to get ahead of him.” Barak grabbed one of the vines, pulling hard. It held. He looked up. The tree above them was old, sturdy, with deep roots. He took a running leap and swung, jumped down, and landed on his feet on the other side.
Jael woke with a start, sweat drawing twin lines down her brow. The dream. It was a dream, wasn’t it? She cocked her head, straining for some sound. Nothing. Not even the birds had begun their morning calls.
She rose from the mat she often shared with Heber and glanced about the dark tent. They had made a practice of allowing the lamps to go out once the flap to the tent was drawn closed. Now, as she fumbled to feel about her, she questioned that wisdom. Surely one lamp would not pierce the black goat hair of the tent. Their snores would give them away faster than the light would. Jael had taken to sleeping on her side to avoid making noise. Though she wondered how often she truly slept.
She crept along the outer wall farthest from the girls, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She had heard something, surely. For if it had been a dream, she would remember some detail of it. Yet her mind replayed nothing other than the blank bliss of sleep.
She felt the door to the tent at last beneath her fingers. She fiddled with the rope that held it fast, untied it, and slowly lifted the flap. She glanced back at the sleeping girls, then slipped outside. Moonlight bathed the path before her, and she took it slowly toward her own tent. She paused, peering through the trees to glimpse the sky. A pattern of zigzag wisps of clouds crossed the heavens, and stars filtered through the trees like tiny lanterns hanging low. The crescent moon shone bright, like the tip of God’s fingernail. Was God so big that He could hold the moon in His hand?
She shivered, grateful she had remembered her cloak, and pulled it close to her neck. Even the crickets had gone to bed for the night, with only the wind rustling the leaves in the trees above. Are You there, God of Israel? She felt the prickle of gooseflesh along her arms at the mere thought of Him, and of her standing here alone in the camp, known only to the trees and the breath of the wind.
And to your Creator.
She gripped both of her arms, the chill seeping deeper, though no dew had yet settled to cause her bare toes to feel cold. This cold was not coming from the ground nor the air around her. Did God walk among the trees at night when no man was looking?
The thunder two evenings before had seemed like the voice of a god, though she could not have named one with such power other than the God of the Hebrews. Was He truly the only God? Or did the gods of Canaan share space in the skies with Him? Her ancestors had worshiped the God of Moses, and tradition passed down through the ages had carried many of the Hebrew stories and interconnected them with the Kenites’ own.
Jael looked heavenward again, awed by the way the clouds sent silver streaks like glowing arms, almost low enough to touch her. Are You there? she asked again. But only the breeze responded, its touch as gentle as a kiss.
She stood listening, lingering, unaware at first that tears wet her cheeks. Had He touched her through the whisper of the breeze? Her thoughts were surely the makings of a woman who had gone too long without sleep, whose fear for the safety of her loved ones had taken too great a hold over her mind. How silly to think the simple breeze could be the breath or whisper of God. She was not Hebrew, nor chosen. She carried no special purpose like Deborah the prophetess. She was a simple metalworker’s wife who lived in tents, one who did not even own a business of her own, who could not contribute much to their household for fear of Sisera’s men. How could she weave or spin or make goods to sell when merchants avoided the highways and women who plied similar trades were of no use to any but their own households? Heber would be better off if she could help him more.
But she had her family. She brushed a stray tear and offered a tentative smile at the heavens. I am not worthy of Your notice, but You have given me a family to love. For that I am grateful.
She wanted to add, “Please, keep them safe and bring them back to me; please keep my girls from Sisera’s notice,” but she held her tongue. Somehow she sensed a change in her spirit. She had no right to ask such things, to beg mercies from the Unseen One. She was not foolish enough to think she had really felt His touch, nor sensed His . . . love.
She shook herself. No. Her thoughts were the rumination of an overwrought mind. She turned away from the moonlight and slipped into her own tent.
Later that morning, as dawn made its way toward the midpoint of the sky, Jael stood at the door to Heber’s tent, speaking to the girls inside. “Let us leave off grinding the grain today. We will soak it and make porridge instead of bread.”
Daniyah pouted. “But I’m sick of porridge. We have it nearly every day.”
“Be glad you have food to eat at all,” Raja said, her tone sharp. She rubbed her back, obviously uncomfortable. “I need to walk, but where can we go that we are safe anymore?”
“Now look who is grumbling.” Daniyah’s whiny tone had turned to anger. She crossed her arms and planted her feet near the grinding stone. “How long are we to be cooped up in here, Ima? You don’t even know if Sisera will come. If he is at war with Israel in the Jezreel Valley, he could be dead by now.”
Jael looked from Daniyah to Nadia and Raja, reading weariness in each of their gazes. “All right, fine then. All of you take a walk to the cave to see if the water has receded. But be warned, take care when you return. Do not allow yourself to be seen or heard in case . . .”
Daniyah jumped up and down like a child before realizing how immature
she must look to her sisters-in-law. She ran to embrace Jael, and nearly collided with Raja in her attempt to reach the tent door and slip past Jael first.
But the whistle of the guard halted their movement.
“Someone is coming,” Jael whispered. She glanced around. “You must stay in the tent. Hide quickly.” The girls obeyed in silence, without question.
Jael turned and met the guard in his haste to find her. “There is a man, alone. He is on foot and appears to have come a great distance.” The guard’s eyes grew wide at this point, and he leaned close to Jael’s ear. “I think it is Sisera, my lady.”
Jael’s heart leapt at the man’s name, her whole body going rigid, her mind whirling. “He is headed this way?”
The guard nodded. “Do you want me to shoot him? He appears unarmed.”
Jael stared at the guard, no more than a boy, really. Had her men truly left such young men to watch over them? The boy was not even old enough to sprout a beard. Could he aim straight? Would Sisera overpower him if he missed?
She thought of the other guard near the fire pits, but he was an old man, and not nearly as steady as he used to be. The two stronger guards strode the perimeter of the camp, and they had gone in different directions some time ago. She was alone with her girls and a boy barely able to help them.
“No,” she said at last. “Do not shoot him. If you miss—”
“I will not miss.”
“Nevertheless, if you do”—Jael held his gaze with an unbending look—“Sisera will know he has the upper hand, and he will not spare you.”
The boy looked uncertain, but his chin lifted in defiance. “I’ve practiced long. I can take him.”
Jael shook her head. “I know you can.” Or you think you can. “But let us first see what else we can do. Perhaps he comes seeking sanctuary. Perhaps we can hold him here until Barak and his men catch up to him.”
The boy looked at her, his light eyes dubious. But he did not argue as he slowly stepped back and hid out of sight.
Jael drew a breath and felt for her sling, but realized she had taken it off her wrist the night before. She had also left Heber’s knife in his tent by her side as she’d attempted sleep. At least the girls would have another weapon if it got that far.
She straightened her back, willing resolve into her heart. Help me, God of Israel. Whether she deserved His help or not, it could not hurt to ask for it. She walked slowly past her own tent and out to the berm. With weighted steps she climbed the berm and stood near the edge of the road. The guard had not been mistaken. Sisera was stumbling straight toward her.
Jael clenched her fists, trying to instill strength into her limbs, and felt fear and fury mingling equally within her. She stepped farther onto the road so he could see her.
“Come, my lord, come right in. Don’t be afraid,” she called, extending a hand and motioning toward the camp.
Sisera stopped and stared at her, his glazed look slowly clearing to recognition. “Heber’s wife. I have made it to Heber’s camp.” His chest heaved, and she realized he was caked in mud from foot to knee, his normally regal robe soaked from a wadi or river, his hair matted, his turban askew. He looked like one who had lost all strength, not at all like the evil warrior she knew him to be.
“Come,” she said again. “Don’t be afraid.” She would offer him shelter, and once he slept, she would bind him with ropes until Barak arrived. The plan had formed the moment she saw him, and she thanked the God of heaven for such clear direction.
She allowed him to precede her, never taking her gaze from him. He stopped at the opening to her tent and looked around, seeming to suddenly realize she was behind him. He turned.
“You first.” His dark eyes narrowed a bit, but weariness still edged them.
She bowed to show respect she didn’t feel and walked, back straight, into her tent. She turned to face him. “There is nothing to fear, my lord. Come.”
He looked the room over, blinking at the darkened interior. She moved to retrieve a lamp from behind a clay cup that hid most of its light.
“Don’t,” he said, coming closer. “Keep it dark.”
She left the lamp where it stood. “You look exhausted, my lord. Would you like to lie down?” She motioned to her mat, though she took a step back from him, hoping he would not think she was offering him more than a mat.
His look grew wary, and for a moment it held a glint she recognized. “When I awaken . . .” He left the sentence unfinished, but by his look she did not miss his meaning. “You know you want me.” She barely heard his whispered words as he stretched out on the ground, and she absently covered him with a blanket. But she had heard enough.
Her heart pounded in response, her fear rising. How long would he sleep? Would Barak get here in time? Once Sisera awoke refreshed, she would never be able to stop him from searching the camp, from taking her, from hurting Daniyah . . .
“I’m thirsty,” he said, jarring her thoughts. “Please give me some water.”
He rested his head on the mat as though he had no strength to keep it upright. A thousand thoughts filled her head as she moved toward the tent’s opening where the water jar stood. She stopped midway. Water might refresh him. But milk . . . She glanced at the skin she had filled from the goat Daniyah had milked that morning. It still felt warm to her touch. Warm milk would aid his sleep.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw him rise up on one elbow, watching her. She moved quickly to the skin, poured milk into a clay cup, and took it to him.
“Here, my lord. This will calm you.” Their fingers brushed as he took it from her, and she fought the need to recoil.
He took it and drank greedily, then tossed the cup from him. She heard it crack as it landed in the corner, but she didn’t care. No one would drink from the cup of Sisera, and she would smash what was left with her foot once he was gone.
Gone. Would he be gone? What would Barak do but kill him?
She watched the man closely, his eyes heavy with sleep. He relaxed and turned to lie on his side. She adjusted the blanket, covering him like a mother would a child.
She stepped back, staring, but his words caught her up short.
“Stand in the doorway of the tent,” he said. “If someone comes by and asks you, ‘Is anyone in there?’ say, ‘No.’”
Even in his exhaustion the man had the gall to tell her what to do. But then he assumed he was safe here. Hadn’t she invited him in? Hadn’t Heber acted the part of host when Sisera demanded the weapons from him? Heber’s tentative alliance with Jabin gave Sisera too much confidence.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered. But he had already succumbed to sleep, his soft snores growing louder as she walked away from him.
She stood at the tent door, watching the road. No sign of Barak or any of his men. Had Sisera gotten free of the entire army and fled with no one’s notice?
Surely they would come for him. They would think he was headed to Hazor and would come this direction to get there. She hoped. But there were other ways to reach Hazor from Mount Tabor, and Jael had no certainty that Barak would take the one that would lead him to her tent. Her pulse quickened as she looked from one edge of the camp to the other. The girls had made no sound from Heber’s tent, and there was no sign of any of the guards. Had they all deserted her? Or were they planning something, some way to surround Sisera?
She released a slow, pent-up sigh, as though her breath could not fully come until something was done about that man. One glance told her he still slept deeply, his snores attesting to his exhaustion.
She stepped quietly under the flap. Glanced down at the ground and caught sight of the peg holding the ropes taut. Extra rope lay in her tent. If she could somehow manage to get Sisera’s arms behind him and tie his feet together . . . But the movement, the time it would take to tie a knot tightly enough, would surely wake him.
She shook her head. No. Rope was not the answer she’d first thought it to be.
She could hurry to Heber
’s tent to retrieve the knife . . .
A tent peg was sharp.
She moved as one in a dream back into her tent to the basket that held her wooden hammer and a few extra metal tent pegs that Heber had especially designed for her. Thank the heavens she kept the extra pegs close. If she tried to pull one from holding the tent in place, the sound and movement could awaken the man.
The hammer felt comfortable in her right hand, as it did every time she set up camp. One blow would put the peg into the ground unless the ground was hard as stone. She looked at Sisera, his chest lifting and falling in shallow breaths. He lay still on his side, the turban missing from his dark mop of hair. She could not take the risk of brushing the hair aside. She must find the perfect spot on his temple, away from the protruding bone . . .
She longed to draw a deep breath but feared the noise would wake him. Calm, even movements. Don’t rush. The words repeated in her mind as she moved with a snake’s stealth toward the man who bore that very emblem on his arms and around his neck. Anat and Asherah were goddesses, not snakes. Sisera obviously liked the reptile or somehow thought he needed protection from both the goddesses and the serpent.
She drew alongside his head, looking down at him, forcing every thought in her mind to flee except the one that mattered most. Place the peg at his temple and slam the hammer down hard. One blow. She needed to do this in one blow, or she would weaken and fail and everything she loved would be lost.
She steadied the peg in her left hand and bent slowly to her knees. Help me. She could not consider the words a prayer, lest she anger Adonai by such a request. Keep my hand steady. Her heart said the words just the same.
She held the peg a hairbreadth from Sisera’s temple and lifted the hammer. This is your last breath, Sisera.
One blow.
His chest stopped moving, his snoring ceased.
27
Barak paused for breath, bracing both hands on his thighs. The jog since they crossed the swollen wadi had winded him, but he dare not stop. Sisera was out there somewhere.
The Prophetess - Deborah's Story Page 22