*****
Zaanannim 1142 B.C.
Jael stood outside the tent staring sleepy-eyed after her husband and his men as they rode away toward the Kishon River. Word had come that the army of Israel was routing the great and evil General Sisera. Heber was wise enough to know, living so close to the battle, that he must choose sides. There would be no innocent tent dwellers in this war. As Kenites, they had a long history of siding with Israel when push came to shove. After all, Israel’s greatest leader, Moses himself, had married into their family line many years past, but being the compromising man he was, her husband had tried to remain friendly with King Jabin as well.
The messenger, who showed up in the deepest night, had run in on foot bearing the news and then collapsed onto his knees at their tent flap, exhausted. Jael handed him a cup of water and he gulped it down before sharing what he knew.
The messenger told them that Deborah the prophetess, the wise woman and Judge of Israel, had traveled to Kadesh with Barak, her mightiest general, to gather men to fight. Jael filled his cup again and he drank deep. Panting like a dog, he continued the story.
“Barak has rallied all the men of fighting age and they are even now in the midst of battle just south of the river. They are truly defeating Sisera once for all. There is no longer a chance that Israel can fail. The Prophetess has traveled with the army of Israel as a symbol of God’s promise to give Sisera into their hands.”
Heber clenched his jaw and sighed heavily. They lived outside Kadesh by the great tree in Zaanannim for a reason. He was not a fighting man, but chose to hide on the fringes of controversy, living neutral, neither for nor against, and it had served him well so far. But Jael had never understood his lack of aggression or interest in the battles around them. It wasn’t normal for a man to be so. After all, they had God on their side, did they not?
Heber helped the man to his feet and patted his shoulder. “Then we must go. There is no other way,” he said, his voice weary with regret. “Ready the men. We must get to the river before the battle is over.”
Jael kept her eyes downcast for they always gave her thoughts away, and she didn’t want the other men to see how she truly felt about her husband’s passivity. If given the chance, she would certainly fight this enemy of the true and living God. But as a woman, she knew it could never be.
After giving the men instructions to prepare to leave, Heber took her hand and drew her inside the tent. “Do not fret, Jael. I will return unscathed. The merciful God of Abraham and Moses will certainly bring us safely home.”
She nodded, not meeting his eye. Obviously, he’d taken her quietness for worry.
He’d pulled her head down against his shoulder for a brief moment of intimacy and then released her. “Go, prepare food for the journey,” he’d commanded.
Now in the glow of the full moon hanging low on the horizon, she watched the last of the dust settle to the ground from the hooves of their departing horses and shook her head. She wondered as she often did why her father had chosen such a fearful man for her to marry.
The great tree loomed in the periphery of her vision and she thought she detected movement near the base of its massive trunk. She turned quickly and stared hard into the darkness, but saw nothing to warrant the hairs rising on the back of her neck.
Her foot, horribly disfigured from birth with the nub of a sixth toe, began to ache with a dull throb of pain. She hurried into the tent and sat down, massaging her foot with the ointment she had made from leaves of a plant her mother taught her could deaden an area, giving temporary relief.
The tent flap suddenly slapped open and she half rose from her position, expecting one of the servants had returned on an errand for her husband. But facing her was a bear of a man, dark, bearded and brawny, a sword in his hand. The white’s of his eyes gleamed in the dim light of the flickering fire.
He stared at her, his teeth bared and wary. “Are there any men left here?” he whispered.
She shook her head, eyes wide. His uniform was filthy with sweat and blood, but made of fine cloth. He was obviously important and some sort of commander in the army, but had taken the precaution to wait until all but a woman was around before advancing into their camp. Another coward, she thought with disgust.
He moved toward her, eyes darting here and there, taking in every detail of their hearth and home. When he spoke close to her ear, his voice was hard and fearsome. “They’re joining my war a bit late, aren’t they?”
Sudden realization of who had taken up residence in her tent pounded through her veins, but she remained silent, unable to speak with him towering over her like a dark, avenging angel.
The thin puckered line of a scar ran from his forehead down his cheek, still pink and fairly recent. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked exhausted as though he’d been up all night…killing God’s people. He drew a deep breath and blew it out, causing her to cringe from the foul odor.
“Do you have water?” he asked, his eyes on the pitcher at the table.
“Yes, my lord.” She moved to get it for him.
He grasped her upper arm with fingers of steel. “Careful,” he said, seeing the knife lying there on the corner of the table beside a chunk of bread.
She nodded.
The pitcher was nearly empty, as she’d not had time to go to the well since the messenger had partaken of it earlier. “I have a skin of goat milk,” she offered when he’d drained the last of the water in one fast gulp. He took the skin from her hand and emptied it as well.
“Do you know who I am?” he finally asked, searching her eyes for fear.
“Yes, my lord,” she said, unblinking. There could be no mistaking Sisera – the commander of Jabin’s army – for anyone else. Tales had been spun around home fires, children teased and scared each other with the threat of him. He was a legend of evil.
He was definitely the largest man she had ever seen up close. Dark hair curled long and tangled to broad shoulders. His beard grew thick except where the scar traced down his face. With a prominent forehead, piercing black eyes and arms as muscular and thick as tree trunks, he was a formidable looking foe.
For anyone else.
She saw only an exhausted creature, barely able to stand. He’d obviously been running from the army of Israel, afraid to be captured or die by the sword. He was here looking for sanctuary.
“You are a wise woman. Not from around here,” he stated with raised brows.
“No. We are Kenites. My husband moved us here to avoid taking sides.”
“And yet your husband went off to join the battle,” he said with a smirk.
She shrugged. “Yes, after the battle is nearly won.”
He stared at her a moment longer, obviously trying to decide whether he could trust her. She interrupted his thoughts. “You can hide here until you are rested.” She gestured toward the pile of animal skins at the back where she and Heber slept. “I will cover you so you won’t be discovered.”
His gaze narrowed, but he finally nodded. “You stay by the door and watch. If anyone comes, wake me quickly.”
“Yes, my lord.” She lowered her head in false submission.
He stumbled when he started to walk toward the bed and she saw that not only was he worn out from running and battle, but he was wounded as well. Blood, dark and oozing dripped from his lower calf, settling into his sandal.
He settled himself comfortably, and she concealed him beneath the hides. He was snoring almost immediately. She went to shut the tent flap, then moved silently back across the room, pausing in her advance when his breathing quieted. But he shifted to his back and began snoring again.
Jael lifted the heavy hammer and the extra tent peg from the floor in the corner where Heber had left them after raising their home. He never put anything away. She mumbled a prayer of thanks to God for her husband’s laziness. This household weapon would have to do. She didn’t have a sword and Sisera was a very big man. Only a smashing blow to the skull would
be enough. She couldn’t falter or hesitate. If she did, it would be the death of her…
Chapter 26
Taken