CAPTIVES
Autumn had come to the Land of Israel. The sun had just lifted a
shining face, but in more than one city the inhabitants had been long
astir. Before all the more important abodes stood asses, saddled
and laden with water-skin and leather provision bag as if for a
journey. In a little while could be seen broken lines of riders,
singly or in groups, wending their way in slow and dignified fashion
on these same sure-footed animals, over the narrow threads of rocky
roads which traversed hill and vale. All faces were turned in one
direction--Jerusalem. The master of the house was on his way to the
Feast of Tabernacles, or the Feast of the Ingathering, as it was
sometimes called.
The air had in it a hint of frost, being too chill for rain, but nobody
minded, certainly not a misty-eyed little maid who was walking with her
two travelers to the brow of the hill.
“I believe thou art glad to see us go, Miriam,” said Caleb, teasingly.
“Oh, very glad, father. It is right thou shouldst appear before the
Lord with thine offerings, for he hath dealt bountifully with us, and
I am glad thou canst take mother to visit her kindred. Long hath it
been since she hath seen them, and it will make her so happy, but”--the
voice trembled a little--“I would be gladder if this were the day thou
wert coming home.”
Her parents exchanged glances.
“Thou knowest that the olive trees had a good crop and the vineyard.
Likewise the flock hath been profitable and thou art thinking of the
nose-ring we shall bring thee, or was it anklets thou didst choose?”
“I am much more concerned as to her conduct, Caleb, than I am as to her
ornaments,” put in Sarah, hastily. “Remember, Miriam, I shall expect
thee to behave thyself wisely, in a perfect way.”
“Yea, mother, but when thou and father art gone, how will I know what
is wise and perfect?”
Sarah regarded her severely. “The Law of the Lord is perfect. See
that thou keep it. The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the
simple. Remember it. The commandment of the Lord is right, enlightening
the eyes. Meditate upon it. There is no chance for a mistake if God is
in all thy thoughts. Miriam, wilt thou keep the Lord alway before thy
face?”
“Yea, mother.”
“And thou wilt not be turned aside to the right hand nor to the left,
no matter what influence is brought to bear upon thee?” Sarah glanced
apprehensively back at Judith, standing in the open door.
“Nay, mother.”
They had come to the place of parting, Caleb walking ahead, leading the
two asses. Judith could not hear what was said, but she could see that
the farewells were lingering and affectionate. A great wave of longing
for her own parents swept over her and she turned into the house to
avoid the unsympathetic and the curious. She did not know, therefore,
that when the travelers were quite hidden from sight in the distance,
Miriam sank upon the ground in a little heap of wretchedness.
Neither did Judith nor anyone else guess that at that very moment the
mother was nervously fingering the bridle of her beast. “Long have I
wanted to take this journey, Caleb, but it were easier to talk of than
to do. I will go back. I cannot leave the little maid.”
“Nonsense, Sarah,” and a stranger would have noticed that Caleb’s voice
was none too steady, although he affected cheerfulness. “It will do
thee much good to have a visit among thy kindred.”
“But thinkest thou all will go well while we are away?” Sarah was still
hesitant.
“How could they go ill with Hannah to stay with Miriam and Judith, and
Eli and Nathan to see to the animals? Besides, we shall be gone but a
few days. They will be sorry to see us return, for youth joyeth with
youth. Mount, I pray thee, and let us be going, for our pace will be
slow at the best.”
Reluctantly she yielded to his entreaties, but with many a backward
glance and an anxiety which seemed wholly unwarranted.
Along the path they had just traversed came Rachel and gathered Miriam
in her arms. “I feared to find thee so, little maid,” she comforted.
“Nay,” compassionately, “thou must not weep. And if thou wilt dry thine
eyes I will tell thee a secret so dear it hath not been whispered
before.”
It was a rosy and radiant Rachel who was speaking now. “Knowest thou
that when Benjamin came home a few days ago he told me something that
made me very happy? And when he cometh next time we are to be publicly
betrothed. My parents have consented and I have my wedding veil. We
must go back to thy dwelling now, but some day, when there is none to
see but thee, I shall try it on.”
She raised the limp figure and, talking of the future to divert the
thoughts of her grief-stricken little friend, guided her along the
well-known path toward home.
* * * * *
At about the same hour, somewhere out on the Israelitish hills, a
shepherd was leading his flock northward under pressure of military
escort. His face was sullen, but all at once he laughed: “It took
three and more coming to take captive one shepherd of Israel. These
Syrian dogs!” He laughed again, contemptuously. The soldier nearest,
understanding the intent if not the words, struck him with the
broadside of his short sword, and the shepherd laughed no more.
The monotony of merely going forward was relieved a little later by
the passing of a band of horsemen, coming south. The shepherd listened
apathetically to what was evidently, although he understood not a word,
an exchange of civilities and compliments upon the capture of so large
and fine a flock. He glanced carelessly at the gayly bedecked horse of
the leader and then at the man himself. It was a young man, and all at
once the shepherd’s indifference vanished. He had the face of a friend!
Undoubtedly he and his flock would soon be free.
Running forward quickly, he knelt and threw up one arm, exposing to
view a broad gold bracelet of exquisite design, by that movement
plainly seeking recognition. The young officer appeared startled for
an instant, then he assumed an air of unconcern and with careless
farewells to the soldier-escort of the flock, he and his men rode on.
The shepherd crimsoned at the rebuff. “I could swear that were Isaac,”
he muttered, “even to the pallor of his recent illness. Thus hath he
kept his pledge, a promise he made voluntarily. So would a viper repay
the fool who warmed it by his fire!”
Turning, he found himself the object of mockery and ridicule.
Unfortunately, he allowed rage to get the better of discretion. He was
captured, but not conquered. With a swift movement he struck one of
his tormentors a stinging blow full in the face, but a fellow soldier
used his ever ready spear, and after that, Benjamin the shepherd went
his way limping.
* * * * *
It was the next day that Miriam was helping Hannah make butter. That
is to say, a goatskin bag, nearly full of milk, was suspended out of
doors from the center of three crossed poles, and they were shaking and
beating it with great regularity and violence. In due course of time
a product not at all resembling the butter to which we are accustomed
rewarded their labors. With a sigh, the moist and dripping bag was
carried into the house and hung in the coolest spot possible that its
curdled contents might ferment and be used, as needed, to give relish
to otherwise dry bread.
The task finished, Hannah betook herself to her own home to be gone
an hour or two. Miriam, left alone, dropped down in the doorway. All
day she had been unaccountably heavy of spirit, “not sick,” she had
told Hannah in answer to a solicitous inquiry, “but just not glad of
anything.”
Was it only yesterday her parents had started on their journey? It
seemed like a week. And what strange sights they must be seeing now!
Very strange indeed could they have seen through Miriam’s eyes, for her
thoughts were soon jumbled by the sprites of Dreamland. When she awoke
the afternoon shadows were lengthening. Hannah had not returned, and
where was Judith? If she were late, Hannah would be sure to tell father
and mother and they would be displeased. Why did she not come?
Miriam was dismayed, then came a thought, the horror of which sent her
running to the top of the hill, where the path began to descend to the
valley below: suppose Judith had been bitten by a viper out of the
brushwood she had gone to gather for fuel! She was nowhere in sight,
although she had been absent since a little after noon. Slowly Miriam
walked down the hill, gazing long and searchingly in all directions
until she stood in the silence and loneliness of the deserted fields.
How find anybody or anything among those rank grasses, grown taller
than herself now that the harvests were over? Yet at that very instant
Judith must be lying among them somewhere, sick perhaps unto death.
Running hither and thither and thoroughly alarmed, Miriam essayed
calling. The third time her hail was answered, but not in the way she
had expected. Not Judith but Nathan--Nathan, pale and frightened;
Nathan, entreating her silence but speaking himself in hoarse, excited
whispers.
“Hush, Miriam, the valley is full of soldiers!”
She was amazed, incredulous, and he indignant at her unbelief.
“Thinkest thou, Miriam, I know not a soldier when I see one?” he
panted as they ran. “Was not every man covered from neck to thigh, back
and front, with his breast-plate of bronze scales? Did not each wear a
helmet and carry a shield on his left arm and a buckler[1] slung from
his girdle? Some had long and heavy spears; some, bows and arrows and
some had slings, with the stones for them in bags around their necks.”
“But, Nathan,” suggested Miriam, weakly, “peradventure our king passeth
this way with his bodyguard.”
“Would our king rob Abner’s storehouses in the field? Nay, and these
have not Israelitish faces. Besides, they came on horses which they
have left at the head of the valley, and thou shouldst know that horses
mean war. Canst thou not run faster, Miriam? We must warn quickly
mother and the city.”
The little maid’s face blanched. “I must find Judith. Do thou go on and
I--” Nathan’s remonstrances were cut short by the sudden appearance,
out of the tall grass, of a man dressed just as the lad had described.
He laid a detaining hand on each, addressing them in their own
language, but his pronunciation showed that it was acquired.
“This time to-morrow,” pointing to the village on the hilltop, “our
archers will have bent their bows and made ready their arrows and sent
fire and destruction into the midst of thy city. None shall be left
alive save such as we take into captivity.”
Miriam wrung her hands and wept, but Nathan spoke defiantly, with
passion in his tones: “Thou knowest not that we of Israel, especially
we of the tribe of Zebulon, fight long and hard, jeoparding our lives
unto the death.”
An evil smile distorted the man’s features. “Thinkest thou we know not
that thy men are away at the feast in Jerusalem? To-morrow this time
thy land shall be desolate from Jerusalem northward, and we will take
captive thy flocks and thy herds--”
The speaker was interrupted by the arrival of another soldier, dressed
much the same, but the more elaborate ornamentation of his shield, and
his richly decorated helmet with its crest, denoted a higher rank.
All this, however, was quite lost upon Nathan and Miriam. They noted
only that he was very young--older than Eli, perhaps, but doubtless
younger than Benjamin--that he bent upon them a look not in the least
malevolent, as was that of their captor, and that when he spoke to
them, also in their own tongue, his speech was as free from foreign
accent as their own. Apparently, he had authority, for at a word, the
first soldier withdrew.
“I happened to overhear,” he told the children. “Fear not nor believe
what Lemuel hath said. He was but teasing thee. Our men went no
farther south than the Valley of Jezreel, which is a long way north of
Jerusalem, and we have not come to make war upon the people but only to
take foodstuffs.”
The two gazed at him doubtfully. “Peradventure,” sobbed Miriam, “when
thou art asleep the other soldier will do these terrible things.”
The young man laughed, a mirthful laugh. “Lemuel? Nay, he could not. We
have but a few men and,” with some little pride, “_I_ have been given
charge of this band.”
He glanced at the rapidly declining sun and his next words were more
decisive. “See, it is almost sunset. We did not come to take prisoners,
but thou wilt understand that I cannot let thee go home to give the
alarm, and afterward thou wilt prefer Syria to Israel.”
Miriam was distressed anew.
The young captain reasoned gently: “To-night thy household will think
thou art with friends somewhere, but they cannot seek thee in the
darkness, among the half-wild, scavenger dogs that roam thy villages at
night. By dawn they will have other matters to engage their attention.
Thou wilt go with me now to our encampment in the gorge by the spring.
Come,” to Miriam, “thou shalt have a corner of the prophet’s cave all
to thyself to-night with a leopard’s skin for a covering. Thou wilt
like that, for it was given me by the best man I ever knew, a shepherd
of Israel. And thou,” turning to Nathan, “shalt have the opposite
corner, but I have only one leopard skin and that is for the little
maid.”
There was something very attractive, very sincere in his address. He
seemed to understand their terror, their distrust.
“Be not afraid,” he said, “thou shalt be well treated. If not, it will
be because thou dost not treat us well. To-night we encamp. To-morrow
we start for Damascus, but thou shalt both have good care all the way.
Isaac pledgeth thee his word!”