CONSTERNATION
In that portion of the veranda where stood Isaac and Miriam, eagerly
discussing recent events, there was much passing to and fro of men
servants and maid servants, picking up crumbs of talk like hungry
birds at a feast. With an imperious gesture, borrowed from his master,
Isaac made known his displeasure. Instantly each individual had duties
elsewhere.
Miriam laughed. “What a great man thou art becoming, Isaac!”
“Nay,” he answered, “but if this mission of our master to Israel be
prospered, then must we flatter and defer to thee, for thy position in
the household will be enviable.”
Immediately regretting the contamination of her mind with any taint of
worldly wisdom, he ignored her surprised exclamations and spoke of the
rich stores which were being gathered in preparation for the journey
to Israel, a thank-offering to the prophet should Naaman be healed.
Much gold and silver, not in coins--which came at a later period--but
in bulk, ready to be cut and weighed according to the amount required
when occasion arose for paying or giving, and, in addition, the famous
products of Damascus looms and other Eastern merchandise: silk that
would neither wrinkle nor cut; cotton and linen of exquisite weave, and
heavier fabrics, all made up into the much-prized “changes of raiment,”
which would last the fortunate possessor a lifetime and still not be
worn out.[3]
Miriam asked a half-indignant question: “Thinkest thou the Man of
God will regard this? Nay, but only that our master may know Jehovah
liveth.”
Isaac looked at her strangely. “It is customary, when asking a favor,
to take in thine hand a present, and I have never known a prophet
who would refuse it. Have we not tried many prophets and many gods?
Besides, is not our master very rich and Damascus the gateway between
Assyria on the east and Egypt on the west, a city great in commerce and
industry? Yea, these things are but right.”
* * * * *
It had been a late spring. That is to say, the dry season had been late
in arriving, and for diplomatic and business reasons Naaman’s journey
to Israel was not commenced until nearly midsummer, but the great day
came at last. Miriam, her cheeks glowing with excitement, watched it
from the latticed window where she could stand now on fewer cushions
than formerly. It was an imposing procession. Isaac, at the head,
looking very splendid, Miriam thought, waved her a farewell as they
went past the lattice. He could not see her, but he knew she was there.
She gazed eagerly, noting every detail. After Isaac came his servant,
carrying a long pole on the end of which was a brazier of coals, the
smoke of which would be a cloud by day and a fire by night, thus
guiding the drivers behind no matter how far they straggled apart. A
bodyguard of horsemen entirely surrounded the chariot, in which was
Naaman, with one driver and one attendant, the latter supporting a
sort of awning on poles to protect his master from sun and wind as
he traveled. A second chariot followed in case of accident to the
first. At the rear of the bodyguard rode a man whom Miriam had long
ago learned to distrust, Lemuel by name. At a little distance followed
the camel train with its precious burden of merchandise and another
soldier-guard. Another space and then the asses, laden with food,
water, camping equipment, and the various necessities of such a lengthy
journey. Last of all came a few asses and camels led, these to be used
in case of emergency. A few more soldiers completed the cavalcade.
It was impressive, picturesque, noisy, with gaudily dressed drivers,
the decorated animals with their tinkling bells, the cries in many
languages of those who urged them forward, to say nothing of the more
ordinary sight, the soldiers in dress-uniforms, dazzlingly bright, with
the sun reflected on metal helmets and shields and scalelike coats of
mail. No wonder Damascus paused in its business and pleasure to admire
and applaud as the party filed slowly and with dignity through its
streets and out of the southwestern gate. No wonder Miriam was excited,
entranced, delighted. In her wildest dreams she had not beheld it thus,
but after it had passed there came a feeling of desolation such as she
had not experienced since that first terrible night in Damascus. Almost
an hour later Milcah found her, huddled among the cushions, moaning and
weeping.
“They have gone; gone to Israel; and I am left here!”
Astonished but not unsympathetic, Milcah attempted comfort, but the
writhing, disheveled figure and the wild sobs frightened her. Running
excitedly to her mistress, she succeeded in startling that lady out
of her accustomed languor and a few moments later they both bent over
Miriam with deep concern. Adah gathered the girl in her arms.
“Desirest thou to go to Israel, little maid? Thou dost, thou sayest?
Thou art grieving for thy father and mother and thy home there? Nay, do
not weep. Thou shalt go. Only be thou patient until we learn how it is
with thy master.”
Gradually, under these assurances and Milcah’s ministrations, Miriam
became calmer. Wearied by her outburst and half ashamed, she was
persuaded to rest in a darkened room until she should feel quite
herself again. To her own surprise, she found she was strangely weak
and unnerved. For days she could not rise, and then she dragged about
the great house, pale and dispirited, until the excitement of watching
for the return of the party brought a little color to her cheeks and a
little hope to her heart.
Meanwhile Naaman and his company proceeded on their long, long way in
the scorching heat. Unerringly Isaac led his party out from the cool
shade of the orchards surrounding the city of Damascus; by broad,
rocky terraces to the wind-swept Plain of the Hauran, toward Mount
Hermon’s rugged dominance in the south. Past wheat-fields and pasture
lands, a few insignificant water courses and occasional small groves of
trees. Over the plains they went, across the Jordan and up the broad
and fertile Vale of Jezreel, brown in the midsummer heat and drought.
A twist in the valley and they were in the basin in which Samaria
was situated. Up, up, three hundred feet or more to the very top of
the cone-shaped hill upon which sat the city itself, impregnable,
beautiful, commanding a wide view of the Valley of Jezreel at its feet
and the blue waters of the Great Sea (now called the Mediterranean)
only twenty-three miles distant.
The approach of so large a procession could not remain unknown. Long,
long before it wound its slow way up the hill, among the gardens and
scattered houses of the suburbs, the watchman in the tower had noted
its strength and its probable importance and hastily communicated
this intelligence to the proper officials, who had, in turn, sent a
message to the palace. Long, long before it entered the square chamber
of masonry which in the Orient they call a gate, prepared to emerge
therefrom into the city through the opening in another wall, the elders
or judges sitting on the stone benches ranged along the two blank walls
were ready with questions. Was their errand one of peace? Who were they
and whence did they come? What was the purpose of this visit to their
city and whom sought they?
Isaac’s duties multiplied. He was now not only guide but interpreter
and the trusted servant who should present his master’s all-important
plea to the city officials. More than this, he was the courteous
diplomat who must secure the favor and the good will of these officials
who would, at their discretion, give them safe conduct to the king. The
examination into their credentials was conducted with great solemnity
and consumed a vast deal of time, but with the happy result that the
procession of foreign guests was conducted with much ceremony through
the crooked streets of Samaria to the celebrated Ivory Palace of the
king; those streets so narrow that two camels could not go abreast and
leave room for foot passengers, so shaded from the heat of the sun by
the windowless buildings on either side that, had it been more unusual,
it would have been depressing.
In the East there is courtesy but no haste. One wing of the palace,
with its own courts, was set aside for the use of the visitors, and
trusted servants and high officials busied themselves in making these
accommodations comfortable for those who honored the roof by their
presence. Isaac was granted a formal interview with the chief officer
of the palace, the occasion being much the same as in Syria, when he
had appeared to request audience for his master with King Ben-hadad.
Now as then an interval must elapse while the message was conveyed to
King Jehoram and he returned an answer, but in consideration of the
distinguished position which Naaman occupied in his own country and the
compliment which his visit implied, this was considerably hurried.
The next day Isaac, chief servant of the embassy, received a call from
the chief officer of the palace, appointing the hour and day when
King Jehoram would receive in person the letter of King Ben-hadad
and the officer whom it introduced. Naaman, tired from the long and
exhausting journey, was glad to have a few hours of rest, but as the
hardened soldier recovered somewhat from his pain and fatigue, he grew
impatient for the interview. The hour came. Amid great splendor Naaman
was conducted into the presence of the young King Jehoram, the letter
was presented, courteous greetings and assurances of friendship were
exchanged, and then Naaman was escorted back to his apartments to await
the real answer to his plea; the favorable reply anticipated but not
yet given! Though compatible with Eastern custom, it was a situation
calculated to inspire distrust in the breast of the suffering Naaman
and uneasiness on the part of his servant, Isaac.
In that portion of the palace they had just left the air was charged
with excitement. The king, surrounded by his counselors, old and young,
rent his garments with true Oriental display of grief and vexation.
What power had he to cure a man of leprosy? Was he a god to kill and
make alive? No reasonable human being would suppose he could do this
thing. Nay, it was merely a pretext for Syria to declare war against
Israel. Not content with petty raids on their fertile valleys almost
every year; not satisfied with carrying off their flocks, their grain,
their wine and their oil, and even a captive now and then; not content
that Jehoram’s father, Ahab, had spared Ben-hadad’s life when the
latter was at his mercy, and made a treaty of trade and peace when
he might have been less generous; not satisfied with this and all of
these, Ben-hadad now, without just cause, sought an open rupture. And
Israel--was Israel prepared to resist an invasion? Nay, but as the
ravenous dogs fell upon travelers in the night so would Syria fall upon
them and rend them in pieces!
The counselors of the young king shook their heads and mingled their
tears with his, their hearts heavy with sorrow. If this thing came
upon them--and it had--they must meet it like men. What did prudence
dictate? It was a long conference, prudence seeming to dictate quite a
number of things. As a result, the king hastily sent from one end of
his kingdom to the other, taking account of his resources: the number
of his fighting men; his weapons of war; his food-supplies; his gold
and silver. His counselors met in secret session again and considered
Israel’s trade relations, her diplomatic friendships. Was she able,
alone, to meet the enemy? Would she have help? Upon what could she
depend when this unfavorable answer should be returned as soon, indeed,
it must be?
Despite the urgency of the occasion, this census consumed some time
and was, alas, in no wise satisfactory. It was a fact, grave but
unmistakable, that Israel was not prepared to meet a foe of Syria’s
means, of Syria’s army, of Syria’s leadership! Israel never faced
a greater crisis. Her king was commanded to do the impossible or
else--there were no need to complete the sentence. The veriest child
could speak the answer and dread it, and King Jehoram lifted up his
voice and wept in the demonstrative Eastern fashion. Consternation,
though veiled, was not confined to the palace. The arrival of so large
a procession, its gorgeous display of wealth, the foreign garb of its
people and their probable errand could not fail to be a matter of
public interest and conjecture. The hopelessness of its mission could
not long be kept from the populace, nor fail to sound a note of dismay
to the thoughtful.
Meanwhile, in the apartments paneled in ivory, among the simple but
costly furnishings, Naaman paced restlessly. Was this prophet of
Jehovah on a journey to some far country that he came not? Was there
any deception on the part of this young king that he failed to return
a favorable reply? Did he consider it a matter of so little importance
that he could safely procrastinate? Could there have been any mistake
in the information which had sent him hither? Down, far below, into the
Valley of Jezreel Naaman looked, but the yellow grain fields merely
nodded in the summer heat and refused to answer. Off to the blue strip
of the Great Sea he raised his eyes, but the flashing oars of the
Phœnician galleys rose and fell unheeding. Toward the hills he looked,
but from their bare, brown hulks no help arose and Hermon regarded him
coldly from its snow-crowned peak. Weary, puzzled and in pain, Naaman
strove, sighing, to wait yet another day while the little maid whose
cheerful assurances had been the cause of his visit, lay upon her bed,
in the grasp of a great longing, knowing not that her unselfish plea
had brought about international complications and deep consternation to
her beloved Land of Israel.