“Edrei, that’s your destination,” King Ben-Hadad said as he poked his finger at a small ink dot on the map. “You are to invade the village, capture as many as you can, and destroy houses, crops, and anything of value. Leave nothing behind.”
Naaman pursed his lips and said in a neutral tone, “That will send a very loud message to the Israelites.”
“That’s exactly what I want to do,” Ben-Hadad said, his jowls quivering. “I want them to know that Syria is a force that must be respected.” Turning slightly to face Naaman, he asked, “How many men will you require to do this?”
Naaman straightened up and stretched the muscles in his back as he considered the question. “It’s a sleepy village of only a few hundred people. They won’t be expecting us, so they’ll be undefended. The most difficult part will be bringing the captives back to Damascus.”
Ben-Hadad looked hard at Naaman. “I agree; they can be unruly. How many men will you need?” he repeated more strongly.
Naaman took a quick breath and said, “Three hundred. I can do it with three hundred.”
“Fine,” Ben-Hadad said, nodding his head, which made his jowls shake even more. And almost as an afterthought, he added, “Take Adad with you as your second-in-command. He’ll keep control of the captives when you come back.”
Naaman shifted the sword that hung at his side and replied seriously, “I’d rather not.”
Ben-Hadad raised his eyebrows at Naaman’s mild refusal. “Why?” he said as he too straightened up and adjusted the large leather belt that encircled his ample girth.
“I don’t like him; he’s—”
“No one likes him,” Ben-Hadad interrupted. “But he’s my cousin’s son, and I have to use him somewhere.”
“I can send him on a different campaign with one of my other commanders,” Naaman offered.
Ben-Hadad shook his head rapidly. “No, no. Naaman, I want you to take him. You’re the commander of all my forces and the best leader I have. If anyone can control his anger, it’s you.”
“He’s out of control.”
Ben-Hadad raised both of his hands as if to stop any more words from coming. “Naaman, take Adad as your second-in-command. Train him. Teach him. Do what you can with him. But try not to get him killed—or to kill him yourself out of frustration,” he added only partly in jest.
Naaman swallowed hard and clenched his teeth to stop the rising anger he was feeling. “When should we leave?” he asked in a voice that expressed his dissatisfaction about Adad.
“As soon as you can make all the necessary preparations,” Ben-Hadad answered, barely a fraction of a second before a knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” Ben-Hadad shouted.
An underfed servant noiselessly breezed into the room and bowed at the waist. “The vizier is here for his appointment with you.”
“Show him in,” Ben-Hadad said. He turned to Naaman. “May you have success in your campaign.”
Still upset over having to deal with Adad, Naaman gave a halfhearted smile, gathered up the parchment map, and left the room.
* * *
The next several days preparing to raid Edrei would have gone much smoother had Naaman’s new second-in-command not inserted himself in virtually every step of the process. Out of total frustration, Naaman created a long list of tedious tasks and told Adad not to come back until they were all completed. Free of the constant interruptions, Naaman eventually managed to get everything done and breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could finally spend some time with his wife before he must leave.
Leaning back against the plush purple cushions on the couch, Naaman stretched his legs in front of him. Looking across the room at his wife, he said, “Karinah, that meal was delicious. Thank you.”
Karinah looked up from the roses she was arranging and smiled, but she could tell from the tone of his voice that there was more to the comment than complimenting her on a meal. Setting the roses on a small table, she walked across the tile floor with practiced elegance and gently sat beside her husband, drawing her feet up on the couch beside her.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning,” he said as he used his fingernail to pick at a leftover fragment of lamb meat that was stuck between his teeth.
Although he hadn’t said anything about his departure previously, the distracted way he spoke when they’d talked during the past several days told her this was coming. “Where?” Karinah asked as she smoothed wrinkles from her flowing pink robe, trying to sound only mildly interested while inwardly her stomach began churning.
“Places,” Naaman replied.
“When will you return?”
“As soon as I can.”
The conversation was nearly always the same. He never told her where he was going or when he would be back. It hadn’t always been like that. He used to give her more details, but that changed after his march through the Shahba, mostly at her insistence. When he’d told her he was going through the Shahba, she knew how treacherous it would be, and every minute he was gone, she wondered if he was dead or alive. And when he didn’t return when she’d expected, her worry turned to dread, almost incapacitating her with anxiety. Although she hated the ambiguity, she preferred it to the apprehension she endured by knowing where he was going and what he was doing.
Reaching up she brushed his dark hair away from his ear. “How much does it hurt?” she asked as her fingers skimmed the scaly white skin on his deformed earlobe.
“Not much, except when I touch it,” he said with a smile, gently goading her for touching his leprosy-laden ear.
Karinah studied his ear carefully then pursed her lips. “It’s getting worse, you know.”
Naaman pulled his head away from her hand then quickly rose from the couch. Walking to the window, he leaned against the sill. The evening sun was hidden behind a thick layer of billowy white clouds that hung from the sky like a massive wool fleece, subduing the light and casting eerie shadows over the landscape. “I know it is,” he growled as the hot midsummer breeze blasted his face.
Naaman lifted his right hand from the windowsill and rotated it in the fading light. The contrast between the darkly tanned skin on his arms and the stark white flesh of his hand was shocking even to him. For years the insidious disease had spread so slowly it was barely noticeable, but recently it was as if it had gained new life and gnawed at his flesh like a mouse eating cheese. All of his fingers were infected to his knuckles, and three of his fingernails had fallen off. Holding a sword was painful, and drawing a bow was impossible.
His left hand was only slightly better, and he now constantly wore carefully crafted leather gloves made of soft goatskin, regardless of the heat. It wasn’t his hands, though, that caused him the greatest pain; it was his feet, especially his toes. They were almost always raw and bleeding. He walked now with a pronounced limp.
After tedious searching, he found a sandal maker in Damascus to whom he had paid a considerable amount of money to fabricate a sandal specifically to his order. The sole and straps of the sandal were of standard design, but abnormally, most of his foot was encased in soft deerskin. It annoyed him when bits of sand or pebbles worked their way inside, but it was far better than stubbing his unprotected toes on a rock. The leather was hot and made his feet sweat, so he devised a way to wrap them in linen cloth. Each night after he removed the sandals, he soaked his feet, still wrapped in the linen, in a pot of water to dissolve the dried blood on the cloth. Only then did he carefully unwrap his feet to reveal his decaying toes.
Karinah walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his back. “I love you,” she said quietly, and she squeezed him.
Turning to face her, Naaman kissed her softly on top of her head with his irritated lips. “I love you too.”