Naaman clung to the sides of his chariot and tried to steady himself as it bounced over the uneven ground. Each jolt sent a fresh stab of pain into his already throbbing feet, and he anxiously measured the distance until he would be out of the trees and onto the roads of Edrei. Adad raced ahead of him, his black horse almost white with lather; stretched out behind them were hundreds of yelling soldiers.
The attackers poured out of the trees and down the hillside like a horde of cockroaches after a crumb of bread. Naaman could see the first contingents were already at the outskirts of the village, and he knew others would be blocking the roads to stop any who might try to escape. In the distance he could see the first plumes of smoke rising above the fields as soldiers set fire to the ripe wheat. By the time they finished, even the dogs and wolves would not want to live in Edrei.
Lashing out at the team of exhausted horses pulling his chariot, he pulled onto the smooth main road into Edrei and breathed a sigh of relief. Ahead of him a confused group of would-be Edrei defenders were being mercilessly cut down, first by volleys of arrows then by swordsmen slashing and hacking. He grimaced at the sight but couldn’t help thinking those poor men might be the lucky ones. Death was better than slavery.
“Commander,” Adad said as he wheeled his horse alongside the chariot, “there has been very little resistance. It will be a huge victory.”
Naaman looked at his second-in-command and scowled to himself. From a military standpoint, there was little to be proud of for storming an unsuspecting and virtually defenseless village. “When the people are out of their homes, order the troops to begin setting fire to each house,” Naaman commanded. “But do not burn a house until you’re certain everyone is out. Do you understand?”
“Can the men take things of value for themselves?” Adad asked as he fought to keep the prancing horse under control.
Naaman eyed the ramshackle houses lining the streets. “Yes, whatever they find is theirs.”
“Excellent,” Adad said, spurring his horse and charging onto a side street crowded with frightened Israelites who had been routed from their houses. “You may keep anything of value you can find, but burn the houses to the ground,” Adad commanded as the horse trotted along the line of people. Without warning a young boy—no older than ten or eleven—jumped up from the ground and charged at a soldier about to set fire to a house.
“No,” the boy screamed. “My sick grandmother is still in that house.”
Without a second thought, Adad slapped the horse’s rump and raced forward with his sword high in the air. Overtaking the boy at almost a full gallop, Adad brought the sword down on the boy with a sickening thump, sneering as the child crumpled to the ground in a heap.
The soldier holding the torch gasped in horror. “He was but a boy!” he yelled at Adad.
“He was about to kill you,” Adad shouted in return.
“He was defenseless.”
“I saved your life.” Adad said as he sidestepped the horse away from the lifeless body. “Now torch the house!”
“The boy said there’s a sick old woman inside,” the soldier said.
“I don’t care. Torch the house!”
The soldier stared at Adad and flung the torch to the ground. “Do it yourself,” he said and walked away.
“I’ll see you dead,” shouted Adad, jumping from the saddle. Snatching the torch, he kicked open the door and tossed the flame inside, ignoring the plea of help from a frail woman lying on a makeshift bed of straw. Climbing back on his horse, he continued down the street, shouting the same order to loot and burn.
* * *
Naaman stepped down from his chariot and walked toward a group of a dozen men sitting in the dirt in front of the smith’s shop. They sat with their hands on top of their heads and their legs crossed in front of them. Six soldiers encircled them with bows drawn, and two more stood outside the circle with swords unsheathed.
“What are those caves up there?” Naaman said as he strode forward, pointing to the small openings in the black cliffs in the distance.
The men sitting in the dirt looked at Naaman and then at each other, but no one said a word.
“It really makes no difference whether you tell us or not; we’re going to investigate them anyway,” Naaman said matter-of-factly. “I simply want to know their purpose.”
Except for blinking eyes and shallow breathing, the men sat as still as stone statues. Beneath the calm exterior, each man’s heart raced wildly, and they seethed with a combination of fear and anger. The same thought raced through each man’s mind, and each of them hoped against all hope that their wife and children had somehow managed to find their way to the safety of the caves.
Naaman turned from the men as the sound of pounding horse hooves reached his ears. Adad rode up again and jumped from the saddle as the horse skidded to a stop only inches from where Naaman stood.
“Commander,” Adad said in a voice hoarse from constant yelling, “we’ve captured most of the people on the far side of the town and have started burning the houses. In another hour, we’ll have worked our way through most of the village.”
“Excellent, Adad,” Naaman said. “See those caves in the cliffs beyond the village? What did our scouts tell you of them?”
Adad looked to where Naaman was pointing. “Our scouts reported nothing of them to me.”
Naaman shook his head. “I think it’s unlikely anyone made it up into them, but take a contingent of men and begin searching them.”