The chariot was much longer and somewhat wider than the battle chariot in which Naaman normally rode. Standing in the middle was Obed, rawhide lines to the horses playing lightly in his hands. Naaman sat beside him on a comfortable cushioned seat that faced forward. Ahead of the chariot rode four soldiers, two abreast, on matching white horses.
Immediately behind Naaman’s chariot followed another, this one somewhat smaller but no less lavish than the first. A massive man with arms the size of tree trunks stood at the lines, urging the horses forward. He was uncomfortable in his role. He was a soldier accustomed to riding horses, not driving them, and although they’d been traveling for several days, he was still not at ease. But driving the horses wasn’t his prime role; he was here to protect the occupant in the chariot. If necessary he would die before he would allow any harm come to the little maid seated to his right.
In single file behind the second chariot followed ten camels. Four of the recalcitrant beasts plodded along with a combination of gold, silver, and costly apparel securely strapped down. The last six were laden with food, tents, and supplies for the people in the caravan.
Following behind the camels were six more soldiers. Like those at the head of the column, these soldiers were on stout horses, riding two abreast, and were outfitted in full battle armor. Should anyone be foolhardy enough to attack the little caravan, they would be met with full resistance.
The audience with the Israelite king had been uncomfortable at first. When the high-strung and almost irrational Jehoram had read Ben-Hadad’s letter, he assumed the delegation was there as a trick, that Ben-Hadad was creating a scenario to begin a war. It was only after more rational people got involved that Jehoram understood the nature of their visit and eagerly directed them to where Elisha the prophet was residing.
“Amon, how much farther is it until we reach Prophet’s house?” Gili asked with so much excitement she could hardly contain herself.
Amon clucked at the horses and lightly slapped them with the lines. “Not far, perhaps another two hours, maybe less.”
“Do you think Master Naaman would allow us to race ahead?”
Amon shot an incredulous look at Gili but said nothing. He didn’t need to; the expression on his face said it all.
His attention distracted by Gili’s comment, Amon didn’t see the four-foot-long Palestine viper until it was too late. The snake had been basking on a rock in the warm sunlight as Naaman’s chariot rolled past. But as Amon approached, it uncoiled its scaly, tan body and slithered onto the road, its forked tongue constantly licking in and out. The black snake’s rapid movement startled the flightier of the two horses pulling the chariot.
At the sight of the snake, terror struck the horse, which reared into the air, its front hooves thrashing wildly. As the horse rose, the tongue of the chariot to which the horse was yoked also went up, tilting the chariot just enough to knock Amon off balance and throw him backward onto the floor of the chariot. As Amon fell, he released the rawhide lines that ran to the horses. With the tension on the lines released, the spooked horse’s powerful hind legs lunged forward as its front legs came down to the ground. In a panicked attempt to keep stride with its confused partner, the second horse lunged forward as well.
In only a few seconds, calm turned to chaos, and the wide-eyed horses bolted off the narrow roadway and onto a rut-riddled open plain. It was only her death grip on the top rail of the chariot that kept Gili from being tossed out of the chariot as the wheels slammed into the first rut. Amon had fought his way to his knees, but as the chariot bounced into the second rut, he sprawled on the floor.
Two things happened to keep the occupants from certain injury and probable death. On seeing the runaway chariot race off onto the plain, two alert horsemen at the rear of the column dropped their spears to the dirt and spurred their horses in pursuit at a full gallop. Racing up on each side of the chariot, the soldiers pulled alongside the out-of-control horses and leaned out to grab the rawhide lines attached to the bits.
As they fought to control their own horses as well as the runaways, the second thing happened. The bouncing and jostling had sheared the stout wooden dowel that held the right wheel on the axle of the chariot. As the chariot slammed into a third deep rut, the wheel flew from the axle, and one side of the chariot dropped to the ground, its wheel-less axle acting as a plow.
The combination of the axle plowing into the dirt and the quick action by the horseman slowed the chariot and eventually brought it to a halt. While the soldiers struggled to keep the panicked horses under control, Amon struggled to his feet and worked his way to a wide-eyed Gili. Amon chuckled as he looked into her ashen face and asked, “Are you all right?”
Gili stared blankly at him. Amon slipped a hand under each of Gili’s arms to lift her from the chariot, but she only moved a couple inches. “Gili, you must let go of the chariot,” he said with slight laugh. When she didn’t respond, he reached out and slowly pried each of her fingers from the rail of the chariot. Picking her up, he tucked her under one arm, inched his way to the back, and stepped from the chariot.
A moment later more horsemen rode up and began surveying the damage to the chariot. In the distance, the small caravan had come to a halt, and most of the people were looking to where the damaged chariot rested awkwardly in the middle of the plain. Soon a lone rider came galloping across the plain. He reined his horse up beside the chariot, sending dust and dirt flying. “What’s your status?” he called to Amon in true military fashion.
Amon was on his knees on the ground, examining the chariot’s axle. Looking up at the rider, he said, “We could be much worse. We’ve sheared the pins holding the wheel on. Other than that, I see no damage to the axle or the chariot.” Standing up he slapped the dirt from his hands and looked back over the furrow the axle had made in the soft dirt. “I don’t see the wheel, but if it isn’t damaged, this should be easy to repair.”
“I shall report back to the commander,” the horseman said, and he wheeled his horse about and dug his spurs into its ribs.
Pointing to two horsemen, Amon said, “Go find the wheel and bring it here.” Then to the other two horsemen, he said, “Unhitch the horses and cool them down.” He pointed down the slight incline to a big thicket of trees. “The Jordan River flows down there. When they’re cool, lead them to water. Then bring them back and let them eat some of this grass while we repair the chariot. We’ll hitch them again when we’re ready to go.”
The two soldiers dismounted their own horses, tied them to the remaining wheel of the chariot, and began their tasks.
Amon looked up to see the rider now coming back across the plain at an easy gallop. Reining his heavily breathing horse to a stop, the rider said, “Commander Naaman says two horsemen are to remain with you to help fix the chariot. The rest of us will continue on to the Israelite prophet’s residence. After you’ve made the repairs, all of you are to join us there.”
Gili listened to the rider, obviously in dismay. “I should be there,” she blurted. “Shouldn’t I go with—”
“Gili,” Amon bellowed as he shook his finger at her, “don’t even ask. You heard the commander’s orders.”
Gili let out a deep sigh and fired a crestfallen glance at Amon. She turned and slowly walked to the shade of a scrubby cedar tree, where she sat down, watching the caravan until the last rider disappeared from sight.
Amon glanced at her a couple of times, and after a while, she stood up, dusted off the seat of her robe, and walked quickly to where Amon and a soldier were struggling to set the wheel-less axle on a tree stump they had scavenged. Putting her hands on her hips, she asked, “How much longer is this going to take you?”
Neither of the men answered; they were straining too hard under the weight of the ornate chariot.
“Let’s try one more time,” Amon huffed to the soldier. “On the count of three. One, two, three.” In an explosive burst of strength, the two men let out fierce grunts, raising the chariot the final inch and unceremoniously dropping it on the stump.
“Please, Amon, can you tell me how much longer it’s going to take you?”
Amon wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of hand. He sucked in a breath to yell angrily at Gili but stopped short when he saw her pleading eyes. “I know you want to be there, Gili, but you must be patient. We’re working as fast as we can.”
Gili pouted. “They’ll meet with Prophet and be coming back before we ever get there.”
When Amon only glared at her, she spun on her heels and walked back to the cedar tree.
Nearly three hours passed before the wheel was on and the horses were again hitched to the chariot. “Come,” Amon said as he brushed dirt from his tunic and wiped away the rivers of sweat that had streamed down his face and soaked his beard. “We’re ready to go.”
A soldier stood in front of each of the chariot’s horses, firmly gripping the bits in their hands. Gili jumped up from beneath the tree and ran to the chariot. Amon helped her step up, and then he climbed aboard and picked up the rawhide lines. Only after he had them firmly in hand did the soldiers let go and swing up into the saddles on their own horses.
Guiding the chariot around rocks, ruts, and clumps of grass, Amon eased the horses across the plain and back onto the road. With the horses in an easy trot, they began the bone-jarring journey toward the prophet Elisha.