Yashar saw wildflowers and new grass growing on every slope he passed on his way to Jezreel. The flats below the city teamed with chariots and troops. Shofars sounded continually and riders raced on horseback here and there. Yashar and Juttah climbed the ascent to the city and landed upon a broad, flat plaza. At its far end were Jezreel’s gates and tower, facing west. Rocks and rubble lined its southern limit and along its northern edge ran a long rail fence. Without warning, Juttah jumped that fence and was gone. Yashar ran up in time to see him dash out of sight past several men clearing overgrowth on several terraces below. Though Yashar repeatedly called him, Juttah refused to come.
*
When Ahab told Obadiah that he planned to deplete the garrison at Jezreel in order to strengthen Samaria, Obadiah objected but the king did not listen. Instead, Ahab urged Obadiah to strap on a sword and ride with him to Jezreel to lead the garrison away.
“I have never carried a weapon in my life,” Obadiah told the king.
“You may need one,” Ahab said as they made their way. “If our spies are wrong and Ben-hadad’s army is closer than we think…”
“Then we are all dead regardless,” Obadiah said. “Our small company could not hold off Hadad and his… How many kings is it, sir?”
“Thirty-two minor princes,” Ahab said, “call them kings if you like, have joined with Ben-hadad to wreck my life.”
Since Ahab had married Jezebel it had been his annoying habit to express all the nation’s concerns in personal terms, but his assessment of the threat was not exaggerated. The king of Aram had united a host of his traditional enemies and amassed a formidable force to attack Israel. Obadiah had imagined such a coalition impossible but, as several prophets had warned, war was upon her again.
“We’ll fight if we must,” Ahab said. “I’ll defend Samaria at the expense of Jezreel.”
“Does it make good sense, strategically, sir,” Obadiah asked, “to abandon Jezreel and retreat to Samaria? This valley is the gateway to all Israel.”
“Pray, sir,” Ahab said, “that Ben-hadad thinks twice about this adventure before engaging me, armed to the teeth, within the confines of my hills.”
It was an awful plan but who could change the mind of a terrified king?
*
In Jezreel, having been suddenly abandoned, Yashar had no choice but to follow Juttah down the slope from the plaza, entering at a gate then following a winding trail past the workers and several tiered terraces onto a flat, shaded landing dotted with olive trees and a running stream. There were several tents there, a lean-to with stacked tools and an old press for grapes. A fire pit lay at the hub of the camp encircled by large stones. An old man with wild white hair sat upon one of those, grinning like a child while a lovely lady behind him massaged his scalp.
At their feet, purring like a kitten, lay Juttah.
“What under heaven is this?” Yashar said.
“Puppy got his belly rubbed,” the old man said, smiling at Yashar as if he knew him. “You wouldn’t condemn an animal for that?”
“Is something wrong, young man?” the lady asked.
Yashar grinned. It was his first exchange ever when he had not been called son, or boy. “I must warn you two,” he said, quickly serious again, “that you do not know this dog. Everyone fears him. He is dangerous and fierce.”
“Puppy, puppy,” the man chirped and Juttah rolled over and allowed him to tickle his belly.
Several younger men and women joined them at the pit. Seeming more eager to rest than speak, each simply nodded toward Yashar then collapsed on the ground near the old couple. “This is my family,” the white-haired man said, introducing them with a sweep of his hand.
For some reason, several of them laughed.
“Forgive their good humor,” he told Yashar, “but how wonderful, we find it, that God has brought rain again to Jezreel.” He reached behind and grabbed the woman’s wrist. “My wife and I and my sons and their families are all reunited, working together again in what has been our family’s vineyard for generations. All is as it should be, you see. That is why we laugh and carry on.”
Yashar introduced himself and explained that ferocious, puppy puppy, was his dog.
“I am called Naboth,” the man said. “You are welcome in our vineyard. This is my wife, Sara. These are our sons and their wives. We worship at the times the God of Israel has appointed in the temple at Jerusalem.”
*
Obadiah could barely keep up. Ahab led his company at a furious pace. After arriving at the base of Jezreel’s ascent, Ahab allowed his men to briefly rest their mounts then led them charging under the whip toward the plaza before shofars could sound. But they were forced to stop by a furious animal in their path, just before the gates.
“What’s this?” Ahab said, trying to calm his horse before a barking dog.
“It is only my frightened animal, sir,” Yashar said, running up. “He would not have reacted so strongly if you had not tried to run him over.”
Sensing the king’s anger, Obadiah clicked his horse into place between Yashar and Ahab. “Mind your speech,” he said, “you are addressing the king of Israel.”
Yashar bowed awkwardly then turned to scold the dog, whom he called Juttah.
“Your name?” Ahab demanded, dismounting.
“I am called Yashar, sir,” the boy said.
“A good enough name,” Ahab said, “but judging from your accent you’re not from here and likely a spy.”
*
Yashar did not mean to offend the king by laughing, but he did. “A spy, sir?” he said. “Truly, I’m no native but this dog and I are here in Jezreel in accord with the will of God.”
Several in the crowd who had run up to observe the commotion laughed aloud.
“Do you claim to be a prophet, son?” the king’s man asked.
Before Yashar could answer, the king pointed at him and said, “No, Obadiah, I tell you I know this one now. He served Elijah against my lady’s priests at Carmel. I will see to it that he…” but the rest was lost in the cheer that followed the mention of Elijah’s name.
Even pagan Jezreel seemed to love Elijah since the prophet broke the drought. “Praise the God of Israel,” they cheered (though he was only one of many gods to them).
“O king,” the man called Obadiah said, “is this lad truly the same fellow? According to all I have heard, the noxious lad who accompanied Elijah on the mountain had no dog. Might it be best to pardon this one for his resemblance and move on?”
“Was it you, boy, whom I saw assisting Elijah?” Ahab asked.
Yashar hesitated at first, knowing that the king might harm him, yet he was bound to tell the truth. He had already begun nodding when Obadiah spoke again. “O king,” he said, “if this lad served Elijah on the mountain that day, though I myself doubt it, then would he not be a hero to these people…” He stopped and gestured toward the throng of Jezreelites looking on. “Yes, a hero, for the role he played in your own arrangement, sir, which brought this parched country relief in blessed rain?”
Several cheered again and the king paused to consider it.
Obadiah nodded toward the gates. “Let us leave this boy and his animal in either case, O king, and tend to the urgent business that brought us here today.”
“Whether he appeared at Carmel or not does not matter,” Ahab growled. “The boy has confessed to being foreign. Why then, today of all days, does he appear in Jezreel with this cur? He is a spy, I say, for Ben-hadad.”
“Pardon me, sir,” a sweet voice came from behind them. Yashar turned and saw Sara with her family, standing at the gate. “This young man is no spy, I promise,” she said. “He and his animal work for my husband in the vineyard, below.”
Jezreel cheered again. Everyone loved boys and wine and dogs.
“The animal keeps critters from the vine rows,” Sara said. “He was likely at that chore when frightened by your horse.”
The Jezreelites cheered again.
“Why is everyone so happy?” the king exploded.
“Because it rained, sir?” Obadiah said.
Done with the matter, Ahab mounted up again and spurred him into town. All his men followed save Obadiah, who hung back. “I did not see it,” he told Yashar, “but it was you on the mountain with the prophet that day, wasn’t it?”
“I was about to tell the king as much,” Yashar said, “if you had allowed me to answer.”
“Our king has no fear of gore,” Obadiah said. “Had you acted so foolishly you would likely lay here dead.”
Juttah growled.
“This animal of yours is amazing,” Obadiah said, stepping back. “He looks half wolf.”
“He was frail a short time ago,” Yashar said, “but has hit a miraculous spurt.”
“You were with Elijah,” Obadiah told Yashar. “I feel it in my spirit. You are the same boy I caught spying on Elijah during the drought, from a distance, on the day I found the prophet in the woods.”
“Yes,” Yashar said, embarrassed as he recalled his clumsiness. “Now I remember you too.”
“It is my advice to you, young man, regardless of whom we remember or call our friends, to act more humbly and less self-assured when you are next in the presence of the king. Ahab is renowned for his temper.”
“Elijah’s last advice to me was to always speak the truth,” Yashar said.
“Last, you say? Has our prophet passed?”
“No,” Yashar answered, “he has not. He promised me I would see him again.”
Obadiah sighed, relieved, and Yashar began to like him.
Sara called from behind him, “Yashar, it’s time to come home.”
Home. Yashar turned to look. Naboth’s family waved and waited, grinning and gesturing as if he really were one of them. After quick thanks to Obadiah, he joined them. On their way down to the camp, while Juttah bounded through the underbrush like a loon, Yashar questioned Sara’s accuracy when speaking to the king.
“You told Ahab that I worked for you,” he said.
“Yes, I did,” Sara said, with nothing to add.
Yashar dropped the matter. Like his mother, Adella, Sara seemed unconcerned with the finer points of accuracy, more inclined toward broader truths.
*
It rained that afternoon. Naboth’s family worked throughout the downpour, Yashar beside Naboth as they shored and cleared a section of collapsed terrace. Naboth loved to talk. “We all left Jezreel when the world went dry,” he told Yashar, “spread from Kadesh-barnea to Damascus looking for jobs and food. But it was always our dream to return to our home.”
“It was your dream, Father,” Naboth’s oldest son, Zach, said with a smile.
Sara worked alongside the men. “Praise to God,” she said, “our family is back in our vineyard…” She stopped and messed Zach’s hair. “…though my handsome oldest son remains a farmer in his heart.”
“We did not all return,” Zach said. Somehow, his comment killed all further conversation. Yashar let it pass, figuring that he would learn soon enough what had brought on that sudden silence.
*
That evening the men set a big fire amid the circle of stones where they camped. After everyone had eaten—Sara had baked bread and made soup—and as the fire’s flames began to die, Yashar’s curiosity got the best of him. “Who, sir, among your family has not returned to Jezreel?” he asked Naboth.
“He has not come back yet,” Naboth said, “but I have positive expectations.”
The others looked away.
“I am blessed with seven sons, Yashar, not six,” Naboth said. “I expect that Avi, my youngest, will join us here when the time seems right to him. Avi has always seen things differently but he is a wonderful boy at heart.”
There was no more mention of Naboth’s youngest son until several nights later when, after another long day of work, a young man wearing an odd turban (and dangling a sack over one shoulder) came walking into the vineyard down the path then stopped, smiled boyishly and whistled.
It was Avi, Yashar knew without asking.
Avi’s mother and brothers did no more than nod politely but Naboth jumped up and ran to him, embracing him and murmuring, Avi, my Avi.
“You have no questions for our youngest son, sir?” Sara asked when the two joined the others beside the fire. “Not, where have you been, Avi? Why have we not heard from you, Avi? Why have you come back to your family only now?”
“There will be ample time for questions later, Sara,” Naboth said. He coaxed Zach to toss a fresh log on the fire but the others, even Sara, rose to leave. “Where are you going?” Naboth asked. “Avi will tell us all we wish to know, I’m sure. Won’t you, Avi? Come, sit everyone. Stay and hear him speak.”
Zach and his brothers sat obediently but Sara remained standing paces away with her arms folded, the light in her eyes having faded.
Avi was not much older than Yashar, it appeared, a bit taller, perhaps, and the owner of a real, full beard. Avi nodded pleasantly at everyone until his eyes fell upon Yashar. “Who is this,” he asked, “with the dog?”
Sara brightened suddenly. “The king himself appeared in Jezreel today up top the hill,” she told her youngest. “This is Yashar, Avi, who Ahab charged within our hearing of serving the prophet Elijah on Mount Carmel!”
“The rain story,” Avi laughed.
“It is anything but a story,” Yashar said.
“I was not speaking to you.”
“But how can you doubt your eyes, Avi?” Naboth asked. “The skies themselves testify to our renewal, as does the damp earth under your feet, great thanks to God.”
“But what is he doing here?” Avi asked.
“Something you are unfamiliar with, little brother,” Zach said, “he works.”
Naboth had not yet gotten past Avi’s skepticism. “Wicked Jezebel herself mourns the death of hundreds of her so-called holy men,” Naboth said. “They are dead for a fact, lifeless as this vineyard once was, done in by the mighty prophet Elijah and the God of Israel. The encounter, the rain, the priests, these are undeniably true. How can you begin to doubt?”
“Because it’s all a fable,” Avi said.
“I served Elijah on the mountain that day,” Yashar said, “and with these eyes saw God send fire down. Rain followed from the smallest cloud.”
“Hallelujah!” Sara said and everyone about the campfire repeated her praise save Avi.
Naboth led them in prayer, then, thanking the God of Israel for Elijah, for miracles and for rain. But Avi left them while they were at it to stand in the shadows.
*
Ben-hadad sent cavalry and chariots into Jezreel the next morning. Riders appeared suddenly in the vineyard, coming up unobserved from the north valley floor having followed the bed of Sara’s stream. Yashar awoke to the sound of their horses’ pounding hooves as Hadad’s raiders galloped through camp hacking at everything they passed with swords and axes. They were gone in an instant, thundering up the path to the plaza through the gate. Naboth’s family met at the fire pit after they disappeared. No one seemed harmed.
“Shall we warn the garrison?” Yashar asked when he joined them.
“They are already there,” Avi said, starting away, up the hill.
When everyone followed Avi, Yashar called Juttah but he failed to appear. Up top, crouched behind the gate, they watched together as several enemy chariots, having charged up the ascent, met the horsemen on the plaza with perfect timing. One of the horsemen blew a horn. Another cried out in a northern accent, “Hear, Jezreel. Ben-hadad, king of Aram, says to Ahab, king of Israel, your silver and your gold are mine. Your wives and children are mine.”
Nothing happened. The citadel gates remained shut. The ramparts lay empty. When Ben-hadad’s man repeated his boast, a lone man appeared on the ramparts and called down. “Ahab is gone,” he said. “You waste your breath.”
“That is the captain of the garrison,” Naboth whispered, “an honest man named Bidkar.”
From where they kneeled, Yashar could see over the ascent and into the valley. What looked like thousands of troops had occupied the plain about Jezreel by night, where Ahab had earlier drilled chariots. “Ben-hadad, in force,” Avi whispered at Yashar’s ear.
“We shall overrun you before noon,” Hadad’s man called up.
“Doubtless,” the captain answered, “come up. We are depleted as you well know. For your efforts you will still not have Ahab, his gold, his wives or children as you boasted and very many of you will have died. Perhaps you yourself, soldier.”
“Save yourselves, then,” the solder said, “say where your king has gone?”
The captain laughed. “Where might you clever fellows suppose the king of Israel might go?” he said. “Must men die for Ben-hadad to learn the name of our capital?”
“Samaria, then?”
“Ask no more questions,” came the captain’s answer. “Persist here and I’ve men and arrows enough to make you pay with blood to hear what everyone knows.”
“Such a fine fellow, our Bidkar, though utterly pagan,” Naboth whispered, “brave and clever, never a bully, always fair.”
A door at the base of the tower opened then shut quickly after allowing a handful of men to run out and join the enemy. “Captured spies, must be,” Naboth said. “See, our wise captain has released them to Hadad as a gesture.”
The spies hopped aboard the chariots and they and the horseman hurried away, down the ascent toward Aram’s army on the plain. Not one Jezreelite had been harmed. No sooner than the enemy had vanished, men and women rushed out of the gates raising their voices in praise to Baal.
Avi jumped the fence to join them.
“My own son,” Naboth sighed. “Are we blind? It is because we bow to idols that Aram has come. It appears that Ahab left Jezreel defenseless during the night. I curse his name.”
They stepped out and looked down at Hadad’s army on the plain. “We should thank God for the efficiency of Aram’s spies,” Naboth said. “Seeing that Jezreel is abandoned, Ben-hadad moves on, south toward Samaria. If successful there, though, this host will surely return to Jezreel and finish us. Then all Israel will be lost.”
*
On their way back down to the vineyard, the family found Juttah lying on the trail, unconscious and bleeding horribly. Sara fell to her knees to examine him. “One of those horsemen surely cut him as he rode through,” she said.
Yashar forced himself to look. Juttah’s wound followed his spine along half its length, beginning at an entry gash near his neck.
“He could yet live,” Naboth told Yashar. “Truly he could. My Sara is a gifted healer.”
Yashar was unable to answer. Sara scooped Juttah into her arms as if he weighed nothing, unbothered by his blood. “Get control,” she told Yashar. “Go about your business trusting. Spend your time in prayer.” She carried Juttah with no help and stayed in camp all that day tending to him while Yashar worked alongside the others, unaware of what he was doing.
“He will live, Yashar,” Zach said that evening around the fire, “do not worry.”
“He may live,” Avi said, having returned to camp in time to be fed. “But he’ll never walk again from the looks of his shoulder.”
“You don’t know that,” Sara said.
Avi bowed deeply and, smiling wickedly, rose to leave.
“Juttah limped badly when I first found him,” Yashar told the others, “and his limp disappeared in just days.”
“Praise God for his mercy,” Naboth said, “if that poor animal lives to limp again.”
Later that evening, after Sara had set a palette for Juttah on the ground beside her bed, Naboth’s family, less Avi, reconvened and spoke of the battle to come in Samaria. Yashar tried to listen but his mind remained with his dog. Sara had applied special healing herbs and an old family ointment to Juttah’s wound. Since they discovered him, Sara rarely left his side. While the others spoke of the coming clash at the capital, Yashar prayed silently for Sara, asking the Lord to increase her strength.
*
Word arrived at Jezreel the next morning from Ibleam; Ben-hadad’s host had crossed the valley and passed into the hills through the notch at En-gannim unopposed. They were expected to begin encircling Samaria that day. The same riders reported that Ahab had offered Ben-hadad all his silver, all his gold, all his wives and children too, if only he would go away. But all that Ahab owned was not enough to satisfy the king of Aram.