General Naaman rode easily as his golden chariot jounced over the stubbled wheat fields of Ramoth-Gilead. He was a strong man in himself, as mighty a warrior as any between Babylon and Egypt. Today he felt as strong as the warhorses that pulled his chariot. No, he was far stronger than that! He was as strong as the entire army of Aram, for it obeyed his every command.
The Israelite army had the advantage right now, slinging stones and shooting arrows downhill from the high ground outside the walled town. But the advantage would shift as the Arameans pretended to pull back, luring the Israelites down to the plain. Then Naaman would call his men to attack full force. The archers would rain down arrows until the Israelites broke ranks. After that, the Aramean swordsmen and horsemen would rush in and finish the Israelites off. Naaman, acting through his army, would strike like a thunderbolt from the hand of Hadad the Mighty.
The only drawback to this plan was King Ahab, who commanded the Israelites. He was a tough, wily old soldier, and he might see what the Arameans were up to. But where was Ahab?
Now and then, through the dust, Naaman spotted the Israelite standard, the bronze snake on its pole. But he could not see the splash of purple that would be Ahab’s kingly robe. Naaman had spoken to the archers personally last night, urging them to aim for King Ahab. “If Ahab is slain, the Israelite army will be like a bronze snake without a head.”
The standard of Aram, the pole topped by a golden calf, was fixed to Naaman’s chariot. At any time during the battle, the Aramean soldiers could look for the standard and know that their general was with them in the thick of the fight. Arrows hummed past Naaman like deadly hornets, but he did not flinch. His men fought fearlessly because they saw him without fear. They could see that the god of battle loved their commander.
Naaman squinted across the battlefield, a lake of dust. Spear tips flashed, as many as reeds in a lake. At the back of the Israelite army a pair of horses reared up, pawing the dust — horses pulling a chariot. Perhaps that chariot carried Ahab in his purple robe and his helmet with iron horns, but Naaman could not see him. The Israelite king always wore iron horns in battle. They were said to bring him victory. A slight smile curled Naaman’s lips. “Today victory is mine, Ahab.”
“My Lord Commander?” asked the chariot driver. He thought the general was talking to him.
“To the left flank,” Naaman told the driver. The driver touched the horses with the reins, and they wheeled to the left, the chariot plunging after them. Naaman’s blood seemed to hum in his veins.