Day after day I plodded along in a stupor. I was a girl without a family, without a home, without a town. I was nothing.
I could not believe that my life was turned upside down, and yet the sun kept rising and setting. The Aramean army crawled northward over the King’s Road, and I was borne helplessly along in the middle of them. Wind sighed over the parched, tawny grass. We passed by two walled towns, not as large as Ramoth-Gilead.
Sometimes at a distance I caught sight of cattle in the shade of the oak trees that dotted the hills. But most living things, beasts and human, stayed well away from the army. Only vultures floated overhead, perhaps hoping for another battle. My thoughts narrowed down to the blisters on my feet and the passage of the sun overhead, marking the times to rest and eat.
On the third day the road began to climb upward. Rocks poked out of the dry slopes, and the oak trees gave way to scrubby pines. As I reached the top of one more hill, I heard “Goliath” remark to Niv, “Look, Mount Hermon. We have made good time.”
To the west there was something different — a wall of blue mountains, topped with white. My heart thrilled, just for an instant. Surely that was the home of Ba’al the storm-god, or Hadad, as they called him in Aram.
“Glory be to Hadad!” “Goliath” and Niv raised their spears toward the mountain. “To the God of Thunderbolts belongs our victory.” Behind them, other soldiers came into view of the mountain and shouted, “Glory be to Hadad!”
I had a thought that would have been comical, if it were not so painful. I was gazing upon Mount Hermon, as I had longed to do — but not because I was as rich and powerful as Queen Jezebel. I saw the mountain only because I was a captive, on my way to being sold as a slave. My plight reminded me of one of Galya’s tales, about a foolish man whose wishes come true, but in horrible ways.
As we climbed higher into the foothills, the air was cooler. The sweet-smelling pine trees grew more thickly, casting some shade on the road. The next day the road turned east and followed a river downhill. The trees disappeared, except for oaks and sycamores along the river.
In spite of everything, I was eager to see Damascus. I expected it would be built on a hill, like Ramoth-Gilead, and like Samaria in B’rinna’s descriptions. But when Damascus finally appeared, it was nestled at the bottom of the river valley. Past the city, the river disappeared into the ground, and the farmland stopped suddenly. Beyond that, desert stretched eastward as far as I could see.
Before we reached the outskirts of the city, “Goliath” stopped on the riverbank and had me wash my face and arms and pick the burrs out of my hair. Then he tied my hands in front of me. I wondered where he thought I would run, if I could get away from him.
Damascus was much larger than Ramoth-Gilead, but its walls were low, more like the courtyard walls at home than like the high walls of my town. We passed through the northern gate. Just inside, there was a market crowded with stalls and booths. I would have been curious to see the wares, if I had not been an item for sale myself.
We passed stalls with cages of fowl, then a section where sheep and goats were penned. Finally “Goliath” stopped at a pen of women and girls. The slave dealer, a heavy man with a sagging face, turned me around while “Goliath” talked me up. See how healthy I was! I spoke Aramean as well as Hebrew. I wove fine cloth …
That lie was almost amusing. Galya often nagged me about my unskilled weaving.
“She is from Ramoth-Gilead, eh, soldier?” asked the dealer as he squeezed my arm muscles. “You know the custom: the commander gets first pick of the captives from a battle.”
“Goliath” looked alarmed, as if he had not thought of that. “No, not from Ramoth-Gilead at all. They did not let us sack the town. Some enemy soldiers were captured, but they were sold south right after the battle. This girl is from … Samaria.”
“Hm.” The dealer opened my mouth with his dirty fingers to look at my teeth. “Because if she was from Ramoth-Gilead, you really ought to show her to General Naaman. I do not want any trouble.”
I hardly heard what they were saying, paralyzed as I was with shame. To be handled by a man, a strange man! (I had gotten somewhat used to “Goliath,” and in any case he had hardly touched me, except to tie me up, since the first day’s march.) Tears seeped out of my eyes as the two men haggled over my price. Finally the dealer took out his scales, weighed a small pile of silver pieces, and poured them into the soldier’s hand.
As “Goliath” disappeared into the crowded market, the slave dealer began to order the girls and women to stand here or there. He placed me in a front corner.
“You probably think you are the best merchandise, you little vixen,” muttered a woman behind me. She pinched my arm.
Just then there came a call from up the market street: “Make way for Lady Doronit, wife of General Naaman!”
There was a buzz among the slaves. A curtained litter appeared, led by a well-dressed man with an important air. He stepped up to the dealer. “I am Aharon, Lady Doronit’s steward. She wishes to see the captives from General Naaman’s great victory over the Israelites at Ramoth-Gilead and choose one slave, as is her right.”
The slave dealer bowed low. “My lady brings great honor on my humble business. But has she not heard that the army returned with no captives from the battle of Ramoth-Gilead? The town was not sacked, and the captured enemy soldiers were sold south on the spot. Oh, would that I might offer to her ladyship the very flower of Gilead for her choosing! Yet I have a number of fine women and girls here, if she wishes to consider purchasing one. Did her ladyship have in mind a lady’s maid, or a nursemaid, or … ?”
The other women and girls smoothed their tunics and pressed to the front of the pen. “Let me through!” whispered the woman behind me, pinching me harder. I squealed, but I stood my ground. If the others were so eager to be bought for General Naaman’s household, I was not going to give up my chance.
The curtains of the litter opened, showing a woman with hair dressed in elaborate braids and ringlets. The gold beads on her forehead clinked as she leaned out. “Aharon, I have no need of another slave, if I must pay for her.”
At the sound of Lady Doronit’s musical voice, my heart tripped hopefully. “Please, lady,” I called in Hebrew, “I am a captive from the battle of Ramoth-Gilead.”
The dealer sprang at me, cursing, and shoved me back so hard that I fell. The woman who had pinched me jumped to the front of the pen.