“Lord General, another day has dawned in which it is my pleasure to serve you.” Aharon, the steward, stepped into Naaman’s bedchamber and bowed. “Will you come to the outer courtyard and inspect the gifts from the landowners of Ramoth-Gilead? The scribe has already gone over the goods with his list, and he says there are gifts over and above the tribute agreed upon.”
Naaman did not nod, since his manservant was trimming his beard, but he lifted a hand. “Very good. I will come soon. Ask Lady Doronit to come view the tribute, too. She may do as she wishes with the gifts.”
Although Naaman enjoyed the rough life of the campaign trail, he also enjoyed his comfortable home. It was good to be back with his wife and his two manly little sons. He had completed one more successful military campaign, the most successful one yet. He was beloved of everyone in Damascus, from the lowest beggar to King Ben-Hadad himself.
Now that Naaman had the tribute from Ramoth-Gilead, he did not care what was done with the goods. Above all, he wanted Doronit and everyone else to be as happy as he was.
The steward bowed again. “Lord General, I took the responsibility of sending a portion of the gifts to the warehouses of King Ben-hadad, may he live forever.”
Naaman smiled at his steward. “Well done, Aharon.”
After his hair and beard were combed with perfumed oil and the valet had pinned his mantle with a gold pin, Naaman went to the outer courtyard. Raiza was showing Doronit the tribute, but she paused to bow low to him. “Good morning, my Lord General, and welcome home.”
Good old Raiza, always fussing around the household with that little frown on her face, as if she had the heavy responsibility of commanding the armies of Aram. Naaman chatted with her a bit, asking if her rheumatism was better and what she thought about the quality of the tribute wool. Meanwhile Doronit rushed from one bundle to another like a child surrounded by honey cakes.
“Oh, my Lord General!” His wife addressed him formally in front of the slaves, as was proper. “See, these ivory plaques from Sidon!” She held up one of a goddess gazing from a window, and one of the Tree of Life. “Shall we have a great bed made, like the one they say Queen Jezebel has in Samaria, its frame inlaid with ivory?”
“Just as you wish, my dear,” he laughed. “We must do something with all these goods. They are cluttering up the courtyard.”
Doronit stooped to inspect the objects the housekeeper was unwrapping. “And what are those bronzes, Raiza?”
“They seem to be lanterns — no, I believe they are braziers, my lady.” Raiza rubbed one against her tunic to polish it and held it up to the sunlight. “Although I have never seen workmanship so fine.” The metal filigree showed a hunter aiming his bow at a stag.
“And so many of them!” exclaimed Doronit. “Why, my Lord, we could warm our bedchambers, the nursery, and the dining hall. We could even place braziers around our garden in the cold season!”
“Whatever you like, my dear.” Naaman beamed at his wife. It had been wonderful to see her at the city gate yesterday, wild with excitement at his triumph. Perhaps she had been a little indiscreet, jumping into the procession and singing a victory song to him. But he would not reprimand her and spoil her happiness.
“Oh, my lord,” Doronit went on, “There is a new slave girl, a captive from Ramoth-Gilead. Would you like to see her?”
“A girl captive from Ramoth-Gilead?” Naaman was puzzled. “I did not expect any captives, since I was defending the town.” Perhaps she had been attached to the defeated Israelite army.
Raiza went to fetch the new slave, and a moment later a girl of about eleven or twelve knelt before Naaman. She had a hesitant manner, almost stunned, but that was not unusual for one recently captured. He lifted the girl’s chin with his hand. For a moment her eyes, large and wary like an antelope’s, looked into his.
“Does she not have a sweet face?” Doronit asked Naaman. “True, we did not really need another slave girl, but I paid nothing for her. I think I will keep her to tell me stories as I spin.
“Oh, and my lord, what fine wool I will spin this winter!” Naaman’s wife whirled toward still another bundle, a fleece, and pulled out a handful of the wool. “See how long and white it is! I will have a new shawl woven, white with a border of blue lilies.” Turning again, she pointed to a wooden chest. “Only wait until you see the jewelry they sent. There is a pin, silver with lapis lazuli, that could fasten my new shawl.”
Laughing, Naaman held up his hands. “Why not? All shall be as you have said.” The girl did have a sweet face, he thought. She would soon settle into her new life, and it would be pleasant to have her around the house.