“You’ve been quiet,” Barak told his cousin Lapi as they finally slowed their horses to a canter when they reached the outskirts of Kedesh-naphtali. Granted, his cousin was the quiet sort but never absolutely silent. Lapi was prone to commenting or complaining where due, and the two-day ride back to their village had been fraught with a hot, dry wind and little sleep because a pack of wolves had scared the horses.
Barak had insisted they set out well before dawn. Now the sun had crested the horizon over an hour ago, drying out the dew on the desert grass.
Lapi looked over at Barak but said nothing.
“You know Evie is going to question your black mood,” Barak said. “So you might as well tell me so you can unburden yourself before my wife gets to you.”
Lapi scoffed, then he unwrapped his turban that was supposed to keep the heat off. But the unseasonably warm weather hadn’t been their friend these past two days. “Evie should focus on her newly returned husband.”
“Is that all you’re going to give me?” Barak said. He was no fool. He’d seen the particular interest Lapi had shown in Tobiah’s daughter. Not that Barak could blame his cousin. Deborah was a resourceful woman and beautiful in her own way, but she was not of their tribe. And if there was anything Kedesh-naphtali was known for, it was tradition. Just as Ramah.
Not that Lapi seemed to care all that much for traditions. Since the death of his parents, he’d lived with Barak, and Lapi had always had a bit of a nomad streak in him. It was why Barak had been surprised that Lapi had readily agreed to return to Kedesh-naphtali.
But Barak was good at one thing. Waiting. So he brought his horse to a stop and let it graze the spring grass as he waited for Lapi to explain.
Finally, Lapi said, “I don’t like how easy it was for Deborah to scare the Canaanites away.”
“You saw them leave for yourself.” Barak studied Lapi. “What are you thinking?”
Lapi guided his horse a few paces to reach a generous clump of grass. “Tobiah’s homestead is isolated, and his daughter is unmarried and vulnerable.”
“She has the protection of a father and two brothers,” Barak argued.
“You know that any unmarried woman who is of age and looks like Deborah is at risk for kidnapping, or worse.”
Barak did know. Tales from far and wide reached their village. The women in Kedesh-naphtali were trained from a young age never to travel alone. Their village was much closer to Canaanite territory than Tobiah’s. Yet, Barak could see Lapi’s point. His own sister was nearly fifteen—another reason for him to return home and begin the process of finding her a match. His mother had died years earlier in a plague that had swept through their village, and his father was not on good terms with the village matchmaker. Therefore, Barak had to act as the father to his younger sister.
“We can’t force Deborah’s family to marry her off to someone,” Barak said.
Lapi’s jaw flexed. And then Barak knew.
“You proposed marriage to her, didn’t you?” Barak asked.
Lapi snapped his gaze to Barak.
In his cousin’s eyes, Barak saw the truth. “What happened?”
Lapi jerked the reins of his horse and urged the animal into a trot. Barak did the same to keep up with him.
“It doesn’t matter what happened or didn’t happen,” Lapi said. “We’re of different tribes. Her father has made that clear to one suitor already, and Deborah told me she would not defy her father’s wishes.”
Barak shouldn’t be surprised, yet he was. “Did you speak to Tobiah? Or did Deborah? Her age is past the usual marrying age, and perhaps if you offered more than the bride price—”
“No.” Lapi’s tone was clipped. “Her loyalty to her father far outweighs any thoughts of me. Let us forget about Deborah and the Ramah valley. We’ve enough work to do to focus on the future and not the past.”
“All right,” Barak agreed. He doubted this was the last he would hear of Deborah or the last Lapi would think of her. Barak was curious to know what type of conversation had transpired between the two, but it was obvious his cousin had been disappointed. How deep could his feelings go? They’d been in the Ramah valley for only a couple of months, training Abner and Chaim. Lapi had no parents to arrange a marriage for him, and Barak had been fortunate in his arranged marriage to Evie.
Although the morning was early when they rode through the main part of the village, Barak was surprised at how quiet the road was. Unusual. Lapi must have noticed it too. He cast a worried glance at Barak.
Barak planned to investigate before he reached his homestead.
A young boy skittered onto the street, chasing a pigeon that had one of its wings clipped—likely a pet.
Barak recognized the boy. “Joel, do you want to earn a bit of silver?”
Joel stopped and gave an eager nod.
Barak tossed the bit, and the boy caught it midair. “Go tell my wife that I’m on my way home, and I’m hungry enough to eat an entire harvest.”
Joel grinned. “Yes, sir.” He scooped up his pet pigeon, then ran down the middle of the empty road, his bare feet kicking up dust behind him.
If nothing else, Evie would have the morning meal prepared by the time he reached their house. The two men slowed their pace as they approached the blacksmith’s hut. The familiar ringing of hammer against metal echoed in the quiet morning. Barak reined his horse to a stop, then swung down from the animal. He walked into the hut to see Yann pounding at a red-hot sword in front of a kiln. The heat inside the hut was like standing beneath the midday summer sun. Perspiration dripped off Yann’s square face, and his tan tunic was stained at the neckline and arm area.
When Yann looked up, he didn’t greet Barak with a welcoming smile but only nodded.
Lapi came into the hut as well and stood next to Barak, watching Yann work.
Yann turned over the sword and began pounding the other side. The sword was of fine workmanship, one that Barak had never seen in the hands of an Israelite, which could mean only one thing.
“Whose sword is that?” Lapi asked.
Yann slowed his pounding enough to answer. “This sword belongs to Sisera.”
The very word sent a chill through Barak, despite the heat of the kiln. “The Canaanite captain, Sisera?”
Yann’s nod was more of a jerk as he lifted the sword and plunged it into a vat of water on the other side of the kiln. The steam hissed and rose to form a temporary cloud between Yann and Barak.
“Why in all that’s holy is Sisera in our village?” Lapi growled.
It seemed his silent streak was over. There had been no signs of a large army camping near the village when they’d approached.
“Sisera heard of my blacksmithing skills and came to refine his swords,” Yann said. “He is taking two of the swords to King Jabin as a wedding gift.”
“The king is to take another wife?” Barak asked.
He knew the answer by the look on Yann’s face. Barak’s gaze moved to the other side of the hut. Several swords leaned against the wall. Their crafted metal gleamed in the light of the kiln, and their jeweled hilts could buy a man’s inheritance.
“Fine gifts for a king who already has many riches,” Lapi said drily.
Barak crossed to the line of swords and picked one up. He heard Yann’s warning scoff. If Barak was caught handling a Canaanite sword, the consequences would be dire. It also reminded him that he needed to get back to his homestead and hide his training weapons before he encountered any Canaanites.
“Has the village shut down?” Lapi asked Yann. “No one’s in the roads.”
“There was an incident yesterday,” Yann said in a grim tone. “The villagers are staying indoors until Sisera and his guards leave.”
Barak turned. “What incident?”
Yann picked up another sword and held it over the kiln, heating the metal to a glowing red. Before he started to pound again, he said, “Sisera whipped one of his slave boys to death in the market square.”
Barak closed his eyes as a wave of nausea gripped his stomach.
“Was the slave boy an Israelite?” Lapi asked in a barely controlled voice.
“No. Syrian.” Yann pounded the sword a few times.
The sharp sound reverberated through Barak’s chest like a punch. He could well imagine the Canaanite captain beating a defenseless slave, and he pushed it out of his mind. “A prisoner of war, then.”
“Likely.” Yann turned the sword over and pounded again.
Barak glanced at Lapi, who was staring into the flames of the kiln. When Lapi met his gaze, he tilted his head toward the entrance of the hut.
Lapi gave Barak a slight nod. They would return to their homestead and eat with their family, and then they would strategize how to get the Canaanite captain out of their village. Too bad Deborah wasn’t here to come up with a plan. Of course, Barak would never voice that thought aloud to Lapi.
As the two men mounted their horses and traveled the remainder of the way through the silent village, Barak grew more anxious to see his wife and young children. It had been nearly three months since he’d last been home. Surely his youngest, one-year-old Hannah, was much grown.
Down the road, Barak spotted Joel coming toward them, carrying that lame pigeon of his.
When Joel neared, Barak said, “Did you see my wife?”
“She’s awake!” Joel announced. “And your baby was crying.”
Barak chuckled. “Thanks for helping me with an errand.”
Joel hurried past, intent on some other mysterious errand. The final bend in the road took them down an incline, which bottomed into a stream. That stream led straight to Barak’s house.
Barak slipped off the horse and released it to the stream so it could drink. Then he walked the last paces to the yard. Lapi followed, albeit at a slower pace.
Their homestead was modest but something to be proud of. The house had been expanded to several rooms over the years and was surrounded by a walled-in courtyard. Beyond lay their cultivated fields.
“Barak!” Evie’s voice sounded from inside the house before he even saw her.
Then she was hurrying out of the house, her dark hair flowing about her shoulders, the babe on her hip. Her round face was all smiles, and before he could get a proper look at her and the child, she’d flung her free arm around his neck.
Barak pulled her close, baby and all, and buried his face in her hair. She smelled as he remembered. Like wildflowers and honeycakes. It was good to be home. He kissed his wife’s cheek, then her lips.
But his kiss was cut short because between them, the baby squirmed and whined.
He drew back. “Let me see Hannah.”
Evie released the child to him, and he took Hannah in his arms, then kissed the top of her curly, dark head.
“It’s Papa,” he said.
Hannah wanted nothing to do with him and squirmed away, whining for her mother. Barak handed her back with a sigh.
Evie smiled. “Give her some time to get used to you.”
Secure in her mother’s arms, Hannah blinked her large brown eyes at him as if she’d planned on always getting her way.
“Where’s Gilad?” His son never slept past dawn, so Barak was surprised he hadn’t come out to greet him.
“He had nightmares last night, so he’s sleeping next to Kiva.”
“Nightmares?” Lapi said in a quiet tone, joining them. “Hello, cousin.” He embraced Evie, then stepped back to look at her closely. “What’s wrong with Gilad?”
Evie’s gaze moved to Barak, her face pale now. “Yesterday, at the market . . . something terrible happened.”
“The slave boy,” a deep voice rumbled. Barak’s father, Abinoam, stepped out of the house.
His limp was more pronounced than Barak remembered. At nearly sixty years of age, Abinoam had seen a lot of hardship.
“Father,” Barak greeted and embraced the man.
“I trust your travels have been fruitful?” Abinoam asked, turning to greet Lapi as well.
“Yes,” Barak said. “We will discuss those matters later. Yann told us about Sisera.”
“Gilad saw everything,” Abinoam said, his voice grave.
Evie grasped Barak’s hand. “I could not move fast enough to get him away.”
Barak squeezed his wife’s hand, looking from his father to Lapi. Both men’s eyes were hard. “I will speak to Gilad when he awakes. How is Kiva? Was she there too?”
“We all were—for market day,” Evie said. “We had several jars of honey to sell.”
Barak pulled his wife close again. Despite Hannah’s whine, he kissed Evie’s forehead. “We will rid the village of Sisera as soon as possible.”
She drew away, her eyes wide. “Do not confront him, Barak. Sisera is a dangerous man, and he’s a Canaanite commander.”
“I know very well who he is, and I’ll not have him terrorizing our people.”
His father nodded, but Evie’s cheeks flushed. “I’ll not have you provoke him, husband.”
“The captain is sorely outnumbered,” Barak said. “A little show of force will have him backing down and leaving our village. If he is not gone by today, then tomorrow I will do something.”
Evie bit her lip, and Barak knew he’d not heard the end of her scolding. The only reason she held back now was because Lapi and Abinoam were with them.
“Come in and eat,” Evie said. “Joel warned me—it appears you think everyone should do your bidding.”
Barak draped his arm over his wife’s shoulder as they walked toward the house. “You haven’t complained yet.”
“That might change,” she said, her tone soft.
Inside the house, Evie had indeed prepared a meal, and though it was simple—cooked barley, sliced melon, and day-old honey cakes—Barak had missed eating at his own table. He had missed his wife’s cooking, he had missed her, and he had even missed her scolding.
Evie was as astute as ever. While serving Lapi, she said, “What’s wrong, cousin? Surely you’re happy to be home with a meal in front of you.”
“I am blessed to be eating at your table,” Lapi said, but his subtle tone belied his words.
Evie rested a hand on his shoulder but looked at Barak. “He’s acting as if he has a broken heart.”
Lapi didn’t react, but Barak knew his wife had hit the mark.
“We’ll speak later,” Barak said, not wanting to drive Lapi out of his home on the first day. They were in sore need of some sleep, and tales of Ramah could be told later. Much later.