20

The steady vibration grew, its pulse matching the rapid pounding of Lot’s heart. He stood on his roof, taking in the sight from a home that no longer felt safe, his wife and daughters sleeping below. Torches dotted the Valley of Siddim, moving fast, headed toward Sodom. The battle could not have gone well. A sinking feeling turned to stone in his gut.

He should never have listened to Melah. Though there had been only a few days to travel, they could have reached his uncle’s camp by now, safe from the marauding invaders whose swift horses and iron chariots would weave around the tar pits and across the plain to Sodom’s gates long before morning light. He must do something. But the very movement of light coming toward them held his feet to the roof, weighting his legs.

Oh, Adonai, what have I done? He glanced at the stars, sensing the truth his uncle had tried to teach him. The Creator God was the only true God, the only real Savior. If ever he needed to be rescued . . . But would Melah heed his words? Even now, would she follow him if he readied his household to flee? How far would they get before the chariots would swoop down on them?

The thought spurred him from his sluggish inaction, and he turned toward the stairs, grasping the railing in his hurried flight. He nearly bumped into his steward, dressed in his night tunic.

“My lord, I thought I heard a noise.”

“Undoubtedly you did.” Lot grabbed the torch from the outer courtyard wall and motioned the servant to follow. “You must dress quickly and run to my uncle. Tell him that Sodom has been captured and we are all prisoners.” He pointed to the servant’s room. “Take your robe and staff and go!”

The servant blinked, his groggy gaze quickly replaced by fear. “But . . . we are not prisoners. Sodom is not captive.” It wasn’t like his servants to argue, but the man’s fatigue seemed to be slow in leaving, probably exacerbated by too much drink.

“Can you not hear the chariots and the racing hoofbeats? Listen, man!” He cocked his head toward the direction of the sound. They were approaching faster than he had anticipated.

The servant shook himself as though coming out of a stupor, his eyes growing wide as the sound grew closer. Shouts and an accompanying war drum suddenly burst the thin night air, and in the next instant, the clatter of wheels over cobbled stone streets drew near.

“Do as I say!” Lot swore at the man, then left him, rushing down the halls toward his wife and children. How could he possibly protect them? To surrender . . . Was there another choice, another way to escape?

Fear filled him as he stood at the threshold of Melah’s room, the babe nestled against her breast, her exhaustion evident in the dim torchlight. Should he wake her? But how could he not?

He rushed into the room, setting the torch in its stand. “Melah, wake up!” He shook her rougher than he’d intended. She startled and cried out.

“What is it?” She shifted to face him. “I just got him to sleep.” She sounded angry and near tears.

“I’m sorry, dear wife, but you must rise. The city is being invaded. We must flee. It may already be too late.”

She looked at him as though his words did not register. “Where would we go?” She lifted up on one elbow and glanced at their son, still sleeping and peaceful, though even in this light he lacked a healthy glow.

“To the hills, to my uncle.” He gripped her arm to tug her out of bed, but she pulled back and lifted the child like a shield between them.

“I cannot go. Assam is not well.”

The shouts from the street did not seem to penetrate her stupor. He wanted to shake her, to make her see, but there was no talking to her like this. “Stay then. I’m taking the girls and going.” Perhaps that would rouse her. He left her side and grabbed the torch from the wall.

“You can’t leave me!” Her screeched words drew him to a quick halt, the sound like that of a trapped and wounded animal.

He stood, indecision thickening his blood, making him suddenly weary and helpless. He slowly turned at the sound of her weeping. How had it come to this? In the early days, he had known how to charm her, but after he wed her, he couldn’t bring himself to care. At first. When at last she meant something to him, the child had come between them. He didn’t know her anymore.

The squeal of iron wheels clattered against the stone streets until the pounding of horses’ hooves died away, replaced by the screams of his nearest neighbors. Banging against the outer door sent a jolt through him. Footsteps of servants rushed down the halls. The cries of his daughters restored life to his blood.

But the splintering sounds of the doors and windows caving in nearly paralyzed him. He rushed to his daughters’ room, snatched them both from their beds, and dragged them to Melah’s room. A prayer died on his lips as Chedorlaomer’s soldiers barged through the door.

Sarai stood over the pot of sheep’s milk and stirred the mixture with a fig branch, being careful not to let it burn. She darted an anxious look at the sky. The wind had picked up in the last few moments, threatening to extinguish the flames beneath the pot. A storm was surely coming.

“Perhaps we should have the servants bring an awning to protect us.” Lila called to her from close by, where she stirred her goat’s milk with an equally anxious gaze. “A little protection might keep the fires from going out.”

Sarai agreed. “Hagar!” The girl lifted her bent head from the millstone. “Find a tent to put over us. Get some help if you need it.” She looked over at Lila as Hagar bowed low and hurried to do Sarai’s bidding. “I didn’t expect a storm today.”

“Nor I.” Lila’s smile warmed Sarai. “I hope Abram and Eliezer are not caught in it unawares.”

Lila’s gaze moved beyond Sarai to the group of children in the field nearby gathering flowers for dye and twigs for the fire. Lila and Eliezer’s young sons were with Eliezer now, helping in the fields, but their daughters were nearby, one just beginning to help her mother while the other still nursed at her breast. Sarai followed Lila’s gaze. Lila’s children were like grandchildren to her. If not for Adonai’s promised child, she might have contented herself to adopt Lila and Eliezer and never long for more.

She stirred the milk, noting the soft bubbles rising in the creamy liquid, as Egyptian servants hurried to where she worked, carrying the goat’s hair canopy. She glimpsed Hagar again as she settled once more over the millstone, grinding the endless grains beneath the hard surfaces. She was a plain girl, and her foreign looks hadn’t captured any of the male servants’ notice.

The curds slowly separated as Sarai turned her attention back to the boiling milk, wishing she could rush the process. She could smell the storm on the wind.

Distant male shouts made her look up. She glanced at Lila, whose concern matched her own, but she could not leave the cheese until she squeezed it through the cloth.

“Shall I run to see what has happened, my lady?” Hagar stood at her side as if sensing her thoughts.

Sarai gave her a curious look. The girl said little, and despite the nine years she’d lived with them in Canaan, Sarai knew almost less about her than she had during their short stay in Egypt.

The shouts increased in the distance—men calling Abram’s name. Whatever it was sounded urgent. “Go, and be quick to return.” She clenched her jaw, silently cursing her own lack of agility as she watched the girl sprint away, slim brown legs peeking beneath her lifted tunic as she ran. The young woman had no modesty, but then Egyptians were a barbaric people.

Sarai looked at Lila. “I hope the Canaanites aren’t stirring up trouble with the wells.”

“It’s probably nothing.” Lila’s reassuring words did not match the lines across her brow. She called to her girls, her voice carrying on the wind.

“Of course, I’m sure it’s nothing.” But worry swirled inside Sarai just the same.

Abram dug his staff into the dark earth, bracing against the steady wind. Eliezer stood nearby conferring with the camel herder while Abram spoke with the merchant who had just returned from the east with his goods. From the field just over the rise, the sounds of his captains barking orders during training exercises carried to him. Though he had made alliances with the Amorites Mamre, Eshcol, and Aner, he could not risk attack by others who did not view his presence here so kindly.

“The prices from Damascus were higher than those from Ebla and Kadesh. Their king has imposed higher taxes, so I thought it wise to spend the gold in the other cities,” the merchant said. He opened up his leather bags.

Abram inspected the wares and nodded. “A wise choice. Damascus has had its struggles of late.” Though he would always be grateful to the place for giving him Eliezer.

“Master Abram! Master Abram!”

He turned to see a man come to an abrupt halt and fall to his face at Abram’s feet. “Master Abram, let your servant speak a word with you.”

“Catch your breath, then, and speak.” Abram summoned Eliezer to join him. “Bring the man some water.”

The messenger sat back on his heels, hands to his knees, sucking in great gulps of air. A servant handed him a skin of water. He sipped slowly, his breath returning.

“I have come from Sodom, where Chedorlaomer has been at war with Bera, King of Sodom, and his allies. Sodom is defeated, and Chedorlaomer has swept down and taken all that belongs to Sodom, including its people. Your nephew Lot was also taken captive along with his family. I alone escaped to tell you.”

Abram drew a long breath. Hadn’t he warned Lot of what living in such a place might mean? Anger stirred within him, but he held it in check. “When were they taken?”

“Early this morning, my lord. Before dawn.” The man sipped again and slowly stood. “Lot did not sleep for fear of them. If he had not spotted them from the roof coming toward Sodom, he would not have sent me to tell you in time. I would have been swept away with the rest. Please, my lord. You must come to rescue them.”

Abram nodded once, then glanced at Eliezer, the grim set to his jaw telling Abram he did not like the odds. Chedorlaomer’s exploits were well-known, his contests without defeat. “Find the captains and send messengers to Mamre and his brothers,” Abram said. “We will meet in my tent at dusk to plan and then leave at first light.”

He glanced at the man, then glimpsed another lone figure hurrying toward him from the direction of the camp. A woman alone? What now?

He dismissed the man and went to meet the servant, recognizing Sarai’s Egyptian maid. “Is your mistress all right?”

The girl nodded. “She is fine, my lord. We heard the shouts calling your name and—”

“She sent you to find out?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Abram regarded the slave for a moment, then shook his head. “I will explain the news to Sarai myself. Tell her we will have guests for dinner.” He turned then, making his way back toward Lot’s messenger.