7

Jael stepped into the small clearing, a kind of simple courtyard she’d made in front of her tent, and lifted the clay urn atop her head. “Gather dung and twigs for the oven,” she said to Daniyah as the girl emerged from Jael’s tent, her hair disheveled and the look of sleep in her eyes. “I’m going to the well.”

Nadia and Raja met her as she passed them, each woman carrying her own water jug.

“I trust you both slept well,” Jael offered as they fell into a rhythmic step, the jugs balanced on their heads.

Nadia shrugged. “I fear I do not sleep as well as I did in the desert. The night sounds of the forest waken me.”

“I hear them too,” Raja said. “Fareed doesn’t hear a thing. The man could sleep through a windstorm.”

The girls laughed softly, but Jael held her tongue as they approached the berm that they must cross to reach the road just above them—the road Sisera’s chariots had traveled that first day and several times since.

Sisera had been to visit their camp, each time surrounded by hundreds of outfitted warriors, men who were too confident, too arrogant. Jael’s heartbeat quickened at the memory of his first visit.

“Ah, Heber, such lovely women you have!” Sisera had turned from facing Heber and walked deliberately toward Jael’s tent, where Daniyah stood beneath the awning, her hair draped in a thick veil that did not hide her face. He pushed past Jael before she could think to respond and stopped in front of Daniyah.

Fear rushed up Jael’s spine, and Heber drew closer. But Sisera’s men blocked his path. “And what do we have here?” His long fingers cupped Daniyah’s cheek, stroking each side slowly, deliberately, his sneer evident. And then in one swift movement, he boldly undid the clasp of the veil that hid her flowing dark hair. Once, twice, he sifted the strands between his fingers.

Daniyah gasped but did not move, her pulse pounding in her throat.

If you dare touch her . . . But he was touching her right in front of them, and no one moved for the fear he evoked.

“Someday you will come to me willingly, my sweet.” He pulled back, his smile confident, then strutted like a peacock toward Heber once more. “I will be back for those weapons within two weeks. Do not disappoint me.”

Jael closed her eyes, tamping down the rising panic that always accompanied the memory. The well was just over the rise, not far from the city of Kedesh-naphtali where she had met some of their women. She stopped abruptly at the sight of two men walking toward them.

“Stop,” she hissed, extending a restraining hand toward the girls. “Go back.”

The men drew closer, and the girls turned quickly and obeyed without question. But the men had spotted Jael, so she waited for them to approach, wishing now that she carried one of those daggers Heber made.

“Who are you and why have you come?” she asked, her tone strong, bold. She would not let them see her fear. By the look of them, they were Israelites, not of Canaan. Nonetheless, she took a cautious step backward.

The one who appeared to be the leader, with long scraggly hair and beard, held up both hands to show he carried no weapon. “We come in peace. Is this the camp of Heber the Kenite?”

“Tell me who you are and perhaps I will answer your question.” She did not have to trust them just because they were Hebrew, ancestral history between them or not.

The man gave a slight bow. “Forgive me, mistress. I am Barak, son of Abinoam of Kedesh-naphtali.” He extended a hand toward his companion. “And this is my friend Keshet, son of Meshech, also of Kedesh-naphtali. We wish to speak to Heber the Kenite.”

Jael studied the men for a lengthy moment, assessing the man’s words. “Heber is my husband,” she said at last. “Follow me.” She turned and made her way back down the embankment, leading them toward Heber’s tent, which was larger than the rest. She had even woven a striped banner to place along its awning to show visitors that his was the tent where they could seek welcome or refuge. A protection for the women, whose tents were off-limits to any visiting men, though Sisera had not cared one whit for the rules of hospitality.

“If you wait here, I will send for him.” Jael motioned to a circle of large stones that acted as a courtyard in front of the tent’s opening, then turned to her tent, where she met Daniyah just returning with dung and twigs. “Go and fetch your father.”

Daniyah lifted a curious brow but did not question her mother’s direction. Jael watched her run off toward the altar where Heber prayed each morning. These men were certainly early risers, the timing of their visit almost unseemly. She needed water if she was to prepare food for them, should Heber invite them to stay. But she couldn’t leave until Heber returned.

She walked to the tents of her daughters-in-law and sent them to the well, snagging her son Ghalib to go with them in her place. Heber returned moments later while Jael sat at the grindstone in front of her tent, straining to hear what the men had come to say. When it became evident that the scraping and grinding would drown out their voices, she commissioned Daniyah to do the work and slipped behind Heber’s tent to listen.

“We come in peace, my lord,” Barak said, holding his hands out once more in that defenseless gesture. Both men had stood at Heber’s approach, and all three remained standing. “We are neighbors to you, and we seek your help.”

“And how can I help you, my son?” Heber folded his arms, clearly not opening his home to them yet.

“We are men of Israel of the tribe of Naphtali. As you may have heard, our land has been cruelly oppressed by the Canaanites for these past nineteen, nearly twenty years. King Jabin’s commander, Sisera, has nine hundred iron chariots and thousands of men. They have brutally abused our women and children and killed many of our men. We are few in number, and we have few weapons at our disposal.” Barak cleared his throat, but his bold gaze did not leave Heber’s face. “We have heard that you are a Kenite, a worker of metal, and we would ask you to help us, to make us weapons to fight our enemies.”

Heber stood silent so long that Jael wondered if he would speak at all.

“We had planned to come a few weeks ago, but we’ve been delayed by Sisera’s raids on our people,” Barak added.

Barak’s question clearly posed a dilemma for Heber, since he would need additional supplies of ore to meet the demands of both Canaan and Israel. At last Heber sat on one of the large stones and motioned for them to do the same. He called Jael to bring the men water and food, and she hurried to gather both. When she returned, she released a frustrated breath. They had clearly spoken while she had left to do Heber’s bidding.

“So Sisera brings you copper ore and tin, and you make them into swords and spears and shields for him?” Barak’s tone held the slightest hint of anger, but his smooth features did not reveal what was surely in his heart. How could he not be angry with the man who was helping their enemy? Yet he accepted Jael’s food with a grateful smile and did not say the cutting words she expected.

“I know it sounds harsh to you,” Heber said as they ate. “But I do so to protect my family. If I had realized Sisera would act as he did . . .” He paused, swallowed hard, and Jael knew he shared the memory of helplessness they had felt when Sisera nearly defiled Daniyah right in their presence. Had the man no shame? “I would never have left the Negev.”

“Do you plan to move back?” Barak sipped from the clay water jar.

“I have reasons that I cannot. But my daughter is not safe here.” Heber did not meet Barak’s gaze and seemed to find the flatbread and cheese most interesting.

“Forgive me, my lord, but none of your women are safe with Sisera.” Barak wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If I supply you with copper ore and tin, will you do for us as you are doing for Sisera? I cannot pay you. We have little gold or silver or even food to offer. But I can find a way to supply you with the materials you need if you will consent to make us daggers and swords.” Barak touched the flatbread but did not eat, waiting for Heber’s reply.

Jael studied her husband, her emotions so conflicted. She understood him. He thought he had no choice with Sisera. He had to protect them until they could find a way to flee. But why so hesitant to help Israel? Surely he could get the copper and tin as easily as this man could—a man who knew nothing of the trade.

“You can find the tin and copper ore near Succoth, across the Jordan. You can also find them near Gerar and farther south near Punon and the Arabah. But I warn you, Sisera frequents these same locations, along with plundering the trade caravans that bring the ores from the south. If you can find a caravan brave enough and careful enough to withstand Sisera’s bands of outlaws, you will find what you need.” Heber extended a piece of flatbread to Barak, a sign of acceptance.

Barak took it and ate. His smile made Jael realize that beneath his gruff exterior was a rather young and handsome man. Perhaps someone for Daniyah—to keep her safe? She would tuck the idea in her mind for now.

The men left soon, claiming the need to hurry. Sisera’s men had grown bolder, kidnapping the virgin daughters of their Israelite leaders, they’d said, and in some cases killing whole towns of men.

Jael’s heart skipped several beats at the news. Daniyah was not safe here. Why oh why had she ever thought it a good idea to move them away from their family?

Barak led his men south toward a trade center not far from Shechem, hoping to avoid crossing the Jordan at its high point near Succoth. He didn’t like the odds of meeting Sisera on the roads during the day, so they kept to the forests and hills of Ephraim heading toward the Philistine territory of Gerar. Surely they would find the spot where Heber had directed them. Surely the ore they sought could be found.

The thought troubled him as it did every waking moment since his meeting with Heber, since the caravans they’d stopped had already been stripped of ore by Sisera. What made him think the Philistines would offer their ore to help their enemies? If they had long memories, they would recall Shamgar, son of Anath, helping Israel to the Philistines’ detriment. The idea that they should sell ore to help Israel was the hope of a desperate man.

But he had no choice.

Dusk cast long shadows over the forested path, yet he hurried onward, trying to out walk the thoughts that were taking him to places he did not wish to go. A whistle, the familiar call of Keshet, caused him to make an abrupt stop and turn. Keshet strode closer and motioned him to a clearing not far from the main road to Bethel.

“You do realize that your pace would match the flight of a fleeing gazelle, my friend.” Keshet touched Barak’s shoulder, coaxing him to still. “The men are exhausted.” He waved a hand heavenward where dark had descended. “We need rest.”

Barak glanced at the purpling sky, then steadied a look at his men. They stood huddled some distance behind him. How had he not noticed the loss of their company, the lack of hearing their banter or murmurs?

“You are right, of course.” He clapped Keshet on the back and flicked his gaze over the area. Keshet made the sound of a hoot owl, and some of the men bent low to strike a fire in a hearth they had apparently already built. “I see you decided to stop with or without me.” He leveled Keshet with a look and raised a curious brow.

Keshet chuckled. “Just keeping the men happy, Captain.”

Barak sobered despite his friend’s attempt at humor. They had no assurance of finding the ore they sought. He couldn’t even predict that his men would remain loyal and continue to fight Canaan. They had their slings and bows, but no swords, no chariots, no shields, nothing to sustain them in face-to-face combat. And they were so few in number. Sisera’s men were like the grains of sand along the shore.

A defeated sigh he could not contain filled his chest. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. He needed to dip in the river. He needed a warm mat and his wife at his side. But life didn’t always give a man what he wanted.

He looked at Keshet a moment, then nodded. “A wise choice.” He moved toward the trees. “I need a few moments alone. Wait with the men.”

“Don’t get lost in there.” Keshet said the words in jest, but Barak knew he meant them.

“I’ll be careful.” He walked off without a backward glance.