Love Amid the Ashes (11 page)

Aban swallowed hard, and Sayyid watched the lump bob up and down in his throat. “Master Sayyid,” he began, “Job’s old house steward, Atif, was mortally wounded in the attack. I’m sorry, master. I know he’s been a friend since you and Mistress Sitis were children.”

Sayyid released the breath he was holding and waved away Aban’s concern. “It can’t be helped. I was afraid you were going to report something awful—like some of Job’s camels survived the raid.”

The lump in his captain’s throat bobbed again. “The Chaldeans took all of Job’s
corralled
camels, Master Sayyid. However, the few camels and supplies from his Hebron caravan were sheltered in his household stable and were overlooked by the Chaldeans.”

“Overlooked? You’re telling me Job still has camels
and
goods to trade?” Sayyid heard the shrillness of his voice and hated it.

“Sayyid, calm down.” Bela’s voice melded into Sayyid’s building fury. “What are a few camels and some baubles compared to the three thousand camels Job lost to our Chaldean raiders?”

Before Sayyid could berate his fat little Edomite friend, Aban interrupted again. “Job has lost much more than camels tonight, my lord. I believe the gods have smiled on both Master Sayyid and Master Bela this evening.”

The sudden anticipation on his captain’s face calmed Sayyid’s fears more than words. Aban wouldn’t have offered Sayyid hope if he couldn’t deliver. Master and captain knew each other implicitly. Not only had Sayyid trained the boy with bow, sword, and spear since his mother had served as Sayyid’s concubine, but he’d seen Aban’s warrior instincts develop at a young age. Aban was the youngest captain in Uz, the most relentless, and loyal beyond question.

“Tell me,” Sayyid said, soothed by Aban’s confidence. “Slowly, so I can relish each detail.”

The captain’s left eyebrow rose again, this time drawing up the left side of his mouth. “Sabeans have stolen Job’s five hundred yoke of oxen and his five hundred donkeys, and they killed every servant.” Sayyid laughed so loud, Bela jumped, rippling his belly again. Aban bowed to the delighted lords before continuing. “It seems even the gods have joined in your quest to ruin the man. Lightning fell from the sky and burned up every sheep and servant in Job’s fields, and desert winds collapsed the four corners of Ennon’s home, killing every child of Sitis’s womb.”

Sayyid’s laughter stopped. “Sitis’s children are dead?” he said, stumbling back, feeling blindly for the ivory chair he called his throne.

Bela scooted to the edge of the bench beside Sayyid, his feet almost touching the ground. His fuzzy red hair and beard matched his now bloodshot eyes. “I never dreamed Job would lose everything,” he said. “I simply wanted to set myself above Job for the day when Great-Abba Esau appoints his successor to rule Edom.” Shaking his head, he pressed his thumb and forefinger to weepy eyes. “I didn’t want to ruin Job. We are Edomite kinsmen, after all.”

A white-hot ember of panic rose inside Sayyid’s chest. He couldn’t afford Bela’s remorse or sudden attack of conscience. “Your kinsman?” he said, placing a firm hand on Bela’s arm.

Bela looked up, startled by Sayyid’s grasp.

“You don’t owe Job loyalty just because your grandfathers descended from Esau’s loins!” Sayyid released Bela’s arm and slammed his hand on his ivory throne. “Was he acting as your
kinsman
when he spoke against your appointment as city judge, saying you were too young and inexperienced? Was he your
kinsman
when he renounced your worship of Kaus, the Edomite mountain god?” Sayyid rose from his perch, and with each question stepped closer, dug deeper into Bela’s emotional wounds. “We did not ruin Job, my friend. It was the gods who have ruined your
kinsman
, and it is your duty as a city elder to protect the rest of Uz from further retribution.”

The little Edomite stood, his tears for Job’s misfortune dried amid the bitter wind of accusation. Bela’s expression changed from concern to outright fear. “What do you mean, ‘further retribution,’ Sayyid? Do you think the gods would exact their vengeance on Job by striking others in Uz?”

Sayyid offered a meager shrug. “Perhaps if others in Uz will distance themselves from the man, they may be safe from the gods’ vengeance.” A sorrowful sigh punctuated his performance. “But who could be sure? Perhaps the gods will turn on Job’s
kinsman
next.” Sayyid glanced at Bela to be sure the short, squat Edomite grasped his insinuation.

“I will speak to the city elders in the morning,” Bela said, a determined set to his jowls. “Job should be revoked as chief judge, and another respected citizen should be named elder in his place.”

“Very wise, Bela.” Sayyid wrapped the man’s shoulders with a friendly embrace and walked him toward the courtyard gate. “I believe you should go home to your lovely wife and consider who should replace Job on the city council.”

Bela smiled slyly. “Of course you know who I’ll suggest.” The Edomite clasped Sayyid’s shoulders and pressed his bristly, bearded right cheek against Sayyid’s trimmed and oiled beard. “Peace and prosperity to you, my friend.”

Taking a deep breath, Sayyid suffered through the scratchy farewell. “And to you, Bela.” He watched the gem merchant’s guards escort the man’s donkey out of the canyon. Bela would no doubt return to his home in the northern plain of the second sector, sleeping little and eating much, impatiently awaiting the dawn.

When the Edomite’s escort was well out of sight, Sayyid turned to Aban, who stood beaming with unspoken satisfaction. “Wipe that silly grin off your face!” Sayyid said. “Our work has just begun.” He marched through the courtyard, the pebbles of red rock crunching beneath his feet. He had planned only the Chaldean raid, but it seemed the gods had truly been at work to ruin Job. Finally, Sitis, in her poverty and grief, would run willingly into Sayyid’s arms. “Dismiss your men and follow me to my chamber,” he called out over his shoulder, making his way to the grand hall and toward the winding stairs. “Grab a torch on your way!”

He could hear Aban’s hurried commands and scuffling sandals on the tiles behind him. Soon torchlight illumined the curving stairway. Sayyid smiled. He had trained his captain well.

When the two reached Sayyid’s fourth-story bedchamber, a serving girl waited in the sitting area with a pitcher of wine and two cups. She stood beside the bed, an ostrich plume fan in her hand to stir the night breeze. Sayyid eyed her briefly but walked beyond the main chamber onto his balcony, his sanctuary of rest and peace. Aban holstered the torch on the bedchamber wall and followed Sayyid to the balcony.

“Aban, my boy, we must move quickly,” he said, squinting through the settling dust on the canyon floor.

Aban’s bushy, black brows knit together. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, my lord.”

“We must strike Job while he is at his weakest, totally destroy any resources he could use to rebuild his wealth. And we must do it before he requests help from Esau or Sitis’s brother, Bildad.”

“What do you ask of me, my lord?” Aban said, focused so intently on Sayyid’s words that he missed the lithe, slender form on the balcony across the canyon.

“Go back into my chamber and snuff out every lamp and torch,” Sayyid said calmly.

The big man followed Sayyid’s gaze across the canyon, finally noticing the woman’s figure on her balcony. “Yes, my lord.” He bowed and retreated into the chamber. Darkness came slowly, in stages, with each snuffing out of lights. Sayyid wondered if Job felt the same tonight when each loss was reported—a little more darkness, a little more death, until finally the blackness consumed the night.

Gazing across the canyon at Sitis’s shadowy form, Sayyid thanked Al-Uzza that Sitis had maintained her nightly ritual. He feared the tragedies would have thrown her household into such turmoil that she might have neglected her visit to the balcony, their nightly hideaway.

After snuffing the last of the lamps, Aban rejoined his master on the balcony but kept his gaze respectfully lowered. “Do you ever tire of watching her, master?” Aban spoke in barely a whisper.

Sayyid would have cut the throat of any other man who asked such a question, but—he chuckled at the thought—no one else knew of his nightly perch. “I’ll answer with a question for you, Aban. Do you ever tire of seeing the sunset or a desert flower growing between two rocks?”

“I suppose that kind of beauty is tireless.” Aban’s reply seemed hesitant. Perhaps he was simply cautious commenting on the master’s most prized treasure. And rightly so.

Sayyid squeezed the captain’s strong shoulder, a stiff but amiable show of camaraderie. His captain understood him well. Sayyid had settled for the second best location in Uz—the cliffs directly across from Job’s great palace. A fair arrangement, since the mountain city of Uz was Sitis’s dowry from her brother. Considering Sayyid’s heart twisted each time he saw Sitis in Job’s arms, he had earned every moment’s pleasure of his fourth-story view of her third-story balcony.

“Why aren’t you in Job’s arms tonight, Sitis-girl?” Wicked satisfaction creased his lips. “Perhaps Princess Sitis has already decided a poor man with no property isn’t worth her time.”

All too quickly, the old hag Nada wrapped a blanket around her mistress and hurried her inside. Sayyid’s heart plummeted, his mood darkening like clouds obscuring the moon. Glancing at Aban, he spoke in measured tones. “As I said, we need to be sure Job has no way to rebuild his wealth. Send some men into the desert to find the Nameless Ones.”

The moonlight revealed streaks of dread on Aban’s features. “Master, I don’t trust them. I don’t even know if we can find them. They live in dry streambeds, underbrush, and holes in the ground. Most of them are more animal than human.”

“You will find them, Aban,” he said as if speaking to a child, “because you’ll carry with you the cook’s choice lamb and quail, and they’ll find
you
. Then you will trade them food for folly. They’ll enjoy stripping clean the rest of Job’s possessions. And tell their leader
someone
will pay handsomely for it.”

“What is their leader’s name?”

Sayyid squinted, working hard to remember if he’d ever heard a name given to any of the desert dwellers. They were like apparitions, ghosts, waiting for night to enter the city to steal, kill, and destroy. “The leader is known only as the Nameless One, but his authority is tenuous at best, and he leads with reins no sturdier than a spider’s web.”

Aban’s intense dark eyes were hooded by his black garments, his voice like the low rumble of a storm. “I will find this Nameless One, master, but they may not stop at thievery. They take women for sport and kill men for pleasure.”

His captain had never been so talkative, and Sayyid’s patience grew thin. “You will stop them, Aban!” he said, letting his frustration show. “I will become Sitis’s protector, and Job will remain unharmed.” He turned away, examining the empty balcony across the canyon. “I want Job to suffer when Sitis runs into my arms.”

The sound of Job’s worship mingled with Dinah’s hushed whispers as she spoke the names of Yahweh she’d learned from Grandfather Isaac: El Shaddai, God Almighty; El Elyon, God Most High; El Roi, the God who sees; Jehovah Jireh, the God who provides. Time had no meaning. Sound became a distant echo. She was aware only of an unfamiliar warmth and peace.

“Dinah.”

Her breath caught, and she was afraid to open her eyes. Had Yahweh spoken her name?

“Dinah,” the voice said, this time louder, more urgent. Her heart was racing. She gathered her courage and slowly opened one eye. A man stood before her, barely recognizable, his head and face shaven, streaked with blood and ashes. Was she disappointed or relieved?

“Dinah, come,” Job said. “I’ll take you and Nogahla to a room where you can get some rest.” Nogahla was curled up beside her, sound asleep, and the other men were gone. Dinah realized it must be quite late. All but one of the torches was completely burned out.

“Nogahla and I can sleep here in the courtyard,” she said, amazed and humbled that Job would consider their comfort in the midst of his grief.

“Please, Dinah, follow me.”

She woke Nogahla from exhausted slumber, and Job lifted the torch from its mounting and began the long winding walk through the dimly lit stone palace. Gathering golden lamps from wall niches, Job handed one to Dinah and another to Nogahla, blowing out the remaining lamps as he walked past. Their silent march wound through lovely mint-scented corridors and reception halls, servants’ stark dwellings, and musky work spaces.

Climbing a maze of stairs, they finally reached their destination on the third floor. Job drew back beautiful azure drapes fluttering in the breeze. Dinah’s dim flame revealed a lovely anteroom furnished with an elegantly cushioned couch, tapestries, and rugs.

Job led them directly to a finely carved door but stopped before entering. “Please forgive me,” he said, his expression lifeless. “I’ll let you and Nogahla find your way from here.” Job bowed and was gone.

“Is he mad at us?” Nogahla’s voice was gravelly from sleep, and she rubbed her face.

“No, my friend,” Dinah said. “Though Master Job is a strong and faithful man, he’s still human. He’s tired, and he needs time to reflect on all he’s lost today.” She reached for the bronze handle and opened the heavy oaken door.