I surveyed the broad valley that we’d just crossed. Nothing resembling a soldier appeared anywhere on the horizon, but I hadn’t seen the first group either. Were there more out there hunting us?
I rose before the sun after tossing and turning throughout the night. Shimon sat in the mouth of the cave, illuminated by flickering firelight. Sniffing at the smell of roasting meat, I untangled myself from my tunic and threw it over my head. I wrapped my sheepskin around my shoulders for extra warmth and joined Shimon next to the small fire. “I was about to wake you to eat,” he said. “The Holy One must truly love you. See what leapt right into my hands this morning?” A fat grouse dripped grease onto the smoking coals.
Shimon plucked the bird from the roasting spit and cut off a wing with his dagger. It was the same dagger he’d given me, the one he threw wide of the soldier. Did he use this dagger because the other one, now tucked into his belt, had contact with the dead? Was this another one of the laws of the kohanim that Uriel wanted to teach me about? Shimon handed me the steaming wing, almost too hot to handle. “I envy you.”
“Why?” The word was muffled by the crisp skin crackling in my mouth.
“You’re walking toward danger, but at least your fate is in your hands. I…we…get to sit here and wait, praying we’re not discovered and hoping you’re successful; knowing little and doing less.”
I chewed the savory meat, keeping my mouth full so I wouldn’t have to respond. The hot meat warmed my throat, yet hadn’t Uriel, who now slept after taking the first watch, warned us against making a fire? I was relieved when Yonaton appeared, rubbing his eyes. Shimon handed him the other wing and repeated the story of the grouse. Yonaton stared at him. “You’re just a vessel for blessing, aren’t you? First you save our lives, and now you fill our stomachs.” The compliment brought a hint of a smile to Shimon’s scarred face.
When we finished eating, we tossed the remaining bones into the fire, wiped our greasy hands in the dirt, and descended to where Balaam was tied up for the night.
“You should ride,” I told Yonaton. “I’ll lead Balaam.”
“I can walk.”
“You can limp. Balaam can handle your weight, but both of us will be too much for him in the hills. When we reach the road, we’ll ride together.”
Yonaton sighed and shook his head, but climbed on.
“Be safe.” Shimon’s hand drifted down toward something inside of his cloak.
“What do you have there?” I asked.
Shimon pulled back his cloak, revealing the hilt of a sword. “It’s the one Yonaton handed me during the battle, from the soldier that he killed.”
“You kept it?”
“I was blessed to save us with it once. Perhaps I’ll be so blessed again.” Shimon watched us as we set off and ducked back into the cave only when we reached the ridge.
Yonaton shot a glance behind him. “Shame he’s not coming with us.”
I said nothing, just led Balaam on the path that Uriel pointed out to us the day before, which climbed gently until it intersected with the road in the distance. The footing was poor, and we trod along the path as the sun rose over the hillsides.
A figure on the far ridge caught my attention—a soldier on horseback. He sat on one of the hillsides overlooking the road, but he wasn’t facing the road, he was peering out over the valley where our path crossed. He noticed us at the same time and nudged his horse forward as he rose in the saddle.
My pulse raced. There was no reason to panic—we were just two boys with a donkey. I lifted my hand, hissing out of the corner of my mouth, “Quick, wave.”
Yonaton glanced around until he too saw the soldier, and threw a friendly wave. The soldier waved back, then returned to his post on the hilltop.
Yonaton asked, “Was that an Israelite soldier or one of the Queen’s?”
“I don’t know, but there weren’t any Israelite soldiers posted this far away before the wedding.”
“You think he’s watching the road?”
“He was facing the valley, so he could be watching both or—”
“Or he’s keeping an eye out for anyone avoiding the road,” Yonaton finished.
“If that’s the case, we’ll draw less attention on the road. We can cut over this hillside. It’ll be quicker, but I think it’s too steep for Balaam to carry you.”
Yonaton threw his leg over the donkey and lowered himself to the ground. “I can walk.”
We saw no more soldiers as we made our way up, over, and onto the road. Both of us climbed onto Balaam for the ride toward Shomron. The donkey brayed in protest when I mounted behind Yonaton—we were quite a load for the old beast—but it nonetheless trotted forward faster than we could walk.
The evening breeze tickled the sweat on the back of my neck as we climbed the approach to Shomron. We passed six more soldiers on the road during our journey, two of them from the Queen’s Guard, the other four Israelite. We lay down in the shade of a large carob tree during the hottest part of the afternoon. In order to draw less attention, we planned to enter the city just before sunset, when the gates would be crowded with those returning from the fields. But we underestimated the distance remaining to travel, and the first ram’s horn blew before we reached the city. I nudged Balaam with my ankles, urging the donkey to trot faster.
The guard at the gates raised the ram’s horn to his lips to blow the final blast before closing the gates. Yonaton called out, “Wait!”
The guard lowered the horn and waved us forward.
I jumped off and ran, drawing Balaam behind me. The guard blew the final blast, waited for us to pass, and pulled the outer gates closed. We couldn’t have drawn more attention to our entry if we’d presented the guard with a sealed scroll emblazoned with our names. A second sentry, one of the Queen’s men, also watched the gate. Fortunately, his attention was focused on the setting sun, and he was oblivious to two peasant boys.
The courtyards of the houses on Ovadia’s street formed a high stone wall, punctuated with gateways and alleys. A deep shadow already filled the paved stone street when we arrived, and before long, Yonaton was glancing back over his shoulder, casting his eyes back and forth between the sides of the street.
“Did we miss it?” I asked.
“No. Well…you know, I’m not so sure.” He twisted forward and back now, craning his neck to see the tops of the houses. It had been several months since we were at Ovadia’s, but we’d not anticipated any difficulty finding the house. “This is the street, I know it. Let’s go back to the crossroad.” Even Balaam groaned as we turned around in the fading light.
We passed the length of street two more times before Yonaton let out a loud “Ha!” and called a halt in front of a heavy wooden gate covered in fresh pitch, its stench stinging our noses.
“I don’t remember any gate,” I said softly.
