Abraham and Sarah (26 page)

Now Abram could see that the people had been purposely misled. Sodom and Gomorrah were the grand prizes being saved until the last. The Elamites and the allies wanted more than Sodom’s and Gomorrah’s wealth; they wanted to make slaves of their men, women, and children. The two cities had been arrogant in not paying tribute, and so this special punishment had been reserved for them.

Abram’s tortured mind conjured up visions of Lot and his family stumbling along in the night, cold, homeless, without food or water, being led into slavery by the cruel Elamites. There was little time to think or plan. Something must be done immediately. “We have only 318 men,” he said, forgetting Urim and thinking out loud. “If we go up against such an army and fail, we will only be playing into their hands.”

“But my lord,” Urim pleaded, grabbing his arm and thrusting his bloated
face close enough so Abram could smell the garlic on his breath, “what about your God? If you’re right about the promises, He won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Abram backed off, humbled by the cheese maker’s words. He paced back and forth, pondering what he should do. He felt sure his God could protect him, but what about Lot? Lot had been foolish. He lacked judgment; he was vain and proud and loved luxury.

“No,” he finally reasoned as he squared his shoulders and looked back at his men. He would risk so much not because Lot deserved it but because his own honor was at stake. No honorable man turned his back on his family.

“Go,” he told Urim, “take your wife to Sarai’s tent and then come back and ride with us.”

When Safra arrived at the tent, Sarai was already up trying to calm the other women who had heard the commotion. “Safra,” she said, “tell us what happened.”

Safra seemed to forget her usual shyness as she described the fearful ordeal they had been through. They had been out on the hillside with their goats when the army came. They had hidden with their sons in one of the caves until the looting stopped and the long line of prisoners with their captors disappeared down the highway on the near side of the Jordan.

The women were shocked. “Did they take Lot?” Sarai asked at last.

“Lot and his whole family. We could see them from the cave.”

“Did they take Warda?” Hagar asked, pushing to the forefront.

“We saw her chained to an officer’s mule. She was still wearing the headdress of her dancing costume and very little else. That was when Urim went almost mad. Our sons had to hold him back. He couldn’t bear to see her treated like that.”

Safra had no time to say more, for at that moment Abram appeared and ordered the women back to their tents. “Our men are riding tonight and will need provisions,” he said.

The women scattered with much talking and excitement. Safra sank down exhausted on one of the cushions in Sarai’s tent while Hagar lingered behind, totally forgotten by her mistress. Sarai was busy on her husband’s side of the tent. She was getting a pack ready for him while he was engrossed with putting on his sword, taking down his Egyptian bow with its arrows, and stuffing his
sling into his belt. Hagar moved to the door on the women’s side of the tent and listened.

She could hear them arguing. Sarai was trying to discourage him. “There are four kings with big armies, and you hope to go out against them with just a handful of men? Have you forgotten? These same Elamites destroyed Ur.”

Hagar couldn’t hear what he answered, but it was obvious he was still preparing to go.

“Abram, be reasonable,” Sarai said. “Five kings from the cities of the plains went up against these foreigners, and they were all defeated.”

This time she could hear him. “They weren’t just defeated by the armies of the Elamites,” he said. “Two of the kings and their men were fleeing when they slipped and fell into some asphalt pits. Then of course, it was easy for the victors to plunder both Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“Abram, I beg you, be reasonable,” Sarai was crying. Hagar could tell that Abram had not been moved by Sarai’s arguments. She wondered how this man dared go against such odds. He was either a fool or very brave.

Now she heard Sarai quite plainly. “Don’t go tonight,” she begged. “Wait until morning. You’re tired and it’ll be a long and dusty ride.”

Abram was unmoved, but it was obvious he had put his arms around Sarai and was trying to console her. “My dearest,” he said, “you know I have to go. I can’t forget about my nephew. Families have to be able to depend on each other.”

There were more tears and more pleading, but Abram stood firm. Finally he said, “I have a feeling that everything will work out. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll be back and Lot and his family and Warda … maybe all of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah will be with me.”

Hagar knew Sarai well enough to guess what she was thinking. Sarai would assume that this was another of what she called “Abram’s mistakes.”

After another moment of silence, Hagar felt the tent pole move as the flap on the other side was lifted. She leaned out so she could see him. It was too dark to see much, but she could make out his strong, stalwart form moving toward his men who were gathering beside the fire. How brave he is, she thought with genuine admiration.

There was only a short discussion between Abram and Eliazer as to the route they were to take and the manner in which they would travel. “Our success will depend on our ability to surprise the enemy,” Abram said. “We must
be swift and able to maneuver with agility.”

At that moment Urim edged into their midst. He had been listening. “They didn’t go up the far side of the Jordan because of the asphalt pits and steep cliffs,” he said. “We can overtake them easily if we follow them up the west side of the Jordan.”

They were all strong, well-built men who were used to riding long distances. Without more discussion they mounted their donkeys, gave a few sharp taps to their animals’ flanks, muttered familiar commands, and were off down the moonlit road that led to the Jordan Valley.

“Yah, yah, yah,” the men shouted as they drove their heels into their donkeys’ flanks and hurried them on after the enemy. At the Wadi Far’ah, they could dimly see the soft clay pitted with the enemy’s tracks. There were wheel marks, camels’ dung, hoofprints, and evidence of prisoners in chains. They had no idea what they would do when they caught up with the army, but each man went over and over the problem in his mind. Surprise would be all-important. Without surprise they would surely be taken captive and marched along with the other prisoners.

Just before dawn their scouting party warned them that the enemy was camped just ahead in a sheltered area at the headwaters of the Jordan. There the river was only a small stream that wound around through mossy dells and large shade trees. Abram knew the area well. He quickly ordered his men to dismount and wait while he and a few of his scouts climbed the cliff behind the camp.

From the cliff they could look down and see the tents of the enemy with their banners flapping in the early predawn breeze. They were surprised to see no sentries on guard, few signs of life. There were smoldering fires with spits holding half-eaten carcasses, and from some of the tents came the sounds of drunken singing and ribald laughter.

Abram sent two scouts down to spy out the situation at close range. When they returned, one of them reported, “The prisoners are tied and sitting huddled together in a clearing. The cattle and carts of plunder are close by. When we crept close, one of the prisoners told us all that had happened. He told us that the major divisions of the army had gone on to Damascus, leaving these guards to follow more slowly with the prisoners and all the booty. The guards have been celebrating and are drunk. They even feel secure enough to leave their posts.”

“And my Warda, did you see Warda among the prisoners?” Urim had squeezed in and was frantically pulling at the scout’s sleeve.

The man turned and glared at Urim impatiently. “No, there were women and children and many men, but no one who sounds like the person you describe.”

Abram turned to Eliazer. “We must move quickly if we are to surprise them. I’ll send men to release the prisoners, so some of them can help us. The rest of us will ready ourselves to attack.”

Urim decided to go with Abram since the scout had not seen Warda with the prisoners. “She is such a prize,” he reasoned. “One of those vulgar Elamites must have taken her.”

When everyone was in place and ready, the men attacked the camp of drunk and sleeping Elamites with all their pent-up fury. The rams’ horns blared and shrieked, cymbals clashed, knives flashed in the moonlight, swords cut tent ropes, and over the entire din was the deep-throated roar of the victory shout.

Abram and a few of his men made for the tent with the king’s banner, but before they reached it, a strange thing happened. A man dressed only in a loincloth dashed out wielding a sword. He was followed by some of his own men who in the darkness mistook him for an attacker. In minutes the whole camp was in an uproar. No one knew his friend from his foe and at last, in the panic that followed, they began to run. Abram, seeing what was happening, signaled his men to follow them.

While all that was taking place, Urim had gone straight to the tent where the singing had suddenly stopped. He pulled back the flap and saw, just as he had suspected, his beloved Warda tied to a tent pole. Her captors were still drinking and were in the process of casting lots for her. With a catlike spring, Urim was in the midst of the tent wielding a short sword with one hand while he cut Warda loose with a knife he held in the other. Weeping and shaking with fear, Warda clung to him. He took only time enough to snatch up a linen robe and wrap it around her.

“Come Warda,” he said. “I’ll show you where the women of Sodom are being held. When we finish with this sordid business, I’ll be back to take you home.”

He stopped long enough to see that Warda was headed in the right direction and then rushed after Abram’s men.

It was told later that they chased the enemy clear to Hobah, north of Damascus, and then came back and rounded up the prisoners and the spoil and headed back the way they’d come.

Lot had not joined the men who helped Abram. He was too shaken and miserable. He kept moaning that he had lost everything, even the fine robe he had been wearing. He was left in his linen undergarment until a young Elamite, admiring the fine weave, took that from him also; only his loincloth remained. The night was cold, and he felt sure he would be dangerously ill by morning.

When the sun came up and Abram returned looking for Lot, he found a very different man. He was deeply grateful for the garments Abram found for him and the food he was given. “I have learned my lesson,” he kept saying. “Sodom is not a good place. I should never have left you, my uncle.”

One memorable thing happened before Abram reached home. It was to most observers an insignificant thing, but to Abram, it was of profound importance and was to have a great deal to do with all that was to happen in the future. They were coming along the valley of Shaveh, sometimes called the Valley of the Kings, just below the small village of Salem, when their procession was stopped by a richly dressed messenger. “I’m looking for a man called Abram,” he said. “I have a message for him.”

Abram stepped forward, and the messenger knelt in the dust and kissed the hem of his garment. “Come, come,” Abram said, lifting him to his feet, “give me the message.”

“My lord,” the messenger said, “the king of Sodom has come up from the valley to meet you, and the king of Salem is coming to honor you.”

Abram cared little for meeting the king of Sodom, but the priest-king of Salem had interested him ever since he had first heard about him. “He has no father or mother,” the people told him. “He was found on the doorstep of a poor shepherd.”

“He worships only one God, the Creator God,” others remarked.

Looking up toward the city, Abram saw a majestic old man with white hair and beard, a gold crown, a plain tunic, and a brown cloak of fine linen. He was moving slowly down the long flight of steps that led from the eastern city gate. He was leaning heavily on a gnarled and knotted walking stick. As he came closer to them, they saw that his eyes were kind and his whole manner was one of eager anticipation. When he reached Abram, he embraced him
as though he were a brother; he kissed him on both cheeks and then stepped back and studied his face with obvious delight.

Abram was puzzled. “I have heard much of you and your good deeds but how … ?”

The king smiled and motioned him to a sheltered arbor under the trees beside the brook Kidron. “You are puzzled that I have greeted you as a brother, though I never met you before. Come and sit awhile, and I’ll explain.”

The two men ignored the king of Sodom and his men who waited impatiently just out of sight around a bend in the road. They sat down on cushions and faced each other. “First,” Melchizedek said, “let me offer you some bread freshly baked and wine from our best grapes. Then I’ll explain.”

When the bread had been eaten and the wine taken, Melchizedek leaned back and said, “I saw in a dream that one like you would come. One who worships as I do, the supreme God, the God who created the heavens and the earth. I am to encourage you and to bless you.”