In that portion of the veranda where stood Isaac and Miriam, eagerly discussing recent events, there was much passing to and fro of men servants and maid servants, picking up crumbs of talk like hungry birds at a feast. With an imperious gesture, borrowed from his master, Isaac made known his displeasure. Instantly each individual had duties elsewhere.
Miriam laughed. “What a great man thou art becoming, Isaac!”
“Nay,” he answered, “but if this mission of our master to Israel be prospered, then must we flatter and defer to thee, for thy position in the household will be enviable.”
Immediately regretting the contamination of her mind with any taint of worldly wisdom, he ignored her surprised exclamations and spoke of the rich stores which were being gathered in preparation for the journey to Israel, a thank-offering to the prophet should Naaman be healed. Much gold and silver, not in coins—which came at a later period—but in bulk, ready to be cut and weighed according to the amount required when occasion arose for paying or giving, and, in addition, the famous products of Damascus looms and other Eastern merchandise: silk that would neither wrinkle nor cut; cotton and linen of exquisite weave, and heavier fabrics, all made up into the much-prized “changes of raiment,” which would last the fortunate possessor a lifetime and still not be worn out.[3]
Miriam asked a half-indignant question: “Thinkest thou the Man of God will regard this? Nay, but only that our master may know Jehovah liveth.”
Isaac looked at her strangely. “It is customary, when asking a favor, to take in thine hand a present, and I have never known a prophet who would refuse it. Have we not tried many prophets and many gods? Besides, is not our master very rich and Damascus the gateway between Assyria on the east and Egypt on the west, a city great in commerce and industry? Yea, these things are but right.”
It had been a late spring. That is to say, the dry season had been late in arriving, and for diplomatic and business reasons Naaman’s journey to Israel was not commenced until nearly midsummer, but the great day came at last. Miriam, her cheeks glowing with excitement, watched it from the latticed window where she could stand now on fewer cushions than formerly. It was an imposing procession. Isaac, at the head, looking very splendid, Miriam thought, waved her a farewell as they went past the lattice. He could not see her, but he knew she was there.
She gazed eagerly, noting every detail. After Isaac came his servant, carrying a long pole on the end of which was a brazier of coals, the smoke of which would be a cloud by day and a fire by night, thus guiding the drivers behind no matter how far they straggled apart. A bodyguard of horsemen entirely surrounded the chariot, in which was Naaman, with one driver and one attendant, the latter supporting a sort of awning on poles to protect his master from sun and wind as he traveled. A second chariot followed in case of accident to the first. At the rear of the bodyguard rode a man whom Miriam had long ago learned to distrust, Lemuel by name. At a little distance followed the camel train with its precious burden of merchandise and another soldier-guard. Another space and then the asses, laden with food, water, camping equipment, and the various necessities of such a lengthy journey. Last of all came a few asses and camels led, these to be used in case of emergency. A few more soldiers completed the cavalcade.
It was impressive, picturesque, noisy, with gaudily dressed drivers, the decorated animals with their tinkling bells, the cries in many languages of those who urged them forward, to say nothing of the more ordinary sight, the soldiers in dress-uniforms, dazzlingly bright, with the sun reflected on metal helmets and shields and scalelike coats of mail. No wonder Damascus paused in its business and pleasure to admire and applaud as the party filed slowly and with dignity through its streets and out of the southwestern gate. No wonder Miriam was excited, entranced, delighted. In her wildest dreams she had not beheld it thus, but after it had passed there came a feeling of desolation such as she had not experienced since that first terrible night in Damascus. Almost an hour later Milcah found her, huddled among the cushions, moaning and weeping.