“On,” he directed, “on—to the Jordan!”
CHAPTER XVII
REWARDS
From the city of Samaria to the banks of the Jordan was some thirty-five miles, considerably more than a day’s journey each way. It lacked an hour of noon when they started, so Naaman’s party was obliged to encamp over night, and it was late the following afternoon when they finally reached their destination. With an eagerness that knew no faltering, no uncertainty, Isaac had led the way. Now, finding a shallow spot in the turbulent river near one of the fords, a spot warmed for hours by the summer sun, Naaman had dipped seven times, as directed, the seventh turning vague hope into joyous certainty. He was healed every whit! Joy knew no bounds. The king’s representatives had embraced him and each other. Israel was saved! The Syrian embassy was scarcely less contained. Even the camel drivers from the desert and the lowest of the servants shouted with loud voices and great enthusiasm and Naaman beamed upon them all, but it was Isaac to whom his first words of relief and happiness had been addressed, and Isaac upon whom he smiled with tenderness and even affection.
With hearts attuned to see the wonderful yellows and browns of the Valley of Jezreel in late summer, their horses’ hoofs had again pattered its long expanse, the laden camels and asses driven in the rear. One more night they had encamped and now they came straggling up the hill they had descended three days before. But the young leader had made a slight error in judgment as to the time of arrival. It was shortly after sunset, a few minutes past the hour when the city closed its gates—and no man came to open! Lemuel, companion of Isaac’s old scouting days, approached him with a respect so profound that its insincerity was patent.
“Sir, there be not room among this crowd of mendicants,” glancing contemptuously at other belated travelers, “to spread our camping equipment with due regard to our importance, and without it we shall find the night dews too heavy to be pleasant. I pray thee have the gates opened without delay that thy servants may render thee the honor due so great a captain.”
Annoyed, Isaac ceased thundering at the gates and became aware of the murmuring among his own party and the derision of the merchants and others who, like themselves, seemed doomed to spend the night with only the city walls for a covering while the chill air of the mountains penetrated even the thickest of garments. The voice of Naaman commanded silence. He spoke compassionately to Isaac.
“My son, he at whom the multitude throws roses feels mostly the thorns. He who by any act becomes more noticeable than his fellows is the target for their envy. Only a brave man can afford to be prominent. Do I not know, I, the veteran of a hundred wars and judged of all? Courage in the peril of battle I know thou hast, Isaac, for with mine own eyes have I beheld, but courage in the peril of success, hast thou fortitude sufficient for this?”
The Syrian party had unconsciously drawn closer together, away from the motley crowd of late-comers who were striving to make themselves comfortable in the shadow of the walls and were fighting energetically for the best places. The king’s representatives, in another group, were making a determined onslaught upon the stout gates with their swords and spears. Lemuel again drew near Isaac, this time in hurried pompousness.
“Answer thou wisely,” he said in an undertone. “He meaneth to reward thee. Remember that I have been thy friend, thy companion since boyhood, intimate enough for such jesting as I had with thee a moment ago.”
Isaac shook off the counsel impatiently. His action had been inspired with no thought of reward, save in the joy of the little maid; yet Naaman was rich and generous and a gift not unlikely. If given a choice, he knew what he should ask. He had considered the matter, but the plan did not include Lemuel. The latter fell back a pace. His words had reached no other ears than those for whom they were intended, being drowned in the din of the pounding on the gate. Naaman, amiable in the delight of physical relief, gave a few brief directions and his party settled down to waiting with whatever calmness they could muster. Audible complaints ceased. At last, on top of the city wall, a watchman was seen approaching from the tower at the far corner. At first a speck in the distance as he made the rounds of the wall leisurely, he finally stood near enough to the gate to survey the assemblage outside. With unsympathetic eye he viewed the poorer travelers and the belated merchants, but a change came over his countenance as he beheld the king’s representatives and the Syrian embassy. Instantly he disappeared within the city and the party without drew a sigh of content.