Ahithophel insisted on leading the men. Bathsheba listened anxiously as they stole out of the brake. The moon had long since set, and there was not a gleam of light. She was uncomfortable in the cart; the grain scratched and her feet were numb, but she dared not move.
Suddenly the night outside the thicket came alive with the sound of shouting. There was a whir of arrows cutting the air, and Bathsheba instinctively ducked down.
“Philistines! Philistines!” Around her people shrieked as they urged their donkeys and mules forward out of the brake and down the steep mountain path. In the confusion Bathsheba was forgotten.
Quickly she jumped from the cart and tugged at the leather thong that bound the mule. It would not loosen. Already she could hear a guttural, strange language as the Philistines warily approached the thicket. They would discover the wagon any minute now.
Frantically she reached down into the grain and drew out the doves. The mule brayed suddenly in fright. Bathsheba turned and ran wildly down the hill, pushing through the tangle of vines and undergrowth. There was a shout behind her, and the child knew that the Philistines had found the cart full of grain. That would stop them for a moment. At last she came to a stop beneath a huge, overhanging rock.
From the opposite direction there came the sound of a mule being ridden at full speed. Bathsheba flattened herself against the rock. She heard her own name called and recognized the voice of her father’s friend, Judah.
“I’m here!” she cried.
“Thanks be to God you are safe,” he whispered, as he lifted her onto the mule in front of him. There was a sound of snapping twigs and guttural voices from the thicket. Bathsheba felt Judah’s strong arms tighten around her as he dug his heels into the mule’s flanks. Soon they were moving down the path so swiftly that pebbles flew in showers from the mule’s hooves.
Once out of danger, Judah steadied the mule to a slower pace. “Don’t worry about your grandfather,” he said gently. “I’m sure he got away. We’ll no doubt meet him at the Vale of Farah where we turn down to the Jordan.” They continued down the steep rocky trail, the mule finding his way in the darkness.
They did not meet Ahithophel at the Vale of Farah, but Judah reassured her: “Your grandfather will no doubt meet us at the Jabbok before daylight.”
She leaned back against Judah’s strong left arm and felt the steady beat of his heart through the woven material of his cloak. In this same way her father had once taken her to ride with him. She tried to remember Emmiel’s face and voice. Although she loved her reckless, impulsive father, he had been gone from home so much she hardly knew him.
It was a long and tedious ride down to the Jordan and then across to the Jabbok where Ahithophel was indeed waiting. Her grandfather came to where Bathsheba sat sleepily cradled in Judah’s arms and gently carried her back to ride before him on his donkey.
Bathsheba smiled drowsily as Judah followed with the doves and placed them in her arms. As the sun burst over the eastern hills she heard Ahithophel give the command, and the caravan began to move in single file up the path that led into the mountains of the Gilead.
It was evening as they approached the ancient, walled city of Mahanaim. The name meant “two camps” and was said to be the place where Jacob met his brother, Esau. It had been declared a city of refuge for Israel. Anyone seeking asylum within its walls was safe from his pursuers.
* * *
Now it was past the curfew hour and the large, wooden gates, covered with beaten brass, were closed. There was a brief exchange, and the gates were unlocked for Ahithophel and his villagers. They moved silently up the narrow street between the houses. People were everywhere: in the shadowy doorways, looking down from the rooftops, leaning out the narrow windows. No one spoke or called a greeting. An air of gloom pervaded the ancient city.
A young man with a torch led them through a narrow doorway into an open court where groups of people were huddled around small fires. Babies were crying and animals wandered about. Bathsheba noticed that no servant came to wash their feet.
The boy with the torch stopped and began to curse a young woman with two children who had fallen asleep on some wineskins. “Move, move,” he shouted. “There are many more still coming.”
Finally the people of Giloh found an open area close to a wall. Bathsheba and Machir climbed up on some bales of straw, their eyes anxiously following Ahithophel as he left to find his son. They were given pieces of half-naked bread with curds, but Bathsheba could not eat. The choking smell of smoke; the stench of scorched olive oil, smoked cheese, pita bread; odors of thyme and cumin, all mixed with a terrible fear in the pit of her stomach.