it was now.Hannah licked her lips and dredged up compassion for this woman with whom she had shared fellowship. “Where is Hadad’s miracle? Did the advisor not speak to the gods on your behalf?” She spoke as if to a weeping child. “Come to Israel. I will lead you. If Naabak is healed, your status does not change. You remain a wealthy woman with armies at your feet. If he dies, what will become of you?” The linen fell from Reumah’s face. “I have a home—” “Has Konath sworn an oath to you?” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper as if she spoke a confidence. “Does he comfort you every night?” A flash of doubt stilled Reumah’s expression. “Konath is a man of position.” Reumah smoothed the folds of her gown. “He is not always in camp.” Was Reumah blind to what awaited her? Did she truly trust Konath with her future? Hannah had to show Reumah that she may not end up a wife, but a concubine. “Does your king not have daughters of marrying age?” “Stop it.” Reumah shuddered and hugged her chest. The smell did not seem to be as rotten as the thought of her widowhood. Hannah continued, “Bring me vessels of fresh water, hyssop, and cedar wood. Bandages and clean clothes. Your husband will be well enough to travel in a few days. The God of Israel will succeed where Hadad fails. His prophet resides in Mahanaim, but for how long I do not know.” Konath’s return interrupted her plea. “You want this circumcised fool?” Konath shoved Gil into the small room. Gil stumbled and sank to his knees. Blood and bruises covered his body. Cramps seized her stomach. How dare they whip Gil like a stubborn ox? Ignoring the pulsing pain in her belly, she rushed to Gil’s aid. “You should not be near the fever.” She shifted Gil toward the wall for support. His armpits were the only part of his upper body not lashed and raw. Konath chuckled. No remorse showed on his face. “You have lost a servant for the night.” He guided Reumah down the hall. “I will not allow such freedoms with my slaves.” Hannah followed them to the threshold. “Please. Clean water and hyssop.” Her voice echoed in the corridor. She didn’t care if the soldiers heard and thought her brash, she would fight for Naabak’s survival. “Tunics and strips of cloth.” Reumah hesitated. Her gaze fell to her feet. Had she caught her sandal on a rock or did she stumble from the shame of abandoning her husband in a burial chamber? Reumah returned to the entrance of the catacomb. Konath inspected his knuckle as if a scratch was more important than his intended bride. “My lot is cast,” Reumah said. “Leprosy has destroyed my husband and my future.” “Let me take you to the Holy Land.” Hannah took a small step toward Reumah. “All things will be made new.” The thrust of her last word was aimed at Reumah’s conscience. Naabak coughed. Reumah’s eyes glistened. “Not for me.” Konath called out in Aramean. “Trust in the One True God,” Hannah shouted. “You have to trust.” The guard stared at her as she beheld an empty tunnel. A gurgling noise came from the bed. She hurried to Naabak and patted a sponge to his disintegrated mouth. “Master,” she whispered. “Seek the prophet in Israel. He can restore your body. I have seen flesh grow. New flesh. Right before my eyes.” She swatted at the gnats wanting to nest on Naabak’s face and wondered where she and Gil would finish their days. In the arena? In the pit? Or worse, she in Konath’s bed while Gil rotted in a grave. She picked up Naabak’s nearly empty pitcher and poured a few drops of water in Gil’s mouth. He brushed her arm like she had given him a feast. “She is a daughter of Aaron, the brother of Moses.” Gil’s voice was uncharacteristically flat. No amusement rang in his words. “Her father atones for Israel’s sins. It is the priest’s duty to inspect skin for disease. Leprosy knows no borders between Aram and