Sisera’s mother waited at the window, a weary, anxious watch. “What’s keeping his chariot? What delays his chariot’s rumble?” The wisest of her ladies-in-waiting answers with calm, reassuring words, “Don’t you think they’re busy at plunder, dividing up the loot? A girl, maybe two girls, for each man, And for Sisera a bright silk shirt, a prize, fancy silk shirt! And a colorful scarf—make it two scarves— to grace the neck of the plunderer.” * * *