by Tessa Afshar
Hanani nodded. Untying his sash, he placed it under Salmone’s head before running off. Salmone stared into the sky. It had turned into a beautiful day. White clouds dappled the horizon. A breeze rustled the trees, swaying them this way and that like royal fans. It had been so long since he had noticed the beauty of his surroundings. Lord, is this the day I die? Into Your hands I give my life. His breath caught as a stab of pain pierced through him, and for a few moments he was beyond coherent thought. As the pain diminished, he prayed again. Please take care of my sister. Don’t let any harm come to her in my absence.
Another face, very different from Miriam’s, floated through his mind. Large-eyed and full-lipped, it was a solemn face. A face filled with tenderness one moment and fear the next. A precious face. He took a laboring breath. And Lord, take care of Rahab. A sense of regret hit him with a force as sharp as the dagger that had pierced his stomach. Regret for what never was. He groaned. It was the wound that was making him think crazy thoughts. How ironic that his last thoughts should be of a Canaanite … no. He could not say it. He could not think it of her. Whatever she had been, she was a different woman now. Her past was not the measure of her. If he had to think of her in these final hours of his life, he would not demean or dishonor her. Lord, she is a woman of faith. Take care of her.
“What have you gone and done to yourself?” A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Joshua?”
“And who were you expecting—the king of Ai? Let’s have a look at you, young Salmone.”
“It’s not good. Please, will you promise to take care of my sister?”
“Let me have a look before you besiege me with demands.” Joshua’s hands attempted to be gentle as they examined the wound, yet Salmone thought he would be sick from the pain. A groan escaped him. Joshua stopped. “I won’t lie to you, son. This wound is grave. Fatal, perhaps.”
“I told you so,” Salmone said with a weak grin, enjoying the sensation of putting Joshua in his place for once. Darkness pulled at him and he stopped resisting. Anything to stop hurting. The last image his eyes saw was the sight of Joshua’s bent head, praying.
Rahab sat on the floor of Miriam’s tent making bandages. Since the deployment of Israel’s army into Ai, she had fallen into the habit of visiting Miriam for long hours each day. The younger woman, already a veteran at the harrowing business of awaiting the outcome of wars, taught Rahab how to use her time preparing for the care of the wounded. Just outside Israel’s camp, a new tent had been set up to accommodate the young men who would return injured from battle. Rahab never doubted Israel’s victory. A conviction of their triumph undergirded her every thought. But she struggled with the knowledge that even triumphant battles could prove fatal for the victors. The thought paralyzed her with a fear she tried to hide from her friend. She was grateful that they prayed together often. They prayed for the protection of Israel’s young men, for God to sustain them, for the safe return of Salmone. Their prayers saved her sanity.
Now as she rolled up newly laundered bandages, she wondered how many might be wounded in the battle of Ai, and what kind of care they would receive upon their return. “Do you have physicians in Israel, or is it the women alone who take care of the sick?” she asked Miriam.
“We have several talented physicians. Zuph Ben Yudah is the most renowned. In fact, he left with Joshua’s forces three days ago, not as a soldier, but as a field physician to treat wounded men as quickly as possible. Speed saves lives. He has taught some of our women, I among them, how to prepare for the care of the wounded.”
“How did he learn his skill? You have been roaming from nowhere to nowhere for forty years. How was he trained?”
Miriam grabbed an alabaster pot and began filling it with honey. “Our parents were slaves in Egypt where the world’s greatest medical knowledge resides. Zuph’s father worked under a skilled physician from boyhood. The man took a liking to him, and shared some of his knowledge with him over the years. It must have been God’s doing. Egyptian physicians guard their trade secrets with jealous passion. Yet this one trusted his slave. When we left Egypt, Yudah brought his knowledge with him, and trained his son Zuph everything he knew.”
Before Rahab could respond, the tent flap flew open with great force and Hanani rushed in, forgetting even to first announce his presence to the women within.
Rahab and Miriam scrambled to their feet. Miriam gasped, “Salmone?”
“He’s been injured. He asks for you.”
“How bad?”
Hanani’s eyes filled with tears, and he looked down. Miriam let out a wail and turned into Rahab’s arms. Rahab felt the room begin to spin, but forced herself to hold Miriam, soothing her in this first panicked moment of discovery. She schooled her features into a bland mask of sympathy, trying to hide her own overwhelming response. Salmone, no!
Miriam drew away from her and trailed a trembling hand across her forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a coward. Rahab, will you come with me? You can help me care for him.”
Rahab breathed in relief. She could not have borne being forced to stay away from him at such a time. At least she would be by his side. “Of course,” she rasped.
Miriam squeezed her hand. “Thank you.” The irony, Rahab thought. The favor is extended wholly to me! If only Miriam knew. They grabbed two baskets and filled them with the supplies they had been preparing these past three days. As they emerged from the tent a plump woman barged in, panting.
“Miriam, I just heard the news! Thank God we have won the battle and his sacrifice is not wasted. I will go with you and help nurse him. He must be in agony. War wounds hurt worse than anything, I’m told.”
“Dinah!” Miriam exclaimed, her eyes dilating.
“Come, come. What are you waiting for? Time is short. He’s probably dying as we speak,” the woman named Dinah urged, pumping her arms up and down like an irate goose. Rahab narrowed her eyes as the woman’s words penetrated the fog that had settled around her mind. Not the most comforting of speeches.
“Er, Dinah, thank you for your offer of help. Actually, I’ve asked Rahab to come with me,” Miriam said, already heading out of the tent.
“Who?”
“Rahab. Excuse me if I don’t introduce you. As you mentioned, our time is short.”
“You can’t be serious! You can’t take that woman to nurse Salmone at such an hour. It’s … it’s shameful! Besides, I’m his cousin. I should be by his side.”
“And I am his sister and I will decide who should be by his side. And I choose Rahab. Good day to you, Dinah.” Taking Rahab’s hand in a firm hold, Miriam pulled her forward and followed Hanani at a run.
Zuph straightened from his examination of Salmone. “Hepatic wound. The knife penetrated the liver, cutting it almost in two,” he said, looking at Miriam over his shoulder. “Massive blood loss has made him very weak. He’s been unconscious for hours.”
“But he lives,” Miriam said, her lips white.
“I don’t know if it’s because he’s so stubborn or because of Joshua’s prayers. But yes, he lives.”
Rahab could not take her eyes off Salmone. His skin was a deep yellow and cold from blood loss. He lay still on his fresh pallet, orange as a gourd, his breaths so shallow she could not see his naked chest move with them. Bandages covered his middle. They must have been fresh, for on the sides they seemed white and clean. But around the wound, they were covered in the scarlet of fresh blood. O Lord, don’t take him. Don’t take him. Don’t take him. The litany wouldn’t stop in her head. She heard the conversations that went on around her, heard the moans of other wounded young men in the tent, the low relieved laughter of those who were injured but not gravely, the comforting expressions of family members, heard all this and understood, and yet the litany went on. Don’t take him. Don’t.
“Can he be healed, Zuph?” Miriam’s question brought Rahab’s thoughts into sharp focus.
Zuph wrinkled his hooked nose in thought. �
�It’s not likely, but it isn’t impossible. The liver does have the ability to regenerate itself. If you can nurse some strength back into him, and if you can prevent infection, perhaps he will survive.”
“How?”
“He needs careful nursing day and night. His bandages need to be changed four times a day and twice at night, at least. Use honey, and plenty of it. I’ve sutured the cut, taking care that the knots face upward and out of the wound, so they shouldn’t pull the cut open when you change the dressing, but have a care nonetheless. Rub olive oil into the thread to keep it soft. I wish I had date wine and frankincense. That would do him a world of good.”
Rahab blinked. “I have both,” she whispered.
Zuph glanced at her. “And you are?”
“This is Rahab,” Miriam provided.
“From Jericho. I’ve heard of you. You have date wine you say?”
“And frankincense. I would be happy to give all I have.”
Zuph nodded. “Good. That will serve well. Later, I’ll show you both how to use the wine to cleanse the wound before you apply the honey bandages.
“Another important matter which we must address is the loss of blood. We need to get some liquid down his throat almost constantly. Because his liver has been damaged, he can have no fatty foods. Not even a morsel. Give him barley water sweetened with honey or strong broth, well salted. Mind you take the fat out before feeding it to him. While he is unconscious, you’ll have to dribble it into him by force. Can you manage that?”
Both women nodded, their tongues too heavy for speech. Rahab ran back to her tent to fetch the wine and spices. Hurriedly, with jerky sentences, she explained to her family what had happened while pulling items out of her sack in a haphazard fashion. By the time she found what she looked for, clothes and bottles and amphorae were strewn every which way.
“Go, go,” Izzie urged. “I’ll tidy this.”
Rahab nodded and flew out. She arrived back at the tent of the wounded out of breath and sick with worry. Handing her bundle to Zuph, she sank down next to Miriam who kept vigil beside Salmone’s pallet.
Zuph took a modest sip of the wine and held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Good. And I see the frankincense is pure. This should serve us well. Now, I will show you how to change the bandage.”
He untied Salmone’s bandage and removed it with deliberate care. In a couple of places, dried blood had attached the suture to the fabric. These he detached with meticulous movements, ensuring that the raw edges of the cut remained closed. The wound was covered with a thick layer of honey. Zuph looked up for a short moment, making sure he had the women’s attention. “The honey draws the poison out of the wound and helps heal infection. That’s why it’s so important to change the bandages often.”
In a wooden bowl, he mixed a modest amount of frankincense in the wine, and soaking a fresh cloth in the mixture, he began to wipe the honey from the wound. As he removed most of the gooey paste, Rahab saw that a yellowish pus was oozing out of the red, inflamed wound. This, Zuph wiped with great care, dipping his cloth again and again into the wine mixture. The combined smell of old and fresh blood, decaying pus, expensive date wine and exquisite spice was enough to make Rahab want to gag, and she barely held back the impulse. She could not believe this was Salmone, could not believe that the vital man whose mere look silenced an outraged crowd now lay here smelling of suppuration and decay.
Miriam sneaked out a hand and held Rahab’s fingers in a bone-shattering hold. Finding the pressure reassuring in spite of the pain, Rahab held tight to that tiny soft hand. Together they watched the physician prepare a fresh bandage, covered with a thin coat of wild honey, before wrapping it around Salmone. The ministrations of the physician seemed to rouse his patient not a whit. He remained motionless and pale, caught in the throes of deep unconsciousness. Rahab thought it a blessing that he was absent from his own agony.
Zuph wiped his hands clean with the last of the wine mixture. “Be sure to cleanse your hands before and after touching the wound as you see me doing. Procure as much honey as you can. Given who he is, I don’t doubt every family under his command will show up with their year’s supply of it. If he survives this, it will be a long and arduous road for him. And for you, Miriam, as you care for him. It will not be a matter of days, you understand, but of weeks.”
Miriam nodded. “It matters not. I’ll manage.”
“You’ll need help. Isn’t your best friend Elizabeth expecting a baby? She’s near her time, as I recall. She and her mother won’t be able to come to you.”
“I’ll help,” Rahab volunteered. She blushed as she realized that she had presumed. “I mean, if you wish it, Miriam. Since I’ve already learned how to change the bandage.”
“Thank you, Rahab. Of course I want your help.”
Chapter
Sixteen
Salmone felt himself choking. Hands held him down, and he thrashed against their hold. Sputtering, he opened his eyes. His vision was queer and bleary at first. As it cleared he saw the face of a woman wobbling over him. Rahab? He shifted and realized that his head was on her lap. Where was he?
“What?” He croaked. His throat felt scratchy. He forced himself to go on with sheer tenacity. “What are you trying to do, kill me?” he rasped as another coughing fit shook him.
“Thank God! You’re awake! Do you know who I am?”
Her voice sounded higher and thinner than he remembered. He brought a weak, trembling hand against his temple as memory flooded back. “You’re in worse shape than me if you can’t remember your name.”
She gave a bark of laughter and with exquisitely gentle fingers laid his head back on the pallet. He felt a sense of loss as she moved away from him. “I’ll wake Miriam. She’ll be so relieved.”
He saw his sister stretched out near him on another pallet. Her face, smooth in repose, appeared exhausted. “Let her sleep. Has she been nursing me long?”
“Eight days and nights. I convinced her to take a nap a short while ago. She hardly leaves your side and only sleeps in short snatches. This is the first time you’ve been awake long enough to speak in sentences. Everyone has been so worried about you.”
Salmone frowned. He had no memory of being awake before this at all. A more urgent memory filled his mind. “The battle?”
“A complete victory for Israel.”
Salmone closed his eyes with relief. He had been wounded just before the final outcome of the war had been determined. He opened his eyes again and trained them on Rahab, wondering what she did here. If he were not mistaken, and he doubted that he was, he lay in the tent of the wounded. What brought the newest member of his tribe to his side in such a place?
“You had better finish your broth before I change your dressing. That’s why you were choking. I was trying to feed you.”
“You’re going to change my dressing?”
“Unless you prefer I wake Miriam to do it?”
“Of course not. I mean, where’s Zuph? Why can’t he do it?”
Rahab knelt near his head so he could see her without straining his neck. She seemed pale. “Because your dressing has to be changed many times, day and night, and Zuph has other patients beside you. He has taught Miriam and me, and we take great care to do it right.”
“Miriam and you? You’ve been caring for me?”
Rahab shrugged and turned away to pick up a bowl. “You must drink this. You lost a lot of blood, and we need to build up your strength to battle the infection. You have been feverish for many days.”
Miriam must have asked for Rahab’s help, he realized. He knew his sister had a fondness for the woman, but of the plethora of women they knew, did she have to choose this one? The thought of being helpless in front of Rahab made Salmone squirm. At the same time he admitted he was reluctant to part with her company. He did not wish to send her away. He swallowed his pride as best he could. “It’s not foul, is it?”
She smiled. “It’s fresh broth. The women o
f Judah fight over the privilege of making it for you each day. This batch was made by Michael’s wife, the mother of the pretty and unattached Judith, who delivered this portion by her own jasmine-scented hands this very morning.”
“Just give me the bowl.”
“I don’t think—”
“Give it to me!”
“I’m sorry, but no. You can’t hold it yet. You’re too weak from the wound.”
Salmone almost yelled at her to get out. Did he need a woman to tell him that he was as weak as a newborn? He swallowed his temper as he remembered his exhausted sister. Waking her up with his bellows wouldn’t be the kindest repayment of her tireless care. He gave Rahab a dagger look that promised repayment. She seemed to pale under his displeasure, but scooted closer nonetheless and gently lifted his head onto her lap. His mouth went dry and he forgot the rest of his protests. She held the bowl against his lips and he drank, small sips that occasionally dribbled down the side of his mouth. He tasted nothing. Incensed by his helplessness, confused by Rahab’s unusual closeness against his naked back, he swallowed each mouthful, resenting his ridiculous position with every gulp. She wiped his mouth and chin like a child and laid him back down again.
“Now your bandage. Are you in pain?” Her voice sounded husky, and Salmone looked at her with a sharp glance. Their closeness affected her also, it seemed, and he narrowed his eyes with satisfaction. He forgot to answer her, and she left him to his thoughts as she fetched her tools.
Although Rahab’s ministrations soothed as much as possible, by the time the old bandage had been removed, Salmone felt a sheen of sweat cover his forehead. He lifted his hand to his brow when his gaze was arrested by the color of his skin. “By all that’s holy, the light is strange in this tent. Do I not look a strange color to you?”
“It’s your liver. That’s where the knife pierced you. Zuph says the liver can regenerate itself. It will take some time, though, and until then, you will have this yellow tinge. Right now, it’s the infection we must battle. That’s why we change your bandage so often and wash the wound. The honey draws out the poison.”
