By the time Rahab reached the opposite end of town, the sun had fully risen, and with it a crowd had formed in the streets. She ducked her head, avoiding the scrutinizing looks of men on their way to the fish market. Tendaji lived in the poorer, smellier section of town, and Rahab held an edge of the cloak to her nose as she drew closer. She made a few discreet inquiries, asking which house belonged to the Nubian, and soon stood at the gate, despairing to find the house in such disrepair. Could Gamal not see the man was poor? Disgust ripped through her again, and she had to tell herself to unclench her fists, breathe slowly, and deal with Gamal later.
She walked through the gate that stood slightly ajar, scanning the courtyard. A sack of grain stood near a crumbling bench and a cracked cistern of tepid, insect-covered water. Near one wall a large staff lay forgotten. Rahab stepped closer, recognizing the carvings. Gamal would never have left his staff behind without a reason. He prized this gift from the king, and Rahab often wondered why he hadn’t sold it off long ago. She picked it up, turning it in her hands. Gamal and Tendaji must have scuffled for him to drop it. How had Gamal overpowered the stronger, younger Nubian?
She set the staff on the bench and walked carefully over broken stones to the door. She knocked twice and waited. Footsteps came from beyond the door, then stopped.
“Who is it?” A woman’s voice sounded thin and frightened.
“I am a friend of Tendaji’s. Is his mother all right?”
The door opened a crack and the daylight illumined the woman, who looked to be a little older than Rahab.
“Forgive me. I do not mean to intrude.” Rahab handed the woman the bowl. “They aren’t baked yet, but they are fresh.”
The woman peeked into the bowl with a skeptical, curious eye, then, seemingly satisfied, took it from Rahab’s hands. “Let me put these on to bake so you can take your bowl with you.” She moved into the room and looked over her shoulder. “Come in.”
Rahab followed her into the cooking room. The house was dark with some of the rooms still shuttered, but the small room where the woman led her held welcome morning light.
“How is Tendaji’s mother?” Rahab stopped at the threshold, suddenly wanting to leave. If Gamal found out she had come . . .
“She was frantic last night after what happened, as you can imagine! I had to coax her to drink some herbs to finally get her to sleep.” The woman looked at Rahab. “She’s dying, you know. But I fear if her son is kept in prison, she will die far sooner than she would have. He is all she has.”
Rahab nodded, unable to speak past a lump forming in her throat. “I am very sorry this happened.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she drew closer to Rahab. “Who did you say you were again?”
“A friend of Tendaji’s. My husband and I have known Tendaji for many years. We should have done more to help him.”
The woman looked her up and down, then turned back to her work, placing the loaves on the griddle set above a low fire. Rahab should have baked the loaves before she came. Was everything Tendaji owned falling apart?
A swift desire to flee this place came over her. How could she look at Gamal after this? “I should go.” She tamped down her rising panic, hoping her voice sounded calm.
“You do not wish to wait to eat these with us?” The woman met Rahab’s gaze. “It was kind of you to bring them.”
“No, thank you. I can’t.” She backed from the room, then turned about, heading to the door.
“You forgot your bowl.”
Rahab stopped. Cala wouldn’t miss it, and Tendaji’s mother could use something newer. “Keep it.” She hurried through the door to the courtyard, catching sight of Gamal’s staff as she walked. She paused, looking down on it. Maybe the caregiver could sell it and use the coins to help get Tendaji out of prison. But could she trust this woman to do right by Tendaji?
Snatching it up, she hurried through the gate. She would take it to her sister and let Tzadok sell it to help pay Tendaji’s debt. That, added to the coins in her pouch, should come close to reaching the redemption fee. Gamal would miss his prize, but he did not deserve to keep it!
5
Cala greeted her at the gate as if she’d been waiting for her.
“I’m sorry, I left your bowl with them. They had nothing and—”
Cala held up a hand. “Forget it. Just come inside.” She gripped Rahab’s wrist to tug her forward, but Rahab gently broke her hold.
“I can’t. Gamal will surely be up by now, and he will wonder where I am.”
Cala shook her head. “No he won’t.” She looked beyond Rahab toward the street.
“Why not?” She followed Cala’s gaze. “Are you expecting someone?”
Cala reached for her wrist again, her grip firmer this time. The look in her eyes sent a shiver through Rahab. “What happened?”
“You need to come in and sit down.”
Rahab numbly obeyed. The walk to Tendaji’s house had taken longer than she thought, but the sun was not even halfway to the midpoint yet. She could not have been gone long. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?
She walked with Cala into the sitting room, and Cala shut the door. “You’ll be safe here.”
“Safe?” Fear shot through her. “What are you talking about?”
Cala motioned to a pair of cushions and took a seat beside her. She clasped Rahab’s hand in her own. “Tzadok heard what you said.”
Rahab frowned. “I told you that you could tell him. So?”
Cala looked briefly away. “So I told him . . . and it made him so angry I thought he would burst something inside of him.” She released Rahab’s hand and tucked a strand of light brown hair behind one ear. “You know Tzadok hates Gamal, but worse, he likes Tendaji. He just kept pacing and saying Gamal’s actions were unconscionable.”
“They are,” Rahab whispered, the memories of Tendaji’s home singeing her conscience.
“Tzadok is a man of action. You know this.” Cala looked away as though the truth about her husband shamed her. “I asked him what we should do, thinking he could go privately to the authorities. But Tzadok, he . . .”
“He what? Just tell me, Cala.” Rahab felt her fear and impatience rising with each beat of her heart.
“He went immediately to the authorities, telling some of his friends along the way. By the time he got to see the magistrate, a large crowd was with him. The chief financier, Dabir, listened to Tzadok, and, well . . .” She glanced toward the door. “He just left here a few minutes ago after coming to warn me. The king’s guards are at your house now, apprehending Gamal.”
Rahab touched her trembling lips. Her mind whirled with images of her husband weeping before the prince, of Dabir’s scowl as he watched. They would not have mercy on him a second time.
“I must go to him.” She slowly rose, holding her sister’s gaze.
“You can’t. Please, Rahab.” She put a hand to her back and pushed up from the cushion. “If they punish Gamal, they could come for you too. Tzadok will tell us what happens. Please, wait with me.” Her pleading tone made Rahab waver.
“I shouldn’t have told you.” She looked at Cala’s stricken face. “Why didn’t Tzadok work this out quietly?”
“He told me it would not have mattered. Once he told Dabir, the thing Gamal has done would not remain quiet. You know this. He sees the way Gamal treats you, Rahab. Tzadok is not without feeling. He is doing this to protect you.”
“He can’t protect me, Cala. Dabir knows where we live, where you live. He knows everything about this kingdom. And if he knows, the prince does too.” Memories of the night Dabir had wooed her filled her mind. The familiar guilt quickened her heart, but in the next moment a thought kindled. Perhaps Dabir could be convinced to release Tendaji and Gamal . . . if she gave him something of value in return.
“I have to go. There may be something I can do.” She released a shaky breath, knowing full well that she was walking toward all that she despised.
/> Cala gripped her arm once more, clinging to her. “Please, listen to me, Rahab. Nothing good will come of you going.”
“I have to know. I have to see for myself.” She paused, meeting Cala’s gaze. “If you would support me, come with me. Together we will be safe.”
“We will be safer in the house.”
“No place is truly safe.” She held out a hand. “Come. Let us see what is to become of my husband.”
Dabir stood near Prince Nahid’s cushioned chair while the prince paced the length of the antechamber outside of the audience chamber in the Hall of Justice. That the prince was angry and irritated worked well with Dabir’s goals, but he did not tell him so. Time enough to unveil his plans. Now was the time to appease and to convince the prince to undo the mercy he had shown Gamal last week. What a travesty that had been!
Dabir clenched his hands into fists behind his back, telling himself at the same time to calm. One wrong word could tip the prince’s decision in the wrong direction, costing more loss to the throne and, most importantly, costing him more than his weight in fine gold.
“The crowds are growing restless, my prince. Shall I bring in the ungrateful wretch?” Dabir unclasped his hands, crossing them instead over his chest in a relaxed pose. He hid a smile when Nahid slowed his pacing and collapsed into his chair.
“I canceled his debt, Dabir. I showed Gamal more mercy than any man in this kingdom, and he repays me by throwing another man in prison for a much smaller sum? How could he do this to me? He’s made me look like a fool.”
“Nay, not at all, my prince. Gamal’s actions only make him look foolish and worthless, not you. If you hang the man and release the prisoner, you will be a hero to your people.” And grow richer taking all that belonged to Gamal in the process. But Nahid would care more about his image than his coffers.
“I cannot hang Gamal.” He stood again, walked to a window, and pushed the curtain aside to peer into the outer court. “The crowd keeps growing. I have to do something or we will have a riot to contend with.”
Dabir moved a step closer to the prince, still keeping a distance. “Then you must do something to appease them. If you will not hang Gamal, then send him to the torturers until he pays the last amount.” Nahid did not answer, but Dabir recognized this as his way of thinking, of deciding his best course of action. “Assyria is said to have perfected the art of torture.”
“I cannot send him to such torturers.” The prince turned on him. “The man saved my life!”
“Then sell him to the wealthy merchants of Syria who frequent our town. You would never have to see him again, and they would pay a high price for one so large and young.”
“Gamal limps in pain. What good would he be to them?”
“I believe, my lord, that Gamal does not hurt nearly as much as he claims.”
The prince held his gaze, assessing. “You think he lied to me?”
“Without doubt, my lord.”
The prince turned to gaze again at the crowd. “I will sell him at auction to the highest bidder. What the Syrians do with him is of no concern to me.”
Dabir nodded. “A wise choice, my lord.” He paused for effect. “Might I add that you should consider that to gain the full benefit from the man, you must sell his wife and all that he has, as you would have done if you had not canceled his debt.”
The prince let the curtain fall closed and slowly turned to face Dabir. He stroked a hand over his clean-shaven chin. “You are right as usual, Dabir.” He straightened his back and walked with purposeful strides to the door of the audience chamber.
Dabir stepped forward. “My lord, if I may.” He waited as the prince turned.
“What is it?” He looked slightly irritated, but not impatient.
“I would like to buy Gamal’s wife.”
Nahid lifted a brow but said nothing.
“She and I . . . that is, I will be glad to pay her part to cover Gamal’s expenses, if she is willing to please me.”
Nahid courted a slow smile. “I underestimated you, Dabir. I would have not thought you capable of such . . . delightful unfaithfulness.”
Dabir took a step back and touched his temple. “I would not have thought so myself, but Rahab is . . .”
“Very beautiful?”
Dabir nodded and Nahid laughed. “Have Gamal brought to me now. Soon you shall have your little mistress.”
Men and women spread into the crowded streets, making it impossible to reach the steps of the Hall of Justice. Shouts erupted from all sides, and Rahab strained to understand the words.
“What are they saying?” Cala had a tight grasp of Rahab’s arm and leaned toward her ear to be heard.
Rahab tilted her head to listen and drew Cala closer as they weaved through a group of women, excusing themselves as they went.
“Free the Nubian! Death to the betrayer!” Others picked up the shouts until they grew to a full chant. The betrayer could only be Gamal. Rahab’s stomach twisted in dread.
She pushed her way closer, dragging Cala behind her until at last she found a spot near the bottom of the steps where the overhanging roof created a swatch of shade. The chanting nearly drowned out all ability to hear, but one look at Cala told her what her sister was thinking. If Gamal were brought out to face this mob of accusers, they would hang him on the spot.
She moved like an unseeing one, vaguely aware of Cala still clutching her arm.
“Where are you going?” Cala hissed in her ear.
Rahab scanned the street, watching the mouths move, but their voices could not penetrate the fog that had suddenly blanketed her.
“Rahab! Listen to me! We shouldn’t be here.” Cala’s frantic tone and the pain of her nails digging into Rahab’s arm got her attention.
“What?” She shook herself, but the detached feeling would not leave. She faced her sister. “I have to get to Dabir. I can’t let them do this to Gamal.”
Cala looked aghast. “You can’t.” She tightened her grip, though Rahab tried to shake free. “Rahab, you aren’t thinking clearly. If you go to Dabir, they will capture you. Do you honestly think even he will listen to you? You are a poor wife of a worthless man. And what if they order Gamal’s death? Do you think you will go unscathed?” Cala tugged her away from the steps, but Rahab held her ground.
“I have to, Cala. Dabir and I . . . that is . . .” She stopped, heat creeping up her neck. She was nothing to Dabir.
“You think because you spent one night with the man he owes you something?”
Rahab darted glances around them and leaned closer. “I never told you that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Rahab searched her mind. “I don’t recall it.”
“Perhaps I heard it at the well. You can be sure Dabir spoke of it or Gamal heard it. There are no secrets in this walled town.” Cala touched her middle, and Rahab suddenly realized she should not have brought her here.
“Go home, Cala. You should not have come.” The chanting of the crowd grew to a deafening roar. Surely the prince would do something to stop them before a riot broke out.
“I’m not leaving you,” Cala shouted above the din.
Rahab wove them closer to the raised porch where the prince or the king often conducted final judgments. She glanced at the blocked double doors to the Hall of Justice and the guards flanking the surrounding portico. She would never reach Dabir now. But she pulled them closer to the porch, where at last trumpets sounded and flag bearers preceded the prince, Dabir at his right hand.
Behind them, guards lifted the arms of a prisoner whose robe had been stripped from him, his arms and feet shackled with heavy chains. Rahab barely recognized him with his long hair now shaven and his beard gone. The chanting ceased.
“Gamal, son of Bakri, why did you despise my mercy and do this thing?” Prince Nahid’s tone held no warmth, and Dabir’s expression no pity.
Rahab’s stomach churned with worry too deep for words.
“It is no longer in my po
wer to spare you, Gamal. As you have no defense for your actions and I am loath to demand your death, I order you to be sold at auction to the highest bidder, along with your wife and all that you have. Take him to debtors’ prison to await his outcome.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd as guards surrounded Gamal and lifted him from the floor. There was no time for apologies or goodbyes.
Cala slipped an arm around Rahab’s waist as if to hold her up. “We must go.” She tugged again when Rahab did not respond.
Cala shoved past and around shouting men and dancing women, until at last they broke free of the city’s town square. Cala stopped at last on a quieter street in the shade of a date palm, one of many lining Jericho’s boulevards. She released her grip on Rahab’s arm and put both hands on her knees, drawing breath.
“We shouldn’t have come,” Rahab said, though her voice seemed oddly unlike her own. “I should have listened to you.”
Cala straightened. “It is better to know than to wonder. No matter how bad the outcome.”
Rahab nodded. “They will come for me soon. Dabir will make sure of it.” The memory of his pitiless frown would not abate, blocking every good feeling she had known for the man.
“Then we will hide you from them.”
Rahab stared at her. “There is no place Dabir’s arm does not reach.”
Exhaustion lined Cala’s face, and Rahab suddenly realized it was her sister who needed to hide, to rest.
“Come. Before I do anything else, I am taking you home.”
6
We can’t let them take her.” Cala spoke, arms crossed, before her husband and Rahab’s father and brothers. Rahab stood in the shadows with her mother’s arms pressed tight around her waist as though she would never release her. “It’s not her fault that Gamal ruined her life. She tried to stop him!”
“What do you expect us to do, woman? We can’t stop the prince’s edict. She will be sold along with Gamal.” Tzadok glanced Rahab’s way but looked quickly beyond her, his guilt evident. If he had kept his mouth shut, Gamal would not have been taken into custody.
Crimson Cord : Rahab's Story (9781441221155) Page 5
