by Joan Wolf
Rahab turned and went quietly back toward the door she had come in by, a big smile on her face. She was not going to have to marry Shulgi! She was going to go to Jericho! Anything might happen in Jericho. I might even meet a man I would like to marry. And I am rid of that awful Shulgi. I must go out to Asherah’s Shrine and thank her. Thank her for giving me another chance.
Mepu had a brother who owned a pottery shop in Jericho, and he and Shemu went into the city to ask if his brother might know where they could find temporary housing. It turned out that, besides the shop that he lived over, Mepu’s brother owned the house next door. He had rented it for years to the same couple, but the old renters had decided to move in with their daughter and the house would be free.
Mepu looked at the square mud-brick house, which was in the oldest and poorest part of the city. He also looked around to see if other lodgings might be available in a more prestigious area, but what he found was hugely expensive. He ended by renting his brother’s house at what he thought was too high a rate, and comforted himself with the thought that Kata would know how to make it cheerful and presentable.
“There was nothing else available,” Mepu told his family when he returned home and they were all at dinner. “I had to promise Ilim a good rent, though. He wasn’t about to give it to me for free just because we are blood.”
“I’m sure he counts on the income for his living,” Kata said gently.
Shemu smiled at his mother. “You always think the best of people,” he said.
Mepu snorted. “You’d think he could give a break to his own flesh and blood. But Ilim was always a tightfisted scoundrel.” He tore a piece of bread in half and scowled at it.
“How big is the house, Father?” Jabin asked.
Mepu gave Jabin a long look. “Only big enough for just Shemu and Atene to accompany us. She will be a help to your mother, and you and your brothers can manage here without us.”
Jabin’s face fell. He had clearly been looking forward to going to the city. On the other hand, Atene’s face brightened. She cast a glance at Rahab, who gave her a quick smile.
“If we leave soon we will be there for the festival of the New Year,” Shemu said. His narrow, dark face was alive with anticipation.
Jabin said, “Can’t I come too, Father? Just for the festival of the New Year? I have never seen it!”
“We’ll see.” It was their father’s usual answer—not saying either yes or no, just leaving you wondering. It annoyed all of his children to no end, but no one dared to protest.
The family had been to many ritual celebrations at the shrine in their village, but the festival of the New Year, the great Canaanite fertility rite, could only be held if the king was present. It was the king who represented Baal, and his ritual marriage with the hierodule, the woman who had been chosen to represent the goddess Asherah, was the central act of the festival. It was their coupling that would ensure the fertility of the soil, the flocks, and the human family. It was the strength of the king and the life-empowering fertility of the hierodule that would guarantee the prosperity of the kingdom.
“Have you ever been to the festival of the New Year, Father?” Rahab asked.
“A few times.” Mepu ate a fig so juicy a little of it dribbled down his chin. He wiped it away, then licked the juice from his fingers. “King Makamaron was much younger when I went. He’s getting on in years now.” Mepu flashed his wife a smile. “As am I.”
She returned stoutly, “Makamaron has not lost his powers. The rains have fallen and our harvests have been bountiful ever since he became king. He is still a strong man, and so are you, my husband.”
Mepu looked gratified.
“We should sacrifice a young lamb to Baal before you leave for Jericho, Father,” Rahab’s brother Ahat said. “That will please him and perhaps he will look kindly upon Rahab and your mission.”
The rest of the men at the table agreed heartily. They all looked at Rahab, who bowed her head to indicate her gratitude for their good wishes and her obedience to her father’s will.
Six
IT WAS A PERFECT SPRING MORNING WHEN SALA AND his father arrived at the gates of Jericho. The sun reflected off the walls of the city and Sala looked up at the massive fortifications, stricken to silence by their magnitude. Lord Nahshon was silent as well. Finally he said, “This is beyond what I had expected.”
Still speechless, Sala nodded. The city was built upon a hill, which of itself provided a significant military advantage, but it was the immense wall that made it seem impregnable. As the two Israelites would discover upon further investigation, the wall consisted of several layers. Its base was a fifteen-foot-high revetment of large boulders. On top of the boulders was an eight-foot-high wall made of mud bricks. This double wall was then backed by a massive packed-earth embankment, upon which were built a warren of streets and mud-brick houses. At the top of the embankment there was yet another high mud-brick wall, behind which more houses reached all the way to the top of the hill.
“It’s not a city, it’s a fortress,” Sala said. He sounded stunned.
“It is indeed,” replied Lord Nahshon, a similar note in his own voice.
Lord Nahshon and Sala had come to Jericho in the guise of Canaanite merchants from Gaza. The supposed purpose of their visit was to buy local agricultural products in order to make money shipping them to other countries around the Great Sea. Presently Jericho’s village farmers sold most of their produce into the city for the use of the city inhabitants, but Lord Nahshon’s plan was to approach some of the city nobles to ask if they would buy up large quantities of local products to sell to Lord Nahshon for a reasonable profit. Nahshon would make his profit when he shipped the products overseas.
This was the excuse Lord Nahshon was using to explain his visit to Jericho. The real reason was quite different. For the past few years Lord Nahshon and the men of Ramac had been in communication with the Egyptian Israelites led by Joshua, who had taken over the leadership after the death of Moses. Before he attacked Jericho, Joshua wanted to place a man inside the city to gather information, but he needed someone who could pass as a Canaanite. Lord Nahshon had volunteered.
Joshua needed Jericho if he wanted to enter Canaan, and his plan was for Nahshon to find out all he could about the defenses of the city and the disposition of the inhabitants. Joshua himself would camp on the eastern side of the Jordan, and shortly after the spring New Year, when the hours of darkness matched the hours of light, he would send spies into Jericho to meet with Nahshon and return with whatever vital information Nahshon had been able to acquire.
Nahshon had come up with an excuse for visiting the city, and he had taken Sala with him to bolster his role as representing a family merchant company from Gaza. One of the older men in Ramac had visited Jericho once and he told Nahshon about the location of a popular wine bar in the lower city. The Israelite plan was for Nahshon and Sala to visit this bar every day and Joshua would have his spies seek them out there.
Nahshon and Sala had started their journey to Jericho in beautiful spring weather and, as Sala had ridden through the farms and villages that formed the mainstay of Jericho’s economy, he had found his thoughts dwelling on the Canaanite girl he had met two years before. He had never forgotten Rahab. Because of her, most of the girls in Ramac seemed dull and uninteresting. A picture of the fiery, brave little girl whom he had saved from a terrible fate would spring into his mind every time his father or mother sang the praises of someone they considered a good match for him. He knew he was being foolish. The chances of his meeting an Israelite girl who was like Rahab were nonexistent.
He had given in to his parents at last, however, and agreed to become betrothed to the daughter of another wealthy merchant when he and his father returned to Ramac. He knew it was his duty to marry and carry on the family business. But for some reason, the thought of pretty, docile Dinah did not make him look forward to the time when she would be his wife.
Sala and Lord Nahshon w
ere forced to wait at Jericho’s huge gate while a chariot clattered through ahead of them, then they were allowed to lead their donkeys through the massive wall and into the streets of the city. They had expected to find an inn easily, but the choices turned out to be limited. Because Jericho was not located on any of the major caravan routes, it was largely self-sufficient. Most outlying farmers had family to stay with when they came into the city, and the few inns that did exist were already filled due to a religious celebration to be celebrated shortly.
The two men finally found an available room on the north side of the city, in what was clearly a poor neighborhood. Many of the small mud-brick houses were built right up against the city wall, which actually functioned as the house’s fourth wall. Those houses not pushed up against the wall were crammed together on narrow dirt streets in which groups of children played noisily.
It was not the kind of neighborhood or accommodation to which Sala or his father were accustomed, but they had little choice. They followed the innkeeper up to a tiny room with a ceiling so low Sala felt he should duck his head.
“No sense in complaining, Father,” he said, when he saw the expression on Lord Nahshon’s face. “At least it looks clean.”
Lord Nahshon’s expression did not change as he regarded the old rush sleeping mats with disapproval. “I’d rather sleep out under the stars than in here.”
Sala felt the same way. He walked the few strides it took him to reach the back wall and looked out the small window, which was really just an opening cut through the mud bricks.
The view of the Judean hills before him was lovely, but what immediately caught his attention was the wall itself. He leaned out to get a better look.
“Be careful,” Lord Nahshon called. “You might fall.”
Sala drew himself back into the room. “Come and look at this wall, Father. It’s only a single brick thick.”
Lord Nahshon came to the window, looked, and turned to his son. “You’re right! This would be easy to knock down.” He leaned out a little himself and looked toward the hills. “We are on the north side of the city, am I right?”
“Yes.”
Lord Nahshon smiled. “It looks as if the whole north side of the wall is only a single brick thick. That is something we must let Joshua know about.”
Sala smiled back. “Definitely. There is still the stone revetment to deal with, but this section seems vulnerable.”
Lord Nahshon glanced around the tiny room once more and sighed. “Let’s get out of here, Sala. We should look first for that wine shop where we’re supposed to meet Joshua’s men. Perhaps we can even get some food there.”
“An excellent plan, Father. I’m starving.”
“Come along then,” Lord Nahshon said, and the two men exited the tiny room.
For several days Sala and his father explored the city, walking down every street and checking the wall from every vantage point. They discovered Jericho was really two cities, the Lower City, where their lodgings were, and the Upper City, where the richer homes were located, as well as the king’s palace, the Temple of Baal, and the smaller shrine of Asherah.
Sala had felt an almost visceral repugnance when he first gazed upon the temples dedicated to the false Canaanite gods. However, after his initial revulsion, Sala could not help but be curious to see what the inside of these infamous temples might look like.
He had to admit that the Temple of Baal was an impressive building, with an open court set apart from the street by a stone wall. Inside the court, visitors could see an altar that was clearly used for animal sacrifice and also a tall, narrow standing stone upon whose flat surface was engraved the picture of a more than life-size warrior armed with a lightning spear and a thunderbolt.
Sala stared in both fascination and horror at the picture. He had never before seen a man-made image of a human. Elohim forbade graven images. His people could sing of His mighty deeds—the creation of the world, of man and animals and plants and all living things—but full knowledge of Elohim lay far beyond the capacity of man to comprehend. It would be impossible to show any kind of representation of the God who had created man and the world man lived in.
But this work was so finely done, so harmonious, so pleasing to the eye—
Abruptly Sala realized what blasphemy he was thinking and quickly turned his back on the stone.
“It’s probably supposed to be a portrait of Baal,” Lord Nahshon said with deep disgust. “I hate to think of what kind of orgies go on during the celebrations they have in this place.”
It was well known to all Israelites that the Canaanite religion allowed—even encouraged—sexual excesses. This was the unfortunate reason so many Israelite men fell under the spell of Baal and the Canaanite women who worshipped him. It had been a centuries-long struggle for the Israelites to keep the people of Abraham constant in this land of seduction and temptation.
Asherah’s Shrine was much smaller than Baal’s, and in its front courtyard Sala saw several young women with long, loose hair who were dressed in flowing white linen tunics. They were playing on stringed instruments and watching the crowds pass by.
“Are they priestesses, do you think?” Sala asked his father. He had heard some astonishing things about the priestesses of Asherah.
A well-dressed Canaanite man who was passing them heard Sala’s question and stopped. He cast his eyes over their expensive linen tunics and said, “Pardon me, but are you new to Jericho? I do not remember ever seeing you before.”
Lord Nahshon said, “Yes. We are merchants from Gaza and this is our first visit to your beautiful city.”
Sala thought the man was about his father’s age, with gray in his beard and his thinning hair. There was an arrogance about him Sala did not like.
The man said, “Gaza? I see. That must account for your accent. Gaza is such a mix of races and tribes. One hardly knows what its real culture is.”
The man’s arrogance spilled over into contempt when he said Gaza. Sala was liking him less with every word he spoke.
Lord Nahshon, however, remained affable. “I can assure you we are good Canaanite people. That is why my son and I have come to Jericho, a good Canaanite city. I own a shipping business and I’m always looking for new customers. I have heard the farms around Jericho produce bountiful harvests, so we decided to come here to see if any of your people might be interested in enlarging their markets. We ship into Egypt primarily, but we go to all the other kingdoms around the Great Sea as well.”
Suddenly the Jericho man looked interested. “A shipping merchant? Hmmm.” His sharp eyes went from Lord Nahshon to Sala, then back to Lord Nahshon. “The farms of Jericho usually sell most of their produce directly into the city, but you are right when you say our harvests are usually plentiful.” He tapped his finger against his chin. “What are your names?”
Sala’s father gave the names they had agreed to assume for their stay in Jericho. “I am Debir and this is my son Arut. We are recently arrived and have been looking around the city a little, trying to orient ourselves.”
The man continued to tap his chin. Sala struggled to maintain a courteous expression. Finally the Jericho man said, “Perhaps it is the will of the gods that I have run into you. I only stopped because we in Jericho have been careful about strangers ever since that pack of Israelites started to invade our territory.”
“I can understand that,” Lord Nahshon said. “We have heard about some terrible battles.”
“They will never take Jericho,” the man said, waving a hand toward the walls. “But let me introduce myself. I am Lord Arazu, counselor to the king, and I would be interested in speaking to you more specifically about your business.”
Nahshon bowed. “I would be most happy to discuss our business with you, my lord. I can assure you, we are a highly reputable company in Gaza.”
“Good, good. If you come to my house later, I will have a few other people there who may be interested in working with you. Where are you staying?”
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Sala admired his father’s rueful look. “In the only place we could find, my lord, an inn on the north side of the Lower City.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, you have come at a busy time. The festival of the New Year is but a week away and people have been coming in from the outlying areas in large numbers.”
Nahshon said, “Unfortunately I did not take account of that when I made my plans. I just thought, with most of the grain already high in the fields, it would be a good time to find customers.”
“I am not criticizing you, you are right. But we are not a large city and the few good inns get taken fast. I am sorry men of your class have been forced to take rooms in the Lower City.”
Lord Nahshon shrugged. “We will be fine.”
Lord Arazu gestured to the building behind them. “I noticed you were looking at Asherah’s Shrine. Her priestesses are hoping to collect a goodly sum of money for it during the time of the festival. They will be happy to take your donation.”
Sala was silent as Lord Nahshon promised to make a contribution.
“You can get directions to my house from anyone,” Lord Arazu said. “I shall see you there at five.”
Lord Nahshon assured him they would be there and he and Sala watched as the man walked off down the cobbled street.
Sala said, “I hope you don’t really plan to contribute to that shrine, Father!”
“Of course not. Those women—priestesses, as they call them—are nothing but prostitutes. They collect money for the shrine by selling their bodies to men.”
Sala looked at the young and pretty girls with horror. “They sell themselves out in the open like this?”
As he watched, a man approached one of the priestesses, bowed, and handed her what looked to be a sum of money. The girl received the money, turned, and began to walk back toward the shrine building. The man followed.
“That is disgusting!” Sala said.
“And that is why Elohim wishes us to destroy them and take this land for ourselves.” Lord Nahshon’s voice was sober. “Such people do not deserve to live.”
