This Scarlet Cord

by Joan Wolf

  “We have, Mother.”

  “Did you sleep well, my husband? Did you sleep well, my son?”

  Both men assured her they had.

  “Good. I will get the water and the fruit from the storage room. Rahab and Atene will be down soon.”

  As she left the room, Shemu said softly, “What are you going to do about Rahab, Father?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The prince noticed her yesterday.”

  Mepu didn’t reply at first. Finally he said, “I don’t want Rahab to have anything to do with the prince. He will not be looking to marry her, and I do not want your sister to be some man’s courtesan. She was not brought up for that.”

  “We need to find her a husband without delay then. Otherwise there will be little we can do if royalty wants her.”

  They both turned their eyes to the staircase. Rahab’s voice could be heard from the second floor. Mepu said, “We must not be here if the prince’s messenger comes. If she is unavailable he may forget about her.”

  Shemu agreed as Kata came back into the room with the jug of water and some cups. As she was putting them on the table beside the basket of bread, Rahab and Atene came into the room.

  Mepu looked at his daughter. It always amazed him that he could have produced so beautiful a child. She was his treasure.

  She smiled at him. “Good morning, Papa.”

  “Good morning, daughter,” he returned.

  “Will you have some fruit, Rahab?” Kata asked and Mepu watched as she took the platter from her mother. She deserved a rich husband, he thought, and it was his duty to make certain she got one.

  Eleven

  WHEN BREAKFAST WAS FINISHED KATA SET RAHAB AND Atene to work cleaning. This house would never be the same as her house in the country, but she was determined to get every speck of dirt that had accumulated over the years out of the floors and the walls.

  Her mother liked to clean but Rahab did not. As she worked, her thoughts were far away. What was Sala doing today? Would she get to see him? She hoped her mother wouldn’t want to stay home and clean all day or she would never have a chance of running into him in the city.

  They had only been at work for an hour before Mepu came to tell his wife that the women should get dressed, they were going out. Rahab’s heart leaped at this news.

  Kata put her pail down with a thump. “We are cleaning the house, my husband.”

  “You can clean the house anytime, Kata. It’s a beautiful day today—not hot, not cold. A day to be outside.”

  “Where are we going, Father?” Atene asked, looking up from the floor she had been scrubbing.

  “We are to meet with the Israelites in the same place where we saw them yesterday.”

  Rahab’s heart jumped.

  “The Israelites?” Atene was surprised.

  “Yes. We have business to discuss. Don’t take forever to get ready. Shemu and I will be waiting for you in the front room.”

  As Mepu disappeared down the stairs, Atene said to Rahab, “That’s odd. Why would the men want to take us with them if they are going to talk business?”

  Rahab didn’t care if it was odd or not, all she cared about was that she was going to see Sala. She began to gather up the cleaning rags and tried to think which of her tunics would be most flattering.

  Her mother said, “It is not for us to question your father. Go and get ready, girls, and don’t take too long.”

  Rahab put on a freshly washed long tunic of white linen and gathered it at her waist with a wide blue sash. She took her favorite blue shawl downstairs so Atene could drape it gracefully over her left shoulder. Then she asked Atene to braid her hair. When Atene was finished, Rahab asked anxiously, “Do I look all right?”

  Atene laughed. “You never ask about your appearance, Rahab. What’s gotten into you?”

  Rahab turned away to hide the flush that colored her cheeks. “Nothing.”

  The midday weather was cool and pleasant as the family made its way up the cobbled street. The wine shop they were heading for was located in the Lower City but only a few feet away from the walls that divided it from the Upper City. The street was busy but Rahab hardly noticed the people who crowded around her as she followed in the wake of her father. Her heart was beating fast and her stomach was fluttery. She had never felt like this before. She wanted to smile until her cheeks hurt, but she contained herself and trailed along behind her father and Shemu, trying to look unconcerned.

  When finally they reached the wine shop designated for the meeting, Mepu went inside to see if the Israelites were there while Shemu waited outside with the women. When Mepu came back out, Sala was with him. Rahab could not contain her smile.

  Mepu said to Kata, “It is too crowded inside for all of us, so Sala—Arut, I mean—will escort you to the south garden to wait for us.”

  “Yes, my husband.”

  The smile died away from Rahab’s face. Sala’s eyebrows were drawn together, forming a crease over his nose. Clearly he wanted to stay in the wine shop and not have to go with the women.

  Kata said timidly, “I am sorry you have been inconvenienced by us.”

  At Kata’s words the line disappeared from between Sala’s brows and he looked embarrassed. “I am sorry if I seemed ungracious. I am delighted to be of service to you ladies. I believe the garden is this way, so if you will come along . . .”

  He began to walk toward the wide, shallow steps that led into the Upper City.

  Rahab’s chin was up. He didn’t want to be with her. And she had been so joyful at the thought of seeing him! Angry and hurt, she let Atene step forward to walk beside him while she remained behind with her mother.

  The garden was a charming spot of green in the midst of the great stone buildings that comprised the Upper City. It was situated on the south wall, a half-acre pocket of linden trees with stone benches set under their softly rounded canopies. A flagged walkway set the park off from the city streets.

  Rahab spread her skirts and took a seat on one of the benches. Atene and Kata sat on a second bench to discuss a recipe. That left the seat next to Rahab for Sala.

  Sala sat. Rahab stared straight ahead and ignored his existence. After a long silent moment he said, “Are you angry at me?”

  “No.”

  Silence again.

  “Well then, why won’t you look at me?”

  “You don’t want to be here with me so I thought you would appreciate it if I didn’t bother you with my chatter.”

  More silence. A boy with a small wooden sword in his hand ran down the path in front of them. From the park area near the wall they could hear the sound of children’s voices.

  Sala sighed. “Rahab, it’s not that I don’t want to be with you.”

  She turned her head fractionally. “Then what is it?”

  He looked back at her and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “It’s just . . . well, I am learning the business from my father and I thought I should listen to the discussion.”

  “Oh.” She returned her head to its forward position. He had no interest in her, she thought dismally. What a fool she had been to think he might want to marry her. He didn’t even want to talk to her; he’d rather talk about business. She blinked hard and told herself fiercely she would not cry.

  Two young men, obviously noble, were strolling toward them. One of them glanced at her casually and stopped.

  Rahab looked at him in surprise.

  He smiled. “I beg your pardon, I know it is rude of me to speak to you when we haven’t been properly introduced—”

  Rahab didn’t care for the condescending note in his voice and was about to say so when Sala cut in. “You’re right, it is rude. I suggest you be on your way and leave the lady alone.”

  Affronted, the young man turned his eyes to Sala. Rahab looked at him too. Her breath caught. He looked . . . dangerous.

  The young man took a quick step back. “I meant no harm. Are you her brother? Your sister is beautiful.”
/>   “I am her betrothed,” Sala said, “and my advice to you is to be on your way.”

  The young man’s companion said, “Come along, Charzu. Don’t make trouble.”

  The young man let himself be led away by his friend. As soon as they were out of sight, Rahab turned to Sala and said lightly, “I didn’t know we were betrothed. When exactly is our wedding day?”

  Spots of color stained his high cheekbones. “I’m sorry, it was the best way I could think of to get rid of him.”

  From the next bench Atene, who had observed the scene, said to Sala, “Everybody stares at Rahab. Even the prince noticed her yesterday from his chariot. He sent his friend to find out where she was staying.”

  Sala’s brows snapped together.

  Rahab wanted to tell Atene not to say such things, but fortunately Kata, who was seated on the other side of Atene, said something and Atene turned away. Rahab silently blessed her mother and turned once more to Sala.

  He had swung around so his back was to the women and his body blocked Rahab’s face from their view. “Is that what you and your father are aspiring to then, the hand of a prince?”

  She looked into his eyes, trying to decipher his mood. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say. First of all, the prince would never stoop to marry a farmer’s daughter. And I wouldn’t marry him even if he wanted me to. I would suffocate having to live the rest of my life in this walled-up city.”

  “I thought your father brought you here so he could find you a rich husband.”

  “I have to marry somebody, Sala.” Rahab was all sweet reason. “That is what girls do with their lives.”

  He looked down at his hands. “What kind of man do you want to marry?”

  Rahab kept staring at him, not sure what she should answer. Should she expose her heart? She knew it would hurt her cruelly if he rejected her, but . . . if she did nothing, if she never let him know how she felt, then he might simply go away and she would have lost him forever.

  That would be worse.

  She held his gaze and said bravely, “I want to marry a man who can take me on a boat.”

  Sala went pale. He swallowed. “Rahab.” His voice was unsteady. “No matter how you may feel, or how I may feel, you and I can never marry. My father would never permit it.”

  Rahab ignored the last part of his statement and went right for the important part. “Do you want to marry me?”

  “I’ve always thought of you as a child.” She could see he was trying to be as honest as she had been. “But then, when I saw you again yesterday . . . well, I realized that you are the reason I was never eager to marry any of my father’s choices. None of the girls were at all like you.”

  Her heart began to sing. He does want to marry me. He loves me. That is all that matters. He loves me!

  She put all of her happiness into her smile. “I have thought about you, Sala. I have always remembered you.”

  But instead of looking happy, he looked anguished. “You don’t understand. My father—”

  “I know there are obstacles, Sala. My father does not like Israelites and your father probably does not like Canaanites. But don’t you see, what is important is how we feel. Not them.”

  “You have no idea of the obstacles, Rahab.” His face looked thinner, older. “If I were to marry a Canaanite woman, it would be as if I put a dagger through my father’s heart. Everything he believes—everything I believe—would be outraged by such a union. I am his only son, Rahab.” He shook his head. “I am his heir. I am to follow him not only in the business but also as Chazzan in our prayer meetings.”

  Rahab could feel herself growing colder and colder as he spoke. “You are going to be a priest?”

  “Not a priest. We have had no priests since our people became so separated. But in Ramac we have always met, to pray and to talk about our scriptures, and the leader is the one who can read those scriptures. I am the one whom everyone expects to replace my father someday. I cannot—”

  He stopped talking and looked at her.

  “Do you love me?” Rahab asked, feeling small and fragile.

  There was a white line around his mouth and his nose looked pinched. “Yes,” he said.

  “And I love you, Sala. You are the only man I wish to marry.”

  “I wish we had never met again,” he said wretchedly.

  I can’t believe this is happening. How can he be saying such things to me?

  “I thought your father liked me,” she whispered.

  “Yes, he liked you. But you are not an Israelite. He would think my marrying a Canaanite woman would forever defile me in the eyes of Elohim. I would be dead to him, Rahab. It would be as if I were dead.”

  Rahab turned her face away. People were coming by them on the path, the children by the wall were calling out to each other in a game, and Kata and Atene were chatting about food. But for Rahab the world had changed.

  I would defile him.

  To her great relief, she heard Atene say, “Here come the men.”

  Rahab jumped to her feet and everyone else followed. Suddenly all she wanted was to feel her mother’s love, and she went to stand close beside Kata. Her mother put her hand on Rahab’s arm and smiled at her. Rahab wished desperately that she was a child again and that her mother’s smile could make everything right. But that was no longer true.

  Twelve

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, MAKAMARON, KING OF JERICHO, was alone in his private reception room, staring out the open door that looked out into his private courtyard. He had been king since he was twenty years of age and now he was fifty-two. Thirty-two years of leadership and now his own son was trying to pull him down. Makamaron had at least had the grace to wait until his own father died, but not Tamur. His greedy son wanted to grasp what did not belong to him, and he had chosen the worst time possible to make his bid for power.

  Makamaron considered the threat the Israelites posed. Jericho could withstand a siege, but he was concerned about the logistics of dealing with a city crammed with hundreds of people from the countryside as well as its own residents. Too many people in tight quarters always made for restiveness. They would have to ration water and food, never an easy matter. Rationing always fostered corruption, which would lead to more unrest—particularly among the farmers, whose homes and fields would surely be burnt by the advancing enemy.

  Jericho had armed troops, of course, probably far better armed than the Israelites were. But from the information that had come to him from Edom, Moab, Sihon, Og, and Ammon, his troops would be greatly outnumbered. That had been the case in those kingdoms, all of which had fallen to the invaders. If the military of Jericho took the fight outside the walls and were slaughtered, as had happened elsewhere, it would panic the city. And Makamaron knew how dangerous panic could be.

  To add to all of this, the festival of the New Year was upon him and he knew he was going to have to rouse his tired old body to complete the marriage act with the hierodule. It had been difficult enough for him to complete his duty last year, when the hierodule was cooperative, but this year he would be dealing with Arsay, a girl whose family was loyal to Tamur. She was unlikely to do anything to help him along.

  He was vulnerable. Had not King Keret, greatest of all Canaanite kings, been similarly challenged by his son when he was lying ill and helpless with age?

  The Keret stories were part of the cultic rituals of Makamaron’s people, and everyone in Jericho would have heard the high priest speak the well-known words of Keret’s son as he challenged his father: Come down from your kingship that I may be king, from the throne of your dominion that I may sit on it.

  It was a deeply rooted belief of Makamaron’s people that the fertility and strength of the nation were bound up with the sexual and physical powers of the king. If Arsay announced he had failed to complete the sacred marriage, Tamur would certainly overthrow him.

  Come down from your kingship that I may be king, from the throne of your dominion that I may sit on it.

 
Makamaron closed his eyes, imagining the sound of those dreaded words on his son’s lips; imagining the look of triumph in Tamur’s glittering black eyes.

  He could not let it happen! He was strong. All he needed was a woman who could stir him, not freeze him as Arsay was certain to do.

  He had to get rid of Arsay and find another girl to be the hierodule.

  One of his servants came in to announce that the Lords Arazu, Edri, and Ratu had asked for an audience with him. Makamaron smiled. He would discuss his idea with these three men whose loyalty he did not doubt. Perhaps, among them, they could come up with a solution.

  The morning after Rahab’s conversation with Sala in the garden, Kata asked Atene and Rahab to go to the market to buy some flax. Rahab’s mother was beginning to find it irksome to spend her days in what she considered idleness. They had no garden to weed and no animals to care for, but they could buy flax that had come in from the countryside. They would spread it on their flat roof to dry and then they would strip it and comb it and make it into yarn. That would at least be useful. After all, how many times could they just parade around town looking at things?

  Mepu grumbled at his wife’s idea. He wanted Rahab to be seen by the people in the Upper City, not to waste her time playing with flax. None of them was so in need of new clothing that Kata had to worry about making yarn! However, Mepu knew his wife. She was the mildest and most pliable of women, but she hated not having something to occupy her. So he gave his permission for the girls to go and buy some flax.

  Shemu went with them. He let them walk in front so they could talk while he took in the ever-fascinating street scene.

  Rahab walked beside her sister-in-law and, unlike her brother, she saw nothing of her surroundings. All she saw was the fog of her own misery.

  Finally Atene said, “Rahab, is something wrong? You’ve been so subdued that you have me worried. It’s not like you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Rahab said.

  “No you’re not. You haven’t been yourself since we came back from our visit to the garden yesterday. Did something happen there to upset you?”