This Scarlet Cord

by Joan Wolf

  They passed by a shop selling leather belts and the owner leered at Rahab from his doorway. Shemu snapped at the man to keep his eyes to himself.

  Atene said, “Was it Sala? Did he say something to hurt you?”

  Rahab turned toward her sister-in-law. She and Atene had lived in the same house since Shemu’s marriage four years ago. They had always liked each other but they had never shared confidences. The years that separated them, and the fact that Atene was married, had always been a barrier. But Atene was the closest thing to a sister she had, and Rahab needed someone to talk to.

  She said, “I can’t tell you here. When we get home.”

  Atene took her hand and squeezed it. “Fine,” she said.

  The flax market was concentrated in one small square in the midst of the maze of streets that comprised the Lower City, and when they found it they ordered the amount Kata had specified and asked for it to be delivered. Then Shemu escorted them back to the house that was their temporary home.

  Before he opened the front door, Shemu said to Rahab, “Father told me he wants to take you to the Upper City this afternoon, but I don’t think Mother will budge from here. She’s seen enough buildings, she says.”

  Rahab didn’t want to go either. When they first came to Jericho, it had been fun to see the markets and visit the great temples and the palace, but the excitement had quickly faded. She hated the bold way men looked at her. In her home village she had always been regarded with respect. She was Mepu’s daughter, and that counted among his friends and neighbors. But the men in Jericho had no respect for her or for her father. If it wasn’t for Sala, she would be begging Mepu to take her home.

  She said nothing to Shemu, however, and passed into the house to tell her mother they had purchased the flax.

  Kata was preparing the midday meal. After a few days of purchasing prepared food, she had decided she would cook their food after all, even if the kitchen was so small she could scarcely turn around in it. It was too expensive to keep buying their meals, she said, and the food wasn’t half as good as hers. Since everyone agreed with that assessment, and since Kata wouldn’t let anyone else in the kitchen because there was no room, Rahab and Atene had some time to themselves.

  They climbed up to the roof, which was shaded by the city wall that formed the house’s back wall. Tomorrow they would have to start hanging the flax, but for now it was deserted up here, and private. The girls reclined on two rush mats and raised themselves on their elbows to look at each other. Atene said, “You never mope, Rahab. What is wrong?”

  Rahab felt tears sting behind her eyes. She blinked them away. “You were right. It is Sala who has upset me. I’ve never stopped thinking about him, even though I thought I would never see him again. But he saved my life, Atene, and I thought he was wonderful. I still think he’s wonderful. He’s the only boy I have ever wanted to marry.”

  This confession had spilled out of her as fast and furious as a waterfall rushing down a mountainside. She felt tears threaten again, and again she blinked them away.

  Atene said, “I thought that might be what it was.”

  “I love him! And he says he loves me too. But he says we can never marry, that his father would not allow it. He said marriage to me would defile him, Atene. Can you believe that?”

  Atene eyes widened in horror. “Why would he say such a dreadful thing to you?”

  “It’s because of his religion. The Israelites believe in only one god, Elohim, and they think Baal and Asherah and Mot and all of our other gods are evil. They think we’re evil because we believe in them. That’s why Sala can’t marry me. He’s his father’s only son, and he says he can’t go against his father’s wishes.”

  Atene was silent. Rahab looked up at the sky, which was deeply blue with scarcely a cloud in sight. How could the world be so beautiful and she so unhappy?

  “These Israelites believe in only one god?” Atene sounded both surprised and curious.

  Rahab sat up and rested her chin on her knees. “Yes. When I was staying with them, Sala told me about him. He said this one God, Elohim, was the creator of the whole world—the sea, the sky, all of the plants and the animals and the men and the women. Then, yesterday, he told me Elohim only allows Israelites to marry other Israelites. That for him to marry me—a follower of Baal—would defile him in the eyes of Elohim and his family.”

  This time she could not stop the tears and they began to drip down her face.

  Atene spoke gently. “But, Rahab, we don’t like foreigners either. In fact, your father would probably feel the same as Sala’s father. Mepu wants you to marry a wealthy man from Jericho. He wouldn’t be at all pleased to learn you wanted to marry an Israelite from Ramac. And he would take you so far away from us too.”

  “But I love Sala!” Rahab cried desperately. No one had ever loved as she did. She was sure of that.

  Atene looked away. “Unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want in this life.”

  There was a note in her voice that made Rahab momentarily forget her own misery. “But you wanted to marry Shemu, didn’t you?” She had always believed her brother and Atene were happy together. They seemed so close.

  “I wanted to marry Shemu very much. And I wanted to give him children.”

  “Oh, Atene.” Rahab suddenly felt terrible that she had been heaping her problems on her sister-in-law. “You are still a young woman. You will have children.”

  Atene shook her head. “I am beginning to give up hope, Rahab. And I think Shemu is too. We have been married for four years, and I have never once been with child.”

  Rahab leaned forward, trying to think of something comforting to say. “Shemu loves you, Atene. I know he does. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you. He would never divorce you.”

  “I don’t think he would,” Atene agreed. “But I know he wants to have children, and I have failed him.” She bent her head and lowered her voice. “Sometimes I think he should divorce me and marry a woman who can give him a family.”

  “Do not think that way. You must pray to the Lady Asherah. She will help you.”

  “I have prayed to her. I have been praying to her for years. I don’t think she hears me.”

  The girls sat in silence for a while as the sun hit the edge of the rooftop. Then Rahab said, “Sala says that his God hears all prayers. He told me that one of their ancestors, a man named Abraham, had no children and when he prayed to his God, his wife, who was well beyond childbearing years, conceived. And they had a son.”

  Atene looked at Rahab, her eyes wide with interest. “Is it so?”

  “That is what Sala said, and he knows everything about his religion.”

  “Are there special prayers one must say to this God?”

  “I’m sure there are, but Sala said you can also pray to him from your heart.”

  “What is the name of this God again?”

  “They call him Elohim, which means Creator, but that is not his name. He is so great that Sala says he doesn’t have a name.”

  Atene sat up and looked solemnly at Rahab. “I wonder what would happen if I prayed to this God? Would he be angry to hear prayers from a Canaanite woman?”

  Rahab sat up too and they faced each other, close enough to touch hands. “I am sure it wasn’t just Abraham who prayed for a son—his wife must have prayed as well. The Israelites don’t believe their God has a wife. He is too great to have anyone share his power. If the Lady Asherah is not answering you, perhaps it would be well to try this Elohim.”

  “I think I will,” Atene said.

  “I will too. Perhaps I can convince him it would be good for Sala to marry someone who loves him as much as I do. I will tell him that if he lets me marry Sala, I will give up Baal and only worship him.”

  They stared at each other, having made this momentous decision.

  Atene whispered, “Do you think Baal will be angry with us for praying to another god? Will something awful happen to us or to our families?”
>
  Rahab lifted her chin. “I am willing to take the chance. If Sala is right, and his God is the only God, then there is no Baal. Is this not so?”

  Atene let out a long breath. “How can that be?”

  Rahab shook her head. “I don’t know. What can we know about gods? We are only two women who want to be with the men we love. How could any god be angry at that?”

  Atene held out her hand. “Let us pray to this Elohim together.”

  “Yes,” Rahab said and took Atene’s hand into hers. Solemnly, the two girls bowed their heads and started to pray.

  Thirteen

  AFTER THE MIDDAY MEAL WAS FINISHED, MEPU, ALONG with Rahab, Atene, and Shemu, returned to the Upper City, leaving Kata behind to clean up the kitchen. Rahab’s father had decided he would take the bold step of calling upon Lord Arazu, who had always been one of Mepu’s best wine customers. Of course, Mepu had never transacted his business directly with the noble—he dealt with Arazu’s steward—but he hoped a surprise visit might get him an interview.

  Mepu had two reasons for wanting to see Arazu personally. He wanted to find out if the noble was involved in Lord Nahshon’s scheme to sell Jericho’s farm products to the supposed Gaza merchants, and he also wanted Arazu to see Rahab. Since arriving in the city, Mepu had realized that to succeed in finding a husband for his daughter he was going to need a formal introduction into the city’s wealthy community, and he was hoping Arazu might provide it.

  When Mepu stated his name and his business about the wine to the servant who opened the door of Lord Arazu’s grand house, the servant raised his eyebrows and said condescendingly, “You mean you wish to see my lord’s steward. You may inquire after him at the servant’s entrance. Lord Arazu does not deal directly with farmers.”

  “Lord Arazu will wish to speak directly to me,” Mepu returned firmly. “Just go and tell him who is here and why I have come.”

  The servant hesitated, not really believing Mepu but concerned not to make a mistake. “One moment,” he murmured, and closed the door in their faces.

  The family waited in silence. When the door reopened, the same servant told Mepu woodenly that Lord Arazu could spare him a few minutes. Mepu stepped through the door, followed by Rahab, Shemu, and Atene. Startled, the servant held up his hand. “My lord expects to see only the man Mepu. The rest of you must wait outside.”

  “This is my daughter and my son and his wife,” Mepu replied. “We are together today and I never leave them alone. They will be no trouble.”

  The servant started to object again, looked at Rahab, then said, “Very well, you may come in. Lord Arazu is in the courtyard.”

  Rahab followed her father into the same inner courtyard that Sala and Lord Nahshon had visited just days before. Two men were sitting there, and one of them, who must be Lord Arazu, addressed Mepu, asking him to state his business.

  Rahab glanced at the other man and blinked. He looked exactly like a rodent. She looked quickly away, feeling badly for having such a thought. The poor man could not help his looks, after all. He was probably quite nice.

  She looked back at Lord Arazu to find that his eyes were fixed on her. “Who are these people you have brought with you?” he asked her father, his tone of voice more pleasant than it had been.

  “This is my son, Shemu; his wife, Atene; and my daughter, Rahab.”

  Rahab nodded politely to Lord Arazu and gave an especially nice smile to the man who looked like a rodent, to make up for her unkind thoughts.

  The friend’s name was Lord Edri and his nose twitched when he looked back at her. Just like a rodent.

  Suddenly Lord Arazu became a considerate host. He commanded the servant who had escorted them to bring other chairs so they could all be seated. He asked Mepu if he wished something to drink and, when her father refused, he turned solicitously to Rahab and asked the same question. She refused as well.

  Rahab took her seat, folded her hands politely in her lap, and listened as Mepu broached the reason for his visit. The two men spoke for several minutes and it soon became clear to Rahab that Arazu was indeed interested in purchasing far more wine than he usually did. She glanced quickly at Shemu. His mouth was set in a grim line.

  So, what Lord Nahshon and Sala had said was true. These nobles were going to buy up the produce of the local farms and sell it out from under the noses of the city population. How horrible, Rahab thought, that rich men could have so little concern for the welfare of people less fortunate than themselves. What they were planning to do was . . . well, evil.

  When the discussion had concluded, Mepu made as if to rise. Lord Arazu motioned him back into his chair. “I am wondering how a lovely girl like your daughter is still unmarried. She is unmarried, I take it?” He was speaking to Mepu, but his eyes were on Rahab.

  “Yes, my lord, she is unmarried, although not for lack of suitors. But she wants to live in the city, not the country, so I have brought her into Jericho to see if she might find a man more to her liking.”

  Rahab almost jumped out of her chair in outrage. Not want to live in the country? She would far rather live in the country than cooped up within the walls of this city. The longer she stayed in Jericho, the more Rahab realized she didn’t like it here at all.

  “That is perfectly understandable,” Lord Arazu was replying silkily. “Such beauty should not be worn out by the hard life of a farmer’s wife. She is a gem who needs the adornment of a rich man’s home to show her off.”

  Mepu smiled for the first time during the interview. “That was precisely my own feeling, my lord. It is why I brought her with me to Jericho.”

  Rahab’s clasped hands were now clutching each other tightly. She knew if she said anything to alienate this noble, her father would be incensed. She bit her lip to keep her mouth from opening and the furious words from pouring out.

  She was so angry she hardly heard the rest of the conversation. There was one thought only in her mind: I am not going to marry some boring old noble. I am going to marry Sala. I am not going to marry some boring old noble. I am going to marry— “Rahab!”

  Her head jerked around to meet her father’s eyes. “It is time we were going.”

  Rahab jumped to her feet. She couldn’t wait to get away from here. Atene was gracious and Shemu was polite and manly. Rahab didn’t say a word, she just followed her family out of the courtyard, out of the front door, and into the street, where she finally felt as if she could breathe again.

  After Mepu and his family had left, the two nobles sat in silence, waiting until the front door closed behind the visitors. When the faint echo of wood settling into wood reached them, they both sat up a little straighter. They were ready to talk.

  The first part of their conversation dealt with Mepu.

  “I wonder what precipitated that visit?” Lord Arazu said. “Was it just that he wanted to show me his daughter or has he met those Gaza merchants? He might have been trying to discover if we had spoken to them too.”

  They both thought about this possibility.

  Lord Edri said, “If he has, it’s not good for us. He might alert the farmers not to sell to us, that they should sell directly to the merchants for more money.”

  Arazu’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I find it hard to believe a simple farmer like that could have come into contact with the merchants. He is so clearly beneath their social level.”

  His words trailed away and he lifted his hands as if to say such a meeting would be impossible.

  Edri frowned. “Merchants are clever about money, though. They must realize they could buy directly from the farmers more cheaply than they can buy from us.”

  Arazu thought about this. “That may be so, but merchants like the two we met want to do a transaction with as little fuss and bother as possible. They don’t want to travel around from farm to farm haggling with peasants.”

  “True.” Edri steepled his fingers. “Also, there may have been a reason for that visit that had nothing to do with wine.” His li
ttle black eyes glittered in the sunlight.

  Arazu nodded. “The girl.”

  “Yes, the girl.”

  Arazu moistened his lips with his tongue. “A daughter like that can be worth more to a father than a thousand barrels of wine.”

  Edri’s nose quivered. “Quite so. And he has brought her to Jericho to show her around. Peasants may be stupid in some ways, but they are shrewd in others. What did you think of her?”

  Arazu lifted his eyebrows. “I thought exactly as you did, my dear Edri. She is astonishingly beautiful and delicious as a ripe fruit. No man could see her and remain unmoved.”

  The two men looked at each other, the same idea in both their minds. It was Arazu who spoke the thought out loud.

  “She may be just what we need for the king.”

  Edri stood up and began to pace around the courtyard, his hands behind his back. “If any woman can rouse Makamaron’s manhood, that girl is the one.”

  Arazu leaned back in his chair and watched his colleague pace. “And even if he fails, we can make sure she never tells. What we need to do is buy all of her father’s wine. We’ll offer him an extravagant price. Even if we don’t make a profit selling it on to the merchants, we can still afford it. We’ll be making huge profits on the grain and olive oil harvests.”

  Edri swung around, frowning. “Why overspend for the wine? The man should be thrilled his daughter has been chosen to be the hierodule. It is the greatest honor a woman can attain; to be the goddess herself in the sacred marriage.”

  “That is so.” Arazu looked over his shoulder at his friend and complained, “Will you please sit down and stop pacing? My neck hurts from trying to follow you.” After Edri had resumed his place, Arazu went on. “Will we have a problem because she’s not a priestess?”

  Edri waved his hand, dismissing the notion. “Not if the high priest says she is called to the office, which of course he will. And there have been precedents. Don’t you remember the time Makamaron fell in love with one of Salu’s daughters and insisted she be the hierodule? The priestesses were not happy, but once the high priest said it was all right, there was nothing they could do.”