by Joan Wolf
Lord Arazu frowned at Atene. “The king only wishes to see Rahab. You should not be here.”
Atene replied in a steady voice, “Rahab’s father sent me as a representative of her family. If the king does not wish to see me, then I will wait here until Rahab comes out.”
Rahab felt a flash of admiration for Atene’s outward composure. If her sister-in-law wasn’t intimidated by these surroundings, then she told herself she wouldn’t be either.
Arazu turned his back on Atene and spoke to Rahab. “The king will receive you informally, but you must be certain to fold your hands at your waist and bow your head when you come before him. Do not look up until he speaks to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then come with me.” Lord Arazu gestured Rahab toward the closed inner door, sparing only two words for Atene. “Wait here.”
Rahab’s mouth was so dry she didn’t think she would be able to speak at all, but she walked as straight and steady as she could through the open door that led into the king’s private reception room.
Makamaron was seated in a high-backed bronze chair with images of unusual animals on the feet and arms, in a chamber where he often met with his friends and advisors. When Arazu came into the room with the girl at his side, Makamaron was prepared to be disappointed. No woman could be as beautiful as his friend had promised. However, she might be pretty enough to give him an excuse to put aside Arsay, who was definitely a danger to him.
“My lord king,” Arazu said when the door had closed behind them, “may I present Rahab, daughter of Mepu, one of your faithful subjects.”
The girl folded her hands, bent her head, and was silent. The thin linen tunic showed Makamaron that she was slender but beautifully curved. The skin of her bare arms revealed by the tunic glowed with youth and health.
“You may approach me, Rahab,” the king said graciously.
As the girl came toward him, he noticed with approval the fluid grace of her walk. When finally she reached his chair and lifted her face, he was stunned. Vaguely he heard her say, in a charmingly husky voice, “I am honored to have this opportunity to meet you, my lord king.”
Makamaron was having trouble with his breathing. For the first time in many moons he felt his sexuality stir. This girl . . . this girl was amazing.
He cleared his throat in an attempt to get his speaking voice back to normal. He said, “Rahab. That is an unusual name.”
“It was my mother’s mother’s name,” she replied.
“I see.” Makamaron was still short of breath. He struggled for normality. “And your father, what does he do?”
“He is a grape farmer, my lord king. We live south of Jericho, near the village of Ugaru, where my father’s family has owned vineyards for many generations.”
The girl’s huge dark eyes were fixed on him. He watched her mouth as she spoke in that wonderful voice. His mind was already made up. This was his hierodule. If anyone could help him complete the sacred marriage it was this Rahab. She must have had some experience. He knew sometimes Canaanite girls slipped off into the dark with young men after the important nature ceremonies. They could not do such a thing after they married, of course, but when they were young it happened. A girl like this would have been much in demand.
He looked at his advisor and said simply, “She will do. Arrange it.”
“Yes, my lord king,” Arazu replied.
The king smiled at Rahab, showing his bad teeth. “We will meet again, Rahab. You may go now and Lord Arazu will make arrangements for you.”
The girl’s face went still. There was a watchful look in her eyes. “Arrangements, my lord king? What arrangements?”
Makamaron lifted his brows at being questioned. “I am bestowing on you the greatest honor a Canaanite woman can have, Rahab. You will be the goddess Asherah in the sacred marriage to take place at the New Year festival. We will notify your father and your family. Now, go with Lord Arazu, please. I have other engagements I must attend to.”
The girl was as pale as her tunic. “I do not deserve such an honor,” she said, not adding “my lord king” to her comment.
Makamaron frowned; he did not like having his pronouncements questioned. “You must let me be the judge of that.” He looked at Arazu. “Take her out.”
“Come, Rahab,” Arazu said commandingly, and he began to lead the girl toward the door. Before they left, Makamaron called his advisor’s name. “See to it that Lord Edri and the high priest come to see me.” He paused a moment, then added, “And you had better bring the head priestess as well. I will meet with you all in one hour’s time.”
“Yes, my lord king,” Arazu replied and almost pushed the girl out of the door.
The small group that gathered in the king’s private reception room an hour after he had met with Rahab was both serious and determined. There was only one day left until the sacred marriage, the most significant ritual of the New Year festival, and much had to be done. Makamaron sat in his bronze chair and the others sat on carved wood stools around him as they began to discuss the situation.
The head priestess, Umara, who had held her position for the last twelve years, understood what was being planned. Arazu had told her about their scheme to replace Arsay as hierodule and she was skeptical. Umara had been a priestess for twenty-five of her forty years and was well acquainted with the power struggles in Jericho. Her own main interest lay only in promoting the importance of Asherah and the goddess’s shrine in the life of the city.
She looked now at the king and said, “Arsay will not step down voluntarily. She will go to her brother, who will go to the prince, who will make a scandal if he can. We must do nothing that will taint the sacred marriage.”
Ratu, the high priest, answered in his sonorous voice, “We are all aware of the importance of the ritual, High Priestess. We wish to safeguard it, not to damage it. However, our king must complete the marriage act in order for the benefits of the ritual to bless the country, and we are convinced Arsay will do everything in her power to keep that from happening. She might even lie and say that the act had not been accomplished, that the king was incapable. Can you imagine the chaos the city would be thrown into should such a thing occur?”
“We cannot allow that to happen,” Umara returned immediately.
“We agree. That is why we have met here today. We must find a way to remove Arsay.” Ratu’s face was as hard and ruthless as his words.
“We cannot harm her,” Edri, the treasurer, warned. “There would be too much talk and the king cannot afford to be compromised in any way.”
Silence fell as the group contemplated their problem.
Arazu turned to the head priestess. “Can you announce that you have found some fault in Arsay that makes her ineligible to be the hierodule?”
Umara was dubious and said so.
Makamaron said decisively, “I have decided what I will do. I will announce that Arsay has displeased me and that I have found someone else whom I wish to be the hierodule. I have done it before, so it is not unheard of. And, since the time is so short, I do not think the prince will be able to organize any kind of effective protest. I am still the king, no matter what my son might think. And when the people lay eyes upon Rahab, no one will wonder why I chose her.”
The king’s advisors let out a silent breath of relief, but Umara frowned. “I will go along with this because I agree with you about Arsay. But why can’t you choose one of the other priestesses, my lord king? Why this outsider?”
Arazu said, “When you see her, Head Priestess, you will understand.”
“She is so beautiful?”
“Yes.”
“If she is truly to be the hierodule, I must see her immediately. She has to be prepared for her role and there is not much time. I must get to work right away.”
Makamaron said, “You may see her after I speak to her father, Head Priestess. I have sent some men to bring him to me. He is only a farmer, but he is her father and has some r
ights in her disposal. I doubt there will be any trouble. What man would not rejoice at having his daughter raised to such a height? But still, it is a courtesy that must be followed.”
Shocked, the head priestess stared at the king. “You have chosen a farmer’s daughter to be hierodule, my lord king? Surely not!”
“Wait until you see her,” Arazu said.
Umara knew when she was beaten. She tightened her lips and said, “I see you are determined. Very well, I will do my best.”
Makamaron stood and his advisors rose with him. “That will be all for now,” the king said. “I will send for you, Umara, after I have spoken to the father, and you may take Rahab into your charge.”
The head priestess bowed her covered head, and the advisors exited, leaving Makamaron alone with his thoughts.
Sixteen
WHEN THEY HAD LEFT THE KING’S RECEPTION ROOM, Lord Arazu did not take Rahab back to Atene. Instead he turned her over to two women who were dressed in the flowing white garb of priestesses.
“Where is my sister-in-law?” Rahab demanded of Arazu as the two priestesses moved in on either side of her. “I am not going anywhere without her.”
“You will see her soon,” Arazu replied. “Go now with these women. Your father will be meeting with the king shortly and then you may see him and your sister-in-law as well.”
Relief flooded Rahab when she heard her father was coming. Papa would not let them do this to her. She—the hierodule! It was madness. That was for a priestess, not for a farmer’s daughter. Even if the king did want her, her father wouldn’t allow it. She had not been brought up to do such a thing. She had no experience of the fertility rites of the goddess. How could anyone expect her to be the goddess and make the sacred marriage to the king? She thought of Makamaron’s wrinkled face and brown teeth and spotted hands and shuddered. It couldn’t happen. Her father would save her.
The priestesses took her to the women’s part of the palace, which was largely empty. Makamaron had not had a queen since his third wife had died some years before. There were two young princesses who still lived in the palace, but they were rarely seen. A royal daughter’s life was important only because of the marriage that might be made for her. It had long been tradition for political alliances to be cemented by royal marriages, and that was what daughters were good for. Nothing else.
Rahab walked between the priestesses, looking carefully at her surroundings. If she managed to get away, she would have to know which way to run. They finally stopped at a room that had two palace guards in front of it. One of them opened the door and held it for the three women to go inside.
The priestesses led Rahab through an antechamber and into a large luxurious room clearly furnished for a woman. There was no stately bronze chair here, just slim, elegant cushioned furniture and a thick soft rug. Near the roof there was a line of small openings to let the air circulate.
Rahab stared at the openings with dismay. She had been thinking of how she escaped from the slavers, but she would never be able to reach those air vents. Even if she could, she didn’t think she would be able to fit through them.
“Sit and make yourself comfortable,” the older priestess said. The woman’s icy voice echoed the cold expression on her face. The priestess was not happy. Well, neither am I, Rahab thought.
“Why am I being called to be the hierodule?” she demanded as soon as she was seated. “That position is for a priestess, not for someone like me.”
The priestess exhaled a long hissing sound. “So, it is true. The king is putting away Arsay and making someone else the hierodule.”
Both women glared at Rahab.
Rahab glared back. “Believe me, this was not my decision. I have no desire to take your friend’s place. I don’t want to be the hierodule. I can’t understand why the king should want me to do this.”
“Stupid girl,” the older priestess muttered. “Do you think we will believe you? Of course you want to be the hierodule. Every woman in Jericho would leap at such a chance.”
Rahab spaced her words for greater emphasis. “I. Do not. Want. To be. The hierodule. Besides, my father will never allow it. He will tell the king I belong at home with my family, and that will be the end of this ridiculous plan. Your priestess will be the goddess. I certainly don’t want to be!”
The younger priestess looked at her with pity. “You are a stupid girl. Your father will never defy the king.”
But Rahab trusted her father. He loved her too much to make her do something as big as this if she did not want to. She could always count on her father to keep her safe.
When the soldiers arrived back at Mepu’s house and told him the king wished to speak to him, he felt sick with fear. First they had taken Rahab away and now they wanted him. What could have happened to bring his family to the attention of the king? Had he said something on his visit to Lord Arazu that had insulted the lord? Did they perhaps suspect Mepu was aware of their plans to buy up the whole wine crop? If that was the case, what were they going to do to him? To his family?
Mepu was not given the privacy of a litter. Instead he was forced to walk in the midst of a foursome of guards through the streets of the city so everyone could see him. By the time he reached the palace, Mepu was sweating profusely and trying not to show his terror.
Like Rahab, he was brought through the king’s anteroom into his reception room, where he found Makamaron sitting in his imposing bronze chair. Mepu fell to his knees as soon as he passed into the room, bowed his head, clasped his hands so tightly his knuckles went white, and breathed in a trembling voice, “My lord king.”
“You may rise and approach me, Mepu,” the king said. His voice sounded genial. Mepu peeked at him uncertainly, then rose to his feet and came forward a few steps.
He had never been this close to Makamaron and he was surprised the king looked so old. The flesh sagged on his heavy face and his stomach swelled under the perfect folds of his tunic. His color looked pale and unhealthy.
The king said, “I have just had an interview with your daughter, Rahab. She is very beautiful.”
“Thank you, my lord king,” Mepu replied cautiously. Perhaps this was not about the wine after all.
“She is so beautiful, in fact, that I am going to make her the hierodule for the sacred marriage in the coming New Year festival.”
Mepu’s eyes stretched wide and his mouth fell open. “The hierodule?” he repeated, wanting to make certain he had heard right.
“Yes. It is right that the goddess be represented by the most beautiful woman in the city, and your Rahab is undoubtedly that.”
Mepu’s head was reeling. Did the king know he was only a farmer? His mouth was so dry that his voice came out like a croak. “It is true she is beautiful, my lord king, but I do not want you to choose her under false pretenses. My family, my daughter’s family, is not noble. I have large vineyards in the countryside that are profitable, but we are not noble.”
The king smiled graciously. “This I know, and I have thought for some time that such an honor should be extended beyond the temple priestesses and the nobility. It will be good for all my people to see that I view them as valuable and important.”
Mepu was stunned by this astonishing reply. So stunned that he couldn’t think of an answer.
Fortunately, the king was continuing, “Let me make it clear that you needn’t worry about your daughter’s future after the festival is concluded, Mepu. I shall see to it that she marries a man of stature in the city, a man with the financial means to keep such a beautiful creature as she deserves to be kept. Once she is seen, there will be a crowd clamoring for her hand.”
Mepu moistened his lips with his tongue. It was true; this was really happening. The king wanted Rahab to be the hierodule in the sacred marriage. Mepu went down on his knees again. “Thank you, my lord king. This is beyond anything I had ever dreamed of. To think that my daughter should represent the goddess herself, that she should participate in the sacred rite that
will bring life and prosperity to the kingdom. I am overcome.”
Makamaron smiled, showing his stubby brown teeth. “You may see your daughter briefly to assure her of your blessing. One of my guards will take you to her. And I will send men to escort you and your family to the palace tomorrow so you may have a good viewing place for the festivities. Now you may go.”
The king picked up the gold-plated staff, which had reposed beside his chair, and thumped it once upon the floor.
Mepu rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lord king.” He backed out the door that had opened behind him at the thump of the king’s staff.
Rahab and the two priestesses had been sitting in icy silence for over an hour when the quiet was broken by a knock on the door. It came so suddenly that Rahab jumped.
The younger priestess went to the door and opened it a crack. When she saw who was there, she opened it all the way and Mepu came into the room, accompanied by Atene.
“Papa!” Rahab ran to throw herself into her father’s arms. She started to sob with relief that he had come to take her home.
He patted her back. “Now, now, Rahab. There is nothing to upset you, unless you are crying for happiness.”
Happiness. Of course she was happy that he had gotten her out of this terrible situation. She controlled her sobs and pulled away so she could look up into his face. “You saw the king? You told him I could not possibly do this thing?”
A puzzled frown creased her father’s forehead. “Why would I say such a thing to the king, my daughter?”
Rahab’s eyes went from him, to Atene, to the two priestesses who still hovered by the open door.
“Please leave us,” she said to the two women. “I wish to speak to my family in private.”
The priestesses’ return look was openly hostile, but they went out and closed the door behind them.
Rahab turned back to her father. “Didn’t the king tell you he wants me to be the hierodule, Papa?”
