“I let him win a few times.” His smile quickly faded as he remembered Zimri’s end. How could the man have allowed a Midianite woman to seduce him? He shook his head, the very idea one he simply could not grasp.
“You should have put him in his place. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have been so arrogant.” A quick glance at Mishael told him they shared the same memory. And loss.
“Our God is an exacting God,” Salmon whispered, praying he had not offended the Almighty. “That is, it is a fearful thing to purposely disobey Him.”
Mishael picked up a stone and cast it a great distance. “We should have invaded Midian and pulled Zimri out before he could act so foolishly.”
“Or stood guard at his tent and threatened him even if he just needed to relieve himself outside the camp?” Salmon scowled and shook his head. “No one can control another man forever, my friend. Not even you.” He smiled, then slapped Mishael lightly on the back. “Let us do our best to be more faithful.” He glanced toward Jericho’s forbidding walls. “And not let a woman seduce us into such false worship to cause the whole camp to suffer.” Twenty-four thousand people had died in a plague because of Zimri’s sin with Kozbi, daughter of a Midianite leader.
The reminder sobered him, and apparently the normally talkative Mishael too, for they walked along in silence until they came to a place to camp near Jericho’s thick gates. Hidden among a copse of trees, they waited for an approaching caravan.
At dawn the next morning, several caravans approached. Salmon and Mishael slipped in among them, immediately picking up a conversation with the servants among the crowd.
“What wares have you brought with you today?” Mishael asked one of the Midianite traders, whose dark turban and standard etched on the sides of the donkey’s carts told both men his heritage.
The man gave Mishael and Salmon a hard glance, as if trying to place them. “I have seen you before. Are we neighbors?” The man scratched a dark, short-cropped beard.
Salmon ran a hand over his own beard, silently praying that the length of the edges would not give them away. For though they had discussed shaving their beards to fit in with the rest of the Canaanite men, Salmon could not bring himself to do so. To break even one of the laws of Moses would prove him unrighteous, unfaithful. Like his father before him, who once stood as a prince in Judah. He could not follow that path.
“We are travelers from Shittim,” Mishael said. “We are on our way toward Babylon by way of the King’s Highway.”
“Stopping for supplies at Jericho?” the man asked, his brow lifted, too curious.
Salmon nodded, holding up a limp goatskin at his side. “I’m afraid we have more coins than food. It is hard to eat silver.” He laughed, glancing at Mishael, who joined him.
“And look, here we are at the gates already,” Mishael said, pulling away.
Salmon followed his friend, then glanced back at the Midianite. God had now declared these people enemies of Israel, despite their link to Abraham through his concubine Keturah. Midian had even given Moses shelter and a wife, but the incident with Zimri and Kozbi had changed all of that previous goodwill.
“You don’t happen to have any fresh bread among those wares, do you, my friend?” Salmon asked in parting, knowing from a quick view of his goods that he carried tools, not food.
The man shook his head. “No, not to sell. My loss,” he said, smiling. “God go with you, my friend.” He tipped his fingers to his head, a parting gesture.
Salmon looked at Mishael, wondering if he had anything to say about the man’s use of God’s blessing, but his friend’s gaze had settled on the gates looming before them. Midianites would invoke the Baals, but some might still believe in Abraham’s God, as Moses’ father-in-law had.
“Do you have a plan?” Mishael asked, drawing Salmon’s thoughts to their task at hand. “What reason do we give for entering their fair city?” He bent near Salmon’s ear, though the crowd had grown so noisy, he need not have bothered to whisper.
“We tell them the truth. We are here to collect supplies for our journey to Babylon.”
“And we may need to know a good place to lodge for the night,” Mishael added, a smirk covering his normally handsome face.
“I am not even going to ask you what that smirk intends, my friend.” Most lodging houses belonged to prostitutes in cities such as Jericho. A place where Zimri had been snared by Kozbi, though she had not been a prostitute but a Midianite leader’s daughter.
“Don’t worry.” Mishael rested a hand on Salmon’s shoulder. “Women are the last thing on my mind.”
The Midianite caravan moved through the gates, and Salmon and Mishael slipped in among them as though they were part of it. The guards glanced at them. Salmon nodded a greeting but kept walking. Mishael followed.
A second group of guards stood at the inner gate. This time they were stopped.
“State your business.” The guard seemed young and wary.
Salmon met his gaze and smiled. “We are but travelers, my lord.” He lifted his empty sack. “Our supplies have run low, and we are trying to catch up with our brothers, who set out a day ahead of us on our way home to Babylon.” He let the sack fall to his side. “We simply wish to buy supplies from your merchants.”
The guard nodded and waved them through.
Salmon walked into a shop where a man stood at a table of freshly baked flatbreads seasoned with various spices. “How much?” he asked, pointing to one with rosemary leaves sprinkled over it.
The man looked him over as if sizing him up. “You are not from around here.”
Salmon shook his head. “No, we are just passing through. We were separated from our countrymen, and it has taken longer to return than we expected.” He pointed again to the bread and held out a small piece of silver. “Will this cover it?”
The man’s eyes widened, but he also seemed pleased. “It will suffice.” He picked up the loaf, glanced at Mishael, then added a second. “For your friend.”
Salmon bowed. “Thank you.” He took the loaves and handed one to Mishael. “Can you tell me where we can find lodging for the night? We will leave in the morning but thought we might enjoy the pleasures of Jericho for a day.” He smiled, sniffed the loaf, and released a deep sigh. “I haven’t tasted my wife’s bread in months.” He glanced at the man, trying to determine his reaction.
“Out on a raiding party, were you?” The man’s eyes held the slightest hint of calculation. “We’ve heard rumors of those Israelites.” He leaned closer and glanced around as though his words were the choicest of secrets. “People are afraid of them. Have you run into them in your travels?”
“Why would they be afraid of them? They are on the other side of the Jordan and its banks are near to flooding. Besides, they are wanderers.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “What possible harm can they do?”
The man looked at Salmon as though he had lost all sensibility. “Have you not heard of their God? There are rumors . . . stories of how He delivered them from the Egyptian Pharaoh, how He parted the sea, how they killed those two kings of the Amorites, Sihon and Og?”
Salmon nodded. “I’ve heard such tales. But that was years ago. They’ve been wandering in the wilderness for forty years. I don’t think you have anything to fear.”
The man looked like he wanted to believe them, but Salmon still saw the skepticism in his eyes. He touched the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, my friend.” At the man’s nod, he added, “Now about that lodging?”
The man’s smile held the hint of a smirk. “How much are you willing to pay, and what kind of lodging?”
“Just something—”
“Something that will give us a fair taste of Jericho’s better life,” Mishael interrupted.
The man laughed. “Then I would recommend you try to get an appointment with our town’s finest woman of the night. Only the richest men can afford her, and she is the consort of the prince himself.”
Salmon’s middle tightened. A pr
ostitute, as he expected.
“Where is this residence, my friend?” Mishael asked when Salmon said nothing.
“The house of Rahab. It is built into the wall in the wealthier section of town, not far from the palace itself. She has a big Nubian guard who stands watch at her gate. If you take the road along the wall, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Mishael elbowed Salmon.
“Yes, thank you.” He bowed once more and backed away, his bread still untouched, but Mishael’s was half gone.
Salmon gripped his staff in one hand and tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth. “So, now we shall see just how much a prostitute is willing to tell us without seducing us.” They would not be like Zimri.
He stalked off, leaving Mishael to catch up with him.
16
The walk through the city of palms took time, and more than once they found themselves taking a wrong turn down a street with little light. The sun had already passed the midway point in the sky, and still they had not found the prostitute’s house.
“Are we lost?” Mishael pulled a handful of almonds from his pocket and handed a few to Salmon.
Salmon glanced at the sky and toward the city walls. “Not exactly lost. Not yet.” He hated to admit such a thing, but as the sun continued toward the west, his stomach rumbled and worry settled in his middle. “Let’s check this street. The man said we couldn’t miss the place.”
“At least we’ve gotten a good idea of what the city looks like. Perhaps those wrong turns were providential.” Mishael reached for another handful of almonds.
“You might want to ration those.” Salmon glanced at the sack of dates he carried. “We might need these for many days to come.”
“Can’t you hear my stomach roaring? It’s like thunder inside of me!”
Salmon laughed. “You complain too much.” He spotted the prostitute’s house a few moments later, but held Mishael back when he continued as if he would simply approach without forethought. “What are we supposed to say to her?” The very thought of speaking to a prostitute turned his stomach.
“If she is as popular as the merchant said she is, let’s at least see if we can secure an appointment with her first. Then we will worry about what to say.” Mishael lifted a brow. “Unless you would rather spend the night in the streets. How much sleep do you think you’ll get in the open in a wicked city?”
“I don’t expect to sleep at all regardless.” Salmon glanced behind them, grateful to see they were relatively alone. Neighbors were not within hearing distance, even if Mishael should learn to keep his voice down. “Come on then. We can speak to the Nubian.”
Salmon led the way to the prostitute’s gate and found it locked. He rattled the knocker and waited. “Maybe they are sleeping?” he whispered to Mishael.
“At this hour?” Mishael looked doubtful. A moment later, a tall, dark-skinned man approached the gate.
“What do you seek?” He looked down at them, his gaze taking in their appearances before settling on their faces.
“We are travelers, here on business.” Salmon cleared his throat. “We seek a night’s lodging with your mistress. A merchant in the marketplace recommended her to us.”
The Nubian looked them over again, then shook his head. “I’m afraid the merchant is mistaken. This is not an inn. My mistress does not keep men through the night. They pay for time with her. They do not stay.”
Disappointment and relief mingled in Salmon’s heart. He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I can pay her well. For a few moments of her time then. We will seek lodging elsewhere.” He hated himself for what he was suggesting, though he had no intention of actually using her services. Why did he even care? And yet . . . had God led them here? What better place to gain information from than a woman who slept with the city’s highest officials?
The Nubian looked dubious but held up a hand. “Stay here.” When he walked into the house, Mishael stepped closer to Salmon.
“How are you planning to spend that time with her?” His look held uncertainty, even fear. Zimri’s demise was too recent to treat this mission with anything but caution. “You wouldn’t actually touch her, would you?”
“Of course not!” Salmon shifted from foot to foot. “If she will see us, we will question her. That is all.”
Salmon glanced at the sun, now past the midway point, then leaned against the stone pillar that held the gate firm. At last the Nubian returned, unlocked the gate, and bid them enter. Salmon followed the taller man into a sitting room covered in scarlets and purples, with cushioned couches and plush embroidered pillows. Oriental tapestries hung from whitewashed walls, and alabaster vases sat on low tables. The prostitute lived well.
“Sit,” the Nubian said, pointing to the couches.
Salmon glanced at Mishael, but one look at the Nubian and he obeyed, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of the seat. They waited in silence long enough for Salmon to have counted a thousand sheep.
“What’s taking her so long?” Mishael whispered.
Salmon shrugged, but he could tell by the look in his friend’s eyes that he was as anxious as Salmon to be about their business. It would be dusk soon, and they needed to get back to the city gate and find a real inn to stay in. Sitting here was wasting time.
His heart beat faster at the thought. He stood. “This was a mistake.” He motioned to Mishael to come and headed toward the door.
“Going so soon? My, my, but you foreigners are an impatient lot.” A rich, sultry voice came from behind him. He turned and took in the sight of her. His breath stuck in his throat. The woman was simply beautiful. He had expected rich adornments in her hair and jewels dangling about her body. He had expected rich, patterned clothing, but though her robe was scarlet, her tunic was white, and she wore a simple scarf over her head.
She stepped closer to him. “I am Rahab, and this is my home. Tendaji, my guard, tells me that you seek lodging. Surely you are aware that my services provide much more.” She tilted her head, her look curious, not seductive.
“We are aware that you are the consort of princes and wealthy men.”
“Neither of which you appear to be,” she said, glancing from Salmon to Mishael, who now stood beside him. “So tell me, what really brings you to see me?” She motioned to the couches and sat in a plush chair opposite them.
Salmon glanced beyond her. “Is this room secure? Will our words be heard by your servants?”
She looked thoughtful but a moment, then shook her head. “Had you asked me that a few months ago, I would have said yes. My employer kept me his prisoner until the prince got word of what he had done to me.” She looked away as though the thought still pained her, but her expression quickly changed and she faced them once more. “Since then, I have come to an agreement with my employer and dismissed all of the servants but Tendaji and hired my younger sister as my maid. No one else in this town can be trusted.” She looked toward the window. “My house is still watched, but they do not enter without my permission.”
Salmon nodded. “That is good.”
“So why have you come to me if not for my services, which Tendaji tells me you can afford.” She crossed one leg over the other, exposing her bare foot.
Salmon looked away, embarrassed. “We are simply visitors to your city on our way to Babylon. We came for supplies and to spend the night before we attempt to catch up with our brothers. It seemed wise for us to learn what we could of your city while we are here.” He met her gaze, unflinching, studying her reaction. “When a merchant suggested you knew more than most, we decided to start here.” He smiled, though inside he chided himself that lies should fall so easily from his lips.
Rahab uncrossed her legs and tucked them beneath her, as if sensing his discomfort in her presence. “Tell me your names. Where are you from?” Her brows narrowed the slightest bit, and Salmon thought her too intelligent to be a prostitute. Why had some man of this city, even the prince himself, not married this woman? What
an asset she would be to a kingdom. Yet how he could tell that by one glance, he did not know. She must have cast some sort of spell or curse on him.
“I am Mishael,” his friend said before Salmon could rein in his thoughts. “And this is my friend Salmon.”
“Interesting names. You say you are headed to Babylon?” She rested her chin in her hand. Even her nails were plain, not painted, as he’d expected them to be. As Kozbi’s had been when he helped bury her body.
“We have business there.” Mishael spoke for him again. Salmon met his gaze, getting the message that he clearly hoped Salmon would speak up and take over this conversation.
Salmon studied her. “You are not dressed as a prostitute.”
She raised a brow. “You seem quite aware of what my profession requires.”
Heat filled his face, and he looked away from her gaze once more, thoroughly embarrassed. He must get hold of his wayward thoughts. She waited, watching him, and Salmon debated within himself whether to tell her the truth.
Her forehead knit with the tiniest of scowls. “Clearly you need something from me, my lord. If it is not my services, then please, either tell me or do not waste my time.” She shifted gracefully and stood.
Salmon jumped to his feet. “Can we trust you? Do you keep the secrets of your patrons?”
Rahab searched his face but did not smile. “Normally my patrons pay for my silence.” But as Salmon reached to pull out several pieces of silver, she waved his actions aside. “To simply talk is free.” She motioned toward a side door. “Come.”
Salmon followed, Mishael at his heels. She led them to an inner courtyard and a stairway leading to her roof. They walked in silence until they reached a small enclosure facing the city wall. Rahab opened a half door and showed them inside.
“I know by your clothing and beards that you are not from around here,” she said softly. “And I can tell by your eyes that you are not truly headed to Babylon. So tell me the truth. If you want my silence, tell me why you are here.”
Salmon nodded. “We have come from beyond the Jordan. We are Israelites.”
Crimson Cord : Rahab's Story (9781441221155) Page 12