She shivered at the thought, telling herself it wasn’t true. Joshua had spared her because she had helped his men. Still, perhaps Joshua had failed his God by saving her. Or perhaps her family leaving Israel’s protection was the cause.
She rose against the chill of night and wrapped her cloak about her, padding softly past the sleeping cat, and stepped into the moonlight. The camp lay in quiet slumber around her. Only the distant howl of a wolf or jackal disturbed the silence. She left her torch in its stand outside her door and crept quietly around the circle of tents surrounding Joshua’s.
Worry weighted her spirit, and she felt the stirrings of doubt in her soul. Memories of Jericho’s broken walls—everything fallen except her house—rose in her thoughts. Surely God alone had done such a thing. Surely He had meant for her to live because she had put her trust in Him. Hadn’t He?
She rounded the bend, heading back toward her tent. Sounds of weeping met her ear, and she wondered if the tears came from the tent of one who had lost a loved one in the war. Did Mishael’s family live near here? She was suddenly grateful Adara was not here to witness Mishael’s loss. If she had married him, she would already be widowed.
The thought unnerved her. She could not imagine her little sister having to live through the things she had suffered in losing Gamal.
But whoever was guilty of angering Israel’s God—what kind of judgment would they suffer? Jericho’s burning embers filled her mind’s eye, and her feet were suddenly no longer sluggish. She lifted the edge of her cloak and hurried as quickly as she could back to her tent.
Dawn came too early, and Rahab rose with the women of Joshua’s household to prepare the morning meal, but Joshua and the elders ate nothing as the tribes gathered in the center of the camp. Rahab stood in the shadows as Joshua called the tribes one by one, in order of birth. Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah.
“The Lord has chosen Judah,” Joshua said, his face rugged and stern. “All of the clans of Judah, come forward.”
Rahab glanced at the group, Salmon’s tribe. Fear slithered through her, a living thing, as she watched Salmon walk with the tribe to face Joshua. Would Salmon be punished for his promise, the promise that had saved her life? She had coaxed it from him, had bargained for it as easily as she had told so many lies to the men who shared her bed. All for the sake of her freedom. But at what cost to Salmon, to Israel? She placed a hand on her middle, trying to quell the sickening dread.
Joshua looked the men over, then closed his eyes as if listening for direction. “The clan of Zerah, come forward.”
Rahab released a shaky breath as she watched Salmon step back. She did not know the clans of Israel, but apparently Zerah was not Salmon’s ancestor. Which meant he could not be guilty of promising to save her. She searched quickly around for a stone to sit upon, fearing her legs would not hold her.
Joshua repeated the process, listening for the Lord’s choice. “The family of Zimri, come forward.” The men of Zimri’s family stepped in front of Joshua one at a time, man by man. At last Joshua continued. “Achan son of Karmi, the son of Zimri, the son of Zerah, of the tribe of Judah, the Lord has chosen you. Now, my son, give glory to the Lord, the God of Israel, and honor him. Tell me what you have done. Do not hide it from me.”
Achan’s face turned ashen as though he would faint. He lifted his hands in supplication and fell to his knees. “It is true! I have sinned against the Lord, the God of Israel. This is what I have done: when I saw in the plunder a beautiful robe from Babylonia, two hundred shekels of silver, and a bar of gold weighing fifty shekels, I coveted them and took them. They are hidden in the ground inside my tent, with the silver underneath.”
Joshua glanced at Salmon and Othniel. “Go and find the items.”
The space of too many heartbeats later, with Achan weeping on his knees, Rahab watched as Salmon and Othniel brought the items to Joshua. Her breath caught. The robe had belonged to Prince Nahid. Her heart thumped hard as she remembered. He had worn it with pride on the day of the Feast of Keret, when he had “married” her. Mishael had died for a robe? One she could have duplicated if they had asked.
Sorrow filled her as Salmon and Othniel laid the rest of the items on the ground before all Israel, spread out before the Lord.
“Thus says the Lord.” Joshua’s voice rang with power over the camp, and Rahab shivered at its strength. “‘Whoever is caught with the devoted things shall be destroyed by fire, along with all that belongs to him. He has violated the covenant of the Lord and has done an outrageous thing in Israel!’”
Joshua’s gaze took in the whole camp, then landed on the elders closest to him. “Gather everything and bring Achan, son of Zerah, his sons and his daughters, his cattle, donkeys, and sheep, his tent, and all that he has to the Valley of Achor.”
Rahab watched as the men quickly obeyed, lifting a weeping Achan and grasping the hands of his family. High-pitched wails came from his daughters and curses on Achan from his sons. Rahab watched, dumbstruck. Were they really going to destroy all?
Joshua’s wife and daughters followed the crowd to the Valley of Achor, and Rahab was swept along with them, her curiosity making it impossible for her to stay away. What kind of God would spare a foreign prostitute and destroy some of His own people?
“Why have you brought this trouble on us?” Joshua asked as the crowd stood on the hillsides of the Valley of Achor, Achan and his family and belongings huddled together in the center of the small valley. “The Lord will bring trouble on you today.”
Salmon looked on, willing his limbs to stop trembling. When Judah had been chosen, he had feared—he still could not quite accept the relief he had felt when he discovered his clan was not among the guilty. His father was descended from Perez, one of Judah’s twins by Tamar; Zerah was the other twin. He sighed. So promising to save Rahab had not angered God or caused this defeat.
Still, how easy it would have been to want to keep some of the spoils of the wealthy Jericho. He shuddered to think that he could have succumbed to the same temptation.
He looked up at the sound of a high-pitched shriek. The first volley of stones had hit their marks, bruising Achan and his sons and daughters. Salmon looked on, numb, unable to force his arm to throw the rock in his hand. Were they not all guilty of coveting things similar to what Achan had taken? If not for the tangible evidence, no one but God would have known. No one but God could read the hearts of those exacting His judgment now.
But Mishael had died because of this man.
And yet, as the feeling of vengeance rose upon him for his friend’s sake, he could not look into the valley below without remorse for his own sense of utter failure. He had pledged to obey the law of God. To accept that law meant accepting both the blessing and the cursing that came with it. If only blessing were all that ever followed Israel’s actions. How much easier it would be to create a god he could manage, one who did not demand something so impossible as do not covet a neighbor’s possessions.
He looked down at Achan, seeing himself. What a wretched man he was!
He glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed Rahab not far from him, standing behind Joshua’s wife and daughters. More cries came from the valley below as men circled the rim. He turned, forcing weighty limbs to carry him closer. Forgive me, Adonai. I find this law . . . so difficult.
But he stayed with the men out of obedience, casting stones down on Achan until the last voice fell silent and the torches were tossed below, turning everything Achan had held dear to ash.
Salmon stepped back to join Joshua and the other elders of Israel. No one spoke. How did one discuss something so weighty? He had done as he’d been told. But his feet moved as through a sluggish, muddy stream. Fear gripped him, and for the briefest moment he understood how his father must have felt when judgment from Moses told him he would die in the wilderness. All because he had put fear above faith.
Salmon fell to the rear of the group, feeling those same fears grip him now, his thoughts churning. He
cast a glance behind him toward the women and children but saw no sign of Rahab. He wasn’t surprised. Israel’s God probably made even less sense to her.
Had she known the man who had worn that robe?
The sudden thought came from some dark place within him, the place that could not forget the past—and could not forgive his father or Zimri and now Achan, men whose acts had harmed so many.
He picked up his pace to join the elders, no longer wishing to be so close to the women. What Rahab knew or did was no concern of his.
Rahab sat with Joshua’s wife and daughters near the central fire pit later that evening, grinding grain for the meal, grateful for the quiet. And yet a part of it unnerved her. Noise, even the squabbling of children, would dispel the sounds in her head, the cries of Achan’s family. But the women worked in silence, and Rahab could not keep her thoughts from wandering back to that awful moment when she watched Salmon throw his first stone. Of course, he had killed the enemy in battle, but this judgment did not make sense. Was Israel’s God like the exacting vengeful gods of Canaan’s pantheon? Had she traded one faith for another only to find it the same? And yet, clearly Israel’s God held more power.
She looked up as the sound of male voices drew closer. Men walked slowly toward Joshua’s tent, Salmon coming at the last. He glanced in her direction and raised a brow as if he was surprised to see her there. She gave him a polite nod, then bent over the grindstone again, the noise drowning out the words of the men.
She looked through slightly lifted lashes to see Salmon and the elders enter Joshua’s tent. Good. She did not have to speak to him. She was not sure how she would respond if he sought her out. She was still so confused by him, by his God, by justice and mercy. If a man or woman broke the law in Jericho, they worked until they had repaid their debt. Very seldom were they granted mercy there. Memories of Gamal’s short-lived grace entered her mind. If Gamal had not been such a fool, perhaps she would have tasted mercy the rest of her life.
“Rahab?” Eliana spoke, jarring her thoughts to the present.
“Yes, mistress?” She stopped the grindstone and brushed the dust from her hands.
“Please, it’s just Eliana.” She smiled, easing some of Rahab’s concerns with her genuine acceptance. “I wondered if you would take some of the mint water to the men in the receiving room. I’m sure they are thirsty after such a day as this.”
Rahab stood and wiped her hands on the sides of her robe. “Of course. I am happy to oblige.” She was willing to help, to repay Joshua through his family, but the lie that she was happy to do so tasted bitter.
She entered the tent with the jug of mint water and poured some into several clay cups, then carried them to each man, keeping her eyes downcast. When she reached Salmon’s side, she quickly placed the cup near him for him to reach without encountering her touch. Such contact would only embarrass him and mortify her.
“Thank you,” Salmon said, the soft timbre of his voice jolting her.
She nodded without meeting his gaze, then quickly backed away and hurried from the tent, feeling as though his words had scorched her. She must stop this nonsense, this foolish attraction to the man. Salmon could not possibly care even a little for a prostitute.
She returned to her duties at Eliana’s side, gathered up the flour, and took it to the area to the side of the tent where the brick oven stood. There she kneaded the flour and water until her arms ached, wishing the action could undo all of her past, all of her restless thoughts.
But as the bread baked on the brick stones, she felt no better than she had since her family had left her, despite Joshua’s family’s acceptance. Abandoned and alone, even in the midst of thousands of people.
28
Salmon sipped the mint water Rahab had handed him, his gaze following her but a moment, then he looked quickly away. Why did she act as though she could not even approach him? Had he offended her? Silent chastisement followed that thought. What did it matter what she thought of him?
“The Lord spoke to me this afternoon,” Joshua said, interrupting Salmon’s musings. “The Lord said, ‘Do not be afraid, do not be discouraged. Take the whole army with you, and go up and attack Ai. For I have delivered into your hands the king of Ai, his people, his city, and his land. You shall do to Ai and its king as you did to Jericho and its king, except that you may carry off their plunder and livestock for yourselves. Set an ambush behind the city.”
Salmon thought of their previous attempts to do just that. Why should this time be any different? But he did not voice the question. He could either try again and risk a second defeat, or fear loss and not even try. For Mishael’s sake, he had no choice.
“I want you to call the men to arms. In the morning we will travel to the place of ambush between Bethel and Ai. There I will give you the Lord’s instructions.” Joshua looked from one man to the next, twelve leaders, one from each of the tribes of Israel. “Any questions?”
Salmon glanced at his comrades, but the sobering activity of the morning seemed to silence each one.
“It will be as you have commanded, my lord,” Salmon said. “We will go now and call the army to be ready for battle at dawn.”
Joshua met Salmon’s gaze, then took in the group. “Be strong and courageous, all of you. Achan’s treachery hurt us all, but we have dealt with him and those who shared in his guilt. It is time to go out and obey the Lord and take this city.”
As the men rose and left Joshua’s tent, Salmon turned at a touch on his shoulder. “When you are finished,” Joshua said, “return and take the evening meal with us.”
Salmon nodded. “Thank you, my lord.” He stepped into the fading sunlight and looked around the work area of Joshua’s tent, but saw no sign of Rahab. Why was she spending time near Joshua’s women? Where was she living?
He walked away, thinking to ask Joshua later that evening, but as he headed in the direction of his tribe, he spotted her sitting at the door of a small tent, working flax with her hands. The cat she cherished lay curled at her side.
Rahab looked up at the sound of men hurrying past her tent. She had not stayed with Joshua’s wife Eliana after the encounter with Salmon, however minor it had been. The sight of him sitting with Joshua and the elders was too great a reminder of powerful men . . . of Jericho . . . even those of Syria who had taken Gamal away. Gamal. How long it had been since her thoughts had strayed to him.
Was he still living?
Why did she even care about such a thing? Tzadok had hinted that the Syrians would sell him to torturers, and Dabir had insisted Gamal was dead, though he’d had no written communication to show her to prove that his words were not just another one of his many lies. Dabir would say the moon was square and make men believe him when he was at his most charming. And she, to her great shame, had wanted to believe him about Gamal—in fact, had often believed him.
She drew in a breath as memories washed over her and grief settled in her heart. For the first time since Jericho’s fall, she saw her aching loneliness for what it was. She’d been abandoned by everyone she loved. Why had she stayed in Israel? Egypt was not so bad that she could not have survived. Her family would have protected her. She could have proclaimed herself a widow and allowed her father to pick a new husband for her.
Who would pick a husband for her here?
She shook herself. She did not want another man. Men were untrustworthy.
She glanced up, sensing someone watching her. Salmon. Now what did he want? She waited, knowing it would be impolite to ignore him.
“May I help you?”
He stood a moment without a response.
“I thought you were with your family outside of the camp.” He studied her, his gaze somber, curious.
“My family moved on to Egypt,” she said, looking at the half-finished flaxen basket in her lap.
“When?” His voice had dropped in pitch, and she glanced up again, sensing his genuine concern. She supposed he deserved an explanation for saving her l
ife.
“About a week after you rescued us. My father and brothers could not abide the strict rules of your God.” She held his gaze. “So they left.”
“But you remained.”
“Yes.”
Silence followed her remark, and he gave his head a little shake as if trying to understand. “Why?” he said at last. “They are your family.”
She stroked the cat and looked beyond him, fighting the sudden emotion his comment evoked. “Your God saved my life. I could not leave one so powerful.”
Salmon stared at her, but his expression revealed little. “He is a God of blessing and of cursing, as you saw today.”
She nodded, recalling Achan’s weeping. “It should have been me in Achan’s place.” She straightened, setting the basket aside. “So I have seen your God’s mercy to the undeserving.”
Salmon nodded. “Your faith is great, Rahab.” He took a step back, looked as though he might say something more, then simply nodded and walked away.
Rahab watched him go. He was wrong. If he knew her thoughts, he would know what little faith she clung to. This God of Israel was beyond her understanding. And she was not sure she wanted to understand.
Salmon held a cup of red grape juice to his lips. They had not lived in the land long enough to turn the juice to wine, but the taste of the fresh juice was one he savored, after so many years of the same diet of manna, quail, and water in the wilderness.
The women had left them alone, and dusk had descended over the camp. “I should go to my tent and rest, but I am finding that meal has made me feel too good to move. Thank you for inviting me, Joshua.”
Joshua nodded, sipped from his own cup, then wiped the red stain from his beard with the back of his hand. “You are welcome to eat with us anytime, my friend. I know it cannot be easy without a family of your own.” Joshua looked at him, his gaze thoughtful, and Salmon felt the unfamiliar desire to squirm like he had done when his father spoke to him as a child. “I wonder,” Joshua said, setting the cup beside him on a low table, “if you have given any thought to marriage. I know we have been busy with war these several years, and many men have put off taking a wife, but it is not good for a man to be alone.”
Crimson Cord : Rahab's Story (9781441221155) Page 20