This Scarlet Cord

by Joan Wolf

  Acclaim for Joan Wolf

  “Wolf holds our interest by skillfully conjuring up a fascinating version of Rahab’s story, successfully persuading us that the story is far more complex than merely a ‘scarlet cord.’”

  — Publishers Weekly review of

  This Scarlet Cord

  “Esther and the king make an appealing couple, and the supporting characters, even the one who comes to play the role of the villain, are three-dimensional and sympathetic. With a fast-paced plot and details that bring color to the story but don’t weigh it down, this is an excellent start to Wolf’s projected series of biblical romances.”

  — Historical Novels Review,

  regarding A Reluctant Queen

  “Wolf’s latest gives readers a wonderful glimpse into the life of Queen Esther. Readers will enjoy getting to know her as a woman beset with political ambition and family rivalries . . . [R]eaders will . . . enjoy this Cinderella tale come to life.”

  — Romantic Times review of

  A Reluctant Queen

  “In A Reluctant Queen author Joan Wolf’s creativity and excellent writing skills bring to life this powerful, timeless story of love, faith, and how God works His plans through ordinary people. She convincingly fills in the gaps of the biblical account with beautiful enhancements of the romance as well as the drama. While learning proper royal protocol and amid entanglement in palace intrigues, the unlikely happens: Queen Esther falls deeply in love with her husband. When she discovers the diabolical scheme of an evil high-ranking official against the Jewish nation, she has to make a decision that threatens her marriage and her life to save her people . . . With romance, wonderful characterizations, historically based accounts of the ancient Jewish and Persian cultures, and an amazing ending, this excellent read will be a hard-to-put-down winner for historical romance fans.”

  — CBA Retailers + Resources

  This Scarlet Cord

  Joan Wolf

  © 2012 by Joan Wolf

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

  Published in association with Natasha Kern Literary Agency, P.O. Box 1069, White Salmon, WA 98672.

  Scripture quotations taken from the NEW REVISED STANDARD VERSION of the Bible. © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. All rights reserved.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wolf, Joan.

  This scarlet cord / Joan Wolf.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-59554-877-1 (trade paper)

  I. Title.

  PS3573.O486S27 2012

  813'.54—dc23

  2012010908

  Printed in the United States of America

  12 13 14 15 16 QG 5 4 3 2 1

  For my beloved sister, Patricia Demarest

  A Note from the Author

  THE NAME OF RAHAB’S HUSBAND APPEARS AT THE beginning of Matthew’s gospel, where he is referred to as Salmon. His name also appears in Luke’s genealogy, where he is called Sala.* Since Salmon has a rather unfortunate fishy connotation for the modern reader, I have chosen to go with Sala.

  In regard to the language of the novel: the languages that would have been spoken by the characters in this book are Hebrew and Canaanite. These languages were closely related and were both part of the language group known as Western Semitic. What you will be reading is a “translation” into modern English.

  * New Revised Standard Version, 1989.

  Contents

  Part One: First Meeting

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Part Two: Second Meeting

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Part Three: The Walls of Jericho

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  A Letter to My Readers

  Reading Group Guide

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  PART ONE

  First Meeting

  One

  THE CARAVAN WAS HALFWAY TO JOPPA WHEN IT WAS attacked. Roaming groups of bandits were not uncommon in Canaan, but usually a large group of people traveling together was safe. These were not ordinary bandits, though; they were riding horses and wielding flashing bronze swords. The caravan was from a small farming village near Jericho and was composed of forty donkeys loaded down with the goods they hoped to ship from Joppa into Egypt. The villagers were virtually helpless before the onslaught.

  Rahab was at the back of the caravan with her mother and two of her brothers. Her father and her other brothers were toward the front, walking with the donkeys that carried their casks of precious wine. The boys and men had only sticks, but they shouted at the women to get behind them and bravely prepared to defend their own.

  At first, Rahab had been too startled to be afraid. Then, as one of her brothers pushed her behind him and she looked up to see an enormous horse bearing down upon them both, she screamed. The horse came on in a cloud of dust and Rahab felt her mother grab her cloak and pull her backward.

  Her brother raised his stick and held it braced right at the height of the oncoming horse’s chest. The horse swerved at the thrust and the horseman missed her brother with his thrusting sword. Rahab pulled herself from her mother’s grasp so she could drag her brother away from the plunging horse. As she grasped his tunic, she spared one fierce glare of hatred for the man who had managed to right his seat on the horse and was coming on again.

  There was chaos in the caravan. People were shouting and screaming and some of the loaded donkeys were being driven away by the bandits. The deadly swords cut down anyone who tried to go after the donkeys. Then before Rahab knew what was happening, the horseman plucked her away from her brother and lifted her to lie on her stomach before him on the horse.

  Rahab fought. She kicked at the horse’s legs, screamed, and squirmed to get away. The animal reared and she almost managed to slide down to safety. But cruel hands gripped her and the horse was swung around. Rahab heard her mother shouting her name. “Mama! Mama!” she screamed back. She kicked at the horse again and the man holding her muttered something, then raised his fist and hit her hard on the chin.

  Everything went dark.

  When Rahab came to, she was lying flat on her back. Her head was pounding, her jaw felt as if it were on fire, and her mouth was dry as sand. She lay still and looked around. What had happened? Where was she? How had she gotten here? Why did she hurt so much?

  She lifted her eyes and saw a tent roof over her; from outside the
tent walls came the sound of strange male voices. She tried to sit up, but her head hurt too much. She waited, breathing slowly, then tried again, ignoring the pain.

  As she sat there it slowly came back to her: the attack, the bandits, the horse, the man, her capture. It must have really happened because here she was in this unknown place. Had they taken anyone else? Her mother? Her father? Her brothers?

  Rahab was ashamed of the hope that shot through her at this thought. Of course she wished her family was safe, but she didn’t think she had ever wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted her father right now.

  The flap to the tent opened and someone came in. Suddenly Rahab was terrified. Was it the man who had taken her? What did he want? She was only twelve years old—what good could she be to anyone? She stared at the cloaked figure coming toward her in the dimness of the tent, her heart hammering. When she saw the figure was actually a woman, she felt almost giddy with relief.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” the woman said. She spoke Canaanite, but in an accent foreign to Rahab.

  “I want my father,” Rahab said, her voice trembling.

  “Your father is not here, girl, and you’ll have to get used to doing without him. Now, how are you feeling? I’m afraid Sahir hit you a little too hard; you’ve been out for quite a while.”

  You’ll have to get used to doing without him? What did that mean? Was her father dead?

  “Where is my father? My mother? My brothers?” she demanded. “Why am I here alone? Have you dared to hurt them?”

  She would kill this woman if her family was dead. She would kill all of these people. She didn’t care if she died too. She would do it.

  Rahab stared as hard as she could at the ugly middle-aged woman who was speaking to her. “Where are they?” she repeated in a louder voice.

  The woman shrugged. “I imagine they are on their way back to wherever they came from. The goods they were transporting so carefully to Joppa now belong to us. And you, my girl, apparently are one of those prizes, thanks to that idiot Sahir.”

  The woman bent over Rahab and put a hard hand on her forearm. “Get up and come outside. I want to look at you.”

  Rahab stumbled behind the woman out into the late day sunlight. Her headache ratcheted up as the brilliance of the day struck her eyes.

  “Look at me,” the woman said sharply.

  Rahab, who was almost as tall as the woman, stared at her unblinkingly.

  “Ah,” the woman breathed as she looked Rahab over from her head to her feet. Then she grasped Rahab’s sore chin in her fingers and turned her face slowly from one side to the other. “Perhaps Sahir was right after all. Even he has to be right sometimes, I suppose. You could be worth a fortune to us.”

  Rahab did not understand what the woman was talking about, but the calculating look in her eyes reminded Rahab of the way she had seen merchants look at wares they were thinking of buying. Her anger died, replaced by an intense, overpowering fear.

  The woman took Rahab back into the tent and remained with her for the remainder of the night. Two men were posted outside the tent flap, defeating any hopes Rahab had of escape. Finally she slept.

  When she woke in the morning, she could hear the noise from the camp outside. Men were talking and when a donkey brayed someone shouted a curse at it. She sat up, pushed her disheveled hair off her face, and looked around for the woman, whose name she had learned was Aya. The flap to the tent opened and the woman came in carrying a water jar.

  “Drink,” she said, pouring some of the water into a cup and handing it to Rahab. Rahab finished the cup and asked for more. After Rahab had finished the second cup, Aya said, “We will be leaving shortly. I’ll bring you some bread and dates to break your fast.”

  “Wait!” Rahab cried as the woman started to leave. “You must tell me why you have taken me. You have our donkeys and our wine. You don’t need me. Please, Aya, let me go!”

  “Idiot,” the woman said. “You are never going home to your pitiful little farm. You are going to Egypt, my girl. The great lords there have palaces a poor little peasant like you could never even dream of. You will dine off golden plates, eat perfectly prepared delicacies, and drink only the best of wines. You will be dressed in the finest of white linen and wear magnificent jewels to adorn your beauty. You will be cosseted as much as any grand Egyptian lady. One day you will thank us for what we have done for you. You’ll see.”

  Rahab stared at the furrowed, sunburned face of Aya in amazement. What could she be talking about? Why should she be treated like some grand lady?

  “Do you think I am an Egyptian?” she asked, wondering if Aya might be a little muddled in the head.

  The woman cast her eyes upward in disbelief at such stupidity. “No, you are not an Egyptian, girl. That face never came out of Egypt. But it will be part of the spice, you see, that you are different.”

  “No, I don’t see.” Unlike most girls in her culture, Rahab was accustomed to speaking her mind. As the only girl, and the youngest in the family, she had been indulged far beyond the limits of most girl children. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. She knew her voice was surprisingly husky for one her age.

  Aya’s slanted brown eyes narrowed. She said slowly and clearly, “We are going to sell you, my dear. One of those debauched Egyptian lords will pay a fortune for a chance to get his hands on you. Sahir knew it the minute he saw your face.” Her lips curled in a smile. “You are a defiant little thing too. I hear some of the lords relish a challenge.”

  Rahab did not fully understand what the woman was talking about, but she understood enough to know that, if these bandits had their way, her future would be horrible. They had something evil in mind for her and her skin prickled with fear. She couldn’t help the tears that came into her eyes.

  “Let me go home,” she begged. “Please, please, let me go home.”

  The tent fold opened again and this time a man came in. He was dressed in the usual costume of Canaan, a tunic that stopped halfway between his knees and his ankles, with leather sandals on his feet. His hair was mixed with gray but his beard was still mostly brown.

  He addressed himself to Aya. “I want to see this so-called prize myself before I go to the expense of shipping her off to Egypt.”

  Aya gestured toward the trembling Rahab. “There she is.”

  “Bring her outside so I can see better.”

  Rahab tried to hold her ground, but Aya pushed her so hard she fell to her knees.

  “Get up,” the woman said with contempt. “You’ll only make trouble for yourself by resisting.”

  In the part of Rahab’s brain that had not been paralyzed by fear, she realized the truth of this statement and walked out of the tent without further protest.

  The early morning sky was cloudless. It was autumn, and there was always the possibility of clouds, and perhaps even rain, coming in later, but the bright light showed Rahab the line of men on horseback and the huge collection of loaded donkeys that would make up their train.

  Rahab summoned all her courage and said to the man contemptuously, “You are filthy thieves who prey on good, hardworking people, and I despise you.”

  The man laughed. “I see we have a spitfire here.” He grabbed Rahab’s chin as Aya had done and held her face up to him. Her instinct was to pull away, but the pain in her jaw reminded her of what these people could do. She stared over his shoulder, pretending he was not there.

  “Amazing,” the man said. He dropped his hand and Rahab backed away. His eyes raked up and down her body. “How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “You look younger. Which is good—not a child but not yet a woman.” He reached out and ran a rough hand down the front of Rahab’s tunic. She gasped and pulled away.

  “Sweet little buds.” He looked at Aya. “She is perfect. We will get good money from the slavers for her.”

  Rahab finally understood. “No!” she screamed. “No! No! No! I won’t be a slave! You can’
t make me!”

  “Oh, I rather think we can,” the evil man said. “Tie her up, Aya, but be careful. I don’t want her marked; it will affect her value.”

  “Aye, Ugar. I understand.”

  Rahab fought, but she was helpless against the strength of the two men who came to help Aya bind her hands and feet and load her into a litter.

  Two

  IT’S A LITTLE BIGGER THAN RAMAC, EH? ” NAHSHON asked his son, who seemed to have become as tall as he was overnight.

  “More than a little,” Sala replied as he looked around the teeming waterfront. Gaza was one of the greatest ports on the Great Sea, a stronghold that once was part of Canaan but had been annexed by Egypt years before. Sala’s father was a successful merchant in the smaller port of Ramac, farther north on the coast of Canaan, and he was in Gaza to purchase a new boat to accommodate his increasing shipping business. Nahshon might be a Jew, but everyone knew the Egyptians made the best ships in the world. And when it came to business, Nahshon was not fussy about who he associated with.

  Father and son stood together under the bright afternoon sun, their eyes taking in the sights in front of them. Dark-skinned porters carried heavy loads on their backs to and from the many ships docked along the wharves; merchants haggled over the prices of their wares, and a crowd of noisy urchins clustered around a man with a bright-colored bird in a cage. Then there were the sailors with packs on their backs shoving their way through the crowds, probably headed for an inn and a jug of wine. Ramac had a busy waterfront too, but Sala had never seen anything as loud, colorful, and crowded as this.

  “Come,” Nahshon said, and Sala followed his father down the cobbled path to the wharves, where more ships were tied up than Sala had ever seen in his life. His eyes darted from one to the next, admiring the furled colored sails and the gleaming wood. His father stopped in front of a sturdy wooden boat whose broad deck was neatly stacked with barrels of wine and bales of wool. The top of the boat’s tallest mast bore the carved figure of a winged woman looking proudly forward.