by Joan Wolf
She listened as Sala said, “The Israelites would be mad to try to attack this city, sir. The walls . . .” He lifted his hands and shrugged to demonstrate the uselessness of any attack on such a monstrous barrier.
“We know that,” Rahab’s father answered. “But do they?”
“They will once they get a good look,” Sala replied. “Believe me, sir, we are here to trade with Jericho, not to collude in her destruction. Jericho’s fall will hurt our business, not help us. Self-interest alone demands that we wish you well.”
This sounded like an excellent argument to Rahab and she nodded vigorously in agreement.
Atene touched her hand and frowned slightly. Rahab understood her sister-in-law was warning her not to appear to be taking sides, and she nodded.
Shemu was saying, “About your scheme to ship our products, have you had any success in finding a party interested in selling to you?”
Lord Nahshon said, “We have just had a meeting with several of the city’s lords and they have indicated they are indeed interested.”
Mepu’s glare was full of outrage. “The lords? What do they have to say about our harvests? It’s the farmers you should be speaking to!”
“I should be more than happy to speak to the farmers,” Lord Nahshon replied, his voice calm and decisive.
Rahab looked pleadingly at her mother. Kata turned to her husband and said softly, “There is no reason to give them away, my husband. They can help you to sell your extra wine and we owe them so much. They saved your daughter’s life, remember.”
Mepu stared first at Sala and then at Lord Nahshon, then he said irritably, “I suppose I cannot, in honor, repay them by turning them into the authorities.” He focused his hard stare on Lord Nahshon. “But I won’t have you buying farm products from the nobles. They’ll pocket all the money and we will get nothing.”
Rahab had to restrain herself from clapping her hands in glee. It was going to be all right!
Lord Nahshon said, “That most certainly appeared to be their plan.”
“We have some talking to do, you and I.”
“Yes, indeed we do. Where are you staying?”
“We’re renting a house from my brother—it’s only two streets away from here.”
“Good.” Lord Nahshon glanced around the deserted common room. “This is often a busy place. I wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing business here.”
“It is probably best to meet in a place where no one recognizes us, one of the wine shops perhaps. I will speak to you tomorrow.”
Mepu rose, and Rahab and the rest of the family stood up as well. “I will be in touch with you.”
Lord Nahshon lifted a hand. “One other thing. We have dropped our Israelite names. In Jericho I am called Debir and my son is Arut.”
Mepu’s look was sour but he said, “All right.”
As her family turned away from the table, Rahab sneaked a look at Sala. He was watching her.
“Rahab!” her father called, and she turned away.
Rahab was so excited that night she could not fall asleep. Now that the third floor had been cleaned up, she had the room all to herself so her wakefulness did not disturb anyone else. She crossed her arms behind her head, stared up into the darkness, and thought about Sala.
She couldn’t believe they had actually met. She had thought about him so often in the last few years, she had hoped she could find a husband who would be like him, and now here he was—in person—himself!
She wiggled with excitement. He had recognized her. Perhaps he had thought of her as often as she had thought of him. Perhaps . . .
Her father had brought her to Jericho to find her a wealthy husband. Sala’s family was wealthy, she thought. They had a big house in Ramac, and Lord Nahshon owned a whole fleet of ships.
The thought flitted across her mind that perhaps she might marry Sala. Then she thought of the things her father and brothers had been saying about the Israelites.
Everyone she knew hated the Israelites now that they had come back from Egypt and begun to terrorize the local nations. Her father had been outraged when he learned they had killed all the men, women, and children in Og. “They will never take Canaan,” Mepu had said. “Jericho will save us.”
All of the euphoria Rahab had felt at meeting Sala again came crashing down. Even if by some miracle her father would permit her to marry an Israelite, Sala was probably married already. Married to some Israelite girl of whom his mother approved. She had never approved of Rahab.
Rahab felt tears prick behind her eyes. She would be forced to marry some dull man who thought only about money. Some man whose eyes were cold, not full of warmth and understanding. Some man whose mouth was pinched and tight, not always ready to break into a smile. Some hideous, ugly person she would have to put up with for the rest of her miserable life.
She felt the vitality draining out of her as she thought about her future. But there was nothing she could do. Her father would choose her husband and she would obey. Sala would go home to his wife and have a wonderful life in his pretty town on the Great Sea. His wife would probably even get to ride in a boat!
But he had saved her life. Surely that created a special bond between them. When they had parted, she remembered asking him if they would meet again, and he had answered it was in the hands of Elohim. Perhaps this Elohim had brought him here to Jericho, at just the time when she was here too.
Suddenly Rahab felt how hot and airless the bedroom was. She sat up, lifting her hair off her neck to feel cooler. She wanted a drink of water but she didn’t want to go all the way downstairs to get it.
Was there any hope for them at all? If there wasn’t, then Rahab thought she might as well be dead.
Ten
PRINCE TAMUR WAS HAVING BREAKFAST AT THE PALACE with his closest companion, Farut. The king’s residence had some thirty rooms, with three large courtyards and half a dozen staircases leading to the upper floor. The prince had his own apartment and courtyard, completely separated from the rooms used by his father, the king.
Tamur was a tall, handsome young man, with black hair and flashing black eyes. In the last year, as the king had noticeably failed in health, those eyes had grown hungrier and hungrier.
He was tired of waiting for his father to die; he felt he should be the king right now, when they were in danger of being attacked by the Israelites. Jericho needed a young and energetic king, not an old and tired one. The city needed a king who could truly represent the strength, the power, the potency of Baal. Once his father had done that, but he was an old man now. His time was over.
Farut, who was Tamur’s age and had been brought up with him, had just come from a meeting with his own father, the commander of the king’s army.
“Makamaron will not abdicate to you. My father is certain about that. The king is determined to make the sacred marriage with the hierodule and prove the validity of his claim to retain the kingship.”
“What does your father think about this?”
Farut shrugged. “All of these old men are hanging together, my lord. My father says he is convinced that Makamaron is fully capable of completing the marriage act.”
“That’s not what I have heard from his concubines.” Tamur, who had been toying with the fruit on his plate, set his jaw in a determined line. “He was barely capable last year. If he fails this year, then the rains will not come and the land will dry up and the crops will not grow. He is risking the well-being of the whole kingdom with his stubbornness!”
Farut said, “My father says that the power of Baal will overshadow him, that the god will give him strength.”
The two young men were meeting in the privacy of the prince’s bedroom. The coverings on the carved wooden bedstead were still rumpled from the night, and the table between the cushioned chairs by the narrow window where the prince and his friend sat was set with fruit and breads. Neither man had touched the various honey and nut rolls that lay so temptingly before them.
“What about the hierodule—Arsay?” the prince asked. “You were going to have her brother speak to her. Has Bari done so?”
“Yes. There is good news there. If the king fails in his duty, she will speak up.”
Tamur let his breath out as if he had been holding it for a long time. “So. We should be safe then. Once she announces that he has failed, I will demand he step down from his throne so I may sit upon it.”
“Bari says we can count on the truthfulness of his sister. She does not want to be blamed if the rains do not fall this winter.”
“Good.” Tamur reached his arms over his head and stretched. “Very, very good. If my father is faced with his failure, he will be forced to concede the rule to me. The city will demand it.”
“Many of them are in favor of you taking the throne right now. The reception you received in the street yesterday was proof enough of that.”
The prince looked pleased. Then he tilted his head and gave his friend a considering look. “Do you remember that stunning girl we saw yesterday?”
Farut laughed. “It would be hard to forget her. That mouth! A man could die just looking at her mouth.”
The prince drummed his fingers on the tabletop. He was well known in Jericho as a lover of beautiful women.
Farut said, “Her family looked like respectable country people, my prince. Perhaps it would not be wise just now to do anything that might upset the lower classes. You will need them on your side when you become king, especially with the Israelites on our doorstep.”
Tamur flung himself back in his chair. “I suppose you’re right. Oh well. The girl will keep. Right now, we must concentrate on how we are going to manage the exchange of power.”
Sala had not slept well that night and was up the moment the first fingers of light crept into the sky. Lord Nahshon was still sleeping soundly, so Sala went down the stairs and out into the narrow street, hoping the morning air would clear his brain.
The empty street was quiet as only the gentle sliding of night into day can be quiet. He found himself thinking, Rahab is only two streets away.
He had thought he remembered Rahab quite clearly, but when he had seen her yesterday her beauty had struck him almost physically. It was hard to reconcile the woman before him with the child he had saved.
But he remembered the joyous smile she had given him when they met, the quick glance over her shoulder as they left, the lift of her eyebrows when he had looked at her. It was possible, he thought with a lifting of his heart. It was possible that it was truly Rahab behind that new woman’s face.
There had always been a special connection between them. Perhaps it was just that he had saved her from the horror of slavery, that he felt responsible for her and in turn she had felt grateful and obliged to him.
He grinned. He doubted Rahab had ever felt obliged to anyone. She had a freedom of spirit he had never found in any other girl. Boys would sometimes have it, but never girls.
She wasn’t married. From what he and his father had surmised last night after her family had left, her father had brought her to Jericho to find her a wealthy husband. He will be successful. That smile would knock any man off his balance.
Sala scowled at the thought. He did not like the idea of Rahab marrying some arrogant Jericho noble. She should marry someone who would appreciate her special spirit, someone who . . .
His mind shied away from the thought. He and Rahab could never marry. She was a Canaanite. Her religion was anathema to Elohim and His people.
Sala had heard how Moses had treated his own men when he discovered they had participated in the rites of Baal and had relations with the women of Moab. Moses had commanded that every one of the guilty Israelite males, his own people, should be executed. The sentence had been carried out immediately.
Nahshon himself had approved of this punishment when the men of Ramac were discussing it at their weekly gathering. Sala’s father was the acknowledged leader of the gathering, and all the others had agreed with his condemnation of any Israelite man who would do such a filthy thing.
What would his father say if Sala told him he would like to marry Rahab?
Sala shuddered. He was mad to even entertain the thought of marriage to a Canaanite. She stood for everything he was against. Her beauty was a temptation he had to resist.
But . . . it was not just her looks that attracted him. It was her spirit. There were beautiful girls in Ramac, but none of them had the joy of life that Rahab had. None of them made him feel he wanted to spend his life with them. In contrast to her, they were dull, dull, dull.
While he had been standing in front of the inn meditating, the street had been waking up. Shops were opening their front doors and women were carrying water jars to fill at the spring. The smell of bread baking drifted to his nose. His father would be wondering where he was.
Feeling no better for this extended talk with himself, Sala went slowly back into the inn.
Mepu and Shemu were also early risers. They washed their faces and hands in the kitchen basin and went outdoors to buy some bread from the bake shop at the end of the street. There was no courtyard at the back of this tiny house, only the city wall, and Kata had refused to try to bake in the miniscule kitchen. In consequence they had become regular customers at the bake shop.
There were a few people before them, and they waited patiently, wearing their shawls against the cool morning air. The day of the festival of the New Year, when the hours of light equaled the hours of darkness, was quickly approaching, and the weather was warming. The flax had already been harvested and soon the barley crop would be ready. The winter rains were gone and the heat of summer had not yet set in. It was the best time of the year.
“It is a shame to be cooped up in a city on such a day as this,” Shemu murmured to his father.
“I know. But it will be worth it if we can get Rahab settled.”
“Another good thing has come out of our visit. We found out about those greedy nobles trying to sell our crops out from under us,” Shemu said.
Mepu nodded, looked around at the other customers, then gestured for Shemu to hold his tongue. His son nodded.
They bought bread and nut cakes and took them back to the house. There was a small room just inside the front door that served as the family gathering place, and Mepu put the basket of breads down on the single low table. The seating in the room consisted of cushions on the floor, and the two men each lowered themselves with the ease of long practice to a cross-legged position.
Mepu said, “I have been thinking. I do not like it that those two Israelites are here in Jericho. The boy was glib enough about their business scheme, but the more I think about it the more I do not like them being here.”
Shemu, who was waiting for his father to take the first bite of food, replied, “I thought their reason for coming sounded plausible enough. It was our own scheme, remember, and it was a good one.”
Mepu took a bite of nut bread and chewed reflectively. “It might be plausible, but it still makes me uneasy. There is an Israelite army less than twenty miles away, and we all know what they have done to the kingdoms south of us. No one has been able to stand against them. And now they are poised at the very entrance to Canaan and we have two Israelites walking around Jericho. Disguised as Canaanites.”
“It could be coincidence that they decided to come at this time.”
“Perhaps.” Mepu did not look convinced.
Shemu bit into his own crusty slice of fresh baked bread. “What do you think we should do?”
“We could turn them in to the authorities, I suppose, but Rahab was right. I cannot forget the debt I owe them. Without that young man’s intervention . . .”
Shemu nodded. “They were good to her. The son saved her from the slavers and the father kept her safe. No one molested her. And he sent for us to come and get her. There was no reason except for kindness for them to have been so careful of her welfare.”
Mepu looked glum. “I know.”
“They are rich too, Father. I saw their house in Ramac, and Rahab said the father owns many ships. Families like that might hesitate to throw in their lot with a group of barbarian invaders. The Israelites have lived in this country for as long as we have. Why should their loyalty be to this foreign group and not to us?”
Mepu took another bite of bread. “Perhaps you are right, Shemu. In truth, I do not know what to think about them.”
Shemu said, “Let us look at this situation differently. If they are here as spies, they will be planning to report whatever they find out to the Israelite army. Is this not so?”
Mepu nodded agreement.
“But what is there to report? They will have to inform the Israelites that the walls of Jericho are unassailable, that the city is stocked with grain, and, finally, that one of the finest springs in all of Canaan lies within the safety of our walls. Even if the whole of the surrounding countryside moves into the city, we can withstand an extended siege.”
“They would be spies who bring only bad news to their people.”
Shemu smiled. “Perhaps it would not be a bad thing for them to carry that news to our enemy.”
“Clever thinking. Very clever.”
Shemu looked pleased. “And there is always the possibility they are not spies at all. They might be here for the reason they gave us. They might want to do business with us.”
Mepu’s jaw tightened. “If that is the case, we must be certain they deal with us and not with the greedy nobles. Those bloodsuckers would buy up all of our produce and sell it at an inflated price.”
“They said they had already spoken to a few nobles. We must act quickly if we are not to lose out.”
“Yes. I said I would be in touch with them. After breakfast you must go to their inn and see if you can set up a meeting.”
They both turned their heads as they heard the sound of steps on the stairs. It was Kata. She gave them an approving smile as she came into the room. “I see you have been to the bake shop already.”