Watching the celebration around her with disgust, she was determined to find some way to escape slavery. She knew she must accomplish her goal without her family’s help, and in the process she could trust no one. Rahab did not understand why she felt it was important not to cry. Nevertheless, she made a fierce promise to herself not to reveal her true emotions tonight. Maybe never again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When she was certain the rest of the household was asleep, Rahab stole into the courtyard. She sat for a while in the corner where in the past she and Rohat occasionally whispered secrets to each other in the middle of the night. Staring up at the full moon, she wondered again what her sister was doing. How convincing Karmot sounded after Rondar left, when he vowed never again sell one of his daughters. Rahab was as angry at herself for trusting as she was at her father for lying. She wondered whether Karmot believed what he said at the time.
She considered whether Rima’s death was a better or worse fate than Rondar’s. Then she went to the water crock, tipping it just enough to let the liquid trickle out without making a splashing noise. After assuring herself there was no water remaining for the morning preparations, she went back to bed.
* * *
“Rahab.” Bilda tugged at her bare foot. How did the night pass so quickly? “Go to the well and fetch some water.”
“Water?” she asked sleepily.
“Yes. I thought we had plenty, but this morning I find none. Hurry, before the men awaken.”
As the fog of sleep faded, Rahab gathered her wits. She hastily put on the fine tunic from the temple, tying the belt around her waist underneath so it could not be seen.
When she went to the courtyard for a carrying pouch, Bilda said, “You cannot wear that.”
“They kept my other one, remember?” The tunic left behind at the temple was the only garment Rahab possessed.
“Um,” Bilda replied. “Keep it clean, then. And be careful. There are many takers out before sunrise.”
Outside, Rahab ran through the dark streets to the nearest community well. “What is a rich girl doing drawing water?” a dark-eyed young woman asked.
Rahab smiled to think the very question she expected was asked. “I am to be married today, mira. My future husband’s mother sent me this tunic as a wedding gift.”
The young woman nodded. “May Baal grant you fortune in your new life.”
“You are so young to be a bride,” an old woman said, patting the top of Rahab’s head.
Not certain how to respond, Rahab smiled.
“Yes,” the first woman said, “They get younger all the time. My niece was hardly weaned when the first marriage proposal came to my brother’s house.”
Leaving the women talking with each other, Rahab drew water quickly. She walked home as fast as possible with the heavy pouch hanging from the rope on her shoulder. Rounding the corner to her house, she took a deep breath. Until this moment the plans were contained inside her thoughts, but now it was time either to act or to surrender. Leaning the water pouch against the door, she backed slowly toward the corner. Once there, she turned and ran as fast as she could toward the market district.
When she was out of breath and able to run no further, Rahab retied the scarlet belt on the outside of her tunic. If only she had some sandals she could pose as a member of the upper class. She walked past shops and stalls, regretting her untamed hair and hoping not to draw too much attention to herself.
The fortune tellers were just setting up their shelters when Rahab located the area where they did business. She stood back, wondering how to select the booth where she would seek advice. Should she consult the toothless old hag or the fresh-faced girl not much older than herself? She hoped the three beads she took from the pouch hanging on a peg near her parents’ sleeping mat were enough.
After preparing for customers who were not yet present, the women stood in a cluster, eating flatbread. “Do you want to know your destiny?” one asked Rahab.
Since the silent smile worked before, Rahab tried it again.
“You will marry a handsome prince and live happily ever after,” someone from the group called out, causing her companions to howl with laughter.
Just as she decided the toothless woman’s years should have taught her the most wisdom, a man sauntered into the old hag’s tent and sat cross-legged facing the fortune teller. Rahab paced back and forth, uncertain whether to wait or make another selection. The shelters were identical except for the bright fabrics used to decorate them. Why not go to the tent with the prettiest colors? She scanned the area, looking for a striking combination.
“Welcome,” said the slender woman under the tent with the yellow festoons. “So you want to find out what the future holds for you.”
“Yes, mira.” Rahab sat opposite the fortune teller just as she saw the toothless one’s customer settle himself earlier.
“What do you have to trade for the knowledge I can reveal?” The woman’s large brown eyes were fixed on some distant point. Her scarf and tunic were the same bright yellow as the tent’s decorations. Numerous metal disks strung together into a ponderous necklace completed her outfit.
Hoping to make a good bargain, Rahab offered one bead.
“Where are your sandals?” the woman asked, still not looking directly at Rahab.
Having no lie prepared in advance, she said, “My mother traded them for wine.”
“Where is your mother?”
“In the fields, or perhaps on her way there. I do not know. Is my bead enough?”
“And your father?”
“He is at home. A weakness in his legs forces him to lie on his sleeping mat most of the day.”
“You are not dressed like a girl whose mother works in the fields.”
Rahab was annoyed by so many preliminaries. “I was offered for sale to the Temple of Ashtoreth yesterday. After they gave me a tunic, the high priestess said she did not like twins. So they kept my sister and sent me away.”
The fortune teller was looking elsewhere again. “Nothing you have said explains why you are walking about by yourself.”
“I ran away.” There, she said it. “If I stay at home, my family will sell me to the slave traders.”
“Doubtful. Selling a daughter to the Temple of Ashtoreth is much different from putting a child in the hands of the slavers.” She rattled her bowl of quail bones and amulets.
Rahab sighed. “They sold my older sister to the traders and before that the new baby to the Temple of Molech.”
“Molech? No.”
“Yes, truly.”
When the fortune teller continued to stare into the distance, Rahab said, “I think you must not be a real seer. Because if you were, you would already know the answers to the questions you ask.”
Throwing her head back, the woman laughed loudly. “What is it you want to know?”
Finally they were getting down to business. “I want you to tell me where to go. I need work. I will do anything, and I have always toiled very hard. I ask no wages, only a place to sleep and something to eat.”
“You are young. You do not know enough of this wicked city to say you will do anything.”
“I am certain I do not wish to be a slave,” Rahab insisted.
The woman looked at her for a long moment. “So you do not believe I am capable of seeing the future? Yet I know exactly what the gods planned for you. When leaving this tent, you would be snatched by the taker who is stalking you—do not turn around—and tonight you would be branded and shackled. Afterward…” The woman shook her head.
Rahab tried to keep herself from trembling. The cold truth of the frightening words washed over her like a chilly winter rain.
“So despite what you think, I can indeed predict what will be. I will prove this by changing your fortune.” The woman chuckled. “I may be more than a seer. A goddess, perhaps. What is your name?”
“Rahab.”
“Pretty. It suits you. My bodyguard will deliver you to
my sister Riata. If you have spoken the truth, it is possible she will take you in. I must warn you. At Riata’s place of business little girls are required to do some very unpleasant things. Still, a harlot’s life is better than a slave’s. Work hard to win favor, Rahab. Riata pays good wages. There is much she can teach you.”
CHAPTER NINE
The bodyguard was tall, with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a flowing black beard. The threat of his obvious physical strength was reinforced by the short sword strapped to one thigh. Rahab’s hand was almost lost in his grasp. She felt protected with him, but wished he had not seen fit to shove the rough-looking taker aside when they passed by him. What if she was rejected again at their destination? Might the taker find her later and punish her for the guard’s insolence?
After a lengthy walk, the pair stopped at the door of a two-story wooden structure. “I am instructed to give this girl to the Mira Riata,” the bodyguard said to the lissome young woman lingering outside. “Along with a message from her sister.”
“I will see if she is available.” The young woman puckered her reddened lips and blew a kiss toward the bodyguard before disappearing through the doorway.
While he continued to hold Rahab’s hand firmly, the guard took up a sentry-like position next to the door. Did she dare speak to him? Gathering her courage she asked softly, “Have you ever been here before?”
“Yes.” He continued to stare straight ahead.
“Is it a good place?”
“I like it.”
Perhaps she could risk one more question. “What does harlot mean?”
The guard’s head tilted downward only enough to allow his eyes to meet hers for a moment. Then he straightened, resuming his soldier-like demeanor.
“Come in,” a voice beckoned.
“Well, well. What have we here?” the pretty woman, perhaps Bilda’s age, asked when the bodyguard led Rahab inside.
“I bring you greetings, mira. This girl was out on the streets alone this morning. Your sister observed a taker stalking her. So she instructed me to bring her to you.” He pulled on Rahab’s hand until she stood in front of him, facing the woman.
“Very pretty. Exceptional. Far too lovely to fall into the hands of the takers. Turn around, child,” she said.
Doing as she was told, Rahab turned to face the bodyguard, her eyes level with the hilt of his sword. It seemed she waited a long time before a hand on her shoulder turned her around again.
“What is your name?”
“Rahab, mira.”
“Why are you alone on the city streets?”
“Because I will do whatever it takes to keep from being a slave,” she answered, boldly looking at the woman’s face instead of keeping her eyes downcast.
“Have you no family?”
Rahab repeated the information she told the fortune teller earlier. “You may go,” the woman said. Disappointed, Rahab turned to leave. “No, not you, child. Guard, tell my sister I thank her.”
Replying with a bow of his head, the man marched away.
As soon as she and Rahab were alone the woman said, “Remove your clothing so I may inspect your body.”
Without delay, Rahab untied her belt and slipped the tunic smoothly over her head. Then she stood still and calm, even though nude.
“With regular food and avoiding the sun you will look exactly right. You may get dressed.” For the first time, the woman smiled. “My name is Riata. Have you had anything to eat today?”
Now Rahab dropped her eyes. “No, Mira Riata.”
“Come with me.”
They went into a courtyard surrounded on all sides by the two-story inn. Four tall trees shaded the open area. “You will be assigned some rooms up there.” Riata gestured in the general direction of the back wing of the structure. “I want you to keep the chambers clean and ready for customers at all times. You are also responsible for attracting guests and keeping them satisfied while they are here. I will tell you more about your duties later.”
Rahab smiled. “I will do as you say.” This all sounded so easy.
With a hand motion, Riata beckoned to one of the armed guards standing in the rear of the courtyard. The three of them went into a chamber with two rows of stone tables. A kneeling woman in a corner of the room rhythmically moved a smoothly elongated roller up and down the surface of a triangular stone. A trough at the base caught the freshly crushed grain. “Sulaka,” Riata said, “feed this girl.”
“Forgive me. I did not hear you come in.” The young woman sprang to her feet. “I was grinding barley.”
Rahab saw Sulaka had once been pretty. Now a bright scar ran the length of her face, from her hairline through one eye and to her chin. The affected eye was permanently fixed to look away from Sulaka’s nose, while the other eye moved normally.
Easing herself to the floor near the end of a table, Riata asked Rahab, “What is your father’s name?”
“Karmot.” But why?
“And where is his house?”
“Twenty-four lanes toward the sunset from the spring-fed well called New Water, five turns this way, and two more that way.” She used her hand to indicate directions, all the while wondering if Riata was about to send her home.
“Go there,” Riata said, pointing a finger at the guard. “Offer her father the price slave traders give, nothing more. If he tries to negotiate, tell him to come and get the girl. I will not invite another problem like the one I had last winter.”
Sulaka held out a small crock to Rahab. “Your soup,” she said.
“Send her to me when she is finished.” Riata rose to leave. At the doorway, she turned slightly. “Do not be concerned, Rahab. Your father will accept my offer. I have done a great deal of business with men like him. If you told me the truth, that is. If you have lied, I myself will turn you over to the slavers tomorrow. In any case, tonight you must start repaying your purchase price.”
CHAPTER TEN
Jericho
Approximately thirty-seven years after the slaves escaped from Egypt
“State your business,” the guard said.
“I wish to see the Priestess Rohat. I am her sister.”
“Wait here.”
Rahab stood outside the gate to the courtyard of the Temple of Ashtoreth while a runner went to find out if she was was permitted inside. Was it possible only three years had passed since she and Rohat first saw this courtyard? She felt so much older than the ignorant girl who had since learned so much of the ways of the world.
“Rahab!” Rohat’s voice broke into her thoughts. “How good of you to come. I am so glad to see you.”
Unbolting the gate, the guard used his head to motion Rahab into the courtyard. She longed to hold her sister, but she knew a zonah was not allowed to touch a kedeshah, a priestess of Ashtoreth. “May we stroll together?” she asked the guard.
Receiving a nod she took as affirmative, Rahab walked to the familiar stone pathway where Rohat stood in her flowing blue gown. As they ambled along, Rahab took care to maintain an arm’s length of separation. “Mother was well last I knew,” she reported. “With enough to eat, the weakness in Father’s legs continues to improve. Masula and Sanda are growing like stalks. Baalah has given Yassib another son. Kemil—well, he never changes. Have you seen them?”
“No,” Rohat answered. “You are the only one who ever comes. Still, I am lucky because most here seldom have a family member visit. Many never once since the day they arrived.”
Rahab breathed a sigh of relief to realize Rohat accepted her glowing report of their family’s health. While what she said was true, there were additional facts she did not wish to reveal. There was no need to sadden Rohat with news that Bilda now cared for her newborn grandson, Karmotil, after daughter-in-law Baalah sold her older son to the slavers for enough silver to leave Yassib.
“I have brought you something.” Rahab unobtrusively dropped a bag containing two figs into a high flower pot and walked on.
When passi
ng by, Rohat ran her hand over a leaf in a seemingly thoughtless motion. “Thank you, but you should not spend your wages on delicacies for me. You know I can never repay you.” Amazingly, the figs were now in Rohat’s hand.
“Who better?” Rahab asked. “Shall I give in to Kemil’s requests to purchase him a high-born bride?”
In one swift motion, Rohat slipped the pouch of figs inside the bosom of her gown. “Are you prosperous enough to do such a thing?”
“Probably not. I do plan to buy a field someday, though. I had almost enough put away, but then I was robbed. Now I give Kemil wages to serve as my bodyguard.”
“Are you sure you can rely on him?”
Rahab shrugged. “Our brother is anxious to become an overseer. He will watch out for me until I purchase the field. Of course, I always carry a knife on my person, just in case I have to defend myself.”
“I thought you disliked tending and harvesting crops,” Rohat said.
“I hope never to bake in the hot sun of the flax fields again. We did enough of that as children to last a lifetime. No, the field is only the beginning. I cannot say this to anyone else because Riata will cut my face if she learns my plans. I hope someday to have my own inn.”
“It is good to be an innkeeper, then?”
“No better or worse than anything else, but what choice is there? No man takes a harlot to wife. I cannot manage enough fields to support our whole family. If I become sick or old, Riata or her son will turn me out into the street. So I will try to get an inn, buy some girls, and do what I know how to do.”
“You have thought much on this, I see.” Rohat caressed a flower. “But why buy girls when we have two younger sisters?”
“I want Sanda and Masula to have husbands and children and homes with their own little vegetable gardens. If there is any peace in life, I want to give it to them.”
The Scarlet Cord Page 4