“Oh, yes, Mira Rahab. Have you brought the price with you?”
She again smiled at Bimler. Nodding toward Yassib, she said, “Even with my bodyguard along, I never carry valuables in the city.”
“Very wise of you,” Bimler said, crossing broad arms over his ample paunch and rolling his eyes here and there.
“Shall we go and look at the place then?” she prodded.
“Certainly, mira. This way.” Bimler led Rahab and Yassib slowly through the streets. “This is a prime location, near the temple district,” he said. “Crowds continually pass this way to and from worship.”
Rahab did not respond. She was frustrated when Bimler stopped each time he spoke. Was the man not capable of simultaneous walking and talking?
Bimler stopped and stroked his broad beard. “The courtyard is small, but many windows overlook a temple garden. The builder sacrificed his daughter to the gods to purchase good luck for this building. Her bones are embedded in the foundation.” He rolled his eyes at Rahab, and walked on.
At last they stopped at a place where the guard nodded at Bimler and opened a narrow gate. “We must go in the back way,” Bimler stood still to say. “The present owner is still conducting business here.”
Rahab looked around the courtyard. “Not spacious, but adequate. Good trees. This is a possibility,” she said. “I am most interested in the reception area and the rooms.”
“Certainly, mira,” Bimler said without moving.
“Shall we go and see them?” Rahab wondered how long she could endure this man’s dawdling. Yassib’s unconcealed amusement did not help.
“Wait here a moment if you will.” Bimler ambled away.
“Where did you find him?” Rahab asked as soon as Bimler was out of earshot.
Yassib laughed. “He is esteemed as the most able property broker in Jericho.”
Shaking her head, Rahab inspected the nearby plants. “I hope so.”
After a wait that seemed far too long to Rahab, Bimler reappeared. “This way.” He pointed to steps leading from the courtyard to the roof.
Halfway up the steps, Bimler stopped. “I shall catch my breath for a moment,” he said. “I believe you will find this structure well worth the price.”
Rahab edged by him to continue moving. When she reached the landing overlooking the courtyard, she turned and said, “I wish to see a room on this level.” She folded her arms and waited for Bimler to ascend the remaining steps.
“Of course.” Bimler joined Rahab, with Yassib following behind. The broker’s labored breathing was the only sound. “In the center room, you will have the best vantage point.”
There were five entrances. Could the location of the center room be more obvious? When Bimler continued to stand still, Rahab went to the door and pulled it open. Finding the room unoccupied, she went in. “Typical,” she said as the men followed her into the room.
“Oh, but this is exceptional!” Bimler went to the window. Throwing open the wooden shutters, he waved his arm outward. “See how many temples sit nearby.”
The sunlight bursting into the room almost blinded Rahab. Then she saw it. Above the trees, across an expanse of well-tended gardens, Molech’s evil face dominated the view. With no attempt to see anything more, she hurried from the room. Down the steps she ran, not stopping until she stood shivering beneath the trees.
“Are you well?” Yassib asked when he caught up.
“Let us leave this place,” she replied. “And may we never return.”
“But Rahab, this is a fine location for business,” he said.
“No.” She seldom thought of Rima any more, but Molech’s ugly features brought back all the horror of leaving her baby sister to die in his furnace.
Puffing and panting, Bimler came to where Rahab stood. “The room was not to your liking?” he asked. “Perhaps the reception area—”
“No,” Rahab shook her head. “I will see nothing more of this place.”
Bimler sighed. “As you wish.” He rolled his eyes toward Yassib. “I must warn you, there is nothing else of this quality available.”
“This location is unacceptable,” Rahab said. “You must find me another. Something as far from the temple district as possible.”
“Certainly, mira.” The broker pursed his lips. “There is one other inn you might see. It is smaller, and quite distant. Perhaps you wish to hire a cart to take us there.”
Almost ready to dismiss the idea, Rahab stopped herself. The shocking glimpse of Molech left her feeling weak, even a little queasy.
“I will pay one pouch of flaxseed,” she said. Soon she was wedged into a high-sided wooden cart between Yassib and Bimler. A merchant with two goats already occupied the most forward area of the cart. Although there was little space remaining, two soldiers climbed in and squatted across from Rahab.
“I tell you they will come,” the soldier in the dusty tunic insisted as the driver urged his donkeys to a trot.
The bare-chested soldier replied, “Then they are fools, but no threat.”
“I grant you they are fools. For example, I understand they have practically no armor,” the first soldier agreed. “But it took something for them to get away from Pharaoh and survive in the wilderness all these years.”
“I have heard about those slaves escaping from Egypt all my life. How they walked across the Red Sea on dry land and then the Pharaoh’s army drowned when they tried to pursue them. As far as I am concerned, the whole story is concocted from cow dung and bird droppings. If those fools ever do come to Jericho, they will find our walls a lot more solid than any sea they ever crossed.”
The soldier in the tunic pointed toward the street. “Who is the fellow with the wineskin? Does he look like a man of Jericho?”
“No, from his clothing I suppose he is Assyrian. Shall we go and find out what he is doing in our city?”
“Yes. Driver! Stop here,” he yelled. As they climbed from the cart, the bare-chested soldier muttered, “We will take his wine first and interrogate him later.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Most impressive, do you not agree?” Bimler waved a stubby hand at the wooden structure.
“Very close to the wall,” Rahab said.
“Actually”–Bimler tilted his head and rolled his eyes toward Rahab–“the back of this structure rests against the city’s stone wall. Such strength! And no worries about rotting wood.”
“Smaller than I need,” she said.
“Narrow perhaps,” Bimler agreed, “But tall. From the rooftop the innkeeper can observe the city gates, even see the people coming and going.”
“A possible advantage,” Yassib said.
Bimler jumped on this positive reaction. “Through an opening in the wall, I have been able to see across the river, all the way to Mount Nebo. An approaching caravan would be no surprise to the proud owner of this inn.”
“Let us go inside and see the place,” Rahab said.
The narrow entrance from the street led into a wedge-shaped structure that became wider at the rear. An old man seated near the door nodded to Bimler without speaking. Passing through the reception area led to a similarly widening courtyard, oddly shaped, but with sufficient space to cook and serve meals. The inn had one small room on each story facing the street. There was one additional room set at an angle on either side, widening into two rooms divided by a stairway in the rear. An open passageway with a wooden railing joined all of the rooms on each floor. Except for the tapered opening to the street, every wall was flush against another structure—merchant’s dwellings over their shops on two sides, and the city wall in the back.
“No better than Riata’s, and stacked like a bundle of stalks,” Rahab said. Already certain she wanted to own this inn, she took notice of every deficiency to use for negotiating a final price with Bimler.
“I want to see the rooftop,” Yassib said.
Rahab began climbing the steps, using her hand to beckon the men to follow. When Bimler continued to stand, still
mopping his brow, she said, “We will return shortly.”
Picking her way through piles of trash, Rahab walked around the perimeter of the flat roof. In the front, a narrow parapet overlooked the street. The wooden railing along the sides wobbled when Rahab touched it. Anyone leaning against it would surely tumble into the courtyard or onto the adjoining rooftops one-story below. “We must replace this,” she said, rocking the fence back and forth with one hand. The city wall jutted above the inn’s rooftop in the rear of the structure, higher than Yassib could reach on tiptoes. In the exact center of the wall, there was a tunnel-like alcove bored into the thick stone. At the far end of the tunnel, an opening the size and shape of a window provided a clear view across the Jericho valley. Leaning as far as possible out the window, Rahab glimpsed the city gates. “Why is this opening here?” she asked, looking at the fields stretching out before her.
“I suppose it is a place for an archer to take aim on an enemy below,” Yassib said, coming to join Rahab at the window. “As if anyone ever dreamed of attacking Jericho.”
“This location draws from the merchants and foreigners who pass through the gate to the city.” She stared out the window for a moment. “I want this place,” she said. “Bimler must be growing tired and hungry. Let us eat something before we begin the negotiations.” Rahab retrieved a food bag from beneath her cloak and shared bread and cheese with her brother. Between hasty bites, she said, “Clearly no one is doing business here anymore. So the owners may be anxious to sell it.”
Yassib waved his chunk of bread in the general direction of the street. “Do you think the old man we saw at the door is the owner?”
“See if you can find out,” Rahab replied, licking bread crumbs from her fingers. “Meanwhile, I shall start to work on Bimler. Fatigue and hunger will bring him around sooner or later.”
Energized by food and the excitement of striking a bargain, Rahab hurried down the stairs. In the courtyard, the waiting Bimler tilted his head sideways and rolled his eyes toward the sky. “The rooftop is quite unique is it not?”
“It would take two men a full day to clean that space,” Rahab said. “It appears to be where the former occupants threw their garbage.”
“But the view…” Bimler began.
“There’s a disgusting stench up there,” Rahab said, scrunching her face. “Let us look at the rooms.”
Bimler turned and began to walk slowly to the nearest ground-floor room. Rahab smiled and followed him. With her decision made, she was no longer in a hurry. Having learned how time weakened men’s resolve, she was happy to move at Bimler’s pace. Yassib drifted toward the reception area. Just as well. He could rest there, question the old man, and help repel any intruders. Meanwhile, her goal was to keep Bimler in motion.
Rahab walked around, pointing out every flaw, while Bimler obstinately twisted every defect into a selling point.
“The front reception area is small.”
“How easily one man can guard the entrance,” Bimler answered.
“Rats live here.” Rahab pointed to irrefutable evidence.
“Ah, yes,” Bimler agreed amiably. “Your cook can feed them to foreigners. No need to purchase meat.”
After insisting on seeing every room on every floor, opening and closing each doorway, testing every stair and support, Rahab grilled Bimler on the life spans and growth patterns of the trees shading the courtyard. What kind of plants were those against the wall? The broker puffed and perspired, but continued to answer questions. She hardly listened to his explanation of the flora. The sun was well past its midpoint. No sane man traveled the streets of Jericho alone after dark. And surely Bimler was famished by now.
Before Rahab ran out of questions, Yassib emerged from the reception area into the courtyard. As she rehearsed with her brother the day before, they began to rehash the disadvantages of the inn. “Father would find the many steps impossible,” Yassib said. From the curious emphasis on the word “father,” Rahab understood the relationship of the old man in the reception area to the owner of the inn. If Bimler did not cooperate, she and Yassib might come to an agreement through the owner’s father.
“Perhaps we should withdraw to a place where we can have something to eat,” Bimler suggested. Rahab ignored Bimler and continued her dialogue with Yassib.
After a long wait, Bimler said, “Shall we sit on the stone benches while you make your decision?” Without waiting for an answer, he shuffled to the nearest bench and eased himself to a seated position. When he sighed and closed his eyes, Rahab felt the time was right to begin a discussion of the price.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jericho
Approximately forty years after the slaves escaped from Egypt
Standing at the rooftop window, Rahab surveyed the quiet Jericho valley in the faint pre-dawn light. If the sun shone, the rain fell, and the locusts failed to invade, a lucrative flax harvest would soon be hers. Even the tax assessments and bribes to the king’s officials hardly rankled her. With continued luck, she might never become a homeless zonah, those used-up old harlots who wandered after dark searching for someone to exchange a morsel of food for the use of their bodies in a doorway or alley.
As he did every morning, Karmot loitered at the city gate today, gossiping, casting lots, and watching for potential customers. Anyone could distinguish residents of Jericho from foreign travelers. Strange ways of speaking, asking for directions, even their clothing gave them away. There were eight rooms available for guests, with the remainder designated for Rahab’s family, storage, and a makeshift stable. On an exceptional day, Karmot brought enough men to fill every room and perhaps a few extra customers to enjoy the evening meal. Kemil oversaw Rahab’s fields where the younger girls Sanda and Masula labored as well. Yassib provided security for the inn, leaving his son Karmotil in Bilda’s care.
Rahab drank in the freshness of the morning air. Her improving prosperity provided something pleasant to think on while she endured the company of strange men. After careful calculations, she decided to get a she-goat first and a slave later. So for the time being, she pleasured the hard-breathing men who expected an inn to offer something more than food and shelter. After this harvest, she should be able to afford a slave girl to take over those duties. She looked forward to the time when she did not have to rise before dawn and work half the night.
From below a voice cried out, “Vegetables!” By skirting the city walls, shrewd merchants started doing business before Jericho opened its gates each morning. These entrepreneurs catered to early risers who lowered their pots and baskets from the high windows to buy produce.
“What is fresh this morning?” Rahab called out to the dim figure below.
“Leeks. Harvested yesterday.”
Rahab slowly let out lengths of rope until her shallow pot reached the vendor’s outstretched arms. “Twenty leeks for a live pigeon,” she said. Next door, on the adjacent roof one story below, a family raised pigeons. If a stray happened to land within reach, Rahab saw nothing wrong with claiming it as her own. Frustrated with trying to grab the birds, she rigged a simple snare. Propping one side of a heavy pot on a forked stick, she placed a handful of grain underneath. When an unsuspecting pigeon investigated the grain, Rahab sprang the trap by jerking the cord attached to the stick. The fallen pot held the bird captive until traded or eaten.
This morning she was quick enough to catch a fat specimen. Later, if she had more leeks than the inn needed for the day, she planned to barter the extras with her neighbors. She smiled with satisfaction to think she might get a good price for leftover leeks from the same family who unknowingly provided the pigeon to obtain them.
The bird-for-leeks transaction completed, Rahab put aside the pot she kept tied to a slender length of hemp twine near the window. Close beside the pot, the heavy scarlet rope Rohat gave her lay carefully coiled, unused but cherished. As soon as the moon was full, she determined to try once again to see her sister. It had been months since the runner re
turned to the gate with the approval for Rahab to enter the courtyard of Ashtoreth’s temple.
If only she could have saved her twin and their other sisters, Rahab thought. She must not let herself dwell on the past. Instead, she took pride in financing a better life for Sanda and Masula. Not that they seemed to appreciate her efforts on their behalf. Sanda complained constantly about having to work in the fields. She much preferred to remain in the city, wearing sandals and putting on airs. As for Masula, she vacillated between lofty aspirations to humiliation when her friends found out her older sister was a zonah.
In the courtyard, Bilda was already stirring. After milking the goat and grinding the day’s grain, she baked the daily portion of flat bread. It was better to use the oven before the sun heated the courtyard. “Good morning,” Rahab said, placing the bundle of leeks on the tree stump near Bilda’s mud brick oven.
“Um,” Bilda said, as she picked up a leek and thrust a fingernail into it. “Nice.”
Soon the approaching sunrise began to dissipate the darkness, and the courtyard slowly came to life. A well-armed Kemil ushered reluctant sisters Sanda and Masula out to the street. As they did each day, they waited for the city gate to open. Then they walked to Rahab’s flax field. By the time the sun climbed into the sky, the girls were busy with the chores appropriate to the season—preparing the ground, scattering seed, removing weeds, or harvesting crops. Kemil oversaw the farming, hiring day laborers as needed to help his sisters.
Maintaining the inn consumed most of Rahab’s day. Dung pots were emptied each morning. When travelers’ animals occupied the stable the night before, the stalls needed fresh straw. Water was always in short supply. Any family member who went near the community well was expected to take along a goatskin pouch to fill. Despite this arrangement, Rahab often found it necessary to fetch water once or twice during the course of the day. Occasionally, she and Bilda spread the sleeping mats in the courtyard to be freshened by the sun. Most days, Bilda hung a pouch of goat milk on a low tree-limb. Sitting with one arm around Karmotil, she took up a stick and beat the milk until it formed a yogurt-like ghee. By mid-afternoon Rahab needed to estimate how many people would take the evening meal to assure enough food was on hand.
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