As she was walking toward the main street, Rahab heard a noise behind her. Men on horseback were approaching. Soldiers. “Make way for the king,” they shouted over the sound of trumpets. Drawing back as far as possible from the center of the street, she crouched low against a wall and put her forehead on the ground. The advance guard rode by, still warning everyone to make way.
For a moment the closest sound was that of wheels turning. Ah, the king’s chariot, she thought. Rahab was curious to see the ruler, but she did not dare look up. Eventually the rear guard passed by, with their cry of “May the king live forever.” Rahab repeated these words loudly, along with everyone else. To do otherwise showed disrespect for Jericho’s ruler, a capital offense. When at last there were no sounds of hoof beats, the shouts died away.
Rahab lifted her head just enough to verify others around her were doing the same. People began to sit back on their knees. A young man rose and said, “The king is on his way to watch the executions.”
After brushing the dust from her tunic, Rahab skirted around the main street and found her way home. She had no interest in seeing the criminals die, though she did not feel any particular sympathy for them either. Their crime was of no concern unless it affected her inn, her field, or her immediate family.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“How many carts will I need to bring the crop through city gates?” Rahab asked.
Kemil furrowed his brow. “Five, I would say, large ones.” He looked upward. “Getting all the flax through this narrow entrance and into the courtyard will not be easy.”
“Father has fashioned a device to lift the bundles directly to the rooftop from the carts while they are in the street. I want to lay the stalks out to dry up there. We must keep the courtyard clear so the inn can continue to entertain guests.”
“I suppose that will work.” Kemil tugged at a gold earring Rahab did not remember seeing before.
“Can you hire enough hands to cut all of our flax in one day and get it here for storage before the city gates are closed?” she asked.
“To avoid the thieves who steal from the fields at night?” Kemil asked with a grin. “Yes, much better than trying to guard my field after dark.”
Rahab smiled and said, “Good, then.” But she was angry inside. It was enough that Kemil often spoke of her field as ‘ours’ or referred to the inn as something belonging to ‘our family.’ Was he now presuming to claim ownership of her field? And how had he obtained the expensive earring she hesitated to ask about? She sensed a break looming with Kemil and hoped to maintain control until her flax was harvested and sold. Meanwhile, she resolved to keep a watchful eye on her brother.
Days before, Karmot laboriously stripped the bark from a section of tree trunk to make a lifting device. He cradled the stripped wood on two supports made from sections where the tree’s limbs branched. Finally, he cut a notch in the end of the tree trunk, allowing him to use a smaller tree limb as a handle. Demonstrating his handiwork to Rahab, Karmot looped the heavy scarlet rope around the smoothed trunk and used his makeshift handle to shorten the rope by reeling it in or lengthen it by letting it unwind.
The next morning the family went to the fields at first light, leaving only Bilda and little Karmotil at the inn. By the time the sun was directly overhead, Rahab and Karmot arrived with the first cart of flax. After Rahab and a laborer secured a bundle of flax, Karmot lifted the stalks from the cart by winding the cord. As the rope wrapped around the tree trunk, the bundle rose upward until it was within Sanda and Masula’s reach. Neighbors and passersby gathered in the street watching Karmot again and again lower the cord from the rooftop and raise a bundle.
“Where did you obtain this lifting tool?” a man shouted.
“I made it,” Karmot called down from the roof’s edge. “I got the idea from a device I saw in the upper city. Come to the inn and eat my wife’s cooking some evening and I will show you how it works.”
“Perhaps I will,” the man answered. “Did you weave the crimson rope as well? It is very unusual.”
“No, the cord has been on our roof for a good while. I have no idea where it came from.”
By the time the cart was empty, Karmot’s hands were rubbed raw. Bilda dabbed oil on them, but Rahab saw her father could not continue at the lifting device. Even with scarves wrapped around the wooden handle, she found her own hands were burning by the time she lifted the second load of flax and saw it safely spread about the rooftop.
As planned, the final cartload of flax arrived well before the city gates were secured for the evening. Afterward, Rahab and her family sat exhausted in the courtyard. For once she was glad Karmot had not brought guests to the inn. Forcing herself to smile and pretend to find pleasure in the company of strange men felt beyond her capability this evening.
Shortly before the sun sank out of sight, someone banged at the entrance to the inn. Reluctantly, Rahab rose and peeked through the small slit in the door. “Please, mira, may we have lodging?” a young man asked.
“There is no more food,” she replied. “There is another inn, near the upper city.”
“We have tried many other inns. They are all filled. Please, we will provide our own food, both for ourselves and our animals.”
Rahab peered to the side. A small flock of sheep. Was this an opportunity for a bargain? “A night’s lodging for the standard price,” she said, “and in addition a lamb.”
The young man conferred with his companions. “Very well. It is agreed,” he said.
Touching the handle of her knife to make certain it was at the ready, Rahab unbolted the doorway. Five people not much older than her trudged in, followed by a small flock of perhaps thirty sheep. As the last of the animals exited to the courtyard, the young man who had spoken at the door turned back. “As you can see, we have no lambs. But we will give you one of the sheep instead.”
Even better, Rahab thought. Following the group into the courtyard, she saw her mother was already stoking the outdoor oven. “They have their own food,” she murmured to Bilda.
“Um,” Bilda said. “Then I will make only some hot bread.”
Rahab wandered near the travelers, where her father was already engaging the guests in conversation.
“When was this?” Karmot asked.
The travelers looked at each other. “Many days. At least two full changes of the moon,” one said.
Another spoke. “We had to go some distance around to make sure we avoided the fighting. Then it took us a long time to find a place to cross the river.”
Surprisingly, the next voice was soft and high-pitched. A girl? “We lost quite a few sheep in the crossing. The water is over the banks all up and down the river.”
“And you are certain they have defeated Heshbon? Such a thing seems impossible,” Kemil said.
“Go across the river and see for yourself if you do not believe me,” the first traveler said. “After the flood waters recede, that is. Heshbon and the whole Amorite kingdom. I think maybe they must have attacked Bashan as well. We saw smoke rising from their cities as we made our escape. We traveled as far as we could each day, but our sheep slowed us down.”
“No,” Karmot shook his head. “There are fifty, sixty cities in Bashan. These nomads can never challenge King Og.” Karmot began to chew on the bread Bilda served him, even though he had already eaten his evening meal. “Where will you go now?” he asked.
“Maybe we will stay in this area, if we can find pasture,” the first traveler said.
His companion looked up. “Or perhaps we will go a bit further to make sure we get out of the Hebrews’ path.”
“No one can ever take Jericho,” Yassib said. “You are safe within these walls.”
“I hope you are right,” the shepherd with a scraggly beard agreed, “but we said the same about Heshbon. Anyway, sheep cannot thrive inside a city.”
“These Hebrews,” Karmot said, “I have heard they have no armor. How could they dare take on King Sihon’s arm
y?”
“I have no explanation,” the first shepherd said. “We gathered our flock and ran as soon as the fighting started in the cities.”
“It is their god,” the girl shepherd said. “They claim to receive their strength from him.” The travelers seized on the bread Bilda offered as if they were starving.
Karmot pointed at the girl shepherd. “What god is this? Baal?”
Stuffing bread into her mouth, the girl replied, “No, not Baal. I have heard they do not speak the name of their god, and some say they do not even know it. I am not sure.”
Rahab was relieved when none of the travelers questioned her about harlot services. To her amazement, when the little band of shepherds finished eating, they spread their cloaks on the ground near their sheep and went to sleep. “These country folk know nothing of city ways,” Yassib observed.
“No,” Karmot agreed. “They should have stayed at home.”
Rahab wondered briefly if it was wrong to take one of the few sheep these travelers had left. Would strangers take pity on her if the situation were reversed? She determined to hold the shepherds to their agreement.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Salmon stayed at the Tent of Meeting for a very long time, praying. He again recounted every act of valor in the recent fighting, thanking the Almighty One for inspiring each man’s bravery. When finally he rose and returned to his own tent, he was filled with the exceptional sense of wonder surrounding him since his people defeated the Amorites.
“May I disturb you?” Obediah stood at the entrance to Salmon’s tent, his silhouette dark against the bright sky. Like Salmon, the young man’s clothes were torn and ashes rested in his hair.
“No disturbance at all. Come in, my friend.” Salmon gestured toward the cushions scattered the length of the carpet. “Make yourself comfortable. You look weary.”
Obediah sighed. “My thoughts run like an angry bull and will not stop.”
“I understand what you mean.” Salmon smiled. “Sleep always comes easily to me, but many of our brothers say they have been restless with grief over Moses’ death.” Salmon stretched his arms then rubbed his right shoulder while working his arm round and round. “I will miss our great leader, but Joshua has been mighty in battle. I wish my father had lived to see those victories. He talked so many times about how the Lord defeated the Egyptians on our behalf. How he would love the way the Almighty One gave Heshbon and Bashan into our hands.”
“And proud of how you acquitted yourself in the conflicts,” Obediah said. “I must admit, there were times I wanted to run away or pull back from the thick of the fighting. But doing so required leaving your side. Are you ready to tell me how you kept down the fear when you were leading our tribe into the teeth of the heathens?”
Salmon rose and began to pace. “I cannot explain anything, Obediah. Before we charged the enemy camps, my insides churned. Then, as the first blows were struck, I felt a great calm come over me. The noise no longer filled my ears.” He sat again. “Everything seemed to happen slowly. I saw all around so clearly—everything at once. It was as if we had been in battle a hundred times before, and everything took place as usual, even in a kind of order.”
Obediah leaned forward. “The Lord Himself is lending His strength to us. We will soon cross over the Jordan River and take possession of the land He has promised us. Every time I think of this, my eyes spring open and the ability to sleep disappears.”
“I pray every day for our crossing,” Salmon said. “Who knows when the time will come?” He thought it best not to reveal his father’s friend Caleb recently expressed the same expectation, that the crossing was near. “The generation ahead of us is almost gone. My father always said our generation will make good on our inheritance.”
A teenaged boy suddenly appeared at the tent’s entry flap, asking for the Prince of Judah.
“I am he,” Salmon said. “Speak, son. What news do you bring?”
“Sir,” the young man said breathlessly, “Joshua is calling for an assembly of tribal leaders.”
“Thank you,” Salmon said. “I will go to Joshua immediately.”
The two men sat in silence for a moment after the messenger ran on. “Wait here if you like,” Salmon said.
Salmon rubbed his right shoulder as he began to walk toward Joshua’s tent. Regardless of the site the Hebrew camp was always arranged the same, with Salmon’s tribe of Judah to the east of the Tent of Meeting. How Moses loved order, Salmon recalled. Not that Joshua was disorderly—not in the least—but no one matched Moses’ meticulous, deliberate caution. Yet the recent battles convinced Salmon his friend Joshua was well suited to lead the inevitable war. When Moses sent a message to King Sihon requesting peaceful passage through Heshbon, Salmon expected to receive demands for a high price for safe crossing. But Joshua knew. He told the tribal leaders to get ready for a fight. Sure enough, instead of a written reply King Sihon sent his army to attack the Hebrews.
Entering Joshua’s tent, Salmon nodded greetings to his peers. When the last of the twelve tribal leaders arrived and sat on the carpeted ground, Joshua began to speak. “Within a few days we will cross the Jordan River to begin taking possession of the land the Lord has given us.” Judging by the silence, Salmon thought the other leaders were as deep in thought as he. His heart pounded at the thought the long-awaited crossing was only days away. Finally, after forty years, his beloved people were preparing to set foot on their promised land.
The leaders agreed to allow the women, children, and livestock of those tribes who planned to settle east of the river to remain behind, but insisted all of their fighting men must make the crossing. When the war was over, the soldiers could come home to their families. “Circulate the message throughout the camp,” Joshua said. “Everyone who is going must be packed and ready in three days.”
“Salmon,” Joshua said as the leaders filed out of his tent, “come and take food with me later.”
Nodding his understanding, Salmon put some effort into maintaining his outward composure. Certain this was more than a social invitation, he wondered what Joshua had in mind. However, his curiosity had to wait while he performed his tribal leader duty. The task of spreading information followed the well-established organization of the Hebrews. As always, Salmon called together the men of Judah who were appointed to lead a group of a thousand. They in turn passed the message to tribal officials over hundreds, then leaders of fifties, and finally down to men responsible for ten families.
Pleased with the hum of excited activity already rippling through the tribe of Judah, Salmon made his way back to Joshua’s tent. Even though he was past his sixtieth year, Joshua had the strength of an ox and more energy than a spring lamb. For forty years he served as Moses’ second in command, and now he was in charge. As a tribal prince, Salmon understood the heavy responsibility now resting on the shoulders of the man whose strength and dedication he so admired.
“Good evening,” Salmon said as he lifted the flap covering the doorway to Joshua’s dwelling. “May I enter?”
“Certainly. Thank you for coming.” Shorter than Salmon, Joshua was a compact, muscular man with piercing brown eyes. He gestured toward the carpeted ground. “Sit.”
Salmon settled in cross-legged comfort on the carpet across from Joshua while a servant brought in trays of food to place between them. Although he was eager to get down to business, protocol required him to wait for his commander to take the initiative.
“How do you find the roasted lamb?” Joshua gestured toward the well-done meat before him.
“It is tasty. Different from manna, but I am growing accustomed to the change in diet.”
“I liked manna also. My wife knew a dozen different ways to prepare it,” Joshua said. “I understand many grew weary of it.”
Salmon smiled. “Probably the same people who now mourn its absence.”
“True enough,” Joshua agreed as he reclined slightly against an embroidered cushion. “Those who wept the loudest over
Moses were the same men who used to come to me and grumble about his decisions.”
“Part of the price of leadership, as my father used to say.” Salmon rotated his right arm while rubbing his shoulder.
“Are you wounded?” Joshua asked, pointing to Salmon’s shoulder.
“No. Just sore. Wielding a sword all day has been a new experience.”
Joshua took a deep breath and looked upward. “We are in for more fighting when we cross the river. Those kings will never surrender.”
“I agree. Jericho is our first objective?” Salmon asked, relieved to find the conversation turning serious at last.
“It is. I have heard the ruling city has massive walls no army can breach.”
“The Almighty One has ways of overcoming such obstacles.”
Joshua turned his gaze directly toward Salmon. “He does indeed. He demands our strength and courage as He delivers enemies into our hands.”
Salmon could restrain himself no longer. “You have something in mind.”
“They will not expect us to cross the river while it is at flood stage. But once we are on the other side, word will spread. Therefore, I want to attack as soon as possible. Someone must go and scout the great walled city immediately.”
Salmon desperately wanted to go on this mission. Nevertheless, he did not respond right away lest Joshua think him too eager. He traced a pattern on the carpet with his finger to keep himself occupied. When he felt he had waited long enough not to appear rash, he said, “I will go.”
“You know the risks,” Joshua said.
Salmon tried not to smile. “I do.” Why do I take such delight in facing danger?
“Choose a good, reliable man to go along. And the Lord be with you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Very soon the flax will be dry enough to process,” Rahab said, as she rested in the reception area of her inn.
The Scarlet Cord Page 8