The Scarlet Cord

by Carlene Havel

  The flag bearer with the first group of men carried the standard of the tribe of Judah, emblazoned with the face of a lion. Rahab clasped her mother’s arm tightly while Bilda chewed the fingertips of her free hand. The bodies of dead or wounded soldiers were carried by donkeys or able-bodied men. Gone was the confidence Rahab saw after Jericho’s defeat. Now there was only fatigue, pain, and bewilderment written on solemn faces, most flaked with dust and a few smeared with blood. “Enough,” Bilda said after the tribe of Judah passed by. “Let us go to the river and search for healing plants.”

  The two women walked some distance along the water’s edge before Bilda spotted a patch of pale green vegetation. “This is what I want,” she said, rolling the thick leaves between her fingers. Rahab stood with one foot on the sloping bank and the other in the water to cut as many of the plants as she and Bilda could carry. “Good,” Bilda said, as she packed the leaves into bundles and tied them with strips of cloth. “Dig out some root also.” The men were already gathered in their family tent when Rahab and Bilda returned.

  “Where have you been?” Karmot demanded.

  “We have been gathering ingredients for mother to brew a healing balm for wounds,” Rahab answered.

  “There was no victory at Ai,” he said. “Three thousand men went up to fight, and fewer than forty were killed. The king of Jericho would not blink an eye at such minor losses, but the Hebrews seem to consider it a great tragedy. In any case, Ai withstood the assault.”

  “Will soldiers come now and kill us?” Sanda wailed.

  “I pity the poor man who takes you to wife,” Karmot said, pointing at Sanda. “He will have no peace, only a woman who must speak every thought. Let us have the evening meal.”

  “If not the people of Ai, someone else will mount an attack,” Kemil said. “Since the illusion of the Hebrew God’s power has been dispelled, plenty of kings will want to overpower the army that took Jericho.”

  Karmot accepted the soup Bilda offered him. “Illusion, you say? Did a myth collapse the walls of Jericho?”

  “No.” Kemil dipped his cup into the cooking pot. “It was an earthquake.”

  “An earthquake struck at the precise moment the Hebrews blew their trumpets and shouted?” Karmot swirled his soup round and round. “No, my son. What you say cannot be.”

  “It is as reasonable as a God I cannot see,” Kemil insisted. “What is your thought, Yassib? You seldom speak on this.”

  Yassib shrugged. “I was convinced when the walls fell and we were spared. Now, with this defeat? I do not know.”

  “Joshua and the elders are prostrate on their faces at the tent of meeting. Perhaps they will receive some enlightenment from the Lord.” Karmot held out his cup. “More soup.” Masula sprang up to replenish her father’s eating vessel.

  “According to rumors among the camp guards, the problem has already been identified.” Kemil leaned against a cushion.

  “And what form does it take?” Karmot asked.

  Kemil smiled. “They say evil in the camp offends the Hebrew God.” He looked around the family circle. “Evil from Jericho.”

  Rahab had long suspected Kemil sometimes invented tales to disrupt the peace of their household. However, she feared he spoke the truth this time. She stared down at her soup and wondered if it was possible she and her family would never be accepted into the Hebrew nation. Was she somehow responsible for the Hebrew army’s defeat? She must go and visit with Milcah again, to ask more questions about the mysterious God her friend trusted.

  “What sort of evil?” Karmot asked.

  “Who knows?” Kemil said with a shrug. “These people seem to think there is a reason for everything. I would not be surprised if they blame us for the losses at Ai.”

  Karmot snorted. “I cannot believe such a thing.”

  “But Father,” Kemil said. “You believed the walls of Jericho would never be breached.”

  Rahab was shocked by Kemil’s insolent comment. She expected Karmot to explode with anger. Instead, he merely narrowed his eyes and stared at Kemil. She waited for Yassib to speak up. But when she looked directly at him, Yassib averted his eyes.

  Soon Matthias came to the tent’s entryway and beckoned to Karmot. As the men talked outside, Rahab said, “Kemil, what is wrong with you?”

  “With me?” he asked with a surprised look. “Nothing. You are the one who has become different. Always worrying about other people instead of looking out only for yourself as you once did.”

  “Children should speak respectfully to their fathers,” Bilda said quietly.

  “Are you saying I have not done so?” Kemil fixed his eyes on his mother, while she dropped her gaze.

  Karmot stepped inside, his face somber. “All of us must gather before the tent of meeting tomorrow morning because there is an accursed thing in the camp. The God of the Hebrews will reveal the guilt at the assembly.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Although Joshua’s voice was strong, Rahab missed many words as she stood with her family at the back of the community gathering. The crowd in front blocked her vision. “What is happening?” she whispered to Yassib.

  “Commander Joshua has ordered the tribal princes to step forward,” Yassib murmured.

  After a period of silence, a collective moan rose from the people. “Judah contains the accursed thing.” Yassib put both hands on his shaved scalp. “Family groupings within the tribe will now be examined.”

  Rahab held her head high, determined not to show the concern growing within her. Yet she wondered if she might be the cause of the displeasure. She breathed easier when Yassib whispered the lot fell on the Judean family of the Zarhites. She did not recognize the name, and was almost certain Matthias was not a Zarhite.

  “They are casting lots to determine guilt or innocence,” Yassib said. Karmotil became restless as the process wore on. Heads of families stepped forward and were dismissed. The little boy tugged at Rahab’s tunic. When she looked down to brush away his hand, Karmotil pointed to himself, then extended his hand toward the river. Suppressing a smile, Rahab shook her head negatively and held up a finger. It pleased her when Karmotil used the signals she taught him. The two of them were early risers, and her little nephew’s shrill voice disrupted everyone’s sleep when he clamored to go along on her pre-dawn trip to draw water. It did not take the child long to learn he was allowed to accompany Rahab when he silently signaled his wish to go, and was consistently left behind when he made noise.

  Rahab strained to hear Joshua’s admonition to a man named Achan. “My son, give glory to the Lord God of Israel, and confess before Him now. Admit what you have done, and do not attempt to hide anything.”

  “Indeed, I have sinned.” Achan’s ringing voice reverberated loud and clear all the way to Rahab’s ears. “I saw a beautiful Babylonian-style garment among the spoils of Jericho. Also two hundred shekels of silver and a wedge of gold weighing fifty shekels.” A wave of murmuring swept through the crowd, and then Achan continued speaking. “When I saw these things, I wanted to possess them. They are buried even now in the earth beneath my tent.”

  Rahab tugged at Yassib’s sleeve. He glanced down at her, and then whispered, “Joshua sent men to dig in Achan’s tent, to see if his confession is true.” Rahab swung Karmotil’s hand back and forth to keep her nephew quiet. She was relieved to find the evil in the camp was identified with people outside her family. Yet she was surprised so much was made of Achan’s theft. Everyone in Jericho stole any time the opportunity presented itself, without fear of any consequence other than being caught. Why did taking a fancy garment and some precious metal from now-dead enemies warrant a general assembly of the entire population?

  Rahab moved aside as the crowd parted to allow Joshua’s aides to pass through. The first man held a beautiful dark green robe, its sleeves and hem lavishly embroidered with multi-colored threads. She never remembered seeing such a fine garment, even in the temples of Jericho. A second man carried a wedge that s
hone and sparkled golden in the sunlight, along with a good number of shekels of silver. Oohs and aahs rose from the crowd, but subsided when the procession reached Joshua. When Yassib hoisted his restless son onto his shoulders, Rahab stepped onto a flat rock to see better.

  One by one, the inhabitants of Achan’s tent stood before Joshua to answer his stern questions. Were they aware of the order to take no personal spoils from Jericho? Did they know Achan hid contraband in their dwelling? Each one confessed guilt, the eldest son defiantly, the others with shamed faces. “You know the penalty for your crime,” Joshua said. “You are to go down into the valley yonder.” He pointed to the valley Rahab knew as Achor. “There you will be stoned to death. Your bodies and all of your possessions will be destroyed by fire.” Then Joshua addressed the crowd. “We must all participate in this cleansing.”

  Karmot turned to Yassib. “Do you think we are supposed to go? I mean, since we are not yet living inside the camp?”

  “Who knows?” Yassib replied. “We are part of the nation, yet not completely.”

  “This is the most excitement we have had since leaving Jericho. I will not miss it,” Kemil said, already beginning to follow the crowd.

  “Yes,” Karmot agreed. “It is better to go and be asked to leave than not to do as we were told.”

  Rahab pointed to herself, then to Karmotil and held out her arms. The child grinned and leaned from Yassib’s shoulders into his aunt’s embrace.

  “He will never learn to talk if you continue these signals,” Bilda muttered.

  At the edge of the valley, Rahab balanced Karmotil on her hip and tossed a fist-sized rock with her free hand. She doubted her stone struck anything other than the earth around Achan’s family. Despite her half-hearted efforts, the execution was soon complete. “Karmotil must be fed,” she said, and began to walk toward the camp.

  “You cannot miss the burning,” Kemil said.

  “Yes, I can,” she replied without slowing her steps. As she walked along with Bilda and her little sisters, Rahab thought of Rohat’s slender body burning in the great fire of Jericho. She hoped her twin died in the crush of falling walls, long before the flames claimed the ruins of the city.

  “Your new God can be harsh,” Bilda said, as they stepped inside their tent.

  “Mine?” Rahab asked. “No longer ours?”

  “Not today,” Bilda said. “Tomorrow, maybe. I do not understand why Achan’s crime was so bad.”

  Rahab tore a chunk of yesterday’s bread and handed it to Karmotil. “Neither do I. But if Achan’s family was responsible for the defeat of the army and the death of almost forty soldiers, their punishment seems fair.”

  “Um,” Bilda said.

  “I wonder if I will ever completely understand how the Almighty One works,” Rahab continued. “The most mysterious thing of all is this–why did He spare us?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Rahab walked quickly toward the tents of the half tribe of Manassah, wondering all the while if the invitation to visit Milcah was sincere. Although it was early morning, the side of the tent Milcah shared with her sisters was already pulled up and stretched over tall stakes to form a shady canopy, leaving the living space open to the morning breeze. “Good morning,” Rahab said as soon as she saw Milcah. “May I enter?”

  “Most certainly! You are always welcome in our home.” Milcah sat surrounded by twigs, vines, and grass in the center of her canopy’s shade. “May we offer you some refreshment?”

  Remembering her etiquette, Rahab said, “Yes, thank you. What are you doing?”

  “Sorting materials to begin making a new batch of baskets,” Milcah replied. “Tirzah, will you serve us? If I move, I will tangle my grasses.”

  Milcah’s younger sister ladled liquid into cups. She presented one to Rahab, the other to Milcah.

  Rahab took a sip, and struggled to keep from grimacing. Milcah was not so restrained. “What is this?” she asked, staring down at the cup in her hand.

  “Something similar to barley water,” Tirzah answered. “But instead of using barley, I brewed it from a root I found when we were gathering grasses. Do you like it?”

  Setting her drink aside, Milcah said, “One of us must learn to cook, and soon.”

  Tirzah laughed. “Cooking is far too complicated for me.”

  “I suppose we are the only family in our tribe who misses manna,” Milcah said.

  Following her friend’s example, Rahab put her full cup to one side. “Manna? I’ve heard people speak of it, but I do not understand what it is.”

  “Manna is what we ate until we crossed the river. We gathered each day’s portion in the morning, plus enough for two days before Shabbat. Our relatives grew tired of it, and they spent time preparing it different ways.” Milcah stretched out a long, dry vine and placed it with strands of similar length and thickness.

  “We always ate manna just as it was,” Tirzah said. “All of us liked the flavor. It was rich and crunchy and seemed to have a touch of honey. We failed to appreciate how manna simplified our lives until we got over to this side of the river.” She wrinkled her nose. “Preparing a meal here takes so much work.”

  “I suppose so,” Rahab agreed. “Of course, some foods need no cooking—nuts and fruits, for example.”

  “Where do you get these things?” Milcah stopped working and looked up intently.

  “Before, at the city markets.” She nodded in the direction of the ruined city. “Everything inside Jericho burned, as you know. However, there were fields and orchards outside the walls, where we might still be able to find something to eat.” Rahab thought of the execution of Achan’s family, and added, “If such a thing is not forbidden.”

  “Yes,” Milcah agreed. “We must inquire of Uncle Nathan whether or not we are permitted to glean the fields of Jericho.”

  “Our family must be especially careful,” Tirzah said, as she rolled a sleeping mat and tucked it into a corner. “People are suspicious of us because we challenged the inheritance laws. Some look for any reason to criticize the daughters of Zelophehad. I expect it will be the same for you, since you were not born into the nation.” She lifted a large, lumpy bag. “And now if you will excuse me, I must go and do our laundry.”

  “Enjoy your trip to the river,” Rahab said.

  “Thank you. I shall.” Tirzah looked back as she walked away. “If you find we are permitted to harvest from the fields of Jericho, I want to go along with you.”

  Rahab pointed toward a nearby basket. “Did you make this?”

  “Yes,” Milcah replied with a smile. She handed the basket to Rahab. “They are not watertight, but sturdy and strong.”

  Turning the basket over and over, Rahab admired the close, even weave of Milcah’s work. Could a bargain be struck? “Are you willing to teach me your craft if I help you learn how to cook?”

  “I would enjoy both,” Milcah said. “But it does not seem like a reasonable exchange. Cooking is so difficult.”

  Rahab laughed. “You Hebrews amaze me, always trying to be fair. To me, making a basket sounds much more involved than preparing a meal.”

  “All right,” Milcah replied, smiling. “We have an agreement.” She put the basket to the side. “I warned you before we are a peculiar people. Here, you can help me make bundles. Another day, we will go to the river and gather more materials.” She pushed a stack of vines toward Rahab. “The length is not so important. The idea is to match the thickness, thin with thin and thick with thick.”

  Rahab set to work sorting the vines into piles. “Here is your first cooking lesson. Save the brew your sister made, boil it until it thickens, and then treat cuts and burns with it. Although I have never tasted it before, the smell puts me in mind of a plant my mother uses to make poultices.”

  Milcah hooted with laughter. “Now I understand why Tirzah’s almost-barley water tastes so foul!” After working quietly for a while, she said, “Learing to cook will greatly increase my value as a wife. Such a skill
, together with the parcel of land I will receive, should bring me an excellent proposal of marriage.”

  Rahab smiled, wishing to have the same hope as Milcah. “Since your father is no longer alive, who will find a husband for you?”

  “I will.” Milcah cocked her head to one side, while continuing to sort supple twigs. “Moses ruled my sisters and I may marry whomever we want, so long as our husbands belong to our tribe. Uncle Nathan will make the arrangements. But he will tell me privately when a man asks for my hand, and allow me to accept or decline. Knowing Nathan, I suspect he will pretend it is his decision. What about your father? Will he let you choose?”

  Rahab was careful to keep her eyes cast down, in case her pain showed in them. “I will never be a bride.”

  Milcah put a hand to Rahab’s shoulder. “But you must. All Hebrew women marry. It is our custom. Even my sister Noah, who distrusts all men, has a marriage contract.”

  “You do not understand.” Rahab shook her head. “In Jericho, I practiced harlotry. From the time I was a child. No man will ever want me for a wife.”

  “Are you a harlot now?”

  Rahab looked up to see Milcah’s eyes boring into her. “No. I hear my father recite as much as he can remember from what he hears of the law, and I keep every commandment as best I know how. Fornication and adultery are forbidden.”

  “Do you believe your old occupation was wrong?” Milcah asked quietly.

  “Yes. I offended the Almighty One, without knowing what he expected of me, or even realizing He existed.”

  Milcah edged closer to Rahab. “Have you confessed and made a sacrifice?”

  “Not yet. As soon as our month of cleansing is complete, my family will be permitted to sacrifice. We are making arrangements for our sin offering. Then we will observe the annual Day of Atonement with everyone else—at least, this is my understanding of how it works.” Rahab wiped a stray tear. “I also have a gemstone, a topaz my sister gave me, to present as a peace offering to the Lord someday.”