“Here is what my father taught me,” Milcah said. “Either the Almighty One practices forgiveness or He does not. We believe when confession and sacrifice are done, it is as if the wrongdoing never occurred. If the Lord were not inclined to forgive, we are all doomed, because we have all offended Him. Perhaps not in the same way, but all have sinned.”
“Are you saying it will be as if I were innocent again?” Rahab studied Milcah’s face for any clue to her answer.
“You will never again be a virgin, not in a physical sense,” Milcah said. “But you are not held accountable before the Lord for what he has forgiven and cleansed. Anyway, such is my belief.”
“I think I shall never completely understand the Almighty One,” Rahab said.
“Certainly you will not. Nor will anyone else, not fully.” Milcah smiled. “One thing you may be sure of, however. Many men will go to your father and ask to marry you.”
“Because I can cook?” Rahab asked.
Milcah laughed her deep, hearty laugh. “No. Because many men agree with Uncle Nathan, who claims you are the most beautiful woman in the camp.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Rahab awoke early, just as the first streaks of dawn began to illuminate the interior of the tent. Careful to avoid disturbing her mother and sisters, she sat up, yawned, and stretched her arms. As soon as she stirred, Karmotil popped up from where he slept curled against Bilda. He tapped his chest, and pointed toward the river. Rahab silently nodded approval, bringing a bright smile to her little nephew’s face. She arose from her sleeping mat and took up her water pouches while Karmotil stood rocking back and forth, first on one foot then the other, near the exit flap. Rahab always slung the leather holster containing her serpentine dagger over her shoulder when she went to the river. Since she was usually the first to arrive at the water’s edge each morning, there was the remote possibility of encountering a wild animal. Therefore, she felt more secure with a weapon handy. Today, her dagger was not in its familiar location. Although Bilda occasionally used Rahab’s knife, her habit was to return the dagger, cleaned and dried, back to its normal storage place after each use. Rahab cast her eyes here and there, but in the dim light she did not see her sheath anywhere. Puzzled, she nevertheless lifted the tent flap and led Karmotil along the well-worn pathway. The Hebrew camp is a safe place, she thought.
Stripes of red and gold in the eastern sky foretold the imminent sunrise as Rahab and Karmotil reached the water’s edge. While her nephew amused himself tossing small stones and splashing in the shallows, Rahab sat and drank in the beauty of the morning. Her life had changed so completely, and so quickly. Aside from gratitude for her survival, she felt a daily contentment. The peace she sought for so many years now settled around her like a soft garment. The Hebrew instruction concerning the Almighty One went beyond her comprehension. Yet, she took delight in straining to know and understand more. How unexpected it was to find herself more satisfied living in a tent than striving for wealth in Jericho.
Rahab’s thoughts were interrupted by Kemil’s hand grasping her arm. “Bring Karmotil and come quietly with me,” he said.
“What are you doing at the river this time of morning?” she asked.
“No questions.” The blade of her knife flashed a threat from Kemil’s free hand. “Just do as I say.”
Rahab scrambled from her stone perch. Not trusting her voice, she motioned to Karmotil to come to her. As soon as she took her little nephew’s hand, Kemil half led, half dragged them alongside the river and away from the camp.
After some distance, Rahab tried to slow their pace. “What—”
“Hush,” Kemil warned, again showing the dagger in his free hand.
Karmotil stumbled over an exposed tree root and fell to the ground. When Rahab tried to reach him, Kemil’s firm grasp prevented her from bending. “Let me go,” she demanded.
“Do not try to run,” Kemil said. “You will regret it.”
Rahab knelt and cradled Karmotil in her arms, her thoughts whirling in every direction. What was Kemil up to? The cold look in his eyes frightened her more than anything he said or did. “You are all right,” she cooed, dusting her little nephew’s slightly scraped knees. “No need to cry. See? There is no blood.”
“Hurt,” Karmotil whimpered.
“Why are we in such a hurry?” she asked without looking up at Kemil. “Where are we going?”
“There is something I have to show you,” Kemil said.
“Whatever this thing is, surely we can walk there instead of running,” she said, hoping her voice did not shake and reveal her rising terror. Why would her brother need to brandish a weapon to convince her to see some unusual sight? She stood and lifted Karmotil into her arms.
“This way.” Kemil jerked his head up river. Karmotil was heavy, and his weight affected her balance. Nevertheless, carrying him gave her time to figure out what was happening. Rahab walked along as slowly as she dared. She noticed a bag slung over Kemil’s shoulder, perhaps indicating provisions for a journey. But where were they going? There was nothing more than a pile of rubble where Jericho once stood. The Hebrew camp was their only safe haven.
“Wait,” Kemil said when they reached the point where the river began to curve toward the morning sun. Rahab put Karmotil’s feet on the ground and sat on a patch of soft grass. “Give me your arm,” Kemil said as he sat beside her. She stretched out her left arm, and watched as her brother tied a long, thin rope tightly to her wrist. He secured the other end of the rope around his waist.
“Do you think I will run away?” Rahab asked, thinking how often she saw slaves tied to their masters in this same fashion in Jericho.
“No,” Kemil replied. “I know you will never leave the boy behind.” He jiggled the rope. “But just in case.” He stood and nodded toward the river. “Drink. Both of you. It may be some time before we find water again.”
“This thing you will show us, it is far from the river?” Rahab asked as she dipped her cupped hands into the water and offered Karmotil a drink.
Kemil laughed. “It is invisible, like the God who has mesmerized you. It is a better life than the Hebrews offer me.”
“They have always told us we are free to leave. Go, if you wish, my brother, and may the Lord be with you. But please, let Karmotil and me return to the camp where we will be safe.”
“I know your sly ways too well, Rahab,” Kemil said with narrowed eyes. “You cannot wait to run to the spies you slept with to gain further favor by reporting my defection.”
Rahab was appalled. “You know what you say is not true. Nothing more than words passed between the Hebrew spies and me.”
“You need not bother playing the innocent with me,” Kemil said. “Do you expect anyone to believe those men spared your life out of kindness? No, I have known you all your life. You have a harlot’s heart. Always have, always will. Go this way.” He gave a general wave away from the river. “Walk in front of me, and do not permit your unwomanly boldness to make you foolish.”
Realizing there was no choice for the moment, she turned so the morning sun cast her shadow directly in front of her. When she found an opportunity to return, she knew to go in the direction her new people named east. She suspected she could escape from Kemil, but only if she left Karmotil behind. Many possibilities ran through her head as she walked away from the river, leading her nephew by the hand. She knew her brother well enough to know he withheld information when she questioned him. She was also fairly certain he wanted to demonstrate his cleverness by boasting about his plans. From time to time Kemil jerked on the rope that bound them together. “Just checking,” he invariably said when she turned her head to see why. Rahab did not turn to look toward her birthplace when the ruins loomed large on the right. Nor did she steal a glance to the south, in the direction of the distant Hebrew camp as they crossed the road that once led to the gates of Jericho.
“Hungry,” Karmotil said, tugging at Rahab’s sleeve. “Go home,” the child s
aid, pointing in the direction of the camp.
“Not just now,” Rahab said, as she picked up Karmotil and hugged him tightly.. She tried to remember a song written by the former Hebrew commander Moses, but the words were a jumble. So she prayed without speaking aloud, asking the Almighty One to protect the child she held in her arms and bring him home safely to his father and grandparents. She gave thanks the sun was shining to guide her steps in a precise direction. She repeated her vow never to engage in harlotry again, regardless of the penalty. Then finally she asked for Kemil to have a change of heart and turn for home.
“We will stop and rest now,” Kemil said. Rahab restrained her smile, relieved her brother’s endurance had reached a limit, if only temporarily.
“Yes, we have covered quite a distance,” she said. “I imagine Mother wonders why we have not returned.”
“Just as she did the day you decided to run away from home,” Kemil replied, giving the rope around her arm a tug.
“I regret causing her to worry,” Rahab said. “I was young and foolish. There must have been some other way.”
“You can drop the piety.” Kemil took a wineskin from the bag he carried. “You need not speak like a Hebrew around me.”
Rahab spoke quietly. “I am sincere in what I say.”
Kemil drank from the wineskin, and wiped his mouth on his tunic. “Let us move on,” he said. “You carry this.” He thrust his travel bag with its remaining contents toward Rahab, keeping only the wineskin in his hand. “Karmotil is old enough to walk.”
It took all of Rahab’s strength to refrain from asking where they were going. She silently accepted Kemil’s burden and took her little nephew’s hand. “Grandma?” Karmotil asked.
“Not now,” she answered, all the while wondering if Kemil felt any compassion for her or the child.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The sun was low in the sky when they came to a small spring. Rahab knelt immediately and scooped water for Karmotil to drink. Then she satisfied her own thirst. Although he sipped wine all afternoon, Kemil also lapped some water. “We will sleep there,” he said, pointing to a patch of grass not far from the spring.
Rahab removed her scarf and spread it carefully on the ground, making sure the ends were lined up to point directly east and west. After a full day of walking, she was convinced she and Karmotil must escape from Kemil tonight. The next day might take them close to cities where enemies of the Hebrew people lived. “Hungry,” Karmotil said. Rahab glimpsed food in Kemil’s bag earlier, but was uncertain whether or not he was inclined to share his provisions. “Hungry,” Karmotil repeated. “Food for me?”
Kemil sighed heavily, and pulled his bag near. “Here,” he said. “For both of you.”
Rahab accepted the cake of pressed dates her brother held. The cake was hardly enough for one person, and it rankled her to realize this was probably food brought from Jericho—dates she and Bilda pressed into cakes months before. She broke the portion in two and gave Karmotil the slightly larger piece.
“More?” Karmotil asked, still chewing his last bite.
“Ask Kemil,” she said.
“More?” The child extended an open hand to his uncle.
Kemil tossed a handful of roasted grain into his mouth. “There is no more.” He washed the grain down with more wine.
Karmotil turned his face to Rahab, asking, “Grandma?”
“Not tonight,” she said, pulling him into her lap. “I will rock you to sleep.”
After a plaintive look toward Kemil, the little boy crawled into Rahab’s lap. She cuddled him and swayed from side to side, just as Bilda did each evening at sundown. When he fell asleep, she laid him on the scarf she spread on the ground earlier. Continuing to sip at the wineskin, Kemil said, “Do you wonder where we are going?”
“Does it change anything for me to know?” Rahab replied, hoping to sound unconcerned.
“No,” Kemil said.
“Then why bother asking? Is the wine good?” she asked.
He took a long drink. “As a matter of fact, it is. Plunder from Bashan. Quite costly, but worth it.”
“I will wash myself now, and say my evening prayers.” Rahab held up her bound arm. “Shall we both go to the stream?”
“No!” Kemil shouted. Karmotil jumped, but did not rouse from his sleep. “I forbid you to speak with the God of the Hebrews ever again.”
“You trust His power, then,” Rahab said.
“Gods control nothing.” He drank more wine. “Did Baal save Jericho?”
“Baal is nothing more than a statue,” she replied. “The Almighty One is different.”
“We will see how strong your belief remains when I sell you to the Hittites.”
“What use would they have for me?” Rahab rubbed her hands against each other to keep her attention on something other than her brother’s frightening words.
“A trained harlot with an innocent-looking face, a lad who will soon be able to labor in the fields—your price along with this gem will sustain me for some time.” Kemil pulled a thin leather strap from inside his tunic, displaying Rohat’s exquisite topaz.
Unable to contain her anger, Rahab said, “That jewel is mine. Rohat gave it to me.”
“It was yours. I wondered how you came to have such a valuable stone among your possessions.”
She wanted to scream ‘thief’ at Kemil. Instead, she asked, “May I have a drink of wine as payment for my topaz?”
“Oh, no, little sister. This is not a weak Hebrew concoction. No, this is strong drink from across the river. If I had another wineskin, perhaps I would give you a taste. As it is, I have only enough for myself.” As she hoped, he took another long draught of the wine.
“I often mourn for Rohat,” Rahab said. “Do you ever think of her, or our other sisters?”
“No. Never.” Rahab was pleased to notice the thickness of her brother’s voice. Since he took more wine each time he spoke, she continued to engage him in conversation. When his words began to slur beyond understanding, she sighed and said, “I am so very tired. I must sleep now.”
Kemil stretched out on the ground, using his travel bag for a pillow. In the dim light, she saw her dagger resting under his thigh. He gave one last pull on the rope around her arm and closed his eyes. Rahab lay awake thinking of her plan. Exhausted as she was from the day’s tension and travels, she felt she could not afford to doze. If the Almighty One was with her, she and Karmotil would be able to get home. She dared not think what her brother planned to do if he caught her trying to escape. Hunger and fatigue gnawed at her, but she fixed her mind on saving Karmotil from a life of slavery. “Please, Lord, help me,” she whispered. In the darkness, she worked to loosen the rope around her wrist. After what seemed a very long time, she was able to slide a finger into the midst of the knot. With patience, the fibers relaxed and at last the tether was undone.
* * *
Rahab awoke with a start. Was it the moonlight shining directly on her face, or the sound of Kemil’s snoring that interrupted her deep sleep? Her intention was to rest her eyes for a moment. Had she missed her only opportunity to escape? Quickly, silently, she sat up. When Kemil continued to snore loudly, she took a deep breath and surveyed the situation. She dared not risk disturbing her brother to take her dagger or provisions. With no weapon or food, the protection of the Almighty One was her only hope. Pushing down her fear, Rahab touched Karmotil. He moaned and turned over. She shook the child’s shoulder ever so gently—and his eyes sprang open. Karmotil sat up, grinned, tapped himself on the chest, and pointed to the distance. Rahab nodded approval, and the two of them stood. She took her nephew’s hand, marked their course by the direction of her scarf, and began to walk east.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Rahab regretted falling asleep earlier, wondering how much of the night now remained. She comforted herself with the knowledge her brother did not know which direction she and Karmotil took. If they traveled a good distance before Kemil awoke,
perhaps he would not find them. The bright moonlight helped avoid stumbling over rocks, but Rahab longed for the sunrise to confirm she was going in the right direction.
“Tired,” Karmotil said before long. He lifted his free arm pleadingly to Rahab.
“We are a long way from home. I will carry you some of the way, but I do not have the strength to bear your weight for the whole journey,” Rahab said. She squeezed the boy’s hand. “So for now you must be my brave little soldier and march along beside me.”
“Me? Soldier?”
“Yes,” she said. “A very good soldier.”
Rahab walked as fast as she thought Karmotil could go, hurrying to cover some distance before Kemil missed them. Her little nephew seemed to understand the necessity for haste, and cooperated without complaint. She began to whisper to the Almighty One, asking Him to guide her steps, and keep Kemil asleep a long time.
The two of them trudged in the direction Rahab hoped was east until the moonlight began to fade. Karmotil’s high-pitched scream pierced the night. “What is it?” Rahab asked.
Her nephew hopped around, continuing to wail. She sat on the ground and took him into her lap, inspecting the foot he held in his hands. “Probably a scorpion,” she said when she saw a welt beginning to swell on the ball of Karmotil’s right foot. She rocked him in her arms, comforting him as best she could. “No more marching for you, little soldier,” she said. When he fell asleep, she carried him to the shelter of a crease beneath an outcropping of boulders. In the excitement, she had lost her bearings. Now they must wait until the sunrise showed her which way to go. She put her nephew on the soft earth and knelt Hebrew-style beside him to pray, her hands lifted toward the night sky. “Great and mysterious Lord, I pray it is not too much to ask for a miracle. If the time has come for my life to end, I beg You to delay my death until I deliver Karmotil safely to the Hebrew camp. I thank You for providing a bright moon for tonight’s travels and ask You to destroy the scorpion that dared to sting this child. Please comfort my family, giving them hope they will see Karmotil grow up. Forgive me for wanting to murder Kemil in his sleep. May he realize the error of his ways and repent before it is too late. If You decide to spare me once again, as You did when Jericho fell, I promise I will do my best to learn proper prayers to offer up to You.”
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