The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (9 page)

Cala came to her next, then Adara, then her sisters-in-law, each quietly weeping, forcing Rahab to blink away the emotion that threatened them all. Even her brothers, Hazim,
Azad, and Jaul, and her brother-in-law Tzadok touched her shoulder in a parting gesture.

She stayed in the shadows as she made her way by the moon’s light to her home. No lamp greeted her as she entered her court, and dusk cast eerie shadows over the stones. The door creaked on its leather hinges, and a sense of dread swept through her as she entered the dark interior alone. She had rarely stayed away from home so late, and if she did, Gamal had always accompanied her. Memories of their early years filled her, of days when Gamal had carried her laughing over the threshold, kissing her face, her neck, both of them slightly drunk with too much wine. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stumbled over the rug Gamal had probably kicked when they arrested him.

She clutched the wall and moved slowly until she found one of the cushions in their sitting room and sank onto it. How long until they came for her? She tilted her head to listen, bristling at every footstep that moved past her house.

Darkness fell over the room, and no more than a sliver of moon rose to offer light through the narrow windows. She forced her weighted limbs to rise and walked to the cooking room. Rummaging for a piece of dry bread left over from the morning’s repast, she realized she was not hungry and could not eat it even if she wanted to. If only she could run away.

The thought brought the slightest ray of hope as she considered and discarded a number of ways she could disguise herself and sneak out of the city. She could use the coins still tucked into her belt to bribe the guards to let her through. But the memory of her father’s worried frown stopped her short. If they could not find her, her family would suffer. She would not allow that.

Exhaustion overwhelmed her. She dragged herself to the bed she had shared with Gamal and flung herself among the covers, longing to weep, but longing more to sleep, to forget.

Hours later—for she must have fallen into a fitful sleep—sharp stomping carried to her through the shuttered window, and her heart skipped a beat at the staccato rap of a fist against her front door. She sat up, her head spinning from grogginess and hunger.

She pressed a hand to her middle and forced her shaky legs to stand. Her cloak still wrapped about her, she cinched it tighter, then drew in a calming breath and opened the door.

The king’s guards stood in her courtyard, armed with clubs and swords as if she were a common criminal.

“What can I do for you?” Rahab lifted her chin, though her voice shook.

“We seek Rahab, wife of Gamal.” The guard who spoke seemed incredibly young to Rahab, though she herself was only twenty.

Rahab swallowed a distasteful retort. “I am Rahab.” She would not allow them to see her fear.

“Wife of Gamal?”

She nodded. She suddenly had no desire to make this easy on them.

“You are to come with us. Now.” The guard’s commanding tone sounded older than his years.

She glanced into the dark house behind her, wondering if she would see it again. She should have rescued the rest of the silver from the floor and given it to her sister to keep for
her. But there was no use worrying about such things now beyond her control.

“Come. No need to gather anything. Your belongings are the king’s property now, and he will dispense of them.” Guards approached her, one on either side, and clutched her upper arms.

She attempted to free herself. “There is no need to force me. I’m coming.” But they did not release their grip.

The street was dark save for a few torches in neighboring courtyards and the lone torch carried by one of the guards leading the way. She was dragged, barely able to keep up with their marching feet, back to the very place she had been with Cala that morning. The Hall of Justice.

Rahab turned on the narrow cot in the dank cell. She had not realized the Hall of Justice had such rooms beneath its surface until the guards locked her away in one. The single torch that stood in the hall outside the stone gate flickered, casting the barest of shadows along the dirt floor. A mouse gnawed something in a corner of the room, and Rahab pulled her feet beneath her robe, barely daring to touch anything. She did not normally fear the insects or night sounds, but to be underground in the dark . . . She shivered, clinging to her cloak, grateful they let her keep it. Why had they not listened and taken her to Dabir?

She slept fitfully and jumped at approaching footsteps. A guard unlocked the door to her prison. “Come,” he said, his bark sounding unnaturally loud in the enclosed hall. Rahab jumped up and followed close behind, praying with every step that he would not stop.

Dawn nearly blinded her as they reached the surface and stepped into the public courtyard of the government buildings. A wooden platform had been raised in the center of the court, and men dressed in fine clothes from Jericho and abroad, merchants in colors she did not recognize, filled the area around the platform.

Guards entered the court from the area of the debtors’ prison, leading a group of scraggly prisoners. Rahab squinted, searching. There. Her pulse jumped in recognition. Gamal followed near the end, head hanging in humiliation. She looked away, ashamed at what he had become, furious with what he had done to them, to her family. She clenched and unclenched her fists, barely reining in her rage. If he were near, she would claw his face with her nails and spit at his feet.

She drew in a breath, telling herself to calm, and searched the crowd for Tendaji, grateful when no sign of the black man appeared. Perhaps they had freed him to care for his mother. She took some small comfort in that hope.

The crowds grew as the guards led her to a holding area near the platform. She was not bound as Gamal was and glanced briefly about her, wondering if she could slip past the guards and get lost in the crowd. But one eyed her too closely and seemed to find his only concern to be her safety. There was no escape from this indignity.

“How much will you give for this one?” the auctioneer shouted to the crowd, pointing to a gaunt-looking man old enough to be her grandfather if he had lived. “Come now, he’s stronger than he looks.” The man laughed and slapped the slave’s bare shoulder.

The bidding ended quickly for one so useless, and the rest of the line of men paraded before the onlookers. When
Gamal’s turn came, Rahab could not take her eyes from him, willing him to look her way. But his gaze remained downcast as Syrian merchants circled him, poking, prodding.

“Thirty pieces of silver for this one.” The Syrian’s offer was generous, though it did not even come close to covering Gamal’s debt to Prince Nahid.

Rahab stood stiff, her heart beating with the kind of dread that turned her limbs to water. She could not do this.

She turned to the guard standing nearest her as Gamal was led away in chains with the Syrian merchant, not once looking to see if she stood near enough to watch. “Please,” she said to the guard, “I must speak to the king’s advisor, Dabir. He is a personal friend.”

“Your husband was a personal friend to the prince and that made no difference, miss. I’m afraid Dabir is not available to speak to you.”

“Has anyone spoken to him to ask?” She could not give up so easily. She offered the guard her most beguiling smile. “Just a moment of his time is all I ask.”

The guard hesitated. “Look, miss, I’m just telling you what I was told. Dabir said to bring you here. He is speaking to your father and brothers even now.”

Alarm shot through her. Nothing good would come of such a meeting. “All the more reason I need to see him.”

The guard shook his head. “Dabir gave strict orders. You are to be sold to the highest bidder.” He took her arm as the auctioneer called for the female slaves. “Come on then. Looks like it’s your turn.”

Rahab blinked back tears as she allowed the guard to lead her onto the platform. Half-naked women stood in a row,
their eyes vacant as though death had already claimed them. Perhaps in slavery it already had.

Rahab cinched her robe tighter, praying to every god she could imagine to allow her to keep her clothing and her dignity.

Dabir sat behind a large oak table, his high seat giving him the ability to look down on those who stood before him—this time Rahab’s father and brothers. He fingered his close-cropped beard and narrowed his eyes as he looked them over. The father seemed worried. Good. The brothers, wary. Also good.

Dabir cleared his throat. “As you are aware,” he said, addressing Rahab’s father, “your son-in-law Gamal has incurred an enormous debt to the crown, and when that debt was forgiven, he scorned the prince’s mercy and did not turn from his wayward scheming.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in, watching the men shift from foot to foot. Impatient. Afraid. He hid a smile.

“Unfortunately, even his sale to Syrian merchants has brought in only a small portion to cover his debt. And his wife did not fare much better.” He ran his tongue over his moist lips, then took a drink from the wine cup next to him. “Therefore”—he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—“the rest of Gamal’s debt will be divided between his parents and each of you until it is paid in full. You may still work your farms or businesses or whatever it is you do, but a portion will be paid monthly to the king in addition to your taxes.”

He leaned back in his chair, taking in their surprised, horrified looks. Would they protest? But after a moment of
silence, he added, “Be grateful you and all you own are not immediately sold to cover this man’s debt. And next time, I would make very sure your daughters do not marry fools.”

Rahab’s father merely nodded, though the weight of Dabir’s words seemed too heavy for him to carry through the door. Had he made the penalty too harsh? Should he have told them that once Rahab belonged to him, the debt would easily be paid? She was worth the price of untold rubies in his mind.

But as he watched them walk silently from his office, he allowed himself a small smile. No, keeping them under his thumb was better than leaving them alone. It would ensure Rahab’s submission to his plan to keep her as his mistress . . . and so much more.

He stood abruptly at the thought. Rahab should be on the auction block by now, and his servant had better not mess up the bidding. He could not afford to have her sold to someone else. She was his, no matter what it cost him.