This Scarlet Cord (21 page)

The older woman finished cleaning the wound, and then the younger one pressed the scarf over it tightly, to stop the bleeding.

“Do you think it’s serious?” Lord Nahshon asked, his brow creased with worry.

“No.” The woman with the water was washing the rest of Sala’s face. “The guard only broke the flesh. The bone underneath is untouched. He will be all right, although he will probably have a scar on that handsome face.”

The people who had been watching the little scene began to drift away and Lord Nahshon looked around. The streets were still noisy and crowded; there was little or no chance of finding a litter to take Sala home.

A man came up beside Nahshon. “Ah, there you are, Mama,” he said to the kneeling woman. He looked down into Sala’s unconscious face, then put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Always the one to help.” His voice was full of affection.

Lord Nahshon said to the man, “I am grateful for your mother’s kindness. I’m afraid my son got carried away by the excitement of the festival.”

“You have to watch how much they drink,” the man said practically. “They just keep going and don’t keep count.”

“I fear that is what happened,” Lord Nahshon said.

The younger woman who had supplied the scarf said, “Our boys are around here somewhere, my husband. See if you can find them. This poor man will need help getting his son away from here.”

The man nodded and said to Nahshon, “Don’t worry, I’ll find my sons and we’ll help you get him home.”

“Thank you.” For the first time in his life, Lord Nahshon looked at a Canaanite with real gratitude. “I would appreciate that greatly.”

The man laughed as he moved off. “He’ll have a headache that will split his skull in the morning.”

Lord Nahshon said, “Yes. I’m sure he will.”

By tomorrow morning it would be done, he thought with grim satisfaction. The girl would be defiled and that would be that. He shut his eyes briefly. If only he had just sent the girl back to her family while they were still in Gaza. Why, oh why, had he brought her to Ramac with them and given Sala a chance to get to know her? It had been the worst mistake of his life, and he would give his entire fortune if he could reverse that thoughtless decision and so save his son from all this unnecessary temptation and pain.

Twenty

W
HEN RAHAB’S CHAIR ARRIVED AT THE TEMPLE OF
Baal, the courtyard was still packed with people, although the king had left. The priests carried her through the opening in the crowd that had been created by the guards and rested it on top of the sanctuary steps, where the king’s chair had stood just a short time before. The priestesses who had followed the hierodule in the procession helped her from the chair, then turned her so that all the people in the courtyard could see her.

A murmur went up from the gathered nobles, but all Rahab cared about was locating her family. This time it was not her mother she wanted, however, it was Atene. Her sister-in-law was the only person in the world who might understand what she was feeling, and she wanted the comfort of Atene’s compassionate gaze. But she couldn’t find her in the sea of people who were staring at her so eagerly.

After a few moments the priestesses turned her so she could pass through the great sanctuary door. This was the only day in the year that women were allowed into Baal’s temple, and the priestesses looked eagerly around the room, taking in the statues and splendid carved wall decorations, trying to absorb everything while they had the chance.

Rahab looked at nothing. She was aware only of the quick beating of her heart and the buzzing in her ears. She dug her nails into her palms, hoping the pain would keep her from fainting.

The priestesses led her into one of the side rooms that opened off the outer chamber. Inside the room was a raised pool of water, larger and deeper than the one she had used yesterday in the king’s palace. It was the bath for the ritual cleansing of the hierodule.

As Rahab looked around the graceful bathing room, a sense of crushing defeat settled over her. She had never felt so beaten, not even when she had been kidnapped as a child. At that time she had truly believed the goddess would save her, and that belief had kept her fighting spirit alive. But she didn’t believe in the goddess anymore. She was now, as she always had been, just Rahab.

She wondered how other hierodules who had gone before her had felt. Had they believed they turned into the goddess while making the sacred marriage? Or had they just pretended? They must have pretended; they were just girls who wanted to be important and so they told everyone they had felt the goddess enter into them. But Rahab didn’t think that had happened. The girls had lied.

She was lost. There was no Sala to help her and no way she could help herself. To resist would be to bring certain destruction on her family. No king would allow himself to be so humiliated without seeking retribution.

As the priestesses helped her into the pool and washed her body carefully with scented soap, she thought of Sala. She had been trying so hard not to think of him, not to imagine what he would think of her for doing this. Even worse, what would his father think?

It would defile me to marry you
.

Those words had hurt her. They had hurt her worse than anything else in her life. And he had said that before . . . this.

Sala believed in Elohim. Rahab had prayed to Sala’s god last night, but He had not listened to her. He had let this terrible thing happen to her. She was a Canaanite woman, and He must not care about Canaanites.

Perhaps Sala would pray for her. If he did, perhaps Elohim would listen to Sala if He would not listen to her. Rahab shut her eyes tight and hoped with all her heart that Sala was praying for her.

When the bath was over, the priestesses dried her, dressed her in a fine linen robe, and combed out her hair.

The head priestess, who had been supervising the bath, looked at Rahab and lost a little of her sour expression. “Asherah will be pleased. Now do you remember the prayers I taught you to say while you wait for the king?”

“Yes.” Rahab, who had no intention of saying those prayers, nodded.

“Then come with me.”

Rahab followed the head priestess back into the outer chamber. The door to the inner chamber was guarded, but when the sentry saw who it was, he opened the door to allow the women to enter.

The first thing Rahab noticed was the scent of cedar. The second thing was the wide bed in the middle of the room. It was covered in pure white linens with pillows scattered along the top.

Rahab stopped.

The head priestess turned to her with a frown. “Come along. I must arrange you in the bed before the king comes. Do not delay.”

A rush of nausea roiled through Rahab’s stomach.
Perhaps if I get sick all over the bed the king will reject me
, she thought a little hysterically.
Surely goddesses don’t vomit
.

The head priestess must have seen her sudden pallor, for she guided Rahab to sit on the side of the bed. “Put your head in your lap and take deep breaths,” she commanded.

Rahab obeyed, trying hard to get control of her stomach. Much as she would like to throw up all over the bed, and the king as well, she knew that would be fatal for her family. So she took some sips of the water the priestess brought her and her stomach began to settle down.

As the priestess took the cup back she looked deeply into Rahab’s eyes. “It is not surprising that you are overcome by this moment. When the king enters this room, it will be Baal coming to you, and that is certainly enough to overwhelm a simple girl like you. But remember, you are no longer Rahab, the daughter of a farmer; you are Asherah, the goddess who is Baal’s wife and his sister. You will feel joy to see him, and the consummation of your union will assure the life of our country.”

Rahab returned the head priestess’s look and saw that she believed absolutely in what she was saying. Rahab breathed deeply once, twice, then again. She nodded. “I am all right now.”

She let herself be as easily manipulated as a doll while the head priestess arranged her in the bed. Once she was lying properly, Umara spread her hair over the pillow and then folded back her robe so that her body was partially uncovered.

Finally the priestess left. Rahab lay as still as the dead, stared up at the ceiling, and told herself that all she had to do was endure. After all, it couldn’t take long.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. Just do whatever has to be done so that it will be over. Don’t think of Sala. Don’t think of anyone. Pretend you are on a boat flying across the water. Feel the sun on your head and the spray in your face. You’re not here in this suffocating room, you’re—

At that moment the door to the inner sanctuary opened again, and this time the king came in. Rahab’s head and shoulders were propped up against the pillows so she could see him clearly in the flicker of the rush lights.

He wore a white robe and his face and neck and chest were wrinkled and dotted with ugly brown spots. His stomach was so big he looked as if he were carrying a child.

Rahab shut her eyes tightly. Everything inside her seemed frozen with horror.

She opened her eyes and saw that the king was standing next to her. She heard his breath catch. “You are so beautiful, Asherah, my goddess, my wife. Just looking at you has given me the might and the potency of Baal.”

She felt his fingers touch her skin and she shut her eyes again. With all her being she wanted to shove him away from her and run.

I have to do this
, she kept repeating to herself.
I have to do this, I have to .
. .

She felt the heavy weight of the king crush her into the softness of the bedstead. She shuddered. He was lying on top of her and his breath smelled rotten. He pushed her robe away and began to rub himself against her. It was awful, more awful than she had ever imagined. She could feel his bare flesh against her and she wanted to scream.

Suddenly he raised himself and let out a deep, gutteral moan. Then, as she laid still beneath him, he made a strangled sound and collapsed on her with his full weight. He didn’t move and was quiet.

Rahab lay there, rigid as a board. She was terrified. What had just happened?

“My lord?” she whispered at last.

There was no answer.

Rahab tried to push him a little, to take some of the weight off of her, but he just lay there, inert, his face against her neck. A horrible suspicion rose in her mind. He couldn’t be . . . he couldn’t be dead?

“My lord!” She spoke louder and pushed harder. Still no response.

Rahab panicked. She was trapped here under a dead man! She pushed and shoved with all her might. He was heavy but finally she managed to shift him enough so that she could get out from under him. When she was finally standing on the floor, she bent over him to check if he might still be breathing.

His eyes were open, but they did not see her. His chest was motionless.

Rahab raised shaking hands to her mouth. He was dead. The king had tried to make the sacred marriage with her and had died doing it. What was she going to do?

Slowly, slowly she backed away from the bed, her eyes on the unmoving figure sprawled among the rumpled sheets. When she was halfway across the room, she whirled and ran to the door. She pushed it open and burst into the outer chamber. Two temple guards were at the door and they gaped at her as if she were a madwoman.

“The king!” she cried. “I think the king is dead!” The horrified expression on the guards’ faces was the last thing she saw because, for the first time in her life, Rahab fainted.

The guard nearest the door ran into the sanctuary while the other guard knelt next to the fallen girl. When the first guard came out, he was pale to his lips. “She’s right. The king is dead.”

The second guard looked up from Rahab’s unconscious body. “Get the prince. I’ll stay here.”

Rahab’s eyes were still closed when Prince Tamur came striding into the temple, followed by more guards. He took a quick look at the recumbent Rahab, then demanded, “Where is the king?”