This Scarlet Cord (3 page)

Rahab thought this was an excellent idea. She had prayed to Asherah and the goddess had sent this boy to help her. She gripped his long, slender fingers with her smaller hand and hurried as hard as she could to keep up with him.

He knows exactly where he’s going. He has to be a native of this city
.

For some reason, she trusted him. His grip was so reassuring. He seemed so grown-up and sure of himself. Her initial terror was fading into a sense of security. This boy and his father would take care of her.

Finally the boy said, “Here we are. This is the inn where I am staying.”

It was a much nicer looking inn than the place where the kidnappers had taken Rahab, and she tried to smooth down her disheveled hair and straighten her robe as they walked into a tiny entry room.

“Remain here, and I will get my father,” the boy said.

Suddenly her terror returned. “No!” Rahab grabbed his arm as tightly as she could. “Don’t leave me. I want to stay with you.”

He looked down into her face and she held her breath. Then he gave her a faint, comforting smile. “Very well. Come along with me.”

They climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor and she followed him to a room at the end of a short hallway. He opened the door and peered in.

“Father?” Rahab understood the word, but then he began to speak in a language she did not know. A moment later a man walked into view. Rahab peered at him from behind the boy and bit her lip.

He was tall and stern looking. Rahab waited, poised to run again if she had to. Father and son talked in the strange language, of which she could understand only a few words, then the man looked at her and said in fluent Canaanite, “Come in, little girl. I want to speak to you.”

Rahab cast an anxious glance up at her savior. He said softly, “It’s all right. No one here will hurt you. This is my father, a good man.”

Rahab knew she had to trust him, that she had no other choice, and she walked in the door.

It was a decent size room, with two sleeping mats rolled up in one of the corners. The rest of the furniture was simple wood stools and a large wooden chest that had some clothes neatly folded on top of it.

“What is your name, my child?” the man asked.

“Rahab.” Her voice came out as a tremor and she said it again, more clearly, “My name is Rahab.”

“A pretty name. And where are you from, Rahab?”

“I am from Ugaru, a village just outside of Jericho.”

“Tell me what happened to bring you from Jericho to Gaza.”

The story poured out of Rahab. She didn’t cry until she got to the part about them wanting to sell her to an Egyptian lord as a slave. “They said they would get a fortune for me. What kind of people would pay a fortune for me? I don’t sing or dance. I have no special talents. I think they must have been mad, those bandits. But they wouldn’t let me go! They were going to sell me to someone here in Gaza who would take me on a ship to Egypt.”

Over her head she saw the eyes of father and son meet. The man said, “Did they hurt you, Rahab?”

She sniffled. “Of course they hurt me! They hit me and tied my hands so I couldn’t escape. They are horrible, horrible people.”

The man looked for a long time into her eyes. Then he nodded, as if he was satisfied. “They wanted to sell a virgin. That would get them more money.”

Rahab shuddered.

The boy asked, “How did you get away?”

She told them about the tiny window and how she had managed to squeeze herself onto the roof and jump onto the ground. “I am skinny and I am a good jumper,” she finished proudly. “Even my brothers say I am a good jumper. I once jumped from the top of the stable into the muck pile. It was very far and I didn’t get hurt.”

“You are an intrepid girl, Rahab,” the man said and he smiled. He looked different when he smiled. “My name is Lord Nahshon, and this is my son, Sala. We are from Ramac.”

Rahab had never heard of Ramac, but she nodded as if she had.

“I am happy to know you,” she said politely, the way her mother had taught her.

Sala said, “We need to return Rahab to her parents, Father. They must be worried about her.”

Tears sprung into Rahab’s eyes. “Oh, please take me home. My mother will have been crying and crying, wondering what has happened to me.”

Lord Nahshon sighed. “I will find some way to get you back to your parents, I promise. You are a lucky girl that you got away from those men. Your future with them would have been bleak indeed.”

“I know,” she replied in a small voice.

“I will go now and ask the landlady to find a room for you. You need to rest. We will talk later.”

“Yes, sir. My lord, that is,” Rahab amended hastily. They had lords in Jericho, she knew, but she had never met any. She had lived all her life on her parents’ farm and had never been beyond their local village. But lords were important people, almost as important as the king himself.

“Stay with her while I go and find the landlady,” Lord Nahshon said to his son in Hebrew. “I had better speak to her myself. This is a respectable house and she will need to be reassured that the girl is not a prostitute.”

“Yes, Father.”

As soon as they were alone together, Rahab looked up at Sala. He was a very good-looking boy. His hair was black as night and worn shorter than the men of Jericho wore theirs. His nose was thin and elegantly curved and his dark brown eyes looked both warm and intelligent. He was quite tall, taller than her brother Shemu, but slender. She wondered how old he was but didn’t think it would be polite to ask.

“What language were you speaking?” she asked instead.

“Hebrew. We are Israelites, Rahab. There are many Israelites in Canaan, but most of them live in small towns in the Judean hills. My father and I live in Ramac, the only Israelite city on the Great Sea. We came to Gaza to buy a new ship for my father’s fleet. He is a merchant.”

“I do not know about Israelites,” Rahab said, careful to pronounce the word correctly. “Are you different from us?”

“Yes, we are different. We do not worship your gods, we worship one God only, the God who created the world.”

Rahab frowned. This sounded strange to her. “Is this god like our Baal?”

Sala’s lips tightened and for a moment he looked forbidding. “He is nothing like Baal, or any other of your gods. He is the one true God; your gods are just make-believe.”

Sala was making her nervous. It was not good luck to say bad things about the gods. Besides, she was sure it was the lady Asherah who had saved her from the bandits. But she did not want to argue with Sala—he was her savior after all. So Rahab smiled and asked a different question and they were still talking when Lord Nahshon came back into the room.

Three

D
URING THE TIME
L
ORD
N
AHSHON WAS AWAY,
S
ALA
learned the names and likes and dislikes of everyone in Rahab’s family as well as the specifics of her kidnapping. When Lord Nahshon returned, an older woman with a brown, wrinkled face was with him. Sala thought she looked like a shriveled old date.

Sala’s father said, “Rahab, this is Hura, and she is going to watch over you while we are in Gaza. We are a group of men and you cannot be alone with us. It would not be right. Hura will show you to the room I have taken for you and then she will bring you some fresh clothing. She has a granddaughter who is about your size.”

Lord Nahshon spoke with quiet authority, but Rahab shook her head. “Thank you, my lord, but I don’t want to stay here, I want to go home. Please, can’t you just send me back to my father?”

Lord Nahshon looked a little taken aback and Sala smothered a grin. His father was not accustomed to having his arrangements questioned by anyone, let alone a little girl.

“When I have decided how to accomplish that, I will inform you,” Lord Nahshon replied, looking down his hawk-like nose.

Rahab didn’t seem satisfied by this answer. She glanced at Sala and he shook his head slightly, telling her she shouldn’t ask anything else right now.

Her lips pinched together and an elusive dimple flickered in her cheek. Then she bowed her head and said, “All right, I will go with Hura.” She turned to the door, then stopped, looked back, and added with conscientious politeness, “Thank you, Lord Nahshon, for helping me.”

“You are welcome,” Sala’s father replied.

After the door had closed behind her, Lord Nahshon turned to Sala, shaking his head. “Whatever made you pick that child up, Sala? She is a Canaanite; she has nothing to do with us.”

“It was the look of terror on her face,” Sala said. “You would have done the same thing, Father. It would have been heartless not to help her. She is a little girl. I couldn’t just ignore her.”

Lord Nahshon sighed. “Well, I suppose I am saddled with her now. As you say, it would be heartless to turn her loose on the streets of Gaza. A girl child who looks like that, some unsavory character would be sure to pick her up. I wouldn’t like having her fate on my conscience.”

Sala felt a shiver run up and down his back at the thought of what might have befallen the spunky little girl.

Lord Nahshon said, “Did she tell you anything else about herself?”

“Yes. She comes from one of the villages that are part of Jericho’s territory. Her father owns vineyards. Apparently the harvests were excellent this year and he and some of his neighbors decided to ship their excess wine into Egypt. They were on their way to Joppa when they were attacked. Rahab was the only person in the party the bandits took, but they captured many of the loaded donkeys. She has brothers as well as a father, and perhaps someone went to Joppa to look for her, but I doubt they would have thought to try Gaza.”

“One of those bandits got a look at her face and saw his fortune,” Lord Nahshon said grimly. “We will have to keep her hidden while we remain in Gaza.”

“She’s smart,” Sala said. “She got away. I doubt many girls would have managed that.”

Lord Nahshon pinched his nose. “Do you know how old she is?”

“She’s twelve.”

“Twelve! She looks younger.” He blew out of the nose he had just been pinching. “So, thanks to your gallantry, here I sit with a twelve-year-old Canaanite girl on my hands.”

“You’ll think of something, Father,” Sala said confidently.

Nahshon sighed. “Well, I’m not paying to send her all the way to Jericho. We’ll have to take her home with us and I’ll dispatch a message to her family asking them to send someone to collect her. That’s the best I can do.”

Sala smiled his approval. "I’m sure she’ll be no trouble, Father. She’s only a little girl.”

“A Canaanite girl, my son, and a stunningly beautiful one at that.” Nahshon shook his head. “I don’t know what your mother and sisters will say.”

“They will feel sorry for her, as you and I do,” Sala replied.

Lord Nahshon grunted. “I hope so. Now let us prepare ourselves for dinner.”

After dinner Sala found Rahab in the kitchen with Hura. Her chaperone was helping the other maids clean the dishes, and Rahab was sitting at a scarred wooden table looking gloomy.

Her face brightened when she saw him and she gave him a brilliant, welcoming smile. He joined her at the table.

“You look better,” he said as he sat down.

“Hura was very nice. She helped me to wash and she brought me clean clothes.” She shuddered. “I didn’t want to wear anything those filthy thieves had touched.”

“I don’t blame you. I came to tell you my father’s plan. You are to come back to Ramac with us and then he will send a messenger to Jericho to tell your family where you are. Your father can send someone to bring you home.”

Rahab clapped her hands. “How happy they will be to find out I am safe and coming home!”

Sala looked at her radiant face and thought she was the most confident girl he had ever known. He had four sisters, two older than he and two younger, and none of them would have been comfortable sitting in an inn kitchen chattering away to a strange young man as if they were the best of friends. And after all she had been through!

Canaanite girls must be different from Israelite girls, who were kept sequestered from men who were not of their family. Of course, from what he had heard about the Canaanite religion, the women would have to be brought up differently. They certainly seemed looser with their virtue.

“What kind of a house do you have?” Rahab was asking. “Are you rich? You must be, if your father is a lord. We aren’t rich but we have some good vineyards. Does your father have many ships? Do you think I could ride on one of them?”

Out of this torrent of questions, Sala picked the one he could answer most easily. “Women are not allowed on ships. It’s considered bad luck.”

The smile was replaced by a look of astonishment. “Bad luck? Why?”

Sala had no idea why; it was just something he had always heard. He shrugged. “Everyone says it.”

“
I
never heard such a thing.”

Sala looked down his nose at this girl who barely came up to his chin. “You know nothing about ships. You told me you had never even seen the sea before you came to Gaza. How should you know anything about a seaman’s rules?”