This Scarlet Cord (9 page)

Truthfully, she could think of few things she would like less than taking part in the sacred marriage. That role was for the priestesses, who had devoted themselves to the service of the Lady. She was just a simple farm girl, a status that felt comfortable to her.

Eventually Rahab and Atene met up with the rest of the family and they began to move along the cobbled street that descended toward the Upper City wall. Suddenly the crowds began to push and Rahab was shoved against her father. Then she heard someone yelling for everyone to get off the street, to make way for the king.

Her father grabbed her arm and the family pressed back against the house wall along with everyone else on the street. Standing on tiptoe, Rahab could see a contingent of guards carrying bronze spears lining up along the street to make certain no one moved. Then, after a few minutes she heard the
clip-clop
of horses’ hooves and the
click click
of wheeled bronze chariots coming down the street.

The first chariot to pass was driven by a handsome young man. He wore a white tunic with the purple belt allowed only to royalty around his waist. His hair was combed away from his face, kept in place by a purple headband. Gold bracelets ringed his strong bare arms. He held his horses to a slow trot as they pranced along, almost dancing in their impatience to move faster.

The beauty of the horses awed Rahab. The sheen on their reddish coats glinted in the afternoon sun and their nostrils flared as they held to the slow pace the driver was enforcing. How wonderful it must be to have an animal like that!

The people around her began to shout a name:
“Tamur! Tamur! Tamur!”

The handsome driver turned toward the crowd and lifted a gracious hand. His eyes flicked over the assembled people, then stilled when he saw Rahab. Deeply surprised, she found herself looking back.

The charioteer turned to the man who was riding behind him and said something. The man nodded, jumped out of the moving chariot, and waited by the side of the road next to one of the soldiers.

“Who was
that
?” Atene asked her father-in-law.

“That is Prince Tamur, the king’s eldest son. I have heard talk that he wants his father to turn the kingship over to him, that he thinks Makamaron is too old and feeble to answer for the welfare of the city.” Mepu snorted. “These young men who cannot wait to take their turn at power!”

“How old
is
Makamaron, Father?” Shemu asked, a teasing note in his voice. “Your age, I should think.”

At this point the second chariot came into sight. The purple cloak of the occupant and the gold filet that circled his bald head clearly announced that here was the king.

There was no loud cheering, as there had been for his son. Instead people bowed their heads in silent respect as his chariot passed by. The two horses pulling it were not prancing and fighting to move faster; their pace was slow and, to Rahab, they almost looked bored as they passed with listless dignity.

The king himself was a disappointment.
He looks older than Papa. And his belly is as big as a woman’s when she is nine months gone with child
. Rahab looked closer.
He’s sweating like a pig
. She remembered the elegant picture on the stone in the palace courtyard.
How could anyone think this king is at all like Baal?
After the king passed by, the soldiers fell in behind him and people began to surge back into the street. Kata said in her gentle way, “I am thirsty, my husband. Is there any place where we might get some water?”

The man who had been standing next to them during the procession turned toward them and spoke to Mepu. “There is a shop on the next street where you can get wine, fruit juice, and honey cakes. It’s called the Sign of the Olive.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mepu said.

Rahab saw the man’s eyes move to her.

“Your daughter?”

“Yes,” her father replied, his pleasant tone surprising Rahab. Usually her father scowled at men who noticed her. Perhaps this man’s fine tunic and expensive sandals made the difference. Then her father added, “We have come into the city from the countryside for a visit.”

The man’s eyes raked Rahab from her head to her toes. She felt herself flushing and she moved a little so that she was partially concealed by Shemu.

“You must have just arrived,” the rude stranger said to Mepu. “Your daughter would not have gone unnoticed if you had been here for any length of time.”

Rahab stared in astonishment as her father actually smiled. “I wanted to show my daughter the wonders of our city.”

The man’s mouth quirked knowingly. “And no doubt you wished to show the city the wonders of your daughter.”

Her father shrugged. “As you say, my lord. She has lived all her life on our farm, and now that she is of marriageable age, I thought it was time we made a trip into Jericho.”

“A wise decision,” the man said. “And you are?”

At this point a young man came up to their small group and said to the rude man with whom her father was being so surprisingly forthcoming, “That is a good question, Lord Hasis. I, too, would like to know who this lovely young woman is.”

Rahab felt Shemu put a reassuring hand on her arm, and she flashed him a quick look of gratitude.

The rude man didn’t look at all pleased to see the newcomer. He said, “Farut. I saw you jump out of the prince’s chariot.”

The young man turned his back on Lord Hasis and addressed himself to Mepu. “I am Farut, friend of Prince Tamur. The prince saw your beautiful daughter from his chariot and would like to meet her.”

Rahab felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach.
The prince! What could someone like the prince want with me?

For the first time her father looked uneasy. “We are farming folk, my lord, from the village of Ugaru. My daughter is but a simple maid, here to see the sights of Jericho. We are not fit company for the likes of the prince.”

Farut waved a dismissive hand. “You must let the prince be the judge of that. What is your name and where do you reside?”

Her father answered the questions. Rahab understood he had no choice, but for some reason she didn’t want these men to know where she lived.

“Good. Perhaps I will visit you there.” Farut turned to Lord Hasis. “I do not see what your interest is here, my lord.”

“Perhaps it is the same as yours.”

The two men stood staring at each other in unnerving silence. Rahab felt her heart begin to pound. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she knew it concerned her and she was frightened.

Finally Farut lifted an amused eyebrow, turned, and made his way back through the crowd that had lingered to hear the exchange between the two nobles.

Lord Hasis’s face was white and tense. He shot one more look at Rahab and then he, too, moved away.

“I think we should go back to the Lower City, my husband.”

Kata’s soft voice was a welcome relief after the hostility that had crackled between the two men.

“I’m hungry,” Shemu said. “Why don’t we go to that wine shop we noticed on our way. The food certainly smelled good as we passed by.”

“A good idea.” Rahab saw her father glance at her mother for confirmation. Kata nodded.

Rahab heaved a sigh of relief. She wanted to be gone from this place.

Eight

T
HAT SAME AFTERNOON
S
ALA AND
L
ORD
N
AHSHON PRESENTED
themselves at the house of Lord Arazu. They had dressed in fresh linen tunics, with carefully combed hair and perfectly clean sandals. Arazu had been correct when he had said everyone would know where he lived; the first person they asked was able to direct them.

The noble’s house was one of the largest in a neighborhood of large houses. When the servant escorted Sala and his father inside, Sala saw that it was large enough to accommodate an indoor courtyard. Sala had never seen such a thing before. The courtyard had its own roof, which was supported by four posts at each of its corners. A staircase led from the courtyard up to the second floor of the house, which Sala assumed was the family residence.

Two men besides Lord Arazu were sitting in the cool of the courtyard, looking comfortable in their cushioned wicker chairs. Arazu stood to welcome the newcomers and then presented Sala and his father to Lord Edri, the king’s treasurer, and Lord Ratu, the high priest. The two Israelites were invited to join them and Sala did so after first giving his father an amazed look. How did they rate this kind of attention from a brief meeting on the street?

All of the men were served wine by one servant while another servant placed a tray of nuts and fruits on a low table next to them. Once the underlings were out of hearing, Lord Arazu turned to Sala’s father with a smile.

“You will have guessed from the attendance here, we in Jericho are very much interested in your proposal of shipping our excess produce to other countries. We are fortunate that our farmers are so industrious and we do indeed often have an abundance of grain and olive oil and wine.”

Lord Nahshon nodded and remained silent.

Lord Edri, the treasurer, said, “In a city such as this, which is based upon the agricultural bounty of the countryside, we are always looking for opportunities for investment. Jericho is not on any of the main overland trade routes, so our options are limited. However, if you are looking to buy up our produce to sell abroad . . . well, we would be interested.”

Something about the way the treasurer expressed himself set off an alarm in Sala’s mind. He glanced at his father to see if he was getting the same impression, but Lord Nahshon’s expression was unreadable.

His father replied to the treasurer, “Our preference is to buy early in the harvest, and we like to have a guarantee of how much product you will supply. I can provide the caravans to move the food from Jericho to Gaza so you need not concern yourself with that expense.”

Sala remained silent as the bargaining went on, but inside he was growing more and more angry. These rich scoundrels were planning to sell the harvest right out from under the people of the city! They would pay their usual amount to the farmers and then turn around and sell the fruit of Jericho’s farms for more than twice the price to his father.

Sala held his tongue, but when the discussion appeared to be winding down, he could not resist. Leaning forward, he said, “Excuse me, my lords, but what will you do if you sell the early harvest and end up with not enough food to feed your own city?”

Three pairs of dark eyes stared at him with veiled hostility.

“We will take care of our own people, you can be sure of that,” the high priest said stiffly.

Hah
, Sala thought.
You will take care of yourselves, you mean
.

His father reached over and touched Sala’s arm lightly. He said to the others, “I think we will be able to do business.”

The three Jericho nobles relaxed.

“I just have one more concern,” Nahshon said.

“And what might that be?” Edri asked genially, certain he had gotten what he wanted.

“I am a little worried about the stability of your government. I have been hearing rumors that there is a movement to dethrone the king and put his son into his place. Is there any truth to this gossip?”

Lord Arazu flushed red all the way up to his bald head. “It is true there is a group of troublemakers trying to stir up dissent, but Makamaron has ruled successfully for thirty years now. He has the admiration and respect of the citizens of Jericho. This upstart son of his will be king when his father dies, and not one day before.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Sala’s father said. “With the advance of those Israelites who escaped from Egypt, a divided government in Jericho could lay you open to an attack. They are close enough to be a concern—just across the Jordan, or so I have heard.”

The treasurer, a skinny man with a long thin nose, gave a short laugh. “Have you seen our walls, sir? And the spring that lies within them? We can hold out against a siege for years. I would not worry about Jericho falling to any enemy.”

“A siege would destroy your commerce, though,” Sala pointed out.

Arazu glared. “There will be no siege. That ragtag crowd cannot come against well-armed troops, such as we have in Jericho. Put that thought out of your mind, sir. It will not happen.”

Sala looked at his father, who said mildly, “I am glad to hear that.”

After a little more discussion, and a plan for them to meet again to discuss amounts, Sala and Nahshon made their way out of the impressive house that was at least three times as large as theirs and walked in silence to the gate that would admit them back into the Lower City.

The three Jericho nobles who were left alone immediately broke into discussion.

“So visitors who have been in the city only a few days have already heard of the discord between Makamaron and Tamur,” Arazu said.

“Do we know who is spreading this nonsense?” Edri wanted to know.

The high priest gave the treasurer an impatient look. “The prince himself, of course. And that group of malcontents who hang around him.”