The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (13 page)

He looked up, met the prince’s amused gaze. “I don’t understand, my lord. You assured me that Rahab was mine.”

“I changed my mind.” He studied one manicured finger. “I find her quite pleasing.” His smile seemed cocky and too self-assured to Dabir’s thinking.

“As I expected you would, my prince.” He smiled and nodded. He could not let this man, prince or not, do this to his plans.

Prince Nahid gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, his gaze aimed in Rahab’s direction. After a lengthy pause, the prince looked Dabir in the eye. “I will cancel her debt and return the money you paid for her. She will become my servant.”

Dabir’s middle tightened against the blow of the prince’s words. “I’m afraid your words confuse me, my lord. Rahab is worth far more as a consort than a free woman.”

The prince’s gaze narrowed but did not waver. “I do not intend to free her, Dabir. I intend to produce an heir by her.”

This was unexpected. Perhaps not Rahab’s doing at all. Dabir’s mind raced, calculating, unwilling to submit this loss. “You are aware, my lord, that the woman is barren?” It was a risk to say so, as he could not prove it, but he would make sure it was true before the prince took her. He swallowed, his pulse racing in time with his thoughts.

The prince looked at him strangely. “I was not aware.” He accepted wine from a servant and drank deeply before speaking again. “You are sure of this?”

Dabir nodded, not daring to release any sign of relief. “Gamal had her for five years, my lord, and they had no children. I have been to her bed many nights for at least three months, and still she carries no child.”

“And you are sure this is not of her own doing? Women have ways of preventing a child.”

Dabir nearly squirmed under the prince’s scrutiny. “I am certain Rahab wanted to give Gamal a son, as all wives are wont to do, my lord. But in five years with Gamal,” he emphasized again, “she did not conceive a child.” He stroked his bearded chin and lifted his gaze to the prince.

The prince looked across the room to where Rahab still sat at the bridal table. “She is exquisite,” he said, his tone wistful. “Together we could have created fine sons.”

Dabir offered a sympathetic sigh. “I am indeed sorry, my lord. If you would still wish to have her, please, I give her to you as a gift. She is of no use to me if she cannot please those closest to you. And they will not desire her if you find her wanting.” A flicker of regret accompanied his offer, but he knew he had to take the risk. He could not fight against the king’s only son without ending up at the end of a stake or sold as Gamal had been.

“No,” Prince Nahid said, though his gaze did not meet Dabir’s. “If she has not conceived in all that time with two different men, then I cannot take the chance that she will be able to do as I’d hoped. Besides, she is right. I do have other sons.”

He had spoken to Rahab of this? Dabir gritted his teeth. She would use such knowledge against him, given the chance. If she had the prince’s ear . . . he would have to tread lightly and appease her, slave or not. He needed her to play her part well. Threats alone would not garner her favor. He must sweeten his coffers with honeyed words if he were to add gold to them as well.

“However,” the prince said, interrupting his thoughts,
“I want her exclusively for a month.” He held Dabir’s gaze without flinching. Dabir would get nowhere if he attempted to argue against him.

“Your presence will make her all the more appealing, my lord.” Dabir smiled.

“I thought you’d see it that way.” The prince accepted another goblet of wine from a passing servant. “I assume you have her well protected.”

Dabir fingered a date pastry but did not eat it. “I have given it consideration.”

“Have you someone in mind?”

Dabir shook his head. “I thought to use one of the eunuchs I employ, but none are impressive enough to attack a would-be nemesis. There is the man her husband accused who started this whole mess.”

“The Nubian?”

“The same.” He’d forgotten the man’s name, but it would take little trouble to discover it.

Prince Nahid’s brows drew close in a frown. “I don’t like Nubians, Dabir.” He touched the place where his beard hid the scar that had nearly ended his life in Jericho’s last war, fought against Canaanite rivals and mercenary Nubians.

“I realize that, my lord, but from what Rahab has told me, this one fought on our side. He was Gamal’s friend.”

“Gamal had a strange way of treating his
friends.
” The prince stood then, and Dabir rose with him.

“Shall I pursue the Nubian then, my lord? He seemed strong enough, and at least his kind would have little interest in Rahab.”

“He could not afford her.” The prince laughed, a derisive sound. There was definitely no love in the man’s heart for the darker race.

“All the more reason he could be a good protector. And he knows where he could end up if he crosses us.” Dabir waited the space of many heartbeats and watched as conflicting emotions crossed the prince’s face.

At last he nodded. “All right, Dabir. Do as you wish.”

Dabir bowed his thanks.

Prince Nahid strode away without acknowledgment.

10

T
endaji hefted his irrigation sickle and hoe over his shoulder and strode through Jericho’s gates with the rest of the field workers. Some of the men around him whistled as they walked, no doubt thinking ahead to a good meal prepared by a wife, surrounded by children. Others, he knew, sang or whistled in anticipation of the drink that would drown their sorrows for another day.

Tendaji kept to himself, hanging back from the crowd as they allowed the king’s guards to inspect their seed baskets. Fear hung in the city’s air, hovering just above the songs of the men. And the guards’ nerves were heightened. Tendaji read it in their hardened faces beneath heavy leather helmets.

“Any news of the Israelites?” Tendaji asked as the guard sifted through his limp goatskin sack that had carried almonds and cheese for his midday meal.

The guard sized Tendaji up, then shrugged. “Nothing notable to report. The last merchants that came through here said the Israelites had moved their camp closer to the Jordan.
They’ll never get across during flood season, but come the heat of summer, we could see some action against them.” The guard waved Tendaji through with a nod. “They won’t get through these walls, though.” He laughed, but Tendaji sensed the bravery was forced.

He continued into the city, walked past the closed-up merchant stalls, and passed several more blocks until he turned to the poor section and his crumbling home. He entered the courtyard and lit the lamp from the torch that burned continually near his gate. The house was cold and dark, and the heaviness he always carried with him when he returned here hit him like a fresh, overpowering wave. His mother was gone, and he could no longer afford the services of a servant to wash his feet or fix his meals. He would never be anything more than servant of the king, working the king’s fields, feeding the king’s greed.

He set the small clay lamp on a stand in the corner of the room, then sank onto a worn wooden bench, dropped his tools to the dirt floor, and bent forward, his face in his hands. His stomach growled in protest, as it had been doing for hours since his simple meal. There was little left in the cooking room, and he’d sold the goat to pay for the final visit from the physician. What he wouldn’t give for a large mug of strong drink to forget. To wallow in the grief he had known too long. First his father, then Kahiru and his son, and now his mother. How was he supposed to survive in the world, friendless, without family, and alone?

The gnawing in his stomach would not ease. He searched the wicker baskets hanging from the beam above his head in the cooking room. Happy memories mingled with ones of loss as he managed to put together some toasted grain and
the last of the goat cheese. He fingered the coins in the belt at his waist. He would have to leave the fields in time to stop at a market on the way home tomorrow.

If only he could go to sleep and not awaken.

He swiped at unmanly tears, startled at a knock on his outer door. No one visited him. But his hesitant feet carried him to the door just the same. A slit in the wood showed two armed palace guards standing in his courtyard. A knot filled the space where his hunger had been. He opened the door a crack and peered out.

“Yes?”

“Are you Tendaji the Nubian?”

The knot doubled, and the muscles along his back tightened. He straightened, determined not to show his sudden fear. “I am Tendaji.”

“By order of Dabir, advisor to the king, you are commanded to come with us.”

This could not be good. But it would do no good to protest.

As he followed the guards, lights from the homes of his neighbors flickered in tall torches near the street, giving at least some illumination besides the moon to guide their way. The streets took many turns before the poor section gave way to the shops and homes of those in higher society. Houses set along the city wall were among the best protected—if a man could afford such a thing.

The Hall of Justice loomed ahead as they made yet another turn onto the King’s Highway. The palace sat above and behind it, its golden towers gleaming in torchlight.

“This way,” one of the guards said as he pointed to a hallway just inside the government building. The slap of leather against the tiles was the only sound, keeping time with the
questions swirling in his head. Why did Dabir want such a meeting with him now?

At last they stopped before an ornate door that stood partway open. One of the guards knocked and poked his head in. “We have the Nubian, my lord.”

“Good. Good. Send him in.”

The guard stepped back and allowed Tendaji to pass him. He entered a brightly lit, paneled room, with one wall housing a window and another an expensive tapestry. A large table separated him from Dabir, who sat like a king on a raised dais behind it.

“Tendaji, my friend, come in. Sit.” He pointed to a stiff wooden chair placed before the wide table. Tendaji sat, sensing even more than seeing Dabir’s power. He noted the man’s multicolored robe with threads of gold interlaced in clear stripes down the sides. Except for the lack of a golden crown on his head, Dabir was the image of royalty. Tendaji mentally compared his threadbare clothing and had to force himself to sit tall, lest he give in completely to this obvious intimidation.

“What can I do for you, my lord?” He studied the man’s crossed arms and narrowed gaze. He seemed almost ill at ease, as though he did not trust Tendaji.

“It has come to my attention that you could use some financial aid. Rumor has it that your mother’s ill health, peace be upon her, drained your earnings. Am I correct?”

Tendaji stiffened, unsure why his financial business should matter at all to this man, but he went along with the conversation. “You are correct.”

“I am sorry for your loss.”

He lowered his gaze. “Thank you, my lord.”

“She was all you had left in the world, am I also correct
in this?” Dabir uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the table.

Tendaji nodded. “Yes, my lord. My father passed on many years ago, and my wife died in childbirth after I returned from a rotation of duty.”

“You were in the king’s army then?”

“For a short time, yes.”

Dabir seemed to consider this, while Tendaji waited, hands clasped in his lap, studying the blunt edges of his nails.

“I have a job to offer you, Tendaji, if you will consider it. The pay is good, as long as you do your job well, and you will sleep in a home far nicer than the one you do now. Your meals will be provided, and you will no longer need to work the fields. Does this interest you?”

Tendaji looked up and raised a brow. “I am curious as to what you find in me that is worthy of such a duty, my lord.”

Dabir’s smile was subtle, as though he knew a secret no one else shared. “You are strong and loyal, Tendaji. Your loyalty to your mother speaks a great deal about your character. And you know how to use a weapon, if indeed you spent time in the king’s service.”

Tendaji nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then are you interested?”

“What is it that I would be doing, my lord?” He was highly interested, but not without knowing what pot of hot oil he was jumping into.

“You would be personal guard to my newest asset. Rahab.” Dabir’s gaze held his, unwavering. “You know of whom I speak, Tendaji?”

“The wife of Gamal?” Rahab was not a common enough name to be anyone else.

“The same. Since Gamal’s debt grew so large and came to such an unfortunate end, we were forced to sell him to Syrian traders. But his payment was not enough to cover his debt, so Rahab has entered into an agreement with us to pay it back.” Dabir’s look held challenge, and Tendaji knew this was not a man to be crossed.

“Is Rahab’s life in danger then?”

“Let us just say that she provides a service that can bring about unsavory patrons. You must guard her against such men. And you must go with her wherever she goes. She is not even to go to market unescorted. We do not wish to see anything happen to her . . . or to you.”