The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (15 page)

Dabir sucked in a breath as though the length of time surprised him. He walked to the window, his back to her. Silence pulsed like dread before a coming storm.

“You cannot keep it,” he said at last. “Your debt is too great, and we would lose too much time and money waiting for you to birth it.”

“I will take on more clients until the babe becomes obvious. I will double the visits once it is born.” Urgency filled her tone despite her attempt to remain calm.

He looked at her, his smile calculating. “If you are so willing to take on more men, you can do that now, without the babe.”

She lost the ability to breathe for a dizzying moment, hating the way his words pierced her.

“No, please, Dabir.” But she was begging now, and no kindness filled his gaze.

He stepped closer, gripped her arm. “If you do not visit the palace midwife by week’s end to rid yourself of this . . . this burden, I will take you there myself. And believe me, Rahab, you will regret it if I am forced to do so.”

“He is gone, mistress,” Tendaji told her moments later. He found her staring listlessly out the window in the city wall, longing to escape to the fields and hills beyond. “Did he hurt you?”

Rahab released a shuddering breath and turned to face him. “Can I trust you, Tendaji? Will you keep my secrets even from Dabir?”

“Every day for any reason, mistress.” His fierce look surprised her. Dabir had given Tendaji lucrative employment. Was she foolish to trust him? But she had no one else strong enough to do what she must.

She motioned for him to shut the door, then spoke close to his ear. “Dabir does not wish me to keep my child. He is sending me to the palace midwife by week’s end to . . .” She choked on a sob. “To destroy it.” Her hushed words sounded loud in her ears.

Tendaji’s brows knit, and his expression darkened his already black skin. He studied her for so long she feared he wouldn’t speak, would walk away. And why not? He had lost his wife in childbirth. Why should he care if Gamal’s wife was allowed to keep hers?

“I will not let him hurt you, Rahab.” He glanced at the closed door. Her gaze followed. She could not trust that another servant might not have her ear to the wood, listening, spying. They both stepped nearer the window. He closed the shutters. “I will take you to the hills and we will escape to Nubia. You can birth the child there,” he whispered. “And then I will take you wherever you wish to go.”

She stared at him. “If Dabir catches us, he will kill you and still take my baby.”

His look did not waver, and she wondered what thoughts went through his head. Dabir had underestimated this man. A man who had nothing left to lose. “Dabir will be lucky to win such a battle, mistress. Until a man knows deep grief, he cannot even imagine revenge.”

12

D
abir cursed as he paced his chambers in the Hall of Justice that evening. He should go home to his wife and children, but worry brushed the edges of his thoughts, and he knew he could not leave this place until he formulated a plan. He sank onto his cushioned chair and put his head between his knees. How was it possible Rahab had conceived? For the briefest of moments he imagined what a child of theirs might look like.

He abruptly stood and paced again, glancing as he did so in the silver mirror hanging to the side of the tapestry behind his desk. He wasn’t bad looking, if he did say so. And coupled with Rahab . . .

A sharp breath caught in his chest.
Impossible.
She was barren. He had known her for months . . . to no avail. Not that he hadn’t hoped. His wife’s son, the brat, was an imbecile, not worthy to be called his. Not worthy to inherit all he had obtained.

Ah, but a son of Rahab’s . . . he could have rivaled all of
the princes in Jericho, even in all of Canaan! Her beauty and his charm would have made it so.

Obviously, however, this child was not his.

Whose child?

Prince Nahid had spent over a month at her side. What if the child were his, as the prince had once suggested? If Nahid discovered the truth and Dabir forced an end to the pregnancy . . . He shuddered at the thought of the tortures the prince could command.

A deep sigh escaped, followed by a grueling yawn. He was so very tired. But he could not go home. The prince had requested he dine with him tonight, and there would surely be talk of Rahab. Dabir wiped a hand over his mouth. He must take care not to drink too much and to watch his tongue. The less Prince Nahid knew, the better.

Dawn had barely crested the eastern ridge the next morning when Rahab wrapped herself in a heavy veil and cloak and followed Tendaji through Jericho’s quiet streets. They had spent the night gathering and packing the fewest items they would need and could conceal in the packs of a donkey, which Tendaji would purchase on their way out of town with the coins she had hoarded. No time for goodbyes to her family. They were safest if they did not know.

She smelled the market before they turned onto the lane that led to it. Camel dung mingled with the scents of spices and fish and fresh-baked breads—their normally pleasant smells nearly overwhelming. She glanced around at the familiar merchants, noting Tendaji had stepped aside to speak to a caravan master who was unloading his wares.

“Care for some of the bread, miss? Baked it fresh this morn, I did. Looks like you could use some color in those cheeks.” A semi-toothless female merchant held out a loaf of flatbread to her. “If you buy one, you can take your pick of another for half the price.”

Rahab’s stomach turned and growled, and suddenly the bread smell overtook the others. “Yes, please.” While she normally would have haggled over the price, she absently handed the woman some coins, snatched the bread and one pastry, and took a greedy bite.

The woman laughed. “So . . . hungry after all, eh, my girl? You’re much too thin, you know. Not enough meat on them bones for a man to get his hands around.”

Rahab ignored the comment. The men she entertained seemed to have no problem wrapping their groping hands around her. Her eyes burned with sudden moisture. What was wrong with her? She was not a woman given to useless tears.

“There, there. I mean you no harm.” The woman seemed truly stricken that she had offended a customer.

Rahab shook her head. “No, you said nothing wrong.” She wiped crumbs from her mouth. “The bread is very good. Thank you.” She ducked her head and turned away before the woman could say more.

“If you are ready, we can go.” Tendaji came up beside her, holding the donkey’s reins, and gently touched her elbow to guide her through the crowded street.

When they were some distance from listening ears, she glanced at Tendaji. “Thank you for helping me.”

He gave a slight bow but said nothing. Urgency guided their steps as more markets opened and people swarmed the streets. The sooner they could get past the guards, the better.

They continued down the mud-brick streets in silence. Jericho’s open gates loomed ahead, its guards flanking the stone archway. Rahab felt the clasp of her veil, making sure it was secure. She would cover her eyes if it was possible to still see, but the fabric of her veil was too thick and dark.

Tendaji led the way, sickle over his shoulder. He spoke to one of the guards.

“Name,” the guard demanded.

“Tendiah.”

The man jotted his name on a clay tablet. “Purpose?” He looked up, and Rahab caught his scrutiny of Tendaji and herself as well. She stood very still, barely breathing.

“I am the king’s servant setting out to work the harvest.” He gestured behind him, taking in Rahab and the donkey. “My wife has come to help with our small garden patch near the wall.”

The guard looked at her. She lowered her gaze, fearing he might recognize her despite her heavy covering. “Your wife’s name?”

Tendaji did not hesitate. “Hadirah.”

The guard recorded her name as well, then, after searching the donkey’s nearly empty sacks, motioned them through. Rahab did not truly breathe until they were at the edge of the wheat fields.

“We made it,” she whispered. “But the guards on the wall will surely see if we head to the hills. Perhaps we should go toward the Jordan instead.”

Tendaji looked at her, his smile slightly amused. “Mistress, the Jordan is at flood stage. How do you expect we would cross it? Besides, the Israelites are on the other side. We would be leaving one danger and entering another.”

She released an exhausted breath. She had slept little last
night, and though the sun was barely up, she felt its coming heat beneath her clothes. She longed for her bed. No. Not her bed. She longed to return to her innocence, before Gamal ever walked into her life.

“Come,” Tendaji said, interrupting her thoughts. “Few are in the fields yet. We will do as we discussed and skirt the edges of the field. The wheat is tall enough to hide us from the guards on the wall.” He took the donkey’s reins and tugged. She followed in silence.

By the time the sun had risen halfway in the sky, they had reached a copse of trees a fair distance from the king’s fields. Rahab sank to the ground beneath the shade of a large terebinth tree.

Tendaji tied the donkey’s reins to a branch and knelt at her side. “I wish I could suggest that you ride, but that would look suspicious until we are beyond sight of the city walls, especially when you are supposed to be traveling closer to the gardens near the walls.”

She nodded. “I know.” She tucked a loose strand of hair under her veil. How she longed to rid herself of the restrictive material. “Thank you.”

“I have done very little, mistress.”

“You have risked your life.”

He shrugged. “My life is worth nothing.”

She looked at him. “It is to me, Tendaji. I am sorry for all of your losses. If we succeed, this will be the greatest kindness you could ever do for me.” She glanced heavenward, wishing there were a prayer she could offer on his behalf.

“We probably should not rest here long.” Tendaji rose then and retrieved some almonds from the sack at the donkey’s side. “Eat.” He handed them to her.

She took them with a grateful nod, and he helped her up. She ate in silence as they continued to walk toward the hills. If they could reach the burial caves, they would be safe for the night.

But as the day lengthened and the hills seemed no closer, Rahab realized they should have somehow left under cover of night. Jericho’s guards were still within sight as they paced the walls and searched the distance. By now surely one of her servants had run to Dabir with the news that she and Tendaji had not returned from market.

Fear slithered up her spine, causing a hitch in her step. She caught herself and rested a hand on the donkey’s saddle to keep her balance over the uneven terrain. If Dabir was as clever as she knew him to be, he could be on their trail and overtake them before nightfall.

But she did not voice her fears. Tendaji had risked too much, had too much faith in his plan. She trudged on, praying he was right.