The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (22 page)

“Take up the ark of the covenant and pass on ahead of the people,” Joshua told the priests the morning after their
purification. “When you reach the edge of the Jordan’s waters, go and stand in the river.”

Salmon stood far from the priests, as Joshua had commanded, watching as the men carried the ark on long poles that rested on their shoulders. They passed through the crowd, who had kept a wide berth around them. When the priests had passed out of earshot of Joshua, he turned to the crowd and raised his arms.

“Come here and listen to the words of the Lord your God,” he said. “This is how you will know that the living God is among you and that He will certainly drive out before you the Canaanites, Hittites, Hivites, Perizzites, Girgashites, Amorites, and Jebusites. See, the ark of the covenant of the Lord of all the earth will go into the Jordan ahead of you.” He glanced at the men closest to him, eyeing each one in turn. “Now then,” he continued, “choose twelve men from the tribes of Israel, one from each tribe. And as soon as the priests who carry the ark of the Lord—the Lord of all the earth—set foot in the Jordan, its waters flowing downstream will be cut off and stand up in a heap.”

Salmon felt a tap on his shoulder and smiled as Mishael came up alongside him. “Everyone knows you are a leader in Judah. You should be one of the twelve.”

Salmon shrugged one shoulder. “Caleb is the elder among us. And I do not deserve to be a leader any more than the other men.” Never mind that his father had been a prince in Judah. His wayward thoughts toward Rahab of late had taught him not to think so highly of himself. Surely a truly consecrated man would keep his thoughts as pure as his body.

“Maybe not, but Joshua picked you in the past. In case you
haven’t noticed, he has chosen younger men to lead.” Mishael fell into step beside Salmon as the priests continued forward.

“That’s because there are no old men left except for himself and Caleb.” But perhaps Caleb did not want such duties, though he did often sit in on meetings when they strategized for war.

“Well, whether you like it or not, Joshua has picked you more than once, and the men I’ve talked to agree with his choice.”

Salmon glanced at his conniving friend and almost thought to reprimand him with an offhand remark, but thought better of it. Purity of heart also meant purity of tongue. Oh, what a wretched man he was!

“The Jordan is still at flood stage,” Mishael said, as though Salmon did not already know it. “Do you really think Adonai will stop the waters as He did for the people when Moses led them through the Red Sea?”

Salmon considered the question, not wishing to speak too quickly. Did he believe it? Or would he only believe it when he saw it happen? “If Joshua says Adonai will do this, then I believe him. The Lord is with Joshua as He was with Moses.” He glanced heavenward, then toward the sounds of the Jordan, which was barely hidden by grasses and underbrush. “But this will be a sight to see.”

The priests carrying the ark stopped at the water’s edge, and all of the people stopped with them, keeping their distance. Together, as if they had rehearsed how they would manage the slippery bank, the priests each put one foot in front of the other and touched the water’s edge.

Salmon strained to see upstream, though if he were closer to the priests he could get a better view. But even from his
place behind them, he could see the waters receding from the middle of the river. The swatch of dry land grew wider and wider as the waters piled up high so far upstream that Salmon could not see where they stopped. The priests carrying the ark stepped into the middle of the river. When the space around them grew wide enough to let the people pass in safety, the entire camp of Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.

Salmon moved with the tribe of Judah to the edge of the bank. The sound of the river pulsed in the distance, a thing leashed. Had it only moments ago flooded the riverbed? Yet his feet did not sink into muck, the ground so dry dust clung to his sandals.

Awe filled him as he looked to his left and right, straining for a glimpse of the waters. But trees and a bend in the river blocked his view. He glanced at Mishael, tempted to run to the other side and race down the bank for a closer look. But the crowd pressed in on them. Salmon’s heart beat to the tune of heady silence and reverent fear.

When the last Israelite sandal touched the other side of the Jordan, Joshua called the twelve leaders together. “Go over before the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan,” he said. “Each of you is to take up a stone on his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, to serve as a sign among you. In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.”

The head of Judah’s tribe, Salmon turned toward the river once more and led the group of twelve men back onto the
dry riverbed at the prescribed distance from the ark. Rocks lined the river’s floor, some large, some ground to pebbles and sand. Salmon dug around a large boulder and hefted it onto his shoulder, then turned back to where Joshua and the people waited.

He slowly lowered the huge rock and placed it near Joshua’s feet. One by one, eleven other tribal leaders did the same.

“Come out of the river,” Joshua called to the priests.

They moved as one man. As their feet left the riverbed to touch the grassy banks, a thunderous roar shook the air, submersing all other sounds. Water crashed over the Jordan’s bed, whooshing near the place where Salmon stood, its foaming silver spray like a wide yawning mouth. Flood stage returned in full force. But not one of them had been left or drowned in its fury.

19

R
ahab sat before her dressing table as dusk fell over the town, and Tendaji lit the torches in the courtyards. Her sister Adara pulled a shell comb through her long dark hair, fussing with a knot at the end.

“Ouch! Don’t tug so hard.”

“Well, next time tie a scarf over your head when you sleep, or wear it in a braid. You toss too much and it gets all tangled.” Adara pulled gently this time and freed the knot at last.

“I hate sleeping in a headscarf. And I can’t help it if I toss and turn.” She loathed the way her voice lifted to a whine. She cleared her throat. “That is,” she said in a more cultured tone, “I like things as they are. Just be careful with the tangles, please.”

Adara drew the comb once more through her hair and began the work of pinning it in place. “Who do you see first tonight?”

Her question caused the familiar longing to be free of this life to surface in full force. Rahab had canceled her customers for nearly a week, but too soon her silver had depleted and
Dabir demanded an accounting. She could not ignore her life or refuse to continue the work he demanded. If she did, he would suspect something. She could not risk the life of her Israelite rescuers even to save herself many more weeks of pain. The thought left her listless.

She glanced at her too-curious sister, wishing not for the first time that her father would find her a man and betroth her. “Does it matter? They are all egotistical children.”
Please, God of Israel, don’t
let my sister end up doing what I do. Don’t let Dabir even consider the idea.
She took great care that Adara left long before any men arrived.

“Surely some are more pleasing than others,” Adara said. “You used to care for Dabir.”

Rahab’s stomach tightened. “I was a fool to ever flirt with Dabir. I never cared for him.”

“Prince Nahid is handsome,” Adara offered. “Surely the handsome ones aren’t so bad.”

The image of Salmon’s handsome face appeared in Rahab’s thoughts. Would life be different with someone like him? She closed her eyes against the worrisome image. A man like that would never look twice at a woman like her. She was excrement—or worse—in his eyes.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight.” Adara twirled a long strand of hair into an imported ivory clip, a gift from Prince Nahid.

“Just thinking.” Rahab glanced at her reflection in the silver mirror. How long until the Israelites arrived to take the city? Surely they would come. She must prepare her family for the invasion. But how? She had imagined and discarded all manner of arguments—all futile. They would not agree to stay under her roof for even one night.

And yet she must find a way. She turned in her seat and faced her sister.

“Obviously, you have something to tell me.” Adara was young but too bright for her own good.

Rahab nodded. “I do, and you must listen carefully.” She took her sister’s hand, drawing the comb from her fingers and setting it aside. “You must go home after this and speak to Father and Mother. You must convince them and Cala and Tzadok and our brothers and sisters-in-law to come to my house and stay with me.”

Adara’s eyes grew wide, her look disbelieving. “You can’t be serious.” She took a step back, though she did not pull her hand from Rahab’s. “Surely you have been drinking too much of the poppy tea, my sister, if you think for a moment that Father would just leave everything to stay with you.” Adara’s brow furrowed, her expression troubled. “He barely tolerates me working here.” Her gaze flitted beyond Rahab. “He will be angry if I do not return to him soon.”

Rahab pulled Adara closer in a gentle but firm grip. “Please look at me, Adara.” When the girl complied, she continued. “I cannot explain it to you now lest I break a confidence and a promise.” She glanced toward the window and took a quick look around the room. Empty. But she lowered her voice just the same. “I will come myself to speak with them soon, but you must warn them that danger is coming, and if they want to save their lives, they must stay within my walls.”

Fear crept into Adara’s expression as Rahab released her grip. She backed farther away and sank onto Rahab’s corner chair. “What kind of danger?” she whispered.

Rahab moved to kneel at her sister’s side. “Can I trust you?”

Adara bit her lower lip and nodded. Rahab studied the
girl, then recalled Salmon’s warning.
If you tell what we are
doing, we will be released from the oath you made
us swear.

Rahab drew in a breath at the memory. “I am sorry. I wish I could tell you the whole truth, but if I do, I will risk our safety.” What would she do if her family would not come without a detailed explanation? “You must just do as I say. Make them listen. Get them to come. And tomorrow or the next day, when I can get away, I will come to them myself if I must.”

“Father will not want that,” Adara said, straightening. “If you come, you must not be seen. He is embarrassed by you.”

The words stung despite their ring of truth. Rahab stood and smoothed the length of her robe. “Embarrassed or not, if they want to live, they must come.” She turned then, snatched up her earrings, and looped them into holes drilled into her earlobes. “Go home,” she said without facing her sister again.

“Rahab, I’m sorry,” Adara said, placing a hand on Rahab’s arm.

Rahab looked at her, then pulled her close. She loved her sister, no matter what her father thought of her. Even the men she entertained hated her on some level they would not admit. She hated herself for the same reasons.

She kissed the top of Adara’s head. “Go home,” she said again. “Father will worry. Just please, do as I have told you.” She turned then and walked into the sitting room as the first knock sounded on the courtyard gate.

“Have you heard?” Dabir paced her sitting room the following evening, his agitation palpable. “Everyone is talking about it.” He sank onto her couch, elbows on his knees, his
gaze beyond hers. “The waters of the Jordan just parted. Just like that! No feat of engineering could stop rushing waters and make the ground dry in an instant.”

He stood again, and Rahab forced her mouth into a thin line to keep from smiling at his discomfiture. Dabir looked like a prancing peacock, ruffling his feathers. But this was no mating dance he did. The proud Dabir clearly struggled to mask his fear. If he weren’t so unpredictable and volatile, she could almost laugh at his agitated movements. Instead, she rose gracefully from her plush chair and walked closer.