The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story (7 page)

Cala’s thoughtful gaze traveled to the house behind her. “Tzadok could go. If you give me the coins, he could see to Tendaji’s redemption. But that may not be enough. Now that Tendaji is there, even silver will not get him out unless Gamal forgives the debt.”

“Maybe Tzadok could talk to Gamal.” Rahab’s hopes were quickly waning.

Cala laughed, but the sound carried no mirth. “Don’t take this wrong, dear sister, but Tzadok hates Gamal. Besides, you know Gamal won’t listen.” She tossed her dough onto the griddle and placed it over the fire. “The only thing to do is to go to the magistrate and tell him what Gamal has done. Tell him Tendaji was imprisoned without cause.”

“But Gamal did have a cause, at least in the eyes of the law.”

“Not a good one.”

“Since when is owing someone silver not a good cause to go to debtors’ prison?”

“Since when is debtors’ prison ever good? Why are you suddenly defending him?”

Defeated, Rahab sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Cala touched Rahab’s arm.

“No, you’re right.” Her stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot. “I thought Prince Nahid would surely send Gamal to that place just a few days ago. But he forgave the debt.”

“Something Gamal should be celebrating by going out to find real work.” Cala clucked her tongue, reminding Rahab of their mother’s habit.

“He claims to try.” Rahab handed Cala the bowl with the remaining dough ready to bake. “I’d better go.”

“What are you going to do?”

Rahab stood, brushing the dust of the flour from her cloak. “I don’t know.”

“Can I tell Tzadok? Do you want him to take the coins to the magistrate?”

Rahab weighed the request but a moment, then shrugged. She didn’t care what Cala or anyone else did anymore. She could not fix her husband’s bad choices or change his personality. But she did not have to like it.

“Tell Tzadok what you want,” Rahab said. “As for the coins, let me think on it.” She trusted her sister, but she wasn’t so sure she trusted Tzadok. “I’m going to check on Tendaji’s mother and do what I can.”

“Here, take this.” Cala placed the unbaked loaves in a clay bowl and handed them to Rahab. “Let me know if his mother needs more.”

Rahab took the bowl, hoping Tendaji’s mother had fuel for a fire, then turned to leave. She glanced at the sky. Gamal would still be in bed. She had time if she hurried.

By the time Rahab reached the opposite end of town, the sun had fully risen, and with it a crowd had formed in the streets. She ducked her head, avoiding the scrutinizing looks of men on their way to the fish market. Tendaji lived in the poorer, smellier section of town, and Rahab held an edge of the cloak to her nose as she drew closer. She made a few discreet inquiries, asking which house belonged to the Nubian, and soon stood at the gate, despairing to find the house in such disrepair. Could Gamal not see the man was poor? Disgust ripped through her again, and she had
to tell herself to unclench her fists, breathe slowly, and deal with Gamal later.

She walked through the gate that stood slightly ajar, scanning the courtyard. A sack of grain stood near a crumbling bench and a cracked cistern of tepid, insect-covered water. Near one wall a large staff lay forgotten. Rahab stepped closer, recognizing the carvings. Gamal would never have left his staff behind without a reason. He prized this gift from the king, and Rahab often wondered why he hadn’t sold it off long ago. She picked it up, turning it in her hands. Gamal and Tendaji must have scuffled for him to drop it. How had Gamal overpowered the stronger, younger Nubian?

She set the staff on the bench and walked carefully over broken stones to the door. She knocked twice and waited. Footsteps came from beyond the door, then stopped.

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice sounded thin and frightened.

“I am a friend of Tendaji’s. Is his mother all right?”

The door opened a crack and the daylight illumined the woman, who looked to be a little older than Rahab.

“Forgive me. I do not mean to intrude.” Rahab handed the woman the bowl. “They aren’t baked yet, but they are fresh.”

The woman peeked into the bowl with a skeptical, curious eye, then, seemingly satisfied, took it from Rahab’s hands. “Let me put these on to bake so you can take your bowl with you.” She moved into the room and looked over her shoulder. “Come in.”

Rahab followed her into the cooking room. The house was dark with some of the rooms still shuttered, but the small room where the woman led her held welcome morning light.

“How is Tendaji’s mother?” Rahab stopped at the
threshold, suddenly wanting to leave. If Gamal found out she had come . . .

“She was frantic last night after what happened, as you can imagine! I had to coax her to drink some herbs to finally get her to sleep.” The woman looked at Rahab. “She’s dying, you know. But I fear if her son is kept in prison, she will die far sooner than she would have. He is all she has.”

Rahab nodded, unable to speak past a lump forming in her throat. “I am very sorry this happened.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she drew closer to Rahab. “Who did you say you were again?”

“A friend of Tendaji’s. My husband and I have known Tendaji for many years. We should have done more to help him.”

The woman looked her up and down, then turned back to her work, placing the loaves on the griddle set above a low fire. Rahab should have baked the loaves before she came. Was everything Tendaji owned falling apart?

A swift desire to flee this place came over her. How could she look at Gamal after this? “I should go.” She tamped down her rising panic, hoping her voice sounded calm.

“You do not wish to wait to eat these with us?” The woman met Rahab’s gaze. “It was kind of you to bring them.”

“No, thank you. I can’t.” She backed from the room, then turned about, heading to the door.

“You forgot your bowl.”

Rahab stopped. Cala wouldn’t miss it, and Tendaji’s mother could use something newer. “Keep it.” She hurried through the door to the courtyard, catching sight of Gamal’s staff as she walked. She paused, looking down on it. Maybe the caregiver could sell it and use the coins to help get Tendaji
out of prison. But could she trust this woman to do right by Tendaji?

Snatching it up, she hurried through the gate. She would take it to her sister and let Tzadok sell it to help pay Tendaji’s debt. That, added to the coins in her pouch, should come close to reaching the redemption fee. Gamal would miss his prize, but he did not deserve to keep it!

5

C
ala greeted her at the gate as if she’d been waiting for her.

“I’m sorry, I left your bowl with them. They had nothing and—”

Cala held up a hand. “Forget it. Just come inside.” She gripped Rahab’s wrist to tug her forward, but Rahab gently broke her hold.

“I can’t. Gamal will surely be up by now, and he will wonder where I am.”

Cala shook her head. “No he won’t.” She looked beyond Rahab toward the street.

“Why not?” She followed Cala’s gaze. “Are you expecting someone?”

Cala reached for her wrist again, her grip firmer this time. The look in her eyes sent a shiver through Rahab. “What happened?”

“You need to come in and sit down.”

Rahab numbly obeyed. The walk to Tendaji’s house had taken longer than she thought, but the sun was not even half
way to the midpoint yet. She could not have been gone long. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

She walked with Cala into the sitting room, and Cala shut the door. “You’ll be safe here.”

“Safe?” Fear shot through her. “What are you talking about?”

Cala motioned to a pair of cushions and took a seat beside her. She clasped Rahab’s hand in her own. “Tzadok heard what you said.”

Rahab frowned. “I told you that you could tell him. So?”

Cala looked briefly away. “So I told him . . . and it made him so angry I thought he would burst something inside of him.” She released Rahab’s hand and tucked a strand of light brown hair behind one ear. “You know Tzadok hates Gamal, but worse, he likes Tendaji. He just kept pacing and saying Gamal’s actions were unconscionable.”

“They are,” Rahab whispered, the memories of Tendaji’s home singeing her conscience.

“Tzadok is a man of action. You know this.” Cala looked away as though the truth about her husband shamed her. “I asked him what we should do, thinking he could go privately to the authorities. But Tzadok, he . . .”

“He what? Just tell me, Cala.” Rahab felt her fear and impatience rising with each beat of her heart.

“He went immediately to the authorities, telling some of his friends along the way. By the time he got to see the magistrate, a large crowd was with him. The chief financier, Dabir, listened to Tzadok, and, well . . .” She glanced toward the door. “He just left here a few minutes ago after coming to warn me. The king’s guards are at your house now, apprehending Gamal.”

Rahab touched her trembling lips. Her mind whirled with images of her husband weeping before the prince, of Dabir’s scowl as he watched. They would not have mercy on him a second time.

“I must go to him.” She slowly rose, holding her sister’s gaze.

“You can’t. Please, Rahab.” She put a hand to her back and pushed up from the cushion. “If they punish Gamal, they could come for you too. Tzadok will tell us what happens. Please, wait with me.” Her pleading tone made Rahab waver.

“I shouldn’t have told you.” She looked at Cala’s stricken face. “Why didn’t Tzadok work this out quietly?”

“He told me it would not have mattered. Once he told Dabir, the thing Gamal has done would not remain quiet. You know this. He sees the way Gamal treats you, Rahab. Tzadok is not without feeling. He is doing this to protect you.”

“He can’t protect me, Cala. Dabir knows where we live, where you live. He knows everything about this kingdom. And if he knows, the prince does too.” Memories of the night Dabir had wooed her filled her mind. The familiar guilt quickened her heart, but in the next moment a thought kindled. Perhaps Dabir could be convinced to release Tendaji and Gamal . . . if she gave him something of value in return.

“I have to go. There may be something I can do.” She released a shaky breath, knowing full well that she was walking toward all that she despised.

Cala gripped her arm once more, clinging to her. “Please, listen to me, Rahab. Nothing good will come of you going.”

“I have to know. I have to see for myself.” She paused, meeting Cala’s gaze. “If you would support me, come with me. Together we will be safe.”

“We will be safer in the house.”

“No place is truly safe.” She held out a hand. “Come. Let us see what is to become of my husband.”

Dabir stood near Prince Nahid’s cushioned chair while the prince paced the length of the antechamber outside of the audience chamber in the Hall of Justice. That the prince was angry and irritated worked well with Dabir’s goals, but he did not tell him so. Time enough to unveil his plans. Now was the time to appease and to convince the prince to undo the mercy he had shown Gamal last week. What a travesty that had been!

Dabir clenched his hands into fists behind his back, telling himself at the same time to calm. One wrong word could tip the prince’s decision in the wrong direction, costing more loss to the throne and, most importantly, costing him more than his weight in fine gold.