Pearl in the Sand (8 page)

When the thirty days of mourning were over, Joshua called the tribal leaders together. It was evening, and the leaders crowded into Joshua’s large tent. Salmone’s long, hard-muscled limbs were sandwiched between Caleb and Elidad, one of the leaders from the tribe of Benjamin. He could feel their scratchy homespun robes rubbing against his calves. A curious contentment washed over him—contentment at being surrounded by his brothers in spite of their elbows digging into his ribs and his legs being wedged into an awkward fold. Their companionship comforted him. A sense of safety seeped inside his bones.

In the tight space, Joshua’s voice rang out like the whoosh of a loosed arrow. “We must get the people ready to cross the Jordan River.”

Elidad cleared his throat. “But Joshua, the Jordan is at flood stage. It’s impassable. Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait a couple of months? It’s been nearly forty years. What’s another two or three months?” Salmone swiveled around to stare at him in astonishment. To his shock, he saw a number of heads nodding in agreement.

Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “Is this the counsel of the Lord, Elidad?”

Elidad shifted on his mat. “Well, no. Speaking sense, that’s all, Joshua.”

“Let me tell you something, every one of you. Human wisdom won’t win us these battles. It will be God alone, as it has been since the day Moses led us out of the bondage of Egypt. We aren’t called to be men of war as other nations understand warfare. We are called to be a people of faith. Our shield is God’s Law. Our sword is His Word. He is our strong tower, and He alone will give us victory. Otherwise we might as well dig our graves now.”

A silence fell upon the men. How easy to forget they could not
live as other nations. How easy to slide into pride and human reasoning that left no room for the ways of God. Finally Elidad broke the silence again. “If the Lord leads us into the churning waters of the Jordan, we will follow, Joshua. We will follow Him anywhere.” Salmone felt his tightened muscles relax.

“Good.” Joshua’s grin flashed the white of a perfect set of teeth. “Now listen. Go through the camp each one of you. Tell the people to get their supplies ready. Tell them we’ll be crossing the Jordan before the week is over.

“One more matter. I’m planning to send two men west of the river to spy for us. We especially need information about Jericho. I am not looking for heroics. Just go in, assess the situation, and return. I’d like to know what sort of welcome awaits us.”

Salmone jumped up. “Send me, my lord.”

“No, Salmone, I need you here. But fetch your friend Hanani. I will send him and Ezra.”

Swallowing his disappointment, Salmone bowed his head in obedience. He had long since learned to rein in his impulses. He smiled as he thought of Ezra and Hanani’s excitement at being chosen by Joshua for such an important mission.

Flooding made the fords nearly impassable. Hanani and Ezra had to cross the hard way—striving against the force of the water in tandem by creating bodily blocks for one another, one standing still, bearing the force of the river on his back, while the other stepped ahead. With sheer determination they flung themselves against the relentless force of the water, battling violent torrents and concealed eddies as their feet nearly gave way with each step. Exhausted, they finally managed to pull themselves out onto the west bank by holding on to branches dragging in the water. They had come too near to drowning.

After catching his breath, Hanani threw an agonized glance at
Ezra. There was no way the people of Israel could pass through that river.

“Let’s go directly to Jericho,” Hanani suggested. “It’s what Joshua is most interested in, and our time is short.”

“It’s also the most dangerous part of our mission, Hanani. Passing through the city gates without getting caught won’t be as easy as gathering manna.”

Hanani pulled on his dark beard. “That’s unavoidable. Just keep your chin down and try not to stare like an Egyptian calf when we get there. We’ll enter during the afternoon bustle and hopefully no one will notice us.”

“I won’t stare if you don’t babble like a girl. Your accent will give us away before you finish your first sentence.”

Hanani cast his friend a mock glare. “At least I know how to talk. What about you? ‘Hello, Mi-Mi-Miriam.’ So profound. So charming. I’m sure Miriam ran home and begged her brother to give her to you in marriage after
that
conversation.”

“Oh, eat your beard.”

Hanani was too distracted to continue bantering; his halfhearted barbs were only an attempt to mask the heft of anxiety preying on his mind. He suspected Ezra struggled with similar worries.

The day became uncomfortably hot, and their drenched clothes dried quickly. Soon, the two men stripped off their outer robes and traveled in their simple homespun linens. The road to Jericho was covered by delicate gravel, which was easy on the feet. Hanani, whose feet had grown resilient from years of marching, barely felt the strain of the walk.

Though still leagues away, Jericho’s stone walls came into view. As the men grew closer, they noticed groups of soldiers marching two-abreast on the top parapet, passing other groups coming from the opposite direction without any difficulty.

“Nice stonework,” Hanani muttered. “How thick are those walls, anyway?”

Ezra grunted. They had already discussed their plan. They would walk in brazenly, blend with the crowds, keep their ears open, and walk out toward nightfall without speaking to anyone. Hanani knew their real job was to listen. How were the inhabitants of Jericho reacting to Israel’s victories east of their land? Were they even aware of the events of the past few months? Were they preparing for battle?

Their plan went awry from the first step. The guards at the gate were checking everyone. Each interview seemed lengthy and detailed, undermining the spies’ intention of entering without being noticed. As the two men approached, one of the guards blocked Hanani’s path and another thumped a beefy finger against Ezra’s chest. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Merchants,” Ezra said.

“Where are you from?” the guard persisted.

“Midian, mostly. But we travel around.”

The guard frowned. “You talk funny.”

Hanani glanced around in desperation. There would be no fighting and no running. The gate area was thick with guards. Audacity would be their only hope. “We talk funny because of the dust of the road, brother. My thirst is killing me. And this one,” he nodded toward Ezra, “is so hungry he could swallow a camel and its mother. Let us by, friend. We have money to spend in Jericho.”

“Yes, let them by, friend,” came an unexpected female voice. “They have money to spend at my inn. It’s been an age since I’ve entertained travelers, and you aren’t helping, Hamish.”

Hanani turned to look … and drew in his breath. A woman wrapped in light blue silk lounged against the wall opposite him. Her hair, which was the color of ripe chestnuts, fell below her waist in shiny ringlets, barely covered by the diaphanous veil fluttering in the wind. Her large eyes, the color of spring honey, were fringed by thick curling lashes, and her slender nose was like an arrow pointing at full lips, too red for nature’s bounty. The blue silk of her dress clung seductively to her curvaceous figure leaving little to the imagination.
Hanani gulped. An innkeeper, she had said. Everything about her was forbidden to him. Nervously, he dropped his gaze.

Fortunately, the guard seemed as distracted as Hanani. Losing interest in the interrogation, he faced the woman. “Rahab! Business can’t be so dismal that
you
would entertain men wearing homespun at your inn.”

“Of course business is dismal. Thanks to you and your soldier friends who scare away my customers. Now let these nice young merchants come into my inn so they can spend lots of their silver on good Jericho wine.”

The guard considered this. “What do I get out of it?”

“I’ll give you a cool jug of my barley water tonight. But only if you stop harassing my customers.”

“Get me the barley water first,” Hamish cajoled.

Hanani threw a quick glance at the woman. She stared at them with narrowed eyes, then turned on her heels and disappeared up a staircase carved into the wall. He was certain she had just saved their lives.

“You two, stand aside over there. If she returns you can go with her.
If
she returns. She’s wasting her effort if you ask me. I don’t see much silver coming out of those pockets.”

Even standing to the side, their presence drew too many curious, hostile stares. Saved by an innkeeper—a
zonah!
Perhaps death by torture would not be so terrible a fate after all. He could not imagine explaining to Joshua this particular turn of events.

Finally the woman named Rahab returned. She sauntered over to Hamish, taking her time, swinging her hips with every step. Hanani appreciated that undulating walk, for as she approached, every man turned from scrutinizing him and Ezra and focused instead on Rahab. “Here is your drink, young soldier. Now hand me my customers and make a nuisance of yourself with someone else.”

Hamish took the jug from her and laughed. “Hey, fellows, look what I’ve got. Barley water made by Rahab’s own lily hands. And none of you is getting a drop.”

Hanani and Ezra didn’t linger another second, but followed Rahab with great relief as she led them into her inn within the very walls of Jericho.

N
o one could have been more surprised than Rahab to find two Hebrew spies ten cubits from her door. She knew them for Hebrews the minute she set eyes on them. Besides their unfamiliar accent, it was the way they carried themselves. They looked trim and well-muscled like soldiers, not soft like merchants. Certainly they had raised the guards’ suspicion, and if she had not interfered they would have been arrested. Jericho had been shaken by fear of the Hebrews since the fall of Og. Every stranger approaching their gates was examined with more zeal than finesse.

Every other citizen of Jericho in her place would have raised an alarm. Would have insisted they be examined. But Rahab panicked at the thought of their danger. She could not bear that those belonging to the Lord should be destroyed. She had to help. As she stepped forward, she had no plan or clever ploy. She just knew she had to remove them from the attention of the guards. So she improvised.

Now there were two Hebrews traipsing behind her like lion cubs following their mother. Who would kill her first? The Hebrews or Jericho’s soldiers? She had definitely lost her mind. There was no
doubt now. But even as she thought this, she wondered if the god of the Hebrews approved.

Tongue-tied only for a moment as they crossed the threshold of her inn, Rahab pulled her veil forward and said, “Please sit down, my lords. You must be tired after your journey. Would you like some refreshments?”

The men stood just inside the door, their movements stiff, as if they preferred not to touch anything. The shorter one, his beard twitching with a nervous jerk, shook his head. “No, thank you. We brought our own.”

Rahab motioned them to the table and set goblets of wine before them. The nervous one pulled something wrapped in cheesecloth from his pocket. He was so jittery he knocked over the goblet of wine and Rahab had to fetch a rag to clean up the mess. As she moved about, their eyes never rested on her face or body, but seemed to run to and fro, seeking any place to look besides her.

She remembered Debir telling her that harlots were condemned to death by these people. Was she repugnant to them? Her brows knotted at the thought. Then she decided to try and win them over. Earn their good opinion. How hard could it be? She had half the men of Jericho eating out of her hand. Surely Hebrews could not be that different? “What are your names?” she asked.

“I’m Ezra and this is Hanani,” the taller man said. He had surprisingly light skin in contrast to his dark hair, and a crooked nose saved him from being too pretty for a man. The one called Hanani glared at him, obviously considering this surrendering of information inappropriate.