This Scarlet Cord (2 page)

“Drink,” she said, pouring some of the water into a cup and handing it to Rahab. Rahab finished the cup and asked for more. After Rahab had finished the second cup, Aya said, “We will be leaving shortly. I’ll bring you some bread and dates to break your fast.”

“Wait!” Rahab cried as the woman started to leave. “You must tell me why you have taken me. You have our donkeys and our wine. You don’t need me. Please, Aya, let me go!”

“Idiot,” the woman said. “You are never going home to your pitiful little farm. You are going to Egypt, my girl. The great lords there have palaces a poor little peasant like you could never even dream of. You will dine off golden plates, eat perfectly prepared delicacies, and drink only the best of wines. You will be dressed in the finest of white linen and wear magnificent jewels to adorn your beauty. You will be cosseted as much as any grand Egyptian lady. One day you will thank us for what we have done for you. You’ll see.”

Rahab stared at the furrowed, sunburned face of Aya in amazement. What could she be talking about? Why should she be treated like some grand lady?

“Do you think I am an Egyptian?” she asked, wondering if Aya might be a little muddled in the head.

The woman cast her eyes upward in disbelief at such stupidity. “No, you are not an Egyptian, girl. That face never came out of Egypt. But it will be part of the spice, you see, that you are different.”

“No, I don’t see.” Unlike most girls in her culture, Rahab was accustomed to speaking her mind. As the only girl, and the youngest in the family, she had been indulged far beyond the limits of most girl children. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. She knew her voice was surprisingly husky for one her age.

Aya’s slanted brown eyes narrowed. She said slowly and clearly, “We are going to sell you, my dear. One of those debauched Egyptian lords will pay a fortune for a chance to get his hands on you. Sahir knew it the minute he saw your face.” Her lips curled in a smile. “You are a defiant little thing too. I hear some of the lords relish a challenge.”

Rahab did not fully understand what the woman was talking about, but she understood enough to know that, if these bandits had their way, her future would be horrible. They had something evil in mind for her and her skin prickled with fear. She couldn’t help the tears that came into her eyes.

“Let me go home,” she begged. “Please, please, let me go home.”

The tent fold opened again and this time a man came in. He was dressed in the usual costume of Canaan, a tunic that stopped halfway between his knees and his ankles, with leather sandals on his feet. His hair was mixed with gray but his beard was still mostly brown.

He addressed himself to Aya. “I want to see this so-called prize myself before I go to the expense of shipping her off to Egypt.”

Aya gestured toward the trembling Rahab. “There she is.”

“Bring her outside so I can see better.”

Rahab tried to hold her ground, but Aya pushed her so hard she fell to her knees.

“Get up,” the woman said with contempt. “You’ll only make trouble for yourself by resisting.”

In the part of Rahab’s brain that had not been paralyzed by fear, she realized the truth of this statement and walked out of the tent without further protest.

The early morning sky was cloudless. It was autumn, and there was always the possibility of clouds, and perhaps even rain, coming in later, but the bright light showed Rahab the line of men on horseback and the huge collection of loaded donkeys that would make up their train.

Rahab summoned all her courage and said to the man contemptuously, “You are filthy thieves who prey on good, hardworking people, and I despise you.”

The man laughed. “I see we have a spitfire here.” He grabbed Rahab’s chin as Aya had done and held her face up to him. Her instinct was to pull away, but the pain in her jaw reminded her of what these people could do. She stared over his shoulder, pretending he was not there.

“Amazing,” the man said. He dropped his hand and Rahab backed away. His eyes raked up and down her body. “How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“You look younger. Which is good—not a child but not yet a woman.” He reached out and ran a rough hand down the front of Rahab’s tunic. She gasped and pulled away.

“Sweet little buds.” He looked at Aya. “She is perfect. We will get good money from the slavers for her.”

Rahab finally understood. “No!” she screamed. “No! No! No! I won’t be a slave! You can’t make me!”

“Oh, I rather think we can,” the evil man said. “Tie her up, Aya, but be careful. I don’t want her marked; it will affect her value.”

“Aye, Ugar. I understand.”

Rahab fought, but she was helpless against the strength of the two men who came to help Aya bind her hands and feet and load her into a litter.

Two

I
T’S A LITTLE BIGGER THAN
R
AMAC, EH? ” NAHSHON
asked his son, who seemed to have become as tall as he was overnight.

“More than a little,” Sala replied as he looked around the teeming waterfront. Gaza was one of the greatest ports on the Great Sea, a stronghold that once was part of Canaan but had been annexed by Egypt years before. Sala’s father was a successful merchant in the smaller port of Ramac, farther north on the coast of Canaan, and he was in Gaza to purchase a new boat to accommodate his increasing shipping business. Nahshon might be a Jew, but everyone knew the Egyptians made the best ships in the world. And when it came to business, Nahshon was not fussy about who he associated with.

Father and son stood together under the bright afternoon sun, their eyes taking in the sights in front of them. Dark-skinned porters carried heavy loads on their backs to and from the many ships docked along the wharves; merchants haggled over the prices of their wares, and a crowd of noisy urchins clustered around a man with a bright-colored bird in a cage. Then there were the sailors with packs on their backs shoving their way through the crowds, probably headed for an inn and a jug of wine. Ramac had a busy waterfront too, but Sala had never seen anything as loud, colorful, and crowded as this.

“Come,” Nahshon said, and Sala followed his father down the cobbled path to the wharves, where more ships were tied up than Sala had ever seen in his life. His eyes darted from one to the next, admiring the furled colored sails and the gleaming wood. His father stopped in front of a sturdy wooden boat whose broad deck was neatly stacked with barrels of wine and bales of wool. The top of the boat’s tallest mast bore the carved figure of a winged woman looking proudly forward.

“This is just the kind of boat I need,” Nahshon said with satisfaction.

It was a good boat, Sala agreed, a useful boat for a merchant. But his eyes went wistfully to the long, elegant ship that was just now putting out to sea. It had eight oars on either side and they slid through the water as easily as a knife slides through a piece of fruit. It must be some Egyptian noble’s private ship, he thought, his eyes caressing its long sleek lines.

“Time to go back to the inn,” his father said briskly. “I have an appointment in an hour.”

Sala nodded, his eyes still on the elegant craft as it sailed regally toward the horizon.

Nahshon slapped him on the shoulder. “Look all you want, my son, but that kind of life is not for us. Israelites have not fared well in Egypt since the time of Joseph, and I have been careful to keep my religion out of any dealings I might have with the people here. These ship builders are only interested in my money, but there’s no sense in borrowing trouble. They think I am a Canaanite from Joppa, and that’s how I want to keep it.”

“I understand, Father,” Sala said, and the man and boy made their way back up the cobbled steps into the streets of Gaza.

Nahshon had not come to Gaza with just his son. He had brought some of his workers with him, and when they returned to the inn, Sala found himself surrounded by men from home, all of them talking about ships. Sala was interested in ships, but he was also sixteen years old and this was his first time in a city bigger than Ramac. He wanted to look around without someone keeping watch on him. So when his father’s appointment, a wide man with a sweaty face and a pungent odor, arrived and the men disappeared into the common room to discuss business, Sala slipped out the back door of the inn.

The warren of streets that wound throughout the city might have daunted another boy, but Sala had been blessed with a keen sense of direction. He did not doubt that he could find his way back to the inn, no matter how turned around the streets might become, and he set off with confidence.

The sun was bright overhead, but the streets were so enclosed that it rarely penetrated into the maze of shops and stalls and markets that made walking in a straight line impossible.
You must be able to buy anything you want in Gaza
, Sala thought as he strolled along the winding streets, taking in the jumble of wares set out for sale. Bakers, weavers, potters, sandal-makers, fishmongers, and fruit sellers manned the shops. There were also basket makers, barbers, wine sellers, and stonecutters. There was jewelry that Sala thought must be made of real gold, it was so beautiful, and many stalls offered the little scarabs so prized by Canaanites as well as Egyptians.

As he wandered, fascinated, through the crowded alleys and streets, Sala lost all sense of time. He was looking at some honey cakes and inhaling their tantalizing smell when it dawned on him that he was starving. Luckily he had some money with him, and he bought one of the cakes and leaned against the side of an old mud-brick building to enjoy it.

He had just finished the cake and was dusting his hands together to get the stickiness off when he saw a young girl hurrying down the street in his direction. Her long hair was flying loose and she was almost running. There were plenty of girls of all ages, shapes, and sizes in the market, but what caught Sala’s attention was the look of sheer terror on this little girl’s face.

When she was almost abreast of him, he found himself stepping in front of her and saying in Canaanite rather than his native Hebrew, “Are you all right? Can I help you?”

She pulled up short and tilted her head back to stare at him. Her eyes were dilated and she was breathing hard. She cast a hunted look over her shoulder.

“Let me by!” There was a hysterical note in her voice.

Sala tried to make his voice sound quiet and trustworthy. Her fear was so palpable he could almost smell it. “I can see something is wrong. Please, won’t you let me help you? I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

She bit her lip so hard that blood sprang out. “How can you help me?”

She was young, Sala could see. Her eyes reminded him of a terrified animal, cornered and fighting for its life. “You tell me that. I can see you are afraid. Are you running away from someone?”

If she said she was a runaway slave, he wasn’t sure what he could do. But something about her made him think she wasn’t a slave. And he wanted to help her.

Her face was damp with perspiration, but suddenly she began to shiver as if she was cold. “I was kidnapped by evil men and they are going to sell me as a slave! I managed to get away but I know they are looking for me.”

Sala didn’t doubt her. It was well known that girls of good families were often kidnapped and sold into slavery. “Come with me,” he said, and reached for her hand.

After the briefest of hesitations, she put her hand in his and let him lead her back into the warren of streets he had just come through. She wanted to run but he stopped her. “We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.”

He shortened his long stride so she didn’t have to skip to keep up with him. “Where were you when you escaped?” he asked, trying to focus his attention ahead and not on what might be behind them.

“I think we were on the outer part of the city. They had a big caravan of donkeys and horses that they put into an open field, but they brought me to an inn.” For a little girl, she had a remarkably husky voice.

He tried to sound calm and practical. “I think I should take you back to the inn where I am staying. My father is there and he will protect you. He is an important man; no slavers will dare to question him.”