Pearl in the Sand (4 page)

“What are you talking about?” she asked, pulling the sheet around her and sitting up. “Sihon can’t be defeated.” Sihon, one of the great kings east of the Jordan River, ruled like an eagle over his kingdom. She had heard men call him undefeatable, his kingdom secure forever.

“He
was
defeated, I tell you. By the Hebrews. Their leader, an old man named Moses, sent a message to Sihon requesting permission to travel the King’s Highway in peace. Sihon not only denied
them passage, but he mustered his army and attacked them at Jahaz. He must have thought it would be an easy victory. However, it didn’t take long for the Hebrews to turn the battle.” Jobab stopped speaking and stared at nothing in particular as if words had failed him. “They’re fierce. They don’t even have proper armor. So when Sihon’s army started to run—”

Rahab sat up straight. “Sihon’s army ran?”

“What am I telling you? They were pulverized. And those not killed immediately ran. But the armorless Hebrews ran faster and caught up with them. They even killed some with slings. Sihon’s glorious capital, Heshbon, brought down by slings. Who shall sleep safe in their beds after this?”

Rahab’s mouth dropped open at his words. To her, as to all who first heard of these events, they seemed outlandish. Impossible. “Who are these Hebrews? I’ve never heard of them. How do they wield such power?” Her voice sounded shrill in her own ears.

“That’s the wonder. They are nobody. A bunch of runaway slaves.” Jobab sank down to the floor and slumped against the wall. “Forty years ago they ran away from Egypt, and they’ve been wandering in the wilderness ever since. They have no cities, no walls, no fields to plant or plow, no vineyards to harvest. Everyone has ignored them.”

“What you say makes no sense. How could an army of slaves run away from Egypt? As if a pharaoh would ever allow it. This is an empty rumor.” She looked at him, her fears reined in. Crossing her arms, she leaned back against a pillow.

Jobab raised his arms in exasperation. “Rahab, you’re just too young to know about it. There was a great revolt in Egypt among the Hebrew slaves, led by this same man, Moses. He claimed his god wanted Pharaoh to free the Hebrews. Pharaoh refused at first, but so many plagues befell the Egyptians at the hands of the Hebrew god that Pharaoh
had
to let them go. Egypt was in ruins. Then, at the last minute, he changed his mind. As the Hebrews were leaving, Pharaoh mobilized his army and pursued them.”

“Don’t tell me the slaves brought Pharaoh’s chariots down with their slingshots.” Rahab smirked.

Jobab sighed. “Nothing so ordinary. Their escape route brought them to a dead end against the sea. Behind them came Pharaoh’s invincible army. Before them lay a body of water impossible to cross. They were doomed. And then their god parted the sea.”

Rahab raised an eyebrow. “Come now.”

“He parted the sea, I tell you! Divided it right up the middle. They walked straight through to the other side on dry ground with the water piled up all around them. Then, when Pharaoh and his army tried to follow, the waves came crashing down on top of them. Every single one of them perished.”

Now that Jobab was rehearsing the story, Rahab remembered hearing about the mysterious death of one of the Egyptian Pharaohs and his army. It was when her parents were young. Egypt had not yet recovered its great strength after that loss. What kind of god wielded so much power? If this was all true, who could stand against such a god? She began to understand the scent of fear that clung to Jobab.

Bending, she picked up her shift from the woven rug on the floor and pulled it over her head. “Do you wish to stay the night? I can cook you supper if you want.” Better she focus on her own menial tasks than the workings of kings and gods. What had she, a mere innkeeper, to do with such great events?

But she couldn’t get Jobab’s stories out of her mind. In the morning the soldiers at the gate confirmed what he’d said, at least about the destruction of Sihon. Heshbon had fallen to the Hebrews. Surely that was frightening enough without bringing magical powers into it.

Along with everyone else in Canaan, Rahab soon heard more distressing news about the Hebrews. In the months following the defeat of Sihon they triumphed in other astonishing battles. They
besieged and captured the walled cities of Nophah, Medeba, and Dibon, killing all their inhabitants. With every defeat Canaan grew more petrified. Rumors abounded. The Hebrews were giants. They were numberless. Their weapons were forged of a metal no one could break. They had winged horses. They grew larger than life with every victory.

Rahab disbelieved these exaggerated accounts about the Hebrew people. She recalled Jobab’s words as he told her about the destruction of Sihon. They were nobodies. No sophisticated weaponry, no armor, no land, no riches. This was the true picture of the Hebrews, she believed. And yet they were vanquishing town after town, army after army. What was it about these people?

Even Jericho, sophisticated Jericho with her ancient walls and well-trained army, grew pensive. Canaan boasted many walled cities, but none to compare with Rahab’s home. The walls of Jericho were a marvel. They were so thick that people built houses and places of business into them. In the land of Canaan, when they wanted to make a point about someone’s strength, they said he was built like the walls of Jericho. But even the people of Jericho were unnerved by the astonishing victories of the Hebrews east of the Jordan River.

Sacrifices increased in those months as people sought protection against the threat of this terrifying new enemy. Rahab could smell the burning flesh from the temple fires a league away. The priests grew slack-jawed and grey from lack of sleep. People poured into the temples and high places at such a rate the king finally appointed soldiers to keep order. Rumor had it the temple prostitutes were kept busy day and night. Rahab pitied them. She hoped they were too exhausted to think or feel anymore.

The desperate idolatry of her people did not attract Rahab. The more she saw their faith in practice, the more she reviled it. Not even fear and desperation would drive her into the arms of Asherah, Baal, or Molech.

Her life went on despite the upheavals outside her walls. She left Jobab, and for a long season her inn and her bed were empty. Fewer
people traveled those days for fear of marauding foreigners. She had enough gold saved up that the temporary lack of income didn’t worry her. Her father’s land could always use an extra pair of hands, and she spent her days in the fields, doing the hard work of farmers. Her skin grew brown and her nails ragged.
Not good for my trade
, she thought, examining their rough edges one afternoon under the hot sun. The realization made her smile. Though she would eagerly have chosen this at fifteen, she knew she couldn’t earn a living off manual labor. The life of a farmhand was short and far from sweet, and she hadn’t the strength.

One evening she received an invitation to a feast thrown by a distant cousin of the king. Through the years, she had become a favored guest at receptions given by influential men who desired sophisticated entertainment away from their wives. She went to the feast knowing she could not afford by her continued absence to be forgotten among such wealthy circles.

Rahab chose a dress in flowing cream silk edged in silver embroidery. Her clothing never marked her as a harlot. She dressed as any fashionable lady in Canaan might, leaning toward simplicity rather than high style. She found that the curves of a woman’s body, when displayed with clever modesty, provided far more drama than any outrageous garment might. Unlike current fashion, which demanded that women curl their hair into elaborate tiny tendrils on top of their heads, Rahab preferred to leave her hair loose down her back. She wore long dangled earrings and matching armbands on her bare arms. She did not intend to stay long, but merely to make an impression.

“Rahab!” her host exclaimed as he spotted her walking in, his long face wreathed in a smile.

She removed his hand from her hip and made a graceful curtsy. “Your servant.”

“I wish you were.”

She smiled into his eyes. “Your villa sparkles this evening, my lord.”

“Now that you are here, it certainly does.”

She laughed. “The dangerous royal charm.” Any distant cousin of the king liked being referred to as
royal
, she knew. The royal hand was snaking too close to Rahab’s lower back and she stepped quickly away, bumping into a hard body. Turning around, she exclaimed, “Your pardon.”

She knew the man by sight. He served as a high general in the army—one of Jericho’s leading men of war. What was his name? Debir, she remembered.

“Evasive maneuvers,” he said straight-faced. “I understand.” Small laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. Rahab flushed and turned her head for a quick look. Her host had moved to another conversation.

“A friendly skirmish,” she replied.

He grinned. “I am Debir.”

“I know. Your reputation precedes you, my lord. I am Rahab.”

“I know. Your reputation also precedes you.”

She inclined her head. “I suppose it makes for entertaining conversation.”

“Alas, I find I do not enjoy empty chatter.”

“Nor do I. I prefer intelligent conversation, but there is not much of it in my profession.”

“Nor in mine” They both laughed. A mutual understanding bordering on respect sprung between them that night. Within the first hours of his acquaintance, Rahab decided to accept Debir as her lover.

For his part, he was delighted to become her companion. Rahab knew that he came to her not out of lust or sentimental affection, but out of a simple desire to be relieved of responsibility for a few hours. Even a steady man like Debir needed a place where he wasn’t continuously pestered for decisions and judgments and wisdom. Everywhere Debir walked, he shouldered the weight of endless expectations. His three wives and numerous children relied on his guidance as heavily as his troops in the king’s army. So Debir came to Rahab simply to be.

Unlike her other lovers, he appreciated Rahab’s wit and enjoyed conversing with her. As a result he would often speak to her about matters of state, something the average man of Jericho considered above a woman’s comprehension. He never shared state secrets. There was too much soldier in him for that. But he would talk to her about the wars that raged around them, and of the change that was settling over Canaan.

“It seems the Hebrews have besieged Og,” he told her one night, the planes of his face smooth and curiously expressionless as if he hadn’t just proclaimed the most devastating news to reach Canaan in a hundred years.

Rahab gasped. Og, the king of Bashan, was reputed to be a giant both in stature and in ability. His iron bed was considered one of the wonders of the world, so wide and long it was. No Canaanite could imagine anyone having the temerity to march against Bashan. “Now they’ll
certainly
be destroyed,” she said.

Debir raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“You don’t agree?”

“Let’s say I don’t think it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“You don’t think Og can beat them? You think they can overrun the city of Edrei?”

“Edrei is a different matter. It’s protected by a gorge on the one side and a mountain on the other. Nestled right into the side of it. Militarily speaking, Edrei is impenetrable. I can’t see how even Moses and his magician warriors could get in.”

“So? Isn’t that where Og is?”

“For now, yes. He’s settled in, and all he has to do is sit tight and wait the Hebrews out. It will be a long and grueling siege, and the Hebrews can’t afford to loaf about and do nothing for that long. They’ll need food, water, and fresh grazing land for their cattle. Eventually, they’ll have to give up and leave.”

Rahab frowned. “I thought you feared Og might lose. Now you’re telling me he doesn’t even have to fight to win.”

Debir walked over to the window and gazed out at the plains and
hills leading to the Jordan. His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he turned back to face her. “It’s mighty hard on a king’s pride to hide rather than fight. He may not lose, but he also doesn’t win. Og is a warrior, and he has enough pride to match the size of his shanks. It will take a great deal of sense to keep him sheltered in Edrei.”

“And you think he has more pride than sense.”

“Let’s just wait and see.”