This Scarlet Cord by Joan Wolf Page B

Rahab’s father. “I am sorry to be so discourteous, but my son is right. We must not give out our names until we are sure we cannot be overheard.”
    “What is going on here?” Rahab’s father sounded suspicious, and Rahab suddenly understood what Sala meant. They were Israelites, he and his father. What were they doing in Jericho?
    “Father, I know these people too,” Shemu said quietly. He looked at Sala’s father and asked, “Where can we go?”
    “The common room of the inn where we are staying should be empty right now.”
    And so the two parties formed into one and together they left the cobbled main street of the Lower City and moved into the narrow dirt roads where the poorer people lived. Mepu made Rahab walk between him and Kata, Shemu and Atene followed behind them, and Sala and his father walked last. Rahab wanted so much to turn and look at him, but she restrained herself, knowing how unwise it would be to call attention to their party.
    The old inn’s common room was indeed empty, and the seven of them sat on benches around two scarred wooden tables they pulled together.
    Rahab’s father looked grimly at Sala’s father. “Now, will you kindly tell me who you are and what this is all about?”
    “My son is the boy who saved your daughter when she was running away from the slavers in Gaza,” Lord Nahshon replied quietly, his mouth set in a grim hard line. “He should never have accosted your daughter the way he did. I am sorry for his bad manners.”
    “Bad manners?” Kata rarely spoke up in company, and Rahab looked with astonishment at her mother. “If it was not for him my daughter would be a slave in Egypt!” She gave Sala a warm smile. “I am happy to have this opportunity to thank you myself, Sala.”
    Sala flushed, said, “Thank you,” and shot a quick glance at Rahab.
    She gave him a brief smile.
    Lord Nahshon was going on. “It was not only bad manners, madam, it was dangerous. Dangerous for my son and me, that is. We are Israelites—you know this—and the mood in Jericho right now is not favorable toward my people.”
    Rahab jumped as her father slapped his hand against the table. “Just exactly what are you Israelites doing in Jericho, if I may ask.”
    Sala leaned forward. “It was because of me, sir. I have always thought your idea of shipping your excess products into Egypt was a good one; it would benefit you and it would benefit us. I talked my father into following up on this venture and that is why we are in Jericho. We did not realize when we set out that the Israelite army was so close.”
    Mepu looked unconvinced. “If you wanted to follow up on my scheme, why did you not come to my farm to speak to me? Why did you come to the city?”
    “We did not know where you lived,” Sala replied. “All we knew was that Rahab’s family lived on a farm within the territory of Jericho. So we came here to the city itself to see if we might find someone we could talk to who might be interested in the idea.” He looked at Rahab. “When I saw you, I was so surprised, I didn’t think.”
    “I am glad you didn’t.”
    Her father shot her an angry look and she lowered her eyes.
    Shemu said, “What I don’t understand is how you expected anyone in Jericho to want to do business with Israelites. They have been systematically destroying every kingdom they pass through, and now they apparently have the deluded idea that they can take over Canaan. The last person anyone in Jericho would want to deal with is an Israelite.”
    Sala gave her brother such a charming smile that Rahab blinked. “You see, Shemu, we haven’t told anyone we’re Israelites. We’ve said we’re Canaanites from Gaza. I assure you that our company can ship out of Gaza too, if we choose, so that part is not a lie.”
    Silence fell around the table. Rahab sneaked a peek at Sala and found him looking at her. She gave him a quick grin, then looked down at the table and began tracing a deep scratch with her