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TREMORS CONTINUED TO shake the ground at Stone Circle, threatening more quakes to come.
The army didn't train after Bet-Yariq. The soldiers were allowed to rest, though the generals met with Y'hoshua every day.
Rachav was still adjusting to her new life. The customs of their adoptive nation had shaken the whole family up, and even checked Mother's sharp tongue. Men scowled and women reprimanded her when Mother spoke disrespectfully to Papa. During one of his visits, Pinchas explained Hashem's expectations regarding the roles set aside for men and their wives. Mother didn't agree with these new customs, but feared ostracization from their new surrounding neighbors.
Back in Bet-Yariq, Rachav hadn't interacted with women her own age much. In Yacov, both sexes tended to stay apart during daylight hours, and conducted themselves very carefully when they did mix. Older women taught the younger ones during certain times; and females segregated themselves according to age at other times. It was much the same for males. Rachav was not yet completely familiar with how the patterns sorted out, but she sought out the Yacovite women and went out of her way to help with the cooking, sewing, foraging and other chores. It seemed all the women her age were already married, and most were either pregnant or had at least one child already. The more of those babies she saw, the more she longed for one of her own.
A pang of sadness swept through her chest. Mother had obtained a potion from one of the priestesses back in the city, and Rachav never got pregnant by any of her customers. What she wouldn't do now to have her very own baby...
At first, the other women behaved as though Rachav were invisible. Their conversation would dwindle to silence when she joined them. When forced to speak to her by circumstances, they were terse and flat. But they were adjusting to her presence. They continued to converse when she was in earshot, now. One of them–Shoshanah was her name–told her "thank you" when Rachav picked up some fire kindling she dropped.
There was still a long way to go before she was ever fully accepted, and perhaps she never would be. But she already liked this new life better than the old one.
She went out with a foraging party between meals one day, The women talked and joked as they went; Rachav listened at first, but didn't try to participate, feeling she was not welcome to do so, yet. As she gathered fruits, grain and nuts, she became lost in her thoughts and oblivious to the conversation. When she thought to look around and get her bearings, she noticed she had wandered off from the group far enough that she didn't know where they were anymore.
Several women were gathering out in the valley, but far enough away that she couldn't tell which ones were from her group. Then she saw a figure approaching from the direction of the river, and she recognized the walk. It was Salmon.
She knew the army posted lookouts and guards out in the areas surrounding Stone Circle, and with Bet-Yariq destroyed, she need not fear any local marauders. But she would feel safer if she was with somebody she knew. And someone like Salmon was better still. She stood erect and waited for him.
When he drew near enough for facial features to appear in sharp focus, she smiled. He nodded acknowledgment, looking wary.
"Rachav," he greeted. "Looks like you got separated from the others."
"If you're going back to Stone Circle," she asked, "May I walk with you?"
After a slight hesitation he said, "Sure. Come on." He continued on his way without waiting for her.
She took long strides until she caught up, then matched his pace.
"I didn't recognize you with the head covering," he finally said.
She remembered that he had spent most of his time in the city inside her apartment, where she uncovered her hair out of habit. She was beginning to gather that the Yacovites considered this to be shameful, unless it was a woman's husband who saw her hair. And of course that was not the only thing they considered shameful.
They walked wordlessly together for a time.
"Pinchas has been teaching my family about your god," she said, as a way to open conversation.
"Oh? And what do you think, so far?"
"I think he's the One True God," she said. "The Creator God."
He looked askance at her for a moment. "I'll say one thing for you: it didn't take long at all for you to get serious about religion."
"After what he did to the river?" she asked. "And the city walls? While preserving my family through it all, just like we agreed. Of course your people have seen many things just as impressive. Maybe more so."
Salmon shrugged. "My parents and grandparents did."
Now he was looking forward as they walked but she turned slightly to study his face. "It must be wonderful to have grown up knowing that the Most High–The God of Gods–is himself invested in the welfare of your people."
He sighed. "It can be a terrific burden, though. The heathens can indulge in tremendous levels of wickedness without angering their gods. But El Elyon holds us accountable. The punishment he reserves for us is more fearsome than the wrath of a hundred enemy gods."
"If I were born into Yacov," she said, "I'd be so thankful that the father of all the gods had set aside my people as his own."
He forced a smile. "You're right. But you've been accepted into my people, so share in the gratitude."
She looked away, and her smile faded. "Well, I don't exactly feel like I'm accepted, just yet."
"No?" he asked, innocently. Then, after thinking about it, he frowned. "Well, yes, I suppose that makes sense. It will probably take a while, but if you and your family are willing to assimilate, you'll be welcome here."
"Some people will probably never welcome us," she said.
He glanced at her eyes thoughtfully, but said nothing.
"I'm trying to assimilate," she said. "I want to."
"You'll do fine."
They came to an acacia tree, Several colorful jars and pots were drying in the sun, Under the tree's shade sat a young boy, using an old modified chariot wheel as a spinning platform to shape a lump of wet clay into a vase.
Rachav noticeably brightened when she looked it all over. "Oh my. This is wonderful."
The boy looked up from his work. "Thank-you, Gvirti."
She was unfamiliar with the word, and turned to Salmon, confused.
"It's a term of respect," he explained. "Children address adult women that way."
This was a pleasant surprise, after living under the same roof with a disrespectful younger sister for years. "May I look closer at some of your pottery?" she asked the boy.
The boy nodded. She stooped to pick up a spherical pot with a lid, painted with bright, simple designs. "This is so pretty. It's a work of art." She showed it to Salmon. "Look at the colors. And the shape–it's perfectly round."
The young potter beamed, obviously proud of his work and glad someone appreciated it.
Salmon studied the pot for a moment, then said, "It's got a flat spot." He pointed to where he saw the flaw.
Frowning, the young potter stood, wiping hands on his apron. "Really? Where? Show me please, Sir."
He walked over and followed an imaginary line from Salmon's index finger with his eyes. "Oh. You're right." He stretched his hands out for the pot, and Rachav handed it to him.
She noticed his annoyed expression, and said, "It's a very nice pot, really. You did a great job."
"This one was shaped by my sister," the boy said, rubbing his hand over the flat spot as he returned to his seat.
Salmon resumed his trip back to camp and Rachav went with him.
"I probably never would have noticed that, if you hadn't pointed it out," she said.
Salmon shrugged. "Picking out flaws is something I do as part of my job every day."
"You mean your job leading other soldiers?" she asked.
He nodded.
Rachav thought, again, of her situation. She bit her lip, wondering if she should say what was on her mind. Finally she gathered up her courage and just blurted it out. "You're the only Yacovite I know, besides Pinchas."
He raised one eyebrow.
"It's not easy for me, here. If you wouldn't mind, may I accompany you when I have to leave the camp? At least, for as far as is convenient for you?"
He frowned again. She had an idea what he was thinking. These people had very strict mores regarding unmarried men and women fraternizing. On top of that, she was a foreigner to them. And unclean. "You know, the heathen woman," she imagined them saying, behind her back, "the prostitute." He was counting the cost of her association to his reputation–and she didn't blame him.
"Please," she said. "I won't burden you much. It would just be nice to exchange a few friendly words on a regular basis, with somebody I know. Somebody who won't judge me for what I used to be."
He worked his jaw but still wasn't ready to speak, it seemed.
"You may not understand why it's so important to me," she said, not having realized why, herself, until speaking her heart out loud. "But I've just turned my back on everything I've known all my life a few days ago. And I know this life is better, for many reasons. But still, I'm really out of sorts, here, and I desperately need somebody to talk to. Even if it's talk about something not terribly important."
"I'm not a talker," Salmon said. "You know Pinchas. He visits you regularly, already. And he loves to talk."
He spoke the words with dismissive finality, as if that were the end of the matter. She fell back a couple steps and said no more, knowing that if she tried, she might become entirely too emotional.
Y'HOSHUA PRAYED AT the Temple every morning and evening, as part of his daily routine. On his way to Temple in the morning, Abidan and two others entered camp and intercepted their field marshal.
Y'hoshua saw them and stopped. They were coated with the dust of travel from the knees down. Their hair and beards were matted with sweat, skin a shade darker from exposure to the sun.
Abidan saluted. "Sir, the reconnaissance patrol is back, all accounted for and ready to report."
Y'hoshua returned the salute and clapped Abidan on the shoulder. "Good. Meet me at the Command Post in an hour."
"Yes Sir," the soldier replied.
After morning prayers, Y'hoshua and the men from the patrol sat at the table inside the Command Post tent. Y'hoshua had questioned them about what they had scouted–particularly the towns of Bet-El and Ahyee.
Now Abidan waved toward the other scouts. "I can only echo what the others said, Sir: weak defenses, a small garrison...it shouldn't be difficult at all. The march up the mountainside will probably be more dangerous than the attack on the city. In fact, we should really only send about three thousands to take it. That's more than enough for the job, and the rest of the army can stay here."
A tremor swept along the ground underneath them.
"What about Bet-El?" Y'hoshua asked.
"Not even enough fighting men to be considered an actual garrison," Abidan said.
Y'hoshua studied the map for a moment, then looked up suddenly and flashed a perfunctory smile at his scouts. "All right. Well, thank-you, men. Get something to eat; clean up; get some rest; and report to your units. You're dismissed."
The scouts saluted and exited the tent, leaving Y'hoshua alone to ponder the information they'd brought him.
