RAHAB’S PARTING FROM SALA HAD BEEN SO ABRUPT that she had scarcely any time to reflect upon how she felt about leaving him. And once she was home, she quickly slipped back into the easy ways of her old life. However, as the seasons passed, and Yarih, god of the moon, waxed and waned, the carefree days of her childhood began to run out. Most of the girls her age from the village were betrothed or married, and she knew her turn was near. Her pleasant life as a much-indulged only daughter was coming to an end; soon she would be a married woman with a house to tend and children to rear.
Rahab accepted the reality of her future, but she was not eager to rush it. She did not envy her girlfriends a single one of their husbands. An idea lay hidden in the back of her mind about the kind of man she would like to marry, and she hoped such a man would come along before her father made his choice.
The thing that saved her was that she was late coming into womanhood. Her thirteenth and fourteenth birthdays passed and still she had not shown her first blood.
Girls could not marry until after they were ready to bear children and Rahab knew she could keep her freedom for as long as she remained officially a child. Meanwhile, her mother and father watched her like craftsmen guarding a precious pot. She was into the second month of her fourteenth year when her body, which had been changing slowly, made a dramatic leap forward. Her breasts took form and she had her first blood.
The women of the village held a ceremony in Asherah’s grove to celebrate Rahab’s changed status. It was the traditional ceremony held for every girl at this time of life, a ritual intended to bless the young woman and help prepare her for the difficult tasks of being a wife and a mother.
The first night of the ceremony, when Rahab had to stay by herself in a small tent, keeping awake and tending the small fire until morning, she was forced to face for the first time the reality of her future. It had been easy to push it aside when she was still slim as a boy, larking around the farm and helping her mother and sisters-in-law with their tasks. But now, almost overnight, she had left the freedom of her childhood behind. Her hips were curved, no longer slender like her brothers’. She was all grown up.
She would have to get married. She would have to get married and she could not think of a single boy or man in her village who attracted her. They were all so boring. She loved her father and her brothers dearly, but she wanted to marry someone different, someone who knew things about the world outside of Canaan, someone who was brave and daring and liked adventures.
Someone like Sala.
He was the ideal who had been floating in her mind for the last two years. She acknowledged this to herself and, at the same time, she acknowledged that she would never see him again. She watched the smoke from her fire going up and out the smoke hole in the tent roof, and for the first time she allowed herself to think about the time she had spent with him in Ramac. Other girls had confided in her how frightened they were of having to stay by themselves in Asherah’s grove but Rahab wasn’t frightened at all. She was glad of the chance to be alone so she could think.
She rose from her place by the fire and ducked under the tent opening to go outside. It was the time of year when some days it felt like winter and some days like spring. Today had been a spring-like day and tonight the air was chilly but not cold. Rahab wrapped her cloak around her and looked up at the sky.
All her life she had loved to look at the stars. There was no moon tonight, and the stars shone so brightly and looked so close she thought she should be able to reach up and touch one.
Her father had once told her they were many miles up in the sky, in a place no person could ever go. She had asked him if the gods lived up there, but he had not known for certain.
Rahab shivered. What did the gods care about her? She had been put on the earth to do woman’s work: to bear children, to bake bread, to minister to the sick and dying, and finally to die herself. That is what women did in this world. Why should she be different? Why should she long for the impossible? She was only making herself unhappy.
She was a fool to cherish Sala’s memory in her heart. He was probably married by now and never gave her a single thought. She must stop thinking about him and be practical about her own future.
She would marry whomever her father picked and make the best of it. That is what all women did, didn’t they?
She went back into the tent, sat in front of the fire, and angrily brushed her tears away with her fingers. She was not a baby. She was a woman now and she must act like one. She reached out and put another stick on the fire.
Mepu had already picked a husband for Rahab. His father was a local man who owned cattle and the son desperately wanted to marry Rahab. The negotiations over the bride price started the day after her initiation ceremony was finished, and Rahab’s sister-in-law, Atene, kept her informed about how they were progressing.
“They’re talking about five hundred silver shekels, Rahab!” she reported one morning as the two young women were spinning dried and stripped flax fibers into yarn. “No one has ever paid that much for a wife.”
Rahab’s hands slowed. They were working outside in the courtyard, and as she gazed out across the fertile landscape of her father’s farm, she sighed.
Atene shook her head. “I don’t understand you. Any other woman would be thrilled she was valued so highly. Just think of how well you will be treated. No man will abuse something he has paid so much for.”
This comment did not cheer Rahab as it had been meant to. She carefully smoothed one of the longer fibers back into its ribbon and said, “I suppose that is a good thing.”
Atene stopped spinning. “I know you love your home, but try to think about how fortunate you are,” she urged. “You were born beautiful, and because of that your life will be an easy and pleasant one. As Shulgi’s wife you will have a servant to do all the work for you. You should be happy, Rahab, and instead you go round looking as if you’ve been cursed.”
Rahab felt as if she had been cursed, but she couldn’t say that to Atene. She couldn’t say that she dreamed at night of a different kind of man than Shulgi, with his eager, protuberant eyes.
“Shulgi doesn’t know me at all. All he knows is he likes the way I look. We might even hate each other once we are married.”
“I’m certain such a thing won’t happen.”
Rahab looked at her sister-in-law. “Were you happy when you learned you were to marry Shemu?”
Faint color stained Atene’s cheeks. “I was happy.”
“Did you know him before you were betrothed?”
The color in Atene’s cheeks deepened. “Yes, we knew each other from the village ceremonies.”
“You liked him,” Rahab said, almost accusingly.
“I liked him very much.”
“I’m not going to like Shulgi. I know I’m not going to like him.”
Atene patted her hand. “You must try to like him, Rahab. Your happiness depends upon it. You must try.”
After she and Atene finished with the flax, Rahab went back into the house to see if her mother had any other chores for her. She had entered by the back door, and as she walked down the short hall she heard the sound of voices in the front room. Her father was there with her mother and they sounded as if they were having a disagreement. Rahab stood just outside the door so she could hear what they were saying.
“Do not argue, Kata,” her father said. “My mind is made up. If Shulgi is willing to give so much money for Rahab, just think of what the rich men in Jericho would pay.”
“You don’t know that, Mepu.” Rahab could hear distress in her mother’s voice.
“Have you looked at her lately, Kata?"
“Yes.”
“Does she look like a farmer’s daughter or a farmer’s wife to you?”
“No.”
“You were a pretty girl, my dear, but Rahab . . . Rahab is more than pretty. More than beautiful. There is an air about her . . .”
Her mother’s voice was sharp as she replied, “I know, my husband. I see how men can’t keep their eyes off of her. And I am afraid some rich man will want her for something other than a wife. She is an innocent girl, my husband. We were fortunate to get her back with her virtue unimpaired. I don’t want to see her sold—”
Her father interrupted, his voice full of anger. “Do you think I would sell my daughter into prostitution? I would never do that. Never. Shame on you for thinking such a thing.”
“I am sorry.” Her mother’s voice trembled.
“We are going to Jericho to find Rahab a husband, Kata. Do you understand me?”
“Yes. Yes, I do understand. I am sorry, Mepu. I did not mean—”
“I know, I know.” Her father’s voice softened. “I love her too, Kata. She is a special girl. Even apart from her looks, she is special, and I want her to have the best.”
Rahab turned and went quietly back toward the door she had come in by, a big smile on her face. She was not going to have to marry Shulgi! She was going to go to Jericho! Anything might happen in Jericho. I might even meet a man I would like to marry. And I am rid of that awful Shulgi. I must go out to Asherah’s Shrine and thank her. Thank her for giving me another chance.
Mepu had a brother who owned a pottery shop in Jericho, and he and Shemu went into the city to ask if his brother might know where they could find temporary housing. It turned out that, besides the shop that he lived over, Mepu’s brother owned the house next door. He had rented it for years to the same couple, but the old renters had decided to move in with their daughter and the house would be free.
Mepu looked at the square mud-brick house, which was in the oldest and poorest part of the city. He also looked around to see if other lodgings might be available in a more prestigious area, but what he found was hugely expensive. He ended by renting his brother’s house at what he thought was too high a rate, and comforted himself with the thought that Kata would know how to make it cheerful and presentable.
“There was nothing else available,” Mepu told his family when he returned home and they were all at dinner. “I had to promise Ilim a good rent, though. He wasn’t about to give it to me for free just because we are blood.”
“I’m sure he counts on the income for his living,” Kata said gently.
Shemu smiled at his mother. “You always think the best of people,” he said.
Mepu snorted. “You’d think he could give a break to his own flesh and blood. But Ilim was always a tightfisted scoundrel.” He tore a piece of bread in half and scowled at it.
“How big is the house, Father?” Jabin asked.
Mepu gave Jabin a long look. “Only big enough for just Shemu and Atene to accompany us. She will be a help to your mother, and you and your brothers can manage here without us.”
Jabin’s face fell. He had clearly been looking forward to going to the city. On the other hand, Atene’s face brightened. She cast a glance at Rahab, who gave her a quick smile.
“If we leave soon we will be there for the festival of the New Year,” Shemu said. His narrow, dark face was alive with anticipation.
Jabin said, “Can’t I come too, Father? Just for the festival of the New Year? I have never seen it!”
“We’ll see.” It was their father’s usual answer—not saying either yes or no, just leaving you wondering. It annoyed all of his children to no end, but no one dared to protest.
The family had been to many ritual celebrations at the shrine in their village, but the festival of the New Year, the great Canaanite fertility rite, could only be held if the king was present. It was the king who represented Baal, and his ritual marriage with the hierodule, the woman who had been chosen to represent the goddess Asherah, was the central act of the festival. It was their coupling that would ensure the fertility of the soil, the flocks, and the human family. It was the strength of the king and the life-empowering fertility of the hierodule that would guarantee the prosperity of the kingdom.
“Have you ever been to the festival of the New Year, Father?” Rahab asked.
“A few times.” Mepu ate a fig so juicy a little of it dribbled down his chin. He wiped it away, then licked the juice from his fingers. “King Makamaron was much younger when I went. He’s getting on in years now.” Mepu flashed his wife a smile. “As am I.”
She returned stoutly, “Makamaron has not lost his powers. The rains have fallen and our harvests have been bountiful ever since he became king. He is still a strong man, and so are you, my husband.”
Mepu looked gratified.
“We should sacrifice a young lamb to Baal before you leave for Jericho, Father,” Rahab’s brother Ahat said. “That will please him and perhaps he will look kindly upon Rahab and your mission.”
The rest of the men at the table agreed heartily. They all looked at Rahab, who bowed her head to indicate her gratitude for their good wishes and her obedience to her father’s will.