The Crimson Cord: Rahab's Story by Jill Eileen Smith Page B

myself, but Rahab is . . .”
    “Very beautiful?”
    Dabir nodded and Nahid laughed. “Have Gamal brought to me now. Soon you shall have your little mistress.”

    Men and women spread into the crowded streets, making it impossible to reach the steps of the Hall of Justice. Shouts erupted from all sides, and Rahab strained to understand the words.
    “What are they saying?” Cala had a tight grasp of Rahab’s arm and leaned toward her ear to be heard.
    Rahab tilted her head to listen and drew Cala closer as they weaved through a group of women, excusing themselves as they went.
    “Free the Nubian! Death to the betrayer!” Others picked up the shouts until they grew to a full chant. The betrayer could only be Gamal. Rahab’s stomach twisted in dread.
    She pushed her way closer, dragging Cala behind her until at last she found a spot near the bottom of the steps where the overhanging roof created a swatch of shade. The chanting nearly drowned out all ability to hear, but one look at Cala told her what her sister was thinking. If Gamal were brought out to face this mob of accusers, they would hang him on the spot.
    She moved like an unseeing one, vaguely aware of Cala still clutching her arm.
    “Where are you going?” Cala hissed in her ear.
    Rahab scanned the street, watching the mouths move, but their voices could not penetrate the fog that had suddenly blanketed her.
    “Rahab! Listen to me! We shouldn’t be here.” Cala’s frantic tone and the pain of her nails digging into Rahab’s arm got her attention.
    “What?” She shook herself, but the detached feeling would not leave. She faced her sister. “I have to get to Dabir. I can’t let them do this to Gamal.”
    Cala looked aghast. “You can’t.” She tightened her grip, though Rahab tried to shake free. “Rahab, you aren’t thinking clearly. If you go to Dabir, they will capture you. Do you honestly think even he will listen to you? You are a poor wife of a worthless man. And what if they order Gamal’s death? Do you think you will go unscathed?” Cala tugged her away from the steps, but Rahab held her ground.
    “I have to, Cala. Dabir and I . . . that is . . .” She stopped, heat creeping up her neck. She was nothing to Dabir.
    “You think because you spent one night with the man he owes you something?”
    Rahab darted glances around them and leaned closer. “I never told you that.”
    “Yes, you did.”
    Rahab searched her mind. “I don’t recall it.”
    “Perhaps I heard it at the well. You can be sure Dabir spoke of it or Gamal heard it. There are no secrets in this walled town.” Cala touched her middle, and Rahab suddenly realized she should not have brought her here.
    “Go home, Cala. You should not have come.” The chanting of the crowd grew to a deafening roar. Surely the prince would do something to stop them before a riot broke out.
    “I’m not leaving you,” Cala shouted above the din.
    Rahab wove them closer to the raised porch where the prince or the king often conducted final judgments. She glanced at the blocked double doors to the Hall of Justice and the guards flanking the surrounding portico. She would never reach Dabir now. But she pulled them closer to the porch, where at last trumpets sounded and flag bearers preceded the prince, Dabir at his right hand.
    Behind them, guards lifted the arms of a prisoner whose robe had been stripped from him, his arms and feet shackled with heavy chains. Rahab barely recognized him with his long hair now shaven and his beard gone. The chanting ceased.
    “Gamal, son of Bakri, why did you despise my mercy and do this thing?” Prince Nahid’s tone held no warmth, and Dabir’s expression no pity.
    Rahab’s stomach churned with worry too deep for words.
    “It is no longer in my power to spare you, Gamal. As you have no defense for your actions and I am loath to demandyour death, I order you to be sold at auction to the highest bidder, along with your wife and all that you