The Scarlet Thread
an excerpt

City of Shittim in the Plains of Moab
Israelite camp

Caleb entered Joshua’s tent shortly before dawn. “The men were seen leaving camp about a half an hour ago. There were four of them, heading west toward the Jordan.” Caleb reported, “Should I send men to follow them?”
“No. Let them go.” Joshua reached his hand up and scratched the back of his head. “They are going to Jericho. To deliver information to their King Oren.”
“But-“
“There is nothing they can tell the king that other people have not already said. They will only confirm the greatness of our power and the mighty of our God.”
“You are right, Joshua. However, my main concern is about the information they may take back of you and our army.”
Joshua held a silencing hand to Caleb. “Wait,” he said, opening the tents flap “Come watch this with me.”
Caleb stepped out into the cool, predawn air. Joshua stood next to him looking toward the tabernacle. This was the largest of all the tents, and was placed directly in the middle of their camp. Each and every one of the tents of the people faced toward the tabernacle. This was to insure that the first thing the Israelites saw when they arose in the morning was the presence of God. And, it was the last thing they saw before retiring for the night.
“I enjoy watching the Lords fire turn to the cloudy mist. I never tire of His presence.”
The pillar of white gold flames had been present each night for over forty years. It was the beacon of the God of Israel. It was the fire His presence that warmed them and kept them safe during the cold darkness of the night. During the day, it was a cloud; God’s shroud of mist that protected His people from the blazing sun of the desert. As a child, Joshua would arise as early as possible to watch it change from one form to the other. It happened so fast, that an untimely blink of an eye and it would be missed.
The Lords faithful presence never ceased to amaze Joshua. He stood with his eyes fixed on the flaming pillar. Even as an adult, he stood before the pillar with a child’s wonder.
It changed, at that moment.
Joshua saw it and turned to Caleb, eyes wide and said, “Did you see it?”
Caleb stood staring at the pillar that was now a misty cloud. “Yes.”
“Jehovah-Shammah, the LORD is there. Amen.”
“Jehovah-Shammah.”
They turned together and looked to the ground. There, laying before them, were small, soft round loaves of manna. Each and every morning of the two friend lives, manna was provided for them. It appeared from the sky, or the air. It couldn’t be determined. However, God provided, without fail. Joshua and Caleb took only what would feed them for the day, and sat down together to eat.
Caleb began the conversation. “Joshua, what of the spies from Jericho? Do you think there are others?”
“I’ve information that there are those from Jericho that are still among us.” Joshua said thoughtfully, “They are people who want to stay with us and serve our LORD. They have seen the same miracles and experienced the presence of Jehovah as the men who left us.” Joshua looked at Caleb with piercing black eyes and said, “They have made their choice.”
“Yes, I see.” Caleb said, but, still doubting asked, “However, what of the information the spies will take back to King Oren?”
“Let them speak of what they have seen,” Joshua laughed, “The Lord has assured me that it do only good for His purpose. It will strike fear and doubt into the king of Jericho. For that is where we strike, next.”
“Oh-ho! Now, I do see, my friend!” Caleb patted Joshua on the shoulder, “That is a perfect plan, of course.”
“Our LORD will achieve His purpose in His own way. It does not always seem apparent to us.” Joshua said. “We must choose two men to go to Jericho and search out the lay of the land and the workings of the city.”
“They must be cunning and with quick wit” Caleb said, “The people of Jericho are too aware of us not to be on high alert.”
“I have chosen the man, Massoud, to send to Jericho. He is a faithful man and a superior scout. Now, you must choose a man. One who is stealthy and well able to gather information.”
“I will send my son, Salmon.”
“So it will be. They will leave in a weeks time.”

* * * *

As the four spies made their way to the swelling Jordan river, tension was as taught as a harp string. They had argued amongst themselves since they left the camp.
“Tell me again, why are we doing this?”
“We must warn King Oren of this amazing Jehovah God of the Israelites!”
“What good will it do? These people hide from no one! Everyone has seen the mighty works going on in the camp.”
“We carry no new information! The defeat of the Kings of Og and Ammon-what man does not know of this feat?”
“Have you forgotten your allegience? We are servants to Oren, not these Israelites!”

It took the men two days to travel over the plains of Moab and the Jordan River to Jericho. They had left the camp with as little to carry as possible. Small flasks of water had been tucked within their robes. They had no bread, because they had left before the manna came to the camp. By the end of the second day, the men were out of water and ravenously hungry.
When the men arrived in Jericho, they went directly to the King and were escorted to his assembly room by a large guard armed with a long sword. Oren sat in his polished marble seat, watching the messengers straggle into his presence. He took a cup of wine from the tray that was placed next to him, and took long, hearty drink.
“What news do you bring me?”
The four men, haggard and road weary, stood before the King of Jericho. They stayed silent, with their heads hung down. Minutes passed and they did not say a word.
“What news do you bring me?” The king shouted.
One of the men moved forward and knelt before Oren. “We bring no good news, your highness.” He kept his eyes downcast, not daring to look in the King’s direction. “The Israelites are many in number. Their leader is a mighty man who fears nothing and no one, except his God.” But, then, the spy raised his eyes and fixed them on the king. “They have a God that is with them day and night, watching and protecting them. He is everywhere, sire. I fear the God of the Israelites. I fear He is not pleased with your highness, or Jericho.”
“You dare to fear another god? When you should revere Ba’al, the son of El, above all things? You fool.” The king raised a bejeweled finger and motioned to the guard standing against the wall.
The guard walked to the man addressing the king and stood before him. With one swift and silent move, the spy fell to the ground. A puddle of bright red blood began to ooze and pool around his body. Oren walked across the cold, gray marble floor, his bracelets jingling a happy tune with each step. When he reached the man, he smiled at him stuck a chubby foot out from beneath his robe and nudged the body. “He will honor our god, now.” The king looked at the remaining men, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Won’t he?”
“Now, who will bring me tidings from across the Jordan?” The King cheerfully asked, “What have you to say?” He pointed at the man on the end. “Come, let me hear what you have to say.”
The man took several trembling steps and fell to the floor, bowing down with his face in his hands. “My king, I am your loyal servant. What he said was true. The Israelite God is with them every day. He feeds them and clothes them. Every morning there is bread on the ground. Their shoes never wear out! I fear for our lives and Jericho.”
“Rise, dear man.” Oren lifted his finger to the guard, “Today, you are blessed to meet the father god of our people.”
The guard approached with his sword drawn. “No! Sire, please, spare-“
With a swift and silent sweep of his sword, the man fell to his knees. The guard kicked him in his back and the man fell forward. Small splatters of blood dotted the floor as he landed, followed by a pool of bright, red blood pulsating from his body.
Within an hour, Oren’s assembly room floor was covered with blood and the dead bodies of the four spies. The King walked toward the great double doors to leave the room.
“Clean this mess.” He called over his shoulder to the servant standing at the rear of the room. Oren walked out the door, slamming it behind him. As he stomped and jingled down the window-lined corridor, he thought about the men and their behavior.
“Fools.” The king mumbled, “Fear and lies. Lies and fear.”
Oren went to the courtyard. It was a humming with activity. Gardeners, painters, laundresses and house servants were busy with their daily tasks. As the king stepped into the courtyard, all the people turned and bowed in his presence, placing a hand over their heart. Oren nodded ostentatiously and motioned the people to continue with their tasks. At this, the servants returned to their business at hand.
“Bring me a litter!”
“Yes, sire!”
Four strong, muscular men arrived in front of the king minutes later. They were carrying the litter. It was large, intricately woven basket in the shape of a seat. A large silk covered pillow was placed upon it to soften the Kings ride. The basket was affixed to two long poles running along the sides. Each pole jutted out the front and back, leaving enough room on each end for two men to stand, one behind the other.
Oren was helped into the seat. Once he was settled, he barked, “Take me to the woman, Rahab!”
The men immediately hoisted the litter to their shoulders and began walking. Oren remained silent as he was carried to his destination. The trip seemed to take an eternity and his mood was not much improved upon his arrival to the inn.
Dinah watched as the king approached the door and casually rushed to open it for him. “Your highness. It is an honor and a privilege to serve you.”
“I would see the woman, Rahab.”
“She is in her new quarters, my king. Follow me.” Dinah led the way to Rahab’s new private quarters. This is perfect, she thought, as they approached the stairway.
“Her new apartment is there,” Dinah pointed up the stairs. “I hope it will please your high-“
“That will be all, Dinah.” Oren stated with a wave of dismissal.

* * * *

The door opened with a swift rush of wind and slammed closed with a thunderous bang. It startled me so, that I felt I almost jumped out of my skin. When I turned toward the clamoring door, I saw King Oren walking toward me with a wild, strange gleam in his eyes.
This was not Oren It was not the man that I had entertained just a few days ago. His nostrils flared and red blotches appeared around his neck. As he approached, I felt chilled to my bones with a terrible premonition of danger. Something had taken a hold of the king. Something evil had taken his place on the Earth. It was simply wearing his body and speaking with his lips.
“Rahab.” Oren said with a low, gutteral voice.
“My lord, King. I didn’t expect you, today.” I took a half step back, feeling my way with my hand. I am afraid. And fear is a strange, uncomfortable feeling to me. I begin searching for a distraction of some sort. Just so I can understand what is going on. Looking around my room in all directions, I see a skin of wine and two cups Freda had placed on the table. It’s just to the left of where Oren is standing.
“Let me get you a refreshment, my king.” I said, lightly, and stepped toward the table.
“Later.” Oren wrapped his hand around my arm with a constricting grip.
With a single move, the king twisted my arm and thrust me toward the bed. White hot pain shot from my elbow into my shoulder, as the he raised my bent arm higher behind my back.
“Stop, my lord! You are hurting my arm!” I cried out in pain and shock.
King Oren ignored my plea, thrusting me face first into my bed. I frantically grab at him with my free hand, trying to loosen his grip and break free. My shouts were buried in the midst of the pillows and sheets of my bed. I began to get tangled up in the bed linens as I thrashed around in vain efforts to gain my freedom.
My mind was spinning. My heart was beating out of my chest. I forced myself to be quiet and still. I had to quickly reason what was happening, but nothing was making any sense to me.
Oren’s grip loosened momentarily. I turned my head to the side, willing myself to be calm, “What are you doing? You know I would do all that you ask of me!” I said over my shoulder.
“Oh, my dear,” Oren said, “Of course you will!” He gave me a fast, hard shove deeper into the billowing mattress. My face was smashed into the pillows and I wasn’t able to move. Helpless and vulnerable, I cried into my pillows, frantically trying to get a breath of air.
He ripped my gown away from my hips and waist. “And, then some.” He snarled, as he pushed his knee painfully between my legs. With a loud grunt, the king forced himself into me. Only I could hear my suffocating screams.
I welcomed the darkness.
* * * *
“Have a bath waiting for her when she wakes,” King Oren instructed as he pointed toward the bed. “Rahab sleeps.”
Freda said nothing, only nodded in obedience.
“Here, this is for you.” The king laid two silver coins on Rahab’s dressing table. “Say nothing.” Before he stepped out the door, he added as an afterthought, “And clean this mess.”
Rahab lay crumpled on the bed. She is twisted and tangled with in the sheets. Her long black hair is like matted birds nests of ribbons and braids. There are many bruises forming in the middle of Rahabs back, shoulders and down the length of her legs. Freda covered Rahabs exposed body with gentle care. Her mistress has been nothing but generous and kind to her. Seeing Rahab broken like this shattered her heart and made her want to scream for vengence. But, who would listen to her plea?
Freda had heard the cries for help from Rahab and muffled groans of demands by the king. However, she was forbidden to enter the room until beckoned. She had checked the door, but, it had been latched. When Freda approached Dinah for help, the older woman slapped her face and sneered, “How dare you question our King Oren! You stupid, stupid girl!” Dinah grabbed Freda’s shoulders and gave her a rough shake. “You should strive to be so honored as to have a king, when your time has arrived!” Dinah released Freda with a forceful shove that caused her to stumble back and fall to the ground. She picked herself up and brushed her skirt.
Although she was only twelve years old, Freda understood the business of a harlot. When she would turn fourteen, her much guarded virginity was to be sold the highest bidder. ‘Then, I will have a room at the inn. I will be a harlot, too.’ Freda thought miserably to herself. ‘Oh’, she corrected, ‘A servant priestess of Ba’al.”