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

quickly for one so useless, and the rest of the line of men paraded before the onlookers. WhenGamal’s turn came, Rahab could not take her eyes from him, willing him to look her way. But his gaze remained downcast as Syrian merchants circled him, poking, prodding.
    “Thirty pieces of silver for this one.” The Syrian’s offer was generous, though it did not even come close to covering Gamal’s debt to Prince Nahid.
    Rahab stood stiff, her heart beating with the kind of dread that turned her limbs to water. She could not do this.
    She turned to the guard standing nearest her as Gamal was led away in chains with the Syrian merchant, not once looking to see if she stood near enough to watch. “Please,” she said to the guard, “I must speak to the king’s advisor, Dabir. He is a personal friend.”
    “Your husband was a personal friend to the prince and that made no difference, miss. I’m afraid Dabir is not available to speak to you.”
    “Has anyone spoken to him to ask?” She could not give up so easily. She offered the guard her most beguiling smile. “Just a moment of his time is all I ask.”
    The guard hesitated. “Look, miss, I’m just telling you what I was told. Dabir said to bring you here. He is speaking to your father and brothers even now.”
    Alarm shot through her. Nothing good would come of such a meeting. “All the more reason I need to see him.”
    The guard shook his head. “Dabir gave strict orders. You are to be sold to the highest bidder.” He took her arm as the auctioneer called for the female slaves. “Come on then. Looks like it’s your turn.”
    Rahab blinked back tears as she allowed the guard to lead her onto the platform. Half-naked women stood in a row,their eyes vacant as though death had already claimed them. Perhaps in slavery it already had.
    Rahab cinched her robe tighter, praying to every god she could imagine to allow her to keep her clothing and her dignity.

    Dabir sat behind a large oak table, his high seat giving him the ability to look down on those who stood before him—this time Rahab’s father and brothers. He fingered his close-cropped beard and narrowed his eyes as he looked them over. The father seemed worried. Good. The brothers, wary. Also good.
    Dabir cleared his throat. “As you are aware,” he said, addressing Rahab’s father, “your son-in-law Gamal has incurred an enormous debt to the crown, and when that debt was forgiven, he scorned the prince’s mercy and did not turn from his wayward scheming.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in, watching the men shift from foot to foot. Impatient. Afraid. He hid a smile.
    “Unfortunately, even his sale to Syrian merchants has brought in only a small portion to cover his debt. And his wife did not fare much better.” He ran his tongue over his moist lips, then took a drink from the wine cup next to him. “Therefore”—he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—“the rest of Gamal’s debt will be divided between his parents and each of you until it is paid in full. You may still work your farms or businesses or whatever it is you do, but a portion will be paid monthly to the king in addition to your taxes.”
    He leaned back in his chair, taking in their surprised, horrified looks. Would they protest? But after a moment ofsilence, he added, “Be grateful you and all you own are not immediately sold to cover this man’s debt. And next time, I would make very sure your daughters do not marry fools.”
    Rahab’s father merely nodded, though the weight of Dabir’s words seemed too heavy for him to carry through the door. Had he made the penalty too harsh? Should he have told them that once Rahab belonged to him, the debt would easily be paid? She was worth the price of untold rubies in his mind.
    But as he watched them walk silently from his office, he allowed himself a small smile. No, keeping them under his thumb was better than leaving them alone. It would ensure Rahab’s submission to