Miriam (29 page)

“You're going back tonight?” Taliah's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes swimming in tears. Eleazar's heart seized.

“We'll go ahead,” Doda called over her shoulder. “You two catch up.”

Eleazar placed his hands on his wife's rounding belly, but she nudged them away, not violently, but intentionally. “I thought you'd come home to stay, like Hoshea.”

He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes, those deep, dark pools that sparked with life and passion. “Someday soon I will come home, but it won't be to a slave's long house in Egypt. We will have a home where our son is free.”

“Our son?” She lifted a brow in challenge.

He brushed her ear with his lips. “An abba knows these things.”

“Don't leave.” Her arms circled his waist, squeezing as if he were a lifeline. “Stay with me.”

He laid his cheek atop her head and held her. People dispersing from the meeting walked around them, but it didn't matter. Eleazar and Taliah stood in the waste pile until they were alone in the darkness and rats began their evening feast. The first furry brush across Taliah's ankle released her grip. “Oh! Let's go!”

Eleazar swept her into his arms and carried her down the slippery mess. Resting her head against his shoulder, Taliah held on tighter when they reached the path. “I take it you're comfortable?” he asked.

She giggled and nodded.

Fine with him. She felt good in his arms. When they reached Doda's long house, he didn't want to go in. “I wish we could have our own home now.” He bent to kiss her, tasting the sweetness of love that had endured pain and survived.

He set her feet on the ground, and she kissed him again. Leaving tonight wouldn't be easy. “Taliah, I'll be here for the Passover meal. I don't know what lies between here and there, but I promise—I'll see you on the night of our deliverance.”

“All these officials of yours will come to me, bowing down before me and saying, ‘Go, you and all the people who follow you!' After that I will leave.” Then Moses, hot with anger, left Pharaoh.

—
E
XODUS 11:8

R
am's business deal with the Canaanite traders had changed the palace from a tomb to a temple. After three days of nonstop preparations, the throne hall had been transformed into a grand feasting room. Pharaoh, the crown prince, and Prince Ram sat on the elevated dais, while Pharaoh's guards, Eleazar, and Mosi stood behind their respective royals, overlooking the festivities.

Scented wax cones perched on every noble head, dripping a heady aroma into the elaborate wigs of the noblemen and their ladies. A cacophony of sound filled the air as musicians beat drums for scantily clad dancers and jugglers sang ribald songs to entertain Pharaoh's honored guests. Huge platters of roast goose, wild boar, and tender antelope were served with a steady stream of imported wine. The new grain stores were lavishly served in the forms of bread and beer—the customary double portions doled out to the firstborn of every household. Liberal helpings of imported fruits and vegetables were added to Egypt's only remaining food supplies: cheeses, dried fruits, and nuts.

The atmosphere was bright and cheerful, but Prince Kopshef sat brooding over his third pitcher of the strongest dark beer in Egypt. He'd been moping all night at Pharaoh's blatant praise of Ram. Pharaoh's first and second firstborns seemed doomed to a life of rivalry. Eleazar felt the gnawing betrayal of knowing their rivalry would be short lived.

Tomorrow night at twilight, households in Goshen would sacrifice a yearling from their flocks and save their firstborns—and every Egyptian household would mourn and wail. Eleazar shivered, scanning the table to his right where all the firstborn sons of Pharaoh sat, their guards positioned behind them. How many guards were firstborns like Mosi, and would die with their masters? Eleazar shifted his attention to the nobles. How many of them would join their firstborn sons in death? And the male slaves serving the heavy meat platters—two Libyans and three Assyrians—would they die because they hadn't been at the meeting and didn't know of Yahweh's deliverance? Surely, Yahweh would find a way to offer deliverance to those He knew would choose to follow.

“I'd like to propose a contest.” Prince Kopshef raised his voice and stood on unsteady legs, swaying such that Mosi had to steady him. “Tomorrow at dawn. A hunt. My brother Ram leads a team of noblemen, and I lead a second team. Whoever kills the most antelopes, wins.”

“Wins what?” Pharaoh asked, noticeably perturbed.

Kopshef bowed, spilling his beer on his father's shenti. The guests' unified gasp sobered the crown prince. “Wins your favor, mighty Pharaoh, Giver of Life, Keeper of Harmony and Balance.”

Every sound stilled, waiting for the king's reaction. “Very well,” Ramesses said, eyes narrowed. “The city is overrun with antelope since our crops were destroyed. A hunt is in order.”

A cheer rose from the noblemen, but Eleazar caught Mosi's slight sneer. A hunt meant a long night of preparation for the royal guards. The Arabian stallions needed care—hooves trimmed, manes clipped, and tails wrapped. The princes would expect their mounts to be fully garbed in feathered headgear, jeweled reins, and metal-worked blankets. Exhaustion swept over Eleazar just thinking about the night ahead.

Prince Ram motioned Eleazar near and whispered, “I'll make sure I get the best noblemen for the hunt. You make sure you secure the best horses for their chariots. We'll win this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my prince.” Eleazar resumed his statuesque posture and watched his master fume. How could he ask Ram to give weapons, gold, and silver to the Hebrew slaves now? Moses had been adamant that Eleazar and Mosi were a crucial part of Yahweh's plan to plunder Egyptian weaponry. Eleazar had suggested they wait until their masters were in high spirits at tonight's celebration before asking for such a gift—but now this.

He stole a glance at Mosi. The Nubian stood like a granite pillar behind his drunken prince. Kopshef might give half the kingdom, but he wouldn't remember his promise tomorrow.

Yahweh, guide me to ask for Egypt's weapons at exactly the right moment.

Eleazar inspected every plank and strap of Prince Ram's chariot and the two prancing stallions harnessed to it, his vision blurred from exhaustion. Ram wouldn't care that he'd worked all night if a stallion broke free in the middle of the hunt. After the feast, Eleazar had escorted Prince Ram to his chamber, and the prince had made it painfully clear that winning today's hunt would determine his life's journey. Eleazar ached to tell the firstborn prince that his life's journey would be considerably shorter than he realized.

Prince Ram interpreted his hesitation as rebellion and used his whip on Eleazar for the first time in weeks. Eleazar was banished to the stables to prepare the chariot and horses.

Wincing as he reached up, Eleazar straightened one black stallion's feathered headpiece. Without Hoshea in the barracks to tend his wounds, he'd quickly slathered honey on a piece of cloth and trapped it under the back straps of his breast piece. It wasn't nearly as effective as Doda Miriam's bandages.

“Let me help.” Mosi grabbed the horse's headpiece and nudged him out of the way, keeping a keen eye on the noblemen and princes, making sure he wasn't seen. “Did you ask Ram for weapons? Is that why he beat you?”

“The beating came when I kept my mouth shut.” Eleazar shoved Mosi aside. “Get back to Kopshef's chariot before you get us both killed.” Mosi stepped away, but Eleazar grabbed his shoulder, keeping his voice low. “Did you ask Kopshef for weapons?”

The Nubian gave him a dark look. “I'm still standing here, aren't I?”

The knot in Eleazar's belly tightened. Moses was counting on them to get the weapons before tonight's plague.

“Let's go.” Prince Ram strode past him to address the team of nobles he'd carefully chosen. Over fifty royal officials had arrived before dawn, feigning neutrality. To choose a prince's team publicly was political suicide, but bribing a firstborn privately curried favor. Ram raised his voice above the chaos in the stable. “Brothers, my team has been given red flags to tie onto your chariots—the color of blood, the color of victory!” A resounding cheer made Eleazar's sleep-deprived head pound harder.

He led the twin stallions out of the stables, through the palace gates, and toward the linen shop, where servants had worked through the night to erect a massive papyrus-woven arch as the starting point for the hunt. Prince Kopshef waited in his chariot, with Mosi holding the reins. Pharaoh, too, waited impatiently with a falcon on his shoulder and a charioteer to guide his own stallions. Every man had a bow strapped to his back and a quiver full of arrows. Many antelopes would die today, providing the main course for another feast this evening.

Eleazar took his place in the chariot beside Ram and snapped the reins to hurry the twin blacks to the left side of Pharaoh's chariot. The red-flagged team followed, dimming the predawn light with a rising cloud of dust. Kopshef and his team lined Pharaoh's right flank and choked on Ram's dust.

The king raised his voice above the clanging harnesses and squeaking chariots. “The Son of Horus greets you as Ra emerges on his golden barque from another victory in the underworld. May this day hold victory for us all!” With his blessing, he lifted the falcon into flight, and the stallions' taut muscles lurched into action.

Eleazar guided their chariot safely between two of Kopshef's noblemen, but a third cut him off, nearly tangling the chariot wheels. Prince Ram grabbed the reins and shoved him into the chariot wall, driving his stallions as if being chased by the dread goddess Ammut, devourer of the dead. Careening around the linen shops, he led his red-flagged team to the Nile's southern shoreline.

“Take the reins,” he shouted, shoving the leather straps into Eleazar's hands and bracing himself against the chariot rail. He reached for the bow on his back and nocked an arrow from his quiver. A herd of antelope lifted their heads and bounded away along the grassy banks of the river.

“Keep us steady.” Ram drew the string back, letting his first shot fly. A bull eland, the largest and slowest male of a Delta herd, dropped to the ground. The first kill belonged to Ramesses's second son. “Ha-ha!” Ram raised his arms, victorious. Arrows flew past them. Wounded antelopes ran frantically in every direction, barking, whistling.

“Well done, my prince.” Eleazar slowed the stallions to field dress his kill.

“What are you doing?” Prince Ram grabbed the reins and slapped them to speed the horses onward. “Keep going. We'll dress the kills later.” He shoved them back at Eleazar and brought an arrow to his bow for another shot.

Eleazar weaved between wounded and dead animals, arrows whizzing past them. Men shouted. Ram could be struck by a stray arrow or speared by an injured antelope. The prince would die by plague tonight, but he wouldn't die under Eleazar's watch this morning. “My prince, this is insanity. I can't protect you here.”

Ram laughed like a madman. Had he heard the concern? Eleazar had seen battle fury, the blood lust that steals a man's reason and conscience, but never in a hunt for wild game.

Ram pointed ahead, where it seemed several chariots had circled around a lone palm tree. “Kopshef and father are slowing down. Go! Go!”

“It's chaos, my prince. I can't get you in there.”

Just then, the feathered fletching of an arrow grazed Eleazar's shoulder, and Prince Ram cried out in pain. Eleazar's gaze met Kopshef's sinister grin as the crown prince lowered his weapon and nodded as Prince Ram slumped over the rail of their chariot. Reining the stallions to a walk, Eleazar noted the arrow protruding from Ram's back above his left shoulder blade. Painful, but not a mortal wound.

Ram pushed himself up to stand and offered a wry smile. “Get us to the front of the crowd. I'll win father's favor with this injury.”

Eleazar felt pity for the young man, and rage at Kopshef who was too much like Ramesses. “There is Another whose favor is more important.” Courage swelled inside him. Now was the time to speak plainly to his master.

But before he could speak, a shout rose above the clang and rumble of chaos around them. “This is what Yahweh, the God of the Hebrews says.” Eleazar reined his horses and searched for the source of the voice among the throng of chariots.

Moses stood sheltered at the base of Doda's private palm tree, the place she'd always met with her God. Chariots had slowed and then halted at his appearance. Ramesses stepped out of his chariot and marched toward the Hebrew, bow still in hand, but he stopped when Moses raised his arms and shouted so every nobleman could hear.

“Yahweh says to all of you, ‘About midnight I will go throughout Egypt, and every firstborn son in Egypt will die—from the firstborn son of Pharaoh who sits on the throne to the firstborn son of the female slave who works at her hand mill. The firstborn of your newly purchased cattle will die as well.” Moses let his words settle in the silence. “There will be loud wailing throughout Egypt—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again—but among the Israelites not a dog will bark at any person or animal.' ”

Not a single Egyptian flinched. Moses lowered his arms and surveyed the dead antelopes strewn along the banks of the Nile. He began shaking his head, and his face and neck turned crimson. Eleazar remembered Moses saying he would mourn the moment he was forced to proclaim death to Ramesses's sons.

But death was a toy to Pharaoh. Perhaps his uncle had just realized that.

Moses turned a hard stare on Ramesses, this time shouting at him directly. “After tonight, you will know that Yahweh makes a distinction between Egypt and Israel.” He opened his arms wide, pointing to the gathered chariots. “All these officials of yours will come to me, bowing down before me and saying, ‘Go, you and all the people who follow you!' And finally, Israel will leave Egypt.”