Miriam (5 page)

Eleazar needed to shake some sense into Abba. Hurriedly, he set Taliah on Doda's mat, and she cried out. “I'm sorry,” he said, rushing back to Abba. “You've lived eighty-three inundations. You're a Hebrew slave. You can't leave Rameses. You don't even know if Mehy is alive.”

“
Moses
is alive.” Doda Miriam spoke in a whisper, tears pooling on her lashes. She and Abba stared at each other, communicating years of yearning for a brother they'd never truly known. “Shaddai has repeatedly shown Moses to me in dreams. He no longer wears the armor of Pharaoh's army but carries a shepherd's staff and walks among a flock of sheep. He sings the songs I sang to him as a child when I served his Egyptian mother as her handmaid.”

“You see, he's a shepherd in Midian!” Abba Aaron was more excited than Eleazar had ever seen him.

“If El Shaddai gave you this dream, Aaron, He will make a way. You must go.”

“This is nonsense!” Eleazar glared at his elders and finally focused on Abba. “You've never left Rameses. You have no idea what Sinai is like. You'll die before the first encampment.”

“Send Hoshea with him.” Doda stood calmly at Eleazar's right shoulder. “Hoshea accompanied you with Prince Ram's troops along the Way of Horus on your last march to Kadesh. Aaron and Hoshea will travel with the same ruse we suggested to Moses forty years ago. He'll pose as a rich merchant traveling with the next caravan. Hoshea will act as Aaron's personal guard.”

“No, no, no!” Eleazar looked at his wide-eyed apprentice and back at Doda. “It won't work. Abba looks nothing like a merchant.”

“His hands look like merchant hands.” Taliah spoke from Doda's mat, pointing as Abba smiled and inspected his uncallused hands.

If Eleazar wasn't so angry, he might have been impressed by her sharp observation. “My abba is a metal crafter. He sits at a bench all day making jewelry.” He offered the rest of his protest to Abba Aaron. “You have no merchant's robe, no gold or silver for travel, and you're too old to wander the desert.”

Abba held his gaze. “Everything you say is true, Eleazar, but if El Shaddai calls, I'm going.” How long had it been since he'd actually looked at Eleazar? Abba narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, a sign that he was pondering. “You didn't mention Hoshea's part in the journey—whether you would send him with me or not. Why?”

Eleazar hadn't mentioned Hoshea because it was the only part of the plan that could work. As Hoshea's commander, Eleazar could easily cover his absence. “I won't send him because you're not going.” He stared unflinching at his abba. Why must their first words in years be cross?

“Eleazar, listen.” Doda's hand rested on his forearm.

He shrugged off her hand.
No, I'm not giving in this time.

Abba Aaron drew nearer, his countenance brightening with hope. “El Shaddai will provide a merchant's robe, gold, and strength for the journey, my son. I need only provide the faith.”

“He's already provided the robe.” Doda held out her arms, displaying the fine linen she'd worn for her audience with Pharaoh. “We can combine the cloth from my robe and Taliah's harem robe to provide enough to make one for Aaron.”

“But…” Eleazar looked at Taliah, his mind racing.

“We'll cover her with rough-spun, dear,” Doda said, grinning. She left Eleazar's side and stepped into Abba Aaron's embrace. They held each other as if the other were a lifeline. “If you're sure El Shaddai gave you this dream, He will indeed provide all you need for the journey.”

Eleazar grabbed Doda's arm, pulling the siblings apart. “You said, ‘If El Shaddai gave him this dream.' Why can't you ask Him? You should be able to know for sure if this is from your God.”

The sadness in her eyes made him regret his rash demands. “Shaddai has spoken through no one but me since the days of Joseph, but today has been a day of changes. Even now, I don't feel His presence as I always have.” She returned her attention to her brother. “If Shaddai has chosen to include you in His counsel, Aaron, it is both a blessing and a burden. Bear it well—and bring our brother home.”

Eleazar's heart leapt to his throat.
Please don't go, Abba.
But the words died in his mind as Abba left the small room without a backward glance.

Hoshea touched Eleazar's shoulder. “Will I accompany him then?” A spark of adventure danced in the boy's eyes.

Eleazar looked first at Doda, then at Taliah, and then back at his eager young apprentice. “Yes, you'll go, Hoshea. And if my abba dies, don't come back.”

O God, do not remain silent;

do not turn a deaf ear,

do not stand aloof, O God.

See how your enemies growl,

how your foes rear their heads.

—
P
SALM 83:1–2

T
he season of
Akhet
was both blessing and curse. The Nile would reach its peak, and grain stores would wane. Pharaoh's tax collectors had measured the rising Nile the previous week, forecasting the highest inundation in forty years—as if anyone could trust tax collectors. The Nile's blessing meant better harvest and higher taxation of Pharaoh's people, from the noblemen in the city of Rameses to the peasants and slaves of Goshen. Miriam had no idea what noblemen were taxed, but Egyptian peasants returned to Pharaoh one-fifth of their annual produce from gardens and flocks. Hebrews surrendered three-fifths.

The peasants lived in mud-brick houses, little more than huts, interspersed among the slaves' long houses. Though some peasants owned Hebrews—and worked them like cattle—an Egyptian's belly rumbled as loud as a slave's when their grain stores ran low.

In the two weeks since Taliah had come to live with Miriam, supplies had dwindled considerably. Not because the opinionated beauty ate so much, but because everyone's provisions were running low. The few patients Miriam treated that might have been able to pay a few months ago, now had no herbs, food, or linen to spare. And she refused to turn anyone away.

“I need to contribute.” Taliah hobbled toward the back room on the crutch she'd made, carrying a bowl of warm water and towels. “At least I can help tend Amram and Jochebed. I can't stand being idle while you do all the work and Eleazar provides the food from his and Hoshea's rations.”

Miriam hung a few more herbs from the rafters. “I'm sure Abba and Ima would be happy to see more of you. They love your knowledge of Egyptian history—especially the stories that involve my brother Mehy.”

Taliah halted at the dividing curtain. “I still can't believe you're
General Mehy's
sister.” She shook her head and disappeared into the adjoining room.

Sometimes Miriam couldn't believe it either. The days of Mehy and Anippe and Mered seemed like a dream. Miriam's childhood had been idyllic—for a slave. From the time she was six years old, she'd lived in the estate's grand villa, serving the Amira Anippe and helping to raise Moses as Anippe's Egyptian son, Prince Mehy. Miriam was eighteen when Pharaoh discovered Moses's true heritage and Anippe's deception. After that, Miriam saw Moses only occasionally, usually to calm his troubled spirit with the ancient Hebrew songs she'd taught him as a child. Even as Egypt's general, he often sent a house servant to retrieve her from the slave village so she could sing to him on lonely nights. El Shaddai's presence was palpable when she sang—even for Moses. Fear of the unseen God was most often his response, and he'd abruptly send Miriam away, only to recall her when he felt alone or in need of comfort again.
Please, Shaddai, it is I who need the comfort of Your presence now.

“Where is she?” A burly slave driver slapped aside the curtain and filled her doorway.

“Who are you looking for?” Miriam swallowed the lump in her throat.

He stepped inside, uninvited. “Pharaoh's concubine. I've heard the king discarded a Hebrew from his harem and she's staying here.” He smiled, revealing three missing front teeth. “I want a woman fit for a king.”

“I'm sorry, but you've been misinformed.” Miriam breathed deeply, steadying her voice. “There is no concubine here, only the old nursemaid of one of Pharaoh's sons. I've placed her in the back room with my elderly parents while her broken leg heals.” She pointed to the adjoining curtain. “See for yourself.”

The guard's eyes narrowed as he studied Miriam and then the curtain. “Bah, I've got an old wife at home. Why would I want an old Hebrew?” He stormed out of the room as rudely as he'd come, and Miriam sagged with relief.

“Miriam?” Taliah peeked around the curtain, eyes round as the moon. “Who was he?”

“Someone I hope you'll never meet.” She tried to smile. “You should stay in the room with Abba and Ima today.”

Taliah disappeared, leaving Miriam to wrestle with the bigger issue. It was bad enough that Taliah was a lovely, single woman, but now that the slave masters imagined Taliah a castoff of the king, she was even more of a prize. They wouldn't stop pursuing her until she was dead or defiled by a common husband.
Shaddai, what should I do with this girl?

Only silence answered, but she didn't need a vision to know. Eleazar must marry Taliah.

Hoshea had been gone only two weeks, and already Eleazar felt the sting of loneliness. Hoshea's absence had been easily masked, since he worked solely under Eleazar's direction. This meant Hoshea's rations were still delivered outside their chamber door morning, midday, and evening. The added provisions blessed Doda's household, but Eleazar sorely missed the camaraderie he and Hoshea shared. Late night games drawn in the dust, reminiscing about days gone by, planning for the months and years ahead—no one understood a soldier like another soldier.

He hurried his jog toward Goshen, anticipating the evening's visit with Saba and Savta. He'd ignore Taliah, who seemed intent on flaunting her intellectual superiority whenever he visited.
Youthful exuberance,
he told himself. But she wasn't a child. She was a woman who stirred an unwelcome desire in him. He'd known plenty of women—gifts from Prince Ram for service well done—but Eleazar never allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment.

Taliah was different. She was dangerous. His mind melted like hog fat on a hot day when she looked at him.

As he approached Doda's doorway, he noted the closed wooden shutters and darkened doorway. Why were no lamps lit in the main room? The small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention as he slowly pulled back the curtain. Empty. He slipped in quietly and saw low lights in the back room, heard pleasant conversation in low tones.
Odd.

He shoved the curtain aside. “What are you doing in here?”

“Shhhhhh!” Four smiling faces motioned him into the room.

Doda patted the packed dirt beside her. “Come. Sit. I thought we'd eat in here tonight.” Something in her voice betrayed her wavering grin.

Eleazar began unpacking the small bundle he'd thrown over his shoulder: olives, bread, cheese, dates, roast lamb. Pharaoh's soldier slaves often ate leftovers from the royal tables, and tonight's feast came from the queen's afternoon banquet. Saba giggled like a groom at his wedding feast, and Savta fed him from her own hand. How could two people love each other so long and well? Eleazar's parents certainly learned nothing from them.

“I think it's time I began earning my own rations,” Taliah declared.

Doda stopped an olive before it reached her lips. “How do you propose to do that, dear?”

“I can teach peasant children when they're finished helping their parents in the market booths.”

Eleazar grunted his disapproval and smeared goat cheese on a piece of bread.

Taliah snorted in his direction. “I knew a man of violence would see no need for a child's education, but I'll convince their parents that an educated child can barter more quickly, know the customs of other nations, and be able to converse with merchants in their native languages. An education will make their children invaluable at the market booths.”

Eleazar rolled his eyes.

Doda set aside her wooden plate and gently cradled Taliah's hand. “It sounds wonderful, dear, but the Egyptians need their children's help in the booths from dawn until dark. I'm afraid you'll have difficulty convincing anyone to pay you for something they can't hold in their hand or put in their mouths.”

Taliah ripped her hand away. “That's the kind of small-minded thinking that keeps peasants poor. If they would listen—”

“No, you listen,” Eleazar interrupted, tired of her condescension. “You know useless facts that won't help you survive in Goshen. You must learn a trade like Doda's midwifery or Savta's basket weaving and hope that a man will marry you.”

Eleazar looked to Saba Amram—the only other male in the room—for support but found only pity in his eyes. Saba squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Doda and Savta stared at him as if he'd squashed a puppy.

“You barbarian pig!” Taliah's face was the color of rubies, and her whole body shook. “You play with wooden swords and wallow in the mud all day but have the audacity to call my education useless? I could take a deben of gold and turn it into a king's ransom. You would spend it on prostitutes and beer since you've found no woman fool enough to marry you.”

Eleazar hopped to his feet. “Mind your tongue woman or lose it.” Taliah skittered toward Savta Jochebed.

Doda swatted his leg. “Eleazar, you will apologize!”

This is why he preferred silence. And yet, he spoke. “Taking her tongue may be the only way we find her a husband.”

Taliah untangled herself from Savta's embrace and stood with her crutch, meeting Eleazar, nose to chest. “I resigned myself to never marry when I was in the harem, and I'd rather die alone than be bound to a man like you—or the slave driver who came for me today.”

“Slave driver?” The declaration robbed him of breath. He turned on Doda. “Who came for her? Why didn't you tell me?”

“He'd heard one of Pharaoh's concubines had been discarded in our village and was staying with me.” Doda lifted a brow. “I told him she was an old nursemaid of Pharaoh's sons with a broken leg, staying with my parents. I invited him to look in my back room for himself.”

“You did what?”

“She used her brain instead of brawn.” Taliah's smug expression was more than he could stomach.

He ignored the arrogant girl and knelt before his doda. “I vow that I will get a message to Putiel, but you must try to find her a husband. She needs to leave this house before her ignorance gets you all killed.” He glanced back at the stubborn, stunning girl. “Until then, don't leave this house, and by the gods, don't let the guards see you.”