Bezalel lifted his face to the sky. “The moon will be full tonight. Yahweh will send another sign. If the pattern holds.”
Several quiet moments hung between them.
Kamose broke the silence. “Can I ask you how Ahmose is doing?”
Bezalel chuckled. “He has grown so much. He loves my Imma. He calls her Aunt Rebekah. Sometimes … it’s like he has been there all along, like he’s always been my little brother.” He paused. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Several.” Kamose smiled. “We were a noisy house.”
“I’ve always been alone. My mother wanted more, but I was the only one. She is so happy to have another one. And Ahmose loves having a mother.”
“And your father? What does he think about Ahmose?”
Bezalel shifted his stance. “My father died in the brickfields years ago. I have few memories of him. I was already living here and didn’t see him much as it was, so there’s not much to remember.”
Kamose looked at the sand. “I am sorry. I didn’t know.”
Bezalel shrugged. “Maybe you should come see Ahmose sometime.”
Kamose scoffed. “Yes. I should just walk into your village. A soldier. Pharaoh’s personal guard, at that.”
“You could take off your dagger and armbands. There are many Egyptians there. I certainly can’t bring him here.”
Kamose breathed deeply. “Perhaps.”
Later that morning Ramses summoned Bezalel to the throne room.
“I have many guests arriving in three days,” the king said. “I need gifts.”
“What would you have me make?”
“Indulge yourself. Jewelry, perhaps. There will be two kings, of very small countries, of course, not as important as Egypt, and a queen, as well as several officers. But all you need concern yourself with are the kings and queen.”
“Yes, my king. I shall begin immediately.” Bezalel bowed deeply.
The pharaoh walked away, anklets tinkling.
Bezalel spent several hours experimenting with his materials and tools to come up with a suitable gift for the visiting queen, and eventually decided on a necklace. He hammered out the soft petals of a bronze flower. Eight blooms would decorate the necklace. He fashioned each one out of a single, tiny piece of bronze, each petal so thin it was almost translucent. They were troublesome to make; he began handfuls before he completed eight. The rest were imperfect, and he destroyed them. When he finished the final flower, he laid it beside the rest of the necklace. He would attach them tomorrow. His shoulders ached from the tedious work of the last several hours, and he was hungry.
He had worked through the noon meal, so he latched the door behind him and started down the hall toward the kitchen. He had taken only three steps when the corridor suddenly became as dark as a moonless night. Several gasps and a few shouts came from somewhere ahead of him. What could have happened? He could think of nothing that could darken the palace like this. He edged his way to the wall on his right, put out his hands, and felt his way toward the portico.
When he turned the corner he should have been able to see some light shining from the courtyard, but there was none. His heart quickened, but he was sure if he could just get out of the building, everything would be all right.
A servant rushed by him, jabbering in a tongue unfamiliar to Bezalel. He walked blindly through the portico, keeping his arms up, one before his face to protect himself and one straight ahead to feel any obstacles. But why was it still so dark?
The chattering servant ran by him again. He crashed into Bezalel, slamming him into one of the stone columns. Bezalel’s shoulders hit the solid surface first, then his head smashed into the granite. Searing pain shot from his head through his neck to his upper back. He slumped to the ground against the column. He tried to stand, but waves of pain and dizziness flooded him and he slid down again. He tried once more to rise, but everything was still black. He put his hand to the back of his head, and when he touched it he felt something warm. Then he felt nothing at all.
Kamose stood in front of the small mud brick home with his hand raised at the door. The last time he was here was during the raid on the village. Had Ahmose seen him, or had he kept his eyes closed? Kamose had far worse news now, anyway. He rapped on the door.
Bezalel’s mother answered.
Ahmose peeked out from behind her.
“Is this where Bezalel the artisan lives?”
She hesitated before answering. “Yes. I’m his mother, Rebekah.”
Kamose beckoned two other soldiers, who waited with Bezalel on a stretcher. They carried it into the house.
Rebekah opened the door wide and they gently set the stretcher on the floor. She gasped when she saw her son’s still form.
Ahmose rushed to Bezalel and stared at the mess of bloody hair on his head then fell to the floor beside him.
“Is he …?” Ahmose looked up at Kamose and strained to say the word.
“He is not dead.” Kamose knelt beside Ahmose and took his hand. “But he is seriously hurt.” He stood again and faced Rebekah. “Do you have someone in the village who knows how to treat such injuries?”
“Yes, Samuel knows. Oh, but wait! He’s at the canals. He won’t be home until dusk!”
“He’ll be home any moment. The men have been sent home. It is too dark to work.”
An old man entered the house. “What’s happening? I saw soldiers—” His gaze fell upon Bezalel on the floor.
“Sabba!” Ahmose ran to him, crying, and threw his arms around the old man’s waist.
“Hur, go for Samuel.” Rebekah put one hand on the man’s arm and pointed to the door.
Hur looked at Bezalel once more and left, while Ahmose returned to Bezalel’s side.
Rebekah turned to Kamose, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean, it’s too dark?”
“The city of Ramses suddenly went completely dark. There are many who are injured at the palace, not just Bezalel. We lit lamps and torches and searched the palace for any who were hurt, and we found him at the edge of the portico. He appears to have hit his head on one of the columns.”
“But the khamsin are not so dark you cannot see!”
He shook his head. “This was no dust storm. I believe this came from your God. We pleaded with Ramses to listen, to free the Israelites. He would have none of it.”
Kamose stepped aside as a man rushed into the room, followed by Hur. The newcomer knelt beside the unmoving figure. He carefully parted Bezalel’s hair to see the injury. He took Ahmose’s tiny hands and used them to hold Bezalel’s thick, bloody hair away from the gash.
Kamose’s usually strong stomach did a somersault when he saw the fear and pain in Ahmose’s eyes. He turned away.
Hur followed him. “May I ask who you are? Do you know my grandson?”
“I am Kamose, captain of the guard.” He noticed the flash of recognition in Hur’s eyes.
“Then you’re—” Hur glanced at Ahmose, still hovering over Bezalel.
“Yes. He doesn’t know. I’d like to keep it that way. Please.”
“Of course.”
They turned back to watch Samuel finish dressing Bezalel’s wound.
Ahmose winced as Samuel scrubbed off the blood.
“It doesn’t hurt him, habibi. He cannot feel anything.” Samuel touched Ahmose’s hand. “I promise.”
“Why not? It hurt me when Aunt Rebekah cleaned my back.”
“Because he is in a very deep sleep. You were not. In fact, he may not awaken for several days.”
“For several days? Is it good to sleep so much?”
“No. It’s not good. But we cannot wake him up. Only El Shaddai can do that.”
Kamose watched Ahmose’s face cloud as he realized what Samuel avoided speaking aloud. “What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“We shall pray that he does.” Samuel stood to face Rebekah. “I will be back tomorrow to change the bandage. Here is something to help the pain.” He gave a bag of dried thyme to Rebe
kah. “Give it to him in a tea—if he wakes.”
Her face blanched.
Kamose stepped toward them. “How serious is the injury?”
Samuel gestured toward the door, and the three men moved outside, followed by Rebekah. “It is quite serious, one of the worst I have seen. I have cleaned it and applied copper salts and honey. That is all I can do. The rest is up to Shaddai.” Samuel nodded then left.
Hur touched Rebekah’s shoulder. “Rebekah, before you go back inside, this is Kamose, Ahmose’s uncle.”
Rebekah took his hands in hers. “Ah, yes. Bezalel told us about you. Thank you for bringing him home. Would you like to stay a while?”
“I would. Thank you very much.”
“I’ll get you some food.” She hurried toward the house.
He called after her. “No, please don’t. I’m fine. Don’t bother.”
She looked back, her eyes wet. “It’s no trouble. I need something to do.” She started inside then turned back. “But you might want to remove your dagger. It will put Ahmose more at ease.” She disappeared inside.
They entered the house and Hur sat on a low stool.
Kamose removed his armbands and dagger, placed them on a high shelf and sat on a cushion on the floor.
“You have to let her feed you, you know.” Hur chuckled lightly. “She needs someone to take care of. She was meant to be a mother, and she never got the chance after Bezalel was taken to the palace. That’s why Ahmose is such a blessing.”
But right now, that “blessing” was in pain. Kamose could see it all over his face.
Evening turned into night, and nothing changed. Hur and Rebekah went to the roof to sleep, but Ahmose refused to leave Bezalel’s side, waiting for him to wake.
Kamose stretched out on the floor near them.
Late in the night he awoke to a small voice. It took him a moment to realize where he was and who was talking.
Ahmose was talking to Bezalel, repeating the stories he must have learned in his new home. He recited tale after tale. “So Father Abraham brought the knife down, and as he did, he heard a noise. And what do you think the noise was? It was a ram. A great, big ram caught in the bushes. And Father Abraham said, ‘Thank you, El Shaddai, for saving my son, Isaac.’ And he released Isaac, and they got the ram, and sacrificed him. And then they went down the mountain.
“Would you like to hear another story? How about Joseph and his coat?”
Kamose lay awake as Ahmose continued through the long night, until the child finally lost his battle with sleep. Kamose rose and resettled him next to Bezalel, draping a blanket over his tiny body before lying down again and giving in to sleep himself.
Kamose awoke before anyone else the next morning and started a fire in the kitchen’s small clay oven. He had water boiling before Rebekah and Hur came down from the roof, and he shook his head in answer to their unasked question.
“I’ll make tea. Go have a seat.” He motioned to the main room. He found jasmine and hibiscus and prepared three cups of tea and a small cup of juice for Ahmose. He took cups to Hur and Rebekah and went back for the other two.
When he returned to the main room, he set the juice cup near Hur and stood in the doorframe with his tea.
Within moments, Ahmose awoke and crawled into Hur’s lap.
Although Kamose had long ago made the choice to forego family for a life as a soldier, the scene brought a twinge of pain to his heart. Men made for war were not made to be husbands and fathers, in his opinion. He had never seen it work. They were too hard, too unemotional, too reserved, and their wives and children were not cared for properly. He had vowed he would never do that to a woman, and he had never married, or even come close.
Ahmose searched Hur’s face. “Bezalel’s been asleep almost a whole day.”
“I know, habibi.” Hur stroked Ahmose’s head and pushed the hair from his face.
“Can El Shaddai really help?”
“I believe He can.” Hur wrapped his strong arms around the boy, and Ahmose sank into his chest.
Ahmose sniffled. “Our gods cannot ever help. We prayed many times in Egypt, but they never helped.”
Kamose knew how that felt.
Hur nodded. “Well, that is because they are not really gods. They are things men have made, of wood, or stone, or they are stars in the sky, or animals, or something else. But Shaddai was not made by anyone. He made the stars and the animals and the wood and stone. He even made you and me. And that is why He can help.”
“Does that mean Bezalel will get better if we ask El Shaddai to help him?”
“No, it does not.”
That was not the answer Kamose expected. Why wouldn’t this God help when asked?
Ahmose bolted upright and turned to face Hur. “But why? Doesn’t He want to help him?”
“Yes, but sometimes El Shaddai has something better in mind.”
“What could be better than making Bezalel well? I don’t understand.” Ahmose rubbed his eyes as they became moist.
“Exactly. We don’t understand all the time.” Hur pulled the boy’s hands away from his face and gazed into his eyes. “Do you remember when Jannes beat you?”
“Yes.”
“That was not good, was it?”
“No, of course not.” Ahmose shook his head.
“But if he hadn’t beaten you, Bezalel would not have brought you here to live with us, right?”
“Right.”
“And you would not have learned about Shaddai.”
“No.”
“So, sometimes, good things happen, even when they look very bad. We just have to trust Shaddai, and believe He will always do the best thing for us.”
Ahmose sank back onto Hur’s chest again. “But I still want Bezalel to get better.”
“So do I, habibi, so do I.” Hur hugged the boy. “Ahmose, do you remember Kamose? He worked in the palace with you and Bezalel.”
“Yes. He brought Bezalel home yesterday.” Ahmose hopped off Hur’s lap and plodded over to Kamose, who knelt on the floor. “You know, Jannes didn’t like you.”
“I know. But Jannes didn’t like anyone.”
“He definitely didn’t like me.” Ahmose squirmed and absently rubbed his back.
“I heard he hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Does Jambres know I’m here?”
“No, he doesn’t. I don’t think he has time to look. He’s too busy trying to take over everything he can.” Kamose touched Ahmose’s shoulder. “He’s in enough trouble with me already, but I am watching him closely. He won’t ever hurt you again.”
“Thank you.” Ahmose smiled. “You’re a soldier?”
Visions of the raid flashed through Kamose’s mind, and his heart clenched. Did Ahmose remember? “Yes. How can you tell?”
“Your sandals.” Ahmose touched the laced-up shoes. “Only soldiers wear that kind.”
Kamose smiled and let out a deep breath. “You’re very observant.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Kamose laughed. “Why don’t we take a walk outside and let your aunt make us some breakfast? I think we could use some fresh air. We could walk down toward the palace and see if it’s still dark.”
They didn’t have to go far to see a cloud hovering over the city. They strolled along the path by the river toward the royal residence. As they neared the palace, Ahmose reached for Kamose’s hand. The darkness touched the ground; not a spark of light escaped the layer of shadow that concealed Pi-Ramses. The blackness was palpable; it was hard to breathe. It felt like a wet blanket.
Kamose wished he had grabbed his dagger.
Ahmose began to squirm.
“It’s all right, habibi. We’ll go back now.” Kamose picked him up and placed him on his shoulders and jogged back to the village.
Kamose spent another night on the floor by Bezalel and Ahmose. He worried that the child had not cried since he brought Bezalel home—it didn’t seem normal. Ahmose stayed awake long into the night r
epeating stories again, even singing songs. Kamose recognized most of them as lullabies. He grinned at the thought of a small child singing cradlesongs to a grown man.
As the morning light climbed into the room through the high window, Ahmose stopped singing. Kamose listened carefully for the sound of rhythmic breathing to tell him that Ahmose had finally fallen asleep. Instead he heard Ahmose talking. At first he couldn’t tell to whom the child was speaking, then he realized Ahmose was praying. To Bezalel’s god.
“El Shaddai, my name is Ahmose. Bezalel has taught me about You. He says You are God of everything. And Sabba says You can make Bezalel wake up.
“When I prayed to the gods in Egypt, nothing ever happened. Bezalel says You are not like those other gods. If You are not, please make him wake up. I love him so much, and I want him to get better….”
Tears streamed down Ahmose’s cheeks and onto his tunic. Soon exhaustion overcame him, and he dropped onto Bezalel’s chest.
Kamose watched him for a few moments as the child slept, sunlight bouncing off his wet face. He had never loved anyone like that; he had never been loved like that, except perhaps by his parents. He was quite jealous, at least for a second. But he was far happier that Ahmose had found a family to love and care for him. He had abdicated that responsibility. He could say it was because Tia wanted it that way, but he knew it was because he was unable—and unwilling—to provide Ahmose with what he needed. But here Ahmose had a brother, a mother, a grandfather … even a god. Maybe he didn’t need an uncle.
When the sun’s full force took over the room, Bezalel began to stir.
“Ohh….”
Ahmose sleepily sat up. “What?”
“I’m hungry.” Bezalel brought his hand up to his head. “Oh, my head!” Bezalel tried to sit up but collapsed back onto the stretcher.
“Sabba!” Ahmose stood and ran backwards toward the kitchen, never taking his eyes off Bezalel.
Hur came running from the roof, followed quickly by Rebekah.
Kamose moved out of the way.
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan Book 1) Page 13
