As Kamose paced and tried to figure out what “for now” meant, Bezalel and Meri returned, hands entwined.
Bezalel grabbed him and hugged him.
Kamose slapped him on the back. Bezalel was the closest thing to a friend he had known since he left the field and came to the palace. How many years ago?
Bezalel led Kamose and Meri to some rocks on which they could sit and rest, and handed them figs and mat sot. “I was sure you had been killed for allowing Amun-her to die. What happened, exactly?”
Kamose fingered a fig as he spoke. “I don’t believe Ramses could think clearly. And I think he wanted protection more than vengeance. The funerals took three days—the beginnings of them at least. Of course, it will be months until they are all properly buried.” He finished eating then stood and stretched. His body ached from the ride. It had been a long time since he had ridden a horse this far. Horses were usually reserved for chariots. His back ached, his thighs burned, and his knees screamed in pain.
“Ramses thought of nothing but Amun-her. Nefertari was still not speaking or eating when I left. After the ceremonies, Ramses looked at Egypt for maybe the first time since Moses arrived. The country is destroyed. There is no food to eat now; no crops will come in. We’ve lost a good portion of our livestock, and so many men. He blames all of you for that.”
Kamose looked toward Egypt. “He will do whatever it takes to bring you back. He ordered me to assemble the armies. I decided I could no longer serve him. Ramses is not a god.”
He paced again. His right hand rested on his dagger. “So instead, I grabbed a horse and rode here as fast as possible to warn you. I don’t know what can be done. His army has horses, chariots, weapons, and trained soldiers. You have some men, but also women, children, old men, and no weapons.”
Kamose finally stopped moving and stood before Bezalel. He drew his arm across his brow. Sweat mixed with the dust to form mud. All his training could not help him now. The energy produced by the excitement and danger of the ride was wearing off and fatigue was setting in fast. He feared his legs would collapse under him and returned to the rock.
“I don’t know what I thought I could accomplish coming here.” He sighed. “But when Ramses sent me to inform the division leaders, I realized I would rather fail here with all of you than be successful for him. I can ride much faster alone than an army, and it will take a while for him to realize the message never got to the leaders, and then more time to assemble the men and chariots, but the first division could be here by nightfall. Three more divisions besides that. His six hundred best chariots.” He sat down next to Bezalel. “I can see no other end but slaughter.”
Kamose studied his filthy feet, his dirty sandals laced up to his knees. “You know I can’t go back now.” He looked up Bezalel. “Once you told me Shaddai would welcome me as His. Do you still say so?”
Bezalel touched his arm. “You will be more than welcomed here. Not just by Shaddai, but by me, my family, and the people here.”
Moses approached with Hur.
Kamose searched their calm faces. Would Moses remember the last time they were in the same room, when he had warned the Egyptians of the boils? Kamose had stepped between him and Ramses. Would Moses hold it against him?
“Yahweh has told me He will fight for us.”
Kamose marveled at the authority in Moses’s voice. It was utterly calm. He did not speak loudly—in fact, Kamose couldn’t remember ever hearing him raise his voice, even when Ramses screamed at him. Moses kept one arm at his side, the other on his staff. Again, a total contrast to Ramses, who couldn’t seem to speak without flailing his arms.
“We must assemble at the sea’s edge. I passed the word down through the elders.” Moses turned to Hur. “If you would gather your things, get there first, please, and help keep people calm. Wait for me. I’ll be there shortly.” He nodded to Kamose and left.
Kamose watched him leave then let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He turned to Bezalel. “I’ll wait there for you.” He ambled toward the sea behind Hur. Would these people truly welcome him? Many Egyptians had come with the Israelites, he knew, but none were soldiers. None from the palace. Except Ahmose, of course, but he was a child. And even if the people accepted him, would El Shaddai? Bezalel said to trust Shaddai. But how could Kamose trust in a God he had never seen? Even the gods in Egypt, which were useless, he could see.
As a warrior, all he knew were facts, numbers, and strategies. He could only work with what he could see. And he saw no way out of this.
Fourteen
Relief flooded Bezalel. Away from Kamose, Sabba, and everyone else, he embraced Meri, her quivering arms around him. Her hot tears slid down his neck under his tunic. His body trembled and he couldn’t control his breathing. Nothing mattered, other than Meri in his arms.
His fingers explored her face, moving over her cheeks, her eyes, her mouth, trying to decide if she was really there. He lowered his head to kiss her. That familiar shock—the one he thought he’d never feel again—pulsed through him. He breathed in her scent. “You don’t smell of jasmine anymore.”
“I know. We stopped making the perfume after the locusts. We ran out last week. I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t complaining. Just noticing.” He was afraid to let go, fearing she was just an illusion and would disappear. “What happened? How did you get here?”
She caressed his face. “It’s a very long story. But I had no idea how difficult and painful a ride that would be. I’ve never ridden a horse before.”
His breath caught in his throat. “Would you have changed your mind if you knew?”
“Of course not. I’m just saying I’m glad it’s over. For many reasons.” She brushed his lips with hers. “And I’ll tell you all of them later.”
After hearing about the advancing forces from Kamose, Bezalel laced his fingers with hers as they jogged toward the tents. “I have to take you to Imma now. She’ll take care of you while I go with Sabba and Moses.”
She planted her feet. “You’re leaving me alone?”
“You heard Kamose. The army is chasing us!” He tugged her arm, but she remained fixed.
“Exactly!”
Bezalel growled to himself, and considered his next words carefully. He didn’t want to anger her—again. “And you’ll be safer with Imma. I’m going to the shore to see what happens. I want you back here, away from any danger.”
“Danger?” She pointed at him. “Will you be safe, then?” Her voice wavered between anger and fear.
He’d said the wrong thing. He put two fingers to the side of his head and rubbed his temple. “I think so. But I don’t want to take any chances with you.” He stepped toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “I just got you back. I thought I’d never see you again, and it was agony. I would rather stay with you, but first we have to get across the water and away from Pharaoh’s army. Then we’ll have all the time we want. All right?”
She hugged her midsection tightly. Her gaze seemed to drill holes through him.
“I know you’re afraid, but Yahweh said He’ll fight for us. Nothing will happen. To either of us. I promise.”
She said nothing.
“He said He’d get us out of Egypt, and He did. Right?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s go.” He arched an eyebrow. “All right?” He jerked his head in the direction of the tent.
She followed, but continued hugging herself.
They walked the short distance to his tent. Sabba had already been there and told Imma what was happening. She had packed the food and Egyptian gold.
“Imma, this is Meri. Kamose brought her.”
Imma laughed and rushed to hug Meri. “Meri! It is good to finally meet the one who has taught my son to smile!” Meri stared at Bezalel with wide eyes and an open mouth over Imma’s shoulder.
Bezalel hurriedly began to strike the tents while Imma continued to dazzle Meri with unexpected affec
tion. Meri kept glancing his way. He ached to be alone with her, to reassure her. But he wanted to know—needed to know—what was happening. They were trapped between the Egyptians and the sea. He couldn’t imagine what Shaddai had planned, but then he couldn’t have imagined anything that had happened so far.
He grabbed his pack and the tents. “Imma, I’m taking the tents and my bag and going with Sabba. You and Ahmose and Meri can come with the rest of the group. Will that be all right?”
Imma smiled. “Go, go! We’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her, don’t worry.” She stepped toward him and held him close for a moment. She had always given him such comfort, such strength. He needed that now. He knew Shaddai was in control, but beyond that … He took a deep breath and shoved his fears away. “I know you will.”
He drew Meri to him and embraced her. “Remember I love you. I told you I would keep you safe. And I will.” He wasn’t at all sure how he would do that, but he needed her to believe he could.
She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. Her body trembled, but she nodded.
He kissed her, entrusted her to Imma, and left.
Before he could take two steps, Ahmose ran toward him from a group of children. He bounced on his feet, peeked in Bezalel’s bag, and played with the tent strings. “What are you doing? Where are you going? Can I go with you?”
“One question at a time! Grab your bag, and if you can keep up and follow directions, you can come.” He looked over his shoulder. “Imma, Ahmose is coming with me.”
“Why does he get to go?” Meri pouted and pointed at Ahmose.
Bezalel raised one hand, palm up. He opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking. Nothing he said would make her feel any better.
Imma laughed and put her arm around Meri. “You’ll be better off here, habibti. Come with me.”
Ahmose grabbed his pack and caught up with him quickly. At the shore, as the pair approached Kamose, Ahmose ran and leaped into his arms. “Kamose! I didn’t know you were here, too!”
Kamose responded with an affectionate embrace.
“What’s happening, Kamose?”
Kamose gazed at the crowd gathering at the water’s edge. “Habibi, I wish I knew.”
Word rushed like a harsh eastern wind through the camp. The Egyptians were coming!
Bezalel and the others hiked to the shore. Every eye looked westward, waiting. Tension and fear settled on the crowd like a fog on the Nile. The last bits of sunlight shot from one horizon to the other. The sound intensified by the moment as six hundred war chariots thundered east.
“We’ve got to get to the shore, Ahmose. No matter what, don’t let go of my hand!” Bezalel grabbed Ahmose and squirmed through the panicking throng. Jostled by the crowed, he fought to get to Sabba and Moses. His heart beat faster and his face flushed. Worried cries rose around him and, for a moment at least, it was difficult not to agree with the mistrust and hopelessness of the crowd. Slavery was worse than almost anything except death. But he had to believe Shaddai was in control.
Just as they reached Sabba, Moses clambered atop a rock near the shore.
“The Egyptians are coming, but Yahweh will protect us. We need to be patient—and trust.” Moses’s voice carried well across the flat land on the banks of the Yam Suph.
The crowd moaned and wailed. “Why did you bring us here to die?”
“Shouldn’t you have just left us in Egypt?”
A man rushed toward Moses. “It would have been better to serve the Egyptians than to die here!” He swung a fist at Moses, but Kamose stepped in and restrained him with one arm. The man spat at Kamose’s feet but retreated. The captain stayed in front of Moses from then on, arms crossed, feet spread, daring anyone to test him.
The sun withdrew, and the noise grew deafening. The army would reach them in only moments.
Bezalel had told Kamose to “just trust.” Could Bezalel do that now? It seemed easier before he could hear the chariots.
He caught his breath as Moses walked into the water. Surely, he did not expect them to swim! They had to fight! That was the only way out. People whined and moaned so loudly—how could Moses think?
As the people groaned, a tower of cloud formed and twisted in front of them. It expanded, exploded, growing until they could see nothing else. Then it climbed into the air, floated over Israel, and alighted behind them. Raging fire within, surrounded by white smoke, it hovered, pulsating between Israel and Pharaoh’s army, blocking any contact. The colossal, flaming cloud showered light on the Israelites, though the sun had set. Beyond it, Bezalel could see only darkness. In the safety of the pillar, the camp began to calm as it settled on the shore. It was as if the cloud poured out peace as well as light.
“Sabba! What is he doing?” Bezalel stepped closer to his grandfather.
“Hush!”
Bezalel winced. It was the first time in his life his grandfather had ever addressed him so abruptly.
When the water reached his knees, Moses lifted his staff and stretched it out over the sea. Nothing happened.
Is he praying?
Then slowly, the water began to churn, bubble, swirl. The movement became more violent and the noise grew louder. A dry, burning wind gusted.
Bezalel had to remind himself to breathe. He bent and picked up Ahmose, who was grabbing at his arm, without taking his eyes off Moses. He could feel Kamose standing behind him, breathing rapidly.
The water separated at Moses’ feet.
Was it like this when El Shaddai brought forth the land from the sea at the world’s creation?
For hours after sunset, the water divided. The crowd sat on the ground and relaxed, knowing that now escape was imminent. Some even slept.
The fiery cloud behind them blocked the enemy’s advance. The sound of the arid wind was strange, reminding Bezalel of the thunderous noise the swirling, often dangerous khamsin winds make rushing through the desert late at night each spring. The tempest whipped through his hair and nearly pulled off his robe. He couldn’t tear away from the sight of what was happening. He tired of holding Ahmose, who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. When Kamose offered to take the sleeping child, he let him slip into his uncle’s arms.
Kamose stood transfixed by the water. “I have never dreamed anything like this.”
They wandered until they found a less windy spot to sit, away from the shore. Kamose held the boy as easily as he held a piece of papyrus. As Kamose lay the boy down on the sand, Bezalel noticed how much Ahmose looked like a miniature Kamose. They shared the same nose, turned up a bit at the end. And though Kamose rarely smiled, when he did, the corners of his mouth raised up just like Ahmose’s, one side first and then the other.
Bezalel looked up to see a young man his age standing before him. He was tall but slight, and a half-moon scar peeked out above his right eyebrow. Dark, curly hair fell onto his shoulders. His full beard covered quite a bit of his face, and Bezalel rubbed his own sparse beard. He asked to sit down near Bezalel. “You’re Hur’s grandson, right?” His voice was deeper than Bezalel expected from his wiry build.
“Yes.” Bezalel wondered how he knew his kin.
“I’m Amminadab’s son, Nahshon.” His dark eyes sparkled when he spoke.
“Amminadab? Elder of Judah? But how is that possible? Your father is the same age as my grandfather.”
“My father remarried late in life. I have half-brothers and sisters your father’s age.” Nahshon reached into a bag and took out a sycamore fig.
“Well, if my sabba has become Moses’s top advisor, along with Aaron, and your abba is the chief elder of Judah, we shouldn’t have any problems finding out what’s going on.” Bezalel chuckled and reached for the bag. He took a fig and handed one to Kamose then grabbed another for himself.
“That’s not all. Aaron and Moses are my brothers-in-law. Aaron married my sister.”
Bezalel chuckled again and shook his head.
A stout man with coarse, sand-brown curls approached. H
is face was square and his beard and eyebrows were quite bushy. He sat down without being asked.
Nahshon shoved his thumb in the man’s direction. “This is Michael, my neighbor.”
“Who are they?” Michael pointed at Kamose and then Ahmose, asleep at Bezalel’s feet.
Bezalel bristled at Michael’s bluntness. “This is Kamose, and this is Ahmose.” He pointed at the sleeping child. “He’s … my little brother.”
“Kamose. Ahmose. Those are Egyptian names.”
Nahshon stared at Michael. “And?”
Michael glowered back. “I thought they were who we were trying to get away from.”
“We’re trying to get away from Ramses. There were many Egyptians in the village in Pi-Ramses.” Bezalel glanced at Kamose, whose face, as always, remained blank. “They weren’t enslaving us. Many of them came with us.”
“Well, they shouldn’t have.”
“Michael!” Nahshon frowned.
Michael turned to Bezalel. “Why haven’t I ever seen you before? Where did you work?”
Bezalel swallowed the last of his pulpy fig. “I worked in the palace.”
“Oh. I heard about you.”
Bezalel clenched his jaw. “Heard what?”
Michael leaned back on his hands. “Heard about the traitor who thought he was Egyptian, stayed in the palace.”
Bezalel closed his eyes against the anger rising inside him.
“He was a slave. He had no choice.” Kamose spoke slowly.
“Does he always fight your battles for you?” Michael sneered at Bezalel.
Bezalel ignored the question. “I was a slave. I would have preferred to live in the village, but they forbade me. They beat me often for disobedience. Do you need to see the scars?”
Nahshon leaned forward. “Come on, Michael. None of us were in chains, but we were all slaves. We all know what happened if we didn’t do what was required. You have no right to question him.”
“I still say they shouldn’t be here.” Michael narrowed his eyes at Kamose and Ahmose.
“That’s enough.” Nahshon glared at Michael.
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan Book 1) Page 16
