“Fine. I’ll leave. I don’t like it here anyway.” Michael stood and sauntered off.
Nahshon watched him leave then turned back to Kamose. “I’m sorry. That was unnecessary.”
“But not completely unexpected.” Kamose tossed the peel of his fig aside.
“No, not everyone thinks like that. Most of us don’t, please believe me. Michael is … Michael hates everyone.” Nahshon shook his head. “Don’t judge us all by him.”
A soggy path through the Yam Suph widened and pushed its way east. Water piled on itself until the sides began to tower noisily over Moses.
Bezalel craned his neck to find the top, but the walls grew higher.
“Bezalel, look at the water. It reaches the sky!” Ahmose raised his sleepy head and pointed at the liquid walls.
Bezalel smiled at him. “Kamose, do you know this area? Do you know how far it is to the other side?”
“I do. I have never crossed here, of course, but I would guess about three hours of marching for an army. For this group, with women and children and animals, I’d at least triple that.”
“Nine hours. We’ve done more than that. The first day, we left long before dawn and walked until almost nightfall. If we do it slowly enough, everyone can manage.”
Back at the water’s edge, or rather, where the water used to end, Bezalel and Kamose stood near Sabba and Moses. The path had finally reached across to the far shore. A narrow land bridge connected the two shores under the water, leaving a gentle slope down, now exposed and totally dry.
Moses turned to Amminadab, elder of the tribe of Judah. “Cross over now, tribe by tribe, each with its leaders.” Amminadab and his assistant elders went first, and the people of Judah followed. Their sandals stepped on dried mud.
Bezalel turned to Imma. “I’m staying here until the end with Moses and Sabba. You go with Meri and Ahmose now.” He kissed Meri on the cheek and she and Imma followed the others of Judah.
Bezalel watched each tribe take its place behind the one before it and begin the walk down the hallway between the watery walls. Hours later, the last of the final tribe, Benjamin, had trudged about halfway when the sun shot fingers of light into the distant darkness. Men from Judah and Issachar returned to help those who needed it, carrying children and embracing the shoulders of the elderly.
Bezalel and Kamose were among the last to cross, following Benjamin. Moses and Sabba had gone over about halfway through. The wet, salt air surrounded them, yet the dry ground beneath felt strange. The world had turned upside down. Despite all Bezalel had seen in the past year, this was extraordinary. The air rushed between the walls and created a wind tunnel. Salty droplets sprinkled their faces.
Almost to the end, Bezalel looked back. The cloud now waited in front of them, a beacon. The sun peered above the mountains. Surely the Egyptians could see them. A bit of fear snuck back into his head and he fought to push it out. He knew the army would be readying itself for war. Two soldiers would step onto each chariot—one to drive the horse and another to send as many arrows as possible toward his people. Foot soldiers would follow to pick off any stragglers the charioteers didn’t slay.
The remaining Benjamites picked up the pace. Pounding hooves told Bezalel the army had begun the chase, horses riding hard. His breath came faster and he willed the Israelites around him to run. Hurry, hurry, hurry!
From the other direction, frenzied shouts rose from those on the shore. They had to look like easy targets, standing there unarmed, counting on an invisible God for protection. Fearing that the break of day would bring the soldiers upon them before the rest of Benjamin arrived, they called for Moses to close the sea.
“Release the water! Better to lose one tribe than all twelve!”
How could they think that? What if they were last instead?
Moses waited with Sabba and Aaron, framed against the rising sun.
As he neared the shore, Bezalel looked over his shoulder. The army of Ramses was closing the distance. The pummeling of hooves and the spinning of chariot wheels were deafening. He gasped and started to run. Men all around him sprinted for the shore.
He reached the beach and climbed a rock, panting. His heart pounded in his chest and echoed in his ears. The screaming stabbed his head and the crowd was close to rioting. Some ran toward the desert as fast as they could.
How far do they think they could get?
Kamose again shielded Moses from the people as some rushed at him, demanding that he act.
Just a moment from shore, the Egyptians halted as if slamming into an invisible wall. Chariot wheels came off and carriages stopped short and tipped over. Horses dragged wheel-less coaches behind them. Charioteers tumbled forward and were trampled by hooves and wheels. Men and animals piled upon one another.
Israelites fell silent as the shrieks of soldiers and the neighs of horses filled the air.
The walls of water quivered. The tempest still raged across the path from west to east.
Kamose clambered up to join Bezalel on the rock. “Everyone is across. Moses is safe for the moment.” He shouted to be heard over the wind and the noise from the collapsing army.
Moses raised his staff over the sea.
The water trembled. The wind stilled. The only sounds were those from the chariots and horses of the Egyptian army. Soldiers scurried about. They checked their animals and themselves for injury. They tried to right carriages and reattach wheels. Some wandered aimlessly among the dead.
A low roar began, as if from a great distance. It grew louder and stronger. The ground rumbled. Bezalel grabbed Kamose to keep from falling. The wet walls quaked, then torrents of water collapsed onto the army. Salt water splashed Bezalel’s face. He held his breath and his body tensed. He heard the shrieks only for an instant, but he would never forget them. Some of the soldiers were close enough for Bezalel to see their faces. Their wide eyes, pale skin, open mouths, flailing limbs, bodies tumbling like rocks in the river—they were indelibly burned into his memory.
Bezalel saw Kamose’s face as he stared speechless at the churning sea.
Not a single Egyptian survived.
Bezalel stood on the rock and gaped at the sea. The morning sun beat on his shoulders as it climbed in the sky behind him. The water lapped on the shore, as calm as before it parted last night. Seagulls cawed and searched for breakfast as if it were any other morning.
He looked out over the quieting sea. The water had collapsed in the west first, and forced everything toward the Israelites. Spears and knives washed up on shore, a few at first, then hundreds. Shattered pieces of cedar from the chariots floated among bows made of horn and sinew.
What just happened? El Shaddai had said He would rescue them, but Bezalel never envisioned the entire Egyptian army destroyed. He saw their faces, heard their screams again. Thousands of people, just like him—and his family—gone. They too had families, loved ones who would never see them again.
Then he thought of the slavery his people had endured for over four hundred years. He thought of women taken from their husbands because an Egyptian wanted one of them, of men—like his father—dying much too young because their bodies had given out, of children who never had the opportunity to go to school, or sometimes even to grow up.
And he thought of Ahmose. Sweet Ahmose, who never had an ugly thought about anyone. Bezalel remembered the angry, bloody stripes on the child’s back. His breathing became rapid and his body stiffened. His hands fisted.
They deserved it. They had all had a chance. Many chances. They chose to follow a man—a brutal, insane man—instead of Shaddai, and now they were paying the price.
The Egyptians could never come for them now. Their freedom was secured.
Men grabbed weapons and piled them up on the sand. Younger men ventured into the water and removed daggers from the belts of the soldiers, and shields from their arms. Children searched for arrows.
As the men scrambled for weapons, Bezalel heard a song wafting on the breeze and he strained to hear
it. At first only a few women sang. Then the music grew stronger, as more and more joined in.
It was a song of praise.
Kamose stepped into the sea towards the slain soldiers. Weapons bounced against his shins. Children darted around him.
He knew many of these men. The twelve hundred charioteers were the best of the best and he had served with them as a young man. And now the entire army was gone—wiped from the land.
He dropped to his knees in the water and his chest tightened. It was too much. He could not make sense of this.
He sat back on his heels. He had seen more death than he cared to remember. He had often been the cause of it. He’d even seen senseless death, just because the king was displeased. And Ramses had been warned. Many times. But still … this was more than he expected, more than he could have possibly conceived. He hung his head and wept.
Had he made the wrong choice?
Fifteen
21 Abib
East of the Yam Suph
Bezalel trudged toward camp with leaden feet. The sun’s blazing light pierced his eyes and the sand under his lids rubbed them raw. He just wanted to find Meri and then his tent. The long night had stolen all the energy from both his body and his mind.
Around him Benjamites staggered. The last tribe to cross, they were exhausted. More Judahites arrived to help. They pointed them toward camp, carried sleepy children and packs. The sounds of rustling tents and crying babies assaulted his ears, and the smell of burning wood from thousands of campfires stung his nose.
Wells dotted the area and reached deep into underground springs. They supported vibrant, colorful blooms that kept the region from being completely barren. Hares and foxes darted back to their holes in the rocks. Mourning doves cooed. He shaded his eyes and craned his neck to study the cloud that had protected them from the Egyptian army. It had spread wide and now hovered over them, alleviating the sun’s deadly intensity. How long would it stay there?
Stirring music swirled around Bezalel’s head. Young girls grasped hands and formed large circles, dancing and laughing. Their hair swung to one side while their feet kicked to the other. Older women slapped tambourines or clicked bone castanets carried from Egypt. Men beat drums or huffed into reed flutes and double pipes while stringed lyres filled the air with worshipful melody.
I will sing to Yahweh, for He is highly exalted.
The horse and its rider He has hurled into the sea.
Yahweh is my strength and my song; He has become my salvation.
He is my God, and I will praise Him;
My father’s God, and I will exalt Him.
Yahweh is a warrior; Yahweh is His name.
Pharaoh’s chariots and his army He has hurled into the sea.
The best of Pharaoh’s officers are drowned in the Red Sea.
When Bezalel lumbered into camp, Sabba, Imma, and Meri sat around a welcoming fire. Imma was warming some mat sot. Bezalel caught Meri’s tired gaze as she sat huddled next to Sabba.
Her face brightened and she ran to him. She slammed into him then hammered his chest with her fists. “Why did you take so long? Why didn’t you cross with us? I was terrified! All night I have been so frightened!” She collapsed against him. Her tears drenched the shoulder of his seawater-splashed tunic.
“We’re safe now. Everyone’s safe. It’s over.”
She looped her arms around his neck and clung to him.
“I’m sorry. Am I forgiven?” he whispered in her ear, his voice rough.
Her hair tickled his neck as she nodded, but she still clutched his tunic. He held her until she calmed then led her to the fire. With one hand he grabbed a mat sot and stuffed it nearly whole into his mouth, then grabbed another, realizing he’d eaten nothing except a fig since the afternoon before. His other arm wrapped around Meri, who had her head on his shoulder, arms securely around his waist as if he might leave her again. Not that there was any chance of that happening. Not that there was any chance of her believing that right now either.
“Where’s Ahmose?” Bezalel spoke around the food in his mouth.
“Poor thing is exhausted.” Sabba chuckled. “He’s still asleep. He waited up for you, too, as long as he could.”
Bezalel shook his head. “I’m sorry you waited. I thought you understood we would be a while. That’s why we sent Ahmose and Meri ahead.”
“I understood, habibi, and we tried to get them to sleep, but Ahmose was too excited, and I think Meri was too worried.” Imma leaned forward. “I think she’s asleep now, though.”
Bezalel tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “Yes, she is. I’m sure she needs it. I know I do.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I think she loves you very much.” Imma handed him one more mat sot. “Let me take her to the tent.”
Bezalel held the flat bread with his mouth while he stood and helped Meri up then shifted her onto Imma’s shoulder. “Well, that’s good, because I love her very much, too.”
24 Abib
The gravelly floor of the Desert of Shur crunched under Bezalel’s feet. They had found no source of water all day.
His throat scratched and his parched skin resembled the animal hides stretched over the tambourines the girls played three nights ago. His legs throbbed, and his shoulders ached from the pack and tent. Thank Shaddai it would be only a few weeks’ journey.
There was little wildlife and even less vegetation. In the honeycombed rocks, a few blue-headed Agama lizards and golden mice darted about. Nubian vultures circled ominously, searching for carcasses.
Bezalel raised his eyes to the sky. Go away. You won’t find any food here. I hope.
Chalky limestone mountains created an unbreachable wall. Layers upon layers of cemented sand, in unending colors of white, gray, and black, stood like sentries and filled the air with an invisible dust that invaded his eyes and made him cough.
Walls north and east. A sea to the west. They were completely protected.
From the Egyptians at least. If the desert didn’t kill them.
The path between the sea and the wall of rock became more rolling and Bezalel’s legs burned hotter with each knoll. The air turned drier as they slowly moved southeast and away from the sea.
Ahmose rushed off. Bezalel peered ahead to try to figure what the child had seen. He sucked in a breath. A spring! He sprinted after the boy, who dropped to his knees in the gravel. Bezalel fell beside him and they scooped up some of the precious liquid. They slurped noisily. He smiled and closed his eyes as it trickled down his throat—for only a moment. He coughed and spat it back out, water dribbling down his chin. The water was so bitter that even in his misery he could not drink it.
Around them everyone else gagged on the water as well. Ahmose fell backward on the sand and stared up at the cloud that glowed above them. Bezalel grasped his wrist and pulled him up. The boy probably would have cried had there been enough moisture in his little body.
Bezalel cringed as the crowd once again revolted. Unrecognizable sounds turned into words and then formed into sentences. The people wailed and cried against Moses as they swarmed around the spring. Fists waved in the air and some pushed. Bezalel grabbed Ahmose’s tunic as they were jostled and nearly separated.
“What can we drink?”
“We’ll die! Where can we find water?”
Moses approached the spring as the crowd yelled and shoved, looking for someone to blame. Bezalel pulled Ahmose close.
Kamose stood tensed nearby, ready to act should anyone threaten Moses.
“Israelites! Listen to me!” Moses raised his staff to draw the mob’s attention.
The crowd quieted some, but not much.
“Yahweh will provide for us. You cannot think He saved us from the Egyptians to let us die of thirst, can you?”
“I have no idea what He intended,” a man shouted from back in the crowd. “But if we don’t get water today, we’ll die!”
“Who’s talking? Show yourself.”
Bezalel searched the crowd.
No one came forward.
Sabba drew near Moses. “All the water we brought with us is gone. And without more water the animals will no longer produce milk. Many are dry already.”
Moses took a deep breath and looked at the cloud above. “This is the worst spring on this entire route. It always has been. I know there are sweeter ones less than a half day away.”
“I don’t think the people will last that long—at least they don’t think they will.”
“Let me talk to Yahweh.”
When Moses returned, he carried a branch from a tall shrub. He snapped it into several pieces and tossed them into the spring. He pointed toward the nearby stand of brush. “We need more wood to make the bitter water sweet. Bezalel, could you get some more branches?”
Bezalel shifted uncomfortably at being singled out.
Moses motioned to someone behind Bezalel. “You help him.”
“No.”
Bezalel snapped his head around. Michael stood defiantly, hands on his hips, jaw jutted out.
Moses pointed to someone else. “You?”
Nahshon made his way out of the crowd. At least it was someone Bezalel already knew. Two more young men came forward as well. Snaps and pops filled the air as they pulled and broke branches and produced an armful of wood to carry back to the spring.
Bezalel started to toss in a branch but Moses stopped him. “You must break it first. The sap inside is what sweetens the water.”
The crowd murmured and glared as the young men snapped the branches into smaller chunks. Vultures circled and shrieked. Soon a large pile of broken pieces lay at Moses’s feet. He moved his lips but no sound came. Then Moses nodded to them, and they threw the wood, piece by piece, into the bitter water.
Moses waited for a moment, watching the cloud. “Hur, will you taste it?”
“I will!” Ahmose shouted from behind Sabba.
“Shh!” Bezalel frowned at Ahmose and rushed toward him.
Moses moved toward Sabba and peeked behind him.
“And who are you?”
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan Book 1) Page 17
