Hur knelt beside Bezalel and placed a strong arm under his back to help him sit up.
“I feel as if I haven’t eaten in days.”
“Because you haven’t!” Hur laughed.
Ahmose encircled Bezalel from behind and hugged hard.
“Careful!” Hur laughed again and untangled Ahmose’s arms from around Bezalel. “He just woke up! You’ll squeeze him right back to sleep!”
Ahmose jumped up as Rebekah came to sit by her son. Tears poured from Ahmose’s eyes as he laughed and danced around the room. “He did it! He did it!” He kept shouting through his tears. “He really did it!”
“Who did what?” Hur grabbed at Ahmose’s wrist.
“Shaddai!” Ahmose squealed. “He made Bezalel wake up, just like I asked Him to! He really is God!” He leaped up into Kamose’s arms. “He did it!”
“I see that.” Kamose laughed as the boy jumped down and continued to bounce around the room. He noiselessly went to the shelf for his dagger and armbands. He put them on and slipped out the door. He was halfway down the street when he heard Ahmose running after him.
“Kamose, where are you going?”
Kamose stopped and turned around. “I should get back to the palace.”
Ahmose looked south. “But it’s still dark there. Why won’t you stay here?”
“You don’t need me here any longer.”
Ahmose took his hand. “But I want you to stay.”
The remark caught him off guard. “You do? Why?”
“You’re my friend. You’re Bezalel’s friend. We love you.”
He said it so simply. So trustingly. For him there were no questions, no complications. Why couldn’t life truly be like that? But it wasn’t, and a child’s naïve view would not make it so. He pulled his hand away. “I think you should just take care of Bezalel for now.”
“Please? What will you do in the dark?”
Kamose stared at the little boy with the large, dark eyes. How could he be so trusting after all the evil he had endured?
“Can’t you at least come eat with us before you go?”
He had no answer to that. He took the child’s outstretched hand and followed him home.
Twelve
Second month of Shemu, Season of Harvest
Israelite month of Abib
Bezalel gingerly lowered himself to the ground outside his house. Ahmose joined him, crossing his legs in exactly the same manner, and handed him a cup. “Aunt Rebekah sent you some thyme tea.”
They sat under the waxing moon and watched as women chatted, children squealed and chased one another, and young couples tried to evade prying eyes. The celestial light and warmer nights beckoned many to enjoy the open air after winter’s chill. Sounds of hammering filled the air as men built spits on which to roast lamb.
Ahmose rubbed Bezalel’s brow gently. “Does your head still hurt? Do you still get lots of headaches?”
“Yes, but they’re getting further apart. I should be ready to work soon.” He scoffed. “Besides, the palace is in such chaos, no one even notices I am gone.” Bezalel sipped the hot tea. “Sabba tells me you told me stories while I was hurt.”
“Yes. Did you hear me?”
“Sometimes. Never very clearly. But I knew you were there. I’m glad you stayed by me.” Bezalel put his arm around the boy and kissed his head. “See the moon?” He pointed to the sky.
“Yes. It’s getting round and bright again.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No. Tell me.” Ahmose looked up expectantly.
“That means it’s almost time for pesach and mat sot.”
“What are those? I don’t know those Hebrew words.” Ahmose sat on his heels.
“Well, pesach is celebrated during the first full moon of the spring. This is the month we call Abib, when the lambs are born. Each family chooses one lamb, or sometimes a kid, to kill for the meal. The lamb is roasted outdoors over a fire, with bitter herbs for seasoning. The families eat it outside along with mat sot, and the celebration lasts all night. It’s my favorite time of the year.”
“What’s mat sot?”
Bezalel blew on the tea. “This month is also when the grains ripen and are ready for harvest. Mat sot are barley cakes. We make them with barley flour and water, with no fermented dough to make it rise, so they’re flat. We don’t use the old dough, because we throw it all out so it can’t contaminate the new crop. When the new crop of barley flour is ready, we make bread with new dough. That keeps it all fresh and healthy for another year.”
“Do they taste good?”
“They’re all right. Mat sot are quick to bake and easy to carry, and shepherds ate them during the busy time of lambing. Now, of course, they are only traditional, since we keep only a few sheep. The mat sot festival starts the day after pesach and lasts seven days. They are a celebration of the harvest.” Bezalel stretched out his legs and leaned back against the house and drank the cooled tea.
“How’s your head?” A deep voice sliced through the chatter.
“Kamose!” Ahmose jumped up and ran to meet him.
The big Egyptian hoisted Ahmose onto his shoulders and strolled toward Bezalel.
Imma brought out some carob pods, baby radishes, and hot bread. She nodded toward the visitor. “It’s good to see you, Captain.”
Kamose nodded a greeting.
Ahmose hopped down and followed Imma inside.
Kamose’s gaze followed the boy.
Bezalel popped a radish into his mouth. “I’m sorry you don’t get to see him as much. But you’re welcome here any time.”
Kamose watched the door for a moment then sat on the ground across from Bezalel, one leg folded in front of him and one knee up. “How are the headaches?”
Bezalel frowned. “How did you know I have headaches?”
“I know how head wounds heal. You were lucky. Trouble remembering things?”
“I can’t remember much of that day yet. Bits and pieces come back. I forget things that are told to me just a few minutes later. I have trouble sleeping.”
“It should get better eventually.” Kamose glanced around at the villagers. “I like it here. At least, I like being around your family.”
“Want to play a game?” Ahmose emerged from the house with several dice in his hand.
Kamose chuckled, and the trio played and chatted until Imma poked her head out again. “I hate to break up the game, but it’s time for Ahmose to go to bed.”
“But I’m winning! I’ve won five times. I’m better than both of them, and I’m just a boy!”
Bezalel suppressed a laugh behind a cough.
Imma shot him a warning look. “And it’s because you’re just a boy that you need to sleep.”
“All right. I’m coming.” Ahmose gathered the dice and obeyed, but not before kissing Bezalel—and Kamose—good night.
Bezalel cleared his throat. “Have you seen Meri?’
“Yes. And as soon as you come back, you can take her away from the harem legally.”
“Really? How did you manage that?”
“I threatened Jambres. I told him I’d tell Ramses about his little party with the concubines. Ramses may not be sleeping with them anymore, but I don’t think he wants to share them.” He rolled a radish between his fingers. “I’d still rather kill that snobby, useless magician.”
Bezalel nodded. “Good.”
“You don’t sound very happy. I expected a better reaction that that.”
“I’m sorry. I appreciate all you’ve done, I do. But I’m not sure she’ll marry me now.”
“Why not?”
Bezalel leaned his head against the wall. “The last time I saw her, we argued. I told her I wanted her to come with me when we leave Egypt. But when I told her El Shaddai was responsible for all that has happened, she became very angry with me and said she couldn’t trust me or my God. I couldn’t make her understand that He is doing it all only to make Ramses let us go.”
Kamose reached f
or a fig. “You know she reacts quickly and strongly. She reminds me very much of Tia. Give her time. She’s hurt now, but I think she’ll understand.”
Bezalel smiled weakly. “I hope so.”
Kamose was somber as he finished the fruit. “I no longer believe Ramses is a god. I don’t know about your God yet, or any gods for that matter, but it’s become clear to me in the last months that the king is only a man.”
The captain tossed the fig peel onto the platter. “I have to go. I just wanted to check on you and Ahmose. I put myself on night duty for a while. Ramses trusts no one but me right now.” The captain chuckled as he stood. “The god needs a bodyguard.”
14 Abib
Several days later, when the moon had grown fat and full, Imma set the table for the evening meal. The door banged open. Sabba looked more solemn than Bezalel had ever seen him. His face was ashen.
“What happened?” Imma rushed to his side.
Sabba closed the door behind him and eyed each person. “Moses says it will be tonight. We have much to do to prepare.” He spoke quietly, but with a firmness Bezalel had not ever heard from his beloved and gentle Sabba.
“What will be tonight?” Imma’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Sabba to Bezalel and back again. “Prepare what?”
“Tonight we will leave Egypt. Pack a bag.”
Tonight we will leave Egypt. Sabba said this almost as casually as he might have said, “Tomorrow we will go fish in the river.” Tonight. Right now? How does an entire people just leave? The concept was too absurd to comprehend.
Sabba put his hand on the door then turned back. “I’m going to get the pesach lamb. I’ve already packed. While I am gone, Rebekah, you are to ask our Egyptian neighbors for things made of silver and gold. They will gladly give them to you. El Shaddai has commanded this.”
Bezalel jammed his clothes into a bag then helped Ahmose fill a sack with the clothes the neighbors had given him.
Sabba returned and peeked inside. “Please come outside with me.”
They crowded around their narrow front door. Other families did the same, packing the snaking pathway between houses. The early spring breeze drifted down the street, and the moon shone brightly.
Sabba had a flint knife in his hand, the blade sharper than any metal one Bezalel could have crafted. He knelt behind the lamb he had brought with him from the field. It nuzzled against his leg and softly bleated.
Sabba took the knife in his right hand and the jaw of the lamb in the other. He raised the lamb’s head up and swiftly drew the knife across its neck.
Bezalel knew the animal felt no pain, but a faint cry escaped Imma’s lips.
Ahmose grabbed Bezalel’s hand and squeezed.
Blood flowed down into the trough dug in front of the house to protect it from the yearly flooding of the Nile. Sabba placed a container under the lamb’s neck to catch the blood. He reached for a stalk of hyssop lying by the door and dipped it into the pottery now overflowing with the lamb’s lifeblood. He brushed it against the top, then the left, and finally the right side of the doorframe. He bent and took the lamb from the ground where he had laid it and gave it to Imma. “As always, for pesach, you are to roast this over a fire, with bitter herbs and mat sot. We will, however, cook and eat indoors this year.”
She opened her mouth as if to question the strange instructions but said nothing.
Up and down the street other families butchered their lambs, and most—but not all—painted blood on the doorframes. What would happen now?
The soothing aroma of hundreds of roasting lambs saturated the air, punctuated by the tangy smell of horseradish. Sabba had said they could not go out of the house.
Ahmose curled up beside Bezalel.
No one talked, and Bezalel did not want to be the one to break the silence. He was in a dream, afraid he would awaken at any moment to find they were all still slaves, and always would be.
The waiting was agony—then he felt guilty. For four hundred years Israel had waited for El Shaddai to rescue them. Why now? How many of his relatives had died waiting? Why should he live to see it?
Long after dark, Imma told the men the meal was almost done.
Sabba stood. “We must get ready to leave now.”
“Leave? But what about the lamb?” Imma was clearly irritated.
“We will eat the lamb, but we will eat it standing, inside, with our cloaks and sandals on.”
They gathered their sandals and heaviest thawbs, and as the four of them stood around the table, Sabba cleared his throat. “Tonight, El Shaddai will pass through all Egypt with one final, terrible sign, more terrible than all the others. Tonight, He will strike down the firstborn son in every household, from Pharaoh, to the servants, to the animals.”
Bezalel swallowed hard, and Imma gasped.
Sabba took the hand of both as he continued. “Except for those who have obeyed His command and put the sacrificial blood on the door. The blood will be a notice to Him, and He will pass over us; He will protect us from death tonight.”
“Let us eat quickly,” Sabba continued, “for we must be ready to leave at any moment. Whatever we don’t eat, we must burn. Eat your fill; we have a long journey ahead of us.”
Agonizing cries pierced Bezalel’s ears and made him jittery. The coppery smell of blood had displaced the aroma of roast mutton. How many more would suffer?
They had finished the meal, and again they waited. Bezalel sat on the floor with Ahmose in his lap. His stomach was satisfied, but his heart ached. Many Egyptians lived among them in the village, as well as some Israelites who had refused to listen to Moses. Bezalel knew who they were, and knew they now paid a high price for their stubbornness.
Every time she heard the howls, his mother cringed. Ahmose left Bezalel and climbed onto her lap. She clutched him to her breast.
Another scream, followed by heart-breaking sobs. Bezalel pulled his legs up and hugged them, putting his head on his knees. His heart lay like a hunk of stone within his chest. How it must feel to lose a child, especially because you chose to ignore a warning from Shaddai.
His sorrow for those who endured the loss of a son and those who had died waiting warred with the elation of imminent escape. There was also the question of what life would be like beyond the confines of the palace walls. There were innumerable unknowns, but wouldn’t anything be better than slavery?
And of course, there was the question of Meri. Would she come with him?
Nefertari slumped on the floor, cradling her son’s head in her lap, rocking back and forth, sobbing and moaning. Her cries carried throughout the palace. Many of Egypt’s sons had died tonight, but in the palace, all that mattered was that Amun-her-khepeshef was dead.
Kamose guarded the doorway of Ramses’ private quarters, hands balled into fists at his sides, muscles in his shoulders and neck tensed. He wasn’t sure whether he was more heartbroken or angry.
Ramses stood beside Nefertari, head hung to his chest, looking utterly helpless. None of his powers or sorcerers or officials could help him now.
“I begged you to let them go! I begged you—” She pounded on his thigh. “But you could not give up your precious city! Well, now you have it, but you have no son!” She turned back to the still form of her son, wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his chest.
The king wheeled to Kamose and pointed. “Bring me that Israelite!” Then he raised his face toward the sky, fists in the air, and howled.
Kamose marched down the hall and found an idle soldier. “Go to the village and come back with their leader, Moses. Be quick!” He returned to the room where Nefertari still wept. He watched her cry and then hung his head. A weight hunched his shoulders. Whether he believed Ramses to be a god or not, no matter how many warnings Ramses had ignored, it distressed him that he could do nothing to alleviate her suffering. It was his job to protect the family, and he had failed. Miserably.
Not that there was anything he could have done to prevent what had
happened. Bezalel was right; El Shaddai was in control. This must be His doing, like all the other terrible things that had happened to Egypt. He had to be a very powerful God, more powerful than any of Egypt’s gods. Isis could not keep the crops safe from the hail. The greatest god, the sun-god Ra did not show his face for three days. But was a mightier God necessarily a better God?
When the Israelites arrived, guards led them to Ramses’s rooms. Kamose stepped aside to let them pass. The brothers said nothing, but Moses bowed his head.
“Up! Leave Egypt, all of you! Go, worship your God as you have requested. Take your women, your flocks, your herds, anything you want, and go.” Ramses screamed, but there were tears on his cheeks.
“As you wish.” Moses backed away and walked down the hall.
“No! Bring him back!” Ramses yelled at Kamose.
Kamose chased down Moses and Aaron and brought them back to the devastated ruler.
When Moses returned, the king said, “First, bless me.”
“But I have to get in there!” At the edge of the village Bezalel tried to get around Moses, but the older man side-stepped and stuck out his staff.
“If you go in there, you will be killed. Ramses has every guard alive stationed around the perimeter, and he has ordered that any Israelite nearing the palace be instantly killed.”
“But Meri! I have to get Meri!”
Moses grabbed him by the shoulders. “You will never get to her.” He spoke softly. “I’m really very sorry, but it’s too late.”
“I have to try!” Bezalel started to go around Moses to the right, then when Moses tried to block him, jumped around him to the left and bolted for the palace.
He ran full-speed until he could see the courtyard, then stopped like he had slammed into a hippopotamus. Moses was right. In the shimmering moonlight he could see armed soldiers posted an arm’s length apart all around the edge of the palace.
His chest tightened as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. All the energy left his body and he collapsed to his knees.
There was no getting past the soldiers. There wasn’t an unguarded space around the garden, the courtyard, anywhere. He couldn’t get in. She couldn’t get out. His heart was ripped from his chest. He dropped his head to the sand and hot tears ran down his face.
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan) Page 14
