Kamose scowled, bitter memories flooding his mind like the Nile flooded the delta. “Ramses has never made sense. He doesn’t have to.”
Moses chuckled. “Yes, I suppose as his personal bodyguard you would know that better than anyone, wouldn’t you?”
“But none of that sounds like me.”
“I was a prince of the most powerful nation in the world, and then suddenly it all was gone. I was hiding in the desert with nothing. I left with only what I was wearing. Everything I knew was stripped away.”
Kamose closed his eyes for a moment as he recalled his own flight from Ramses. “What happened?”
Moses halted as they reached a flock of sheep. “I saw an Egyptian murder a Hebrew. I killed him—I thought in secret, but I was seen. I fled, as far from Egypt as I could.” He picked up a lamb and stroked its head, hooking his staff in the crook of his arm. “I wandered in the desert for a while. Ended up tending sheep to stay alive. I went from a prince to a shepherd, from a soft bed in the palace to sleeping on the ground.”
“Then what did you do?”
Moses shrugged. “Tended the sheep. What choice did I have? Every day I awoke and took care of the sheep. I led them to water, to fresh grass, kept them from predators. I did a job a boy could do. I thought I had wasted my entire life, that I was starting all over again. None of what I was, what I had learned, what I had accomplished, seemed to have any place or relevance in my new life. I felt completely lost for years. And a little angry as well.”
“At whom?”
Moses set down the lamb. “At El Shaddai. I wasn’t exactly sure who He was then. I’d been taught about the Egyptian gods in the palace. My mother taught me about El Shaddai before I was sent back to the palace—”
“Your mother?” The story kept getting more complicated. So much about Moses he didn’t know. He’d known the basics—Moses was raised as an Egyptian prince, but left as an adult, then came back to free the Israelites. The rest of this was new, and totally unexpected.
“Yes, my real mother raised me for several years after the princess found me as a baby. She talked incessantly about El Shaddai.” Moses waved a hand. “After I returned to the palace I forgot most of it, but on those long nights alone in the desert, I began to remember what she told me. I believe Yahweh was speaking to me, teaching me about Himself, bringing to my memory what she had placed there, and then expanding on it.”
“How long were you in the desert?”
“Forty years.”
“Forty years?” Despair hit Kamose like a blow to the chest.
“Yes.” Moses leaned on his staff and stared into the distance. “I know now Yahweh was preparing me for this task. As a prince, I spent endless hours training on the field at Succoth. I learned military strategy, weapons, evasion, provision, leadership— all I needed to know to bring my people out of Egypt. I realized everything I had learned was not a waste. Far from it. Then my father-in-law taught me how to survive in the desert as a shepherd. I learned all the trade routes, the location of the Egyptian fortresses as well as the oases, how to find food when it looks like there is none. I see now each part of my life has led up to this mission.”
Kamose clasped his hands at the back of his neck. He glanced at the glowing cloud above them. “But you didn’t always know that.”
Moses returned his gaze to Kamose and smiled. “Exactly.”
A hot breeze stirred the leaves of the tall date palms. The bulbuls seemed to call to him from the treetops as thoughts jumbled through Kamose’s mind.
He dropped his hands to his hips. “So … what should I do while I’m waiting?”
“Tend sheep.”
“Excuse me?” He blinked at the bleating animals. What did he know about shepherding?
Moses laughed. “I don’t mean actually tend sheep. That’s what it meant for me. You should do whatever Yahweh puts in front of you at the time. For you, I guess it means take care of little Ahmose, train spies when necessary, whatever He sends your way. Maybe later there’s a huge task waiting for you, like mine. Maybe something more mundane. But whatever it is, it’s just for you, and it’s important. And when you find it, or it finds you, you’ll know.” Moses put his hand on Kamose’s shoulder for a moment, then turned back toward camp.
Kamose watched the old man trudge back to camp. For all Moses had been through, he was remarkably content. He’d learned to take life as it came. Kamose tried to control life, change it, bend it to his will like Bezalel molded gold.
He wanted to learn to face life like Moses.
He hoped it didn’t take him forty years to do it.
Kamose considered Moses’s words as he ambled toward his tent.
He’d skipped the midday meal, instead talking to Caleb and Joshua, going over the last details of the mission, and now his belly was empty and his head was far too full of unwelcome thoughts. He wanted hot food, friendly conversation, and the warmth of family.
The sun almost touched the horizon as Kamose stepped between his tent and Bezalel’s. The sweet smell of manna baking over thousands of desert campfires filled the evening air. An unfamiliar laugh came from the campfire. A captivating, female laugh—not Meri’s, not Rebekah’s. Not even Sheerah’s, Nahshon’s wife. Who else would be at their fire? The laugh drifted by again.
He waited a moment before stepping into the walkway, then strode to an open spot around the fire next to Nahshon and Sheerah.
“Uncle Kamose! Where were you?” Ahmose handed him a few manna cakes and a handful of dates. “Look, we have guests. This is Tirzah, and her daughters Keren and Naomi.”
Kamose nodded to the woman. Gaddiel’s woman. Next to her sat two small girls, duplicates of each other. They shared their mother’s dark hair and pink lips. One hid behind Tirzah, but the other waved and smiled.
Meri placed her hand protectively on Tirzah’s back. “Her brother-in-law left on the mission tonight. When I heard Gaddiel was one of the scouts and realized she’d be alone, I invited her to join us.”
Brother-in-law? So he’s not her husband. That explained a good deal of the odd behavior he’d seen from Gaddiel. Kamose managed a polite smile. “I’m sorry you are alone.”
“At least I don’t have to wait on him all day.” Tirzah laughed, the sound of the tinkling of a tambourine when gently shaken.
Tirzah looked his way and her eyes held his for a moment. Heat crept up his neck and his throat went dry.
“We thought we could keep her company while he’s gone. She has no other family.” Bezalel pointed toward the Zebulon section of camp, next to Judah. “She’s on the edge of Zebulon, not too far from here.”
“Ahmose has been helping me by playing with the girls. They adore him.”
One of the girls stood and tugged on Ahmose’s arm. “Come with us, ’Mose. Let’s go play.”
Ahmose looked at Tirzah. “Is that all right with you?”
“For a while. Then they have to go to sleep. Can you play with them while I go get water? You’ll have to stay close, because it’s already dark.”
“Sure.”
Tirzah patted Ahmose on the head. Her hair fell forward into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear. She turned to go as Ahmose and the girls scampered off.
“Wait, we’ll go with you.” Meri handed Adi to Bezalel. Sheerah left the fire for her tent, and Meri disappeared for a moment to retrieve their skins, then the women walked toward Tirzah’s tent.
Kamose watched them go. Tirzah’s thick, wavy brown hair hung loosely down her back. She was head and shoulders taller than Meri, and her long legs had to move slowly to keep from getting too far ahead of Meri, making her hips sway seductively.
“She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” Bezalel’s comment drew Kamose’s attention back to the fire.
“What?”
“Tirzah. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”
Kamose swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Bezalel laughed so loudly Adi flinched and c
ried softly. “Sure you didn’t.” He put his hand on the baby’s back and she settled instantly at her father’s touch.
“You’ve been staring at her since you sat down.” Nahshon chuckled.
No use denying it. Bezalel could see right through him. Kamose threw the stick he’d been holding into the fire. “I’m going for a walk.”
He could hear Bezalel chuckling as he threaded his way between tents toward the desert.
Why was he so glad to find out she was not Gaddiel’s? It had been a long time since he’d had any feeling for a woman. He’d always stamped out any hint of interest as soon as it surfaced. When he served in other countries he had formed relationships of a sort with local women, but he had never let himself feel anything for them, knowing he would soon leave. If one began to show signs of attachment, he broke it off instantly. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt, didn’t want to leave any broken hearts behind.
But this woman did something to him. If he were still a soldier, he could immerse himself in his work. Bury his emotions. Avoid her. But how could he steer clear of her when apparently she was going to be around his tent all the time?
Another dilemma this new, purposeless life had brought him.
The meal over, water skins filled, Tirzah returned to her tent, Naomi on her hip and Keren in tow. She set her daughter down and poured milk into cups for the girls.
“Is he gone?” Naomi looked toward Gaddiel’s tent as she asked the question.
“Yes, he will be gone for many days.”
The girl’s face brightened. “Good. I don’t like when he yells at you.”
“I don’t either. But there will be no yelling for a while.” Tirzah dropped her arm around Naomi’s shoulders and drew her close. “Finish your milk, then go to sleep.”
After the girls lay sound asleep on their mats, Tirzah sat in front of the flickering flames and leaned back on her hands. She glanced to her right, at Gaddiel’s empty tent. A smile crossed her face, and closing her eyes, she looked to the moonless night sky.
She contemplated the next several days, maybe even weeks. A sweet freedom swirled around in her mind. No barks from him in the morning. No cleaning up his stinking tent and washing his soiled clothes. No insults, glares, or snarls.
She gathered her hair and worked it into a loose braid, then tossed it over her shoulder. Gaddiel was gone, but so was any measure of support or protection he might have offered. She shouldn’t need any, but a widow was always in a precarious situation. It probably wasn’t a smart idea, but she would think about it later and enjoy the next few days of freedom. Once they reached Canaan, she would have to do something, but for now, there was at least the manna.
“Tirzah.” A familiar but unwelcome voice broke her moment of peace. “So nice to see you. How are you this evening?”
Tirzah lowered her gaze to see Jediel’s youngest brother making himself at home in front of her fire. “I’m fine, Nathaniel. What do you want?”
“I came to check on you. Did you see Gaddiel leave?” He stretched his long legs out and crossed them at the ankles. He arranged his thawb neatly over his tunic and brushed away some stray ash. He might look very much like Gaddiel but at least he was tidier. Probably from being pampered as the youngest in the family.
She sat up straight. “Of course. I notice you didn’t. He is your brother, after all.”
“I thought it more important that you be there.” His smile made her stomach turn.
“I’m not his wife.”
“I noticed. When do you plan to remedy that?”
“I don’t see it as a situation needing to be remedied.”
Nathaniel waved his hand across the campsite. “Perhaps not here, in your little tent, with manna falling from the sky every day, but when we reach Canaan, how do you plan to feed yourself and your children? You will have no land and no way to grow anything or even feed your sheep to get milk.”
Tirzah tightened her jaw and said nothing.
“I see. For such a clever woman, you haven’t thought very far ahead. Well, I can see how you would not be interested in Gaddiel. He is rude, and cruel, as was Jediel. But I can assure you, if you claim your right of yibbum, Gaddiel will decline, and the … obligation … will fall to me. I, of course, would never refuse such a beautiful woman as you.” His cold gray eyes held hers.
Tirzah stood and pointed her finger at the man seated across from her. “Nathaniel, I will never marry Gaddiel, or you. I would rather starve than marry a man like you. When I reach Canaan I will figure something out, but you can be assured it will not involve you. Now leave.”
Nathaniel stood slowly.
Tirzah nearly bit her tongue off trying to hold it.
Nathaniel stepped away, then turned back to her, smiling one of his oily smiles. “I am an unusually patient man, Tirzah. You will eventually marry me, of that I am certain.”
Tirzah shivered as a cold fear crept up her back. Of all that had happened to her, marrying Gaddiel, or worse, Nathaniel, would be unbearable.
But she could think of no way around it.
The sun was gone and the moonless, star-filled sky had replaced it. Gaddiel’s hands were raw, his knees skinned, his ankles swollen. His forearms and shoulders burned with every move. They’d practiced the climb, but never for more than an hour at a time. Kamose had only taught them the mechanics of getting up the mountain. And no matter how many times he had said, “And you’ll keep doing this for hours,” it hadn’t sunk in. Until now.
At least they were a great deal more than halfway finished. The plan, according to the mighty Caleb, was to reach the cliffs beyond the desert and complete the ascent tonight, rest until morning, then hike toward Arad. As if they had another choice. They couldn’t very well stop part way up the wall, and they would be too tired to go any farther once they reached the top. It didn’t take a great military mind to come up with that plan.
He needed to establish himself as a leader alongside Joshua and Caleb, and soon. But how?
Pain shot through his forearm as he put his hand onto a sharp rock. Crimson stained the limestone when he lifted his hand.
They had a lot of ground to cover in the long days ahead. Maybe they should split up. Then he could lead one of the smaller groups. That would set him apart, set him up as equal to Joshua and Caleb.
He banged his knee into a protruding piece of the mountain. Maybe for now he should pay attention to the climb.
At the top of the cliff, Gaddiel dragged his aching body onto the mercifully flat land and tried to calm his breathing. He laid his head on his bruised arms and waited for his thighs to stop burning.
After a few moments, he picked himself up and made his way toward Caleb and Joshua. At least he made it before any of the others, although it galled him that Joshua beat him again.
He laid out his mat and blanket and gingerly lowered himself to the ground. He looked at the twinkling stars above him. They had chosen this day to leave so the moon would be full by the time they reached the heart of Canaan, giving them better light as they spied on the cities by night. He touched his palms to each other. The flesh was nearly ripped off in several places. His knees and biceps were on fire. His stomach begged for food, but he was too exhausted to pull the food Tirzah had sent with him from his pack. His belly would have to wait a bit. He untied the skin of milk from his belt, took a long drink, and lay back on his pack.
The stars flickered above as he tried to shut off his mind long enough to fall asleep. He concentrated on Caleb’s deep breathing next to him, allowing the rhythmic noise to soothe his fractured nerves. Finally the dark and the exhaustion took over, and he slipped into sleep’s oblivion.
Five
30 Ziv
Gaddiel groaned and rolled on his stomach. Overlapping voices—talking, laughing, joking—drifted toward him. Perfect. Last one up. The savory aroma of roasted meat wafted through the air, and he raised his head to find the source. Joshua had six sandgrouse on stakes leaning over a campfire. Gaddie
l hated to admit it, but the boy took good care of the men.
Gaddiel rose and lumbered toward the nearby stream, his muscles protesting every step. He stripped off his tunic, knelt, and dunked his head in the water. The sudden coldness shocked him wide awake. He jerked back up, the water from his soaked hair dripping down his back. Pulling his tunic over his head, he struggled to slip it over his wet skin. No matter—the unforgiving summer sun would quickly dry both the cloth and his skin.
He trudged back to the fire and slumped to the ground, accepting half a bird from Palti. He tore a leg from the carcass. Sinking his teeth deep into the soft flesh, he ripped it from the bone. Juice dribbled down his chin and he drew the back of his hand across his mouth. The substantial taste of meat, something to actually chew, something that would last in his stomach more than a meager hour—he closed his eyes and suppressed a moan. It tasted better than anything he could remember ever eating. He was sick of manna. Just the thought of it made him gag.
“How long has it been since we ate meat?” Palti spoke around a mouthful of bird.
Gaddiel swallowed first. “Over a year. Feels like longer.”
“You forgot about the quail. We had quail twice, once at Sinai and once just a few weeks ago.”
“I didn’t forget about it. I didn’t count it. There was what, about five bites to a bird? It was hardly worth the work it took.”
Palti glared. “Yahweh provided that meat. Perhaps you shouldn’t dismiss it so.”
Gaddiel shrugged. “Perhaps He should have provided better meat.”
“Anyone think the giants are still in Canaan? The ones our grandparents told stories about?” Igal’s gaze flitted from man to man.
Palti laughed. “They’re probably just legends. Don’t even really exist.”
“Are you sure? Sure we won’t find any?” Igal threw a bone over his shoulder.
“There may be some very big people, but I think the stories grew over the years, as legends tend to do.” Sethur’s voice was uncharacteristically calming. “I don’t think there are people as big as the myths say—towering over us, legs as big as tree trunks, chests like a hippopotamus. They’ll just be taller than we are.”
By the Waters of Kadesh (Journey to Canaan Book 2) Page 5
