Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  Doda and Hoshea splinted her leg with Hoshea’s broken spear shaft and torn bed linens. Both could easily be replaced.

  Taliah’s skin was the color of goat’s milk, but who could blame her? Eleazar had seen soldiers faint from lesser ordeals. Without permission, his big, callused hand reached out to touch her cheek, but he stopped just in time. What was he doing?

  Doda struggled to her feet. “All right, Eleazar. She’s ready. You carry her.” Hands on her hips, she tapped her toe and lifted an eyebrow.

  He shot to his feet. “Why me? Hoshea can carry her while I gain clearance with the guards through the palace complex and beyond.” It was a lame excuse, but Eleazar couldn’t hold Taliah in his arms again. She was like a wounded lamb. And that perfume and soft skin made him dizzy.

  Doda Miriam assessed Hoshea and then her nephew. “You’re nearly twice the size of your apprentice. He’s a fine boy, but Taliah needs strong arms and a steady gait to keep her leg stable.” She lifted both eyebrows and tapped her toe—faster. Why could he never refuse his doda?

  With a sigh, he knelt beside the mat and leaned in, but Taliah tried to scoot away.

  “Wait!”

  An instant sheen of sweat proved the pain of her effort.

  Of course, she would be afraid of him. “I won’t hurt you, Taliah.” She nodded but wouldn’t look up. His chest constricted. “I had to follow orders. Breaking your leg was the only way to save our lives.”

  “I understand. It’s not that. I…” Her black eyes pooled with vulnerability more frightening than a Hittite’s sword. “How did you know my name?”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Eleazar tried to swallow but couldn’t. His promise to Putiel had seemed so simple when Taliah didn’t know. “I…um…”

  Doda shoved him aside. “Your family and ours have been friends for as long as I can remember. Your great-saba Mered was the chief linen keeper who taught me to spin and weave as a girl, and your saba Jered—whose son Gedor is Pharaoh’s current linen keeper—well, he used to play with my brother Moses when everyone believed Moses was Prince Mehy—”

  Eleazar leaned close. “Doda, we must leave before Pharaoh finds her in the palace. You can explain family connections when we get her home.”

  “Home?” A tear spilled over Taliah’s bottom lash. “The palace harem has been my only home. I’ve never seen any of you before, and I don’t know where you’re taking me.” She pressed her palms against her eyes, enforcing a false calm, and then glared at Eleazar. “How does Prince Ram’s personal guard know my name?”

  Eleazar sighed, cursing his vow and his ignorance of women. But she deserved an explanation. “Your abba Putiel saved my life at the Battle of Kadesh, and I became his apprentice as Prince Ram’s personal guard. When Prince Kopshef went to Saqqara, he demanded Putiel become his guard, so I now serve Prince Ram. Your abba asked me to look after you while he’s away.”

  Taliah dropped her hands, a lovely V forming between her sculpted brows. “That was four years ago. Why have I never seen you before? How could you look after me when you were with Prince Ram and I was in the harem?”

  “Before he left, your abba took me to the harem gate and pointed you out. Yours is not a face I could forget.” His cheeks warmed at the inadvertent compliment, and he stared at his hands. “I bribed a eunuch. He keeps me informed.”

  When only silence met his confession, he looked up, finding Taliah’s expression softened. “Thank you—Eleazar, is it?”

  “Yes, well…” He cleared his throat and heard Hoshea snicker. A sharp glance silenced his young apprentice.

  “My abba can’t write, Eleazar, so I never expected correspondence, but I’ve had no word from him. Is he well?”

  They were wasting time. He needed to get her out of the palace—and he didn’t want to answer her question. “Why don’t we talk on the way?”

  He leaned toward her again, but she shoved him away, panic written on her features. “You know something about Abba. Tell me.”

  Spying his leather hair band on the floor, he reached for it with a sigh and pulled back his curly black hair. “I haven’t seen Putiel since he left, but I’ve had no request for his replacement.” Eleazar tried to smile in spite of the sick feeling in his gut. No Hebrew was safe with Prince Kopshef. “It’s a hopeful sign. Now, we really must go.”

  Nodding, she wiped a tear and raised an arm around his neck, inviting him to lift her. He gently scooped her into his arms, but even the slightest jostle must have been excruciating. Taliah whimpered and buried her face against his chest, sending a terrible sensation through him. Surely, it was only compassion, perhaps regret, but—by the gods—he refused to feel anything else for this woman.

  Doda retrieved Eleazar’s lamb’s wool headrest. “Hoshea, cradle this under Taliah’s splinted leg, and I’ll open the door.”

  Hoshea supported her leg as Eleazar glided into the deserted hallway. He didn’t pause as Doda closed the door behind them, but kept his gait steady while trying not to look down at the beautiful woman in his arms. His disciplined training offered a smooth ride for Taliah but failed miserably in keeping his eyes from her.

  The realization of her allure burned in his belly when he considered how the slave masters might treat her. Eleazar leaned down so only she could hear. “Keep your face turned toward my chest.” As they neared the end of the dark hallway, he whispered to Doda, “Hide her hair and throw your robe over her while we walk.” The guards and slave drivers might question an injured harem maid leaving the palace, but they wouldn’t think twice about a slave girl draped in rough-spun.

  The midday sun burned hot by the time they cleared the colossal gates of the palace complex, and the dual statues of Ramesses bade them good-bye. Prince Ram expected Eleazar’s return after his meal, but Eleazar couldn’t hurry Doda or run with Taliah in his arms. He’d have to take the beating for tardiness.

  Taliah peered up from beneath Doda’s robe. “Pharaoh said I’d live in the slave village at the pleasure of the slave masters. Does that mean the slave masters will decide whose children I teach? It’s all I’m trained to do.”

  Her innocence struck him like a blow. Was she really unaware of what the slave masters would do to a lovely maiden like her? “I’m taking you to Doda Miriam’s long house. She’ll care for you until your leg heals.”

  “I can still teach in spite of a broken leg, but I’ll need scrolls. Where might I get those?”

  Doda must have noted his distress and sidled up to them. “Life in Goshen will be quite different from what you’re used to. You’ll need to rest for a few weeks while your leg heals, and then I’ll introduce you to your family. Mered and Bithiah belonged to the tribe of Judah, and their village is a bit farther west of ours.” Then she patted Eleazar’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. If my nephew promised Putiel he’d care for you, then you can be sure he’ll provide a safe and happy home.”

  An invisible fist drove the wind from Eleazar’s chest. A simple promise made four years ago suddenly felt like a life sentence.

  They’d just passed the industrial section of Rameses when Eleazar noticed two slave drivers approaching. He leaned close to Taliah and whispered, “Turn away so they don’t see your beauty.” He curled her toward his chest, and Taliah cried out at the sudden shift in position. Eleazar shouted, “Shut up, girl, or I’ll break your other leg.”

  The slave drivers laughed and nodded as they passed, satisfied that Eleazar was an overseer sufficiently abusive to his own people.

  “There’s no need to act like a barbarian just because they’ve trained you to fight like one.” Taliah’s sudden venom startled them all.

  Eleazar considered dropping her in the dust. Doda drew a breath to speak but shook her head and kept walking. Hoshea’s eyes were the size of ostrich eggs, but he dutifully held the lamb’s wool under the girl’s splinted leg.

  Taliah seemed ready for a fight, but silence had served Eleazar well for forty-seven inundations. He ignored her, whi
ch seemed to cause her greater discomfort than her broken leg.

  “If my abba had learned a trade, or even worked the mud pits, he wouldn’t have left us when Ima died.”

  Eleazar stared down at her and lifted a single brow. He refused to acknowledge the untested opinions of one who had been sheltered in the palace all her life.

  Doda, however, stroked Taliah’s forehead as they walked, drawing the girl’s attention. “I was there when your ima died giving birth to your little sister, dear, and your abba moved heaven and earth to secure a safe place for you to serve in the harem. I was the one entrusted to deliver you to the palace that day.”

  “You?” Taliah twisted in Eleazar’s arms to search Doda’s face. The little band halted on the road, while Taliah’s fingers traced the wrinkles on Doda’s forehead and cheeks. A tear slipped from the girl’s eye. “I remember. Yes.”

  Doda trapped the girl’s hand against her cheek. “You were very young, and we only met a few times. Your abba chose the best life for you, and El Shaddai has protected you all these years.”

  Taliah pulled her hand away. “I protect myself. Those who wait on men or gods to help are always disappointed.” Doda winced as if she’d been slapped. If Putiel were here, Eleazar would suggest a good spanking for his daughter.

  “Let’s get home.” Eleazar resumed their walk, nodding toward the Hebrew village now in sight. When they rounded the corner of the first row of long houses, they saw Abba Aaron waiting outside Miriam’s doorway. Gasping, Eleazar nearly broke into a run even with the fragile girl in his arms. “Are Saba and Savta well?”

  Hoshea lunged to keep up.

  Taliah cried out, “You big ox! My leg!” But Eleazar was focused on his abba’s drawn features.

  “I must speak with you inside, Miriam.”

  He offered no answer to Eleazar. Not even a Shalom. Eleazar should be accustomed to Abba’s disregard by now. The absence of mourners implied Saba and Savta were still alive. He would concentrate on that and be thankful for Doda, Saba, and Savta—and expect nothing from his parents or two older brothers.

  Abba Aaron held the curtain aside for Doda Miriam and then barged in after her. Eleazar stood at the covered doorway with Taliah and Hoshea. Doda Miriam returned to pull aside the curtain, her eyes communicating an apology that wasn’t hers to give. Eleazar ducked through the door sideways while Hoshea continued supporting Taliah’s leg with the lamb’s wool.

  “Miriam, did you hear me?” Abba Aaron shouted. “I’ve had a dream.”

  Doda tugged at Eleazar’s arm. “You can lay her on my mat. I’ll get reeds from the river to weave another mat later today.”

  “Miriam, I must leave immediately—”

  “Calm down, Aaron.” Doda shuffled baskets and emerged with mortar and pestle and a few poppy seeds. “I’ll listen after I ease Taliah’s pain.”

  “You’ll listen now!” he shouted, halting everyone where they stood. Eleazar had never heard Abba raise his voice—only Ima Elisheba shouted orders in their family.

  “What is so urgent, Aaron?” Doda Miriam set aside the mortar and pestle and folded her hands, annoyed.

  “El Shaddai spoke to me in a dream, Miriam—as He speaks to you. I’m to find our brother in Midian and bring him back to Egypt.”

  Eleazar needed to shake some sense into Abba. Hurriedly, he set Taliah on Doda’s mat, and she cried out. “I’m sorry,” he said, rushing back to Abba. “You’ve lived eighty-three inundations. You’re a Hebrew slave. You can’t leave Rameses. You don’t even know if Mehy is alive.”

  “Moses is alive.” Doda Miriam spoke in a whisper, tears pooling on her lashes. She and Abba stared at each other, communicating years of yearning for a brother they’d never truly known. “Shaddai has repeatedly shown Moses to me in dreams. He no longer wears the armor of Pharaoh’s army but carries a shepherd’s staff and walks among a flock of sheep. He sings the songs I sang to him as a child when I served his Egyptian mother as her handmaid.”

  “You see, he’s a shepherd in Midian!” Abba Aaron was more excited than Eleazar had ever seen him.

  “If El Shaddai gave you this dream, Aaron, He will make a way. You must go.”

  “This is nonsense!” Eleazar glared at his elders and finally focused on Abba. “You’ve never left Rameses. You have no idea what Sinai is like. You’ll die before the first encampment.”

  “Send Hoshea with him.” Doda stood calmly at Eleazar’s right shoulder. “Hoshea accompanied you with Prince Ram’s troops along the Way of Horus on your last march to Kadesh. Aaron and Hoshea will travel with the same ruse we suggested to Moses forty years ago. He’ll pose as a rich merchant traveling with the next caravan. Hoshea will act as Aaron’s personal guard.”

  “No, no, no!” Eleazar looked at his wide-eyed apprentice and back at Doda. “It won’t work. Abba looks nothing like a merchant.”

  “His hands look like merchant hands.” Taliah spoke from Doda’s mat, pointing as Abba smiled and inspected his uncallused hands.

  If Eleazar wasn’t so angry, he might have been impressed by her sharp observation. “My abba is a metal crafter. He sits at a bench all day making jewelry.” He offered the rest of his protest to Abba Aaron. “You have no merchant’s robe, no gold or silver for travel, and you’re too old to wander the desert.”

  Abba held his gaze. “Everything you say is true, Eleazar, but if El Shaddai calls, I’m going.” How long had it been since he’d actually looked at Eleazar? Abba narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, a sign that he was pondering. “You didn’t mention Hoshea’s part in the journey—whether you would send him with me or not. Why?”

  Eleazar hadn’t mentioned Hoshea because it was the only part of the plan that could work. As Hoshea’s commander, Eleazar could easily cover his absence. “I won’t send him because you’re not going.” He stared unflinching at his abba. Why must their first words in years be cross?

  “Eleazar, listen.” Doda’s hand rested on his forearm.

  He shrugged off her hand. No, I’m not giving in this time.

  Abba Aaron drew nearer, his countenance brightening with hope. “El Shaddai will provide a merchant’s robe, gold, and strength for the journey, my son. I need only provide the faith.”

  “He’s already provided the robe.” Doda held out her arms, displaying the fine linen she’d worn for her audience with Pharaoh. “We can combine the cloth from my robe and Taliah’s harem robe to provide enough to make one for Aaron.”

  “But…” Eleazar looked at Taliah, his mind racing.

  “We’ll cover her with rough-spun, dear,” Doda said, grinning. She left Eleazar’s side and stepped into Abba Aaron’s embrace. They held each other as if the other were a lifeline. “If you’re sure El Shaddai gave you this dream, He will indeed provide all you need for the journey.”

  Eleazar grabbed Doda’s arm, pulling the siblings apart. “You said, ‘If El Shaddai gave him this dream.’ Why can’t you ask Him? You should be able to know for sure if this is from your God.”

  The sadness in her eyes made him regret his rash demands. “Shaddai has spoken through no one but me since the days of Joseph, but today has been a day of changes. Even now, I don’t feel His presence as I always have.” She returned her attention to her brother. “If Shaddai has chosen to include you in His counsel, Aaron, it is both a blessing and a burden. Bear it well—and bring our brother home.”

  Eleazar’s heart leapt to his throat. Please don’t go, Abba. But the words died in his mind as Abba left the small room without a backward glance.

  Hoshea touched Eleazar’s shoulder. “Will I accompany him then?” A spark of adventure danced in the boy’s eyes.

  Eleazar looked first at Doda, then at Taliah, and then back at his eager young apprentice. “Yes, you’ll go, Hoshea. And if my abba dies, don’t come back.”

  5

  O God, do not remain silent;

  do not turn a deaf ear,

  do not stand aloof, O God.

  See how your enemie
s growl,

  how your foes rear their heads.

  —PSALM 83:1–2

  The season of Akhet was both blessing and curse. The Nile would reach its peak, and grain stores would wane. Pharaoh’s tax collectors had measured the rising Nile the previous week, forecasting the highest inundation in forty years—as if anyone could trust tax collectors. The Nile’s blessing meant better harvest and higher taxation of Pharaoh’s people, from the noblemen in the city of Rameses to the peasants and slaves of Goshen. Miriam had no idea what noblemen were taxed, but Egyptian peasants returned to Pharaoh one-fifth of their annual produce from gardens and flocks. Hebrews surrendered three-fifths.

  The peasants lived in mud-brick houses, little more than huts, interspersed among the slaves’ long houses. Though some peasants owned Hebrews—and worked them like cattle—an Egyptian’s belly rumbled as loud as a slave’s when their grain stores ran low.

  In the two weeks since Taliah had come to live with Miriam, supplies had dwindled considerably. Not because the opinionated beauty ate so much, but because everyone’s provisions were running low. The few patients Miriam treated that might have been able to pay a few months ago, now had no herbs, food, or linen to spare. And she refused to turn anyone away.

  “I need to contribute.” Taliah hobbled toward the back room on the crutch she’d made, carrying a bowl of warm water and towels. “At least I can help tend Amram and Jochebed. I can’t stand being idle while you do all the work and Eleazar provides the food from his and Hoshea’s rations.”

  Miriam hung a few more herbs from the rafters. “I’m sure Abba and Ima would be happy to see more of you. They love your knowledge of Egyptian history—especially the stories that involve my brother Mehy.”

  Taliah halted at the dividing curtain. “I still can’t believe you’re General Mehy’s sister.” She shook her head and disappeared into the adjoining room.