by Mesu Andrews
Taliah gasped. “The Hebrews thought you were defiled like me, Miriam?” Her eyes went wide. “But he’s your brother!”
Taliah’s horror coaxed a chuckle from the siblings. Moses looked a little squeamish, so Miriam explained. “When Prince Mehy branded me, he was still master of the estate, and only a few people knew he was my brother. The brand meant I was Mehy’s concubine so no Egyptian would touch me.”
“Did you ever dream of marrying, Miriam?” Taliah’s voice was small, vulnerable.
“Once, when I was very young, but a dear friend married him, and they were happy together. It’s all right, though. No other man could compete with my love for El Shaddai.”
Moses looked surprised, but he wasn’t as surprised as Miriam. She’d never told anyone of her love for Hur. He’d married the midwife Shiphrah when Miriam was a little girl, but she’d always loved him—as a lifelong friend.
Taliah kissed Moses’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For hearing me.” She pulled her sleeve over her brand and grabbed a water jug. “I’m going to the river for water this morning.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Will you come with me, Miriam?”
“I’d love to, dear.” It was a small step, but a good one. If Taliah could learn to ask for help and rely on others, perhaps someday she could even trust El Shadd—Yahweh.
Miriam hurried to follow, mouthing a silent thank you to Moses as she left. How had he known the depth of Taliah’s need for fatherly advice, for unconditional love? Shaddai, thank You for bringing Moses to encourage my young friend.
When they returned from the river, Taliah set about her morning chores. Miriam found Moses visiting with their parents and leaned close to whisper, “Well, you’ve certainly made a good first impression.” She elbowed his ribs, and they laughed together. It felt good to laugh with him—a little strange, but good. They’d need to re-introduce themselves, but so far she liked this shepherd brother of hers.
Hoshea soon arrived with their morning rations, claiming Eleazar was “indisposed” but would come after dusk to accompany Miriam and Moses to the elders’ meeting.
When the sun had risen over the eastern mountains and still no injured slaves had arrived, Taliah shooed Miriam and Moses off to spend some time alone. Miriam knew of only one place they could be alone, but dare she divulge her quiet, shady paradise south of Rameses? A lone palm stood beside a dry creek bed that had not yet been filled by the Nile’s inundation. In a month, this lonely place would be under water, but it was her favorite place on earth—and she would share it with Moses.
Sattar frolicked in the tall grass, chasing a desert hare and disrupting a nightjar in its nest. “I wasn’t sure he’d adjust from tending flocks in the wilderness to naps and crowds in the Delta.” Sattar chose that moment to leap into the air, nearly catching a bird in flight. His two masters laughed at his antics.
“It feels good to laugh,” Miriam said, settling under the palm. She drew up her knees, still able to circle her arms around them and clasp her hands. She’d hoped silence would soothe her but found stillness most troubling of all. “Why didn’t El Shaddai tell me His secret name, Moses? Why did He not tell me about His deliverance?”
Moses lay on his side, chewing on a long blade of grass. He didn’t answer right away, preferring it seemed to watch a hoopoe bird plunge its beak into the dust for insects. She’d nearly given up on his answer, when she heard a quiet whisper. “I was tending Jethro’s flocks on the far side of the wilderness, and I’d climbed far up Mount Horeb, the mountain of God. I saw a bush on fire, but it didn’t burn up. As I drew near, I saw the angel of the Lord within its flames, and I started to walk closer, but a Voice from the bush called my name.”
“Yahweh said your name?” Miriam’s question came out on a sob.
“I’m sorry, Miriam. I’ll stop if hearing about my encounter upsets you.”
“No, no! My tears are more wonder than jealousy. He said your name, Moses?” She shook her head, barely able to fathom it. “How marvelous to hear your name from the lips of God.” She wiped her cheeks and tried to stem the tears. “Please, go on.” The sadness on his face shamed her heart. Why had she allowed pettiness to cause him regret?
“The Voice from the bush said, ‘Take off your sandals, for the place where you’re standing is holy ground.’ I hid my face because I knew I’d heard and seen God—the One True God you’d told me about when we were children. He told me He was sending me to Pharaoh to bring His people, the Israelites, out of Egypt, and I asked, ‘Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?’ ”
Miriam’s breath caught. It’s what she desperately wanted to know. Why Moses? Why not her? “What did He say?”
“He said, ‘I will be with you; that will be your sign that it was I who sent you.’ ” Moses held her gaze. “This isn’t about you or me, Miriam. This isn’t even about Israel or its deliverance. What we’re going to experience is about Yahweh showing the world He is the One True God.”
14
Moses said to the LORD, “Pardon your servant, Lord….I am slow of speech and tongue.”
—EXODUS 4:10
Eleazar was a coward. A brave man would admit that his aversion to Taliah’s independence was rooted in his desire to make her his own. A courageous man would admit his bitterness toward Moses was because of the love and admiration Doda showered on her long-lost brother—love and admiration that until now had been reserved for Eleazar alone.
Eleazar knew he was a coward, but how many others were aware? Surely Moses could see it. He’d been regarded as one of the greatest military minds of Egypt, a warrior trained to recognize fear. He knew how to read people’s actions and reactions. How long before he recognized that Eleazar’s barbs and sharp comments were merely masking deeper feelings?
How long before you admit you love Taliah?
The silent voice inside his head was unmistakable, indescribable. Pulling at his hair with both hands, he growled in frustration. Perhaps he was going mad. Why couldn’t he treat Taliah with the same indifference he’d treated the women Prince Ram had given him? That was easily answered. It was because Taliah was unlike any woman he’d ever met. The spirit of a warrior lived inside her. Infuriating as she was, the fire within her drew him like a moth to a flame.
If only Putiel would respond to his message. Then he’d be free of her, and Taliah could find a good man who could protect and love her as she deserved. Perhaps the first letter never reached Putiel. Should he send another? What if a second message stirred Kopshef’s overly suspicious nature? He couldn’t risk it.
He couldn’t avoid her forever. He’d sent Hoshea with the morning and evening rations because he didn’t want to face Taliah or Moses. Ridiculous. Would he spend the rest of his life hiding in his chamber?
Tell her you love her.
Eleazar marched out the door, slamming it behind him, refusing to acknowledge the treasonous voice inside. To care for Taliah would place her in danger and thereby betray his vow to Putiel. He may be a coward, but he was no traitor to his friends. He grabbed a torch from the wall and started for Goshen.
Before he realized it, he was running. Through the palace gates, past the industrial section, and too soon arriving at Doda’s village. He rounded the corner of her long house and stopped dead in his tracks. Taliah sat huddled around a torch with three small children, drawing a horse and chariot with her finger in the dust.
“Pharaoh Ramesses took his first four sons to the battle of Kadesh as a part of their military training. One of them wasn’t much older than you, Masud. Kadesh was the greatest battle ever won by the Egyptian army.”
“Kopshef was twelve, the age of manhood.” Eleazar stepped nearer, adding his torchlight to theirs. “Princes Ram and Wen were eleven, and Prince Khaem was nine.”
Taliah looked up, torchlight dancing in her eyes. “You were there?”
“I was there with your abba. He saved Princ
e Kopshef’s life.”
“How?” Her face fairly glowed with wonder, but the story wasn’t wondrous.
Eleazar looked into the wide, innocent eyes of the children and remembered the blood dripping from Prince Kopshef’s sword. Some children weren’t so innocent. “That’s not a story for your students.”
Her smile dimmed, but she recovered quickly. “Would you like to meet my new friends?” Without waiting for his reply, she began introductions. “This is Masud. He’s eight. And this is his brother, Haji.”
“I’m six!” the boy held up two chubby hands, showing all fingers on one and a thumb on the other.
“Yes, and this is Tuya,” Taliah added, while the little girl hid behind her. “She’s five and a little shy.”
Eleazar felt crimson creeping up his neck and cheeks. The temperature had surely risen; it felt like noonday. “Very nice to meet you.”
Masud reached for Eleazar’s cudgel. “Can I play with your weapon?” Eleazar instinctively slapped his hand, frightening the boy. Masud’s eyes went wide before releasing an ear-piercing howl.
Taliah hugged the boy tight. “It’s all right. Eleazar was protecting you. He didn’t want you to get hurt playing with weapons.”
“I’m sorry. I…I’m…” Eleazar could command an army of slaves but had no idea how to manage a yowling child. He rammed his torch into the leather holster outside the doorway and hurried around the curtain. Doda, Moses, and Hoshea waited inside, and Sattar growled his greeting.
“You look like you’re being chased by hyenas.” Doda grinned.
“Worse—an eight-year-old boy.” The room erupted in laughter. Even the dog stopped growling.
Doda offered him a cup of beer, but he declined. “We should start our climb up the plateau. I want to give ample time for a few respites.”
Someone entered behind him, stirring the air with the scent of acacia and honey. Taliah. He closed his eyes and breathed her in.
“Eleazar?” When he opened his eyes, she was standing in front of him, concern etched on her features. “Are you well?”
“Fine.” Again, heat prickled his cheeks, and he turned to Doda. “Let’s go, let’s go.”
Doda Miriam raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She patted Taliah’s cheek on the way out. Moses and Sattar followed. Eleazar tried to hurry behind them, but Taliah snagged his arm as he passed. “Miriam and I only had to visit three households to find my first three students.” The pride in her eyes shone like the stars.
He wanted to take her in his arms. Instead, he rushed out the door without a word, the cool night air kissing the warmth on his arm where her hand had been.
Hoshea had grabbed the torch to lead the group out of Doda’s village. The last days of Akhet offered shorter days for field workers as more tillable soil slept beneath the Nile’s silt-rich waters. Production slaves, however, maintained the back-breaking quotas of bread, beer, wine, jewelry, and linen. Night workers had gone, and the day shift had returned to Goshen for their evening meal. The villagers had settled in for the evening, families enjoying their fresh breads, stews, and fish over the cook fires. Eleazar’s stomach growled as he savored the aromas wafting through the long house windows.
Hoshea marched as if leading young soldiers to war, and they soon reached the first waste dump. Doda was winded. She’d never be able to climb the plateau at this pace. “I’ll take the torch,” Eleazar said, jogging to the front. Hoshea willingly relinquished it and supported Doda’s left side with Moses on her right. She offered no complaints, a sure sign of her fatigue. Sattar stayed near, never more than a few paces from Doda since he’d adopted her last night.
Moses had seemed preoccupied since they left the long house but finally broke his silence. “Are we going to the plateau we called dead-man’s land when I owned this estate?”
Doda tried to laugh but was breathless from the slight incline. Eleazar answered for her. “It’s still called dead-man’s land, but like everything else since you left, it’s grown bigger and crueler. More Hebrews. More work. More deaths.”
Moses took a deep breath. “When these lands were the premiere Ramessid estates of Qantir and Avaris, Pharaoh Sety invited Egypt’s noblemen to visit the adjoining estates for a month of leisure each year. In preparation for their arrival, Sety ordered the estate foremen to take a census, recording the ages of all slaves on the plateau. On the first day of the noblemen’s arrival, Sety took wagers from the noblemen on the average life span of slaves in dead-man’s land.” Moses grew quiet, his jaw muscle dancing in the moonlight, eyes glistening. “It was a game to them.”
“Thirty to forty,” Eleazar said. Moses turned a furrowed brow his direction. “The life span of a plateau slave. Men live to be thirty or forty. Women die younger.”
Moses was silent for several steps. Eleazar wondered if he’d decided to change the subject. “You’re right,” Moses whispered in the darkness. “Most years the men’s average was thirty-six and the women, thirty. Some women couldn’t bear the abuse and ended their own lives.”
Eleazar’s stomach rolled. “And what did you wager, Prince Mehy?”
“Eleazar!” Doda Miriam stopped. “I won’t have you—”
“It’s a fair question, Miriam.” Moses met Eleazar face to face. “Sety and I had a standing agreement. If I won the wager, he promised to provide an additional basket of grain to each family on the plateau at harvest.”
Eleazar held his gaze. “And if Sety won?”
“He had the right to treat my slaves as his slaves until the next wager.” Moses leaned closer. “He never won. I bribed the guards.” Moses turned and looped his arm with Miriam’s and began the steep climb up the plateau.
Eleazar hurried ahead of them to provide torchlight along the winding path to the top. They climbed in silence, each pondering private thoughts. Eleazar, of course, thought of Taliah. How long before a slave driver saw her playing with village children instead of working in the fields or serving in a home? She needed a skilled husband or a mistress to serve. Hebrews serving in a skilled position or working as military, palace, or house slaves might live to be sixty or more. But what could Taliah do? She would never survive the plateau.
“Eleazar, I must rest.” Doda Miriam reached for Eleazar’s arm, shaking.
“Of course, of course.” He knelt on one knee and created a stool with the other.
She sat down, wrapped an arm around his neck, and kissed his forehead. “Thank you, dear.” Sattar nestled beside her, nudging her hand for a petting. She scratched behind his ears but rested her hand there, showing the extent of her fatigue.
“You should tell me when you are getting too tired.”
Doda waved off his scolding but remained silent—another sign of fatigue.
Moses glanced around them uneasily. “Perhaps we should douse your torch and let the moon guide us the rest of the way so the guards don’t notice our gathering.”
Eleazar bit back a retort. Moses didn’t know this land anymore. He didn’t know the slaves or the slave drivers. The elders’ meeting was at the farthest reaches from the palace, and no Egyptian would venture to the plateau at night. Doda Miriam squeezed Eleazar’s shoulder, and even in the darkness, he could see her silent pleading. For reasons beyond his understanding, Doda needed him to be kind to Moses.
He shoved the flame into the sand without comment.
Doda pushed to her feet. “I’m rested. Let’s go.”
With the torch extinguished, their best weapon against jackals was gone. “Hoshea, you provide rear guard with the hot-pitch torch and give Moses your spear.” Eleazar drew his own spear and marched on.
Finally, they crested the top of the plateau and saw the elders gathered in the distance. Eleazar noticed Moses combing his long gray beard with his fingers, and Doda spoke to him quietly. “Yahweh is with you. Remember?”
“I rrre-mmem-bbber.”
Eleazar found it hard not to stare. The vulnerability on this man’s face didn’t match the quiet stre
ngth he’d witnessed last night. Doda Miriam had once told him that Moses began stuttering as a child after witnessing merciless violence at the hands of his pharaoh grandfather, but the man Eleazar met last night was more consistent with stories of Prince Mehy—top student in the School of the Kap, military commander, Egypt’s vizier. How could Moses fear speaking to a crowd of slaves?
As they neared the last row of elders, Abba Aaron came from the front of the gathering, greeting them with arms open wide. “Moses, welcome!” They met in the middle of the crowd, and Abba embraced his brother, ignoring those accompanying him. Eleazar’s older brothers, Nadab and Abihu, had trailed behind Abba and offered Eleazar a condescending sneer. Now in their sixties, they were too spoiled by Ima’s pampering for any decent woman to marry them. If Eleazar had believed in a god, he would have thanked him that his brothers refused a betrothal to Taliah. She deserved better.
Aaron wrapped his arm around Moses’s shoulders and ushered him through the crowd. Eleazar, refusing to let Doda be forgotten, wrapped his arm around her waist and fairly carried her through the crowd as Sattar cleared a path, baring his teeth at any who threatened to impede their progress. As they neared the front, Eleazar spotted Ima Elisheba and leaned close to Doda. “What’s she doing here?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure she’ll tell us.”
15
And Aaron told them everything the LORD had said to Moses. He also performed the signs before the people, and they believed. And when they heard that the LORD was concerned about them and had seen their misery, they bowed down and worshiped.
—EXODUS 4:30–31
Eleazar steered Doda Miriam toward Ima Elisheba, who was waiting in the front row of elders with a small pitcher in her hands—the only woman among Israel’s leaders.
“It’s about time you got here,” Ima hissed. “I’ve been waiting since dusk. Aaron wanted to come up here alone—before Nadab and Abihu returned home from the metal shop—and I said, ‘Indeed not! You’ll not go to dead-man’s land and wait alone for who knows how long.’ So I came with him and told him the elders would just have to ignore me. I don’t care if they think it unfitting that I’ve come with Aaron. Let them think it, I say. Aaron is the best man among them, and it’s about time someone noticed. This Yahweh seems like He’s finally going to do something about—”
