by Mesu Andrews
“Unexpected battles,” Ram repeated. “Life is full of them.” He swung low, and Eleazar jumped over the heavy ax blade. “Like the unexpected appearance of those two slaves this morning. And the unexpected way their serpent devoured the magicians’ snakes.” He swung the ax at an angle, nearly slicing Eleazar’s shoulder.
Eleazar blocked with his sword, and the wooden blade split in half.
Prince Ram let his hands fall to his sides, stretched his neck, and smiled like a hyena circling his prey. “We must also prepare for the unexpected return of my putrid brother, Kopshef.” As he spoke the name, fury launched Prince Ram’s battle-ax at Eleazar’s neck.
Eleazar ducked and, while Ram was unbalanced from his miss, he kicked the prince’s legs from beneath him. Ram landed in the dust, and every sparring match ceased. All attention turned to the prince on the ground. Eleazar’s first instinct was to offer assistance, to beg forgiveness, to show remorse. Any of which would have gotten him killed.
Instead, he offered his splintered sword and kept his voice at barely a whisper. “And if you attack Crown Prince Kopshef with uncontrolled rage, the unexpected will land you in the dust.”
Prince Ram’s lips curved into a slow smile before he barked orders at the others. “Get back to work!” He stood and shoved Eleazar from their sparring circle. “Follow me.”
Eleazar retrieved the prince’s battle-ax and handed it and his broken sword to the weapons keeper as they exited the armory gates. He walked silently beside his master toward the palace complex, waiting for Ram to share the inner turmoil that mirrored his own. Both of them hated Kopshef. Different reasons. Same intensity.
“Why do you think Father summoned my brother? Have I failed the great Pharaoh somehow?”
“May I speak plainly, my prince?”
“Be careful, Eleazar, but yes. You may speak.” Though Ram shared Eleazar’s disdain for Kopshef, there was still a bold line between master and slave, Egyptian and Hebrew.
“Your brother is not just high priest of Ptah but also the greatest magician in Egypt. When your father saw the Hebrews’ serpent devour the magicians’ snakes…” Eleazar paused, hesitant to say Ramesses was afraid. “Pharaoh seemed affected by the Hebrews’ trick. It makes sense that your father would summon Prince Kopshef—a magician—to command Egypt’s gods, but he trusts you to command Egypt’s military.”
Ram flashed a sideways grin. “My brother will certainly never command the military—no matter how many sword drills Putiel put him through as a child.” Putiel, with Eleazar as his apprentice, had trained all four of Ramesses’s oldest sons in military and life skills. Ram had learned well. Kopshef often balked at instruction.
Though Eleazar dreaded losing Taliah to a husband, he looked forward to seeing his old friend again. “Putiel always said a warrior’s weapons were wisdom and strength, but a coward fought with deceit and trickery.”
“Which is why my brother is a master magician and not a soldier.” Ram’s jaw muscle danced in rhythm with his steps. “Kopshef has tricked Pharaoh and others into believing he commands the gods, but Kopshef himself isn’t a god until he sits on Egypt’s throne.” He looked at Eleazar, raising a single eyebrow. “If he ever sits on Egypt’s throne.”
Eleazar offered a simple nod, neither smiling nor frowning. His duty was to protect and serve Prince Ram—whatever that entailed. He’d worry about conspiracies and coups after Prince Kopshef arrived. For now, he was more worried about Kopshef’s personal guard.
He’d ask Putiel face to face why he never responded to the message he’d sent, and then they’d sit down with their cups of beer and talk of Taliah’s marriage. Eleazar would nod, smile, and give approval to whomever her abba chose. After all, what did it matter to Eleazar whom she married? She was no longer his concern. Doda would have one less mouth to feed, and Eleazar could return to life as normal.
So why did he feel dread each time he looked to the quay for Kopshef’s royal barque?
21
The LORD said to Moses, “Tell Aaron, ‘Take your staff and stretch out your hand over the waters of Egypt—over the streams and canals, over the ponds and all the reservoirs—and they will turn to blood.’ Blood will be everywhere in Egypt, even in vessels of wood and stone.”
—EXODUS 7:19
The morning sun shone through the window, brightening Abba Amram’s face as Miriam cooled him with a wet cloth. Taliah fed Ima Jochebed leftover rations from last night and regaled them with history lessons of Prince Mehy’s battles.
She offered Ima a sip of cool water. “I still can’t believe the same warrior in my stories now empties our waste pots each morning.”
Moses had left no room for argument when he’d taken over the household’s vilest chore. “The Hebrews would rather slit my throat than let me work beside them in the fields or mud pits. I must be of use,” he’d told them.
Miriam understood the need to feel useful, so Moses emptied the pots. For the past two days, however, the chore had fallen to her. Yesterday, Moses and Aaron had left Goshen before dawn to confront Pharaoh. As expected, the staff-to-serpent miracle hadn’t convinced Pharaoh to release the Israelites, but word spread quickly through Goshen that Aaron’s serpent devoured the magicians’ snakes.
Taliah’s students asked her to tell them the story, and several Hebrews gathered around to listen. From there, whispers and gossip spread at the river as women gathered water for their families. Faith in Yahweh’s power was growing, as was Moses’s notoriety.
Yesterday afternoon he’d withdrawn, and Miriam knew he’d likely gone to their private palm tree. This time, she didn’t follow. At dusk, she used the hand signals Moses had taught her to send Sattar to find him. Neither the dog nor her brother returned, but why worry? Surely, Yahweh would protect His appointed deliverer.
A few Judean elders came to the long house after dark. “Have you any dreams or visions for us, Miriam? Any word from Yahweh on what to expect next?”
She could hardly get the word past the lump in her throat. “No.”
Was that pity in their gaze or condescension? Miriam let the curtain fall and left them standing at the doorway.
It was well after the moon’s zenith when Sattar led her brother through the doorway, but Miriam pretended to sleep. Moses woke her before dawn, saying he’d heard from Yahweh again and must wake Aaron for another confrontation with Pharaoh at the river. He walked out that morning, leaning heavily on his staff, looking every bit of his eighty years old. Miriam tried to feel compassion for Moses, but found she could only yearn for his weariness. Please, Shadd…Yahweh, use me for Your purpose among the Israelites. Take me to Yourself as a bride, as family, and let me feel Your love as I once did.
Silence had shrouded her morning chores. She’d eaten little and spoken less as she tended to Abba and Ima’s care. “Are you trying to wash off the dirt or my wrinkles?” Abba Amram grinned, but her distracted rubbing had left a red mark on his arm.
“Oh Abba. I’m sorry.” Tears threatened. “I’ll get some aloe to soothe it.”
Before she could struggle to her feet, he caught her arm. “What’s bothering you, my girl?” On the neighboring mat, Ima Jochebed pushed away the bread Taliah offered.
All eyes were on Miriam, and she felt her cheeks flush. If only an injured slave would walk through the door so she wouldn’t have to confess the jealousy and self-pity that nearly drowned her. Why had Yahweh taken away her place of honor among the tribes? Had she displeased Him somehow? She closed her eyes, sending tears down her cheeks.
“Tell us what troubles you, daughter.” Ima Jochebed reached across Abba to pat her arm.
“It’s stupid and selfish and…” She took a deep breath. “I miss Shaddai’s nearness.” It was true but sounded too honorable. They deserved the whole truth, but she couldn’t say it above a whisper. “I miss feeling important.”
“Hmm.” Abba quirked his mouth, completely noncommittal.
“I’m terrible, aren’t I?” She covered he
r face.
“Awful,” he said. “You’re absolutely awful.”
“Abba!” Horrified, Miriam looked up.
Abba’s mischievous grin awaited her. “Yahweh is still near, Miriam. He’s everywhere.” He laughed and opened his arms. She fell across his chest, and he patted her back as he’d done since she was a girl. “When God is silent, He expects our patience and will reward our faith. Rest in the silence, and trust He’s near.” Ima turned on her side and stroked Miriam’s hair. Even in her parents’ weakness, they gave Miriam strength.
Eleazar’s tortured voice came from the doorway, “What’s wrong? Is Saba all right?” He knelt beside Abba Amram.
“I’m fine, my boy,” Abba patted his hand.
Eleazar sat back and glanced at Miriam. “Then something is bothering you.” It was an observation, not a question.
“I’m fine too, dear.” She need not give her nephew another reason to be angry with Yahweh.
“Hmm.” Eleazar looked dubiously at all four members of the household. Then with a single nod produced Abba Amram’s favorite rations—cucumbers and nabk-berry bread. “This should make everyone feel better.”
Taliah helped Abba and Ima divide their portions, while Miriam spoke quietly to Eleazar. “I was afraid you were late because Ramesses discovered your connection to Aaron and Moses.”
He cast an uncomfortable glance at Taliah before answering. “I was late because…” He pushed to his feet and disappeared for only a moment behind the dividing curtain. He returned holding a blue byssus sheath, as sheer as a butterfly’s wings, and shoved it in Taliah’s direction—eyes focused on his sandals. “It’s meant to be worn over a linen robe, but you’ll make it look lovely even on rough-spun.” Taliah’s countenance brightened. Eleazar cleared his throat and continued, “Your abba Putiel is returning to Goshen and will undoubtedly make a marriage match for you very quickly. You’ll need something special to wear for your wedding.”
Taliah’s whole countenance wilted, but she tried to mask it by slicing the bread. “I need no token gift to remind me of you, Eleazar. My leg aches every evening where you broke it.” Her hand trembled as she offered some bread to Ima Jochebed.
Eleazar stepped toward her, extending the sheath. “Pharaoh summoned Prince Kopshef, so your abba could be here in a matter of days. You won’t have time to make wedding preparations, Taliah.” He shook the sheath, urging her to take it.
Taliah looked up, eyes pooled with tears, and then stood with the elegance of a queen. “Give the sheath to the next girl whose leg you break.” She left the room, chin held high, but Miriam knew her heart was broken. Taliah hadn’t spoken of her feelings for Eleazar, but they’d been clear since the morning they’d treated his whipping wounds.
“You’re foolish, my boy.” Abba Amram spoke the words on Miriam’s mind, and Eleazar glared at her as if she’d said them.
Miriam shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. I—”
Ima Jochebed’s shriek nearly split Miriam’s head. Eleazar rushed toward her. “What is it?”
Her eyes wide with terror, she pointed to the bowl and rag Miriam had used to bathe Abba Amram earlier. “The water…it…”
Miriam glanced at the bowl. Startled, she quickly checked Abba’s arm, his face, his chest. “No blood or injuries.” Then she looked into the bowl. Smelled it. “The water has turned to blood.”
Eleazar stood like a statue. “Where did the blood come from?” Screams erupted suddenly all over the village, echoing beyond Goshen into the city of Rameses. Eleazar ran from the room, leaving unanswered questions in his wake.
Taliah returned holding the water jugs she’d filled at the river earlier. “Water to blood,” she whispered and then looked at Miriam. “Didn’t you pour water from a pitcher and it turned to blood at the elders’ meeting on the plateau?”
Miriam covered a gasp, and then came understanding. “It’s Yahweh, Taliah. Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh this morning to display another miracle. Yahweh has turned Egypt’s water to blood.”
“All of it?” Taliah’s voice squeaked in panic.
Miriam lifted one shoulder, excitement building. “It makes sense. Yahweh’s miracle increased in grandeur from Aaron’s first staff-to-serpent display on the plateau to the demonstration of power in Pharaoh’s throne hall. And now the same increase with the water-to-blood miracles.”
Miriam turned to Abba and found his face filled with wonder. “Perhaps we’ll live to see Israel delivered from Egypt after all.”
“What will we drink?” Ima’s voice was small.
Miriam felt her first pang of fear. “Taliah and I made a two-day supply of beer.” She eyed Taliah, coaxing her out of the room to check it.
The girl returned nodding. “The beer remains, but our bread dough mixed with honey and water to ferment for the next batch is ruined. That water turned to blood.”
“Yahweh will show us how to survive.” Abba patted Miriam’s knee, smiling serenely.
But Taliah remained at the doorway, pale as fine linen. “This God of yours is real, isn’t He?”
22
The fish in the Nile will die, and the river will stink; the Egyptians will not be able to drink its water.
—EXODUS 7:18
Eleazar stood at strict attention, holding the reins of Prince Ram’s black stallion, waiting for Prince Kopshef’s entourage to pass by. The crown prince traveled with as much pomp and ceremony as Pharaoh himself. Musicians, dancers, and priests led his processional from the quay, up the palatial hill, and through the royal gates as his train of servants followed carrying golden chests overflowing with robes, jewelry, and potions. Prince Kopshef himself rode a prancing white stallion, while Pharaoh waited on his throne atop three hundred steps of gleaming white marble. The aroma of lotus and acacia was nearly as overwhelming as the crowd’s cheers.
As Prince Kopshef’s stallion passed, Eleazar noted his personal guard was a massive Nubian, not Putiel. Perhaps Putiel was demoted, sent back to the ranks of Kopshef’s military detail. Eleazar hoped it didn’t have anything to do with the census request and veiled message he’d sent weeks ago. He scoured the throngs of military slaves that followed but didn’t see Putiel. In fact, he saw no Hebrew slaves at all.
His heart began to pound an unsteady rhythm. Prince Ram, as commander of Egypt’s army, had sent over a thousand Hebrews under Putiel’s command to accompany the crown prince four years ago. They were to assist and defend the building of underground burial chambers where the future sacred Apis bulls of Ptah would be entombed after the entire country mourned their loss. As one of many ambitious building projects of Ramesses, the Apis tombs of Saqqara had met with some resistance from local peasantry—which was quickly squelched by a small detail of Prince Ram’s best warriors. The Hebrews were needed only to guard the workmen at the burial chambers, maintain the soldiers’ weapons, and serve Kopshef’s guards as the crown prince traveled to and from his palace in Memphis.
Prince Ram leaned over to stroke his stallion’s neck and whispered to Eleazar. “My brother wouldn’t last one round in a circle of combat with you.”
Eleazar made no reply. None was expected. Prince Ram had spent his whole life competing with Kopshef—Nefertiry’s firstborn. Prince Ram’s mother, Isetneferet, had become Second Great Wife only after Nefertiry, the First Great Wife, died four years ago. Prince Ram had always been second. Second in succession. Second in temple ceremonies. Second in Egypt’s heart. Ram was, however, first in his father’s favor.
“Come, Eleazar.” Ram urged his horse to a slow walk. “Let’s hear what my parasitic brother says after sailing on a bloody Nile for four days. No doubt he’s waiting for an audience with our father before changing it back to water.”
Eleazar jogged alongside his prince, perhaps more anxious to hear the report than his master. When Eleazar had delivered his rations to Doda’s household earlier, he’d found Saba Amram unconscious and Ima Jochebed delirious. Dehydration from rationed water had been hardest
on the elderly and the infirm. Since Yahweh had turned the Nile to blood four days ago, all of Egypt had resorted to digging seep holes beside the river to filter out the blood through dirt, sand, and rocks.
Well, not all of Egypt had resorted to digging seep holes.
Pharaoh sat atop his tower of stairs, a table with a golden goblet at his right hand. He lifted the bejeweled cup to his lips, gulped lustily, and motioned for a servant to refill it. The maid poured from a large amphora, holding it a cubit above the cup, spilling wine on her white gown, the table, and even Pharaoh’s hand. The Son of Horus laughed while the rest of Egypt licked dry, cracked lips.
Eleazar clenched his fists, straining to remain calm when he longed to burst through the crowd and snatch an amphora of wine for his family. How could Pharaoh waste the sweet nectar when Saba and Savta were dying? Doda Miriam’s whole household had to dig and filter water from seep holes beside the river and then boil it before drinking. Even then, they barely gathered a cup per person each day.
Prince Ram dismounted his stallion with the grace of a falcon in flight. “Welcome home, Brother!” he said, affixing a smile as he approached Kopshef.
The crown prince slid from his mount and opened his arms wide, forcing the same feigned delight. “Little brother, I see the walls of Rameses are still standing.” They locked wrists in a grip that would have felled weaker men.
Eleazar took his place at Ram’s shoulder across from Kopshef’s personal guard. The Nubian was a head taller than Eleazar and focused on a distant nothing. His ebony skin glistened in the midday sun, every muscle taut and bulging. Eleazar hoped he would never have to fight him.
Prince Kopshef’s smile revealed perfectly straight teeth matching his pure white robe. The long byssus linen and simple gold straps were typical for priests, but the crown prince distinguished himself with two pieces of jewelry. He wore a golden uraeus band on each bicep—a rearing cobra and a perched vulture—signs of authority over both Lower and Upper Egypt.
