Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  The most impressive and costly piece of jewelry rested on Kopshef’s chest, the Gold of Praise collar, bestowed on highly esteemed military men. Kopshef’s was the most elaborate of all those belonging to Ramesses’s firstborn sons. It was a mockery, of course. Only a few men had witnessed his cowardice at Kadesh during his rite of manhood, but hundreds had witnessed his blood lust on innocent Hebrew soldiers when he returned to the camp in shame. Kopshef had spent the rest of his life trying to prove his strength.

  “You seem to have misplaced the thousand Hebrews I sent with you to Saqqara,” Ram said, releasing his brother’s wrist.

  “I caught your Hebrews planning an insurrection and killed those involved.”

  Ram’s eyes narrowed. “We never received your census report.”

  “Why would I send a report that said they’re all dead?” Kopshef turned a wicked grin on Eleazar. “Putiel was the instigator.”

  Shock hit Eleazar like a blow, and horror sucked the wind from his lungs.

  “You’ll answer to Pharaoh.” Ram said, turning shoulder to shoulder with his brother toward their father’s throne. The princes began their three-hundred-step climb while Eleazar and the Nubian remained at the base of the stairway.

  The last words Eleazar heard were from Ram. “Putiel saved your life. You know he would never…”

  “I’m sorry.” The Nubian focused forward, barely moved his lips, and kept his voice low. “Many of the Hebrews were good men.”

  Anger surged, but Eleazar gained control in light of the guard’s compassion. “Putiel was like a father to me. What happened?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Eleazar shook with pent-up fury but remained silent, watching as Prince Ram and Kopshef bowed to Pharaoh at the top of the stairs. He had to know. “Putiel has been Kopshef’s teacher and advisor since he was twelve. How could he kill him without—”

  “That’s why he killed him.” The Nubian stole a quick glance at Eleazar and then quickly focused back on the princes, who waved to the adoring crowd and began their descent. “Kopshef summoned me to his chamber, while Putiel’s body still lay dead on the tiles. Four advisors stood around the prince, who held a scroll in his hands. He said the message in it finally gave him reason to be free of the Hebrews that had plagued him his whole life. That’s when he ordered the execution of all Hebrews in Saqqara.”

  Eleazar’s stomach rolled. Was it his message? His scroll? Was Kopshef telling Ram right now about his secret message? “How long ago was this?”

  “Weeks ago, at the end of the month of Thoth.” The Nubian stepped back to clear the way for the princes who had almost reached the last step.

  Eleazar could barely mask his emotion while both he and the Nubian readied their masters’ stallions. The other guard worked as if they’d never exchanged a word. Prince Ram stepped to the sandstone tiles first, hurried over, and mounted his horse. If Ram discovered Eleazar had attached a veiled message, would he confront him immediately or wait until they were away from this crowd? He was so busy checking the bridle and reins, he hadn’t noticed Prince Kopshef sidle up behind him.

  The prince leaned close, whispering, “Pharaoh said I was right to squelch Putiel’s rebellion and purge the holy tombs of the treacherous Hebrews.” Eleazar whirled around to Kopshef’s wry grin. “Perhaps I should find this she-camel mentioned in your message to Putiel and remove her as a threat as well.”

  Eleazar’s mouth went dry. “I don’t know what—”

  “Get away from my guard, Kopshef.” Prince Ram leaned down from his mount. “You stole Putiel, and look what happened.”

  “Yes, look what happened,” he grinned, and then whispered to Eleazar, “Don’t think you can deceive me the way you’ve deceived my dimwitted brother. I can’t prove it was you who added that message, but I will find a way to make all Hebrews pay for the shame Putiel tried to hang on me.”

  He took two long strides and mounted his stallion. The beast pranced and reared, eliciting roaring approval from the crowd. Kopshef lifted his fist as if he were a conquering hero returned from battle—when his greatest accomplishment thus far had been remaining on his spirited horse. Still the crowd cheered, and Kopshef drank in the praise.

  Ram reined his stallion in and bent to speak with Eleazar over the din. “What did Kopshef say to you?”

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Eleazar shouted over the cheering, “when we can speak privately in your chambers.” It was a lie. He could never tell Ram about his personal message added to the scroll or divulge Taliah’s identity—especially now that Kopshef intended her harm.

  Eleazar jogged alongside his master on their way to the stables, fear growing in his belly. It seemed Eleazar wasn’t the only one still carrying scars from Kadesh. The Hebrew friends Eleazar lost had become the seedbed for Prince Kopshef’s lifelong brutality.

  How could Eleazar tell Taliah that her abba had been killed because of the message he’d sent? The one man who could have found her a worthy husband was dead. Eleazar’s chest ached, not because he was running from the palace to the stables, but because he wanted to care for her. Taliah needed a husband, and despite all his protests, he wanted to marry her—that lovely, spirited, intelligent daughter of Putiel.

  But now more than ever, he couldn’t.

  While he was under Prince Kopshef’s suspicion, she was in more danger than ever.

  Dust from the road felt gritty between his teeth, and there was no water—only blood—to wash it away. Doda Miriam was right. Eleazar couldn’t protect any of them.

  23

  The fish in the Nile died, and the river smelled so bad that the Egyptians could not drink its water. Blood was everywhere in Egypt. But the Egyptian magicians did the same things by their secret arts, and Pharaoh’s heart became hard; he would not listen to Moses and Aaron, just as the LORD had said.

  —EXODUS 7:21–22

  The river still flowed red, fish floating and decaying along the banks. Every slave and peasant in Egypt was thirsty—boiling and rationing fetid water. In the last rays of sunset, Eleazar knelt at the seep hole he’d dug beside the Nile, dipping water from the rock-lined pit.

  Prince Kopshef had taken this same posture at midday, bent over a seep hole dug by some thirsty palace slave. Pharaoh had summoned all the wise men, sorcerers, and magicians to observe his son, the great high priest of Ptah, as the master of Egypt’s dark arts demonstrated his skill. Jannes and Jambres, the king’s personal magicians, were there watching as Kopshef scooped out a full bowl of clear water from the seep and passed it among the spectators. After witnessing its relative purity, the audience was held captive by the prince’s gyrations, chanting, and shrieking. Eleazar wondered if anyone else noticed the disparity between Kopshef’s methods and Yahweh’s quiet power.

  With an exhausted sigh, Kopshef poured the water from the bowl, and it hit the ground as blood. The gathered audience clapped politely, but Ramesses lost all restraint. “Should I be impressed that you match the skills of a madman? I have blood already. I want water!”

  The crown prince threw down his magician’s utensils and stormed back to the palace while Jannes and Jambres exchanged a satisfied grin and Prince Ram attempted to soothe his father’s temper. “The blood has dissipated some, and our astrologers say it’s not blood anyway. It’s a red, slimy plant of some kind—the result of an exceptionally hot summer—that will disperse in a few days.”

  Pharaoh leaned close to his second firstborn, but Eleazar saw his fear and heard the whisper. “Whether blood or slime matters little, Ram. If the Hebrew god can strike the Nile, he’s stronger than the Nile god, Hapi, and Kopshef can’t command him.” He then raised his voice to be heard by all. “Jannes and Jambres, find Prince Kopshef and do whatever chanting and sweating you must to make the Nile stop bleeding.” Pharaoh placed his arm around Ram’s shoulders and left the magicians by the river.

  Eleazar sighed, dipping his cup into the seep hole. Out came a little water with a lot of dirt and
sediment. He wasn’t nearly as good at this as Taliah. She’d kept Doda, Moses, Saba, and Savta drinking a cup of water a day when the beer ran out. Eleazar threw the water and sludge back into the hole. Should he try again or hurry to Doda’s long house? If he went to the long house, he’d have to tell Taliah about Putiel and face the truth about Saba and Savta’s weakening condition. Dread pressed his hands back into the hole. He’d try harder to get water.

  “I can’t lose them,” he whispered to no one. Others knelt nearby, mostly women, dipping water from the seeps they’d dug. They’d think he’d lost his mind if he kept whispering to himself. He closed his eyes. Yahweh, if You hear me, be as merciful to my saba and savta as they have been faithful to You.

  The thought of seeing them once more pressed him to his feet. He was wasting precious time on a job Taliah could do better. He made his way toward the long house, nodding greetings to passersby, accepting sympathetic glances and words of concern. Everyone would mourn the loss of Amram and Jochebed. Their age had made them legends. But they weren’t the only ones weakened by this plague. The elderly, infirm, and children struggled with only a single cup of water a day. Even Doda Miriam stumbled with her first step this morning when Eleazar had delivered his rations. Why Yahweh? Why kill the people You’ve promised to help?

  Dragging a hand through his hair, he removed the leather tie at the nape of his neck and saw teeth marks. Taliah. His thoughts were never far from her these days. She hadn’t spoken to him since he’d tried to give her the blue sheath. Why did his first words have to report Putiel’s death?

  His chest constricted as he neared the long house. His private meeting with Prince Ram had uncovered disturbing news. When the princes met Pharaoh at the top of the stairway, Ramesses agreed to Kopshef’s request that all Hebrew slaves be confined to two cities: Rameses and Pithom. Why move all Hebrews to two cities? Was Kopshef preparing a mass extermination? Would he systematically seek to harm anyone connected with Putiel, or would Ramesses keep him too busy with magician’s tricks to bother with Hebrews? Perhaps Moses would have some wisdom on the matter. After all, he lived among the royals for the first forty years of his life. Eleazar arrived at the long house and shoved aside the curtain, finding Moses embracing Doda Miriam. Fear pierced him. “What’s wrong?”

  “She stumbled,” Moses said. “She’s becoming dehydrated.”

  Doda tried to push him away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine.” Doda looked up, her face as pale as goat’s milk. “Your saba and savta are feeling better this evening. They’re both awake but weak.” She tried to walk toward Eleazar but faltered.

  He lunged forward, catching her. “You’re not fine. You can’t take care of everyone else and let yourself become weak.” He leaned close for her alone to hear. “How can you help Taliah grieve for Putiel if you can’t stand up?”

  Doda covered a gasp and pushed away to meet his gaze. “What happened to him?”

  Moses leaned close as Eleazar quietly recounted all he knew. “Kopshef killed Putiel and every Hebrew in Saqqara. He’s always been fearful of rebellion and distrustful of his servants, but he used my veiled message about Taliah as grounds for conspiracy—and killed them all.”

  “If there hadn’t been a message, he would have found another reason.” Moses pinned Eleazar with a stare. “Believe me, hate like that finds a way to lash out. I don’t know Prince Kopshef, but I grew up with men like him. My guess is that Putiel was too noble, too full of integrity. Men like Kopshef kill servants who are mirrors.”

  “Mirrors?” Eleazar asked.

  “Servants who reflect a master’s worst traits by treating the master exactly opposite of how he treats his servants.”

  Eleazar squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. “That describes Putiel perfectly.”

  “What describes him perfectly?” Taliah’s bright voice shattered the hushed moment. “Did you bring Abba here, or am I to meet him at the palace?”

  Near panic, Eleazar would rather have fought fifty men than face Taliah’s hopeful look.

  Doda Miriam laid her hand on Eleazar’s forearm and stepped toward the girl. “Your abba didn’t arrive with Prince Kopshef, dear. None of the Hebrews sent to Saqqara returned.” She fell silent, allowing Taliah’s quick mind to absorb the implications. It didn’t take long.

  Confusion flitted across her beautiful features, and then realization settled like a shroud. Taliah’s chin trembled as she turned to Eleazar for answers. “Do you know what happened?”

  He swallowed hard and thought of Putiel. A warrior’s weapons are wisdom and strength, but a coward fights with deceit and trickery. He was tempted to lie. Tempted to run from responsibility. But it was time he use wisdom and strength to fulfill the vow he’d made to Putiel. “Everyone knew that Prince Kopshef was as ruthless and volatile as his father, but your abba Putiel had always been able to mollify him. No one realized that the prince had such deep-seated hatred for Hebrews and was waiting for an opportunity to revisit his vengeance that began twenty-five years ago.”

  He paused, preparing himself for the hatred he would soon see in her eyes. “When I sent Prince Ram’s census request—and added a personal message—it gave Kopshef a viable reason to accuse Putiel of insurrection. He took out his hatred on every Hebrew soldier in Saqqara.”

  Doda and Moses bowed their heads, and Taliah covered a sob. “How many were killed?”

  “Nearly a thousand.”

  She closed her eyes, sending a stream of tears down her cheeks, and shook her head. When she opened her eyes again, Eleazar saw pity, not anger, and it staggered him. “I’m sorry, Eleazar. You must know it wasn’t your fault.”

  Emotion closed his throat, and he shook with the effort to stem his tears. Prepared for anger, her compassion was too much to bear.

  He needed fresh air and started toward the door, but she stepped in front of him and cradled his cheeks between her hands. “It’s not your fault,” she said again.

  Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her full red lips, drinking in her scent of acacia and honey. When he lifted his head, she didn’t look away, which gave him courage. “Will you marry me, Taliah?” Her pause and instant frown stole every drop of bravery.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why would you marry me now? Is there suddenly less danger? Can you protect me?” She stepped back and crossed her arms. “Or do you feel so guilty about Abba’s death that your sense of duty compels you to marry Putiel’s poor…little…daughter?”

  Her last words came out through tears on the verge of hysteria, and Eleazar felt panic rise again. An image of Ima Elisheba’s tantrums and Abba Aaron cowed into doing as she wished flashed in his mind. But he also remembered the times Savta Jochebed had been upset and Saba Amram had calmly listened and replied. If he and Taliah were to live together for the rest of their lives, he refused to have a marriage like the one his parents had made.

  Closing the gap between them, he circled her waist with his large hands. She wiggled but quieted as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Our lives will be no less dangerous, and though I’ll try to protect you, I’m not sure I can.” Her features softened, and she leaned in slightly as he continued. “I do feel guilty about your abba’s death, but that’s not the reason I proposed.” He allowed himself a slight grin. “I must marry you so I can stop thinking about you so much.”

  She rewarded his humor with a swat and a smile, then poked her head around him to see Doda. “What’s involved in a Hebrew wedding? I’ve lived in the harem since I was five, so I don’t know.”

  Doda rubbed her chin, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Normally, there’s a betrothal and the two families negotiate a bride price—”

  Taliah waved away the advice. “We don’t need a betrothal, and I have no family to negotiate.” She looked up at Eleazar, her eyes sparkling. “I come to you with no dowry.”

  “And you’re a bargain—no bride price.” He winked, causing her cheeks to bloom a rosy red.

  “I’d say we can have the wedding to
morrow.” Doda clapped her hands, delighted. “Abba Amram can say the wedding blessing since he’s regained consciousness, and we’ll invite Aaron, Elisheba, and your brothers.” She grabbed Eleazar’s arm. “Make sure you get word to Ithamar at the palace today.”

  Eleazar felt the joy drain from the moment like water from a cracked jar. “We can’t invite anyone. This marriage must be a secret.” He glanced at Taliah, noting her suspicious look returning. “We must be discreet. I’ve told Prince Ram I’m moving out of the barracks to care for my ailing grandparents, but no one can know I’m married.”

  Taliah shoved him away. “Because you’re ashamed of me. Because everyone believes I was a harem concubine.”

  “No, because—”

  “I almost believed you cared.” She raised her chin, eyes narrowed. “Do you have other secret wives stashed around Goshen? Or maybe at the palace?”

  “No, Taliah, I—”

  “Don’t worry, Commander, you won’t have to hide me because we’re not getting married.” She stormed from the long house without letting him explain.

  Somewhere between disbelief and fury, Eleazar turned to Doda and Moses, who stood silent. “I’m not ashamed of her. Kopshef knows Putiel left a woman in my care and threatened her.” He looked down at his sandals and scuffed the packed-dirt floor. “Perhaps she’ll be safer if I don’t marry her.”

  The comment earned him another swat—this one from Doda. “You’ve finally done the right thing. Don’t stop now just because she’s running like a spooked desert hare.”

  “Taliah? Afraid?” Eleazar looked to Moses for input. “I don’t think she’s afraid of anything.”

  Moses stepped close and put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Son, all of us are afraid of one thing—being alone. Taliah has blustered about being independent since I met her, which means it may be the thing she fears most.”

  “I’ll talk to her, dear.” Doda patted his arm. “Send Hoshea with tomorrow morning’s rations, and then you come tomorrow evening with rations fit for a wedding feast. I’ll have your bride ready.”