Miriam

by Mesu Andrews

  Kopshef bowed, spilling his beer on his father’s shenti. The guests’ unified gasp sobered the crown prince. “Wins your favor, mighty Pharaoh, Giver of Life, Keeper of Harmony and Balance.”

  Every sound stilled, waiting for the king’s reaction. “Very well,” Ramesses said, eyes narrowed. “The city is overrun with antelope since our crops were destroyed. A hunt is in order.”

  A cheer rose from the noblemen, but Eleazar caught Mosi’s slight sneer. A hunt meant a long night of preparation for the royal guards. The Arabian stallions needed care—hooves trimmed, manes clipped, and tails wrapped. The princes would expect their mounts to be fully garbed in feathered headgear, jeweled reins, and metal-worked blankets. Exhaustion swept over Eleazar just thinking about the night ahead.

  Prince Ram motioned Eleazar near and whispered, “I’ll make sure I get the best noblemen for the hunt. You make sure you secure the best horses for their chariots. We’ll win this. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my prince.” Eleazar resumed his statuesque posture and watched his master fume. How could he ask Ram to give weapons, gold, and silver to the Hebrew slaves now? Moses had been adamant that Eleazar and Mosi were a crucial part of Yahweh’s plan to plunder Egyptian weaponry. Eleazar had suggested they wait until their masters were in high spirits at tonight’s celebration before asking for such a gift—but now this.

  He stole a glance at Mosi. The Nubian stood like a granite pillar behind his drunken prince. Kopshef might give half the kingdom, but he wouldn’t remember his promise tomorrow.

  Yahweh, guide me to ask for Egypt’s weapons at exactly the right moment.

  Eleazar inspected every plank and strap of Prince Ram’s chariot and the two prancing stallions harnessed to it, his vision blurred from exhaustion. Ram wouldn’t care that he’d worked all night if a stallion broke free in the middle of the hunt. After the feast, Eleazar had escorted Prince Ram to his chamber, and the prince had made it painfully clear that winning today’s hunt would determine his life’s journey. Eleazar ached to tell the firstborn prince that his life’s journey would be considerably shorter than he realized.

  Prince Ram interpreted his hesitation as rebellion and used his whip on Eleazar for the first time in weeks. Eleazar was banished to the stables to prepare the chariot and horses.

  Wincing as he reached up, Eleazar straightened one black stallion’s feathered headpiece. Without Hoshea in the barracks to tend his wounds, he’d quickly slathered honey on a piece of cloth and trapped it under the back straps of his breast piece. It wasn’t nearly as effective as Doda Miriam’s bandages.

  “Let me help.” Mosi grabbed the horse’s headpiece and nudged him out of the way, keeping a keen eye on the noblemen and princes, making sure he wasn’t seen. “Did you ask Ram for weapons? Is that why he beat you?”

  “The beating came when I kept my mouth shut.” Eleazar shoved Mosi aside. “Get back to Kopshef’s chariot before you get us both killed.” Mosi stepped away, but Eleazar grabbed his shoulder, keeping his voice low. “Did you ask Kopshef for weapons?”

  The Nubian gave him a dark look. “I’m still standing here, aren’t I?”

  The knot in Eleazar’s belly tightened. Moses was counting on them to get the weapons before tonight’s plague.

  “Let’s go.” Prince Ram strode past him to address the team of nobles he’d carefully chosen. Over fifty royal officials had arrived before dawn, feigning neutrality. To choose a prince’s team publicly was political suicide, but bribing a firstborn privately curried favor. Ram raised his voice above the chaos in the stable. “Brothers, my team has been given red flags to tie onto your chariots—the color of blood, the color of victory!” A resounding cheer made Eleazar’s sleep-deprived head pound harder.

  He led the twin stallions out of the stables, through the palace gates, and toward the linen shop, where servants had worked through the night to erect a massive papyrus-woven arch as the starting point for the hunt. Prince Kopshef waited in his chariot, with Mosi holding the reins. Pharaoh, too, waited impatiently with a falcon on his shoulder and a charioteer to guide his own stallions. Every man had a bow strapped to his back and a quiver full of arrows. Many antelopes would die today, providing the main course for another feast this evening.

  Eleazar took his place in the chariot beside Ram and snapped the reins to hurry the twin blacks to the left side of Pharaoh’s chariot. The red-flagged team followed, dimming the predawn light with a rising cloud of dust. Kopshef and his team lined Pharaoh’s right flank and choked on Ram’s dust.

  The king raised his voice above the clanging harnesses and squeaking chariots. “The Son of Horus greets you as Ra emerges on his golden barque from another victory in the underworld. May this day hold victory for us all!” With his blessing, he lifted the falcon into flight, and the stallions’ taut muscles lurched into action.

  Eleazar guided their chariot safely between two of Kopshef’s noblemen, but a third cut him off, nearly tangling the chariot wheels. Prince Ram grabbed the reins and shoved him into the chariot wall, driving his stallions as if being chased by the dread goddess Ammut, devourer of the dead. Careening around the linen shops, he led his red-flagged team to the Nile’s southern shoreline.

  “Take the reins,” he shouted, shoving the leather straps into Eleazar’s hands and bracing himself against the chariot rail. He reached for the bow on his back and nocked an arrow from his quiver. A herd of antelope lifted their heads and bounded away along the grassy banks of the river.

  “Keep us steady.” Ram drew the string back, letting his first shot fly. A bull eland, the largest and slowest male of a Delta herd, dropped to the ground. The first kill belonged to Ramesses’s second son. “Ha-ha!” Ram raised his arms, victorious. Arrows flew past them. Wounded antelopes ran frantically in every direction, barking, whistling.

  “Well done, my prince.” Eleazar slowed the stallions to field dress his kill.

  “What are you doing?” Prince Ram grabbed the reins and slapped them to speed the horses onward. “Keep going. We’ll dress the kills later.” He shoved them back at Eleazar and brought an arrow to his bow for another shot.

  Eleazar weaved between wounded and dead animals, arrows whizzing past them. Men shouted. Ram could be struck by a stray arrow or speared by an injured antelope. The prince would die by plague tonight, but he wouldn’t die under Eleazar’s watch this morning. “My prince, this is insanity. I can’t protect you here.”

  Ram laughed like a madman. Had he heard the concern? Eleazar had seen battle fury, the blood lust that steals a man’s reason and conscience, but never in a hunt for wild game.

  Ram pointed ahead, where it seemed several chariots had circled around a lone palm tree. “Kopshef and father are slowing down. Go! Go!”

  “It’s chaos, my prince. I can’t get you in there.”

  Just then, the feathered fletching of an arrow grazed Eleazar’s shoulder, and Prince Ram cried out in pain. Eleazar’s gaze met Kopshef’s sinister grin as the crown prince lowered his weapon and nodded as Prince Ram slumped over the rail of their chariot. Reining the stallions to a walk, Eleazar noted the arrow protruding from Ram’s back above his left shoulder blade. Painful, but not a mortal wound.

  Ram pushed himself up to stand and offered a wry smile. “Get us to the front of the crowd. I’ll win father’s favor with this injury.”

  Eleazar felt pity for the young man, and rage at Kopshef who was too much like Ramesses. “There is Another whose favor is more important.” Courage swelled inside him. Now was the time to speak plainly to his master.

  But before he could speak, a shout rose above the clang and rumble of chaos around them. “This is what Yahweh, the God of the Hebrews says.” Eleazar reined his horses and searched for the source of the voice among the throng of chariots.

  Moses stood sheltered at the base of Doda’s private palm tree, the place she’d always met with her God. Chariots had slowed and then halted at his appearance. Ramesses stepped out of his chariot and mar
ched toward the Hebrew, bow still in hand, but he stopped when Moses raised his arms and shouted so every nobleman could hear.

  “Yahweh says to all of you, ‘About midnight I will go throughout Egypt, and every firstborn son in Egypt will die—from the firstborn son of Pharaoh who sits on the throne to the firstborn son of the female slave who works at her hand mill. The firstborn of your newly purchased cattle will die as well.” Moses let his words settle in the silence. “There will be loud wailing throughout Egypt—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again—but among the Israelites not a dog will bark at any person or animal.’ ”

  Not a single Egyptian flinched. Moses lowered his arms and surveyed the dead antelopes strewn along the banks of the Nile. He began shaking his head, and his face and neck turned crimson. Eleazar remembered Moses saying he would mourn the moment he was forced to proclaim death to Ramesses’s sons.

  But death was a toy to Pharaoh. Perhaps his uncle had just realized that.

  Moses turned a hard stare on Ramesses, this time shouting at him directly. “After tonight, you will know that Yahweh makes a distinction between Egypt and Israel.” He opened his arms wide, pointing to the gathered chariots. “All these officials of yours will come to me, bowing down before me and saying, ‘Go, you and all the people who follow you!’ And finally, Israel will leave Egypt.”

  Without waiting for Ramesses’s response, Moses stormed away. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke a word. Pharaoh, chin held high, returned to his chariot and signaled his charioteer back to the palace. Kopshef followed, leaving Mosi behind to help field dress the antelopes. Other noblemen joined the retreat, also leaving their drivers to process the kills. Would they serve these antelope at tonight’s scheduled feast or cower in their homes, waiting for the plague to come?

  Eleazar kept his head respectfully bowed, unsure how Ram would respond to Moses’s declaration. “Would you like me to stay or return to the palace to dress your wound?”

  When the prince remained silent, Eleazar looked up to find him staring into the distance. “So I’m to die tonight at midnight?” He turned then to face Eleazar, eyes glistening. “How long have you known?”

  49

  A foreigner residing among you who wants to celebrate the LORD’s Passover must have all the males in his household circumcised; then he may take part like one born in the land. No uncircumcised male may eat it.

  —EXODUS 12:48

  Miriam stepped into the sunshine and stretched her back, lifting her face to the warmth of the morning sun. Thank You, Yahweh, for the obedience of one more Egyptian family. She wiped and rewrapped her bloody flint knife and tucked it beside the extra bandages and herbs. Miriam had performed twenty circumcisions in ten households during the past three days—not many considering she and Taliah had visited nearly every village in Goshen—but they were twenty foreign males who would live through tonight’s plague.

  Stepping into the alleyway between long houses, she glanced left and right. Around every corner in every village, she looked for Hur. It was silly, she knew, but he’d practically ignored her at the meeting, and she hadn’t seen him since. She’d lived with a constant roiling in her belly, and no juniper tea or caraway seeds helped. Yahweh, I’ve never needed a man before. Why now? She hadn’t had time for that private chat at her palm tree. Just quick, frantic prayers every time she ached to see Hur.

  Sattar snuggled close and pressed his head under her hand, seeming to sense Miriam’s mood. He’d become her shadow, waiting outside the door of every home they visited.

  Taliah emerged from the two-room mud-brick hut looking as weary as Miriam felt. “I’ve instructed Bahiti on cooking the yearling, and she’s agreed to host the meal here and share it with Khepri’s family who will supply the herbs and bread.” This girl could teach a bee to buzz and organize the hive.

  “Thank you, dear.” Miriam looped her arm through Taliah’s and began walking. “We have only our village to visit before we go home to make preparations.” They’d begun their teaching quest at the farthest northern village—with the tribes of Asher, Dan, and Zebulun—on the day after Moses announced the plague.

  Miriam poked her head into every doorway, greeting the women inside. If it was a Hebrew household, she and Taliah made sure they understood Yahweh’s instructions. If the residents were Egyptian or other foreigners who refused Yahweh’s commands, they offered a blessing and then asked for gold, silver, or clothing. As the day of Yahweh’s judgment drew nearer, the foreigners’ generosity grew larger. No doubt, they hoped to win Yahweh’s favor with gifts as they believed other gods could be swayed. Sattar had become their beast of burden, and the baskets of treasure strapped across his back grew heavier each day.

  Miriam and Taliah turned into the alley of their own village and saw a few women working outside, shaking out mats and emptying waste pots into the central channel. Most had been sent home from their work on the plateau or in the city as word of Moses’s dawn announcement spread through Rameses.

  “Leah!” Miriam called to a young Hebrew ima. “Are you prepared for the Passover meal?”

  The young soldier’s wife seemed hesitant, eyes darting this way and that. “I hope so.” She ducked her head and disappeared behind her curtained doorway.

  Miriam exchanged a puzzled glance with Taliah. “I hope so? That won’t do.” They marched across the narrow path between long houses and signaled Sattar to wait outside. Poking her head inside the curtain, Miriam offered another greeting, “Shalom, Leah.”

  The woman looked startled, but who wouldn’t with four young children running around like wild boars in the marsh. “What troubles you, dear?” Miriam studied the children and noted the oldest was a boy with curly black hair and lively dark eyes.

  The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “We have no yearling. Hur said I’m supposed to share my neighbor’s lamb, but we have no grain to offer in return—”

  Miriam waved off her concern. “I’m sure Sarah and Eli will welcome you. I’ve known them all my life. Come.”

  A little girl reached up and poked Taliah’s rounded belly. “Is there a baby in there?”

  “Yes, there is. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

  The little darling eyed her three brothers, her rosebud lips twisting into a frown. “You’d better hope it’s a girl. Boys are mean.”

  Miriam giggled and grabbed the oldest boy’s hand. “Why don’t you walk with me. I’m not as steady as I used to be.” He nodded and squared his shoulders—such a darling, this one. Yahweh, pass over him.

  Escorting the little family to the neighboring doorway, Miriam moved the curtain aside with a gentle “Shalom to this house.”

  “Shalom to you, Miriam,” Sarah said. She was an old woman now, but Miriam was the midwife who had brought her into the world. Sarah furrowed her brow as Leah, the four children, and Taliah trailed in behind Miriam. “I hope they brought bread to share.”

  Sarah’s husband Eli snored in the corner, and her daughter Gittel offered a sad smile—a silent apology for her ima’s harsh welcome. Gittel’s six children played quietly in the corner. No doubt their savta Sarah had made sure of that.

  Miriam nudged the young ima farther into the main room. “Leah will share much more than bread. Her little ones will play with Gittel’s children, and you’ll enjoy each other’s company while we await Yahweh’s deliverance.”

  “More mouths to feed,” Sarah grunted and reached for the hand mill. “We’ll make more bread.”

  “I can help.” Leah stepped forward.

  Gittel set aside her spindle. “Leah and I will take care of the meal, Ima. You and Abba rest.”

  “You can help,” the old woman said, wagging her finger at the newcomer, “but don’t think you’ll take over my grinder.”

  Leah glanced over her shoulder at Miriam and Taliah with a timid smile. The children had already begun a game when they slipped out the doorway.

  They’d walked only a few steps when Taliah’s pace slowed,
her gaze focused on the small mud-brick hut of her three favorite students. “I don’t think I can ask Masud’s father again. He’s already refused us twice.”

  Miriam pressed her hand to the girl’s arm, halting their steps. “What if we hadn’t encouraged Leah to join her neighbors? Would shyness or uncertainty have cost her firstborn his life?” Remembering this girl’s earlier passion for children’s welfare, Miriam knew what would move Taliah’s heart. “You loved those children enough to fight for their education. Love them enough now to fight for their faith.”

  Sattar remained close as they approached the small hut. Miriam quickly checked her bag for circumcision supplies. She had just enough bandages and herbs if Beb, Masud’s father, agreed to believe and obey Yahweh’s commands.

  Taliah cleared her throat and rustled the curtain. “Shalom to this house.”

  They heard shuffling inside and then Masud, Haji, and Tuya appeared at the curtain, eyes bright. “Peace to you, Taliah.”

  “Good morning.” She ruffled the curly black hair of each child.

  Haji stared down at the baskets strapped across Sattar’s back. “You have a lot of gold!” He reached out to touch, but his big brother slapped his hand.

  Taliah tipped each little chin to see their bright, black eyes. “I’ve come to say good-bye. I’m leaving Egypt, and I won’t see you again.”

  “Father said we couldn’t go with you.” Masud stood straight and tall, but his round black eyes welled with tears. “I asked why, and he said he’s afraid of your god.”

  “Masud!” Beb appeared and pulled the children inside. His eyes never left his sandals. “Thank you for teaching our children. We owe you a great debt.”

  “You owe me nothing.” Taliah’s voice wavered, but she cleared her throat again and lowered her voice. “Please, Beb, Yahweh asks for your obedience, but He promises you new life and freedom. You need only take it.”

  Miriam stepped close, whispering, “I have herbs and bandages for your wounds. Your family can join us for the meal. Please, Beb. Please.”