by Ann Burton
“Why have you never married?”
The question puzzled me. “Slaves are not permitted to do so. If the master wished to breed me, he might put me with one of the men until my moon time ceased, but he has never done thus.” I was glad of it, too, for I had always feared having a child. Tarn had encouraged me to make myself useful even when I was very young, so the master would not be so tempted to sell me. Like Meji, I could not bear the thought of Ybyon doing the same to a child of my body.
Jeth’s brows drew together. “Surely that is not the only way it happens with slaves.”
“On this farm, it is.” I thought of Chemesh. “I have heard that some masters are kind and allow two slaves to live as husband and wife, but there is always the risk of one or the other being sold off to pay a debt, as Chemesh was.” I told him briefly of the slave’s sad history.
“That is a deplorable practice,” he said, sounding angry now. “I cannot understand how you came to be here. What of your mother’s people? Tarn told me she died when you were very young, but that she was not born into slavery. Did no one come to look for her? Why have you not appealed to them? Surely they would help you.”
“I do not know my father’s people, but Tarn said they were not Hebrews. No one will speak of it to me.” I walked past the lamb pen and viewed the sheepfold, where the shepherds were untying the dogs and preparing to move the main herd out to graze. “If my mother had a tribe, they must certainly have forgotten her by now. They would not know of me.”
“Do you know the name of your mother’s tribe?”
I wished for once that I could lie. “She told Tarn she was of the tribe of Benjamin.”
“I am of the tribe of Benjamin.” Jeth stepped in front of me. “We dwell only in the mountains to the south. How did she come to be a slave in Hazor?”
“I cannot say.” Tarn might know, but I did not want to force him to tell me the truth, or reveal my gift to Jeth. It was a stupid vanity, but I did not wish to see him look upon me with revulsion. While he was here, I wanted him to think me like any other woman. “I should go back to the house and change into something appropriate for working.”
“Talk to me, Deborah,” he said softly, insistently. “Tell me everything that you know. I must understand how a kinswoman of mine ends up a slave to a Canaanite.”
I could not be like other women. I would never be. To allow him to think so was as much as lying to him, I realized, and sighed. “All I know is that my mother was a truth-seer, and she could not lie. I am the same.”
He tilted his head. “A truth-seer? I have never heard of such. What does it mean?”
“Truth-seers can sometimes see what will be. We see in dreams mostly, but we can also find a truth in someone by touching them.” I swallowed. “Tarn said my mother was branded with a witch’s mark when she was a child, to warn others. Her people must have cast her out or sold her to slavers.”
“We do not brand children,” Jeth said firmly, “and we do not sell them into slavery.”
“Someone did.” I touched my forehead where Dasah’s witch mark had been. “Ybyon killed her in front of me, when I was barely old enough to walk, but I have no memory of that.”
His face paled, and his eyes turned cold. “Who cared for you after your master murdered her?”
“Tarn and the other slaves here did,” I told him. “An old shepherd who died three winters past was the one who delivered me of my mother. He said I came into the world with a mask of skin over my face, but my mother said she had been born the same, and that it was the sign I would be a truth-seer.”
His fierce gaze softened. “All of this, your mother murdered, and you left serving her killer.” He shook his head. “What you must think of our tribe.”
“It matters not.” My attention was drawn to a group of three Canaanites walking down from the main house toward us. “Who are those men?”
Jeth looked over. “From the cut of their robes, deputies from the magistrate’s office, I think.”
“Merchant.” The oldest of the deputies gestured for Jeth to come forward. “King Jabin sends us to deliver his word. Free Hebrews are no longer welcome in Hazor. You must leave before the sun sets, or you will be arrested.”
CHAPTER
12
Appalled, I covered my mouth with my hand, but Jeth did not seem at all disturbed by the order. “This is an official deportation decree from the king?” he asked the deputy, who nodded. “I would see a copy of the scroll.”
The deputy exchanged glances with his two companions. “I suppose it will do no harm to show him.” He removed a roll of hide from his satchel and handed it to Jeth.
I did not bother to look at the intricate marks on the scroll, for I could not read. Instead I murmured, “I will go and fetch Parah.”
“That is not necessary.” Jeth rolled up the decree and handed it back to the deputy. “I will leave, but I will take the sheep that I bought from Ybyon with me. He is being judged by your magistrate today.”
“That one’s judgment has been delivered. You will have to speak to the magistrate about removing anything from this property, for it is to be sold off—”
“Alas, it is no longer for sale.” Parah appeared beside the deputies. “One of my staff just delivered the agreement. The magistrate decided to accept my generous purchase offer.” He turned to Jeth. “I am the new owner of this property, and as such, I will give you the animals which you and Ybyon agreed upon.”
“I am grateful,” Jeth said, although he didn’t look surprised. “I would ask you for one more boon, Scribe Parah.” He folded his hand around mine. “I would ask you give Deborah her freedom, so that she may come with me.”
Parah gave me a long shrewd look, and then the corners of his mouth curled up. “I cannot say if she will go with you, but I will see to it that she has her freedom scroll before the hour is through.”
I was going to be free?
I could not speak or think. I did not know what to do. I was going to be free. No more a slave to any man.
The sun dimmed, and the men around me spoke, but I could not hear them. I had gone deaf, and I was going blind.
I reached out to Jeth, but he was miles away. So I embraced the closest thing to me, which was the cold, hard ground.
“I do not think she hit her head,” Jeth was saying to someone.
I struggled back to awareness, and found I was being carried again, this time through the barn to a pile of straw. “Jehovah save me. Am I dreaming? Did Parah say…No, for if I were dreaming, it would be true.”
“Deborah.” Jeth smiled down at me. “You fainted.”
“I have the fever.” I pressed a hand to my brow, but it was cool. “I must. I heard the scribe say…” I shook my head, too confused to go on.
“Parah is gone to write up your freedom scroll,” Jeth said. He flung his cloak out over the straw before lowering me on it. “Do not be afraid. He said you may stay here and work for him as a free woman, or he will help you find a position with a good family. You will never have to beg for your bread.”
The thought of no longer being a slave was too much for me to take in. I gazed up at him. “What of the king’s decree? What will happen to you now?”
“That is a problem our friend the scribe cannot solve.” He sighed. “I must herd my sheep to the river and leave Hazor by nightfall, or my property will be seized by the king’s men and I will be imprisoned.”
“You must not waste another moment here.” I struggled to my feet. “I will ask Tarn and the others to help you move the herd. We have shepherds who are experienced drovers, and I am sure Parah will give them leave. I—” I stopped as I recalled what else he had said to the scribe. “Did you…Did you say before that you wished me to come with you?”
He nodded. “I would, very much. It is the sensible thing to do, you know. The king’s deportation decree specifies all free Hebrews, which you will be as soon as the ink dries on your freedom scroll. I think Parah will do his best to p
rotect you, and you might pass as a Canaanite woman, but you will always risk being arrested. As your kinsman, I consider it my responsibility to reunite you with your mother’s tribe.”
I did not particularly care about my mother’s tribe, and there were other risks beyond exposure. “What of Ybyon?” My master would seek revenge for losing his farm to Parah; of that I had no doubt.
“The farmer Ybyon killed was a favorite of the king’s adviser. The adviser took personal interest in seeing that the magistrate’s judgment was as severe as the law permits. Your master and his family will share the same fate as his property. They are to be sold on the block before the new moon.” From his tone, Jeth didn’t seem to think that was enough punishment.
As much as I disliked my former master, it was not difficult to pity him now. He would never wear the yoke of slavery lightly, or spend a day not thinking of how it came to be on his shoulders.
“What this will do to his family. He cared for them so that they never had to work. The children.” I closed my eyes for a moment, sickened.
“They all profited from his greed,” Jeth said, “so the magistrate declared they would share in this, as well.”
We both sat in silence, contemplating Ybyon’s fate.
“Are you satisfied with the judgment, Deborah?” When I glanced at him, he added, “Ybyon did kill your mother, and he will never be made to answer for that.”
“He will someday, when his earthly life ends,” I assured him. “Until then, he will endure some of the same suffering he inflicted on his own slaves. It is the sort of punishment Jehovah might give.” And now I wondered if the One and True God had guided events so that this would come to pass.
“You do not rejoice in his downfall,” Jeth murmured.
I had never forgiven my master for taking my mother away from me when I needed her most, or for the evil and cruelty he had inflicted on so many others. But I could not take pleasure from knowing he would suffer.
“I cannot,” I said slowly. “It would make me as he is, and I would rather forgive him than allow his hatred to poison my heart.”
Jeth covered my hand with his. “Will you come with me to Ephraim, Deborah?” Before I could answer, he added, “It will be a long journey downriver, and I know that you are still weak, but I will make you comfortable, and look after you. That is the way of our tribe.”
I wished to ask him a dozen questions, but there was no time for that. Nor could I summon a waking dream to see what the future held; the future had grown past all my hopes.
It was almost a blessing when Meji stepped out of the shadows of a stall near us. His eyes were glittering, and I could almost feel the silent anger making his shoulders so rigid. Apparently he had heard every word Jeth and I had said.
I withdrew my hand from Jeth’s gentle grip. “May I have a few moments to speak with my friend?”
Jeth gave Meji a long look before he rose and walked out of the barn.
“You must be feeling better, to be offering yourself so freely to that merchant,” Meji snapped as soon as Jeth was out of earshot. “All this pretty talk of being kin amuses me. When will he tell you if you are to be his slave, his servant, or his concubine? When you arrive in his land and cannot escape him?”
“I have offered him nothing,” I said, “and you should not say such things, or listen in when others are speaking alone.”
“Now I am not good enough to hear your conversations with a rich man? Your kinship goes to your head.” He folded his arms. “You know you belong here, Deborah, with us. We are your family. Not him.”
“Come and sit with me.” I patted the empty space beside me. “I have little time, and much to say to you.”
“Why should I listen? You have little time. You must go with your new rich friend.” He turned his back toward me. “Is that why you would have me play ram to that silly kitchen wench’s ewe? So that I would not care when you left with him?”
He was so hurt, but I knew the cause. Meji and I had been together since we were children. In his eyes, it must appear as if I truly were abandoning him.
“Wadina is young, and a little reckless with love, but she will be a good wife to you.” Since he would not come to me, I went over to him and held out my hands. “Meji, I have not accepted Jeth’s offer, but I think I must. He has been in my dreams for many years now, and we are of the same tribe. That has to mean something. If he truly meant me harm, why would he save me from being beaten to death?”
He turned his back on me. “You know nothing about him. You know only what he has told you. He says he is a merchant, but what if he sells women instead of sheep? Perhaps he saved you because he knows your value on the block. He could cast you in some pit of a brothel in Ephraim to service whoever offers a bit of silver. He could worship filthy gods to whom he sacrifices lambs and babies.”
“I have seen only goodness in him.” I came around him so that I could see his face. It was wet with tears. “Oh, Meji.” I opened my arms. “I will miss you, too.”
I was holding his head against my shoulder and rubbing his back when Tarn came to us. “We have separated the finest ewes and rams from the flock for Adon Lappidoth, but he will not leave. I think he will only go with you, Deborah.”
Meji smothered a sound and lifted his head to glare at me. “The sun is already high overhead; there are only a few hours of light left. You will need all of them to drive the animals to the riverbank.” He touched my face. “Go now.”
I kissed his work-scarred hand and pressed it to my cheek before I went out into the sunlight.
Parah and Jeth were waiting there by a wagon filled with supplies. The scribe held a scroll case, which he handed to me as I joined them. “This document ends your enslavement, Deborah. I have made a copy, which as your last owner I will keep. Should you ever need to prove your status, I will witness to it.”
I had thought the shock of being freed was over, but again it made me feel dizzy. I took a deep breath to steady myself.
“I thank you for my freedom, Adon Parah.” I saw the farmworkers had gathered, and remembered the king’s decree. “What will happen to the others? They, too, are mostly Hebrews.”
“I expect I will be writing up many more scrolls in the days to come,” Parah said, “for I do not own slaves; I employ only free men. Those who are Hebrew may wish to leave Hazor and work on one of my other properties outside King Jabin’s territory. I will see to it that they are transported safely.”
I remembered seeing Meji working on a farm in the mountains. “You are beyond generous.”
“I have reason to be.” He tapped the place on his arm where his sleeve covered the old, terrible scar.
Jeth looked over at the barn. “Your friend was upset.”
“It is always difficult to part from friends, and Meji and I grew up together,” I explained.
His eyes crinkled with his smile. “You are leaving this place, then?”
“Yes, Adon Lappidoth. I would like to make the journey to Ephraim with you.”
I refused to ride in the supply wagon when we left the farm, and instead walked with Jeth and the shepherds to help them drive the herd to the river. My back, though still painful, did not trouble me too much, and it felt good to stretch my legs. Also, I did not want Jeth to think me weak or incapable. I suspected he was acting out of gratitude, but if I could prove that I could be truly useful, then he would never have reason to regret his kindness.
There was a small group of beggars outside the town gate who gathered as our herd approached it. To my astonishment, Jeth stopped the supply wagon to distribute some food and skins of wine and milk from his supplies to the poor folk. I could not look upon their grateful faces, for it was too easy to imagine myself there, huddled among the wretched homeless, thin hands outstretched to every passing stranger, begging for food and kindness.
“The Gods rejoice in the generous, Adon,” an elderly, one-legged Canaanite proclaimed as he was given a loaf of bread and a bulging skin of sheep�
�s milk. “For this, I dare say they will see to it that you never know any want in this lifetime.”
“I thank you, zaqen, for there is no greater blessing than that,” Jeth said with such sincere respect that the old soldier’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction and pride.
To reach the river we had to cross through Hazor. Driving the noisy herd through the center of town required some finesse, but the shepherds and their dogs regularly brought animals to auction, and so had much practice passing through Hazor’s crowded, narrow streets. I lagged behind the herd, keeping a sharp eye out for tiring lambs or frightened ewes.
Jeth did not lead the herd, but stayed with me. “You will tell me if you grow weary.”
I hid a smile. I was accustomed to rising before dawn and working until well past dusk, no matter how sore or tired I felt. “Yes, Adon.”
He made a tsking sound. “You have no master, Deborah. You are a free woman now, and we are kin. Call me Jeth.”
“A scroll cannot cause twenty-two years of habit to vanish,” I said. “Please forgive me if I forget to use your given name…Jeth.” It was how I thought of him, and yet it felt audacious to say it out loud.
“Deborah.” Soravel, one of the shepherds, dropped into step with us. “We pass by the magistrate’s bayit, there.” He pointed to a squat building set back from the street. “Our former master watches through the front left window.”
It took a few moments for the herd to move ahead, and for us to draw close to the front of the structure. Like Parah’s town house, the building served as both the magistrate’s home and place of business, but also as a prison for citizens under judgment. I spotted two fists curled around the vertical window slats, and the angry face pressed against them.
“You need not look at him,” Jeth said, trying to draw me around and put himself between me and the bayit.
“No.” I felt strangely hot and cold as I stopped and stared at the man who had done so much evil in the name of his family. There was only one task left to me. “May I speak to him?”
