Miriam (14 page)

Moses whistled and signaled to Sattar with his hand. The dog responded immediately, sniffing around the low-lying bushes and shoreline.

Miriam, thoroughly impressed, tried to lighten the mood. “He checks for danger? You'll have to teach me those signals.”

Moses offered only a satisfied smile in reply. Sattar finished his inspection and returned to the tree. Moses scratched behind the dog's ears, his smile slowly fading. “I want my dog back.”

Miriam's heart fell to her toes. She'd never intended to steal Sattar, but the dog had helped fill the emptiness of God's silence. “I want my God back.”

Moses's brow furrowed, but he didn't answer. Miriam glimpsed his sadness before he began plucking the stray blades of grass between them. “I wish we could all go back…before…everything…”

Her brother was beaten. She sensed it. But he couldn't give up. He needed to understand his importance to the people—even if they didn't yet realize it. “El-Shadd—Yahweh speaks to me in pictures—dreams and visions that give me an inkling of what might happen, and then He gives me a sense of understanding.” She turned to Moses, waiting for him to meet her gaze. “I was important to the Israelites because those dreams and visions gave them a sense of scope and wonder. That's not what they need now.”

“But you're still import—”

“Yahweh speaks to you with words, Moses, not pictures. He tells you exactly what will happen and when. Don't you see?” A sense of resolve settled over her. “God is God, and He decides how He will speak and to whom. We must all be ready to acknowledge Him in whatever ways He reveals Himself.”

Moses focused on the rising moon shimmering across the Nile. “I know only the Yahweh of miracles and the Voice from the fiery bush or thunderclap. So when I see Him do nothing—as has been the case in the past few days—it's hard to trust Him.”

Miriam raised one eyebrow like a chastising big sister. “I agree. It's frustrating enough to shout at Him, right?”

“It did no good.”

“Did He say anything else?”

“He told me what's next.” He looked at her then. “Aaron and I are to return to Pharaoh's throne hall in the morning.”

Miriam's blood ran cold. “Are you sure you heard Him correctly? Eleazar said Ramesses is very angry. He might kill you both if you return.”

Moses closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. “I know. I told Yahweh it was fruitless. If the Israelites won't listen to me, why would Pharaoh listen to my faltering speech?”

She shoved him, barely budging her muscle-bound brother. “Stop it. Your stuttering has nothing to do with it. You said yourself that Pharaoh won't let the Hebrews go until he's seen God's mighty acts of judgment.”

He lifted his head and turned a weary face her direction. “Aaron and I go to Pharaoh tomorrow. Yahweh said I'll be like God to Pharaoh and Aaron will be like my prophet. Ramesses will demand a miracle, and Aaron will throw down my staff as he did that night on the plateau. But—as you said—Ramesses won't be convinced to let us go. Who knows how long it will take, Miriam, but Yahweh said Pharaoh will ultimately
drive
Israel from Egypt.” He grabbed her hands, squeezing them. “Aaron and I can't do this without your help. I saw how the elders listened to you. You must help us prepare the leaders and organize the tribes.”

Miriam felt every day of her eighty-six years in that moment—every wrinkle, every ache, and every sleepless night. But when Moses had fled Egypt forty years ago, he had no faith in any god. Yahweh had changed him in the wilderness, and though he seemed as conflicted as she—one moment distraught, the next impassioned—it was obvious he truly believed Yahweh would deliver Israel.

Did she?

The magnitude of God's promise dawned in her spirit. Leaving Egypt meant more than simply embracing freedom. Israel would leave behind everything they'd ever known, everything familiar.

She nodded quickly before she lost her nerve. “Tell me how I can help.”

So Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and did just as the
L
ORD
commanded. Aaron threw his staff down in front of Pharaoh and his officials, and it became a snake. Pharaoh then summoned wise men and sorcerers, and the Egyptian magicians also did the same things by their secret arts.

—
E
XODUS 7:10–11

“L
et's keep testing the new battle-axes.” Prince Ram reached for a new ax head, inspected its edge for sharpness, and then handed it to one of Eleazar's men to be attached to a shaft. Eleazar reached for an ax head as well, but the prince stayed his hand. “I think you'll spar with a wooden sword today. Let's test your mettle.”

Eleazar bowed. “As you wish, my prince.” His heart pounded like a battle drum. Was Ram using their sparring session to vent his anger on all Hebrews, or had the prince discovered Eleazar's association with Abba Aaron and Moses?

The men had returned to the throne hall this morning, repeating Yahweh's demand that the Hebrews be released to worship Him in the wilderness. To Eleazar's surprise and relief, Ramesses hadn't killed them on sight. Instead, he'd challenged them to prove Yahweh's power with a miracle. Abba Aaron threw down his staff, and Eleazar expected a snake like he'd seen on the plateau, but the serpent that slithered sideways on the marble floor was twice the size and astonishingly quick.

Pharaoh raised his sandaled feet off the floor and tucked them under him on the throne. He called to the crowd, summoning his counselors and chief sorcerers and magicians. Each nobleman stepped forward with a smirk on his face, and assistants handed each one a multicolored rod. The snake trick was rudimentary, performed by street magicians in every city market. By pinching the nerve in the nape of the serpent's neck, the snake became rigid, appearing to be a finely decorated staff. Five magicians threw down their
rods,
and five slithering snakes came to life, hissing and writhing across the gleaming marble.

The circle around the serpents widened, while Pharaoh, feet still tucked safely beneath him, raised a single brow. “It would seem your god needs a new trick to gain our respect—”

Moses's serpent reared to the height of a jackal and in a single
swish!
devoured all five of the magicians' writhing rods. Women screamed. Men shuddered. Eleazar's knees felt like water. Pharaoh himself chirped like a hoopoe.

Abba Aaron merely reached for his serpent's tail, and the staff stiffened again. Moses nodded to Ramesses, and the two Hebrews retreated nobly through the double ebony doors. Pharaoh had adjourned court immediately.

“Choose your wooden sword wisely, Eleazar.” Prince Ram grabbed his assembled battle-ax from the slave boy. “You'll reap my foul humor for all Hebrews today.”

Eleazar breathed a sigh of relief. The prince was angry at Eleazar's race, not his parentage. “I'm ready to face your wrath, my prince.” Eleazar chose the wooden sword with the longest blade to match the reach of the prince's thrusting ax. He took several swings and tossed the wooden sword from hand to hand, measuring its weight. He'd need to be quick and accurate to block Ram's fury.

The prince led him into the sparring arena where six other pairs had already begun midday bouts. Each pair fought within a circle of combat drawn in the dust, and Eleazar noted the prince walking toward the lone empty circle in the arena. Before Eleazar stepped inside it, Prince Ram turned and swung the ax. Eleazar ducked and diverted the shaft with his wooden sword, issuing a disapproving glare at his master. Ram never cheated. What was he thinking?

The prince returned his glare. “A soldier must be ready for unexpected battles, Eleazar.” The fighting began in earnest. Swing, thrust, parry, jab—Prince Ram came at him relentlessly.

Eleazar defended every attack as Putiel had taught him. A royal guard must provide competition and training but never harm the prince's person or pride.

“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?

The
L
ORD
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.”

—
E
XODUS 7:19

T
he 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 her 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?”