When the drum rang the noon meal, Bezalel crossed the portico, grabbing a plum and a loaf of bread from a basket set on a pedestal along the way. He pushed open the door to his workroom then sat down and bit into the deep purple fruit.
He was pouring a glass of goat’s milk when a man appeared at his door wearing the fine linen shenti of a court official, with gold threads and a jeweled leather belt.
Bezalel rose, and the man strode toward his table. “The king has commissioned new bracelets for his son for the coronation. He wishes them to look like this.” He handed Bezalel a drawing on parchment. “You may use the jewels and gold that Nubia brought the other day.”
Bezalel set the plum down and studied the drawing. “Very well. Thank you.”
“Shall we go now?” The man stepped toward the door and gestured down the hall.
Bezalel raised his eyebrows. “Go where now?”
“To the storeroom, to get the jewels and gold.”
Bezalel sat again. “No, I’ll go later. I have not yet eaten today.”
“But I am not free later. So you’ll have to go now.”
“I have a key, so I can go later.”
The official pursed his lips. “But you’re a slave.”
Bezalel took a deep breath. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
The man stood a little taller. “Yes. I have replaced Ammon as chief artisan. I came up from Memphis with him.”
Bezalel walked toward the official and offered a smile he did not feel. “Congratulations. I am sure you will do well.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I have worked in this palace for over twelve years. While I cannot work anywhere in the kingdom for pay, I have earned respect and a measure of freedom in the palace. Freedom to go where I need to go as well as to create.”
He held up the rolled parchment. “I am never given drawings like this. Ramses only gave me this one because he wants these bracelets to match exactly the ones I made for him a few years ago. He does not know I can remember those down to the last jewel.” He shrugged. “Ammon gave me a key to the storeroom with the king’s knowledge and consent. So if you don’t like it, I am afraid you’ll have to talk to him.” Bezalel returned to his seat and picked up his plum.
The official narrowed his eyes and his face turned red. “We’ll see about that.” He spun on his heel and walked away.
That’s what I was afraid of.
After he stuffed the last bite of bread in his mouth, Bezalel took a large oil lamp, and a little wooden key hidden under it, off the shelf. He stepped out of his room then walked down the hall away from the throne to the storeroom. There were no windows, so the only light came from the lamp.
When he reached the storeroom, he inserted the wooden key into the lock and turned it. He smiled as he listened to the tumblers fall one by one. The door popped open just a bit; he pushed it the rest of the way and entered. He placed the oil lamp on a shelf made just for that purpose, and it lit up the sizable room. Gold and jewels glittered in the flickering glow, throwing bits of light over the walls in an ethereal display.
He found the pottery jars of gold nuggets and flakes. He thrust his hand deep inside and brought it up full of the precious metal, his fingers splayed, and let the misshapen rocks sift slowly through his hand and back into the pile. Nothing else on earth felt like gold. The nuggets were heavier than they looked, and the sound of them falling back onto themselves both soothed and stirred him. He closed his eyes and let them fall a few more times before he filled a linen bag about as long as his hand, pulling the drawstring closed when it was full.
The unpolished gemstones sat on platters on a series of shelves. He scooped up a handful and took a deep breath. The scent of the earth still hugged the unrefined stones. Each one needed a vigorous polishing, but he could see the finished prize waiting beneath all the dirt and impurities.
He searched the gems one at a time, holding them to the light, turning them over in his hand. He carefully selected those that matched the bracelets he had crafted for Ramses, finding exactly the right stones for them. Each one had a purpose and meaning, at least to Ramses. Bezalel did not believe mere rocks had any power, but the king did, so Bezalel did his best to select perfect stones.
The Egyptians believed lapis lazuli, blue like the heavens and the Nile, had life-giving powers, symbolizing creation and rebirth. Green turquoise brought joy and delight. The dark red of the carnelian symbolized the blood of life and had healing properties. Malachite’s green protected the wearer from epidemics, and Bezalel’s favorite, amethyst, represented wealth and royalty. He dropped the chosen stones into another pouch.
He was about to leave when he saw the ivory and ebony. Several elephant tusks stood in a corner. He drew his hand down one as tall as he was—far too big for him to pick up alone. From its tip to the base it was dense, without visible grain, and creamy white. Toward the bottom it cracked, almost like cedar. Constructed of rings set one inside another, its center was hollow.
He dragged a fingernail down the side. This was far denser than the hippo ivory he had worked with. This was magnificent. He reached up to a shelf and grabbed a piece of heavy black wood and set it next to the ivory. The ebony was even harder. The black next to the white was spectacular, and his mind raced with possibilities of what he could create.
So different, and yet so similar at the same time. Both smooth, glistening, hard, solid; they would be difficult to carve. They required thought, planning, and special tools. Better to keep them safely locked up for now.
Closing the storeroom door, he heard a soft noise. He held the lamp high, looking all around. Seeing nothing, he reached back and locked the door. But the sound came again, a whimper, like a kitten. He looked once more, with the lamp lower.
Then he saw her.
Curled up in the corner, back to the wall, was the girl from the throne room. She sat with her legs pulled up and her arms wrapped around them, her face buried in her knees. She cried so softly it was nearly inaudible.
Pain enveloped him, as if a giant hand squeezed his chest, making it hard for his heart to beat and for him to breathe. Never before had he been consumed by so much feeling for anyone else, especially someone he didn’t even know.
He knelt next to her. What should he do? Neither servants nor Israelites could touch Egyptians without permission. Dared he risk it?
He remembered the way she looked at him in the throne room, her eyes filled with despair. Was she asking for help then? She was in pain of some kind now, and she needed … something. He reached out and gently touched her arm.
She flinched and pulled herself even farther into the corner, crying out as she looked up.
He jumped away from her, falling back onto his seat, his weight on his hands. “Shh! I’m sorry! I just want to know if you need any help.”
She stared at him with red, wet, kohl-smeared eyes. Her hair hung around her shoulders in a mess of knots and misplaced decorative pins. Yet there was still something about her that drew him…. Even at her most miserable, she made him dizzy. A few more tears fell, and she shook her head. “Thank you, though.” Her voice was rough.
His breath came in shallow bursts. He didn’t want to scare her, so he slowly sat up. “Can I get you anything? Food? Water? Anything?” He paused. “Someone else?”
She shook her head again and smiled weakly before hiding her face once more in her wet and wrinkled dress.
He sat on the floor for a few moments, wondering what else he could do. If she wouldn’t let him help, there really was nothing to do. Her exquisite linen tunic was ripped at the neck and at the hem, but there were no obvious bruises. Her bare feet were filthy and cut, and somewhat bloody. He couldn’t see her hands.
Was she still crying from two nights ago? Was she just lonely for her family? He longed to dry her tears, to comfort her, to hold her until she stopped crying, but he was sure that was exactly what she didn’t need—or want—right now.
He waited a few more moments, wishing he co
uld do something, anything. Then he stood up. He would get no answers sitting here.
The walk back down the hallway seemed much longer than the walk to the storeroom.
When he neared his workroom, he saw the king cross the throne room. He paused in the shadows so Ramses could not see him and reached down to place his bags on the limestone floor. He grimaced when their weight shifted, and they jangled and clinked.
The king marched toward his throne, stabbing the floor with his scepter in time with his long strides. His heavy necklace banged against his chest. Crown prince Amun-her-khepeshef scurried behind. “Father, your command makes no sense!” The prince spread his arms. “You are only slowing down the completion of your own city!”
Ramses whirled about, nearly knocking over his son. “They are slowing down the work, not me! The Egyptian workers will no longer gather and deliver the straw. The slaves will gather their own. I am tired of their laziness and their schemes to get out of work.”
Unmistakably Ramses’s son, the prince shared the same long nose and high cheekbones. He still enjoyed taut skin and straight posture, and women still wanted to be his consort. He didn’t have to take wives or concubines by force or royal order, as did his father. Bezalel balled his fists and clenched his teeth and forced his mind back to the conversation.
“… and then if we do not give them the straw—”
“I no longer wish to discuss this! The matter is closed!” The pharaoh’s face immediately brightened. He smiled. “I wish to discuss happier things. How are the preparations coming for your coronation as my co-ruler? Will we be ready at the end of the summer?”
“They are coming along well, my king.” The prince bowed his head.
“‘My king?’ Are you angry with me?” The king reached for his son’s face and lifted it. “There is no one else here. Why do you address me so formally, habibi?”
“I am sorry, Father. I did not mean to offend you. It is simply habit to address you more formally in the throne room. I had not realized we were alone.”
“Good, then. Let us retire and discuss the ceremonies.” Ramses wrapped his arm around his son’s waist and the pair disappeared down the hall to their rooms. Ramses chattered away, but the prince looked at his feet.
Bezalel grabbed his bags. This is bad. Really bad. When he returned to his workspace, he threw the bags on the floor and kicked at the stool. He loosed the leather string at his collar and ran his hands through his hair then clasped his hands behind his neck. He paced as he fumed.
If Moses had bothered to find out exactly what the situation was before he appeared in Pharaoh’s court, he might not have forced the king to such an extreme move. And Aaron and all his posturing. Shouldn’t he have stopped Moses in the first place instead of trying to look so important?
There would be chaos in the villages tonight.
Moses should have stayed in the desert.
Three
Second month of Ahket, Season of Inundation
Mud squished between Bezalel’s toes as he stood on the edge of the flooded river a stone’s throw east of the courtyard. The water swirled around his feet and tickled his ankles. His tunic and long-sleeved thawb remained in his workroom, and he wore only his shenti.
He lifted his face to the east, closed his eyes, and let the morning flood over him. This was always his favorite time of day—the sun barely up, but shedding enough light to allow him to enjoy all that surrounded him. No one else was on the river yet, and his loneliness was not so oppressive this early in the morning. He moved closer to the cool center of the river. A sacred ibis dropped a silvery perch at Bezalel’s interruption and rose into the sky, flying over the river back toward the sun. The fish darted upriver.
Ahmose dashed down the bank and nearly ran into Bezalel. “They’re back again. They’re cleaning themselves in the washroom and will soon stand before the king. I thought you would want to know.” He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees, wiggling his toes deep into the mud.
“Who’s back again?”
“Those two old men. Hurry!” Ahmose tugged hard at Bezalel’s wrist then let go and ran ahead.
Bezalel clambered up the muddy bank, grabbing some papyrus reeds to keep from tumbling down. With his long strides he soon caught up with the child.
They entered the palace through the washroom at the southeast corner, rinsed off their muddy feet and dried them, then tiptoed across the portico. Ahmose crept up close to one of the pillars that separated the portico from the throne room and peered around it, while Bezalel stood behind him.
Ramses presided from his heavily gilded throne with the prince on his right. “Moses, why are you here again? I believe I threw you out of my palace.”
“Yahweh, God of Israel says, ‘Let my people go.’” Aaron’s voice boomed throughout the hall.
Ramses glared at Aaron. “I was not talking to you. Let your brother speak.”
Aaron thrust out his jaw. “I am the spokesman. Yahweh has declared it so.”
Ramses leaned forward. “I said, ‘Let your brother speak.’”
Aaron looked at the floor. Moses stepped forward.
Bezalel pulled Ahmose over to the last pillar so they had a better view and knelt behind him. They were still at the back of the shallow throne room, but at least now they were at the corner and could see everyone from the side.
Moses stood tall, not flinching.
Ramses sat back and stared at Moses for several moments. “When you left—fled—forty years ago, I thought I was rid of you forever. Now you are back, interfering again. I want you to leave, and this time, stay gone.”
“I c-cannot do that, Ramses.”
“You take liberties that have not been granted.”
“I apologize, my k-king. But I still must do what Yahweh s-sent me to do.”
“Still can’t speak in front of Pharaoh? First my father, now me?”
Moses remained silent.
“How do I know,” Ramses said, “that you are not making up this Yah—what is his name again?”
“Yahweh.” Aaron spoke through clenched teeth.
Ramses glared at Aaron, and Aaron stepped back. “Oh, yes, Yahweh. How do I know you are not making him up? Why should I let you worship a God I do not even know is real?”
“How do you wish us to p-prove He is real?” Moses asked.
Ramses smirked. “Perform a miracle.”
The officers at his side laughed.
Aaron threw his shepherd’s staff to the floor before Ramses. It clattered on the stone and transformed into a snake, a black cobra with a hood spreading from its neck. It raised its head off the floor and thrust out its slender tongue, but made no move to bite anyone. The serpent swayed and turned toward Bezalel and the boy, and though it was too far away to be a threat, Bezalel recoiled.
Ramses watched without reaction then nodded to his son. Amunher leaned in toward his father, and the king whispered in his ear.
“Jannes! Jambres!” The prince clapped his hands once at the sound of each name. Two men appeared from the shadows. They wore gaudy necklaces with strange symbols around their necks and long linen robes dyed with indigo. In his many years at the palace, Bezalel had never seen them in the open, though he had heard much about them. They seemed to prefer the darkness and secret rooms.
Ahmose reached up and pulled Bezalel’s face down near his. “That,” he whispered, “is Jannes, Ramses’s chief sorcerer, and his helper, Jambres.”
Jannes threw down a staff, and it too, became a snake, although not as large as Aaron’s. Then several more magicians emerged, each with a staff. Snakes appeared one by one, as rod after rod struck the stone floor. The servants waiting against the wall slowly sidestepped toward the portico, as far away from the magicians and serpents as possible.
The hissing and tongue flicking made Bezalel cringe, and Ahmose snuggled back against his chest. He put an arm around the boy, and Ahmose grabbed it with both hands. They watched as Aaron’s cobra slithered t
oward the other snakes. It wriggled toward one of the smaller serpents and swallowed it whole.
Ahmose gasped.
One by one, the midnight-colored cobra swallowed each of the lesser snakes.
Ahmose’s tiny body quivered, and Bezalel held him a little tighter, placing his other arm around him as well.
The cobra grew in size with each snake it swallowed.
Bezalel glanced up at the king. Ramses glowered at Jannes, who seemed to be doing his best to avoid the king’s gaze.
The only snake left was Jannes’s. The shorter snake flicked its tongue at the cobra, and its dark eyes followed the cobra’s movements. Without warning, the cobra struck, and the head of the smaller snake vanished in the cobra’s mouth, the rest of its body following it.
Jannes sputtered and stormed off toward the inner rooms behind the throne. Aaron reached down and picked up the bulging cobra by the tail.
Ahmose gasped and turned, throwing his arms around Bezalel’s neck. “He will be bitten!”
But the cobra again became a rod, and Moses and Aaron exited through the open courtyard. Ramses and his son strode in the other direction to their rooms. Doors down the hall slammed one by one, and Jannes could be heard screaming at his assistants.
Bezalel pulled Ahmose away from his chest. The child’s face was wet with tears, and his body still shivered in fright.
“Why are you crying now? It’s over, habibi.” Bezalel held Ahmose’s face and wiped away the boy’s tears with his thumbs. How could he feel such affection for this little servant he had met only days before?
“Weren’t you scared?” Ahmose wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“No. Were you?”
“Of course! All those snakes, and everybody was so mad. It was awful.” Ahmose paused. “Why weren’t you scared?”
“Because I know the God Moses and Aaron speak of. And He would never hurt me.” He wasn’t sure he believed that, but he couldn’t let this little child know that, could he? Besides, Shaddai may have abandoned Bezalel in the palace, but He wouldn’t actually hurt him.
In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan) Page 3