In the Shadow of Sinai (Journey to Canaan)

by Towriss, Carole

  Another joined him. “We had meat! You have brought us out into this desert to starve us to death. Take us back!”

  Back? To a wasteland? To slavery?

  Moses stepped out of the tent and raised both hands for silence. “I have spoken to Yahweh. He has promised meat and bread by tomorrow morning.”

  As Bezalel slipped around Moses, he noticed Michael standing amidst the leaders of the impromptu rebellion.

  He left Moses and Sabba explaining and quieting the crowd. Again.

  As the sun slithered westward, Bezalel sat by the glowing fire.

  Meri joined him. “What did Moses say?”

  Bezalel picked at the hem of his tunic. “He said there would be meat and bread by morning.” He did not mention the rest.

  “Good. I’m hungry.”

  He put his arm around her and she placed her head on his shoulder. Pink and orange fingers of light reached above the mountains in all directions to color the sky. It was breathtakingly beautiful and calm at first glance—but in reality there was nothing calm or beautiful at all about this evening. Images of warriors attacking sleeping children invaded his thoughts.

  Chirps and the squeal of children’s laughter floated in from the edges of camp. When the sounds grew louder, he stood to see who— or what—could be the source of the noise. He and Meri wandered toward the excitement.

  Quail glided just above the sand. Exhausted from their migration north to escape the heat of the deadly desert summer, they lay scattered on the sand like stones along the Nile. Moses said quail always flew through this part of the Sinai at this time of year, but Yahweh had promised there would be more than usual, enough for everyone.

  Children from all over the camp chased the birds. Actually, there was more chasing than catching. Bezalel and Meri chuckled as Ahmose ran after one lying motionless on the ground, but it flew away as soon as he neared. Ahmose fell down in its place in a spasm of glee.

  Bezalel decided he’d better help or there would be no meat for dinner. Meri giggled as he dove for bird after bird, missing every one.

  Finally he caught one of the little fowl and managed to hold onto it. “Think it’s funny?”

  Meri squealed and stepped back when he shoved the squirming quail toward her.

  He laughed and snapped its neck then handed her the dead bird.

  She scrunched her face and took it by the feet, holding it at arm’s length.

  He chuckled again, grabbing her by the waist and nuzzling her neck. “Maybe next time you shouldn’t laugh at me so hard.”

  “Maybe.” She giggled. “Maybe it’s worth it.”

  He caught several more, enough for the evening meal, which everyone had postponed until the promised meat arrived. He twisted their necks, and Meri took them to Imma to begin roasting. He stayed to catch more birds so they could smoke and dry the meat to last for several weeks.

  Kamose strolled toward him.

  “Here to help?”

  Kamose’s face was more stolid than usual, and Bezalel searched for a clue to his thoughts.

  “Sure.” Kamose snatched a quail in each hand, in one swift motion. He broke their necks, twisted off the heads, and draped them on a nearby young acacia tree to drain the blood.

  He turned back to Bezalel and stopped short. “What?”

  Only then did Bezalel realize his mouth was hanging open. “You just did that so quickly, and so well. All the rest of us have to scramble to catch one, and you caught two at once.”

  “You forget I have spent weeks at a time in the desert. I could do this in my sleep.” He grabbed another bird. “Which I haven’t been getting much of lately.”

  Ahmose raced toward them, a quail clutched in his hands but struggling to escape. “Kamose, Kamose! Take it, take it! It’s trying to fly away!”

  Kamose took the squirming bird from the boy, and Ahmose scampered away.

  “You’re not sleeping?” Bezalel tried not to probe too far.

  Kamose gazed at Bezalel as if trying to make a decision. “I don’t know my place here. I’m just wandering around looking for something to do.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

  “It must have been hard, walking away from everything.”

  “I’m not always sure … that I am welcome here.”

  Bezalel shrugged. “I suppose there are those who don’t like Egyptians being here. But then, they are likely the same ones who don’t like Moses or anything else that’s happening, and beg to go back to Egypt. I wouldn’t worry too much about them.”

  Kamose snagged several more quail then hung them with the others. “What if I said I wanted to tell Ahmose who I am?”

  Bezalel crossed his arms and dug at the ground with his sandal for a moment. “I don’t see any harm in it now. There’s no one here who can hurt either of you.”

  “Perhaps. What if he becomes angry because I didn’t tell him all these years?”

  Bezalel tried to think how he would want to hear such news, especially as a child. “Tell him what you told me: You were keeping a promise to Tia and trying to protect him. If you had claimed him, would you have been able to care for him? And keep him safe?”

  “No.” Kamose paced back and forth. “As it was, he was part of the harem, even though a servant. He was still one of Ramses’s sons, no matter how lowly. He would have lost that protection had I taken him as my nephew.”

  “I’m sure Ahmose will understand that. Anyway, you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Bezalel headed toward the acacia tree and collected half of the tiny carcasses. “You know, there are plenty of tents. You don’t have to sleep outside.”

  Kamose retrieved the rest of the birds, now drained of their blood. “I’m used to it. Maybe when it turns colder. For now, I enjoy seeing the stars.”

  Bezalel stirred until a few embers glowed, then he ripped some branches from a dead tree and added them to the fire. Even in dried wadi beds vegetation always grew, meager as it was.

  Kamose appeared soon after the flames had roared to life again.

  Ahmose tagged along behind, rubbing his eyes. “Look! On the ground! What is it? It’s all over!”

  “What are you talking about?” Bezalel continued tending the fire.

  Soon people from the tents around them were also staring at the sand beneath their feet.

  Ahmose brought Bezalel a handful of white flakes. “Perhaps it is the bread Shaddai promised.”

  Joshua emerged from his tent. “That’s not bread. But I don’t know what it is.”

  “Well, Shaddai promised bread, and this is the only thing that’s different this morning.” Sabba looked at the families milling around. “The entire camp is mumbling. All I hear is ‘Manna? Manna? What is it?’ Perhaps we should go see Moses. Ahmose, want to come with me?”

  They hiked toward their leader.

  Joshua slumped down beside Bezalel and followed them with his eyes. “I don’t understand why that man is so happy so early in the morning. It’s annoying.”

  “Sabba? He’s always happy.” Bezalel chuckled, and added a few more twigs.

  “I’ll bet nothing bad has ever happened to him.”

  Bezalel cast a sideways glance at Joshua. On the surface, it was an absurd statement, coming from one escaped slave to another. But practically speaking, their lives in Egypt could have been much worse. They weren’t shackled, and as long as they obeyed, they lived fairly normal lives—making bricks. Children didn’t work until about age six. They could marry whom they wanted and have families and live where they wanted within the villages. Most of them, anyway.

  “You’d lose that bet.” He stirred the fire, rearranged the wood, and added a larger log.

  “What?” Joshua looked over at him.

  “You’d lose the bet. That nothing ever happened to Sabba.”

  Joshua drew circles in the sand with his finger. “Well, what happened?”

  “My grandmother was taken from him by one of the Egyptian guards when my abba was but a small boy. I was taken to
the palace when I was young, and then Abba died in the brickfields. So it’s been just he and my mother for most of my life.

  “Sabba says we have to believe that El Shaddai knows what He is doing, and that He will keep His promises. He said He would free us and make us His people. To do that, He has to take care of us. You have to trust Him to do that.”

  Joshua stared into the fire for several long moments. “I’m not sure I can.”

  Ahmose volunteered to try it first.

  Bezalel and the others watched as Imma handed him a small, cooled manna cake.

  He nibbled it at first. He took a bigger bite. Then he stuffed the rest in his mouth. “It’s good!”

  Bezalel laughed and Imma handed a plate full of cakes to him. He took a few, gave one to Meri, and passed the plate around.

  Golden brown biscuits lay in his hands. Imma had made dough from the flaky substance and cooked it in a pan over the open camp-fire flame. He broke one in two and examined it then bit into it. A honey flavor spread over his tongue and filled his mouth. He swallowed. “That is good.”

  Words of agreement followed from everyone around the circle, except Ahmose. His mouth was too full.

  After breakfast Kamose found Bezalel. “I think I’d like to tell Ahmose today about Tia.”

  Bezalel searched Kamose’s face. “Are you worried?”

  “A little. I worry … he doesn’t need me.”

  “Kamose, I’ve seen him with you. He loves you a great deal. And in my opinion, a child can never have too many people who love him.”

  Kamose only nodded, but the affirmation soothed his wearied soul.

  Bezalel pointed. “Here he comes now.”

  Ahmose skipped up with Meri. “We found a little water, but there’s not much left.”

  “He’s right. The water is running out. We’ll have to leave soon, or find another source.”

  “Let’s go look some more.” Kamose put out his hand to the boy.

  Ahmose looked skeptical but took Kamose’s hand. “All right, but unless you know a secret place, we won’t find any.”

  Kamose’s stomach tensed as he led Ahmose to a shady place. It had been years since he had felt fear. Fear was useless in battle. It interfered with thinking clearly and making strategic decisions. He patted the ground beside him. “Sit by me.”

  Ahmose plopped down next to him.

  Kamose rubbed his hand over his face. “I have a story to tell you.”

  “I love stories.” He bounced on his heels.

  “It’s about a secret I was asked to keep.”

  “A big secret?”

  “Very big.” Kamose told him about Tia and the baby she bore.

  “She had a baby and then she died?”

  Kamose nodded. “She did. She was too sick to live.”

  “That’s so sad. Did you know her?”

  “Yes. She was my sister.”

  Ahmose reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s one more big part to the secret. And I hope you don’t get mad at me for keeping it.” Kamose massaged his neck and took a deep breath. “You were the baby.”

  Ahmose’s eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. “You knew my mother? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Kamose cringed at the hurt in the child’s eyes. “Because she made me promise not to. And I’m very sorry. But the only thing I knew to do then was to keep the promise I made to her. I was a soldier, and I didn’t know how to take care of a baby.” He shrugged. “And I didn’t know Jannes would hurt you, and I didn’t know … a lot of things. And I might have made the wrong decision. I don’t even know if I am making the right choice now. But I thought now that we are here, and safe, I could maybe be your uncle. If you can forgive me.” He reached toward the child but pulled back.

  Tears streamed down Ahmose’s face.

  Kamose’s heart collapsed as if a hippo had stomped on it. Maybe he never should have said anything. He searched the boy’s face. He had no idea what to do next. “Do you want me to take you back to Bezalel and Meri?”

  Ahmose took a long, ragged breath. “I think it’s like Sabba said. Sometimes when bad things happen, El Shaddai makes better things happen. It wasn’t your fault my mother died. Or that Jannes beat me. And we are all here now.” He met Kamose’s gaze. “So yes, I want you to be my uncle.” His smile widened. “Then I can have you and Bezalel. And Aunt Rebekah, and Sabba, and Meri.” He leaned over and gave Kamose a soggy hug. “Do you know what?”

  “What, habibi?”

  “I didn’t used to have anyone. Now I have lots!”

  22 Ziv

  Sitting by the fire, Bezalel opened the pottery jar that Imma had filled with manna the day before.

  “Did it last?” Meri leaned over his shoulder.

  He sniffed the white substance, and the sweet fragrance rose from the pot and danced around his head. He looked at his mother and smiled. Imma scooped out a handful of the flaky substance and patted it into cakes for breakfast.

  Around him, a few others emerged from their tents and searched for the manna. When they found none, they went from tent to tent asking for some from their neighbors.

  “I am sorry, but I have only enough for my family.” Imma repeated the sentence yet again.

  “The manna was there for the last six days. I thought it would be there again. What are we supposed to do now?” A young woman held out her hands, palms up. Her whiny voice grated his ears.

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Imma reached for the girl’s shoulder, but she wrenched away. “There will be more tomorrow. Next time do as Moses says.”

  Bezalel watched as the girl stumbled away, seeking food.

  He lay back against a rock and closed his eyes, enjoying the honeyed aroma as he waited for the cakes to cook. Soaring walls of rock both north and south flanked the dry wadi in which they camped. Pockets of shade, hidden amongst the roots and stones, offered safe havens to birds and small desert mammals.

  The murmur began so slowly that he hardly noticed it at first. A pair of owls roosted nearby and their hoots masked the human voices. As the grumbling gained strength and volume, he realized that the noise came not from the wind or desert animals, or even from their own herds, but from the people.

  “What’s the matter? Where’s Sabba?” Bezalel stood, glanced around, and peered inside Sabba’s tent.

  “I’m not sure.” Imma shrugged.

  Kamose approached with Ahmose on his shoulders. “They can’t find enough water. That’s why everyone is so angry.” He lifted Ahmose over his head and placed him on the ground near the fire. “There is quite a lot of water around, but you have to dig for it. And it’s hard to find. It’s been an especially dry spring, and this is obviously a much larger army—uh, crowd, than the desert is used to supplying.”

  Bezalel suppressed a chuckle at Kamose’s slip. “That can’t be the only reason. The people are angry constantly. They don’t like the manna, the sun is hot, the nights are cold—you name it, they complain about it. I think they expect Moses to be El Shaddai Himself, and not His servant. I wouldn’t be surprised if the lack of water has them ready to stone him.”

  “There’s already a crowd gathering at his tent.” Kamose jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward their leader’s campsite.

  Bezalel stood. “Let’s go see what’s happening. There’s no sense sitting here guessing.”

  As Bezalel and Kamose neared Moses’s tent, the crowd erupted. Voices grew louder, and several men lunged at Moses.

  “Water from a rock! He really is crazy!”

  “We should have stayed in Egypt! There we had water!”

  A line of ten or twelve men tried to hold the line of angry Israelites at bay. One young man broke through, and Kamose darted toward the group and stopped in front of the challenger.

  The attacker was Michael.

  Michael tried to skirt around Kamose, but the captain calmly sidestepped, and the younger man bumped up against Kamose’s substantial chest. T
he former officer stood feet apart, fists on his hips. His armbands glistened in the sunlight. He bent his head and glared down at Michael.

  Michael’s eyes traveled down from Kamose’s face, over his flexed biceps, and then stopped on the dagger that rested in front of his fist.

  Bezalel sucked in a breath as he watched Michael drop the rocks he carried in both hands.

  Kamose looked behind Michael at the rest of the agitators, who wilted under his stare. Chucks of granite fell from their grasps and they slithered away.

  Bezalel’s heart was as heavy as the rocks Michael had dropped. He knew there had been resistance to Moses, but until now he didn’t know any of the opponents personally. He didn’t really like Michael, but even so….

  He tried to concentrate, but Moses’s words faded as he focused on Michael.

  “Yahweh promised water would flow from the rock.” Moses pointed to a mountain north of the campsite.

  The people left to follow Moses to where Yahweh promised He would supply the precious water.

  Bezalel sprinted in the direction Michael had headed after his confrontation with Kamose. He saw him up ahead and doubled his pace. When he was close enough he grabbed Michael’s shoulder.

  Michael spun around, fist raised as if to strike, until he saw who had taken hold of him.

  “What was that?” Bezalel jerked his thumb back toward Moses.

  “What?”

  “The rocks? Would you really—”

  “Really have thrown them? Absolutely, if your bodyguard hadn’t been in the way.”

  “But why?” Bezalel spread his hands. “I don’t understand. What did he do to you? He got us out of there. We’re free.”

  “Free to do what? Starve? Die of thirst? How long do you think he can keep up these tricks of his? We have to go back. Or we’ll die. It’s as simple as that.”

  Bezalel poked his finger at Michael’s chest. “If we go back, they’ll kill us.”

  “No, they won’t. They want their slaves.” Michael started to walk away but stopped and turned around. “We have to go back. And I’m going to take us there.”

  Seventeen