“It doesn’t belong to him anymore. Helek must have seized it.” Mahlah had not told her young sisters details about meeting Balaam in the pit. Memories of the sorcerer chilled her bones. Being this close to his cloak caused her flesh to itch. God’s anger at Baal worship had caused the plague that descended upon her clansmen. She remembered Jonah’s plump cheeks aflame with fever.
Helek spun around delighting in his newly acquired garment. His spoil of war was a relic of Baal like Basemath’s armlet. Would God send another plague on her people if a robe used to honor a false god was worn into camp?
Her tribesman drew closer. The glee on his face shone brighter than lamplight.
What should she do? Confront a kinsman in public? Keep silent about her knowledge? Her mind cajoled her to flee, but her feet stayed rooted to the soil.
“Sister, it is his robe.” Milcah scanned the people hovering nearby. “The thief is not here in the market, is he?”
“He is no threat to us if Helek has his robe.” But Balaam and his sorcery were still a threat if she allowed her cousin to enter their camp wearing a pagan priest’s garment. She should warn her tribesman so no one else fell ill.
Her mind flooded with doubt. Would Helek believe her story? Her reputation was maligned day and night by the men of the camp. How much more ridicule could her family endure?
Stopping a few paces in front of her, Helek opened his arms in a mock embrace.
“Daughter of Zelophehad, we have acquired more land for you to steal from us.”
His companions laughed at his tease.
He thumped his chest. “My robe is finer than a concubine’s and certainly finer than yours.” Helek swept the drape of his cloak for all to see its adornments. “Your clothing is the color of a branch in the desert. Mine is alive with jewels.”
Milcah avoided the sweep of the robe and clung to Mahlah’s side.
“Leave us be.” Mahlah’s voice cracked. A hint of panic warbled her words. “Do not touch us with that soiled rag. Your prize belonged to a priest of Baal.”
“Baal?” Helek echoed. “The man who wore this robe cowered behind women. I beheaded him with one sweep of my sword. He did not wield any power over us.”
“We disrobed him before the beheading,” his companion said with a smirk. “And after we took his cloak, we disrobed the women.”
A few fighting men patted each other on the back. Helek continued to show off his cloak, drawing the attention of more foreigners. Foreigners with no allegiance to her clan, her tribe, or her people.
God give me strength.
She wanted to flee the marketplace, race into her tent, and feign sleep, truly she did, but she could not permit a relic associated with Baal to enter her camp. She had seen firsthand the suffering that arose from a pagan armlet.
Clearing her throat, she braced for more ridicule. “Helek, you may think me silly, but you cannot wear that garment into our camp.”
“Why?” Helek wrapped the cloth tight to his chest. Black images melded into one beast. “Am I too beautiful?”
Laughter engulfed her.
Helek continued his spectacle of a dance. Onlookers gathered to gawk at the prancing warrior.
“Please, listen to me. We cannot chance another plague on our people.” She glanced at her fellow tribesmen hoping at least one would be reasonable. “Those images on your robe are of sacrifices to Baal.”
“How do you know that? Did you speak to Moses?” Helek swished his hips as he mocked her. “Oh, Moses, Helek has a finer robe than mine. Give it to me and my sisters. We are so plain.”
The crowd delighted in his rebuke.
Her skin flamed. How dare this fool malign Moses and insult her family. She blew out a breath and rallied her lungs to send forth the truth.
“I saw that robe hang from the body of Balaam, son of Beor.”
Hushed whispers rustled through the marketplace at the mention of the priest’s name.
“If you do not burn that wicked man’s garment, you risk the death of our people.” From one face to another, she beheld each of his companions. “Hebrew blood will be on your hands if that spoil of war rests in your tent.”
Helek’s jaw flared. “Do not tell me what to do, woman.” He spat at her face.
She ducked. Spittle dampened the side of her cheek. Her stomach threatened to spill.
“Listen to my sister!” Milcah shouted. Her free hand covering her ear.
“Know your place.” Another man spat at Milcah. His saliva hit her chest, narrowly missing their melon.
Mahlah’s body became a torch.
“Leave my sister be.” Milcah’s shriek roared over the heads of her foes. Curious foreigners stepped away widening the circle surrounding her and her tribesmen.
“I stood in the presence of a sorcerer of Baal, and he wore that atrocious rag.” Mahlah jabbed at the ornate robe. “If you wear that garment into camp, I will go to Moses, Joshua, Eleazar, and every leader I see, and tell of your misdeed. They will call you before the assembly. All of you.” She met each fighting man’s thin-lipped frown. “I am speaking the truth as a kinswoman. Death be on your household. Not mine or my clan’s.”
Helek clawed at her head covering and grabbed a fist of hair. He yanked her forward. “Who are you to demand anything of me?”
Scalp burning, wetness seeped from her eye. She bent her knees and jerked away to release the pressure of her kinsman’s hold and to avoid touching one thread of Balaam’s cloak.
“Let me go.” For a moment, she assessed the knife attached to her belt. Her blade remained useless. Spilling a relative’s blood would cost her more than her dignity. It would cost her own life.
Helek laughed at her distress. “Bow to me, and I might forgive your boldness.”
She would not go down. Not even on one knee. Not to this foolish mule of a man. Latching onto his smallest finger, she pulled, hard, as if breaking a quail’s breast bone.
Her distant cousin howled. He released his grip on her hair and shoved her to the ground.
With the melon as a battering ram, Milcah charged Helek. He fisted his hand to strike.
“Do not harm her.” Mahlah lunged and intercepted her sister.
She blocked Milcah from Helek’s view. “You may cause me pain, but I will not allow you to harm my sister or to bring suffering upon our people.” She beheld every kinsman. “Not after God has given you and our tribesmen victory in battle.”
Milcah peeked from behind her. “Does Moses know your names? He knows our names.”
A flash of realization caused Helek’s companions to sober.
“My sister speaks the truth. God gave us our inheritance. Perhaps your fathers mentioned our blessing.” She challenged her cousin with a fiery-eyed stare and then turned her noble wrath upon his companions. “Moses bestowed our land in an assembly of elders. Surely, Moses would listen to my concerns about a sorcerer’s robe when I have seen it worn during Baal worship.”
“Do as she says,” a fellow fighting man muttered.
Her cousin grabbed his embroidered collar and rubbed his thumbs over a few rubies “Why does this girl wish to take my spoils. God gave me victory over that heathen.” Helek wrinkled his fat nose. “She thinks she has the standing of a man.”
“I saw that robe on a priest of Baal. In the pit at Peor.” If only Balaam’s hideous robe could have stayed in the pit.
“We saw the priest on the trail, too,” Milcah said. “When our goat was lost.”
“If you were in the pit, why do you still live?” Her cousin relaxed his stance.
“I went in search of a relative, not to worship a false god. Please, I don’t wish anyone harm. Haven’t we seen enough death?” Remembering her father’s lifeless body caused pressure to build behind her eyes. “I have told you about the robe and Balaam to prevent more misery.”
“Burn it,” one of her tribesman said as he strode toward the path home. “I will not accompany that garment into camp.”
Toda r
aba.
“God gave us victory over our enemies. I will not stoke his ire,” an older fighting man said.
Another tribesman believed her.
Her cousin held out his robe to the objector. “Fine. Burn it then.”
The soldier held up his hands. “It is your spoil of war. Not ours. You have worn it. You must place it in the fire and ask forgiveness of any wrongdoing.”
“Take it to the fire pits over by the livestock.” Mahlah indicated a thin pillar of smoke rising toward the clear afternoon sky. “You will need to wash afterward.”
Helek branded her with a haughty glare. “Peck along, old hen. How cunning you were to steal my land. But that was not enough. Now you confiscate my robe.” He shrugged out of the tainted garment and let it drag in the dirt. “Woe is the man who binds himself to a thief.”
“I. Am. Not. A. Thief.” Mahlah’s words came out so forcefully, a few women scurried toward the far booths. “God bestowed my father’s land on me and my sisters. Moses announced God’s law to the tribal elders. We are rightful heirs.”
Her cousin spat at the ground, whirled around, and stomped toward the pillar of smoke.
Mahlah’s shoulders drooped. The unrelenting heat and the stench of roasted dates caused her head to pound. She rubbed her brow. Why couldn’t she have been born the youngest daughter of Zelophehad instead of the oldest?
She rested a hand on the top of Milcah’s head.
“Let’s go home. I’ve had my fill of foreigners. And not of melon.”
The paths between the tents of her kinsmen bustled with women weaving, cooking, and carting water. A few glimpsed her and Milcah, but no one uttered a greeting. Had word gotten out about the visitors from Asher? Had Helek’s companions told tales?
As Mahlah turned onto the wide path leading toward their tent, Hoglah leapt from a sitting stone and raced toward her.
“Mahlah. The tribal elders have summoned us to another assembly.”
“Again,” Milcah huffed.
Hoglah clasped her hands. A shiver shook her body. “Nemuel’s going to try to take our land.”
“It can’t be so.” Mahlah embraced her worried sister. “God gave us our land. No man can take it away.” How could the leaders change a revelation from God?
Oh Lord, may I live one day without turmoil?
28
Family heads of the clans of Gilead, son of Makir, the son of Manasseh, gathered around Moses. Their hand slaps, harried petitions, and foot stomps filled the area in front of the Tent of Meeting. Mahlah’s forefather, Joseph, would have been pleased with the boldness they showed in their requests. Hadn’t Joseph interpreted dreams for Pharaoh? Leaders from other tribes settled close by, their mouths in furious debate.
Mahlah beheld the shadowing sky. The billowing cloud, the presence of God, consumed the tiptop of the holy tent containing the golden Ark of God. An inner sense of calm overwhelmed her. Never in all her seventeen years had God rescinded a promise. She did not believe He would begin this night.
“What are you thinking?” Noah came alongside, her arms stretched, her fingers intertwined as if she would bolster her sister over the assembly curtain. “I can tell when your eye twitches that you are tense.”
“My eye is not twitching.” How had it not shut tight with all her ponderings?
“Maybe not but every part of you seems to have been fired in an oven. Would you like me to answer any charges brought against us?”
Shaking her head, Mahlah said, “We haven’t done anything wrong. Whatever has upset the leaders of Manasseh, I will answer for.”
Noah raised her eyebrows. “You make me believe there may be accusations against us?”
“Who knows what gossip has tickled their ears. Some days I wish all men were as silent as Jeremiah.”
“All maybe, save one.” Noah’s teasing gaze scanned the assembly. “I don’t see Reuben.”
“He has yet to return, but he didn’t do us much good last time.” Mahlah’s heart pressed down with disappointment. “If the rumors are true about the battles, five kings of Midian are dead. I would cast a marble that Reuben ventured into that fight. If so, he may be at war or waiting to become clean from the blood he has spilled.”
“Shouldn’t we approach Moses?” Hoglah pointed to Eleazar, the priest, whose hand was spinning faster than a spindle.
“We prayed last time.” Milcah laced her fingers. “All went well.”
Mahlah embraced her sister and tugged Tirzah closer. “Bow your heads”
After a moment, Mahlah prayed. “God of Abraham, bless our family. Forgive us if we have done anything to trouble our kin. Give Moses wisdom once again. May the words of our people be pleasing to You.”
A chorus of “Hear our plea” came forth.
“Follow me, sisters.”
Every sandal flop in her wake reverberated in Mahlah’s ears. She secured her mustard-hued head covering and used the cloth to shield herself from the stern-faced stares of her kinsmen. Her stomach tingled like beetles had hatched inside her gut and grazed on her flesh.
She and her sisters, fragranced with citrus oils and adorned in the embroidery of skilled hands, paraded into the sour stench and growling-rumble of men.
Mahlah halted the procession when she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Nemuel on her right, and Abishua on her left. Her sisters formed a barricade behind her.
“My lord.” Nemuel bobbed in respect to Moses. “Our Lord commanded you to give the land of our brother Zelophehad to his daughters as an inheritance.”
Moses leaned on his staff and acknowledged Mahlah with a nod. “Indeed. It is as you say.”
Nemuel stroked his beard. “I have been thinking. What becomes of the land given to Zelophehad’s daughters, if they marry outside of our tribe? Would lands designated for our tribe be added to the tribe of their husbands? Upon marriage, the land promised as an inheritance to the tribe of Manasseh would be lost.”
Her kinsman, Abishua, stepped forward. “Young men from the tribe of Asher have arrived with gifts for these girls.”
Before Mahlah could interrupt and refute the keeping of the mentioned gifts, a leader of the tribe of Asher rushed forward.
“What crime have we committed that you call us by name?” The elder raised his hands, palms open. “Our men passed by the tent and exchanged greetings. That is all.”
“Hah,” Nemuel scoffed. “Those men did more than saunter by.”
Bickering began among the leaders.
Mahlah raised her hand. If only she had a carved staff like Moses.
“I have not received any offer of a betrothal for a daughter of Zelophehad.” Her declaration stifled some of the discord. She cleared her throat. “Men from Asher came by our tent with gifts.”
Her elders puffed like well-fed roosters.
“Some men were gracious to us on the long march in the desert. They belonged to the tribe of Asher. We were thankful for their kindness. These same men did stop by our tent with gifts, but I returned their wine and food. We have not seen them since.”
“Indeed.” Nemuel’s declaration boomed in the meeting space. “If those men from Asher did return and seek a marriage, they could claim the land of a daughter of Zelophehad. God’s provision for Manasseh would decrease. May it never be.”
Moses raised his staff.
Discussions halted.
“There is truth in what the elder of Manasseh has spoken. A husband can lay claim to the lands of his wife. Bestowed lands must remain within each tribe. This is what God has ordered. Since our Lord has given land to the daughters of Zelophehad, it is He who must settle this matter.” Moses turned toward Eleazar the priest. “I will seek the counsel of God.”
After Moses strode beside the holy tent, the elders fixed their snarled-brow attentions upon her.
“See the trouble you have caused?” Nemuel exhaled through clenched teeth. One would have thought he had a snot-filled nose.
She balled her hands and let every harsh word formin
g on her lips be fisted in her grip. She and her sisters were outnumbered by men who would be elated to seize their land.
“The daughters of Zelophehad know the laws of God.” Mahlah let her praise ring out over the clamoring voices. “We will abide by God’s decree tonight and forevermore.”
Tirzah tugged on Mahlah’s robe. “Does this mean we cannot marry?”
Mahlah stifled a grin and straightened Tirzah’s scarlet-hemmed head covering. “It will be a long while for you, little one.”
Hoglah shuffled forward. She caressed her shoulder as if it pained. “It won’t be long for me. Does Nemuel mean for us to solely marry men from our clan?”
Mahlah let her gaze rest on Noah, then Milcah, then Tirzah, and lastly on Hoglah. Hoglah’s eyes brimmed with tears. Mahlah’s throat thickened so every word she planned to speak had to be coaxed from her mouth. “We will do what God commands.”
29
Hand in hand, the daughters of Zelophehad waited for Moses to return to the assembly. What would God decide about the land? Whatever her God willed, she would honor.
Hoglah stood next to her, rigid and paler than her alabaster-trimmed head covering. The half-moons under her eyes rivaled the indigo in her veil.
Mahlah squeezed Hoglah’s hand. Her sister’s vibrant smile had vanished since the pit.
“Dear sister. God has provided everything we have needed on our journey. Our clothes have not grown threadbare and our sandals are sturdy. We have food every morning and every night. He has not left us alone.”
“Then how come I feel downtrodden.” Hoglah’s hopeful grin faltered.
Mahlah bent to see her sister’s face. “We have all suffered the loss of our mother and father, but you are fearful of the loss of someone who made your heart blossom. Try as I may, I cannot heal your hurt.”
“I have added to all our woes.” Hoglah’s voice was but a whisper.
Noah wrapped an arm around Hoglah’s shoulders. “You haven’t added as much woe as our elders. Besides, your trip to the pit has softened Basemath’s claws. She is bearable of late.”
“You are trying to make me forget my transgressions.”
Lioness: Mahlah's Journey Page 13