By the Waters of Kadesh (Journey to Canaan Book 2)

by Carole Towriss

“Hello. I am called Danel.” He spoke in perfect Egyptian.

  Kamose quirked an eyebrow.

  Danel chuckled. “We have many Egyptian traders pass through here. I’ve picked up the language.” He handed Kamose one of the steaming bowls.

  He’d more than “picked up” the language. He had to have grown up with it—it was flawless, completely unaccented. But Kamose wasn’t going to argue with someone bringing him food. He tasted the stew. Lamb, with root vegetables, not all of which he recognized. He ate greedily. It was delicious. Not the stuff they’d brought him the last few days. Obviously the prisoners had a different cook.

  “I’ve never seen anyone eat so fast!” Danel offered his bowl. “Want mine, too?”

  Kamose eyed the bowl.

  “It’s all right. I can get more.” Danel chuckled as he pushed it closer to Kamose.

  Kamose took it and shoveled the stew into his mouth. “Why did you run away earlier?”

  “You shocked me when you spoke in Egyptian. You sounded like …” His face clouded. “I just didn’t expect to hear it. We never have Egyptian prisoners. If we captured traders, they’d quit coming here, and we make a lot of coin off of them.”

  Kamose finished his meal. “What day is it?”

  Danel told him the Canaanite name.

  “That doesn’t help me. I don’t know those names.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Do you know how many days I’ve been here?”

  Danel moved behind Kamose, dragging the tray with him, and dunked the cloth in the smaller bowl. He gently washed Kamose’s back, though he didn’t always succeed in avoiding the pieces of hanging flesh or flayed skin. “You’ve been in this room eight days. You were brought before the prince again last night. You slept all night and until midday. I brought you food at noon, and this is the evening meal.”

  Kamose added the time in his head. “Fifteen days.” And two hiking to get here, and two to get to the injured men. He’d been gone almost three weeks. He arched his back as the liquid stung his wounds. “Is the king going to kill me now?”

  “No, the king is done with you. He got the information he wanted. It’s the prince you have to worry about.”

  “Keret?”

  “The prince doesn’t believe you. But he won’t kill you. He likes his prisoners.”

  “So … he’ll just keep me here, starve me …”

  Danel breathed deeply. “No, he likes his prisoners strong and healthy for when he beats them.”

  They remained silent for several moments as Danel wiped the dried blood from between Kamose’s stripes. Water plopped into the bowl as he wrung out the cloth. A bird hopped on the windowsill above, its chirps barely audible from this distance.

  “Are there others?”

  “There were.”

  “What happened to them?”

  Danel stacked the bowls, grasped the tray, and strode to the door. “I’ll keep bringing you food. You’ll be all right. For a while.”

  Twenty-one

  8 Elul

  After the midday meal, Tirzah and the children strolled to the river. She sat on the log, in the same spot Kamose sat when he first came to see her. Or rather, to find Ahmose. The breeze had stilled, and the air was heavy. In the heat of the afternoon, even the birds were quiet. Nothing interfered with the memories that surrounded her, overtook her, threatened to drown her. Her stomach ached as she remembered his deep brown eyes, the way he felt, the way he sounded, the way he looked at her. She hugged her arms around herself.

  Ahmose found the girls a batch of wildflowers and butterflies, then plodded over to Tirzah. “He’s not coming back, is he?” His eyes held a pain she had not noticed before.

  She blinked several times. “No, habibi, I don’t think he is.”

  He wrapped his arms around her neck. His tears wet her tunic for several moments. He pulled back and wiped his nose, then sat next to her on the log. “Are you going to die, too?”

  She whipped her gaze to him. “Whatever makes you say that?”

  He stared at her, his eyes full of concern. The same eyes Kamose had—they made her heart stutter. “You don’t eat, and you sleep a lot.”

  She drew in a ragged breath. “How does that mean I’m going to die?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what the old people at the palace did just before they died.”

  She laughed mirthlessly. “Are you saying I’m really old?”

  “No.” He kicked his heel against the log. “I just don’t want you to die, too.”

  His words hit her like cold water thrown in her face. Had her behavior been that selfish? She put her arm around his shoulder. “Habibi, I do not intend to die.”

  He kicked a while longer, then hopped off the log and stood in front of her again. He studied her face a few moments, then placed his hand in the middle of her chest. “It hurts here, doesn’t it?”Her heart nearly stopped. Until now, she had simply never considered that Kamose’s death would affect anyone else as much as it did her. Did Ahmose hurt as much as she did? Kamose was the child’s uncle, Bezalel’s best friend. He had saved Meri’s life. Twice. Yet they had all put their grief aside to help her. She spoke past the lump in her throat. “Yes, it does. It hurts very much.”

  “I know. It hurt there when Bezalel almost died in Egypt, and it hurt when Sabba died. It hurts now, too.” He watched over his shoulder as Naomi and Keren chased butterflies. When he faced her again, his dark lashes were wet as he held back tears. “They don’t understand, do they?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. They’ve asked for him, but they don’t understand he won’t ever be back.”

  “Will they remember him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t remember my imma.”

  She placed her arms around his waist and drew him closer. “I’m sorry, habibi.”

  “It’s all right. Yahweh brought other people to love me. He’ll bring you other people, too.”

  She sniffled. He certainly believed that, but she didn’t.

  He pulled back to look in her eyes. “After Sabba died, for a while I didn’t think I’d ever feel like smiling again. But I did. And then Yahweh sent me you. And Naomi and Keren.”

  Tirzah chuckled. She was sent to Kamose, wasn’t she? Or maybe he’d been sent to her. But if Ahmose wanted to believe she was Yahweh’s gift to him, that was fine with her.

  When the girls finally tired themselves out, they returned to camp. Tirzah laid them down for a nap and joined Rebekah at the fire pit.

  Tirzah told her what Ahmose had said at the river. “He believes Yahweh will make everything better, no question. He has such faith. But I’m not sure I do. I’m not sure I want to trust Him anymore.”

  “Oh, habibti, don’t say that. You know, in Egypt, we knew him only as El Shaddai, God Almighty. He made promises and plans and carried them out and we were subject to them. But now, we know him as Yahweh, as the I Am. He dwells with us, in the tabernacle built by my son, who only learned the skills he needed to build that dwelling after being a slave in Pharaoh’s palace. Yahweh dwells with us, He is with us, all of us, each of us. Do you see the difference?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Remember what Moses said at your wedding? ‘If you call on Him, He will answer you; He will be with you in trouble, He will deliver you.’ He will be with you in this time of trouble if you let Him.”

  Tirzah nodded. That might be what Moses said, but the fact remained: Kamose was still dead, and she was in fact, alone. How could Yahweh deliver her from that?

  11 Elul

  Kamose tried to lift his head, but the incessant, torturous pounding inside it prevented him. No matter, he couldn’t see anything even if he could look up. The dark in the room was oppressive. Light only shone in the tiny window about an hour a day, right at sunup.

  They had whipped him again last night—the fourth time—until he blacked out. Which took fewer and fewer strokes each time. He’d considered lying and telling them the Israelites were indeed comi
ng, since that seemed to be what they wanted to hear, but then they would only want battle plans, and he had none.

  He was beginning to hate Prince Keret of Arad. Actually, he was beyond beginning. He hated him quite soundly now. But nothing pained him as much as the knowledge that Tirzah probably thought him dead. Like every other man in her life, he had let her down. After promising he would be different. Not to mention Naomi and Keren. The sound of “Abba” rang in his ears.

  A knock on the door banished his girls’ cries from his thoughts. Danel—he assumed it was Danel, since no one else ever came—entered. Kamose opened his eyes to see Danel’s familiar feet. The boy placed a tray of cheese and bread on the floor and sat beside Kamose. With his hands on Kamose’s biceps, he helped him sit up.

  Pain screamed throughout Kamose’s body at Danel’s touch. He set his jaw and squeezed his eyes tight. Every move was agony, since they had extended the lashes to the backs of his legs the last time as well. Finally he settled into a position he could maintain, with his knees up, forearms rested on his knees.

  Kamose wasn’t hungry, but he had to eat. As he chewed the piece of bread Danel handed him, he tried to keep the rest of his body as still as possible. His back was stripped raw. The slightest effort caused almost unendurable pain. Even if he could get out of the room again, would he have enough strength to run? Would he have enough energy to even recognize the opportunity?

  Danel continued handing pieces of bread to Kamose, forcing him to eat. Somehow he managed to do it without making Kamose feel like a child. He had to be a few years older than Ahmose. His hair and coloring in general were much lighter than his nephew’s. His hair was down, but cut off below his ears, like everyone else Kamose had seen. His eyes were a beautiful blue-green. His smile, much like Ahmose’s, lit up his whole face.

  After the entire loaf and a chunk of cheese were consumed, Danel handed him a large cup of juice. While Kamose downed it, Danel peeked at Kamose’s back. “This is looking bad. I’ve got some honey.” He opened a pot and stuck his fingers inside. They came out covered in liquid gold.

  The honey soothed Kamose’s wounds, and his taut muscles relaxed. Danel talked as he smeared it across each stripe. “Do you have a wife?”

  “Her name is Tirzah.”

  “Children?”

  “Twin girls. Naomi and Keren. They’re only three.”

  “I think you must be a good father.” Danel pointed to some grapes with his clean hand, but Kamose waved them off. “I’m going to try to get you out of here,” Danel whispered.

  He had an earnest voice, much like Ahmose.

  Oh, he missed his nephew. “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “I have a nephew. His parents are … they can’t care for him. He’s with me now. He’s nine. You remind me of him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ahmose.”

  “Ahmose and Kamose. Like the kings?”

  Kamose nodded. He’d named his sister’s baby after one of Egypt’s most powerful pharaohs. At the time he hoped the name’s power might somehow protect the child, give him a better life than the one he was sentenced to as a motherless child in the harem. Would Kamose even see him grow up now?

  Danel set aside the honey. He knelt before Kamose as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “All right, then, Kamose, you have to eat and get back to him, and to Tirzah and Naomi and Keren. I know you’re in bad shape, but you have to try. Finish the cheese and grapes. I’ll bring more food tonight. Eat it all. The next time they take you to the chamber, I’m going to get you out.”

  Kamose’s heart beat faster. He could not have anyone else at risk. “No, you mustn’t endanger yourself—”

  “I won’t. My imma and I have been planning this for days. You’ll get out, and we’ll be safe.” He put his hand on Kamose’s arm. “You’re … you’re different. All the other prisoners … they’re thieves and murderers and they plot against the king or the prince. The prince may be cruel and crazy, but they still broke the law. You didn’t do anything. I don’t want you to die here.” He closed the pot, gathered up his tray, and left without looking back.

  The thought of dying in this room was miserable. The thought of leaving Tirzah alone again was more than he could bear. He’d only married her a few weeks ago.

  The wedding. What was it Moses said?

  “If you say, ‘Yahweh is my refuge,’ and you make El Shaddai your dwelling, no harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent.”

  “No harm will come to you.” No harm will come to you? What would you call what had happened to him these last few weeks? He’d been seriously harmed, and only because all those Israelites did not obey. In all his life he’d never once been whipped by a superior, because he’d always obeyed, and now because the Israelite rebels did not listen, he was near death.

  “If you love Him, He will rescue you. If you call on Him, He will answer you; He will be with you in trouble, He will deliver you.”

  He will be with you. Was He here now?

  Yahweh, will you deliver me?

  13 Elul

  Sitting by the dying fire, Tirzah scrubbed the last pot sparkling clean and placed it in the stack outside her empty tent. Rebekah had taken the girls for a walk while Tirzah cleaned up from the evening meal. The setting sun cast long purple streaks across the western sky. Tonight the heavy, dark cloud threatening to suffocate her was a little less ominous, and the pain that was her constant companion a little less sharp. Each pop of the fire seemed to release a tiny bit of tension.

  She turned from the tent to find a familiar—and unwelcome—pair of sandals filling her field of vision. She drew her gaze up his legs, his torso, to his disgusting smile.

  Nathaniel.

  She took several deep breaths before she stood and faced him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on my favorite sister-in-law.” His smile made her stomach churn, and it took enormous effort to keep from spewing her food all over him, as attractive an idea as that was.

  She glared down at him. “I am no longer your sister-in-law.” She clenched her jaw. And her fist. Although she’d do more damage to her hand than to him if she hit him. And be in serious trouble.

  “But I hear your precious Egyptian has run off.”

  “He did not ‘run off.’ He went to rescue the wounded abandoned on the field by the others.”

  Nathaniel spread his hands and made a show of looking around. “Then where is he?”

  Tirzah’s cheeks heated. “He has not returned.”

  He smirked. “Then perhaps you are no longer married.”

  Tirzah stepped forward. “If anything, I am his widow, not Jediel’s. Your obligation is satisfied. You can leave now.”

  Nathaniel touched his finger to his chin. “Are you sure this marriage was even legal? I mean, he’s not an Israelite. …” Nathaniel scrunched up his face.

  From the corner of her eye, Tirzah saw people coming out of their tents. She cringed. What did they want? Were they angry with her for arguing with a man? For creating a scene? Well, she would end this as quickly as possible. “Moses himself gave his permission and married us. I think that’s as legal as it can be. You gave up your rights, and Moses said we could marry as long as we realized we would not inherit land in Canaan.”

  Nathaniel neared Tirzah.

  Some of the women came to stand behind her. She sucked in a breath. They were here to support her? That never would have happened in her clan in Zebulon.

  Nathaniel eyed the women cautiously. “I gave up my claim on you only because your Egyptian threatened me.” He spoke softly.

  “You killed Benjamin!” She made no attempt to lower her voice. Every muscle in her body constricted as she fought to restrain her rage. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry. Not in front of Nathaniel. He wasn’t worth it. She would not cry because of him on the same day she cried for Kamose.

  “You have no proof of that.” He pu
t his hands on his hips and smiled his horrible smile.

  “Kamose found the bloody knife in your tent.”

  Nathaniel shrugged.

  Tirzah drew as close as she dared to her former brother-in-law, and pointed to his feet. “And you still have blood on your sandal.” She couldn’t help the scorn in her voice.

  Men with crossed arms and fisted hands came to Tirzah’s side. At nearly the same moment, Bezalel, Joshua, and Nahshon broke through and took their places between her and her tormentor.

  “Is there a problem?” Bezalel asked.

  “I really hope not.” Joshua flicked his thumb over the tip of his spear while he stared down Nathaniel.

  “You have no claim on her. Don’t ever come near her again.” Nahshon turned Nathaniel toward Zebulon and gave him a push.

  Tirzah caught his eye before he slunk away. Pure defeat. She’d never have to worry about him again. She released a long breath as Bezalel gave her a hug.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I am now.” She looked at the three of them. “I don’t know what to say.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “There is nothing to say. You’re family. We take care of family.” Bezalel squeezed her shoulder and stepped away.

  Meri grabbed her and wrapped her in one of her all-encompassing hugs. How could she feel so confined by this slip of a girl? But it felt good. Really good.

  She watched the crowd disperse. Several of the women smiled or waved as they left. She truly would never be alone.

  Perhaps Yahweh knew what He was doing after all.

  14 Elul

  A key turned in the lock and the door squeaked open on its ancient hinges. The familiar guards entered and grabbed Kamose by the arms. They dragged him out of the cell, up the stairs.

  Rescue me, Shaddai.

  The pair pulled him into the too-familiar room, dragged him toward the pole, and leaned him against it. He groaned as unbelievable pain surged through every part of his back. The taller soldier grasped his elbow and spun him around, then yanked his arms above his head. His shoulders burned. His vision blurred. His heart pounded in his ears. But as the other guard started to tie his hands to the pole, an intense commotion in the hall drew his attention. A woman screamed. Prince Keret shouted to his men and all went running.