by Mesu Andrews
She was right, of course. Saba and Savta would be terribly disappointed if they woke and found both he and Doda gone, and Eleazar would rather face the Hittites in battle than disappoint his grandparents.
Slipping through the dividing curtain into the adjoining room, Doda knelt beside two sleeping forms. Saba Amram lay on his side, back facing the door, arm over the frail frame of his beloved Jochebed. They’d been married, as near as they could remember, almost ninety inundations.
Doda Miriam had lived in this two-room dwelling all her life—except for the time she’d served as handmaid to the pharaoh’s daughter, the same woman who had saved Doda’s brother Moses and raised him as a prince of Egypt. When Moses’s heritage was discovered, the pharaoh’s daughter was saved from execution by the king’s merciful bodyguard and hidden among Hebrews. She was given a Hebrew name—Bithiah—and married the Chief Linen Keeper, a slave named Mered, who shared adjoining rooms with Doda, Saba, and Savta in this long house. Mered’s family had grown and moved to another village, but Doda had remained here to care for Saba and Savta—and everyone else too poor to afford Egyptian physicians.
Eleazar ran his fingers over the marks on the doorway, lines drawn to measure his height as he grew up. His younger brother Ithamar’s growth was measured on the opposite doorframe. They’d always been Doda’s favorites—no doubt because Abba Aaron and Ima Elisheba were too busy doting on his older brothers, Nadab and Abihu. A sigh escaped before Eleazar could recapture it.
Doda jostled Saba Amram’s shoulder. “Eleazar brought his rations for us. Your favorites, nabk-berry bread and boiled goose eggs.” She waved the delights in front of his nose as he woke, and Eleazar chuckled at the sparkle in Saba’s rheumy eyes.
The commotion woke Savta Jochebed, and her sweet smile welcomed Eleazar like a warm hug. “Good morning, our sweet boy.”
Eleazar was forty-seven years old, bodyguard of Pharaoh’s second firstborn, and as a war-seasoned military slave, had been given the position of slave commander at Rameses. Would he always be Savta’s sweet boy? An unsanctioned grin assaulted him. He hoped so. “Good morning, Savta. Are you well?”
“Of course we are well.” Saba bounced his eyebrows. “We have nabk-berry bread!”
Chuckles around their small circle released Eleazar from the shroud of Pharaoh’s morning tantrum but reminded him of his duty. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but Ramesses has summoned Doda Miriam to the throne hall to interpret his nightmares.”
“Nightmares.” Doda whispered reverently. “Those must be the dreams El Shaddai showed me last night.” With a wistful sigh, she set aside the food and reached for Saba and Savta. “Pharaoh can wait until we help your grandparents sit up against the wall to eat their fine meal.”
Eleazar sprang into action, lifting them gently and stuffing straw behind their backs to make them more comfortable.
When he glanced around the room, Doda was returning with a bowl of water and cloths. “I’ll just give them a quick bath before we go.”
“Absolutely not!” His heated reply startled his elders, and the gentle rebuke in Saba Amram’s knitted brow silenced him.
Saba searched Eleazar’s face as if mining for copper. “You’re frightened for Miriam to appear in front of Pharaoh. Why?” Saba Amram had always been able to read him like a scroll.
“I mentioned to Prince Ram months ago that Doda interpreted dreams. It was stupid of me to ever mention my family. Now he has a weapon to use against me.” Eleazar held Doda Miriam’s gaze. “Simply interpret the dreams and leave. Say nothing to antagonize Ramesses.”
“If El Shaddai tells me the meaning, I’ll give the interpretation.”
The floor seemed to shift beneath him. “If? You always know the meanings of dreams. What do you mean if?”
Doda waved away his question like a fly from her stew. “Shaddai showed me the dreams, so we must believe He’ll give the interpretation when I stand before Ramesses.”
Eleazar opened his mouth, but no words came. Groping in the silence, he looked to Saba Amram for help. “I can’t take her to Ramesses if she can’t interpret the dreams. He’ll kill her.”
“Come here, daughter.” Saba extended his blue-veined hand and pulled Doda close. “El Shaddai has been faithful to us our whole lives. But you must be careful. Egypt’s kings once dealt shrewdly with the Hebrews, but Ramesses abandons all pretense. He needs no reason to kill a Hebrew.”
Doda bowed on one knee and pressed her forehead against Saba’s hand. “Pray for me, Abba. I don’t feel El Shaddai’s presence this morning.”
Fear sucked the wind from Eleazar’s chest as he watched his three elders bow their heads in prayer. He felt like an outsider—as he always did when they spoke of their God—but worse, he felt responsible for leading his doda into danger.
With a wink and a kiss, Doda received encouragement from Saba and Savta, rocked to her feet, and grabbed her walking stick on her way out of the long house. Barely a few steps outside, Eleazar could stand it no longer. “What do you mean you don’t feel Shaddai’s presence? He’s invisible. How can an invisible God be any more present one day than another?”
She answered without slowing her pace or looking his direction. “El Shaddai’s presence is more real to me than the Nile. He is the air I breathe. He is the beating of my heart. I converse with Him all day long, and He replies—in His own way. But this morning was different. He is silent.”
Eleazar swallowed a growing lump in his throat and halted his doda. “I can’t take you to Ramesses unless I know your God will give you the interpretation. I can’t keep you safe when we’re surrounded by Egyptian guards in the throne hall.”
“You can’t keep anyone safe, dear.” She patted his cheek. “That’s up to El Shaddai.”
The look in her eyes was sincere, but sincerity wouldn’t save her from Ramesses. “If I had left you and Saba and Savta in El Shaddai’s care all these years, you would have starved by now.” How many hundreds of times had they had this conversation?
With a snort, she began marching toward the city again, but Doda needed to face the glaring truth. “Half of my rations barely keep you, Saba, and Savta alive. Why don’t you tend to the injuries of people who can pay you?”
“Sometimes the slaves bring me grain or a loaf of bread, and I have a small garden. El Shaddai always provides for us.”
“Why can’t Abba Aaron share a loaf of bread once in a while? Or my selfish ima give you some of her grain rations?”
Doda stopped and planted both fists on her hips. “You will not speak disrespectfully of your parents. Regardless of their shortcomings, you will honor them because they gave you life.” She cocked her head, waiting for Eleazar’s acknowledgement.
With his single nod, they resumed their walk. Eleazar reached inside his leather breast piece for his portion of rations and handed his bread to Doda. “You didn’t have time to eat before we left. Eat.”
She accepted, took her first bite, and lolled it to the side that still had a few teeth. “Why don’t you talk while I eat?” Her smile was full of mischief.
He tried to maintain his stern bearing, but a chuckle betrayed him.
They walked on a narrow path between canals that had been swollen by the Nile’s inundation. Slaves lined both sides, making mud bricks for the city’s extensive building projects, while Egyptian slave drivers cracked their whips and shouted orders. Eleazar kept his voice low and his eyes averted. “These dreams have made Pharaoh even more unpredictable. You must be careful. Ramesses may tolerate some of your antics because he respects our family’s longevity. Age means blessing even to Egyptians, but please, none of your impudence.”
“I think that’s more than I’ve heard you say since last year’s inundation.” She raised both eyebrows and took another bite of bread. “I’ll interpret the dreams, and then we’ll leave so you and I can talk about your marriage.”
That grin of hers broke him every time. He laughed and squeezed her arm tight against his side. “I’m not ge
tting married—ever. You’re relentless.”
“I learned it from your saba Amram. Why do you think he’s 137 years old?”
The reminder both warmed and terrified Eleazar. Doda, Saba, and Savta were his life. The thought of losing them haunted him day and night. Why had he mentioned to Prince Ramesses that Doda Miriam interpreted one of his dreams years ago? He’d been so careful never to reveal family members’ names. Too many Hebrew women were punished for a husband’s or father’s sins.
He pulled Doda closer as they walked. “Doda, just interpret his dream. Nothing else. No more words. Then I’ll take you home.”
Popping the last bite of bread into her mouth, she clapped breadcrumbs from her hands. “I promise I’ll say only what my Shaddai tells me to say.”
No matter how much he begged, she’d never promise anything else. Her Shaddai, as she called Him, had been the single light in her dark world. Since his first battlefield, Eleazar had seen the folly of trusting any god, but he would never begrudge Doda or his grandparents their archaic traditions. In fact, their beliefs were undoubtedly what had kept them alive through the changes they’d seen in their lifetimes.
He watched Doda’s expression change to deep sadness as they left the canals and entered the thriving industrial section of the city of Rameses. She’d often told him of the single linen shop her friend Mered oversaw before the quiet Avaris estate grew to become the capital city of Rameses. Now this industrial section boasted multiple buildings, eight of which housed the finest byssus-linen production in the world.
The city of Rameses was the last stop on the Way of Horus—the world’s most lucrative trade route. In addition to weaving the byssus linen, Hebrew slaves kept the king’s brewery, winery, and metal shop producing other quality products that were traded in markets from Elam to Hatti.
Pharaoh Ramesses had built this namesake city on the backs of his Hebrew slaves. After using their blood for mortar and crushing their bones with its bricks, he made the city his home.
“Keep your head bowed as we go through the gates,” Eleazar said as they approached the palace complex. “The guards know I’m Prince Ram’s guard, but they’ll use any excuse to beat us both.”
She bowed her head and remained silent.
“How long since you’ve visited the palace complex?” He wasn’t certain when she’d last served the king’s harem as midwife.
Head still bowed, Doda spoke in barely a whisper. “I haven’t left the slave village since Pharaoh Sety died, almost thirty years ago. When Ramesses became king, he wanted only Egyptian midwives attending his harem.”
They passed through the gates unmolested, and Eleazar breathed easier. Doda tugged at the sleeve of her robe, and Eleazar tucked her under his arm. “No one will see your harem brand. They use a different symbol for Ramesses’s concubines anyway.”
Her eyes glistened. “Do you really believe people would think I’m Ramesses’s concubine?” She shook her head with a derisive grin. “Women with a harem brand today could be concubines or simply slave girls, but when I bore this brand, it meant the master possessed a woman completely.” Doda looked up to impress her meaning. “The master who owned me was my brother Moses—posing as an Egyptian prince.”
Of course, everyone knew the story of Eleazar’s uncle, Prince Mehy. Best friend and vizier to Ramesses’s father, Pharaoh Sety, Mehy had been a Hebrew infant rescued from the Nile by King Tut’s sister and raised as the Egyptian master of the Avaris estate. Tut’s sister, Amira Anippe, had hidden his Hebrew parentage but secretly allowed Miriam to call him Moses. When Eleazar was a boy of seven, Prince Mehy had come knocking on Saba’s long-house door in the night, begging help to flee. Pharaoh Sety had discovered his Hebrew heritage and ordered his execution. Prince Mehy stood at Saba’s door, trembling in a filthy rough-spun robe flung over his pristine linen shenti and Gold of Praise collar. Eleazar recognized Hebrew fear on his Egyptian-looking uncle before the man ran into the night. Good riddance, Prince Mehy.
“Are you listening?” Doda Miriam shook his arm. “My brother Moses owned this estate before anyone knew he was a Hebrew.”
“I know, Doda.” Eleazar pointed toward the palace bathing room at the base of the entry ramp and steered her toward it, hoping to distract her from the rest of the oft-told story. It didn’t work.
“Moses branded me so the estate guards would think I was his concubine. The mark made me untouchable. It protected me until I was past the age of the guards’ interest.”
Eleazar nodded but kept silent. Why did his elders insist on telling the same stories again and again? He drew her close and kissed the top of her head as he led her into the public bath chamber.
Ceremonial washing had become mandatory since the days when Doda visited the palace. Every slave, merchant, criminal, or king must now be cleansed before bowing to Egypt’s god on his throne. Eleazar grabbed a clean robe and guided his doda toward a stone sink. “Splash your hands, arms, face, and neck.” He kept his head bowed, but Doda gawked at the crowd of male and female bathers. Some disrobed completely in the open, while others stepped behind the curtained partitions lining the inner wall. Eleazar shook Doda gently from her trance. “Keep your eyes downcast and bathe quickly.”
He waited as she took a stone wash basin behind one of the curtained partitions. Though he’d visited the bathing room a dozen times, even he found it hard not to stare. Nubians, wearing nothing but strings and feathers, splashed cool Nile water over their deep black skin. Merchants from the Far East carefully avoided getting water on their oiled and curled beards, and chained prisoners from Hatti winced as the water grazed open wounds.
Doda reappeared wearing the simple but luxurious white linen robe, her rough-spun robe draped over the brand on her forearm. After emptying her small basin into the gutter that funneled the dirty water back to the river, she nestled under his arm. “I’m ready.”
Eleazar’s chest constricted. He’d never realized how much the brand bothered her. “Doda, you must leave your old robe in the dressing room. You can’t take it into the throne hall.”
“The sleeves are too short.” Her eyes pleaded, but her jaw was set like stone.
“Doda…” Eleazar glanced at the crowded bathing chamber and guided her to a secluded corner. “You’re eighty-six. Everyone knows Prince Mehy’s story—”
“But not everyone knows I was his sister,” she said too loud, gaining the attention of several bathers. Doda took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “Those who do know I was Prince Mehy’s sister may think the worst. The only Hebrews who knew the truth, other than your grandparents, are dead.” Her eyes pooled with tears as she searched Eleazar’s face. “Gossip and this brand made marriage impossible. But my devotion to Shaddai made marriage unnecessary.”
Stunned, Eleazar had never realized the brand caused Hebrews to believe Doda was defiled by her own brother. He burned with new hatred for his dohd Moses—a man he vaguely remembered. “I didn’t know you wanted to marry.”
She wiped her eyes and waved off his answer. “Well, of course I didn’t want to marry. What man could ever fill my heart like El Shaddai?” She poked his chest with her bony finger. “But it would have been nice to be asked, I tell you. Come now, Pharaoh is waiting.”
Eleazar shook his head. Some things weren’t worth the battle. As they began their march up the palace ramp, Eleazar contemplated the imminent confrontation. His seemingly undaunted doda would address Egypt’s most capricious Pharaoh with a rough-spun robe draped over her arm. For the first time in years, Eleazar wished he believed in a god that heard his prayers.
3
Pharaoh gave Joseph the name Zaphenath-Paneah….So Joseph died at the age of a hundred and ten. And after they embalmed him, he was placed in a coffin in Egypt.
—GENESIS 41:45; 50:26
When Miriam last visited the harem, it had been housed in what was then the larger of two palaces. Now there were three palaces in the royal complex, the grandest of which housed Pharaoh, h
is harem, and the throne hall in which she and Eleazar now stood. She’d seen Ramesses’s extravagance evidenced in the massive statues of himself erected at the double gates of the palace complex, their inscriptions reading, “Ramesses, the god.” His palace exceeded rumor, and the courtroom resembled a dream. Ivory and limestone washed the interior with the illusion of brightest hope, but the towering granite gods of Horus and Seth overshadowed the throne of Pharaoh’s dark power.
Petitioners dressed in white nudged Miriam left then right, shoving forward to get a closer look at the king on his throne. Servants with ostrich-plume fans stirred tepid air over the golden chairs of Pharaoh’s sons and officials, while noblemen and their women lined up with the giant pillars flanking the crimson carpet leading to Ramesses’s throne.
Miriam adjusted her rough-spun robe to hide the brand on her arm. She’d borne the shame of gossip and wrongful accusations without regrets, but today’s caution was about more than petty pride. What if Ramesses recognized the Avaris estate brand and realized her connection to the Hebrew who had betrayed his father, Sety? Did Ramesses still harbor the hatred for Moses that Pharaoh Sety had taken to his grave? Miriam couldn’t risk linking herself—or Eleazar—to the most despised Hebrew in Egyptian history.
She straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and stepped toward the throne, but was unceremoniously hauled back to the line of petitioners by Eleazar’s giant hand.
He nodded and apologized to those with raised eyebrows. “Please, forgive us.” He leaned close and whispered, “Doda, Hebrews are always last to be heard in Pharaoh’s court. We must wait to be called forward.”
“But I thought Pharaoh was in such a hurry to see me.”
Eleazar’s furrowed brow told her silence was preferred to promptness at this point.
She lifted her eyes to the king on his throne—thirty years older than the last time she’d seen him. More than age weighed on Ramesses’s eyelids and wrinkled brow. Deep crevices lined his forehead and dark circles ringed his eyes. The double crown of Egypt rested on his shaved head, but his face was creased with years of worry, and his shoulders weren’t the strong banner of youth they’d once been. He sighed and rested an elbow on his gilded throne, bending his forehead to his waiting palm. A droning dignitary draped in fur—during Egypt’s hottest month—endorsed the visiting nation’s fur trade.