In the Shadow of Sinai

by Carole Towriss

  He wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.

  The breeze flowed through the long, narrow portico from the open courtyard, carrying the scent of narcissus flowers. A cat meandered into the room, jumped onto the dais, and curled up under the throne. Servants bustled throughout the palace, delivering messages, following orders, gathering food.

  Bezalel removed the linen cover from the bust and set out his tools. He ran his hands over the face as the early morning sun danced on the smooth stone. The shape of the eyes, the curve of the mouth—the tiny things that gave a statue life were almost complete.

  He glanced up as Ramses passed him on his way to the river for his morning bath. Servants followed, some with food and drink.

  Bezalel drew a fine-pointed chisel across the alabaster to shape a scepter.

  A servant appeared at the edge of the courtyard and summoned him. “Ramses commands you to come. He is pleased with this sculpture, and desires that you make one of his beloved wife, Nefertari. He has instructions to give you. Follow me.” He whirled about and headed toward the river.

  Bezalel caught his breath, and his heart beat faster. His instructions had always come from the chief craftsman.

  Servants were standing in the water when Bezalel reached the river. Ramses waited on the edge as they prepared the oils and lotions for his bath. Date palms swayed gently overhead and a turtle circled lazily in the water. Bezalel walked a few paces down the wide slope of the river toward the king and stood on the bank. But before Ramses could address him, Moses and Aaron approached from the Israelite villages to the north.

  “I thought I told you to keep them out of my palace!” the king barked at a helpless servant.

  Aaron stepped into the water, several strides from the ruler. “You choose to worship Hapi, god of the Nile. You believe the Nile is the life-giving blood of Osiris. But Yahweh, the God of Israel says—”

  “Yes, I know what he says!” Ramses strode toward the pair. “But for the last time, I am not going to let you or your people go anywhere! Your little tricks last week prove nothing!”

  “‘You have refused to listen to Me,’ says Yahweh.” Aaron continued when Ramses stopped moving. “‘Now you will know that only I am God. I will strike the water of this river, and it will become blood. The fish will die, and you will have no water for your animals, or your people.”

  Aaron raised his staff high over his head and brought it crashing down on the water. Bezalel ducked at the crack of the rod. A streak of scarlet rippled out from the tip of the stick and swept across the river. Birds scattered, frogs jumped, the turtle ducked under the water. Blood was everywhere—the river, the mud, the reeds on the banks, on clothing, cups, plates of food.

  Servants, covered in crimson, screamed and shoved as they raced for the palace. Some reached for pitchers of drinking water to rinse themselves off, but found that these vessels, too, contained only blood. Men fell to their knees and begged the gods—any gods—for mercy.

  At first Bezalel could not take his gaze off the river. No matter which way he looked the color grew, farther and deeper and darker. His mind didn’t want to think and his legs refused to move. He had to fight to keep from being knocked over by fleeing servants. His chest heaved as his breath came faster. He had to get out of there.

  As he climbed the slope up from the bank of the river, he noticed his feet were dotted with crimson. When he saw his legs, he froze and stared, his mind trying to process the fact that he was not injured and yet covered in blood.

  “Be quiet! That’s not blood! It’s only the red color that happens every year!” Jannes screamed as he raced down from the palace, followed by Jambres and a flock of assistants. Some were spattered with blood, and had obviously raced to tell him what had happened to the Nile.

  Jannes stomped over to a servant. “Give me that pitcher!” He grabbed the container of water and poured it out on his hand. The thick liquid was obviously not just red-colored water.

  Jannes threw the pottery at Moses’s feet, breaking it and splashing even more blood. He turned to face Moses, jabbing a jeweled finger in his face. “Your pranks are commonplace. You are nothing but an imposter! I will do this, too. You will see!” He stormed off, taking Jambres and his magicians with him. Ramses and his attendants trailed behind.

  Bezalel finally willed his body to move and slogged to the palace. He cut through the washroom, but it was a crimson-covered mess. Trudging through the hall and into his own room, he pulled his tunic over his head, smearing blood across his face. He picked up a pitcher on his table, but it was full of blood; he couldn’t even wash his face.

  As he changed his clothes, his mind kept returning to the bloody river. The Nile did turn red sometimes during flood season. The sudden increase in water from the Blue Nile, full of deep red earth from Abyssinia, often made the Nile a deep scarlet for several days. But that occurred at the height of flood season, still weeks away. And it definitely wasn’t blood.

  Sinking onto his bed, he ran his hands through his hair, realizing too late he had just smeared blood through it. He didn’t care.

  This was serious. This was life-threatening. What would happen if the river remained blood? Would they all die? The vague fear he felt from the cobras was dwarfed beside this terror caused by the blood of the Nile. He did not worship the Nile, as did the Egyptians, but still, without water, there was no life. Did El Shaddai not care for them at all?

  Five days had passed since the river turned to blood. The water was clearer, but still not drinkable. Women dug along the banks where there was scant water, though it could hardly be called fresh. It was brackish, and it tasted terrible, but it was enough to sustain life. The land reeked of the decaying fish that blanketed the banks.

  Long after the noon meal, Ahmose pushed open the door to Bezalel’s room and peeked in.

  “Ahmose!” Bezalel beckoned the lad, who padded over.

  “What are you making?” Ahmose stood on his toes, straining to see the tabletop.

  Bezalel walked around the table and lifted the little slave onto a stool. “You are almost too big for me to lift!” He leaned on his elbows on the table and picked up one of a pair of jeweled wristbands. “I am making a set of bracelets. See, this blue part is lapis lazuli, a rare and precious stone brought from far away. This is an amethyst—it’s my favorite. And this, of course, is gold.”

  Ahmose sat up on his knees. “Oooh, it’s so shiny! Where does it come from?”

  “It comes from mines south of here in a land called Nubia. Look.” Bezalel untied the drawstring of the bag of gold flakes, dipped his hand into it, and brought some out, letting it sift through his fingers.

  “It looks like sparkly sand!” Ahmose took a nugget from Bezalel’s palm. “But some of it is still rocks.”

  “Yes, some. We have to melt it first, in a very hot fire. Then we can turn it into sheets, or wires, or tiny balls, like the ones on these bracelets.”

  Bezalel returned to the other side of the table and turned his attention back to the jewelry. He held a band wrapped around wood in one hand and a tweezers in the other. He painstakingly positioned each minute ball of gold onto the heated bracelet. Each band contained hundreds of the gold balls, set in perfect rows.

  He glanced up at Ahmose, who studied him from the other side of his workbench.

  “Why don’t you have a beard, like all the other Israelites?” Ahmose stretched toward Bezalel and gently stroked his cheek.

  “The Egyptians prefer those who work inside the palace to be clean shaven, as they are. That’s why I pull my hair back like yours, too, when I am here.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “What? Shaving?” Bezalel chuckled. “No, but it irritates my skin sometimes. I put almond lotion on it. It helps.”

  Bezalel continued working in silence for a moment. Then he glanced at Ahmose. “You look sad. What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not sad. But I keep thinking about the snakes from the other day.” Ahmose picked up a chise
l and examined it. “I have seen Jannes and Jambres and the magicians change their rods to snakes many times, but they can never turn them back. Aaron is the only one I have ever seen do that.”

  “Why does that bother you so much?”

  “Well, I know how Jannes does his trick.”

  “You do? How?” Bezalel added another gold ball to the bracelet.

  Ahmose hesitated. “You must keep it a secret if I tell you.”

  “I promise.” Bezalel glanced up and winked.

  Ahmose fingered a bracelet as he spoke. “They use a special kind of cobra. It is called a naja haje. When you push on his neck, he gets stiff and falls asleep, sort of, and looks like a stick. When you throw him down, he wakes up and squirms away. But you can’t pick him back up, not by the tail anyway, like Aaron did, or he will bite you.”

  “So you can explain Jannes, but not Aaron, and you don’t like that. Is that it?”

  “It scares me.” Ahmose remained quiet for a while. “Did you know that Jannes made water turn to blood yesterday?”

  “He did?” Bezalel looked up. “How do you know that?”

  “I saw him. He says he can do anything your God can do.” Ahmose put the bracelet down. “Do you remember when you said your God wouldn’t hurt you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then how come he took all the water away? That hurts people.”

  Bezalel put his tools down and gazed at Ahmose for a moment. “My God is trying to stop the king from hurting us.”

  “But we are getting hurt, too.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t explain that. I have no water, either, but I have some cool goat’s milk. Want some?” Bezalel handed him a cup of milk.

  “Oh, yes!” Ahmose drank deeply, until Bezalel took away the cup.

  “Don’t drink too much at once, or you will be ill. You can come and get more later.”

  “Thank you! I will come back later. Remember my secret!” Ahmose scurried off.

  “I will,” Bezalel promised.

  Bezalel entered his house and was shocked to find Moses and Aaron with Sabba. His grandfather handed him a plate of fruit and gestured to a spot against the wall, placing his finger against his lips.

  Bezalel leaned against the wall and gnawed on a plum.

  “My brother, please sit down. You are making me tired.” Moses bit into a slice of cool watermelon while Aaron paced.

  Aaron raised his hands in the air. “But you have no idea what you have done! You have been gone too long. Everyone here knows Ramses panics at the thought of a takeover by outsiders. That happened once, and he will never let foreigners take control of Egypt again. And we are most certainly outsiders, no matter that we have lived here for over four hundred years. You can’t come here and start making changes when you don’t know all the circumstances.” He dropped his hands and stopped pacing. “Do you have any idea to what lengths he will go?”

  Moses set down the watermelon. Juice ran down his hands and he wiped them on a towel and then looked up at his brother. “Of course I do.” His voice was calm and soft.

  Aaron sat on a low stool and studied Moses’s face for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I was only three years old, but I still remember the look on the princess’s face when she pulled you out of that basket.”

  What is he talking about? A princess? Who is this Moses?

  “And now I am the brother you haven’t seen in almost eighty years. I am glad—a bit surprised maybe, but very glad—that you welcomed me here. That’s a great deal of trust.” Moses grinned at his brother.

  Aaron smiled back. “Trust in El Shaddai, my brother, not in you. I do not know you.”

  “Nor I you.” Moses reached for more melon and held a slice out to Aaron. “And yet here we are.”

  Aaron ignored the offer. “Yes. Here we are.” He rose and paced again. “In the most difficult situation I can imagine.” He paused for several moments then said, “Did you know Ramses would react so badly?”

  Moses shrugged. “How did you expect him to react to a request to give up all his free labor for three days?”

  “I don’t know. When you said El Shaddai had given you signs to show him, I suppose I thought he would respect them. He believes so strongly in magic.”

  “True enough. He has many magicians.”

  Aaron crossed his arms. “Did you know about the blood?”

  “Not until Yahweh told us that morning. He did say that He would do many wondrous signs, but that Pharaoh would not listen, and then He would punish Egypt, and finally the king would let us go.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes and spread his hands. “Finally? How long is ‘finally’?”

  Bezalel leaned forward. That’s what I’d like to know.

  Moses shook his head. “I—”

  A group of men shouting outside the house interrupted them.

  “Aaron, get out here now! And bring your brother!”

  Moses took a sharp breath and looked at Aaron. “Do you know who that is?”

  Aaron shrugged.

  When the brothers did not immediately go out, the man kept yelling. “Get out here and explain yourself, if you can! You can’t hide forever!”

  Sabba opened the door far enough to stick his head out. “Leave them alone. Your quarrel is not with them.”

  Aaron opened the door wide and stepped out. “I am not hiding, but it does take a while to get up these days. I am an old man.”

  Sabba exited next, and Moses followed, favoring his left side and rubbing his hip. Before either could speak, a chubby fist flew out. The punch missed Aaron’s face.

  Bezalel positioned himself between Sabba and the other villagers. No one was going to touch his family.

  “Hebron!” Two other men grabbed the would-be attacker and held his arms.

  Hebron scoffed. “First no straw, now no water? Why didn’t you stay out of this? Did El Shaddai tell you this would happen, too? Or didn’t He know?”

  Another man pushed to the front. “Don’t pay any attention to Hebron. He’s quite drunk.” His voice was gentle as he pointed to the wobbly man behind him. He looked at Bezalel. “He will not hurt them. We will not let him.” The man’s gaze returned to Moses. “But you must understand. You have not lived the life of a slave. Our work has never been easy. It’s backbreaking. We wear out long before our time, our bodies too drained to do anything else.” He took a deep breath. “But it is the life we have been given. And I never thought it could get worse … until now.”

  Moses closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He raised his shoulders, his hands clasped at his chest. “I can only do what Yahweh tells me to do. I am sorry; I did not plan this, and I did not know it would happen this way.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t know much of anything. Why don’t you go back to the desert?” Hebron broke free from his companions and laughed as Aaron jumped back. He stomped off, and the others followed.

  Bezalel, Sabba, and the two brothers stepped back inside the house, but before they could be seated once more, Hebron appeared in the doorway, his face dark. “May El Shaddai judge you for the trouble you have brought upon us.” His words slurred. “You have handed Ramses the sword he will use to annihilate all Israel. Remember that when you are the only ones left.”

  Four

  Third month of Ahket, Season of Inundation

  Bezalel tapped his foot as he waited on the portico to present the bust to Ramses. Silvery moonlight illuminated the room, and the scent of the river wafted through the palace on the cooler evening air.

  He took a deep breath and tried to slow his heartbeat. All his work before had gone through Ammon; he had never presented it himself.

  A servant appeared. Bezalel picked up the white stone sculpture and followed him into the throne room to a waiting pedestal. He carefully placed the figure on it and removed the linen cloth.

  Ramses circled the bust. He touched the alabaster crown, the lips, the eyes. He ran his fingers over the stone necklace and trailed them up the scepter. “I am
pleased. You are a gifted artist and you have done much to honor Egypt. Ammon always spoke so highly of you. I see he did not exaggerate.

  “I have another project for you. I started to tell you a month ago, but we were … interrupted. And then I was needed in Thebes. But now I wish you to make another sculpture, this time of my most beloved wife, Nefertari. It must match this, but of course be somewhat smaller.”

  Bezalel bowed. He let out his breath, only then realizing he had been holding it. He could not help smiling, and struggled to keep from shouting. Praise from Ramses’s own lips! But he calmed himself and when he lifted his head, his face was again expressionless. “Would pink alabaster be pleasing to my king? We have recently acquired some that would be enough to sculpt her likeness. It would look exceptional next to your white alabaster figure.”

  “Yes. That would be quite satisfactory. How long will it take?”

  Bezalel started to answer, but suddenly, Aaron approached the throne from the open courtyard. His brother followed a few steps behind. Yet again Aaron gave the now-familiar warning: “Yahweh, God of Israel says, ‘Let my people go, that they may come and worship Me at My mountain.’”

  Ramses ignored them. “How long?” He put his hands on his hips as he repeated the question.

  “Well, this one took—”

  “‘If you do not let My people go, I will fill your land with frogs. They will be in the river, in all your water, in your houses, in your sleeping rooms, in your food, and on your people.’”

  Ramses stepped beyond Aaron and halted in front of Moses. “I do not believe you. You were an obnoxious imposter when we were in school, and you are one now. If I wait long enough, you will simply leave, as you did before. As you always do.” He stared at his former classmate.

  Moses said nothing, but closed his eyes tightly and then looked at the floor.

  “You choose Heqet, goddess of fertility, over Yahweh. Very well. Fertility you shall have, at the hand of Yahweh, the only giver of life.” Aaron turned and stretched out his rod and pointed it toward the river. “Fill the land, and fill the waters. Let no place be undefiled, let no person be unbothered. Multiply and spread out over Egypt.”