In the Shadow of Sinai

by Carole Towriss

  Meri turned to follow his stare. “A little boy slept there for a while when I first came here. He was all alone. I never did figure out why. He was the sweetest child. But he left about a month ago. No one knows where he went.”

  Bezalel swallowed hard. “Is anyone looking for him?”

  She turned back to face him. “I don’t think so. No one seemed to pay much attention to him. And when I first came here, I didn’t either, I’m afraid. I was just getting to know him. I wish I had tried harder. He seemed so alone.” She looked up at him, her dark, sad eyes locked on his, as if she were seeking his forgiveness.

  “I think you had your own problems.” He smiled, and the smile he received in return sent a wave of warmth pulsing through his body. “Why aren’t you with the others?”

  She waved her hand toward the river. “They’re out teaching their children. I don’t have any, obviously. Besides, I hate it here. I don’t belong. Everyone else wanted to be his concubine. I didn’t. There hasn’t been a new girl around in several years and I’ve upset things. They don’t like me, and I’m not too fond of any of them, either.” She paused, and let out a deep breath. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

  A smile spread across his face. “No.” He chuckled as he saw her frown. “Not at all.”

  Six

  Bezalel passed a fig tree and plucked several pieces of the sweet, meaty fruit. A desert fox ran across his path.

  As he approached his home, Ahmose came running, jumped into his arms, and wrapped his short legs around Bezalel’s waist before Bezalel had a chance to bid him good evening. Wearing an Israelite tunic and no makeup, Ahmose looked quite Hebrew. His hair and sharper features could give him away, but only if someone looked closely.

  “Hello, habibi! How was your day? Did you miss me?” Bezalel kissed his cheek and squeezed him as he stepped into the main room.

  “Yes! But I had fun with Aunt Rebekah. She spoiled me today. I have done no work at all!”

  Bezalel put Ahmose down. “As it should be for a boy your age.” He shed his thawb and tossed it on the low table. “Aunt Rebekah? Really?”

  “Well, what should he call me?” Imma shrugged and smiled.

  “Can we go to the river?” Ahmose asked.

  “No, I have some news to talk to you about. It’s better here. Besides, the river is very full and fast right now.” Bezalel called his grandfather to the main room.

  “Good or bad?”

  “I’ll let you decide. Jannes died today.”

  “He did?” A look of disbelief spread across Ahmose’s face.

  “Yes.”

  The look melted into one of revelation. “Then he is no longer my master! I can stay here!” He jumped up and down and clapped his hands.

  Bezalel chuckled. Imma laughed with Ahmose, but Sabba remained silent.

  Bezalel sent Ahmose outside to play with the village children. Although most servants knew Egyptian, and few Egyptians bothered to learn Hebrew, he wanted to take no chances. The three of them discussed the situation in Hebrew.

  “So now what happens?” Sabba crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Why can’t he live with us?” Imma pleaded with her father-in-law.

  Bezalel sighed. “I think it may depend on what Jambres wants.”

  “Who’s Jambres?” Imma asked.

  “Jannes’s assistant, and now the chief magician. He inherited everything else of Jannes’s. He may want Ahmose. He may start asking questions, even search for him.” Bezalel took a long breath. “There is one more thing.”

  Sabba closed his eyes a moment. “What else?”

  “The captain of the guard came to me today. His name is Kamose. He claims to be Ahmose’s uncle, and asked me where he is.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing. His interest seemed genuine, but how am I to trust him? For all I know, he’s working for Jambres.”

  “True. Ahmose may stay, but we must continue to be careful.” Sabba shrugged. “We shall take it one day at a time.”

  Under the light of the full moon, Ahmose played with enthusiasm until after dark. Later, on the roof, he fell asleep easily.

  But Bezalel watched the stars for many hours before sleep blessed him with its oblivion. He had not told them about seeing Jambres in the hallway, or about the marks on Jannes’s neck. After all, what was there to say? He had only questions, and doubts.

  Bezalel arrived at the palace as the sun rose to find Kamose waiting for him outside his room.

  “What did you see when you looked into Jannes’s room?” The captain spoke before Bezalel took off his thawb.

  “What?”

  “What did you see in Jannes’s room?”

  “Only his body.” Bezalel stood behind his worktable, trying to put distance between the soldier and himself.

  “Was there anything unusual about it?”

  “Are you getting at something in particular?” Bezalel tilted his head.

  “I am investigating his death. I need to know if you saw anything suspicious. You were one of the few to see the body before Jambres took it away.”

  Bezalel turned away for a moment to hide his surprise—and fear. The captain’s dark and brooding eyes unnerved him. “You don’t believe it was suicide?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe.” Kamose took a step closer.

  “I saw … I saw nothing that could help you.” Bezalel stepped back.

  Kamose fixed his glare on Bezalel. “Then follow me.”

  He marched down the hallway toward the private areas, looking back only once to be sure Bezalel followed. His sandaled footfalls echoed off the tiled walls with each heavy stride. He stopped outside Jannes’s old quarters. “Jambres kept all of Jannes’s servants as well as his own. And he wants more.”

  Jambres was elsewhere, but the room still bustled. Although most of Jannes’s furnishings remained, servants carried a few pieces out and brought many more in. Workmen cut a huge arch in an inner wall that had divided Jannes’s rooms from Jambres’s. His accommodations would now be much larger than Jannes’s had ever been.

  Kamose strode to the center and swept his hand across the growing space. “Jambres claims all this area—more than anyone except Ramses himself—though he has accomplished nothing on his own. Jannes duplicated the blood and frogs, but not the gnats. Jambres has tried to summon them, but failed. And he now demands land and an exemption from taxation.”

  Bezalel raised an eyebrow. “He is setting himself up as equal to a priest?”

  “Apparently.” Kamose walked farther into the sorcerer’s room and turned to face Bezalel. “I do not wish to see him with privileges he did not earn and does not deserve. It is my duty to protect my king at the cost of my life, and I will do whatever that requires.” He crossed back to Bezalel and stopped, folding his massive arms on his chest. “Now, what can you tell me?”

  Bezalel rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and shook his head. Jambres might be a threat to Pharaoh and the natural order of the palace. Maybe he did kill Jannes, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had grander ambitions than Chief Sorcerer. But Bezalel could not afford to worry about that, and he would not risk upsetting someone who could hurt Ahmose.

  Kamose would have to do this on his own.

  First month of Peret, Season of Growing

  A cooler wind brushed over the desert sands, and the sun’s heat was less cruel. The Nile had called the waters back to within its banks, and farmers planted barley, wheat, and flax. Oxen dragged rustic plows, and farmers trailed behind them dropping seed. Pigs trod the seed into the rich black earth. Growing season had arrived.

  Bezalel ambled toward the river as sunlight danced over the water. The king strolled toward the Nile with his entourage. He watched as Ramses reached the water’s edge, servants fulfilling his every wish before he even spoke them aloud.

  Moses appeared from the north and stopped an arm’s length from the king. He drew closer than normally allowed. Guards moved to pull Mo
ses away, but Ramses held up his hand to call them off.

  “I assume you are here again to ask me to let ‘your people’ go.”

  “I am.” Moses lifted his face, eyes blinking in the eastern light. “You promised you would release us once Yahweh called the frogs back to the Nile.”

  “The frogs returned of their own accord. The Nile called them back, not your God.” The king chose a plum from a platter of ripe fruit a young—and barely clothed—girl held out for him.

  “And the gnats?”

  “You gave me no warning of the gnats. Why should I believe they came from your God?” Ramses’s gaze wandered toward the river. He was apparently tiring of the conversation.

  “Do you expect El Shaddai, the Almighty God, to tell you all His plans?” Moses smiled. “But so you know, the gnats came from the earth. And your god of the earth, Geb, was not mighty enough to stop them.”

  “I still have no proof they were sent from your God.” Ramses bit into the plum. Juice ran down his chin. The girl wiped it off.

  “Very well. Perhaps this will prove it. If you do not promise to let us go right now, before the sun disappears from the sky there will be swarms of biting flies in all of Egypt.”

  Ramses scoffed. “Yes, but remember that anything I suffer, you will suffer as well.”

  “Ah, but this time the Lord will deal differently with Goshen.” Moses pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the Israelite villages. “Not a single fly will touch my people in Goshen. As for Egypt, they will be on you, on your officials, on all your people, in your houses, on the ground, and even on your food.”

  Ramses snorted. “That’s impossible! How can they be here and not a short walk away? Will you build a wall to the sky?”

  Moses shrugged. “El Shaddai is the Lord God. Everything is possible.”

  Ramses raised a finger and guards moved in toward Moses. One put a hand to his dagger.

  Moses left quietly.

  Here and not in Goshen? This, Bezalel would have to see to believe.

  Until Bezalel could determine whether Jambres was after Ahmose, the magician was still a danger. Bezalel left his workroom to find out what he could about Jambres.

  Turtledoves on a perch hanging between two pillars cooed softly as he entered the throne room. He crossed the wide expanse and strode down the hall toward Jambres’s living quarters. As he neared the door, it swung open wide and two young girls exited, grabbing on to the doorposts and to each other. They stumbled toward the harem.

  He crept toward the door, careful to watch out for anyone else who might come out of the room, then peeked around the doorpost. Jambres lay face down on a rug in the middle of the room, naked, hair wild, his fingers through the handle of a depleted wine jar. Empty beer pots were strewn on every flat surface. Half-eaten fruit and loaves of bread were scattered on the floor. Another of Ramses’s concubines lay passed out on the bed, half-dressed.

  Bezalel retreated a few steps and leaned against the wall. He ran his hands through his hair. On the one hand, this probably meant Jambres was far more interested in abusing his newfound power than retrieving a tiny slave who could hardly be of much service to him. On the other, it meant he was devious beyond belief. Sleeping with the king’s concubines? There weren’t too many crimes considered more serious.

  Bezalel rubbed his hand down his face, and when he looked up, Kamose rounded the corner down the hall. Bezalel froze.

  The captain stopped a moment then disappeared into Jambres’s room for a few moments. When he emerged, he carried the sleeping girl in his arms, now with a tunic draped over her, and headed toward the harem.

  This would be a good time to leave.

  Back in his room Bezalel grabbed a handful of raisins. He had barely sat on his stool when Kamose walked in.

  “You know more than you are telling me.” The captain stepped across the room to within arm’s reach of him. “We should talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “What you saw in the room the day Jannes died.” Kamose planted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared down. He obviously planned to stay until he got the information he wanted.

  Bezalel poured the raisins from one hand to the other and back again. It couldn’t hurt to tell Kamose now. It might even help keep Jambres from Ahmose. “I saw welts around Jannes’s neck.”

  “Welts?”

  “Red welts. Like someone had—” He hesitated. Should he make such an accusation?

  “Like what?”

  “Like someone had choked him.” Bezalel let out a long breath. There. He had said it.

  “I see. And what did you see in the room before I went in just now?”

  “I saw two girls leave and head for the harem. Both drunk.”

  Kamose shook his head and paced for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have anything to tell me about Ahmose?”

  Bezalel looked at his feet and said nothing. Could he trust this man yet?

  “I thought as much.”

  When the captain left, Bezalel threw the raisins at the table. Could things get any more complicated?

  The sun slid behind the horizon and the blue lotus blossoms began to close. A full moon was rising. Bezalel was strolling the palace gardens watching the flowers when an army of flies appeared from the east over the Nile. The bugs fanned out in all directions—into the palace, toward the homes of farmers and officials, and into the fields. The buzzing filled the air and Bezalel’s ears.

  Bezalel ducked and covered his face with his arms as they flew over him. None touched him. He stepped back inside, and within moments the palace was in chaos. He stood frozen as servants screamed. These bugs gnawed skin wherever they could find it, often so violently they drew blood. Children ran screeching, searching for their mothers. Adults scrambled to find mesh or fine netting. Next to him a small boy gave up, sat down, and simply howled. Unlike the gnats, which were merely annoying, the bite of these flies was excruciating, especially to the youngest.

  Bezalel picked up the boy and scurried to the harem. The guards had abandoned their posts. He pushed aside the curtains and set the screaming child down on an empty cushion. He attempted to wrap some nearby netting around him, but the child’s hysteria would not allow him to wind it tightly enough to provide any protection.

  He wasn’t even supposed to be inside the harem, but no one cared enough to send him away.

  Bezalel sprinted to his room.

  Not a single fly was inside.

  Breathing hard, he knelt by his bed and reached under it. He dug through bags, opening some and tossing them aside, until he found what he searched for: a large supply of fine netting and light linen. He grabbed one large piece and stuffed it down the front of his tunic. He gathered the rest in his arms, carried it back to the harem, and passed it among the mothers and older children.

  Helping tuck the mesh around tiny squirming bodies was like trying to push the Nile back into its banks during flood season. As soon as one child was covered, another was loose. Their cries pierced his ears and made his heart ache.

  And the flies just kept coming.

  Bezalel dropped to his knees and groaned loudly. He looked to his left at some of the older children. Their eyes were swollen red masses. He looked more closely. Bugs had latched onto their eyelids. He reached under the netting and tried to pull them off one of the boys. The child screamed and kicked and grabbed at his hands. Bezalel let go, but the bugs continued to suck blood. He grabbed the child’s hands with one of his, and the flies with the other, and finally pried them loose.

  After tending to what felt like hundreds of swollen eyes, he stood and looked around the cavernous room for Meri. Finally he saw her, crouching in a corner, her arms covering her head, trying to hold a child’s tunic over her face to keep the bugs away. He rushed to her.

  Flies and angry red spots covered her arms and hands.

  He knelt beside her. “Meri?”

  He was sure the frantic noise around them made it impossible
for her to hear him. He gently touched her arm and leaned closer. “Meri? It’s me, Bezalel.”

  A guttural noise emerged from behind the cloth.

  He pulled the softer linen from inside his tunic and wrapped it around her shoulders and arms. “Meri? I’m going to pick you up. Don’t be frightened.”

  He put one arm under her knees, slipped one behind her back, and lifted her off the floor. There was enough chaos in the room that no one noticed he stole a girl right out of the harem.

  He took her into his room and laid her gently on his bed then lit a lamp. He sat beside her and lifted the linen and the tunic. He brushed away the wet, matted hair from her face. His chest constricted and he almost cried when he saw the chewed and raw skin on her face, arms, and feet. Her eyes were bulging scarlet spheres. A fly still clung to her left eye, and he pulled it off.

  She whimpered and a tear escaped.

  “I’m going to the kitchen to get you some basil. I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

  She only moaned.

  He ran to the kitchen. His chest ached to think of her in so much pain. Why? Why, why, why? This plan was not working! Was El Shaddai paying any attention at all? Just what exactly was He trying to accomplish?

  The kitchen was deserted. He found the long shelf in a corner with the herbs and spices but saw no basil. He growled and slammed his fist into the mud brick wall. He leaned his hands and head against the wall and calmed himself then turned and took another look. Eventually, he discovered some basil in a basket under a worktable and ripped off all the leaves he could. He dropped them onto a plate and crushed several with the back of a spoon. When he had a good amount of juice, he picked up the plate and went back to his room, shaking his smashed hand as he jogged.

  He knocked lightly before entering. “Meri?” He sat next to her and rolled her toward him. He dipped his fingers in the basil juice and smeared it on her arms. After covering her arms and feet, he used one finger and brushed it across her eyelids. He took off his thawb and placed it over her.

  Her breathing seemed to ease.