In the Shadow of Sinai

by Carole Towriss

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Now what? He promised he’d take care of her. If he stayed, would he even be alive beyond tomorrow? He wouldn’t be able to work in the palace anymore. There was no food. The village would be empty. He couldn’t possibly support her.

  But leave without her? After he promised he would always be there for her? In the palace he was sure she would at least eat. They would get food from somewhere, maybe bring it in from Nubia. She would be safe. Kamose would watch out for her.

  And she would hate him for deserting her.

  Either way, he would fail her.

  Thirteen

  Goshen, Egypt

  15 Abib

  Bezalel concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. They had been walking since long before dawn and Goshen was now far behind them. The desolate land around him echoed the empty feeling in his soul. Meri consumed his every thought. His stomach was in knots worrying and wondering about her. Had she eaten yet? Was she safe? Did she know how hard he tried to get to her? Did she care?

  How could Shaddai do this to him? He finally found the missing piece in his life; then Shaddai ripped it away.

  Bezalel, and all Israel, had freedom, but the price was steep. For Bezalel, maybe too steep.

  Long shadows fell eastward over the sand as the Israelites reached Succoth. Bezalel’s calves and thighs were on fire, his shoulders ached, and he longed to rid himself of his pack—and that of Ahmose, who had early on abandoned any effort to carry his. Bezalel had always thought he was strong, but walking all day and carrying two weighty bags was almost more than his body could bear.

  He tossed the bundles on the ground and collapsed on them. He closed his eyes until his muscles no longer burned.

  Rising up on his elbows, he surveyed the area. Terrain that was again lush and green had replaced the empty, barren land. A bubbling wadi meandered in from the Nile and ran toward the sea, bringing fresh water to this area and leaving it fertile and abundant. Beside the wadi, tents were stacked in neat piles everywhere. He sucked in a lungful of air and the scent of the river washed away his fatigue. A little, anyway.

  Sycamore trees and date palms draped shade over him. He stood and grabbed a fig and peeled it, biting into the sweet fruit. The juice filled his mouth and ran down his chin and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. He grabbed several more. When would they have fresh fruit again?

  Sabba joined him, with Imma and Ahmose close behind.

  Bezalel moved toward his grandfather and took his pack from him. “It was a long day. Are you well?”

  “I’m fine, habibi. The pace has been set nicely for all of us. Moses knows how to move a mass of people. I think Ahmose is the worst off. It’s more a matter of the mind than the legs, I believe.” Sabba chuckled, but Bezalel noticed him rubbing his back.

  “Well, at least we have shade again,” Imma said. “I’ll get some food together.”

  At least the sand would be soft to sleep on. Bezalel plodded over to a pile of tents and reached for two. He groaned as he bent over, and pain shot up and down his legs. He dragged the tents, along with the willow poles, back to his family, and set them up while Imma retrieved some mat sot from her pack.

  Moses had told them tents would be waiting for them. The army tents were made to be put up and taken down easily. Thank you, Shaddai. When he finished, Bezalel dropped to the ground and stuffed a piece of mat sot into his mouth.

  “Ahmose, you have to eat something.” Bezalel offered him a piece of bread. “You’ve walked half the night and all day and you need food to give you energy for tomorrow.”

  Ahmose shook his head.

  “A fig?”

  “I don’t want to eat. And I don’t want to walk tomorrow.” Ahmose sat with his knees up, his elbows on his knees and his jaw in his hands.

  It was a useless battle.

  “Then will you drink some goat milk?” He gave the boy a cup.

  Ahmose drank until Bezalel was satisfied he had enough in his belly to sleep through the night.

  As the light of day disappeared into the dark of night, Bezalel crawled into the small tent with Ahmose close behind him.

  Ahmose slid over next to him and fell asleep, and Sabba joined them later. The tent was big enough for the three of them, with Imma in her own.

  Bezalel lay on his back and tucked his arm under his head, listening to the kip-kip of African skimmers flying over the wadi searching for fish. He gazed at the red stripe around the top edge of the tent. The colors indicated which of the four army divisions each tent belonged to. Each division was named for one of the Egyptian gods—Seth, Amun, Ptah, or Ra, but at the moment he could not remember which was red. It didn’t really matter. Any day now, all four divisions would come to claim their tents—and their slaves—but he knew they had at least two or three days while the Egyptians carried out the beginnings of their elaborate funeral traditions, especially if the prince was one of the dead.

  A jackal howled in the distance. Bezalel kissed Ahmose’s head then rolled over and went to sleep.

  The eastern sun streamed between the flaps of the tent and filled it with warm light. Bezalel squinted and rolled over on his stomach and elbows. He looked around at the tent. Where am I? He ran his hand over his face and through his hair. The fog in his brain slowly dissipated and everything came back to him. The lamb, the meal, the screams, the gold…

  And Meri.

  He tried to sit up but his legs protested, reminded him of the long walk.

  Then he remembered Kamose, and a realization stabbed his brain like heron attacking a perch. His breath caught in his throat and then escaped as a soft groan. If Ramses’s son had died, as Shaddai promised, Kamose would likely be executed for allowing such a catastrophe. Bezalel dropped his head onto his arms.

  “Why are you moaning, habibi?” Sabba’s voice caused Bezalel to lift his head. He opened his eyes and looked over to his grandfather and Ahmose, who was curled up in a little ball next to him.

  “Kamose.” Bezalel sighed deeply and rubbed his hand across his face.

  Sabba looked down at Ahmose and stroked his cheek with the backs of his fingers. He pushed the boy’s hair away from his face. “There is nothing we can do to change that now. Be glad you never told Ahmose.”

  Bezalel crawled out of the tent. He stood and raised his arms above his head and grunted as his back and leg muscles stretched after tightening overnight.

  Sabba followed him out, just as Moses came by. Moses said to them, “We’ll be staying at Succoth another night. I don’t think the people can take another day of walking yet. We’ll go slowly for a while.”

  Ahmose emerged as Moses was talking. “You mean we can stay?” He clapped his hands and laughed.

  “Yes, you can stay.” Moses chuckled as Ahmose ran off. “Hur, can you help spread the message? Also ask all the elders to meet me tomorrow morning for instructions.”

  Sabba gestured to the spacious area around them. “This is a wonderful place to stop for a while. Why are all these tents here?”

  “This is a staging area for training and battle. Its one great asset is open, flat space. Ramses’s army boasts twenty thousand armed men. I knew there would be tents and other supplies here, and I hoped we could stay long enough to get organized.”

  Moses stroked his chin. “I see now why Yahweh compelled me to endure the constant military training I so despised in my youth as a prince. I pray I can remember all I learned: evacuation, communication, strategy, safety, supplies, routes, enemies, weapons, protection … it all spins in my head.”

  Sabba touched his shoulder. “For the present, it is only necessary to get everyone out of the village and safely away from Ramses.” He shrugged and spread his arms. “The rest will come later.”

  Moses shook his head. “That is where you are mistaken, Hur. You must always be several steps ahead. For if you are not, your enemy surely will be.”

  17 Abib

  A day in the shadow of the wadi’s syc
amores was a welcome rest. Imma milked the sheep, and Bezalel took the skin bags of milk and put them in the river. He made sure all the bags were thoroughly soaked before he took them out and hung them in the trees to cool.

  The water cooled his skin as well, and he lay down to nap in the shade by the river while Ahmose chased other boys. Bezalel stared up at the clouds through the leaves of the date palms. Ibises and herons searched for fish in the wadi, and a desert hare bounded by.

  Two nights and two days. That’s all it had been since they had left, but it felt like an eternity without Meri. It wasn’t as if they had even seen each other every day before, but just knowing she was nearby, knowing he might see her at any moment had been enough. Now, knowing he would never see her again was aguish. Wondering if she hated him for it, if she thought he hadn’t even tried to find her—or worse, was glad he was gone—was torture. There was a hole in his gut he didn’t think would ever heal.

  Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face, remembered how it felt to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. Now she was gone forever.

  He didn’t see how he would endure it.

  Sabba returned late in the morning from the meeting with Moses and the elders. “We have a long day ahead of us. Yahweh has commanded we take the southern route—”

  “But isn’t that the long way?” Imma pointed north over her shoulder. “Why are we heading south if the land we are promised is north? Shouldn’t we take the northern route, the one that goes directly there?”

  “That road has eleven Egyptian fortresses along it. We are not ready for war. Yes, this is a longer route, but safer.”

  The urgency of the escape had worn off and now the only goal Bezalel had was getting as far away from Pharaoh’s army as quickly as possible. The reality of walking and carrying bags and food for many weeks hit him, and he tried to push the thought that he would never see Goshen—or Meri—again far back into his mind.

  “We have to carry the tents now. I’ll do that.” Bezalel tossed Ahmose’s small bag to his mother. “Ahmose couldn’t carry what he had the other day. What does he have in there?”

  Imma rummaged through the bag. “A couple tunics, some jewelry—did you give him that to carry?”

  “Yes, but it’s not very heav—”

  “Wait. Here’s the problem. It’s a toy. Looks like a crocodile made of stone. Look—its mouth moves!” She pulled a string coming from the animal’s head and the jaw moved up and down.

  Bezalel reached for the toy. “I don’t think he’s ever had any toys of his own.” His voice was soft. “I wonder where he got this one?”

  “There’s another one here, too.” She handed him a similar figurine, this one a hippo. “No wonder his pack was too much for him.”

  “All right, if you make the packs as even as you can between the rest of us, I’ll go talk to Ahmose. He’ll have to leave these here.”

  “What will you tell him?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” Bezalel shrugged as he exited the tent. “I’ll be back to strike the tents.”

  Bezalel ambled over to where Ahmose was splashing in the water and beckoned him.

  The boy skipped over. “Yes?”

  Bezalel knelt before him in the sand and held out the stone figures. “Where did you get these?”

  Ahmose’s lip quivered. “I didn’t steal them! He gave them to me!”

  Bezalel reached for the child’s face. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just asking, habibi.”

  Ahmose rubbed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Samuel gave them to me.”

  “Samuel? The one who took care of my head?”

  Ahmose nodded. “I went to see him one day, and he showed them to me. I really liked them. A lot. So he gave them to me. His boys are grown, so he said I could play with them.” The words spilled out almost more quickly than he could pronounce them. “Are you sure I’m not in trouble?”

  “Of course not.” Bezalel wrapped one arm around the child’s waist and pulled him closer. “But you can’t take these with you. They’re much too heavy. You couldn’t carry your pack and I can’t help you now, because I have to carry the tents.”

  Ahmose rubbed his eyes again.

  A slight breeze blew through the leaves of the date palms overhead as Bezalel thought for a moment. “You’ve never had a toy of your own, have you, Ahmose?”

  “I’ve never had anything of my own, except my shenti.” Tears filled his eyes.

  Bezalel squeezed the child. Ahmose was all he had now, other than Imma and Sabba. He would do whatever it took to keep the little boy happy. He pulled away and looked him in the eye. “What if I make you a special toy, all your own, when we get to our new land?”

  Ahmose’s eyes sparkled like moonlight on the Nile. “Really? You would do that for me?”

  “Ahmose, I would do anything for you.”

  20 Abib

  Ramses II slouched on his throne, and stared with glassy eyes. His elbow rested on the arm of the throne and his head lay against his fist. His legs splayed out, and a cat purred as it wandered between them and under the throne. The double crown lay tossed aside on the dais.

  Attendants lined the walls, waiting for orders that did not come. Trays of fruit sat untouched.

  Kamose stood at the end of the platform, guarding the miserable man. Stuffy air filled the room—winter was over but spring had not yet taken a firm hold.

  For days the pharaoh had not left his quarters. Today was the first time he had entered the throne room. His shenti was badly in need of a wash, and for that matter, so was he. Grime covered his feet and he could do with a shave. He wore none of his jewelry.

  “My son is dead.” The king addressed no one in particular. “My son is dead.” He shifted his weight to the other side of the throne.

  A few moments later, Ramses rose. “My son is dead! How can he be dead? I want justice! I want vengeance!” He raised his fists in the air and his voice grew louder.

  He strode from one end of the dais to the other, his arms flailing. “My magicians are dead; my officers are dead; my counselors are dead! Who will advise me now?”

  Kamose knew better than to answer. He crossed his arms and stared straight ahead.

  Ramses descended. His face softened, and his walk slowed. Concentration knitted his brow.

  “What have I done?” He put his fists on his hips and walked in circles. “It has been five days. All my workers are gone! They are not coming back. I will never finish my city. I want them back.” He halted and raised his face to Kamose. “Get them back! I want every man in Egypt after them!” Ramses screamed, eyes blazing from behind smudged kohl. The muscles on his bare back and neck tightened. “Every horse, every chariot, every rider will follow them! And bring back my slaves!”

  It was late in the afternoon when Kamose arrived at Pi-Hahiroth. He gulped great breaths of air and felt like his lungs might explode. Foamy lather covered his horse.

  He reined in his horse at the edge of the camp. Just a little bit longer, then he could stop. Neither he nor the horse could go much farther.

  “I am looking for Bezalel, the artisan. Can you tell me where he is?”

  People backed away without answering, ducking into tents. They saw him only as an Egyptian—and a soldier at that—not as one who had come to be their friend.

  “I need to see Bezalel, son of Uri, son of Hur. I have important information for him. I am here to help.” Kamose stared at those still outside. “Please.” How could he get through to them that he meant no harm?

  A young boy studied him carefully and apparently found him trustworthy. “They are camped at the front.”

  Moments later Kamose’s horse stumbled to a stop once again.

  “Kamose! What are you doing here?” Hur motioned to a young man nearby to take the reins.

  Bezalel joined them. “Kamose! I was sure you were dead!”

  Kamose held up his hand until he could slow his breathing. Then he swung his leg over his horse’s head and jumped
down. Hidden behind him on the animal, sat Meri.

  Bezalel gasped.

  “Brought you a present.” Kamose chuckled and lifted Meri from his mount.

  Meri ran to Bezalel and threw her arms around him. He stumbled back to keep from falling then lifted her off the ground in a strong embrace.

  Kamose smiled as he watched the couple walk away, took a few more deep breaths, and then addressed the boy holding the reins. “Please rub down my horse. Wait for him to cool, and then water him and find something for him to eat.” Turning toward Hur, he said, “Ramses has sent his army. They are probably half a day behind me, but no more.”

  “How did you find us so quickly?” Hur spread his hands, his eyes wide. “There are any number of directions we could have gone.”

  “When you left Etham to come here, you passed the first of several fortresses that make up the northern route. Your position was reported back to the palace.”

  Another boy approached with a skin of water and held it up. Kamose nodded to the child then upended the bag and gulped the cool liquid. Some spilled onto his bare chest. It felt good after his long ride. He was drenched in sweat and would have loved to jump in the Nile. Too late for that now.

  Hur continued. “But we turned back south after we passed that fortress.”

  Hur apparently did not understand the expansive reach of Egypt’s throne. “Yes, but there are traders, Bedouins who pass information to us in return for being left alone. And there are goat and camel herders—”

  “All right, all right.” Hur waved his hand. “Moses will need to know. We’ll have to decide what to do. Do you want to come with us to tell him?”

  Kamose shook his head. “I leave that to you.” He was too tired to face a conversation like that, and felt he had no place in that decision.

  “All right. For now.” Hur turned and went to find Moses.

  As Kamose paced and tried to figure out what “for now” meant, Bezalel and Meri returned, hands entwined.