Miriam (3 page)

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.

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.

—
G
ENESIS 41:45; 50:26

W
hen 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, his 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.

“What would Egypt do with furs?” Miriam asked Eleazar a bit too loud. Two petitioners in front of her glanced back at her, sneering.

Her nephew pulled her closer and nodded toward the gallery of twenty young men sitting at Pharaoh's right hand in high-backed, embroidered chairs. “Those are Pharaoh's firstborn sons from each of his twenty wives.” A knee-high gold wall etched with war scenes separated them from the nobles and petitioners. Ranging in age from midthirties to early teens, the twenty princes appeared as bored as their father and king. At the right shoulder of each royal stood an armor-bedecked guard—each shoulder but one.

“Is that your master, there?” Miriam pointed at the oldest of the princes, the one seated closest to the throne.

Eleazar nodded. “Yes, Prince Ramesses. Firstborn of Isetneferet—the Second Great Wife. I'll try to gain his attention. Perhaps he can alert Pharaoh we've arrived.” A head taller than most men in the room, Eleazar raised his hand slightly, waving in the direction of the princes.

A little pride warmed Miriam's heart knowing Prince Ramesses's personal guard stood at her side. “Does he know you call him
Prince Ram
?”

“Yes, Doda. Everyone calls him Ram because it would be heresy to call him by the name of the good god, Pharaoh Ramesses.”

“I was harem midwife when Queen Sitre delivered Ramesses, and I can tell you he's not a—”

Eleazar's hand clamped over her mouth. Surrounding petitioners glared at her, and again Eleazar nodded and smiled. “I'm sorry if we've disturbed you.” When all eyes had returned to Pharaoh and his throne, Eleazar removed his hand and whispered, “Doda, you can't say Pharaoh Ramesses isn't a god. That's treason.”

Miriam wanted to say,
It's the truth,
but she crossed her arms and remained silent.

Eleazar nudged her forward as the next petitioner left his offering with the king's steward—two ostriches that squawked like trumpets. Miriam stretched up on her toes to catch a glimpse of Eleazar's younger brother, Ithamar. Pride swelled at the sight of him, personal slave of Pharaoh's chief scribe. Eleazar and Ithamar had done well as third- and fourth-born sons. In most Hebrew families, it was the first and second born who rose to the best positions. Not so with her brother Aaron's sons.

When Ramesses took Egypt's throne, his ambitious building projects demanded more Hebrew workmen, so he mandated only first- and second-born Hebrews be trained as skilled craftsmen while all others were put to work in fields, mud pits, the military, or some other harsh labor. Ithamar had begun serving in the military alongside Eleazar, but because of the younger boy's slight build and high intelligence, the palace scribes soon found better use for Ithamar's skills.

Miriam watched her youngest nephew's reed scribble across the papyrus scroll like a bird skimming the surface of the Nile. Concentration forced his tongue to the corner of his mouth as it had done since he was a small boy. Ithamar seldom visited the slave village of Goshen anymore, but when she'd seen him two years ago, he'd described his duties.
“I number the offerings brought by emissaries and tally the executions ordered by the king.”
The sums, he'd said, were typically dead even.

While Eleazar continued to seek Prince Ram's attention, Miriam noted Pharaoh's demeanor change as two Egyptian guards brought in the next supplicant. A girl, who'd seen perhaps twenty inundations, stood trembling before the throne. Dressed in a simple white byssus robe, her sheer blue head covering distinguished her as Hebrew. She could have been a servant to any woman in the palace, but when the girl fell to her knees and stretched out her hands before her, Miriam saw the harem brand on her forearm.

Pharaoh shifted on his throne, his expression suddenly stony. “I will judge the woman who dared harm my ten-year-old son.”

The throne hall became utterly still.

The girl pressed her forehead to the floor, her long hair coiled in a single braid beside her. “Please, mighty Pharaoh, Keeper of Harmony and Balance, Elect of Ra, it is with deep affection that I care for the young prince. I would never let harm come to him.”

“And yet one of my fifty-six sons lies in his bed, leg broken, weeping in pain.” Pharaoh let the silence draw out, repeatedly slapping the flail into his palm and trailing the horsehair through his fingers.

The girl's voice finally broke the tension. “My king, it was an accident. He slipped while climbing a palm tree—a tree he's climbed a hundred times. He's strong and agile as a gazelle. It was one missed step, and he was on the ground…” Her voice trailed off in a sob.

Miriam's feet propelled her forward, past the petitioners ahead of her and beyond Eleazar's grasp. “I seem to recall the same thing happening to you when you were a small boy, Mighty Pharaoh.” Other noblemen parted as if she had leprosy, leaving Miriam standing in the middle of a starburst pattern of marble tile.

Pharaoh's guards advanced to protect the god on the throne from an eighty-six-year-old midwife. Eleazar shoved her behind him before they arrived. Bowing his head, he pleaded, “Forgive her, Son of Horus, Giver of Life, Strong in Right. This woman is my doda Miriam—I mentioned to my master, Prince Ram, that she interprets dreams for the Hebrews.”

Miriam peered around Eleazar's right arm and saw only Ramesses's disdain. “I know your aunt. She tended my cuts and bruises when my divine father Sety ruled Egypt.” He motioned her forward. “Stand before me, Midwife.”

Miriam straightened, pleased to have Pharaoh's frustration aimed at her instead of the harem maid. Eleazar's arm circled her waist and he supported her elbow, leaning close. “Please, Doda, guard your words.” They halted beside the harem maid, who was still sprawled on the floor, weeping quietly. Miriam bent to comfort her, but Eleazar pulled her upright with an iron grip, waiting before Pharaoh.

Ramesses's eyes narrowed, reminding Miriam of the haughty child he'd always been. “So you're the seer my son Ram told me about. I had no idea you were also the midwife from my childhood. Perhaps you are Isis in flesh, healing the Son of Horus as a child, then healing him again by interpreting the nightmares.”

“I am no goddess, Ramesses. I only interpret that which the One True God allows.” Gasps and whispers filled the room at the use of his familiar name. Eleazar's grip tightened around her waist, but Miriam felt no fear—only pity for this king lost in childish delusions.

Pharaoh raised his flail, securing instant quiet in the gallery. “And what sort of payment does your god require to interpret my dreams?”

“No payment, my king. When He speaks, I obey. When He is silent, I am silent.” Miriam's heart now pounded like a hammer against her chest.
Oh my Shaddai, please don't be silent.

Pharaoh slapped the flail into his palm again and tugged at the horsehair. A sinister smile creased his face, and he turned toward the harem maid, who had grown quiet. He motioned to two guards and pointed his flail at the girl. “Stand the girl between you.”

They lifted her to her feet, and Eleazar breathed a name. “Taliah?”

Miriam turned to him in silent question, but Eleazar had no time to answer.

“You know her?” Pharaoh's delighted laugh sent a chill up Miriam's spine. He lifted his voice to the gathered crowd. “The midwife says she requires no payment, but every magician has a price. If she correctly interprets my dreams, I'll spare the girl's life. If she doesn't interpret them to my liking, the girl will lose her head right here, right now.”

Miriam turned to Eleazar and spoke quietly. “How do you know this Taliah?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “She's Putiel's youngest daughter. I promised I'd watch over her when he left with the crown prince to oversee the building project at Saqqara four years ago.”

Miriam returned her attention to the girl, remembering the day Taliah's ima died birthing a fourth daughter. Taliah and two sisters had been left with a military abba and no ima. Putiel had found a husband for the oldest daughter, a kind man three-times her age. He'd given his second daughter to his uncle Ishbah to raise as a skilled weaver. But Taliah…she was third born and couldn't work as a skilled laborer. At five years old, she had already displayed her ima's beauty, which would make her prey for the guards in the fields or mud pits—dead before her twentieth inundation or wishing it was so. Putiel begged his master, Crown Prince Amenhirkopshef, to allow Taliah to serve in the harem. Though she was still just a child herself, she could entertain the toddlers and serve the king's young daughters. In a rare display of mercy, the crown prince agreed. Miriam hadn't seen the girl since.

“Doda?” Eleazar shook her and whispered, “Are you all right?”

She nodded and waved away her protective nephew. What a fuss he made over her. Turning to Ramesses, she noted again his puffy eyes and the dark shadows beneath them. Perhaps he would soften if shown some kindness. “Your eyes betray your sleepless nights, Great Pharaoh. Tell your physicians to combine rose paste with almond oil. Smear it on your lids and below your lashes, and then cover your eyes with cucumber slices while you sleep. Your eye paints will apply more smoothly the next morning.”

Eleazar rolled his eyes, but Ramesses fought a grin. “I'll have it noted by the scribes. Now…” His humor disappeared. “My dreams, Midwife.”

After a slight nod, Miriam met his gaze and spoke without hesitation. “In your first dream, you were trapped in the underground burial chamber of Zaphenath-Paneah—or, as we Hebrews know him, Joseph—the vizier who ushered in the Hyksos dynasty. There were ten wooden dolls standing guard around the tomb, east of the Great Wife's palace.”

Ramesses scoffed. “Those wooden dolls, as you call them, are
shabtis,
and are buried with royalty in order to serve us in the next life. I wouldn't expect a slave to know our burial customs.” Those in the audience laughed too, mocking Miriam's ignorance.

But she continued undaunted. “Then you realize it's only by God's revelation that I know Joseph's tomb is entirely underground.”

The laughter died, and Pharaoh leaned forward. “Go on, but tread carefully. My dreams will not be soothed with almond oil and cucumbers.”

Miriam bowed deeply, feeling real compassion for the fear on his features. The dreams replayed as vividly as she'd seen them as she slept the previous night. “Ten wooden
shabtis
sprang to life and opened Joseph's tomb. One by one, each succumbed to shocking destruction. The first was drowned in blood, the second eaten by frogs, the third—”

“Stop! I'll hear no more.” Ramesses shouted, his face as white as his pleated
shenti.
“Tell me the second dream.”

Miriam nodded and without preamble began her recounting. “You're in your abbi Sety's tomb, surrounded by the unspeakable wealth provided for his afterlife. He stands before you, arms outstretched, beckoning you to his embrace. But the Ramessid god Seth holds you captive as an invisible force cuts off Sety's ten toes, one at a time. When Sety's tenth toe is removed, he topples over like a great statue and shatters into a million pieces.” The crowded throne hall inhaled as one, and Ramesses squeezed his eyes shut.