Miriam (30 page)

Without waiting for Ramesses's response, Moses stormed away. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke a word. Pharaoh, chin held high, returned to his chariot and signaled his charioteer back to the palace. Kopshef followed, leaving Mosi behind to help field dress the antelopes. Other noblemen joined the retreat, also leaving their drivers to process the kills. Would they serve these antelope at tonight's scheduled feast or cower in their homes, waiting for the plague to come?

Eleazar kept his head respectfully bowed, unsure how Ram would respond to Moses's declaration. “Would you like me to stay or return to the palace to dress your wound?”

When the prince remained silent, Eleazar looked up to find him staring into the distance. “So I'm to die tonight at midnight?” He turned then to face Eleazar, eyes glistening. “How long have you known?”

A foreigner residing among you who wants to celebrate the
L
ORD
's Passover must have all the males in his household circumcised; then he may take part like one born in the land. No uncircumcised male may eat it.

—
E
XODUS 12:48

M
iriam stepped into the sunshine and stretched her back, lifting her face to the warmth of the morning sun.
Thank You, Yahweh, for the obedience of one more Egyptian family.
She wiped and rewrapped her bloody flint knife and tucked it beside the extra bandages and herbs. Miriam had performed twenty circumcisions in ten households during the past three days—not many considering she and Taliah had visited nearly every village in Goshen—but they were twenty foreign males who would live through tonight's plague.

Stepping into the alleyway between long houses, she glanced left and right. Around every corner in every village, she looked for Hur. It was silly, she knew, but he'd practically ignored her at the meeting, and she hadn't seen him since. She'd lived with a constant roiling in her belly, and no juniper tea or caraway seeds helped.
Yahweh, I've never needed a man before. Why now?
She hadn't had time for that private chat at her palm tree. Just quick, frantic prayers every time she ached to see Hur.

Sattar snuggled close and pressed his head under her hand, seeming to sense Miriam's mood. He'd become her shadow, waiting outside the door of every home they visited.

Taliah emerged from the two-room mud-brick hut looking as weary as Miriam felt. “I've instructed Bahiti on cooking the yearling, and she's agreed to host the meal here and share it with Khepri's family who will supply the herbs and bread.” This girl could teach a bee to buzz and organize the hive.

“Thank you, dear.” Miriam looped her arm through Taliah's and began walking. “We have only our village to visit before we go home to make preparations.” They'd begun their teaching quest at the farthest northern village—with the tribes of Asher, Dan, and Zebulun—on the day after Moses announced the plague.

Miriam poked her head into every doorway, greeting the women inside. If it was a Hebrew household, she and Taliah made sure they understood Yahweh's instructions. If the residents were Egyptian or other foreigners who refused Yahweh's commands, they offered a blessing and then asked for gold, silver, or clothing. As the day of Yahweh's judgment drew nearer, the foreigners' generosity grew larger. No doubt, they hoped to win Yahweh's favor with gifts as they believed other gods could be swayed. Sattar had become their beast of burden, and the baskets of treasure strapped across his back grew heavier each day.

Miriam and Taliah turned into the alley of their own village and saw a few women working outside, shaking out mats and emptying waste pots into the central channel. Most had been sent home from their work on the plateau or in the city as word of Moses's dawn announcement spread through Rameses.

“Leah!” Miriam called to a young Hebrew ima. “Are you prepared for the Passover meal?”

The young soldier's wife seemed hesitant, eyes darting this way and that. “I hope so.” She ducked her head and disappeared behind her curtained doorway.

Miriam exchanged a puzzled glance with Taliah. “I hope so? That won't do.” They marched across the narrow path between long houses and signaled Sattar to wait outside. Poking her head inside the curtain, Miriam offered another greeting, “Shalom, Leah.”

The woman looked startled, but who wouldn't with four young children running around like wild boars in the marsh. “What troubles you, dear?” Miriam studied the children and noted the oldest was a boy with curly black hair and lively dark eyes.

The woman's eyes filled with tears. “We have no yearling. Hur said I'm supposed to share my neighbor's lamb, but we have no grain to offer in return—”

Miriam waved off her concern. “I'm sure Sarah and Eli will welcome you. I've known them all my life. Come.”

A little girl reached up and poked Taliah's rounded belly. “Is there a baby in there?”

“Yes, there is. Do you think it's a boy or a girl?”

The little darling eyed her three brothers, her rosebud lips twisting into a frown. “You'd better hope it's a girl. Boys are mean.”

Miriam giggled and grabbed the oldest boy's hand. “Why don't you walk with me. I'm not as steady as I used to be.” He nodded and squared his shoulders—such a darling, this one.
Yahweh, pass over him.

Escorting the little family to the neighboring doorway, Miriam moved the curtain aside with a gentle “Shalom to this house.”

“Shalom to you, Miriam,” Sarah said. She was an old woman now, but Miriam was the midwife who had brought her into the world. Sarah furrowed her brow as Leah, the four children, and Taliah trailed in behind Miriam. “I hope they brought bread to share.”

Sarah's husband Eli snored in the corner, and her daughter Gittel offered a sad smile—a silent apology for her ima's harsh welcome. Gittel's six children played quietly in the corner. No doubt their savta Sarah had made sure of that.

Miriam nudged the young ima farther into the main room. “Leah will share much more than bread. Her little ones will play with Gittel's children, and you'll enjoy each other's company while we await Yahweh's deliverance.”

“More mouths to feed,” Sarah grunted and reached for the hand mill. “We'll make more bread.”

“I can help.” Leah stepped forward.

Gittel set aside her spindle. “Leah and I will take care of the meal, Ima. You and Abba rest.”

“You can help,” the old woman said, wagging her finger at the newcomer, “but don't think you'll take over my grinder.”

Leah glanced over her shoulder at Miriam and Taliah with a timid smile. The children had already begun a game when they slipped out the doorway.

They'd walked only a few steps when Taliah's pace slowed, her gaze focused on the small mud-brick hut of her three favorite students. “I don't think I can ask Masud's father again. He's already refused us twice.”

Miriam pressed her hand to the girl's arm, halting their steps. “What if we hadn't encouraged Leah to join her neighbors? Would shyness or uncertainty have cost her firstborn his life?” Remembering this girl's earlier passion for children's welfare, Miriam knew what would move Taliah's heart. “You loved those children enough to fight for their education. Love them enough now to fight for their faith.”

Sattar remained close as they approached the small hut. Miriam quickly checked her bag for circumcision supplies. She had just enough bandages and herbs if Beb, Masud's father, agreed to believe and obey Yahweh's commands.

Taliah cleared her throat and rustled the curtain. “Shalom to this house.”

They heard shuffling inside and then Masud, Haji, and Tuya appeared at the curtain, eyes bright. “Peace to you, Taliah.”

“Good morning.” She ruffled the curly black hair of each child.

Haji stared down at the baskets strapped across Sattar's back. “You have a lot of gold!” He reached out to touch, but his big brother slapped his hand.

Taliah tipped each little chin to see their bright, black eyes. “I've come to say good-bye. I'm leaving Egypt, and I won't see you again.”

“Father said we couldn't go with you.” Masud stood straight and tall, but his round black eyes welled with tears. “I asked why, and he said he's afraid of your god.”

“Masud!” Beb appeared and pulled the children inside. His eyes never left his sandals. “Thank you for teaching our children. We owe you a great debt.”

“You owe me nothing.” Taliah's voice wavered, but she cleared her throat again and lowered her voice. “Please, Beb, Yahweh asks for your obedience, but He promises you new life and freedom. You need only take it.”

Miriam stepped close, whispering, “I have herbs and bandages for your wounds. Your family can join us for the meal. Please, Beb. Please.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” he said with a polite nod. “Safe journey.” The curtain fell closed, hiding the man and his family in their dimly lit hut.

Taliah covered a sob, and Miriam squeezed her eyes shut against the truth that left her breathless. Masud would die tonight—that bright, beautiful, happy boy. Because of Ramesses's hard heart. Because of Beb's fear. Because four hundred years of evil men had brought two nations to this impasse. And because Yahweh's gift of human choice comes wrapped in irreversible consequences.

“Come, dear. We have a few more visits before we go home to begin our own preparations.” Miriam guided Taliah toward the next doorway, hoping they could save the firstborn inside.

The
L
ORD
made the Egyptians favorably disposed toward the people, and Moses himself was highly regarded in Egypt by Pharaoh's officials and by the people.

—
E
XODUS 11:3

E
leazar didn't know which of Ram's wounds to tend first—the arrow in his shoulder or the betrayal of keeping the plague from him.

“How long have you known?” Ram shouted the question this time.

Insides twisting, Eleazar held his master's gaze. “Several days.”

Ram choked on a laugh. “I suppose I deserve your hatred.”

“I don't hate you, my prince.” Eleazar paused, and decided a dying man deserved the truth. “But I couldn't trust you. I have a wife to protect.”

The look of betrayal deepened. “A wife? You said you'd never marry.” He sounded like a child—a lonely little boy.

“I married to keep a vow, but I will leave Egypt with a wife I love.” Taking a deep breath, Eleazar revealed more. “I hid her to keep her safe.”

“From me,” Ram said—a statement, not a question.

Eleazar nodded once. “And from Kopshef. She's Putiel's daughter.”

Ram looked away, turning his back. They watched in silence as the servants dressed the antelopes. Eleazar noted blood pooling on the floor of their chariot. “My prince, your wound must be tended. Please, let me take you back to the palace.”

“Why bother if I'm going to die at midnight?”

Eleazar placed the prince's hand on the chariot rail and snapped the reins, turning the horses toward the palace. “There's a way for you and your son to survive this plague if you're willing.”

Ram glanced at Eleazar suspiciously, wincing as the chariot jostled his wounded shoulder. “Why would you help me after the way I've treated you?”

Eleazar felt this might be his only chance to obey Yahweh's command. This might be the softest his master's heart would ever be. “I hold no grudge against you, my prince. I'll tell you how to save yourself and your firstborn when we've reached privacy, but for now I'd like you to consider a request.”

Ram's brow shot up. He paused, considering, and then nodded permission to continue.

Eleazar focused on the stallions ahead of him. “Our God commands Israel to leave Egypt peacefully, but every Hebrew is to ask his master for items of gold, silver, and clothing—only that which our Egyptian masters are willing to give. I'm asking you to offer items from Egypt's armory.” He didn't dare look at Ram but simply waited for the refusal.

“I'll give you the key hanging around my neck when we get back to my chamber. It unlocks every weaponry cabinet in the armory. Take only what you think the slaves can manage.” Ram's voice grew husky. “A man who remains loyal after what I've put you through deserves my trust.”

They finished the ride in silence, arriving at the stables to concerned glances and scurrying slaves. “Should I call the palace physicians, my lord?”

“No!” Ram marched past every offer of help and entered the palace through the servants' hall, avoiding the royal residence. He grasped Eleazar's arm, and kept his voice low. “If word reaches my wife that I've been injured, don't let her or my children see me until you've bandaged the wound. I don't want them frightened.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Ram stumbled as he resumed his walk, blood still oozing. Eleazar steadied him and then followed without a word as Ram led them through the palace and into the empty throne hall. Several scribes lingered near the doorway leading to their quarters, and Eleazar noticed Ithamar among them.

His youngest brother saw him too; their eyes met. Had Ithamar heard about the plague? Had he attended the meeting and made plans to eat the prescribed meal within the home of a blood-stained doorway? Ithamar wasn't a firstborn, so surely he'd be safe even if he spent the night in the palace, but how would he find their family when it came time to flee Egypt? Torn between love for his brother and compassion for Ram, Eleazar remembered the weapons key and knew he must find Ithamar later.
Please, Yahweh, find a way to care for my brother through someone else.

Ram mounted the dais and slipped through the prince's entry leading to the residential wing. Eleazar knew the guard at his door. “Go to the palace physicians and get all the supplies they use to treat an arrow wound.”

“But don't bring the physicians!” Ram snarled, opening his door. “I'm sure I'll see them at midnight.” Weak now from blood loss, he stumbled toward his bed.

Eleazar ducked under Ram's healthy arm, helping him walk a few more steps. “I'm telling you, I know how you can save yourself and your son.”

“Oh, now you're going to stop Yahweh? When I'm dying from a chest wound?” Ram sat on the edge of his wool-stuffed mattress while Eleazar removed his sandals, leather breast piece, and wristbands.

“You're not dying.” Eleazar threw the last wristband on the floor. “The occurrence of the other plagues depended on one man's choice—your father's—but with this final plague, Yahweh gives every man a choice. Everyone who chooses to obey is extended mercy.”

“Quite noble of your god, Eleazar. What must I do?” Ram's head drooped, and he was struggling for consciousness. The arrow still protruded through front and back, but Eleazar dare not remove it until he had bandages to pack the wound—his battlefield training had taught him that much.

A knock came just in time. “Come!” Eleazar looked over his shoulder at the guard, weighed down with four baskets of every bandage, herb, and potion the Canaanite traders had offered. Ram's business deal had benefited him in more ways than he imagined. “Leave it and go,” Eleazar barked.

“May I get you anything else?” The Egyptian guard bowed humbly—to Eleazar.

Ram chuckled. “You must be a firstborn.” He lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Get out. You'll die with the rest of us.” The man hurried from the chamber, closing the door quietly behind him.

Eleazar's blood ran cold at Ram's cruelty. He grabbed two wads of bandages and pressed them into Ram's hand. “Hold these. I have to break off the tip of the arrow and pull it through. It won't be pleasant.”

Crack! Swish!
Eleazar did it quickly, something he'd done dozens of times on the battlefield—but never for a prince.

Ram screamed and then panted when it was over, wide awake now.

Eleazar grabbed a wad of bandages and held it against the wound in his back and pressed Ram's handful of bandages against the wound in the front. “Are you ready to listen to me now? Are you ready to save your son's life?”

Ram glared at him. “You enjoyed that, didn't you?”

“A little.” Eleazar grinned.

“I'm listening.”

“You and your son are already circumcised, so you've already met one of Yahweh's requirements. You need only believe He is the One God, bring your family into this chamber, and smear a yearling lamb's blood on the top and sides of your doorframe. Do these things, and the death angel will pass over you tonight.”

Ram's expression remained unchanged. Had he heard, or was he fading again?

“Do you understand me?”

“Do you understand that my father would kill me and all my children if I even mention the name of Yahweh in this palace?” Ram wiped sweat from his face. “Besides, if I live through the night, I think I may win the throne. I'm not about to trade Pharaoh's favor for a slave's god—even if that god threatens my life.”

Eleazar wanted to shake him. “Even if you and Kopshef survive this plague—which you won't—the crown prince would never let you sit on Ramesses's throne. You'd be dead now if he'd been a better archer.”

Ram's face grew paler. “Kopshef shot me?”

Eleazar's single nod hardened Ram's features to stone.

The bandages were soaked with blood, so Eleazar reached for fresh ones. “Press this against your chest wound and lie on your stomach while I pack the back wound.” Ram did as instructed, and Eleazar worked quickly. The use of ground and crushed herbs he'd learned from Doda Miriam as a child had made him invaluable as a soldier's medic on the battlefield. How had he not seen Yahweh's hand on his life all these years?

“Turn over, and I'll pack your chest wound.”

Without comment, Ram did as he was told, staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. Eleazar wanted to say more, to try to convince him to save himself and his son, but what good would it do? If a man refused to believe, refused to value his own life and others, no words in the world could save him.

“Sit up now, while I secure the wrappings.” Again, the prince of Egypt obeyed his slave without hesitation. After tying the last bandage in place, Eleazar lowered his master's head onto a down-stuffed pillow, lifted his legs onto the bed, and covered him with a light linen sheet. “Will there be anything else, my prince?”

Ram reached for the key around his neck and snapped the chain. Finally, he met Eleazar's gaze once more. “Take it. Give your Hebrews the weapons they need.” Eleazar reached for the key, and Ram held his hand as he received it. “Take whatever gold and silver you can carry when you leave my chamber. I don't want to see your face again, Hebrew—whether I live or die.”

A cold shiver worked up Eleazar's spine as he took the key. “As you wish, my prince.”

Ram closed his eyes, and Eleazar began collecting gold rings, belts, and chains into a shoulder bag. He stared for a long moment at Ram's Gold of Praise collar. Should he? Could he? Yes, after four hundred years of his ancestors' slavery, he most certainly could take it. Fitting the heavy piece of jewelry around his neck, he slipped out the door and came face to face with the Egyptian guard who had retrieved the medical supplies. He looked at the golden collar on Eleazar's neck and lifted a single brow.

Eleazar placed a hand on the man's shoulder. “If you are willing to trust Yahweh as the One God, you can save yourself, my friend.”

A moment of hope dawned before weary sadness washed it away. “A soldier serves his master unto death.” Shoulders back, eyes forward, he let Eleazar pass.