Miriam (7 page)

“Maybe You don't want her to marry, Shaddai,” she said aloud, not caring who heard. “Is that what You're trying to tell me?” Somehow hearing the words made the One God feel nearer. The audible conversation garnered a few puzzled stares from field workers, brick makers, and slave drivers, but most shook their heads and smiled. Did they accept it as an oddity of her calling? Or perhaps they simply thought her senile.

As she approached her long house, she felt the color drain from her face. How would she tell Taliah that not only had Miriam's nephews rejected the betrothal but her own family had shunned her? Miriam had spent the past two weeks convincing Taliah that marriage was the answer to her dilemma and recounting the romantic story of Mered and Bithiah, their children, and their children's children.

The bigger concern was the widespread perception that Taliah had been defiled in the harem. Miriam knew the damage such a rumor could cause.

Miriam arrived home as the last glow of dusk faded. She pushed aside the curtain and found Taliah in her usual spot, seated on Miriam's sleeping mat, leaning against the wall, splinted leg outstretched. She was grinding fennel seeds in the mortar and pestle.

“You're back,” she said, eyes hopeful. “What did Elisheba say?” Miriam's face must have betrayed her discouragement. Before she could answer, Taliah returned her attention to the task. “Well, it doesn't matter. I can always stay with Abba Putiel's family. Surely they can find a husband for me among all the tribes of Israel.” She tried to keep her voice light, but Miriam heard the quaver.

“I wouldn't have let you marry Nadab or Abihu anyway.” Miriam joined her on the mat. “You deserve a man who will appreciate your wit and beauty, my dear. Now pass me a hand mill, and I'll grind this barley for tonight's bread.”

They worked together in silence for a time, Miriam silently pleading for Shaddai's wisdom. She heard Taliah sniff and glanced in her direction.

Her cheeks were wet with tears. “Abba Putiel's family refused me as well, didn't they?”

Miriam set aside the hand mill and gathered Taliah into her arms. “I wouldn't let you live with them either. They're as false as an Egyptian's wig.”

The comparison wrested a chuckle from the heartbroken girl. She wiped away her tears and sat up. “Miriam, I need to get out of these rooms. It's been four weeks. Please. It's past dusk. The slave masters have gone home. I'll walk down to the river and get fresh water. Just to the river and back.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “Please.”

How could she refuse? The poor girl had been cooped up far too long. “All right, but stay on the path and watch for crocodiles. They begin feeding at dusk.”

“I will!” She pushed herself up and grabbed her crutch in one hand and the water jug in the other before Miriam could change her mind.

With cunning they conspire against your people;

they plot against those you cherish.

—
P
SALM 83:3

L
ate again.
Eleazar hurried his pace, jogging on the dark, dusty path between Rameses and Goshen. At least he'd remembered a torch to stave off hyenas or jackals that might smell the rations he carried. Adding Hoshea's duties to his own made Eleazar's days longer and his nights shorter. He'd garnered a few puzzled stares from young slaves while polishing leather breast pieces and sharpening swords—tasks he hadn't done since he'd been Putiel's apprentice. Thankfully, no one had inquired about Hoshea. If anyone did, Eleazar held a dozen lies at the ready.

He swiped aside Doda's curtain, panting, and found the main room empty again, but the smell of fresh-baked bread was a welcome greeting. “Doda!” He moved through the small room into the adjoining chamber and found his three favorite people. Relieved that Taliah was hidden on the roof this evening, he kissed both Saba's and Savta's heads and sat down beside Doda Miriam.

They greeted him with halfhearted smiles that didn't reach their eyes. Eleazar unwrapped the bundle of rations and waited for someone to explain.

Doda reached for his hand, cradling it gently. “You must marry Taliah.”

Heat spread up his neck and into his cheeks, but he kept silent, head bowed.

Saba cleared his throat. “You made a promise to protect her, son.”

Eleazar's head shot up, and he looked into the rheumy eyes of the man who had loved him, chastised him, and guided him his whole life. “How can you ask me to marry her when doing so would put her in more danger? You know what happens to slave soldiers' wives and children. She would be tortured for my mistakes. She would be beaten and killed to punish me!” His voice broke with emotion, and he jumped to his feet. “Why do you think I've worked so hard to hide you three? I was stupid to mention Doda to Ram a few months ago, and now Pharaoh knows we're connected. That means you're all in danger. I can't do that to Taliah. I won't. She deserves a man more like her—smart, skilled, refined.”

Doda reached for his hand and pulled herself to her feet, looking him sternly in the eye. “Taliah went to get water at the river. Go talk to her.”

“How could you let her leave?” Not waiting for a response, Eleazar sprinted through the curtains and into the cooler night air, down the alley between long houses toward the river. He dared not cry out for fear of rousing predators—human or animal. His pace slowed as he reached the bank where women used the
shaduf
to fill their jars. There, at the edge of the water, lay Taliah's crutch and a broken jug. Eleazar had gone only a few steps when he heard a heart-piercing scream.
Taliah.

He clenched his fists and rent the air with a war cry. “Aahh!” In the subsequent stillness, he heard a commotion in the bulrushes on his left, saw a man's silhouette in the moonlight. The man ducked back into the reeds.

“You there! Show yourself, or you'll wish a crocodile had found you first.”

The man jumped up and started running, dagger in hand. Eleazar stood less than a stone's throw from the battered-down reeds, but his knees had turned to water. Though Taliah's cries beckoned him, dread cautioned his pace. What if that degenerate had ruined her—not her body alone, but her spirit and vibrancy? What could he say to her?

He approached the trembling bulrushes slowly so as not to frighten her more. “Taliah, I'm here. It's me, Eleazar.” Her crying calmed to whimpers as he drew nearer, and he saw only a huddled form in the moonlight when he parted the reeds. She was curled into a ball, robe torn but pulled modestly around her. “He's gone. I'm here to take you home.” He knelt beside her but didn't try to touch her. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. Of course, she wasn't all right, but she had moved her arms and legs, so no bones were broken.

“May I carry you home?”

A low whine began in her throat. She shook violently.

He stroked her hair, and she calmed slightly. “I must get you out of the reeds. We're easy prey for crocodiles here.” He gently slipped his arms under her back and legs.

She turned into his chest, trying to hide her battered face. “Your war cry stopped him before…before….” Sobs choked off the words, but he knew.

Eleazar squeezed his eyes shut, grateful to whatever god might be listening that she need not fear carrying a child. He'd caught a glimpse of leather and a glint of bronze, suggesting the attacker was a slave master. A soldier would have stayed to fight. A peasant would have cowered in fear. Perhaps the man would lie, boast of a conquest that never happened, and save Taliah from future attempts.

She wept quietly in his arms, still shaking, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her forever, to protect her from the chaos surrounding them. But none of them were safe. Doda was right. He couldn't protect anyone. He had failed Putiel. Worse, he'd failed Taliah, and he could do nothing to keep it from happening again. “I'll send a message to your abba tomorrow. He'll know what to do.”

After he'd left Taliah safe with Doda Miriam, he stood outside her long house in the moonlight, thankful that darkness hid his silent tears.

The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways,

but the folly of fools is deception.

—
P
ROVERBS 14:8

T
he night watchman pounded on Eleazar's door, providing his daily alert that dawn's glow tinged the eastern sky. Eleazar rolled onto his stomach and pulled his lamb's wool over his head. Surely it couldn't be dawn already. He'd left Doda's when the moon was well past its zenith without having exchanged another word with Taliah. Doda had been inconsolable for letting Taliah leave the long house. He'd tried to comfort her, but his words grew jumbled and awkward, again proving silence was his best course of action. He'd run like a madman back to the palace, chest heaving, and fallen onto his sleeping mat what seemed like only moments ago.

The image of Taliah's trembling, huddled form flashed through his mind, and he felt ill. If he thought he could bring her justice by finding the attacker, he'd hunt him down like the jackal he was. But no Egyptian cared that a Hebrew maiden had
almost
been defiled. Eleazar's best hope—and Taliah's—was Putiel. Perhaps he could give some direction for his daughter's future. The problem was getting a message to him without alerting Prince Ram—or any other Egyptian—to Taliah's whereabouts.

Eleazar sighed, rolled onto his back, and stared into the pitch-black void. He was exhausted. Between Taliah's care and covering for Hoshea's absence, the past month had been a nightmare. And it was getting harder and harder to cover Hoshea's duties. If Ithamar hadn't helped falsify armory records yesterday, Hoshea's absence would have been discovered. Eleazar had never been so glad his little brother was a scribe.

A scribe! My brother is a scribe!
Ithamar could write a message to Putiel. Eleazar would dictate it, filling it with official-sounding business but including a veiled message about Taliah. Ram's messenger would read it aloud to Putiel, who would understand Eleazar's hidden meaning and dictate his reply to the waiting courier. Eleazar rubbed his forehead. Could it work? Surely, Putiel would appreciate the caution. What if Kopshef discovered the correspondence? Its contents must be innocuous enough not to arouse suspicion. Eleazar's teeth were set on edge at the thought of the crown prince. Yes, Eleazar must be very careful what he included in the message.

He rolled to his knees in his windowless chamber and patted the ground to find his flint stones. The stones lay precisely where he'd left them, beside his belt, sandals, and weapons. He struck them together and lit his single oil lamp, casting a meager glow in the small chamber. His first duty this morning would be to lay out the warriors' weapons on the sparring field. Then take morning rations to Doda Miriam. Rush back to the palace stables to groom Prince Ram's stallion before his morning ride—all before the prince broke his fast. Surely, he could think of a veiled message for Putiel by then. After that, he would find Ithamar.

He reached for his jug of beer, rinsed out his mouth, and spit into his waste pot. Lifting his arms overhead, he stretched high and then roared as he bent to touch his toes. He strapped on his cudgel and breast piece, then slipped his spear at an angle through the leather straps across his back. Upon opening his chamber door, he found his rations waiting as usual. Four small loaves of bread, two rounds of cheese, figs, dates, olives, and a variety of nuts. Hoshea's rations were the same, and the same quantity would be delivered at midday. A third, smaller delivery would appear after sunset which included a steaming hot meat of some kind and usually a fine jug of beer, sometimes wine. He stuffed a few dates in his mouth and chewed on a loaf of bread, wrapping the rest of his rations and Hoshea's in a cloth for Doda Miriam and the others. If he thought a god would listen, he'd pray that Taliah would eat something and maybe argue with him when he arrived this morning. He'd rather have her venom than her tears.

The morning progressed unremarkably until he arrived at Doda Miriam's. She was waiting outside, arms folded across her chest, a frown affixed firmly in place.

“We need to discuss Taliah.” She kept her voice low, implying those inside were still sleeping.

Eleazar was both disappointed and grateful he wouldn't speak to Taliah this morning. “I know I failed to protect her, but Putiel will know what to do.” He handed Doda the rations and kissed her cheek. “I must get back.” He started back toward the palace, his mind already forming a message to Putiel.

“Your brothers won't marry her.”

Eleazar stopped, turned, and tried to remain calm. He hadn't known this was even a possibility. “Lucky for her.”

“Putiel's family won't help her either.”

Anger rising, Eleazar raised a brow. “You've been busy.”

“You need to marry her.”

“We're not having this conversation again, Doda.”

“Good. It's settled then. Your saba Amram can pronounce the wedding blessing tonight.”

“No!” Eleazar shouted, startling birds into flight from the roofs above them. He breathed deeply, calming himself. “I'm not getting married. To anyone. I've told you already. Pharaoh uses close family members to torture high-ranking slaves. I won't put a woman's life in danger by marrying her. Good-bye.”

“Please, Eleazar,” she whispered. “I can't hear El Shaddai. I don't know what else to do.”

A cold chill worked up his spine as he walked back toward Doda Miriam. Her head was bent, but he could tell she was crying. What could he say? He didn't believe in her God anymore, and this was partly why. If El Shaddai did exist, He'd proven to be vengeful and capricious, uncaring and unreliable, but it wouldn't help Doda to hear that now.

Eleazar gathered her into his arms and laid his cheek atop her head. “If you could hear El Shaddai right now, believe me, He'd say I'm not the answer to Taliah's problems. She doesn't even like me.”

But you will marry her.

Eleazar heard the pronouncement from someplace deep within him, not audibly, but it might as well have echoed in Pharaoh's throne hall. Surely, he was merely tired and imagined it.

“I'll send a message to Putiel today and ask what's best for Taliah.” Putiel understood a soldier's caution. He knew the atrocities against wives and children of military slaves when Pharaoh sought to punish a man beyond a beating. He would never let his daughter marry a soldier slave.

Doda reached up to pat his cheek. “You're a good boy, Eleazar. I know you'll do the right thing.”

He was trying to do the right thing, but she refused to see it. “I'll see you tonight with more rations.” He walked away before she could say more.

The sun was already well above the eastern hills. If Eleazar believed in the gods, he could pray that Prince Ram had slept late. It was his only hope of readying the stallion for the prince's morning ride. Eleazar broke into a jog, hoping the morning air would clear his head so he could craft Putiel's message.

Eleazar hated deceiving his master, first about Hoshea's escape and now sending this message, but he simply couldn't confide in Prince Ram. Though the firstborn of Isetneferet was the best of Pharaoh's sons, he was still Egyptian, and Eleazar merely his slave.

The waters of the Nile rose ever higher during these months of Akhet, and the paths between the canals grew narrower. Eleazar sidestepped a slave driver who was dragging an injured—or dead—Hebrew away from a brick pile. Glancing back, Eleazar noted four Hebrews stacked in a pile awaiting burial and wondered fleetingly how many of his brethren died each day.

The sad realization spurred the idea for his message to Putiel. Eleazar, as slave commander at Rameses, was within his authority to send a census request asking how many Hebrews remained in Saqqara. Putiel, as Prince Kopshef's personal guard, would receive the request and order the counting. A slow, mischievous smile crept across Eleazar's lips. He would simply add a personal note within the scroll asking Putiel for direction on the obstinate she-camel he left in Eleazar's care.

Eleazar felt the weight of three chariots lift from his shoulders. He could even gain Prince Ram's permission to send the census request. One less deception made life a little less complicated.

Miriam watched Eleazar jog away and replayed his words in her mind.
If you could hear El Shaddai right now, believe me, He'd say I'm not the answer to Taliah's problems.
But she couldn't hear Him, and Taliah bore the pain of it. If El Shaddai had warned Miriam—as He would have a month ago—she never would have let Taliah go to the river.
Please, Shaddai, speak to me again. If it's me You want to punish, so be it, but please give me counsel to help those around me.

Still she felt nothing but the dry, stale air of another unbearably hot day. Ducking around the curtain, she entered the main room of her long house, poured a bowl of water, and grabbed some towels.

As she moved past Taliah's mat, the girl stirred. “Has Eleazar come yet? I wanted to thank him.”

Miriam paused, considering how much of the truth to divulge. Setting aside the bowl, she knelt across from Taliah and decided to tell her everything. “I didn't want Eleazar to come inside this morning.”

Taliah's right eye blinked her confusion, but her left eye was too swollen from the beating to blink at all.

“You told me last night that you recognized your attacker as a slave driver. I was afraid if Eleazar saw how badly the man had beaten you, he would have hunted the Egyptian down. He wouldn't have listened to reason—that the beating you took when you struggled probably saved your innocence.”

“Are you saying I should be thankful I was beaten?” The girl's voice rose in pitch and volume, and she pushed herself up to meet Miriam's gaze. “I don't think I can marshal that kind of gratitude.”

Miriam pursed her lips into a knowing grin. This bold, beautiful young woman hadn't lost her spunk. “No, my girl. Never be grateful for tragedy, but always trust that God can use it in His good plan for you.” She knew she sounded so wise, so sure of God. But how could she tell a girl who already doubted El Shaddai that even His prophetess now struggled to understand Him?

Taliah pulled her hand away. “If this is your God's plan, I don't like it.”

“Our God always has a plan. We just don't always know it.” Miriam started to get up, but Taliah tugged at her sleeve.

“Did Eleazar ask about me this morning?”

“I didn't give him a chance.” Miriam saw a glimmer of hope for her wedding plans. “In order to keep him from coming inside, I confronted him at the doorway with a topic I knew would put him off.”

“What topic was that?”

“I tried to convince him he should marry you.”

“Marry me?” Taliah was on her feet in an instant, towering over Miriam. “I don't want to be married—especially to Eleazar. I mean, I appreciate his help and all, but…”

Miriam offered her hand, a plea to help her stand, and Taliah obliged. Once on her feet, Miriam gave her the bowl of water and towels. “Not to worry. He feels the same about you. He's not interested in marriage—yet. Now, let's go wash and feed Abba and Ima.”

Taliah followed without a word. Miriam grinned. If this girl was silent, her mind was whirring.