Bondage, p.14
Bondage, page 14
“And executed,” Bithiah said, her mind filling with unthinkable thoughts. “Would the Libyans be so cruel?”
Mered gave a slow nod. “They would. War brings out the worst in people, and the Libyan tribesmen are already some of the worst I’ve heard of.” He paused. “Come inside; we don’t need to be staring at the horizon.”
Bithiah shook her head. “I need to stay here so I can see what’s happening. So I can know.”
Mered exhaled. Then without a word he went into Moses’s chamber and brought out two cushions. He arranged them near the stone wall, beneath the shade, and motioned for Bithiah to sit. She settled into place, then looked at Mered, who stood leaning against the wall.
“Come sit with me,” Bithiah said. “Hopefully there will be a victory to celebrate soon.”
Mered sat on the other cushion, and they waited and watched together as the sun moved across the sky.
At one point, Mered closed his eyes and mouthed a prayer. When he finished, Bithiah asked, “What were you saying to your god?”
“I asked Him to preserve your son and my people.”
Bithiah looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. Moses was more connected to Mered’s people than he realized. “Thank you,” Bithiah said. “I was praying to the sun god when you found me earlier. Surely Ra will watch over Egypt.”
“Look,” Mered cut in. He rose to his feet and pointed at the western horizon. “Someone is coming.”
Bithiah leapt to her feet, joining Mered. “Are they our people or the Libyans?”
“I can’t tell yet.” Mered was still for several minutes, watching. As the men advanced, their images became clearer, and the dark animal-skin kilts were unmistakable. “Libyans.”
She gasped. “They’ve broken through our defenses.” Her eyes filled with tears as the horror settled into her soul. She stood like a statue, staring at the men approaching the palace. Even though she couldn’t hear them at this distance, she imagined their shouting and war cries. She pictured their bloodshot eyes and wild hair. She could almost smell their perspiration and bloodstained bodies.
“Come inside,” Mered said.
But Bithiah couldn’t move. Not until Mered grasped her arm and pulled her with him did she go inside Moses’s room. Seeing her son’s things and not knowing if he was still alive brought on fresh tears. She turned toward the windows again. Was Moses out there? Was he alive or dead? Was he injured and needing help?
“Bithiah, we need to hide now,” Mered said. He drew her with him to the small storage area concealed by a curtain. Inside, they’d stacked their food and moved several cushions they could hide beneath.
“I can’t. What if Moses needs me?” Her tears came faster now.
Mered’s arm slipped around her shoulders. “Your son needs you safe. Come into the hiding place.”
She nodded, feeling numb, and let Mered guide her to the storage room. She sat on the cushion in the corner and closed her eyes, listening to Mered’s movements as he stacked furniture and other items in front of them so the place looked like a storage space instead of a room hiding two people.
Finally, he let the curtain fall, and they were plunged into near darkness.
She heard rather than saw Mered sit next to her. She heard his breathing and his movements as he settled into the small space. Reaching for his hand, she grasped it and took small comfort in the fact that she was not alone, for now. In Mered’s other hand, he held a dagger at the ready.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her son. There were too many unknowns. She’d happily flee conquered Mennefer if only she could have her son with her. The darkness engulfed her, and she clung to Mered’s hand as if that alone could preserve her.
The wait dragged on, and Bithiah’s heart pounded double time with each passing minute. Her tears had long dried, replaced by encroaching feelings of defeat.
It was then that she heard a loud crash. She flinched and buried her head against Mered’s chest. His arm came around her, holding her tightly. They didn’t speak; they hardly breathed.
The sounds grew closer. Banging. Shouting. And then the screams.
Bithiah gripped Mered tighter. “Pray for us,” she whispered to Mered. “Someone in heaven must take compassion.”
Chapter Nineteen
Moses
The screams were deafening at first, making Moses’s skin crawl. He felt like gagging at the smell of death and blood, but he continued to swing at one opponent, then another, barely registering when a man fell before him screaming in pain or gurgling in death.
He just kept going. Kept fighting.
He’d abandoned his chariot long ago and started fighting like a foot soldier. It wasn’t until the screaming changed to shouting that Moses realized something had changed. He turned from the newly slain opponent at his feet to see that Pentu was racing across the ridge on his horse. “They’ve broken the line!” he shouted.
Caleb, Moses thought. Caleb must hold them back now. He was relying on the inexperienced Hebrew slave who had kept back thirty of the best men.
Moses didn’t need to study the surrounding battle to know Caleb’s thirty stood little chance of holding back the fierce tribesmen. The Hebrews had been effective, had held on strong, but the Libyans remained determined and had backed the Hebrews up the ridge little by little.
And now the tribesmen were over the ridge, heading toward the defenseless palace. Moses didn’t waste any more time but turned and followed the group of Libyans over the ridge. His muscles ached, and his breath was short, but he could worry about recovering later.
What he saw on the other side of the ridge stunned him motionless. Caleb and his thirty men were valiantly fighting off the Libyans. A group of tribesmen had skirted the Hebrews and was heading toward the palace, yet the rest were in a fight for their lives.
Moses hurried back down the ridge, calling to Pentu that he was chasing after the Libyans. He ordered a few Hebrews who were nearby to go with him and follow the Libyans headed toward the palace. Moses knew he could never catch up to them; he needed his chariot. He would have to leave Pentu in charge of the battle and trust Caleb to keep his promises. Then he turned toward his idle chariot. The horses stood almost motionless.
Not for the first time, Moses wished Ramses and Pharaoh had thought ahead and kept more forces in Mennefer. It would take them most of the day to bring in reinforcements from Pithom.
Moses ordered two of the Hebrews to join him in the chariot. The others would have to run alongside. By the time they crossed over the ridge again, the Libyans were well ahead.
Moses drove the horses against the wind, his breath coming in gasps even though he rode in a chariot. The Hebrews who were on foot valiantly ran, falling farther and farther behind, but they were still advancing. Moses couldn’t slow for even a moment. Not when images of what the Libyans might do to those remaining in the palace jumped into his mind. He hoped his mother had left with the rest of the royal family, but if not, his urgency was even greater.
The wind continued to build, pushing against Moses’s chest as if it was trying to push him backward. He drove forward for what seemed like hours. He couldn’t move fast enough. Finally Mennefer came into full view.
“We’re almost there,” Moses called out. “We must stop this invasion.” Moses calculated it would be about one Hebrew slave to two Libyan warriors. The odds weren’t great, but they weren’t impossible either. It was better than what it had been on the battlefield.
Finally Moses and his men reached the main courtyard of the palace, and Moses climbed out of the chariot and grabbed an ax. The wind gusted about the plants and flowers, bending them almost to the ground. Sand flew through the air at nearly the level of a full sandstorm. He stopped in front of the palace entrance to look for any sign of the Libyans, but there was no telling where they were now.
“I hear screaming,” one of the Hebrews said in broken Egyptian. He pointed toward the left, where the courtroom was located.
The other men started to speak in rapid Hebrew until Moses raised his hands for silence. He pointed to the Hebrew who’d spoken Egyptian. “We will split up and go to both sides of the courtroom. There is a front entrance and a back entrance.”
The Hebrew explained this to the other men, and they nodded, then quickly split up. Moses led his group to the back entrance, and that was when he smelled smoke.
The screaming grew louder, and Moses couldn’t bear the thought of people being caught in a fire. He ran to the courtroom doors and pushed against them. They didn’t budge. “They’re blocked,” Moses shouted. “We need to break them down.” He didn’t know if the Hebrews understood his words, but they followed his actions as he started hitting the doors with an ax.
They hammered and chopped at the doors until they started to give way. Smoke seeped out, and as the doors splintered, the smoke increased.
Finally the doors were broken enough that Moses and the slaves were able to wrench them open. Many people were lying on the floor, coughing. Some weren’t moving. Several ran outside, coughing over and over.
Moses pushed his way in, past the exiting Egyptians, and started to drag out those who were on the floor. He didn’t know if they were alive or dead, but he wanted to get them out in case they had a chance at survival.
The other door had been barred as well, and surprisingly enough, Moses didn’t see any Libyans inside the room. That meant the Egyptians had started the fire on their own.
Moses called for a couple of the Hebrews to slap at the fire near the front entrance, but it proved too large and was growing rapidly, so they turned to the people instead, helping them out of the room. As he worked, Moses tried not to inhale too much of the smoke.
The doors to the front entrance came crashing down, and Moses turned to see that the second group of Hebrews had broken through. Moses stared. Libyan tribesmen were lying in the corridor, not moving. The slaves had defeated them.
The fire raged out of the front entrance, leaping up the walls and approaching the dead tribesmen. Moses ordered several men to start filling jugs with water from the pools in the courtyard.
They had to put out the fire before it spread too far.
While those men worked, Moses fought to get everyone into the courtyard where there was fresh air. But the sky had darkened with the blowing sand.
“It’s a sandstorm,” someone shouted.
“Everyone to the throne room!” Moses called out. It was the only room big enough to hold this crowd, and since it was on the other side of the palace, it would be safe from the fire.
Those who could walk started to make their way through the courtyard, and others helped carry those who couldn’t walk. Moses supported one woman who was wheezing more than she was breathing. He cast a backward glance at several who were lying motionless on the ground. They didn’t look injured like those on the battlefield, but the smoke had stolen the breath of life from them.
The woman Moses was helping started to cough. He paused to let her catch her breath. “Thank you,” she said, her voice raspy. “Did you find your mother?”
Moses stiffened. “My mother? Didn’t she go with the rest of the royal family to Pithom?”
“No,” the woman said, then fell into another coughing fit. After a minute, she said, “She knocked on the door to the courtroom, but no one would let her in.” The woman shook her head. “Fear changes people.”
The woman was right. Fear did change people. It made Moses want to release this woman and run through the corridors, calling for his mother. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue helping the woman. Once he got her to the throne room, he told the men, whether Hebrew or Egyptian, to split up. They needed to put out the fire and prepare to defend the palace.
Then he went to search for his mother. He didn’t know how long he had—minutes, maybe longer. As he left the throne room, he hurried to the end of one of the corridors that opened into a west-facing courtyard. He didn’t know how much longer Caleb could hold back the Libyans, and urgency pulsed through him. Moses reentered the palace and ran to his mother’s chambers. He burst through the doors, calling to her while checking every corner and closet.
“Moses,” a man’s voice called from the chamber entrance, “is it you?”
Moses turned to see the royal scribe, Mered. “Have you seen my mother?”
“She’s in your chamber, hiding,” Mered said. “Come with me.”
Moses followed Mered out and hurried to his chamber. The moment he stepped inside, he called for her. She emerged from her hiding place and wrapped her arms around him.
“You’re alive,” Bithiah said, sobbing. “Praise the gods and goddesses, my son is alive!”
Moses held his mother tightly, feeling his own emotions surface. He hadn’t realized until just now how afraid he’d been. Tears trailed down his face as he inhaled his mother’s familiar scent.
“When I saw the Libyans coming, I nearly gave up hope,” his mother said, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Mered made me hide. And when I heard the screams and the Libyans running through the palace, my heart wanted to die.”
“Oh, Mother,” Moses said, stroking her back. “I didn’t know you were here. I thought you’d left with Pharaoh.”
His mother pulled away. “I didn’t know about the border raid until it was too late. I was stuck here, and . . .” She paused, looking over at the scribe. “If it hadn’t been for Mered, I might have gone crazy.”
Moses reached out to place a hand on Mered’s shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of my mother.”
Mered nodded. “What can I help with?”
“There’s a fire in the courtroom—the dignitaries decided they’d rather die than be captured by Libyans.” Moses looked at his mother, then back to Mered. “We need all the help we can get to put it out.”
“I’ll do it,” Mered said.
“What about the Libyans who invaded the palace?” his mother asked.
“The Hebrews who were with me overpowered them,” Moses said. “But the battle isn’t over. We need the men to defend the palace.”
Mered’s face was grave, but he nodded.
“What can I do, Moses?” his mother asked softly.
“Assemble some women and fetch drink and food for everyone.” Moses eyed Mered, thinking specifically of the Hebrews. “Don’t leave out the slaves.”
His mother went one way, and he and Mered went the other. They found a line of men transporting jugs of water and dousing the fire. The wind bursting in through the broken doors didn’t help, but the fire had been contained enough that Moses could leave and check on the battle preparations.
One of the viziers named Saba was barking orders into the screaming wind. When he saw Moses, he turned and called over the wind, “We need a dozen men to take position behind this wall. It will be our first line of defense against the Libyans.”
Moses glanced at the wall. It had several areas where there were open spaces. It would be easy to hide and watch for the approaching tribesmen without being spotted themselves. “I think that will work. I need a few men to take with me to go help at the front line.” If the Libyans could be stopped at the front line, they wouldn’t make it as far as the others.
Saba narrowed his eyes. “You’re royalty; perhaps you should send others.”
“Everyone is the same today,” Moses said. “We have Hebrew slaves doing an Egyptian soldier’s job. I will face what may come regardless of who my mother is.” He waved his arm. “The sandstorm will work in our favor.”
“Very well,” Saba said, then called over several men, Hebrews and Egyptians alike. Six men came over, shielding their eyes from the blowing sand. “These men will go with you.”
“Come to the stables first,” Moses said, looking at the assembled men. “We’ll take horses.” The men followed Moses to the stables. By the time they were inside and untying the horses, the wind had increased and the sky had darkened.
Moses stepped outside into the blinding storm. The wind pushed his breath from his body, and he turned and staggered back inside. “We’ve been delayed. There is no visibility. As soon as the storm lifts, we will ride to see what’s left of the battle.”
Chapter Twenty
Miriam
Miriam tugged out the thread she’d just woven and started over. The wind had increased over the past few minutes, and she decided it was the cause of her clumsiness. It was as if the wind had brought bad luck. Her mother came out of the hut and looked up.
Miriam saw only blue sky. “What is it, Mother?”
Jochebed clasped her hands together and looked over at Miriam. “The wind brings a feeling of foreboding.”
Miriam had to agree even though she wished it wasn’t true. “What do you think has happened?”
Jochebed didn’t have the chance to answer because just then Miriam’s father came bursting into the courtyard. Perspiration stood out on his forehead, and he stopped, catching his breath as if he’d run all the way from the brick-making area.
Miriam immediately rose to her feet, weaving and loom forgotten. “What is it, Father?”
Her mother rushed to his side and grasped his hand.
“Hundreds of our men were sent into battle against the Libyans,” he said. “I don’t know how long ago. Word took a while to reach the brickyard, and then the taskmaster kept us working. I came as soon as I could.”
“The Libyans?” Jochebed said, fear in her voice. “They are worse than our own taskmasters.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “May Adonai preserve us.”
Miriam’s father gave a short nod. “The Libyan tribesmen crossed the western border yesterday and have now fought their way across the desert, coming so far that they are threatening the palace.”
“Oh no.” Jochebed brought a hand to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s bad enough being under the yoke of the Egyptians—the Libyans will extend no mercy, no mercy at all.”
