By the Waters of Kadesh Page 13

  Egypt. Where things were simple. Yes, they were slaves, but there were no questions. You knew exactly how things worked. If you obeyed and did your job, life wasn’t so bad.

  A child running after another bumped him from behind. The two ran away laughing.

  Gaddiel turned out of the residential section back to the vendors. They exited the street into a section of stalls offering women.

  The sounds of a scuffle to their right demanded their attention. A young girl crying for help. Even if they couldn’t understand the words, her tone was clear. They sprinted toward the noise.

  When they reached the girl, a man in an Egyptian thawb was holding the girl against the building. He glanced up and saw them coming, let her go, grabbed another girl, and disappeared into a tent.

  He looked very much like Palti.

  “Did you see that?” asked Sethur.

  “He looked just like Palti. And he has the same kind of cloak.” Igal’s eyes were wide.

  “And the temper to kill. Igal, go find a soldier, one who speaks Egyptian. Do whatever you have to, but bring him here. We don’t have much time.”

  Igal sprinted away.

  Gaddiel and Sethur kept watch on the tent the Palti lookalike had ducked into. Sooner than they hoped, he reappeared.

  Gaddiel grabbed Sethur’s shoulder. “I’ll follow him. You wait here for Igal, then find us.”

  Gaddiel followed the lookalike, trying to stay out of sight.

  The man stopped at a food stall, pointed at several items, and waited for the boy to bag the items.

  The boy handed over the bag, and the man reached into his pouch for coin.

  Gaddiel glanced over his shoulder. Where was Igal with that soldier?

  The man continued down the row of stalls.

  Gaddiel followed. His heart pounded in his ears. What if they lost him? Palti would die. This horrible land—they’d be lucky if all of them made it back alive.

  The man stopped again. He’d apparently dropped off some clothing. He spoke to a woman, who ducked in a tent. He dug his sandals in the sand as he waited.

  A touch on his shoulder made Gaddiel jump. He turned to see Igal, Sethur, and one of the soldiers who had arrested Palti. “He’s there waiting for clothing.” He pointed to the Palti lookalike.

  The man glanced their way.

  “He does look very much like your friend.” The soldier shook his head. “I’ll arrest him. Let me call another.” He stepped back to the main road and whistled. The pair strode to the man, grabbed him, and marched away.

  Gaddiel sank against a pole. Now maybe Palti had a chance.

  After the girls had fallen asleep, Tirzah joined the circle and sat next to Meri. The fire crackled and popped, and a slight breeze wafted through the camp. The smell of burning driftwood tickled her nose. “Naomi finally stopped whining. I think she missed you tonight, Kamose.” She smiled at him across the circle but he only glanced at her. A pain pinched her heart.

  Ahmose skipped in.

  “And where have you been, habibi?” Meri pulled him close and kissed his cheek.

  “Playing by the river.”

  “You missed supper.”

  “Not hungry. Did the girls go to sleep already?” He hugged Tirzah.

  Meri laughed. “Of course. It’s quite late. Time for you to go to bed as well, I think.”

  “Already?” Ahmose scrunched his face.

  “Don’t whine.” Bezalel’s voice was firm. “Go to your tent.”

  “All right.” The boy headed for the tent he shared with Kamose.

  “I’m going for water.” Tirzah stood and waited a moment to see if Kamose would offer to accompany her. When he rose, her heart skipped a beat and her lips curved into a smile.

  Instead, he excused himself and headed the other way.

  Her heart sank. She couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t even looked backwards at her. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling.

  “I’ll go with you, Tirzah. Let me get our skins.” Meri stood and disappeared into her tent.

  Tirzah lost her fight with the tears and collapsed onto the sand, where Meri sat next to her. “He’s been avoiding me for two days. I have no idea what I’ve done.”

  “I’m sure you’ve done nothing.” Meri patted her arm.

  Bezalel picked up baby Adi and slipped away from the campfire, leaving them alone.

  Tirzah put her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

  Meri wrapped her arm around her and rubbed her back, letting her cry.

  Tirzah raised her head and took a shuddering breath. “Nathaniel said some awful things the other night.”

  “Such as?”

  “He said there had been other women—lots of women. He said all soldiers live wild lives.”

  Meri blew out a breath. “I don’t know about wild. But they would have parties in the palace. It happened all the time. Whenever there was a victory, or just to reward them for being good soldiers. Wine, music, and lots of pretty, young girls. And the women wanted to be there, just like they wanted to be concubines.”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Tirzah stared at Meri through her tears.

  “In Egypt, we looked at things differently. Men and women enjoy each other. They were beautiful women and young, strong soldiers. Egyptians see nothing wrong with it if none of them are married. So Kamose was acting as all his people did. Can you fault him for that?”

  Tirzah scoffed. “Well, that’s a horrible way to live.”

  “Yet you were married without any choice to a man who did not love you, who beat you, with no way out unless he died. Which way is better?”

  Tirzah wiped her eyes. “I suppose you have a point. It doesn’t matter anyway. He changed his mind. He doesn’t want me. That’s why he’s avoiding me. He realized he can do much better.”

  Meri tilted her head. “Does Kamose know you know about his past?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t tell him. I haven’t seen him since I saw Nathaniel.”

  “I think somehow he found out and that’s why he’s been avoiding you.”

  “I doubt it.” Tirzah shook her head. “I never should have hoped. I should have just concentrated on the girls. That’s what my life is now. Hoping for more—that’s what got me into trouble. And hoping for someone like him—I never had a chance.”

  Meri grasped Tirzah’s hand. “That’s where you’re wrong. You still have a chance. I know Kamose far better than you do. And if he thought there was the tiniest chance he would hurt you, he would never have started anything.”

  Tirzah hugged herself. “Maybe I should leave it this way.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  More tears flowed. “I don’t know.”

  “I do. Because you love him.” Meri hugged her, and let her cry some more.

  Tirzah raised her head to look at Meri. “So do you think everything Nathaniel said is true?”

  Meri shrugged. “At least some of it. You need to talk to him about it.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “You need to talk to him. Do you really want to give this up without even giving it a chance?”

  She didn’t want to give up. But she didn’t want to confront Kamose, either. What could he say that would make her feel better? She was terrified of the truth—either finding out everything Nathaniel said was true, or that he didn’t want her at all.

  No matter what he said, there was no way she could come out of this with what she wanted.

  Back at the sleeping house, Gaddiel waited for word on what would happen now that they had, in their opinion at least, found the real murderer.

  Caleb lay on his mat, eyes closed, face peaceful as always.

  “How can you lie there so calmly when Palti’s life is in danger?” Gaddiel wanted to strangle the man.

  Caleb sat up. “I said Yahweh would take care of it, and He has.”

  “He has done nothing yet!”

  “He showed us the man r
esponsible. I am sure the truth will be revealed to the king and Palti will be released. Yahweh will—”

  “How do you know Yahweh is even here?” Gaddiel jumped to his feet. “I’m not at all sure He is. Maybe we left Him behind, with the manna and the cloud. That would explain why this land is so full of danger. Even He won’t come here.”

  Caleb stood. “Yahweh is with us, be assured of that. If you cannot see it, you are not looking.”

  Gaddiel growled and stomped out of the building.

  Yahweh could not be here. This land was too brutal, too fearsome. Sacrificed babies. Giants. High mountains that cut the land in half, lakes that almost killed, cities with walls to the sky.

  This land could not possibly be blessed by Yahweh.

  Kamose turned at the sound of crunching sand.

  “I’ve found hitting things gets rid of anger far better than staring at them.” Bezalel came alongside Kamose, searching the water with him.

  Kamose allowed himself a half smile at Bezalel’s comment. “Probably. But I choose not to abuse my body as you did for the sake of anger.”

  Bezalel chuckled as he rubbed the brutal scar down his left arm. “Good point.”

  Kamose sighed loudly. “What do you want, Bezalel?”

  “Well, Tirzah’s in her tent with Meri, crying, again, and you’re out here staring at waterbirds.”

  Kamose squeezed his eyes shut. “She’s crying?”

  “She is convinced you do not want her.”

  Kamose growled as he rolled his shoulders and stared at the sky.

  “I take it that’s not true.”

  Kamose exhaled a long breath. “Of course not. It is I who am not worthy of her.”

  Bezalel let a silent moment pass before he continued. “Why not?”

  Kamose studied the sand under his feet. “My past … is not … honorable.”

  “Kamose, I’ve known you for two years. You are the most honorable man I know.”

  “Not when it comes to women.”

  Bezalel scoffed. “I’ve never seen you treat a woman with anything less than dignity and respect.”

  “I do, and always have, respected women. But Egyptians do not regard relationships between men and women as sacred as you. When I was younger, there were many women. It was part of being a soldier. I cannot possibly expect her to understand that.”

  Bezalel lifted one shoulder. “Perhaps. You love her, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I am not good for her.”

  “Don’t you think that’s for her to decide?”

  “No. She doesn’t have all the facts. I have to make the decision for her.”

  “But you are no longer that person. Don’t you think a relationship should be based on who you are now?”

  Kamose remained silent. The thought was so tempting. “How can I ask her to accept everything I am, everything I have done? Is that fair to her?”

  “Maybe she’ll accept it, maybe she won’t.” Bezalel turned to face Kamose, and spoke only when he caught his eyes. “I can only say to you what you once told me. Talk to her. She loves you. Or she wouldn’t be crying.”

  As Bezalel retreated, Kamose pondered the sting of having his own words tossed back at him. Was Bezalel right? Was there a chance Tirzah would understand? Forgive him? Even if she did, would that be the best thing for her? Or would she be better off if he left her alone and let her find a good Israelite man to care for her? The questions kept coming, and he had no answers.

  He hooked his hands around his neck and raised his eyes to the sky. He paced as he ran through the questions again and again. Moses had said to do whatever Yahweh placed before him. Tend sheep. Well, he tried that. He’d tried to help a widow, and all it had done was bring them both trouble. Actually, it wasn’t the helping that had brought him trouble, it was his heart. He should have kept his heart under tighter control.

  But every time he closed his eyes he saw her honey-colored ones, felt her thick, wavy hair woven through his fingers, tasted her lips beneath his, and his heart galloped away again.

  He’d do anything to keep from hurting her. At least any more than he already had.

  The stars shone brightly in the moonless sky as Kamose sat by the spring, trying to figure out how he had let this get into such a mess. His arms rested on his knees, his head on his arms as he thought in the near silence of the desert oasis.

  “Kamose?”

  He twisted his upper body to see Tirzah approaching. His heart almost stopped beating. He’d have to decide later whether to kill Bezalel or thank him. He rose to meet her.

  She stopped an arm’s length away. She looked so stiff, afraid to move or speak. She raised her face, her light eyes moist.

  He longed to wipe her tears away, but he couldn’t trust himself to do only that. Instead he kept his hands locked together behind his back. He searched her face. What was she thinking? “You shouldn’t have come out here alone in the dark. It’s not safe.”

  She drew a deep breath. “You have been avoiding me. Have I done something to offend or upset you?” She blinked back tears.

  He swallowed hard. “Tirzah, you haven’t done anything wrong. I … I am not the man you believe me to be.” He ached to touch her face, to wrap his arms around her, to reassure her how much he cared for her, how much he thought of her. He shoved those thoughts aside. He had to tell her. Even though he knew what that meant. “But my past is not … there have been … I was an elite Egyptian soldier. Women were a reward for good service.” He closed his eyes as he saw the hurt in hers. “Things were so very different in Egypt. I never mistreated anyone, and I never took anyone by force. But I can’t expect you to understand it or to live with it.” He was silent as she pondered his words. The sound of the water was deafening.

  She glanced down. “So what he said was true.” She spoke more to herself than to him.

  “Yes.”

  She jerked her gaze back to him. “You heard him?”

  “Yes, I was on my way to see you. I heard him tell you about soldiers in Egypt. I also heard you defend me.” He paused. “And I saw you crying.”

  She swallowed. “Were there many?”

  He took a tentative step toward her. “Tirzah, I will tell you everything you want to know. But be sure you really want to know before you ask.”

  She looked away as the tears slid down her cheeks.

  His chest constricted as the struggle played out on her face, and his heart ached for her. He had no hope she would forgive him, let alone accept him, but if he could just soothe her pain. … “I adore you, Tirzah. And I want more than anything to be with you. But I should never have let anything happen between us. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was selfish. You are so beautiful, so kind, and I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. But now I’ve hurt you, and I would do anything to undo it all. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t know what to say except I am sorry.”

  She looked deep into his eyes for what felt like an eternity. Then she spun on her heels and without looking back, returned to camp.

  He sank to his knees. At least it was over. His heart had been ripped from his chest, but it was done. It could have been worse. He’d only kissed her once. Her heart would heal. He would keep Nathaniel from her, and she would find someone who would care for her, someone who deserved her love. And now he knew better, and would continue to follow the rule he had always lived by, and never fall in love again. Because soldiers don’t make good husbands.

  He lay back and stretched out on the warm sand. The stars above twinkled and mocked him. Told you so, told you so, told you so.

  Twelve

  17 Tammuz

  Gaddiel climbed the twenty stairs leading to the upper level. He and the others followed the guards up a ramp through an arch onto a wide, open porch. Its roof was braced by enormous cedar pillars on stone bases on either side of the ramp.

  At the end of the porch, they climbed two more steps. Massive carved lions sat on either side o
f another arched entryway. Palti and his lookalike stood a good ten strides away, each bound hand and foot, before the throne. Gaddiel wanted to run to Palti, cut the bonds, and escape. That was foolish. Eight guards armed with spears lined either side of the room.

  Gaddiel swallowed. If he believed Yahweh were with them, he would pray. He doubted it would do any good.

  Heavy, decorated basalt stones covered the lower portions of the walls. Cedar was everywhere, permeating the air with its fresh scent. Trays of fruit and wine stood on pedestals near the throne. Masks of gods hung on the walls.

  The king entered from a room to the right and sat on his throne.

  An older man approached. “My king, we have a problem that only you, as king and god of this city, can solve.” He pointed to Palti. “This man was accused by the widow of murdering her husband. His companions say this is most unlike him. Furthermore, they have found this man”—he pointed to the lookalike—“who resembles him greatly and was caught harming a woman of Hazor.”

  The king looked from Palti to the other and back to Palti. “Thank you, Yassib. Is the widow here?”

  Yassib nodded. “She is.”

  “Bring her.”

  Yassib beckoned, and a guard escorted the old woman into the throne room. Upon seeing the two accused, she gasped.

  The king turned to her. “Woman, can you choose between these two which killed your husband?”

  She squinted, stood before each man several times. “No, I can’t. They look too much alike.”

  “Thank you. You may wait in the other room.” The king waved his hand, and she was escorted out.

  “If she can’t name me, you have to let me go!” The other man struggled against his bonds and tried to kick his guard, who yanked upwards on his arms.

  The king glared at the man, then turned to Yassib. “Do you have the girl he harmed?”

  Yassib beckoned once again, and she was brought out.