By the Waters of Kadesh Page 14

“Can you tell which of these men tried to hurt you?”

  She looked at both men, and pointed to the Canaanite. “Him. I can tell by his eyes. And the scar on his cheek.”

  “She’s lying! I’ve never met her!” the man yelled again.

  “I have seen all I need to see.” The king gestured to Palti. “This one, in the face of death, has remained quiet and still. I do not see him as one who would murder another over money. Release him. Send the other to the prison until I decide his fate. And inform the widow.”

  The guard loosed the ropes on Palti’s wrists and ankles.

  As Palti rubbed his wrists, his friends gathered around him. Gaddiel slapped him on the back.

  Palti grinned. “I did a lot of praying the last few days.”

  Gaddiel scoffed. Prayer didn’t have anything to do with it.

  The scouts started to leave when the king called them back. “I want to make up for the extra time you have been required to stay here.” He nodded to the old man. When Yassib approached, he whispered to him.

  Yassib drew near with a bag of coin. “Who will take the coin?”

  “I will.” Caleb stepped forward.

  “Your hand, please.” The old man poured so many coins into Caleb’s hand he had to use both.

  “But, sir, this is far more than we have spent.”

  “The king told me to give you back four times what you must have spent.” He turned and left before Caleb could answer.

  “Yahweh has freed Palti and given us enough coin for the rest of the journey.” Caleb beamed.

  Caleb could look at it that way if he wanted. Gaddiel knew they had to get out of here. Fast. This land was dangerous. Its god demanded babies and the king almost killed Palti.

  There was no way Gaddiel would live here.

  The morning breeze chilled Tirzah as she sat by the fire with Bezalel and Meri. Her whole world had collapsed in on her. She’d never felt so empty. Her chest ached, and her eyes stung from crying. “I told you, I should have been content with the girls. I hoped for too much, and I was punished for it. He admitted it was all true.”

  Meri’s eyes pleaded with her. “Years ago. Not anymore. And he only did what every other soldier did. In Egypt, it was not wrong. He did not know Yahweh then. You can’t hold him responsible for that, can you?”

  Tirzah pulled her hair behind her ear. “I never told you everything about my husband.” She closed her eyes and pushed the memories back. “And I just don’t know if I can live with that again.”

  Bezalel knelt before her and took her hands in his. “But that’s the point. You wouldn’t be living with it again. I’ve known Kamose for two years. I’ve never known anyone, Egyptian or Hebrew, more honorable or caring. He risked his life to bring Meri to me, because I am his friend, and he barely knew her. He’d sacrifice anything, do anything, to protect someone he cares about. He would never hurt you.”

  Meri touched her shoulder. “Tirzah, you are afraid of what your life might be like with him because of what Nathaniel said, and what happened years ago. None of your fears are based on anything that Kamose has actually done. I want you to think about what life might be like with him, and what it might be like without him, and decide which is the better choice.”

  In the dark of the night, Tirzah rolled onto her side. Why couldn’t she sleep? Naomi slept beside her peacefully. She hadn’t wakened in the night since Kamose had slept next to her. In fact, whenever Kamose was around, Naomi seemed to prefer him to her own mother.

  And why not? He adored the girls as much as Tirzah did.

  Tirzah thought about every time she’d been around the Egyptian. There were always other women around. In tents next to them, across from them. He might smile politely, if one passed, but she’d never seen him initiate a conversation. Perhaps it was all in his past, as he said.

  Tirzah remembered how gentle he was when Benjamin died, how he’d held her as she cried and mumbled, making no sense. He’d even buried the donkey for her, becoming unclean for her sake, remaining outside the camp until the sun set. Would he do that if he didn’t really care?

  Meri said to think about what her life might be like with him. It could be wonderful, filled with his care and concern for her and her girls. It would be different from any other time of her life, from life with Jediel, or her stepfather … a life she could only imagine.

  Or it could be just as difficult as life with Jediel, who rarely came home, flaunted his other women, and hit her if he felt like it.

  But Jediel had never looked at her like Kamose did. And for some reason, even if he did have other women in his past, she couldn’t see him having other women now. And even if he did, she didn’t think he’d flaunt it.

  And life without him … meant Nathaniel. A horrible situation at best. Even the worst she could imagine about Kamose was better than the best about Nathaniel.

  Tirzah found Kamose at the big spring early the next morning. She gasped lightly when she first spotted him—facing away from her, his hair loose and wet, dripping onto his broad, bare back. The sunlight bounced off the water droplets as he moved.

  He reached behind his neck and gathered his hair, slicked the water from it. He ran his hand down his muscled arms and shook off the water. His armbands lay in the sand at his feet.

  She drew in a deep breath before she approached him. She halted a few steps away. “Kamose?”

  He froze for a moment before he turned. His face was wary when he did.

  “Kamose, I came to talk to you about … about all the things Nathaniel said.”

  He crossed his arms and dropped his gaze to his bare feet. “I’ve already told you they are true. As much as I might want to, I can’t change my past.”

  “I know. I just want you to listen.”

  He raised his head and nodded. His face was soft—the hardened warrior was gone. She was surprised to find she missed that.

  “Jediel … Jediel did a lot more than say cruel things to me. He … there were … he had other women as well. He would go to them and then come home to me. He made sure I knew it, too. Told me their names, how much younger and prettier they were.”

  She brought her hand to her temple as she remembered his games. “I got pregnant soon after we were married. He hated being around the babies. Hated the crying, hated the fact that I couldn’t stop what I was doing to get his meals, hated everything. He came and went as he pleased. I never knew if he would come home from the brickfields or not. Eventually, I prayed he wouldn’t.”

  Kamose closed his eyes and swallowed. When he opened his eyes, they were full of deep pain. “Did he hit you?”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  He pursed his lips. “So when you left Egypt, and had to live in the same tent with him, it became worse?”

  “In some ways. He hit me more often. He still found reasons to stay gone. Being in a tent with us was more than he could handle.” She scoffed. “He had no trouble finding someone to attend to his needs.”

  “And he died …”

  “At the battle of Sinai. He was on the wrong side.”

  “Tirzah, I am so sorry.” He ran his hands through his hair. “The last thing I want to do is cause you pain. If I remind you of your husband, I will do my best to stay as far away as I can—”

  “No!” She closed the distance between them and laid her hands on his chest.

  He stiffened.

  “You are as different from him as you can possibly be. You listen to me. You care about me. You compliment me. You actually think of things to do to help me. You have no idea how that feels.”

  “But—”

  “No, you see, just the mention of … what you did in Egypt scared me to death. At first. And I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? I’m the one with the past, and you’re sorry?”

  “It is in your past, right?”

  “Tirzah, I would never do anything to hurt you. If I could cut off my arm and make it all go away, I would.”


  She rubbed her hands up and down his upper arms. “Don’t do that. I like your arms. Especially when they are around me.”

  He placed his hands on her waist and drew in a ragged breath. “I don’t know if this will make it better or worse, but I never spent the night with any of them. I never felt for anyone anything even close to what I feel for you.” He brushed his lips over hers, then pulled back and gazed at her. “You are so beautiful.”

  She smacked his arm. “Don’t keep saying that.”

  “Why not?” He kissed her cheek.

  “Because if you lie to me about that, I’ll start doubting everything else you say.”

  He frowned. “Why would you think I’m lying?”

  “Because you’re the first person who has ever said that.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, Meri said I was pretty. But she exaggerates about everything. You are the only one who’s said I’m beautiful.”

  “Do you think your daughters are beautiful?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve seen yourself in a mirror, haven’t you? You must know they look exactly like you.”

  She scoffed. “They do not.”

  “Tomorrow we will go to the other side of camp, or at least to Dan, and ask twenty-five complete strangers if your girls look like you.”

  “We will not!”

  “Then you have to believe me.” He lowered his voice. “Your husband was a fool, and your stepfather was blind, and you have to stop believing them. Believe me, because I love you.”

  She gasped. Her eyes slowly widened and then filled with tears.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Don’t tell me no one ever said that before.”

  “My imma. And the girls.”

  He arched his dark brows then smiled. “The captain in me likes being first.” He lowered his head and she raised hers to meet him. His lips were warm and tender, and his kisses made her melt in his arms.

  She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and his strong arms wrapped around her even more tightly.

  Gaddiel, Nathaniel, providing for the girls in Canaan—all those problems disappeared for the moment. She knew it could never last. The fact that Kamose loved her did not change the fact that she would have no way to support herself in Canaan unless she married Nathaniel. Or Gaddiel. She had always been the practical one, had never been one for fantasy.

  But the truth was too horrible.

  If only she could make the fantasy last forever.

  20 Tammuz

  Kamose needed to find Moses. What kind of upset would it cause if he asked Tirzah to marry him? He didn’t know. He only knew he wanted her and the girls in his life. Every day.

  “He’s not here or in the tabernacle. Try the flocks.” Aaron pointed south.

  “Thank you.” Kamose headed through the rows of tents, through Judah, then Zebulon, until he came to the open spaces filled with bleating sheep and goats. He scanned the fields, shading his eyes, until they stopped on a lone figure amongst a group of sheep resting by a small spring. Leave it to Moses to be out with the animals in the hottest part of the day.

  “Moses.”

  Moses looked over his shoulder as Kamose approached. “Captain. What brings you all the way out here among the animals?” He held a small one in his arms, the lamb laying its head on the old man’s forearm, half asleep.

  Kamose chuckled. “The question is, why are you always all the way out here among them?”

  Moses stroked the lamb’s head. “Sheep are much simpler than people. They need only a few things to be happy. Still water, something to eat, someone to watch over them. Give them those, and they cause you no trouble. I find it very peaceful out here.”

  Kamose frowned. “Then you may not like my question.”

  “What question is that?”

  “I want to marry Tirzah.”

  Moses fixed his gray eyes on Kamose. “Hmmm.”

  “Is it possible?”

  “Anything is possible. The question is, is it wise?”

  “And what do you think?”

  “If she does not marry Gaddiel or Nathaniel, she will not keep Jediel’s property. If she marries you, she still will not. Since you are not Hebrew, you will not be allotted any land in Canaan. Her situation will not improve.”

  “But if she marries Nathaniel—Gaddiel does not want her—I am certain he will beat her, as did Jediel. I do not want her or the girls to suffer that life again.”

  “Jediel beat her?”

  “He did. He had other women as well.”

  Moses shrugged. “Well, if you are willing, there are other ways of earning a living. You are a man who will work hard. I know you would not let them starve.” He set down the lamb then straightened to face Kamose. “She won’t marry Nathaniel, will she?”

  “If she didn’t have the girls, absolutely not. But for their sakes, I think she’d put up with anything.”

  “You are an honorable man. You have many friends who will stand by you in this endeavor. If you are both willing to do whatever it takes, knowing neither of you will have an inheritance in the new land, I’d say go ahead. Most brides are waiting until we reach Canaan.”

  “I don’t want to wait. I want her safely away from Nathaniel. Now. He’s harmed her once. He killed her donkey.”

  “Very well. You have my blessing. If you do this now, here, it will be the simplest of ceremonies—betrothal and wedding together, since there is no one to ask permission, no bride price, and her safety is an issue. Will that be acceptable to her?”

  Kamose smiled. “I’ll ask, but I doubt she’ll care. She had a big wedding once. It didn’t work out so well.”

  Kamose stroked Tirzah’s hair as they sat alone by the fire. Bezalel and Meri had gone to bed, and Ahmose was in Tirzah’s tent. The boy liked to play there with Keren and Naomi after the evening meal, when it was too dark to play outside, and often fell asleep there. When that happened, Tirzah let him stay, and she slept in Gaddiel’s tent.

  Kamose kissed her temple. “The spies should be back soon. They’ve been gone over three weeks.” Even in the firelight Kamose could see her frown, see her eyes drifting closed. “Don’t you want to see the new land?”

  “I like it here well enough.”

  “Why?”

  “Here I have friends, manna … you. There I will have to go back to Zebulon … and …”

  “And …”

  She turned to face him. “I will have to marry Nathaniel. Or Gaddiel.”

  “I thought Gaddiel didn’t want to marry you.”

  “He doesn’t. But he likes having a servant. And he doesn’t want Nathaniel to have me. I’ll have to marry one of them.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I do if I don’t want to starve. No one else will marry me. They won’t even talk to me. The women shun me.”

  “Then marry me.” His hand caressed her cheek.

  “Marry …” Her brow furrowed.

  “Marry me.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I love you.”

  She shook her head. “But how will we live? You will get no land.”

  He cupped her face in both hands and locked his gaze on hers. “You can live with Nathaniel, who does not love you, and will most likely hit you, on his land, and have food. Or you can live with me, near Bezalel and Nahshon, who will never let us starve. I will work in their fields, or their shops, or with their flocks—I don’t care, as long as you and the girls are safe. You will have friends and family, instead of people who won’t even talk to you. And, of course, a husband who adores you.” He drew her closer and kissed her.

  “Is it even possible? You are not of Zebulon, and not Hebrew.”

  “I’ve already spoken with Moses. The laws are designed to keep the land within the clan. You just can’t inherit.”

  “And you are willing to raise another man’s children?”

  “I love Naomi and Keren more than you c
ould possibly understand. When I chose to become a soldier, I gave up any chance to have a family. I expected to be a soldier all my life, to die in battle. I never thought I would have a wife, children.”

  “Soldiers are not allowed to marry?”

  “Yes, of course they are. But I didn’t think a man could do both things well. And I chose to be a warrior, not a husband.”

  “What about Ahmose?”

  “He’ll be there, too. I love him dearly, and he loves me, but he’s very independent, half grown already. It’s not the same as when Naomi crawls in my lap. He doesn’t … he doesn’t need me. I don’t care if I wasn’t there at the beginning. I want to be there now and every day for the rest of their lives, if you’ll let me.”

  She touched his face, and a smile slowly formed on her perfect lips.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” She blinked several times.

  “Will you marry me?” His chest tightened. Was she going to say no?

  “Yes. Of course I will. Didn’t I say that?”

  Kamose laughed. “No, you didn’t.”

  She smiled again. “Sorry. I must already have been thinking about what it would be like to be your wife.”

  “And?”

  “And it would be wonderful.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “No one has ever treated me like you do. No one has ever talked to me the way you do. I could spend a lifetime listening to your voice.”

  “And I could spend a lifetime making sure you hear it.”

  Thirteen

  21 Tammuz

  Gaddiel kicked away the long brown seeds that had fallen from the tree. They were huge, and some had points that pricked his fingers. How could there be so many? Such messy trees. The branches started too far down. The leaves were skinny and poky. They didn’t give any fruit, either. They had a nice scent, though. Still, he much preferred the date palms.

  He wandered from the grove of trees toward the spring. Water bubbled up to fill it then spilled over into a river. Farther north the river dropped into a rocky gorge and continued. It looked like the spring back at camp. How could so much be the same, but so different at the same time?

  The camp sat in a valley between two mountain ranges. On the slopes grew the massive, valuable cedar trees Egypt imported to build their furniture for the palace—and chariots. Plenty of those lay buried under the Yam Suph now, along with their drivers and Ramses’s soldiers. The cedars were as wide as they were tall, and they made a beautiful sight covering the mountainside.