Beginnings - William Meisheid (new ebook reader .txt) 📗

Prologue

To the Egyptians, the Hebrews were a stiff-necked and troublesome people. For over 300 years, measured by inundations of the Sacred River, they had lived as a separate people within the borders of Egypt. Joseph, one of their patriarchs and the reason the Hebrews had come to this land, had saved the Egyptians from seven years of famine by correctly interpreting Pharaoh’s dream and using the seven years of rich, plentiful harvests to save them from the later lean years. Though Joseph's descendants had settled in Egypt, they had rejected the gods of the land in which they dwelt and worshipped their own singular deity, an invisible and nameless one.

As their numbers grew, they spread throughout the region bounding the lower Nile, especially within its broad and fertile delta, and their increasing numbers became a burden to the Egyptians. As political and religious difficulty descended on the land, a new Pharaoh arose who did not remember Joseph. He decreed to the midwives that when a Hebrew child was born, if it was a son, then he must be killed, but if it was a daughter, then she could live. However, the midwives feared the God of the Hebrews and did not do as Pharaoh commanded. Instead, they let the sons of the Hebrews live, and their numbers continued to grow.

After this merciful deliverance, another Pharaoh ascended the throne of Egypt who decreed to all his people, not just to the midwives, that every newborn son of the Hebrews should be cast into the river, but no daughter should be harmed. Therefore, the Egyptians honored their great crocodile god Sobek, and his priests offered the infant sons of the Hebrews as sacrifices to the river beasts. They punished anyone hiding a male baby, and there was wailing and misery in the dwellings of the Hebrews.

Demanding Voyage

The Royal Dispatch Pouch hung heavily against Sunsamen’s hip, the weight of its burden more arduous than any other dispatch he had ever carried. This mission demanded the swiftest boat available, and contrary to most of the vessels that traveled the Nile, they did not put to shore during the night, though they were forced to move at a greatly reduced speed.

The craft was long and sleek, built from full-length planks of Syrian pine, and it cut a shallow draft as it skimmed across the surface with each pull of the four pairs of oars.

During the day, they moved quickly down the river, and for several hours on good water, before the heat of the day taxed their endurance, the craft reached sustained speeds twice as fast as any other river vessel. Regrettably, their journey coincided with the approach of the new moon and tonight was as dark as Sunsamen had ever seen. Passing clouds obscured many of the stars so that their diminished light gave little help in navigating the river. What remained of the shadowless light failed to show the slight surface disturbances that signaled a hidden hazard. Despite the danger, he had no choice; his duty required him to press on, though he chaffed at their limited speed.

The steady drone of the rower counting the strokes echoed across the water and rebounded back from the near shore to Sunsamen. Joined by the rhythmic swish of the oars and the intermittent sound of the hull slipping through the water, it gave an eerie feel to the night.

Sunsamen, seated in the prow, had the rowers match the boat's meager speed to his limited vision, aided by a triple-wicked lamp that extended from a long pole stretching forward from the boat. A large cloud passed overhead deepening the already difficult darkness and Sunsamen said, “Slow your speed by one count.”

The stroke counter adjusted his rhythm, and the steady swoosh of the oars perceptibly slowed. Twice they had run aground on one of the constantly shifting sandbars, losing precious time as they freed themselves.

Their biggest concern was running into a submerged hippopotamus. If it got startled, the beast could upend the boat with disastrous results.

Sunsamen's tiredness did not help. They were approaching the ninth day since he had left the fortress at Buhan, below the second cataract. He had stopped at the garrisons at Elephantine, Thebes, and the port that serviced the quarries at Hatnub to rotate his rowers and restock provisions, and then press on. Now they were on the last leg of his journey, and the fourth and last crew was nearing the limit of their endurance.

Despite that, his charge was to get this message to Pharaoh as fast as possible, but he was afraid they would not arrive until late the following night. He did not want to rouse the noble Seti, may he be merciful, from his sleep, especially since he was the bearer of troubled tidings. He had not been told what was in the sealed scroll tucked away in the leather satchel. Messengers only bore the dispatches; what they learned about their contents came from the rumors circulating among the soldiers and retainers who had ears within the private counsels.

This time much of the dispatch was not a secret. Everyone was talking about the gold caravan from Nubia that was attacked four days out from the Salima Oasis, about a ten-day journey southwest of the fortress. An exhausted chariot driver had arrived requesting aid. The garrison commander responded with a single chariot group, rather than the whole corps, thinking twenty-five chariots more than enough to deal with the problem.

It was not. There were rumors of a disaster, and conflicting reports flew back and forth throughout the fortress. Many said Pharaoh, may he avenge the honor of Egypt, would be roused to anger. Speculation among some of the soldiers was that Amunthuya, the husband of Pharaoh’s sister and commander of the relief force, was seriously wounded.

Sunsamen, however, had learned the hard way not to put too much trust in the gusting winds of hearsay and rumor. It was a messenger’s duty to be swift, and these idle imaginings took his mind off the water ahead. Listening to the steady strokes of his rowers, he forced his attention to the outer edges of the advancing pool of light, searching for any change in the flow of the water.

Departure

A fluttering of wings swept past the high eastern window. The unexpected sound, filtering through the heavy covering, sent Jochebed’s heart into her throat. She stopped, the sticky waterproofing dangling from the tool in her hand. Straining to hear, she listened for another sound, but only silence answered her anxious ears.

“It was only a bird,” she said aloud. No one is outside. We have not been discovered.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to return to the task at hand. I can’t make a mistake or he will drown. Pay attention to what you’re doing. With renewed determination, she applied herself to sealing the basket.

The curtain to the room where the two older children were asleep parted, and her husband Amram slipped through the doorway.

“Is it finished?”

“It will be done when it is done,” Jochebed curtly replied. Immediately sorry, but biting her tongue to prevent her emotions from overwhelming her, Jochebed pushed harder on the wooden blade, forcing the sticky sealant around the remaining bare spots on the inside of the basket.

After an awkward silence, she stopped and looked at Amram. “I know you’re concerned, but it is hard to work with only a lamp for light. It takes time to fill in all of the spaces in the weave and I cannot leave a gap.” The persistent fear that stalked all of her efforts accused her: The water will leak through a place you missed.

“I’m sorry. I made you wait too long before starting the waterproofing," Amram said apologetically. "I was just worried that the sealant would dry out and crack when the basket hit something. Now it is getting late, and you have to get to the river before you lose the darkness.”

Jochebed relented. “I’m almost done. While I finish, go out and check the village to make sure no one will see us leave.”

Amram headed toward the door. As he put his hand on the latch, he turned to her and said, “Hurry.”

Without replying, Jochebed unhooked the lamp from its drop cord and covered it. No light spilled out into the darkness as her husband slipped out. As the door shut behind him, she uncovered and rehung the lamp, allowing the meager light to refill the room.

It had taken Amram a long time to agree to her plan. It took him even longer to get enough sealing material to waterproof her double woven basket. She had finally convinced him that their son’s only hope was the possibility of adoption, for a childless Egyptian couple to take him as their own. Every day, barren mothers scanned the Nile looking for a gift from their gods. Unwanted babies throughout Egypt were given another chance at life and family by being placed in papyrus boats and cast adrift on the mercy of the river. While this wasn’t a boat, it was a desirable basket that someone would want to make the effort to retrieve.

Amram had accepted the alternative, coming to believe that his dreams meant the Lord God would protect their son and find him a home, a place he would be safe from the accursed edict.

Jochebed worked the last of the sticky mixture into the remaining spaces. She had spread the material to the top of the basket, but near the rim it was dangerously thin. She prayed it would be enough.

Unhooking the lamp, she examined the inside of the basket. Satisfied that the entire inner surface was adequately sealed, there was one thing left to do. To keep the blanket and their son from disturbing the waterproofing she took a piece of heavy cloth, cut it to size, and pressed the fabric around the inside of the basket, setting it into the sticky coating. That should protect the sealant.

Pleased with the results, she rehung the lamp, stepped back, put her hands on her hips, and said, “Good.”

Standing in the doorway, Amram said, “You’re satisfied?”

Startled, she reached for the lamp, but Amram held up his hand, signaling her to stop.

“No one will see,” he said. “I went from one end of the village to the other. Everything is quiet. Is the basket finished?”

“It is as good as I can make it.”

Amram secured the door and came to the table. Placing his hands on his wife’s shoulders, he leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. With a quiet gentleness, he said, “Then it is good enough.” He kissed her cheek and added, “Before we wake Miriam, let me test the lid.”

Picking up the cover, he slowly pressed it onto the basket. It was a snug fit. The looser weave of the lid would let in air, but still keep out snakes. To keep it from jostling loose, Jochebed had made two places where it could be tied to the basket.

“Perfect! You can leave it on until you get to the river.”

“I’ll go and wake Miriam,” Jochebed said.

“Try not to disturb Aaron." As she turned away, he said, almost too quietly for her to hear, "I will hold my son one last time.”

Reaching into the large old basket they had used as a hiding place, Amram lifted the sleeping child into his arms. His heart ached as he looked at his son’s sleeping face, and all his fatherly expectations, the strange dreams about his son's destiny, welled up and threatened to overwhelm him. Fighting back the rising tide, he struggled to rein in his emotions. His heart reached for a prayer, diverting the pain to his only hope.

“I am your father. I will always be your father.” He raised his trembling fingers to his mouth and pressed them against his lips. Then, with