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.
8
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,
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.
8
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,
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