Miriam Read Free

marching toward the city again, but Doda needed to face the glaring truth. “Half of my rations barely keep you, Saba, and Savta alive. Why don’t you tend to the injuries of people who can pay you?”
    “Sometimes the slaves bring me grain or a loaf of bread, and I have a small garden. El Shaddai always provides for us.”
    “Why can’t Abba Aaron share a loaf of bread once in a while? Or my selfish ima give you some of her grain rations?”
    Doda stopped and planted both fists on her hips. “You will not speak disrespectfully of your parents. Regardless of their shortcomings, you will honor them because they gave you life.” She cocked her head, waiting for Eleazar’s acknowledgement.
    With his single nod, they resumed their walk. Eleazar reached inside his leather breast piece for his portion of rations and handed his bread to Doda. “You didn’t have time to eat before we left. Eat.”
    She accepted, took her first bite, and lolled it to the side that still had a few teeth. “Why don’t you talk while I eat?” Her smile was full of mischief.
    He tried to maintain his stern bearing, but a chuckle betrayed him.
    They walked on a narrow path between canals that had been swollen by the Nile’s inundation. Slaves lined both sides, making mud bricks for the city’s extensive building projects, while Egyptian slave drivers cracked their whips and shouted orders. Eleazar kept his voice low and his eyes averted. “These dreams have made Pharaoh even more unpredictable. You must be careful. Ramesses may tolerate some of your antics because he respects our family’s longevity. Age means blessing even to Egyptians, but please, none of your impudence.”
    “I think that’s more than I’ve heard you say since last year’s inundation.” She raised both eyebrows and took another bite of bread. “I’ll interpret the dreams, and then we’ll leave so you and I can talk about your marriage.”
    That grin of hers broke him every time. He laughed and squeezed her arm tight against his side. “I’m not getting married—ever. You’re relentless.”
    “I learned it from your saba Amram. Why do you think he’s 137 years old?”
    The reminder both warmed and terrified Eleazar. Doda, Saba, and Savta were his life. The thought of losing them haunted him day and night. Why had he mentioned to Prince Ramesses that Doda Miriam interpreted one of his dreams years ago? He’d been so careful never to reveal family members’ names. Too many Hebrew women were punished for a husband’s or father’s sins.
    He pulled Doda closer as they walked. “Doda, just interpret his dream. Nothing else. No more words. Then I’ll take you home.”
    Popping the last bite of bread into her mouth, she clapped breadcrumbs from her hands. “I promise I’ll say only what my Shaddai tells me to say.”
    No matter how much he begged, she’d never promise anything else.
Her Shaddai,
as she called Him, had been the single light in her dark world. Since his first battlefield, Eleazar had seen the folly of trusting any god, but he would never begrudge Doda or his grandparents their archaic traditions. In fact, their beliefs were undoubtedly what had kept them alive through the changes they’d seen in their lifetimes.
    He watched Doda’s expression change to deep sadness as they left the canals and entered the thriving industrial section of the city of Rameses. She’d often told him of the single linen shop her friend Mered oversaw before the quiet Avaris estate grew to become the capital city of Rameses. Now this industrial section boasted multiple buildings, eight of which housed the finest byssus-linen production in the world.
    The city of Rameses was the last stop on the Way of Horus—the world’s most lucrative trade route. In addition to weaving the byssus linen, Hebrew slaves kept the king’s brewery, winery, and metal shop producing other quality products that were traded in markets from Elam to Hatti.
    Pharaoh Ramesses had built this