The Warrior: Caleb Read Free

year’s harvest. Stacked on top were all the family possessions. Mesha would see to the small flock of goats that provided milk and meat.
    Kelubai noticed a small wooden cabinet lashed to the side of the cart. “What’s this?” he asked his wife, although he knew all too well.
    “We can’t leave our household gods behind.”
    He untied the box. “Have you learned nothing these past weeks?” Ignoring her shriek, he heaved the container against the wall of his empty hut. The cabinet burst open, spilling clay idols that smashed on the ground. He caught her by the arm before she could go after them. “They’re useless, woman! Worse than useless.” He took the rod from Mesha and prodded the oxen. “Now, let’s go. We’ll be fortunate if we reach Goshen before nightfall.”
    Others were heading for Goshen; even Egyptians were among those with their possessions on their backs or loaded in small carts. Squalid camps had sprung up like thistles around the outer edges of the humble Hebrew villages. Kelubai avoided them and went into the villages themselves, seeking information about the placement of the tribe of Judah. They camped away from everyone.
    On the third day, he approached a gathering of old men in the middle of a village, knowing they would be the elders and leaders. Several noticed his approach and studied him nervously. “I am a friend come to join you.”
    “Friend? I don’t know you.” The elder glanced around the circle. “Do any of you know this man?” There was a rumble of voices as the others agreed that Kelubai was a stranger to all of them.
    Kelubai came closer. “We are connected through my ancestor Jephunneh, friend of Judah, son of Jacob. Our people followed your family from Canaan during the great famine. We were your servants for a time.”
    “What is your name?”
    “Kelubai.”
    “ Caleb , he says.” Dog . Some laughed, not pleasantly.
    Kelubai felt the heat pour into his face. “Kelubai.” He spoke slowly; his gaze went to each man in the circle in an unhurried clarification.
    “Caleb,” someone said again, snide and unseen.
    And then another, “No doubt a friend of Egyptians.”
    Kelubai would not let insults or his temper rule his judgment. “I am your brother.”
    “A spy.”
    They seemed determine to insult him, these men who had been slaves all their lives.
    Kelubai stepped inside the circle. “When the heel of Pharaoh came down upon you, our family continued to barter grain for goats. When Pharaoh denied you straw to make bricks, I gave all I had. Do you so quickly forget those who help you?”
    “A little straw does not make you a brother.”
    These Hebrews were as hard to reason with as his own family. Kelubai smiled mirthlessly. That alone should be a sign that they were blood related. “I am a son of Abraham, just as you are.”
    “A claim not yet established.”
    He faced the elder who spoke and inclined his head. “I am descended from Abraham’s grandson Esau, and Esau’s eldest son, Eliphaz.”
    Another snorted. “We have no commerce with Esau’s spawn.”
    “See how red his face is.” Edom.
    Kelubai’s hackles rose. How did they come to be so proud of Israel, the trickster, who cheated his brother, Esau, out of his birthright! But he held his tongue, knowing it would not serve his purpose to argue that cause before this council of men. Besides, Israel might have been a deceiver, but Esau had been less than wise.
    Someone laughed. “He has no answer to that!”
    Kelubai turned his head slowly and stared into the man’s eyes. The laughter stopped.
    “We are sons of Israel.” The elder spoke quietly this time, his words fact, not insult.
    Did they think he would back down? “I am a son of Abraham, who was called by God to leave his land and go wherever God would take him.”
    “Is he speaking of Abraham or himself?”
    “The dog thinks he is a lion.”
    Kelubai clenched his teeth. “As Abraham was called out of Ur, so too have we been called out