“In the year that Tartan came unto Ashdod, (when Sargon the king of Assyria sent him,) and fought against Ashdod, and took it; At the same time spake the LORD by Isaiah the son of Amoz, saying, Go and loose the sackcloth from off thy loins, and put off thy shoe from thy foot. And he did so, walking naked and barefoot. And the LORD said, Like as my servant Isaiah hath walked naked and barefoot three years for a sign and wonder upon Egypt and upon Ethiopia; So shall the king of Assyria lead away the Egyptians prisoners, and the Ethiopians captives, young and old, naked and barefoot, even with their buttocks uncovered, to the shame of Egypt. – Isaiah 20: 1-5
And the Sons of Ham
Table of Contents
Prologue
Father Ham
Asenath
The Nile Taxi
Isaiah
Tirhakah
Tirone
Prologue
I know. Many of you will not believe this story. And no matter how much I say it’s true, you still won’t believe me. I can see some of you now. Heads cocked, looking at me cross-eyed. Some of you are shaking your heads, thinking, “Lord Jesus, that brother sure needs your help.”
I’m probably the only brother that can trace his ancestry back to the beginning. Seriously. And I didn’t do it by research. I didn’t spend hours in a library squinting at census records.
I prayed.
No joke. I prayed my way back to the cradle of civilization. The Nile Valley. And yes, this is the book about it. I know some of you are already asking, “Why? What started this quest?” Well, an innocent question from one of my students led me to my great-great-grandmother Sadie, which led me to her ancestors …
Father Ham
3900 BC
Mule-drawn caravans traveling in double strand slowed to a halt. Boys let out fierce yelps and frog-leaped off the wagons. They raced one another toward the Nile River. The older boys helped the men lead the longhorn cattle toward a grassy area. Dusk rosy glow suggested an evening meal. Babies’ wails pierced the air. A wild animal shrieked. Girls congregated around their mothers. The women grabbed small hands and split into groups. Some unrolled animal skins to pitch tents. Others took flax baskets and went in search of fruit-bearing trees and herbs.
Ham stood at the riverbank staring at the water, which seemed ready to burst and overflow. The Lord said never again will He flood the Earth.
Cush came up besides him, judging his father’s fear; he placed a hand on his shoulder. “It will subside, Father.”
Ham lifted his chin and gazed across the desert plain between the Blue and White Nile. Gazelles sprinted to and fro. Palm and acacia trees grew thick in abundance. Rabbits peeked out at the newcomers from under shrubbery.
We were supposed to separate. Fill and replenish the Earth. Ham realized now how much fear he felt; his brothers, Japheth and Shem, as well. They huddled on the plains in Shinar like feeble old women.
Ham’s second- and third-born sons drew up besides them. Ham waved a hand across the landscape. “Sennar. Our new home, though I suspect this plain may not hold all of us.”
“Have we spread far enough, Father?” Mizraim said.
“I hope so.”
“Do not worry,” Cush said. “Four of my sons have decided to cross the Arabian Peninsula. Nimrod will remain in Asshur.”
“And Canaan—” Ham broke off in midsentence. “All will be well.”
“We can follow the Red Sea southward, survey the land there, or northwest,” Phut said.
“The north remains underwater,” Mizraim said. “Else we would go that direction.” Phut looked north. Mizraim pointed and said, “Where the River Nile flows up.” Phut nodded.
“In time,” Ham said. “The mountainous highlands are sure to send enough mud down to make the land firm again.” He sighed. It looks like home. Feels like home. But I never imagined living so far apart from my brothers. I could not understand their speech if I did ever see them again. The Lord saw fit to confound our tongues. “Chestnut.” I will never hear my nickname called again. As the Hamite priest and patriarch, I say, selah. God’s will be done. “Cush, you will remain here.”
“As you wish, Father.”
***
Nakhneith raised her short shrift and scratched a mosquito bite. “Do you think he is really dying?”
“Nonsense,” Horus said. He pushed his wiry body backward, then, swinging forward he let go of the tree limb and sailed to the next one. When his long skinny fingers gripped the limb, Horus let out a grunt of satisfaction. “Father Ham will live forever. Like Father Noah.”
“Father Noah rested in his nine hundred and fiftieth summer,” she said. The bark Horus was grasping peeled under his fingers. “Hor, you are going to fall again.”
“I think not. I am no mere human, you see.” Bark slivers fell and landed on Nakhneith’s short, curly hair.
“Hor!” She brushed away the bark and shot him a frown. “Just because you have cheated death before does not make you more than human.”
“Does it not?”
“No.” Horus lost his grip and fell to the ground with a thud. “Hor, you silly goose. Did I not warn you?”
“Yes,” he mumbled into the sand. “It seems you were correct.”
Nakhneith ran off to fetch Hor’s mother.
Cush bent and peeked inside his father’s tent. Ham’s chest rose and fell. He lay on a woven flax sheet. His chestnut skin showed few wrinkles, his once powerful body shrunk with age. Behind Cush, Mizraim whispered. “Does he still sleep?”
Cush ducked out of the tent. “Yes.”
Mizraim paced around the tent. Phut sat atop a boulder with his head between his knees. Canaan spoke to his oldest son Sidon about the acquisition of cylinder seals, lapis lazuli, and silver.
Always the merchant, Cush thought as he passed. Father is dying, and they speak of a trade.
***
We were supposed to separate, Ham remembered when he awakened. His eyes opened. Did we not?
“Cush!” Ham cried. “Did we not separate as the Lord our God commanded?”
Cush rushed inside his father’s tent. “I am here, Father.” He dropped to one knee at his father’s side. Mizraim and his oldest son, Ludim, joined Cush in the tent. “We have done as the Lord commanded, Father. I am on the upper end of the river.”
Should we have spread more? Ham mused to himself.
“Mizraim.” Ham cast bleary eyes at his second-born. “You were supposed to survey the land north of Cush.”
“Indeed, Father. The moment the land firmed, we moved there. Do you not recall my Osiris leading the Anamin there at the first?”
And Canaan? Ham closed his eyes. Yes, my youngest settled his sons, Sidon and Heth, along the Red Sea. Ham turned his head to the side. He heard rain, waves crashing against the ark. Water… What was underwater? Mizraim’s scouts returned to Sennar to say the land remained underwater. When the mud descends from the mountains, the land will firm. And we will be in obedience to what the Lord our God said. Separate, said He. Be fruitful and multiply.
Cush, Mizraim, and Ludim stood and left the tent.
A mosquito haze hovered above the river. The afternoon skies mellowed into a yellow-orange. Nakhneith’s arms swung as she sprinted on stubby legs toward the well where Isis, Horus’ mother, was sure to be. She did not mind. She was glad to see the clans reunited again. She didn’t much like it when the clans separated, though Mother kept insisting she was too young to remember.
She would miss Horus when he returned to Kham. Horus and his daring antics. Yes, they were altogether again, though for a sober reason. Father Ham is dying. She knew it. Even if none of the adults will admit so.
Nakhneith stopped short. No women surrounded the well. She ran to the fields where the cows grazed. No men, only boys. They will be no help. They will ridicule cousin Horus for being in another accident. She wrinkled her nose. Where are all the elders? The Hamite clan banners waved to the far left. She took off in that direction.
Nakhneith saw a large purple cloth tied to a pole: the Canaanite banner. The banner of Cush, Nakhneith’s great-grandfather, displayed a sparrow-hawk. Great-uncle Mizraim’s portrayed a fierce falcon. Phut’s banner showed an elephant.
The men congregated outside Father Ham’s tent. Nakhneith spotted Isis, off to the side with the other women. Nakhneith shuddered when she realized she would have to pass cousin Set. She squeezed through bodies, crawled between a forest of black, brown, and tawny legs.
Nakhneith tiptoed to Isis and tugged at her frock. Isis glanced down at the child and sighed. Without a word, she took Nakhneith’s hand and ran to where Horus lay.
Set’s eyes followed them as they passed.
Ham awakened to the sound of raised voices.
“Father Ham should be buried in grand style …”
“Grandfather will never approve of what you are suggesting.”
“Can you not stretch your mind, cousin? Broaden your horizons.”
“Father Ham would wish us to remain true to the Lord our God.”
“What I suggest is not a departure from the ways of the Lord. It is to make sure our patriarch survives in the minds of his people.”
“It is idolatry!”
“Would you prefer our Ham be remembered as the father of Canaan?”
The Canaanites cried as one. “Foul!”
Ham pictured in his head how his kin must be posturing themselves. Osiris would have his head cocked. Nimrod would stand with his feet apart, huge powerful hands on his waist, his head tilted in pride. What angers Set? He was not born when Father Noah issued the prophecy against Canaan. And as a grandson of Mizraim, he will not be affected by the curse. He will never serve brother Shem’s descendants. If Canaan can accept his fate …
Ham closed his eyes and remembered. Father Noah stumbled out of his vineyards. His pride and joy. He spent most of his day in the vineyard, singing to the vines, checking their leaves for pests. That one memorable day, much to his wife’s dismay, Noah again enjoyed the fruits of his labor.
His vision blurry, Noah managed to make out his tent ahead. His sons—Shem, Ham, and Japheth—were erecting a new tent for Javan and his wife. The last one had become too small, as they were expecting a fourth child. The Lord commanded them to fill the Earth. Be fruitful and multiply. Just so, Lord, Noah thought as his head continued to spin.
Another thought lodged in his mind, though, something else the Lord had commanded. Noah could not grasp it at the moment. He focused on making it to his tent without shaming himself in front of his clan; after all, he was priest and patriarch.
Noah disappeared inside.
Outside, Canaan put his tool down, turned to make sure no one watched, then crept toward his grandparents’ tent.
Cursed be Canaan. A servant to Shem. Ham opened his eyes and felt anew the familiar pangs of regret. What else could I have done?
“Are you suggesting we place our ancestors in the place of God?”
“Blasphemy!”
“I am suggesting a memorial …”
Ham’s eyelids fluttered. He heard shouting. He struggled to rise, but could not muster the strength. Eight hundred twenty-five summers old.
“This is a departure, cousin, from the ways of the Lord.”
Ham could not open his eyes. He felt drowned in slumber. He fought to stay alert. Stay alive. I must arise. And see to these sons of mine. Idols? A memorial? Have they forgotten the abandoned tower in Babylon? This course will lead to our ruin. Idolatry. It will lead to chastising from the Lord. Lord God, I must arise. I am their priest and patriarch.
And I am yours. Son, it is time to rest.
Ham let his muscles relax. A smile crept on his face as the breath of life escaped.
Asenath
Anu
1994 BC
Poti-pherah, priest of Ra, had no appetite. He had drunk beer to break fast this dawn, but ate nothing. Now his stomach fluttered. Weariness had burdened him since daybreak. The discomfort meant one thing. Trouble brewed. He walked down the temple’s stone steps, climbed into his waiting sedan chair and headed home.
Poti-pherah’s two-storied villa sat on a broad street outside Anu proper. Shady trees surrounded the homes here, a beloved feature in any noble neighborhood. The priest craned his neck out of the vehicle, making sure the house still stood. No fired had consumed it like the one at his neighbor’s two doors down. A stray ember in the kitchen house had spread to the lord’s great dining hall, then engulfed his wife’s house before the neighbors managed to subdue the blaze.
A wall surrounded the priest’s front garden. Two baby birds splashed about in the small pool. His daughter, Asenath, dressed in a simple white frock was working in the garden. Stubborn one. How many times must I inform the child that it is the duty of the gardener?
***
Inside the royal palace at Itj-tawy, Neferenpret, Vizier in the North, hastened to his duty. He strode down the palace corridor, sensing his ancestors’ congratulations for keeping his countenance. Truly, Fathers Ham and Cush were speaking about his composure. For Horus’ decision is unheard of. Now, outside the throne room, he let his nostrils flare and slapped his double-kilted thighs with his palms to prevent punching a palace wall. Unimaginable. How dare he?
He rounded a corner, heading to the royal guest apartments. When he stepped into The Blue apartment, the staff stiffened and moved aside to let the vizier survey their handiwork. Shaven and scrubbed clean, one might never guess the Hebrew spent the last thirteen years incarcerated. He seemed every inch a nobleman: jeweled and in the finest cotton robe the Black Land produced. Neferenpret gave a curt nod of approval. Joseph slipped his feet into the papyrus reed sandals and sat down to wait for his wife.
Outside, Neferenpret hailed a mule-driven cab, in no particular hurry to perform this errand. Once under the white canopy and shielded from the populace’s eyes, Neferenpret exhaled his frustration. He was surprised to feel moisture come to his eyes. He remembered Kheti’s face when the announcement came. What did he feel? How will he tell his family this news? True none of us could interpret the dream. But why give the foreigner such a lofty position? Would not a villa in the country suffice?
When Neferenpret arrived at the quay, he noticed the king’s man had followed him. Neferenpret stepped into the boat. Glad now he did not stop and vent amongst his peers. He wished to. Nothing would grant him better pleasure than to curse the king’s name while downing a beer. If the royal bodyguard saw fit to trail him, then the king must have feared that his decision would spark treason. A detour, however innocent, would seem suspicious.
A steady wind pushed the midsized vessel southward to Anu. Soon, Neferenpret entered the reception hall belonging to the high priest. Poti-pherah came forward. He noticed the cold fury in the Cushite’s sharp eyes. The priest jerked his head to the left. “Come, join me on the roof.” Neferenpret followed the priest upstairs. The flat roof sported two obliqued wooden boards, allowing northern breezes to cool the family on the floor below. A chipped two-seater couch with cow’s feet sat alone, covered with yellowed leaves from the palm above. The priest swept them on the ground with his hand before taking a seat. “What is it?”
“The Hebrew has found favor with the king. I am to bring him a wife.”
“A lotus blossom? For an unwashed foreigner?”
“He is clean. Still a bit hairy, but presentable. The king will not relent on his promise; he fears the Hebrew’s God.”
“Speak plainly, Vizier. What is it the king wants from me?”
“Your daughter, Asenath.”
“No,” Poti-pherah said, turning his head away.
“High Priest, consider what you say. The governor of Anu cannot intercede for you. At present, we are all of us subject to His Majesty.”
“A foul match if I ever heard one, Vizier. My lovely Asenath coupled with this foreigner. Tis’ undesirable. My daughter should marry an Anamim, a kinsman here in Anu.”
“The king gave this Hebrew, Joseph, a position one that far exceeds mine, or yours, though we are the Black Land.”
“He intends to grant a foreigner the position of Grand Vizier? And what of Kheti?”
“It is already done. He is out. I am commissioned, High Priest, to bring Asenath to the palace and present her this husband.”
After telling his wife and daughter this news, Poti-pherah sat in his garden as long as he could. When he returned to the house, he still heard anguished cries from Asenath’s room. Three women were wailing: Asenath, his wife, and the household servant who wept while folding Asenath’s frocks into a large wooden chest.
Asenath screamed at her father. “You would wish me to marry a sheepherder!”
“Daughter, be calm. I shall bear no disrespect. Our clan is ancient and highly esteemed. The king had to select a lotus blossom worthy of this Hebrew’s deed. His knowledge will save the Black Land from famine.”
Asenath slapped her ears with her palms, wishing to hear no more, hoping her father had misheard the Vizier’s plan. “I was reared for the nobility amongst the sons of Ham. Not a Shemite.”
“I know that all too well, Asenath, but this marriage is ... It is the king’s command, dearest. We must endure it.”
***
Poti-pherah, Neferenpret, Asenath, and her body servant made the trip to Itj-tawy at Ra’s rise. The introductions performed, Neferenpret made his excuses and left the now-married couple. Weak from sobbing, Asenath dropped onto a couch. She raised her plaited head and stared at her new husband sitting on an old-fashioned campstool. Her eyes started from the top of his head and traveled down to his hairy toes. I, a daughter of Ra, given to this blue-eyed foreigner. For one matter, I do not like his eyes. Hard to read. For another, he is still far too hairy.
Joseph, on the other hand, felt relief. He had feared receiving a wife older than he would wish. The face of Potiphar’s promiscuous wife came to his mind. The image had haunted him during his thirteen years in jail. A plaited wig usually covered her gray, kinky hair. The red ocher she used to stain her cheeks was cracked, slipping between skin drawn with age. Her claim of rape, the reason for his incarceration, absolutely ludicrous. In jail, he often amused himself by laughing out loud whenever her vision arose.
Here sits a proper lotus blossom. Young, brown inquisitive eyes stared at him. She did not smile after introductions. She regarded him as if he were a blight splotch on a calf.
She leaned back on her arms and crossed her gold-sandaled feet. “I thought you sheepherders preferred our Canaanite brethren?”
Joseph cracked a smile. His uncle Esau took three Canaanites as wives. “It is truth; my people live amongst the Canaanites, but we are forbidden to intermarry.”
“How flattering for them. Why do you abide in their land if they are so distasteful to you?”
“Canaan has been given to us by our God.”
She sniffed. “How inconvenient for the Canaanites. Cannot your God find your people a land to call home?”
Joseph rose. “Indeed, He is able. At present, we are a small nation and have no need for a lot of land. Besides, we are not populous enough to arm it.” He took a long deliberate look at the lavish furnishings. “Are you pleased, wife, with our dwellings? An apartment in the king’s household is a great honor.” He fingered an ornate rug hanging on the wall.
“Perhaps for a Hebrew used to dwelling in goatskin tents. Not for me. I much prefer my father’s villa in Anu.”
“If the king permits, I should like to return with you to your father’s house to meet your family. Only two brothers? You were indeed fortunate; I have eleven brothers.” An inward pang pierced his heart; he fought it down and hoped for a change in his wife’s expression.
At the same time, Asenath imagined her brothers’ response to this husband; the scene the Hebrew would create brought a mischievous smile to her lips. Joseph thought this a good sign and continued. “Maybe the king would allow us a home of our own. Would that not please you?”
“Perhaps.”
***
Poti-pherah stood before the two solid wood doors, taking a moment to put his mind in good humor. Finally, he nodded assent to the chamberlain to announce his presence. The high priest entered the audience room and bowed before His Majesty. Amenenhat I studied the priest’s face. “You are displeased, my lord?”
“Indeed yes, Your Majesty. I admit I had hoped for a far better match for my Asenath.”
“You understand this Hebrew’s God has done the Black Land a great service. I must give the man a position due him, lest his God think us ungrateful for His wisdom.”
“Indeed, I do understand, Your Majesty. And I have encouraged Asenath to befriend this Hebrew and bear him a son.”
“I thank you, my lord, for your loyalty.” He paused. “You will relay to me any discontented murmurings amongst the nobility. Since Kheti’s departure and Zaphnath-Paaneah’s promotion, I sense a change in posture. A profound displeasure, if you will.”
Zaphnath-Paaneah? A Khamite wife. A Khamite name. My, how precious this Joseph is. Poti-pherah bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Pharaoh flicked his hand in dismissal. He knew danger surrounded him. He, a Vizier before taking the throne, felt it. He stared at the perspiration gleam on the high priest’s shaven brown head, which remained lowered as he backed out of the room.
***
Used to beef, a delicacy amongst the nobility, Joseph’s expression did not mark surprise when he squatted down at the small stand and faced a platter of beef and leeks.
He ate beef in Canaan on occasion. Oftentimes, the meat appeared in the home of Potiphar, captain of the guard.
An orange ray from Ra’s descent illuminated the room. The family, with its new member, gathered for their first meal together. Asenath’s two older brothers and their wives had arrived this morning; they joined her parents and youngest sister for the evening meal. Nine people, two to a stand except for the youngest sister, sat on heavy rugs. Each stand piled with fresh dates, baked bread, and a roasted goose in addition to the beef and leeks.
Narrow-eyed stares came from both brothers, who managed to tear into the goose, pile their flat reed basket plates high with vegetables, and glare at the same time. Their mother leaned forward and addressed Joseph. “You hail from Canaan, is that correct?”
“Yes, indeed, ma’am.”
“Asenath tells me you are not allowed to form a household with Canaanite women. Is that correct?”
“Yes, ma’am owing to their idolatrous practices.”
“Idolatry meaning they do not revere your Yahweh,” said the oldest brother.
“In short, yes.”
“By the gods, Hebrew, how do you expect to prosper here in Kham? There is no temple here for your God.”
“His name, son, is Zaphnath-Paaneah,” Poti-pherah said. “And his prosperity has been guaranteed by the Great House, with whom he has found favor.”
“Yes, we have heard of this, Father. Shocking blow to Kheti and his kinsmen. I cannot imagine how they will endure it. But my question, more specifically, is how he thinks to endear himself to our people if he does not reverence our ancestors. And what, may I ask, is the difference between a daughter of Canaan and a daughter of Mizraim when neither worships the Hebrews’ God.”
“You ask a fair question, sir,” Joseph said. “But I fear I cannot answer it. The wisdom Yahweh gave me for the king was at His good pleasure. I do, however, recall that the Canaanites sacrifice their children. An abominable practice your people would not think to do.” Both men grunted assent and focused on their meal.
Joseph did sympathize. How difficult for a priest of Ra to have a foreigner for a son-in-law. What must his neighbors and peers think? Surely, Yahweh has a plan in all this.
Joseph turned to his father-in-law. “May I ask, sir—you being a priest of Ra—how did the sun become a god and join your pantheon?”
The older brother fell back on the rug feigning despair. The youngest slapped his hand on the stand, then put his face in his hands. Asenath removed her drinking bowl filled with wine from under the table and drank deep. She longed to drown herself in the Nile. Tis’ a fate far more desirable than to be married to this uncouth foreigner.
Poti-pherah, though, did not seem fazed. The gods, though important, were not the lifeline of Kham. That position belonged to the Nile and the Great House. Most Khamites did not know what god from what animal to what village. “Our ancestor, Ra, was one of the Black Land’s earliest kings. He reigned for years here in Anu and saved the Black Land from a horrible fate. Do not fret over this ignorance, son. Many Khamites do not understand our gods, our ancestors, and how they came to be.”
“My gratitude, sir I do not wish to mislead you to believe that I will embrace your gods, for I cannot. Yahweh is a jealous God. But I will make every effort to learn your people’s history and embrace Kham as my own.”
***
Asenath and Joseph were due to return to court in two sunrises. Earlier, Asenath had complained to her mother about the outdated furniture in the king’s apartments, and persuaded her to do some shopping before returning to Itj-tawy.
“How did the sun become a god, indeed,” Asenath sniffed. Her mother laughed. “He calls it idolatry. He sees the sun god as a gross substitution for the real God, Yahweh.”
They strolled along a narrow street entering the merchant area. Merchants, carpenters, and masons for hire all lived and worked down this street. Both women wore yellow dresses. Asenath’s did not have the braces across her shoulders like the one her mother wore, but an embroidered lotus flower border instead, the dress’s narrowness kept it from slipping down.
They entered a one-story, mud-brick building where a craftsman made couches. “An ebony inlaid with ivory would be just the thing, Mother.” They peered around the small showroom, where the merchant displayed two couches and a chair. He sat in the corner carving a chair. Wood shavings covered the floor and his feet.
“I am surprised at the Great House,” her mother said, “coming from fashionable Waset and furnishing his palace so sparsely.”
“As am I.”
“Do you think the king will allow you to have a home?”
“If Joseph asks, Horus will not deny the blue-eyed creature a thing.”
“Asenath, you really must call your husband by his proper name.” Asenath snorted in response before her mother continued. “If you make that kind of slipup in court, you will embarrass both your husband and family.”
“Yes, mother.” She sighed. “I daresay our family suffers from enough embarrassment with the Hebrew addition.”
“It is not that bad, dearest. Even your father and brothers realize it is not, for all their grumbling. Your husband has the second-highest position in the land. That alone makes him a worthy partner, does it not?”
“Yes, though a bit more attention to his shaving would not come amiss.”
Her mother laughed again. She instructed the craftsman to make a small staircase for the raised ebony couch, and a matching chair.
“Do not, my dear, become preoccupied with your husband’s Hebrew blood. It is said our own ancestor, King Ra, had two Aramean daughters, and were they not Shemites as well?”
Asenath snorted. “A mere political alliance.”
“Like your own union, daughter. Quit making those detestable noises and remember it as so.”
***
The meeting would occur in Memphis. The older man arrived early. He waited a long time to plot this revenge. True, he may be on his estate in the afterlife before the plan was executed. No matter. He did not fear Osiris’ judgment, for surely the king overstepped his boundary, time and again.
First, the Hebrew’s promotion. The dissolution of several offices held by the oldest families. One nobleman in Goshen now lives surrounded by sheepherders. The king allowed his pet Hebrew to bring his kin to live in Kham. Seventy people. By the gods! Why do such a thing? True they are a small nation, but a nation nonetheless. And what if they multiply? What a horror for the Black Land to endure. Perhaps the gods will judge Amenenhat I a Set king, and not a proper Horus.
The man wore a striped narrow dress, reaching down to his bare feet. He intentionally forsook sandals. He wished his arrival and departure unheard and unnoticed. He leaned against the gnarled trunk of a fig tree. Ripe figs littered the ground. The man bent carefully and selected two not yet rotten. He wiped them on his garment, then chewed slowly, waiting for darkness to descend.
The Nile Taxi
1440 BC
The scavenger kept his papyrus reed boat close to shore. He held a net to catch fish, and a long stick to poke for objects. The sea, quiet and calm, gave no indication it had divided, allowing Hebrew slaves to walk its grounds unscathed. Heresy. The wizened old man cackled to himself. I have worked this sea forty summers, and it never did anything more than it is doing now. The married father of four made his living coasting the Red Sea searching for valuables washed ashore.
Vultures have cried and circled for several sunrises now. I wonder what it could mean? Everything seems still. Is it true? Have we been dealt a mighty blow from the hand of the God of slaves? The scavenger stretched his neck, but from where he coasted near Nekheb, he could not see far north enough to find any evidence of the rumors.
Two million Hebrews had crossed the Red Sea—had crossed the portion measuring a quarter to a half mile wide. They escaped Pharaoh’s army into Edom, the land founded by its patriarch, Esau. Jacob’s ruddy, hairy brother. The scavenger snorted his doubt while watching a black cloud of vultures in the sky. I will find great treasure today. Yesterday, I found an armband of a charioteer, kilts, which the wife mended, and two white headdresses.
The scavenger prodded his stick into the water and struck a solid article. With his right hand, he kept the stick firmly stuck to the piece and grabbed the net, letting it ravel in the water. He found an opening in the piece, perhaps another armband. He got it.
Lifting it, he saw a royal cartouche engraved on a solid gold armband. Heavy piece this is. Maaktre Hatshepsut.
The scavenger, a native of Kerma in Cush, did not much care for Kham’s recent domination. All the same, this proves it. The Great House did suffer a blow. The sibling nations, Kham and Cush were humbled.
Hatshepsut, living forever! has flown to heaven and another stands in her place.
The scavenger edged the boat around toward home. He had found enough this day.
***
Coming in the opposite direction, up the Nile River, a well-crafted vessel moved at a steady clip. Its sail showed a sparrow-hawk in an upper corner, a sign of Cushite nobility. The Cushite, a descendant of Nakhneith, stood inside the boat, his chin tilted up. An observer might assume the man proud, arrogant.
No, he merely compared the much-revered temple of Karnak to his home temple, the great Gebel Barkal in Napata. He grunted his approval.
No, Alara had no excessive pride. His wife, sitting next to him, would tell anyone so. In fact, he would be the first to admit that morbid fascination and duty brought him to Goshen. Furthermore, he knew where his prosperity came from: obedience to his father. Determined to join the Medjay, Alara had trained in earnest. The moment he turned seven summers, he ran the entire length of the Dongola Reach with full barley sacks in his arms, aiming to strengthen them. A Cushite, especially a Medjay, had to lift the heavy bow and fire it in precision.
His father, though, had said no. “You have two options,” his father said. “Join your brothers and me training horses for the nobility. Or attend school at Gebel Barkal and train as a scribe. Any fool can shoot and maim. You learn your glyphs, and you will go far.”
Alara compromised. He did both. First he attended temple school and worked as a scribe. He once drafted a letter for the king’s son of Cush. Not that the administrator could not; he did not have the time. Alara then served two summers in the Medjay, keeping Cush’s borders free. Now at nineteen summers old, Alara had started his business venture. The Nile Taxi service transported passengers from Napata in Cush all the way to Avaris.
Alara knew the Nile’s treacherous cataracts well, having lost two vessels to it. He used to drop his passengers off at Abydos, where an Egyptian-manned vessel would take the traveler north. No more. Alara built two sturdy vessels and opened a branch of the Nile Taxi in Waset.
He passed Waset, heading toward Avaris on an errand for his family. He found himself staring at a desolate, bruised Black Land. He heard the Nile had turned to blood, but it had faded before they set sail. He knew many heads of cattle were destroyed. Alara did not realize how bad the locusts had devastated the land; truly it did not look like the Black Land he knew.
“I have seen with my own eyes the desolation brought on Kham. Why did not the Great House heed this Yahweh’s words?” Alara said, staring at the locusts’ damage. Bare acacias and once-stately palms seemed pathetic without their wide leaves.
“Kham will rebuild. Thutmosis will see to it,” said his wife.
“No longer the falcon-in-the-nest. He will head the Great House; for surely Hatshepsut has joined Osiris.”
His wife gave an involuntary shudder. “If the sea delivers her now, it will be for a burial. Should we not turn back, Alara, before darkness arrives?” She cast nervous eyes about.
Alara gazed up at the fading sun. “Not quite. I wish to see the wreckage there.” He pointed to lumps and debris on the shore. “You remember, wife, that my oldest brother served the Great House.” She covered her mouth, embarrassed. “And see there, it seems the rescue team did indeed miss something.”
His wife saw the arm first. The chariot with its broken wheels was deemed useless to repair. A man lay under the broken chariot, presumably dead. Alara made the short leap ashore. His wife eased herself out of the boat and on the shore. She took tiny steps toward the still body. “Could not they have taken the man back to his home? His relatives may wish to give him a proper burial.”
“His relatives believe he is under the sea with his comrades.” Alara lifted the chariot and shoved it to the side. Under lay a lad; he looked no more than twenty summers old. Caked blood formed a mound on one side of his head. “He breathes.”
“Oh,” said the wife. “Can you carry him to the vessel, Alara?”
“Of course.” Alara kicked off his reed sandals. The wife grabbed them. He knelt and hoisted the lad, then tramped across the sand to where his boat and crew waited.
A priest with red-rimmed eyes met them at the temple entrance. His lids felt heavy from sleep deprivation, and an audible sigh escaped him at the sight of yet another plague victim. How weary the Black Land is. How shall we recover? Whose idea was it to enslave the Hebrews at the first? That is what I wish to know. Did an ancestor seek to be avenged? A nobleman perhaps? What had the Hebrews done to spark that manner of vengeance?
The priest turned and headed in to the temple. Alara and a crewmember followed, carrying Khaemweset into the stone-walled temple, down a flight of stairs into a tiny room. The priest cleared blank papyrus scrolls off a long table, and they laid the charioteer down. The lad’s Amon-Ra necklace came apart, the pendant was lodged in the top of his kilt.
The priest retrieved it and held it up to the light. “A good omen. Not all is lost in the Black Land.”
“Toss it into the Nile,” Khaemweset murmured.
Alara, his crewmember, and the priest stared at him aghast. The priest leaned in. “You are delirious, lad. Amon-Ra, the hidden one, is king of the gods. You know not what you speak.”
“I am in earnest, priest. I saw the hand of a God more powerful than Amon-Ra. I will continue to hold the ancestors of the Black Land in high esteem. But I can no longer worship them.” The enormous loss of his comrades and monarch, made the charioteer’s chest feel burdened with grief; he turned his head aside and wept.
The priest turned to Alara. “Go now. Leave him to my care. I shall restore his body, and when the Black Land recovers, it will restore his mind. He will once again embrace our gods.”
“I doubt he will ever worship his old gods again,” Alara said to his wife as they readied to retire. “That lad witnessed all we have heard rumored. The sea parted and closed again on Pharaoh Hatshepsut and her forces.”
The wife removed her wig and placed it on the stand. “Shall we return to Napata, and give your father the news straight?”
“Indeed. How should I speak? ‘Father, your oldest son died of boils, inflicted on him by the God of his slaves?’ It is a ludicrous dialogue.”
The wife lay on the couch in a plain green shift. She placed her head on the headrest and stared up at the ceiling. “Only speak the truth, husband. He knows about what happened in Kham. Tell him that his heir died of illness during the chaos.”
They quieted. Crickets broke through the night’s stillness. Silence, though, reigned inside his brother’s well-furnished villa, now empty. The owner and family now dead. The slaves all gone, led through the sea by their God and His servant Moses.
“I spoke to the charioteer,” Alara’s wife said. “I asked him why he still lives. Do you want to hear what he said?”
“Truly.” Alara loosened his kilt.
“Well then. He said that he called out to the Hebrews’ God for mercy.”
Alara held his soiled kilt up in midair. “And this God, Yahweh, He heard the cry of a man in pursuit of His people …”
“And saved him.”
“What mercy.”
“Yes. I have never heard such. Have you, husband?”
He stretched on the couch besides her. “No. Nor I.”
The Prophecy
712 BC
The bald prophet rose from his knees and removed his prayer shawl. He kept his eyes closed; contemplating the prophetic words Yahweh had placed into his spirit. Called at an early age, Isaiah’s ministry proved an embarrassment to his prosperous family. If my family knew how I am to serve our Lord now.
Like most prophets sent by God to His stiff-necked people, Isaiah faced ridicule and scorn, but the abuse now came from Judah. Israel was now gone, deported to Assyria.
Isaiah had prophesied the Lord’s warnings to Judah. The tribes—Judah, Benjamin, and a few Levites—were amongst those committing the same sins their northern brethren Israel had. He spoke out about the soothsaying and idolatry. The sacred pillars and wooden images erected on high hills and under green trees. The constant incense burning. His words, direct utterances from Yahweh, fell on dull ears and hard hearts.
Isaiah folded his prayer shawl and laid it on top of the mat. He placed a clean loincloth and frock on top of the shawl, then rolled the mat up and stuck it under his arm.
I hope the sons of Ham will not be so. For their sakes.
Tirhakah
712 – 704 BC
Through the choppy waters of the Nile’s fourth cataract, at the far end of the Dongola Reach sat Napata, imperial capital of Cush. In the town’s center, a stalwart castle with solid limestone turrets and wide balconies housed the royal family, a dynastic line founded by King Alara.
Khensa, Chief Wife of Pharaoh Piye, stood trembling at the palace’s entrance. Her short-cropped hair was caved in lopsided from sleeping on her side. She drew the cloak tighter around her body. A crackle from a flickering torch broke the silence. Seconds passed before the long, lean frame of the high priest appeared. He bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“Come. The king’s condition has worsened.”
Asleep in his lion-headed bed, Prince Tirhakah awakened when he heard sandals against the stone floor hurry pass his chambers. The curtain covering his doorway fluttered. Tirhakah watched it through lowered lids. What hour of the night is it? He yawned and pulled the cotton sheet up to his small, narrow shoulders. On the floor, the prince’s kitten, Aneksi growled low as he wrestled with his wooden toy mouse.
Moonlight seeped through the window matting. Tirhakah could see his wooden ball, crocodiles, and boats stacked in a heap, fulfilling his mother’s wishes to clean his chamber.
Aneksi leaped on the bed and licked Tirhakah’s cheek.
Tirhakah got out of bed and stretched. He ambled toward his hippopotamus couch, where he had thrown his kilt when he readied to retire. Then he remembered again that his mother, Abar, had ordered him to clean his chambers before bed. This is why boys should never be made to clean their chambers. Surely, one cannot be expected to find something when it is in its rightful place.
Tirhakah ran his hand across the giraffe chair. Nothing. He turned around to his bed with the lion feet then remembered the chest at its foot. He opened the chest and found his kilts, folded sloppily, but not hanging off the furniture as usual. Tirhakah wrapped a kilt around his waist then went to see what the matter was. Aneksi trotted after him, the wooden mouse between his jaws.
Now six summers old, Tirhakah’s formal education would soon begin. He would learn to write, compute figures, and study literature. He would travel to Waset, where the priests at Karnak would oversee his education. Then there would be military training. Tirhakah stuck his lips out at the thought of it. He did not look forward to that. He wanted to be a priest at Gebel Barkal here in Napata. Or even a small temple in Kham. What he did not wish for, and he dared not say it aloud, was to become king.
Tirhakah slipped past the servants and priests standing before King Piye’s door. Queen Abar sat in a chair to the king’s right. To the king’s left, Queen Khensa stood murmuring quiet prayers. Tirhakah marched to his father’s side. “Father, what ails you? You must not fly to Osiris yet. You have much to teach me.”
Piye gave a slow smile. “Tirhakah, my little priest.” Tirhakah ducked his head, embarrassed. “I am not leaving at this moment. My ka is still strong within me.”
“Tirhakah,” Abar said. “Come here and do not trouble your father. He needs his strength to fight the demons attacking his body.” Tirhakah gave his father a short bow then backed up to his mother’s side.
His uncle, Shabaka, co-ruler of Cush and Kham, bowed low before his elder brother.
Piye whispered to him. “What is the news?”
“Iamani of Ashdod has arrived, bearing gifts. He seeks refuge. He is aware that Sargon wants him removed from power.” He clasped his hands. “What should our response be? If we return him to Sargon too promptly, it would appear we fear the might of Assur, Nabu, and Marduk.”
“Iamani has no legitimate claim to the throne. And his appointment has angered Sargon. What benefit is it to us to befriend an imposter and enemy to Assyria?”
“None at all.”
“Have a detachment take him to Nineveh. Gifts and all.”
“I shall summon a scribe.”
“Do not. Place this order under your seal. It shall be your first official act as king.” Piye twisted a sparrow-hawk ring off his forefinger. He grunt with exertion, but leaned over and placed the ring on his brother’s finger. “You are the mighty bull in Napata and Men-nefer. I leave you, brother, the lands of Ham.”
Tirhakah watched his father and uncle’s exchange. He sensed the tension and sorrow in the room, but did not understand its meaning. He thought it best to remain and hear the Chief Physician’s diagnosis. He backed up farther, intending to be invisible, but a teary-eyed Abar sent him back to his room. “Go on with you. You shall hear of your father’s progress when Ra rises.”
“But—”
“No protests.”
Tirhakah’s shoulders slumped. He returned to his chambers, Aneksi following.
An indigo blue dawn spread across the land between the rivers Euphrates and Tigris. In Nineveh, on the Tigris eastern bank, Mulisi and her husband, Ashur-dan, stepped out of their one-story home. They crossed the cooking area and opened their inn, The Shiny Pomegranate. Inside, cedar chairs were stacked on top of square tables. Small red pomegranates were painted as a border around the dining room’s wall.
To the left of the dining area, a short flight of stairs led to four guest rooms. Mulisi had insisted on numbering the doors with pomegranates. Ashur-dan thought it a bit much and told her so. She had laughed and tossed her naturally curly hair. As a compromise, she gave each room an ensign on the background of a pomegranate. The first room displayed a one-horned ox, the auroch. The second room showed a lion. The third room an eagle in flight with a serpent in its mouth. The fourth room, many had commented on because of its oddity: a man holding a club.
Outside in the cooking area, Ashur-dan plucked and halved pigeons. Mulisi tossed the readied pigeons into a pot of boiling water. She always told people that she had been cooking since she was five summers old, though many doubted her claim because she could barely reach the cooking pot now at eight and twenty summers.
“A prophet is going to come, Ashur, mark my words.”
Ashur-dan wiped bloodied hands on an apron, he handed her a bowl of chopped onions and garlic. “Agreed, my Muli.”
“Assyria has returned to her heathen ways. You can just imagine what is going on at the royal palace this evening. Imagine! Everything that Nineveh was almost destroyed over.” She closed her eyes in remembrance. Another nation. Similar crimes. She tossed the contents of the bowl into the pot. “Oh, how I wish I were alive during the time of Jonah the prophet.”
“’Twas a horrible time, that. The skies turned dark during the day. A plague hit. People thought the gods disfavored them. They were ready to repent.”
Mulisi turned to him and smirked. “Yes, but they did not know they managed to offend the Almighty God, now did they?”
“No. They did not. I doubt whether many knew of His existence.”
Mulisi hooted. “But they knew when Jonah came to town.”
“What is not funny, my Muli, is the people have forgotten.”
Mulisi sobered. She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred. “I know. That’s why I believe we are due for another prophet. I mean, what’s the matter with Sargon, eh? Do we really need to do all this warring? Warmongers. That’s what we are, Ashur. Everybody hates us.”
“Agreed, my Muli. The Lord may soon judge Sargon and Assyria. Who is to say this time we deserve His mercy?”
“Right.” She looked up and off into the distant. The sun peeked above the horizon. Hebrew servants carried buckets to the River Tigris, fetching water for their masters’ baths. “It was mercy that spared us the last time.”
***
A rooster crowed. Servants ran up wide stone stairs and outdoor. A brunette serving girl tidied her hair and smoothed out her frock. A few servants chewed on mint leaves to freshen their morning breaths. The stable hand gulped water down, then spewed out a green stream into the flowerbed.
The master waited in the courtyard. His legs crossed. Black eyes narrowed. A coiled horsewhip rested on his lap. He counted each slave as they assembled. Two plump cooks, both with curly brown hair, rushed forward. They could be sisters. The master never ventured to find out. The slim, freckle-faced gardener arrived. Followed by the three maids: two blondes and a redhead; they looked at each other with wide eyes. The youngest maid still had a clump of green mint in the corner of her mouth.
Seven servants stood before him. A lad of fifteen summers old had disappeared. The number of missing slaves in the master’s household had risen to five.
One of the cook’s knees began to knock together. “Perhaps he has overslept, master. Shall I go and check?”
“No need, Rebecca. He is gone.” The master gripped his horsewhip and rose. The maids burst out in sobs.
***
Sargon’s fortress, Dur-Sharrukin, stood a few miles to Nineveh’s north. Once completed, the city would have seven fortified gates, and a second fortified gate inside, strong enough to withstand an advancing army. At present, the fortress remained vulnerable enough to let a commoner walk through unquestioned.
This is exactly what the lad did. The eyes and ears of Marduk of Babylonia, the lad’s youthful features suggested innocence. The ordinariness of his appearance caused no one to pay any particular attention to him. Fortunately, he was not there to cause harm, all he wanted was information.
Inside the city’s wall, he passed a ziggurat outside the king’s palace. He skirted around the construction toward a terrace to the right, a temple of Nabu. He entered a courtyard, pausing when he saw a blur of silver to the left. A female body, a royal female body from the looks of her, headed toward a wall of pillars. The lad removed himself from sight. This could be something useful. He slid behind potted palm trees.
She looked around the courtyard before taking off her silver sandals; then tiptoed behind the pillars, their meeting place. A person or persons could hide behind the wide pillars. The courtyard would be one of thirty. The water fountain muffled noise.
The lad watched as a man with a confident stride came into the courtyard, olive-skinned, strong aquiline nose, coal black hair, moustache, and beard. His profile resembled King Sargon. The man took a wide glance of the courtyard before disappearing behind the pillars.