Chapter Four

Moses, Tzipporah, and Gershom had found an abandoned house to sleep in in the Hebrew village near the palace. They had been given bread and fruit by some good soul who took pity on the travellers, insisting that they take the goods for free. For now, Moses and his small family settled for an empty house to sleep in. They didn't mind having to sleep on the floor, using their robes and rolled-up blankets as makeshift pillows and bedspreads.

It will not be for long, Moses assured himself, surely Rameses will see sense soon.

While Tzipporah prepared the meal, Moses sat in deep thought. Gershom idly played with Moses' staff, seeming to have forgotten it had been a snake only a few hours ago.

"You're thinking about what happened today," Tzipporah guessed as she sat down across from her husband, leaning her elbows on the table. "I know you are."

Moses let loose a sigh, his eyes full of puzzlement. "I don't know why he doesn't listen."

"Did God tell you Pharaoh would refuse to let the people go?"

Moses closed his eyes, trying to recall his first meeting with God. The burning bush had been ethereal, something from an entirely different world, one he could not even begin to imagine. While his memory was usually sharp, God's words had begun to blur in his recollections.

Had he said pharaoh wouldn't listen? Moses asked himself. Or had he told me different?

The only thing he could remember was God teaching him the four words to speak to Rameses: "Let my people go!"

And he remembered something else in that first, wondrous meeting with God.

"God told me he will show all his wonders," Moses recalled.

"Did he say what kind of wonders?"

Moses shook his head. It was all he remembered for now.

Tzipporah leaned forward, her hands open, palms facing up. "I want to know what happened."

"I already told you."

"No—I mean when you spoke with pharaoh."

Moses waved a hand aside, as though it didn't matter. But he knew Tzipporah wouldn't believe that. She knew him too well.

"Tzipporah, Rameses has always been stubborn," he said, "but I know he will relent."

Tzipporah frowned, her eyebrows coming together in doubt. "You told me he chose to double the Hebrews' workload. I fear that he may do worse if you persist."

"God knows what he is doing, Tzipporah."

"I trust you on that," Tzipporah assured, cupping one of Moses' hands in her own two, "I am just worried for your people, as much I am sure you are."

"It is not just Rameses I am thinking about," Moses admitted, squeezing Tzipporah's hand, "I am worried how Queen Tuya will take it. After all, she did raise me."

"She is not your true mother."

Moses withdrew his hand, shaking his head. "She's as good as, Tzipporah—Queen Tuya was the only mother I knew."

"You do not recall your own blood mother?"

Hush now, my baby, be still love, don't cry…

The words threaded into his heart from a long-forgotten corner of his unconscious. The sight of his sister, Miriam, kneeling on the night-soaked ground burned before his eyes. Her arms encircled in a loose hold, as though holding a baby. The last lullaby she sung that had threaded through eighteen years of dreams.

I had treated my sister no better than a slave.

"Moses?" Tzipporah's hand reached forward and brushed the side of his face. "What is it?"

He inhaled a shaky breath, but wasn't quite ready to tell Tzipporah what had happened so long ago.

I treated Miriam no better than slaves, threatening her with punishment.

How could he ever forgive himself for it?

How can she forgive me?

Moses could still see Miriam in his mind's eye, the way she had allowed a tear to fall, her small smile even despite being threatened with punishment. As though she still believed in his goodness. She believed in him, and he had treated her with the harsh coldness of a prince.

Now he became aware of Tzipporah sitting down next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, her head on his shoulder.

"Something still bothers you, Moses," she murmured, "I know it does."

I can't tell her how I treated my own sister, not when she has three beloved sisters—sisters she may never see again.

Instead, Moses planted a tender kiss on her head, inhaling the scent of her thick hair.

"I will tell you someday," he promised, "but that day is not today."


Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock!

Moses mumbled in his sleep as he slipped out of sleep at the insistent knocks on the door. He squinted up at the window in front of him—the sun was barely up. He heard Tzipporah moving around next to him.

Who would knock at this hour?

Grumbling, Moses pulled himself upright, still maintaining a level of caution.

Knock! Knock!

"Have a little patience," he grumbled to the knocker behind the door, "I only just got up."

It's too early!

Opening the door just a crack, he peered around to see who it was. He saw a youth, probably no older than fourteen or fifteen, standing at the threshold. The boy had not reached manhood, for he still sported a plaited side-lock that curled over his left shoulder. His hand had been poised to knock again, but let it drop back by his side when Moses appeared at the door.

"Sorry to wake you so early," the boy apologised, "but are you Moses?"

Moses eyed him, wary, "Why do you ask?"

"I have asked others in this village if they had seen three new travellers—a couple and a little boy—"

"You've been waking everyone else at this hour?"

The boy grinned, too cheery and bright-eyed for this time of day, when the sun itself was just rubbing its eyes.

"I sure have!" he admitted with a merry chirp in his words, "but are you Moses? I come with a message from the palace."

Could it be from Rameses? Moses wondered, Could he have changed his mind—

"It is from the queen," the boy explained, "would you know where Moses is?"

What could Queen Tuya want?

"I am Moses," the shepherd said, "what is this message from the palace?"

"The King's Mother, Queen Tuya, wishes to speak with you today, this morning if possible."

Moses rubbed his chin, thinking. "Why does she wish to speak with me, boy?"

"She never said—just that she had something important to talk to you about. You come to palace this morning, before the midday meal! Have a good morning!"

With that, the boy sprinted away, not sticking around for Moses' response. He must have come to the same realisation, as the kid ran back to Moses' temporary home.

"Sorry, but I forgot to ask!" the boy chirped, "Are you coming to speak with her?"

Moses looked over his shoulder at Tzipporah and Gershom, the latter cuddled up to his mother. They both waited as much as the boy at the door for his answer.

Mother may see reason and listen, Moses mused, she may be able to persuade Rameses to listen.

He turned back to the grinning boy.

Who smiles like that at this hour?

"Tell her I will be there when I am ready. Give it a few hours, boy, and I will be awake enough to speak with her, alright?"

"Sure thing, friend!"

The boy sprinted off on lithe legs as Moses shut the door on him, grumbling under his breath about morning people. Tzipporah had unlatched Gershom from her and stood up with a huge yawn.

"You're going to speak with the king's mother?" Tzipporah asked.

"I know you may disagree—"

"I don't disagree, Moses, I just wonder what good will it do?"

"Tzipporah, I have faith that God knows what He is doing. Perhaps mother may be more reasonable."

"And if she is not?"

"Then God will find a way to persuade Rameses," Moses said, not wanting to speak his fears on what God might have to do to persuade the pharaoh.

How much would it take to persuade Rameses?

Moses just prayed that it would be enough—the pharaoh had to bend to God's command sooner or later.

He must listen! And if he doesn't listen to his mother when I speak with her, then who will persuade him?

A little voice in his head whispered, God will. Have faith, Moses.


A few hours later, when the sun drenched the date palms and the papyrus reeds in harsh light, Moses observed from his doorframe as the remainder of the slaves in the village trekked to their daily torture under the whip. Deadened eyes, hopeless, bent backs, and raised scars forced Moses to close his eyes, waiting until they had passed. Every now and again, he heard his name. It seemed word had gotten out that he had returned to Egypt. But the words were not welcoming.

"After all this time…" grumbled one.

"Doubled workload…thanks to Moses…"

"Some help he's been…"

Moses did not allow Tzipporah to see how much this hurt him inside. The knowledge that his own people blamed him for the doubled workload weighed heavy in his heart.

I tried my best…

When the slaves had disappeared, Moses stepped out and walked to the palace, his thoughts troubled. His attention kept wandering to the distant slaves under the overseers' harsh whips and ruthless, rough hands. Today, they would be forced to do double the work already impossible for a thousand men to do. To his surprise, he found himself bitter toward Rameses, blaming him for what had happened to the Hebrews.

It is his own fault, not mine. I did not bring this upon them—it is Rameses' stubbornness. If mother can't persuade her own son, then who can?

He walked into the palace, ignoring the milling servants, overseers, priests, and scribes. All were busy fussing over their morning business, oblivious to the foreigner in his red robes and bare feet. Moses didn't care whether they saw him or not—he was here on God's mission, and that was all that counted.

Now if only I can remember her favourite spot to talk with us.

Moses recalled the Nile waters lapping up to the stairs at the back of the palace, where a water garden glittered under the eye of the sun. The birds that glided down, floating without a worry on the water, rippling the sheer curtains with the breeze from their wings. Water lilies bobbing on the surface of the water, and white lotuses gazing up at the deep sky dotted the water. The water garden with its shady sycamore trees stretching arms over the pool to shade its inhabitants.

Over there.

As though they remembered on their own, his feet moved him in the direction of the water garden with its lotuses that even now would be opening up their petals to the sunshine.

"There you are."

There was Queen Tuya, waiting for him just inside the archway leading to the water garden. The King's Mother dismissed a servant who hovered near her, and beckoned to Moses.

"Let us talk, Moses," Tuya invited, "Come and sit with me."

Memories of spending time here in the water garden flashed through Moses' head. When he and Rameses were just toddlers, they often waded and splashed each other in the water, supervised very closely by their guardians, lest one slipped under. This was the very place he had last seen Queen Tuya before exiling Egypt. Now he had returned, and here she was, talking with him at the old garden so full of childhood memories.

Moses strolled over to join his mother on the steps, his staff still held firmly in his hand.

She will understand.

"First," she spoke, "tell me—where have you been all this time?"

"You mean after I ran from Egypt?"

She smiled. "Yes. I see you have a new wife and a child?"

Moses had a flashback to the banquet when he first met his wife. Queen Tuya's expression of disappointment when he'd let Tzipporah fall into the pool still resonated even after all these years.

"Tzipporah—she was the one the priests brought to be Rameses' wife," Moses recalled.

"I thought I recognised her," Tuya said, "Where is she from?"

Moses summarised what had happened between his disappearance from and return to Egypt. He had married Tzipporah—but not before she dumped him in a well in retaliation for what he did to her—and soon enough, a decade later, met God, who appeared to him as a burning bush that was not consumed. His heart ached to see she looked more confused as he attempted to explain how God had appeared.

"It wasn't truly a flame…I mean He appeared as an otherworldly fire that consumed the bush. He embraced me with warmth, security, and compassion," Moses attempted, "When His fire died down, and He had departed from me, the bush was flowering."

She will not see what I saw, Moses realised, it is beyond her comprehension.

"Your God, does he have a name?"

"I am that I am," Moses recalled.

"That is his true name?"

Moses hesitated, "I believe so. If this is His name, then it is His true name."

Tuya clasped her hands in her lap, silent for a moment.

"Why does your Hebrew god wish your people freed?"

Moses looked Tuya square in the eye, "Because His people have been enslaved too long. I must deliver them out of slavery at his command. I have asked Rameses to let the people go, and he refused."

Tuya straightened her back, moving her shoulders as though preparing to deliver a small speech herself.

"I have spoken to Rameses," Tuya revealed, "I think you have upset him more than you realise."

Moses hardened his resolve. "He has taken it out on my people by doubling their workload—he should have listened."

Tuya attempted to lay a soothing hand on Moses' shoulder, but he flinched away.

"Please, listen to me," she pleaded, "you have not seen how upset he was when you ran away and we thought you dead. It upsets me that you have returned only for your people."

Moses fidgeted, wanting to get away all of a sudden. This conversation had begun to make him uncomfortable, yet could not quite pinpoint why.

She'll never know why I want to see the Hebrews freed from slavery.

"You know Seti has—"

"Seti killed the children of my people!" Moses interrupted, his voice sharp, "I will not allow it to happen again—God will see the Hebrews freed at any cost!"

"Even at the cost of your own brother's happiness that you're alive?"

Moses opened his mouth, but no words came. He sighed, half frustrated, half exasperated.

"I don't want to hurt him—just that I wish he would see what I do. The Hebrews have been enslaved long enough."

"Moses, do you realise how much people can change in twelve years?" Tuya asked, "Rameses has changed as much as you have. While you were away, he had to cope with not just your absence, but also his father's lectures."

Perhaps it was the way her voice cracked a little as she spoke, or the deep sadness in her eyes, but something made Moses pause, considering her words.

"Rameses told me he would not be the weak link," Moses said, "but freeing the Hebrews will make Egypt stronger, not weaker. People will see he has the compassion to stop slavery."

"Who will he use to replace the slaves?" Tuya asked.

"Other labourers."

"And where will he find them?"

"He will have to find them himself," Moses declared, standing up. He wanted to go back to Tzipporah and Gershom. "Perhaps he will look in other lands for them, but the Hebrews will never be slaves again."

Tuya too stood up, placing a placating hand on Moses' shoulder. "Just remember how tough Seti has been to Rameses," she pleaded, "he has had it tougher without you around. I know he has, even if he doesn't show it."

"But Seti is no longer alive."

"It doesn't matter—Seti's words have changed him, Moses. He is afraid of being a weak king."

Moses turned his back on Tuya, but not before saying, "He may have to take that chance. Goodbye, mother."

With that, Moses walked away from the King's Mother, never looking back even once.

I will see my people freed, no matter how much it hurts my mother and brother. It is God's command. My people have been enslaved for too many years. They will be set free!