27

The tang of garlic and nutmeg hung in the air surrounding the market. Saliva pooled in Mahlah’s mouth. Her jaw tightened from the anticipation of food. She should have grabbed a manna cake before leaving camp. Sauntering among foreign barterers and buyers, she embraced her anonymity. Here among strangers and a few Hebrews, she was not the troublesome woman from Manasseh.

Milcah pointed at a booth resting under the branched shade of a tamarisk tree.

“He has melons.” She pulled Mahlah toward the vendor. “Look at the size. Hoglah will soon forget about Shuni’s gift.”

“It is not the gifts I am worried about.” Mahlah dodged around a cart of caged birds. “If only our sister would forget about Shuni.”

“Do you not want her to marry?” Milcah stopped at the corner booth and inspected the closest wares.

Mahlah leaned nearer her sister. “She does not have to rush. She has more to offer a man than companionship and children. Our portion of land will be passed down for many generations. When we are dust, the land will still be here.”

“Will we have a patch for melons?” Milcah’s smile was all teeth.

“We can grow anything you desire. After our first harvest, we will shout out about our large fruit.” Mahlah kissed her sister’s forehead. “Now pick a sweet one before we are shoved aside.”

Milcah elbowed her way in front of the seller. “Do you have a ripe one for me?”

The merchant scrounged in his coin purse. “My wares are on this wagon. Pick one and be silent.”

Before she could draw her sister to another merchant, Milcah fluttered her eyelashes. She let out a breath longer than her thin frame.

“The sweet taste of melon will calm our sister’s ills.” Milcah pouted at the man.

The merchant cast a glance between her and Milcah.

Not one to feign distress, Mahlah gave a wistful smile. “We came a distance. Surely, there is one better than the others.” She rested a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder.

“Buy one of these for tomorrow.” The merchant thumped the closest melon. “I will sell you another that I keep for my best customers.”

Her mouth gaped. This foreigner knew nothing of God’s ways.

“I can purchase for today only. Our God provides for tomorrow.”

“Hebrews.” The man did not hide his disgust.

If she hadn’t trudged in the heat of day to secure a peace offering for Hoglah and Tirzah, she would have turned away. She displayed a coin from her satchel. “A Hebrew’s coin spends the same as a Moabite’s.”

The merchant grabbed her money and tossed her a melon.

Instantly, its succulent scent filled the warm air.

Milcah beamed. “I knew he had ripe ones.”

“You can carry it then.” Thank You, Lord, for small victories. “Shall we head back to camp and slice it.”

Nodding, Milcah clutched the melon to her belly.

Mahlah burrowed through the crowd. The swarm of buyers waned as they reached the well-trodden path leading to their camp.

Laughter, taunting yet celebratory, rose above the occasional shout of barterers.

Turning toward the raucous voices, Mahlah recognized Helek and a few of the fighting men from their tribe of Manasseh. Helek strode through the marketplace like a king parading in front of a conquered city. Swords hung from the hips of Helek’s kin. She could not glimpse Helek’s sword. She saw only his robe. His newly won robe. A robe hemmed in scarlet and purple and adorned with dark forms resembling animals.

Her stomach hollowed as if a breeze off the river whipped through her belly.

“That’s the thief’s robe.” Milcah’s fingers tightened around Mahlah’s wrist. “It belonged to the bandit who tied up our goat.”

“It doesn’t belong to him anymore. Helek must have seized it.” Mahlah had not told her young sisters details about meeting Balaam in the pit. Memories of the sorcerer chilled her bones. Being this close to his cloak caused her flesh to itch. God’s anger at Baal worship had caused the plague that descended upon her clansmen. She remembered Jonah’s plump cheeks aflame with fever.

Helek spun around delighting in his newly acquired garment. His spoil of war was a relic of Baal like Basemath’s armlet. Would God send another plague on her people if a robe used to honor a false god was worn into camp?

Her tribesman drew closer. The glee on his face shone brighter than lamplight.

What should she do? Confront a kinsman in public? Keep silent about her knowledge? Her mind cajoled her to flee, but her feet stayed rooted to the soil.

“Sister, it is his robe.” Milcah scanned the people hovering nearby. “The thief is not here in the market, is he?”

“He is no threat to us if Helek has his robe.” But Balaam and his sorcery were still a threat if she allowed her cousin to enter their camp wearing a pagan priest’s garment. She should warn her tribesman so no one else fell ill.

Her mind flooded with doubt. Would Helek believe her story? Her reputation was maligned day and night by the men of the camp. How much more ridicule could her family endure?

Stopping a few paces in front of her, Helek opened his arms in a mock embrace.

“Daughter of Zelophehad, we have acquired more land for you to steal from us.”

His companions laughed at his tease.

He thumped his chest. “My robe is finer than a concubine’s and certainly finer than yours.” Helek swept the drape of his cloak for all to see its adornments. “Your clothing is the color of a branch in the desert. Mine is alive with jewels.”

Milcah avoided the sweep of the robe and clung to Mahlah’s side.

“Leave us be.” Mahlah’s voice cracked. A hint of panic warbled her words. “Do not touch us with that soiled rag. Your prize belonged to a priest of Baal.”

“Baal?” Helek echoed. “The man who wore this robe cowered behind women. I beheaded him with one sweep of my sword. He did not wield any power over us.”

“We disrobed him before the beheading,” his companion said with a smirk. “And after we took his cloak, we disrobed the women.”

A few fighting men patted each other on the back. Helek continued to show off his cloak, drawing the attention of more foreigners. Foreigners with no allegiance to her clan, her tribe, or her people.

God give me strength.

She wanted to flee the marketplace, race into her tent, and feign sleep, truly she did, but she could not permit a relic associated with Baal to enter her camp. She had seen firsthand the suffering that arose from a pagan armlet.

Clearing her throat, she braced for more ridicule. “Helek, you may think me silly, but you cannot wear that garment into our camp.”

“Why?” Helek wrapped the cloth tight to his chest. Black images melded into one beast. “Am I too beautiful?”

Laughter engulfed her.

Helek continued his spectacle of a dance. Onlookers gathered to gawk at the prancing warrior.

“Please, listen to me. We cannot chance another plague on our people.” She glanced at her fellow tribesmen hoping at least one would be reasonable. “Those images on your robe are of sacrifices to Baal.”

“How do you know that? Did you speak to Moses?” Helek swished his hips as he mocked her. “Oh, Moses, Helek has a finer robe than mine. Give it to me and my sisters. We are so plain.”

The crowd delighted in his rebuke.

Her skin flamed. How dare this fool malign Moses and insult her family. She blew out a breath and rallied her lungs to send forth the truth.

“I saw that robe hang from the body of Balaam, son of Beor.”

Hushed whispers rustled through the marketplace at the mention of the priest’s name.

“If you do not burn that wicked man’s garment, you risk the death of our people.” From one face to another, she beheld each of his companions. “Hebrew blood will be on your hands if that spoil of war rests in your tent.”

Helek’s jaw flared. “Do not tell me what to do, woman.” He spat at her face.

She ducked. Spittle dampened the side of her cheek. Her stomach threatened to spill.

“Listen to my sister!” Milcah shouted. Her free hand covering her ear.

“Know your place.” Another man spat at Milcah. His saliva hit her chest, narrowly missing their melon.

Mahlah’s body became a torch.

“Leave my sister be.” Milcah’s shriek roared over the heads of her foes. Curious foreigners stepped away widening the circle surrounding her and her tribesmen.

“I stood in the presence of a sorcerer of Baal, and he wore that atrocious rag.” Mahlah jabbed at the ornate robe. “If you wear that garment into camp, I will go to Moses, Joshua, Eleazar, and every leader I see, and tell of your misdeed. They will call you before the assembly. All of you.” She met each fighting man’s thin-lipped frown. “I am speaking the truth as a kinswoman. Death be on your household. Not mine or my clan’s.”

Helek clawed at her head covering and grabbed a fist of hair. He yanked her forward. “Who are you to demand anything of me?”

Scalp burning, wetness seeped from her eye. She bent her knees and jerked away to release the pressure of her kinsman’s hold and to avoid touching one thread of Balaam’s cloak.

“Let me go.” For a moment, she assessed the knife attached to her belt. Her blade remained useless. Spilling a relative’s blood would cost her more than her dignity. It would cost her own life.

Helek laughed at her distress. “Bow to me, and I might forgive your boldness.”

She would not go down. Not even on one knee. Not to this foolish mule of a man. Latching onto his smallest finger, she pulled, hard, as if breaking a quail’s breast bone.

Her distant cousin howled. He released his grip on her hair and shoved her to the ground.

With the melon as a battering ram, Milcah charged Helek. He fisted his hand to strike.

“Do not harm her.” Mahlah lunged and intercepted her sister.

She blocked Milcah from Helek’s view. “You may cause me pain, but I will not allow you to harm my sister or to bring suffering upon our people.” She beheld every kinsman. “Not after God has given you and our tribesmen victory in battle.”

Milcah peeked from behind her. “Does Moses know your names? He knows our names.”

A flash of realization caused Helek’s companions to sober.

“My sister speaks the truth. God gave us our inheritance. Perhaps your fathers mentioned our blessing.” She challenged her cousin with a fiery-eyed stare and then turned her noble wrath upon his companions. “Moses bestowed our land in an assembly of elders. Surely, Moses would listen to my concerns about a sorcerer’s robe when I have seen it worn during Baal worship.”

“Do as she says,” a fellow fighting man muttered.

Her cousin grabbed his embroidered collar and rubbed his thumbs over a few rubies “Why does this girl wish to take my spoils. God gave me victory over that heathen.” Helek wrinkled his fat nose. “She thinks she has the standing of a man.”

“I saw that robe on a priest of Baal. In the pit at Peor.” If only Balaam’s hideous robe could have stayed in the pit.

“We saw the priest on the trail, too,” Milcah said. “When our goat was lost.”

“If you were in the pit, why do you still live?” Her cousin relaxed his stance.

“I went in search of a relative, not to worship a false god. Please, I don’t wish anyone harm. Haven’t we seen enough death?” Remembering her father’s lifeless body caused pressure to build behind her eyes. “I have told you about the robe and Balaam to prevent more misery.”

“Burn it,” one of her tribesman said as he strode toward the path home. “I will not accompany that garment into camp.”

Toda raba.

“God gave us victory over our enemies. I will not stoke his ire,” an older fighting man said.

Another tribesman believed her.

Her cousin held out his robe to the objector. “Fine. Burn it then.”

The soldier held up his hands. “It is your spoil of war. Not ours. You have worn it. You must place it in the fire and ask forgiveness of any wrongdoing.”

“Take it to the fire pits over by the livestock.” Mahlah indicated a thin pillar of smoke rising toward the clear afternoon sky. “You will need to wash afterward.”

Helek branded her with a haughty glare. “Peck along, old hen. How cunning you were to steal my land. But that was not enough. Now you confiscate my robe.” He shrugged out of the tainted garment and let it drag in the dirt. “Woe is the man who binds himself to a thief.”

“I. Am. Not. A. Thief.” Mahlah’s words came out so forcefully, a few women scurried toward the far booths. “God bestowed my father’s land on me and my sisters. Moses announced God’s law to the tribal elders. We are rightful heirs.”

Her cousin spat at the ground, whirled around, and stomped toward the pillar of smoke.

Mahlah’s shoulders drooped. The unrelenting heat and the stench of roasted dates caused her head to pound. She rubbed her brow. Why couldn’t she have been born the youngest daughter of Zelophehad instead of the oldest?

She rested a hand on the top of Milcah’s head.

“Let’s go home. I’ve had my fill of foreigners. And not of melon.”

The paths between the tents of her kinsmen bustled with women weaving, cooking, and carting water. A few glimpsed her and Milcah, but no one uttered a greeting. Had word gotten out about the visitors from Asher? Had Helek’s companions told tales?

As Mahlah turned onto the wide path leading toward their tent, Hoglah leapt from a sitting stone and raced toward her.

“Mahlah. The tribal elders have summoned us to another assembly.”

“Again,” Milcah huffed.

Hoglah clasped her hands. A shiver shook her body. “Nemuel’s going to try to take our land.”

“It can’t be so.” Mahlah embraced her worried sister. “God gave us our land. No man can take it away.” How could the leaders change a revelation from God?

Oh Lord, may I live one day without turmoil?