Rebekah's Treasure by Bambola Sylvia

Author:Bambola, Sylvia [Bambola, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2014-01-20T05:00:00+00:00

I’m kneeling beside Joseph’s bed. His skin is strangely lucent like the uncooked white of an egg. His chest moves in small, rapid jerks as he struggles to pull air into his lungs. He has been bathed from head to toe, and lies beneath a blanket, unclothed. His injured leg protrudes. The filthy packing has been removed, the wound bathed with wine. But oh, how it smells! The gash has become an ugly festering sore, oozing puss, and black in color. And the leg? Dead as the leopard whose hide we used for Joseph’s litter, for mortification has already set in. I know the leg must come off, but I try not to think about it now.

I’m told the midwife has not left his side, not even while Aaron and Benjamin and I slept. Even now she’s shuffling about in that quiet way of hers—small and hunched and wrinkled—brewing herbs that smell strangely like hyssop and vinegar.

We’re in the Western Palace. The administration wing, the service wing, the royal quarters, the storerooms, all have been converted into living quarters for the several hundred families billeted here. The remaining inhabitants of Masada are scattered throughout the threetiered Northern Palace, as well as the rooms inside the casement wall of the cliff face.

I feel Joseph’s burning brow. Already his clean wool blanket is damp with sweat. “Joseph. Your brothers and I are leaving for Hyrcania.”

Joseph’s lashes flutter, then his eyes open. His badly cracked lips are covered with the midwife’s salve. “I . . . wish . . . I was . . . going.” His voice is as thin as a moth’s wing.

“Don’t talk.” I touch my fingers lightly to his mouth. “I just wanted you to know we are going to finish the job.”

“But this time we’re bringing a sizable army,” Benjamin blurts, kneeling beside me. “Josiah is leading one hundred men. Lamech and his thugs won’t bother us this time.”

“And there will be plenty of hands to carry the treasure back to Masada,” Aaron adds, he too now crouches by the bed. “Before you know it, we’ll be here telling you all about the things we’ve found.”

“You’re in good hands,” I say, frowning at the midwife who’s waving at us, trying to get us to leave. “You’re in good hands,” I repeat, rising to my feet. But it’s not the midwife I’m referring to. It’s Hashem. For only His hand can snatch Joseph from the jaws of death now.

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