Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) (4 page)

“I fail to see the distinction,” said Suwertu.

“Does God offer sacrifice?”

“Of course not.”

“But priests and kings offer sacrifice. So they aren’t doing what God
does,
they’re doing what God
says
to do.”

“
Some
kings have so much divine power that they do what only God can do.”

“You mean Pharaoh,” said Abram.

“I mean that just as Horus went into the underworld and raised his father from death into spiritual life, so also does the son of Pharaoh go into the underworld and lift his dead father into heaven. They do what Horus did, and then, as Pharaoh, they will do what Osiris did. The Father and the Son.”

Abram nodded slowly. “Well, there it is.
That’s
why Egypt is the only place where the story stands on its head. Very clever.”

“What are you saying?” said Suwertu.

“In every other land, we know that the King who dies and is raised up from the dead is the Son, and the one who raises him up is his Father, the God of heaven. Only in Egypt is it the father who dies, and the son who raises him up. For the very good reason that the kings of Egypt wanted to make the claim you just stated—that they have more divine power than anyone else. Pharaoh has no power to let his son be slain, and then raise him from the dead—only God can do that. But if you just change the story in this one tiny detail—have the son raise the father from the dead—then you can act out the story all you want, generation after generation. The father dies, the son does a ritual descent into the underworld and comes back to report that his father has been raised from death up to eternal life, to dwell among the gods forever. Of course, no one but Pharaoh sees this—Pharaoh doesn’t actually have to
produce
his resurrected father. That, too, would be very hard to do.”

Father smiled at Abram’s words. Sarai could see that Suwertu didn’t like that.

“When you think about it,” Abram went on, “it’s amazing that other kings had never thought of it before. If you don’t actually have the power to do what God does, then you simply change the story of what God does, to make it something that you
can
do. Perhaps those other kings actually believed in God, and therefore were afraid to tell lies about him.”

Suwertu’s loathing was clear, but he maintained his composure. “So you accuse every Pharaoh in the entire history of Egypt of being a liar.”

“Not at all,” said Abram. “I accuse only the first. The rest were simply repeating the story they were taught. Old lies are passed along, not by new liars, but by new fools.”

Sarai thought Suwertu might burst. But still he contained his hatred. “You yourself said that Pharaoh had the birthright,” said Suwertu. “So who are you to say that the story as it is known in Egypt is not the true one?”

“I never said Pharaoh had the birthright. I said he was descended from Noah—the one the Sumerians call Utnapishtim. But through a son who was specifically denied that birthright, whose children were forbidden to hold the true priesthood. A sad old story, but a true one. The birthright doesn’t always follow the lineage.”

“If the birthright doesn’t follow the lineage,” said Suwertu, “what happens to your father’s claim?”

“The birthright passes from the father to a worthy son.”

“And how do we know who is worthy? Especially when different sons claim to have the birthright?”

“When a man has the true priesthood, the power of God is visible in his life,” Abram said

“But that is what I said before,” said Suwertu. “I will believe your father has the priesthood if he can raise his son from the dead, as you say your god can do.”

“God does not give us his priesthood so we can submit to foolish tests.”

“Listen to him,” said Suwertu, laughing. “He sees now the danger he is in, and so like a rabbit he dodges left and right, trying to avoid the hawk.”

“I’m in no danger, Suwertu,” said Abram. “You’re the one who is tempting God.”

“You are most definitely in danger, Abram,” said Suwertu. “In Egypt, when the king dies his son goes to the underworld to bring the king into eternal life, as Horus did for Osiris. If your priesthood is more true than Pharaoh’s, you must prove it by doing what you say your God does.”

“We sacrifice animals as a symbol of the death and resurrection of the Son.”

“Look at the rabbit dodging,” said Suwertu. “Your father pretends to have the kingly priesthood—to be the only man in the world with the right to that priesthood—but
kings
offer kingly blood in sacrifice.”

“Your Pharaohs die of old age,” said Abram. “Not as a sacrifice.”

“But the son of the king is young. For him to be resurrected, he must be helped to pass over into death.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Father, interrupting. “I want Lot as a husband for my daughter, not as a sacrifice.”

“Lot is Terah’s
grandson,
” said Suwertu. “Abram here, this man of effrontery,
he
is a son of Terah. So let this Abram be offered up in sacrifice, and then let Terah show us he can raise him up. Pharaohs do this every generation. If Terah cannot do as much, then this marriage has nothing to do with kings, and everything to do with sheep.”

“Suwertu,” said Father, “you pervert the idea of religion.”

“There are many kingdoms where the king’s blood is shed,” said Suwertu mildly.

“Barbaric ones,” said Father. “Or they name a man as king for a day, so they can kill him, and then the real king resumes the throne. I do not require any such foolishness!”

“No, but you do require a royal marriage for your daughter,” said Suwertu. “I will explain this situation to the King of Ur-of-the-North, your host and benefactor. I think he will agree with me that unless Terah passes this test, his claim to be of royal blood will not be recognized. Then if you marry your daughter to this grandson, this
Lot,
it will be seen for what it is—selling your daughter to an Amorite shepherd in exchange for sheep.”

“Why are you doing this?” said Father. “Why does Egypt care?”

“Because Pharaoh is the only king on earth with the true power of God in him!”

“Are you going to say
that
to my friend and brother-king? He’ll enjoy hearing it, I’m sure.”

“The King of Ur-of-the-North cannot afford to lose the right to trade with Byblos, and the king of Byblos will not trade with someone that Pharaoh deems to be his enemy. This Terah’s claim is in direct conflict with Pharaoh’s authority.”

Abram laughed. “By this very action you prove that Pharaoh has no authority. God has never allowed human sacrifice. Never. It cannot happen. A father does not kill his son in the name of God. So by asking for this, you prove that you and your Pharaoh are the enemies of God.”

“We are the enemies of
your
god,” said Suwertu. “I have a suggestion, Abram. Get out of Ur-of-the-North tonight, while you still have time. Because if you’re here by morning, you will be taken and offered up as a sacrifice. Your father will, of course, be given every opportunity to raise you from the dead.”

Suwertu rose, bowed to Father, and swept from the house.

Abram sighed. “I see that this marriage is going to cause political complications. Who would have thought Pharaoh would care so much?”

“It’s not Pharaoh, it’s his meddling priest,” said Father. “You’d better leave, Abram. Give me time to work out the political problems.”

“Forgive me,” said Abram, “but you have no lever that you can use to pry us out of this. If I leave, the marriage is off—the king of Ur-of-the-North will be forced to bow to Pharaoh’s will, because Byblos is more important to him than you are. I speak offensively, sir, but I speak the truth.”

“Your words sting,” said Father, “but yes, it
is
the truth. So I release you from the marriage vow. Go. You can take the flocks with you.”

“On the contrary,” said Abram. “I came here to seal the marriage promise between the daughter of a king of great and ancient lineage with the grandson and heir of another. Nothing has changed, as far as my errand is concerned, except some interference from the lying priest of a false god. What does this nonsense have to do with Lot and Qira?”

“Didn’t you hear him? He’ll kill you.”

“There is more than one way for God to show his power,” said Abram. “Just because Suwertu has a plan does not mean that the plan will be carried out.”

“And just because you trust in your God does not mean that God will regard your life as being important enough to be worth saving,” said Father.

“I trust in God,” said Abram, “not to save me from death, but to save my soul when I die. I expect my father to see to it that the priest of Pharaoh does not shed my blood on an altar in order to perform some stupid test. God does not give signs to prove things to liars.”

“I think you are in grave danger,” said Father.

“I think you’re right,” said Abram. “But there are bears in the mountains, and lions on the savannah, and diseases that kill men in their sleep. Do you know why I can’t die now?”

“Why is that?” asked Father.

“Because I promised Sarai that I would come back for her in ten years.”

Father’s face reddened. “Sarai is promised to Asherah.”

“Asherah is just another name for mother Eve. She was a woman of greatness and nobility, but she was never a god, and she has no use for your daughter, except to see her be married and raise her children to serve God.”

“Are you trying to make me as angry as Suwertu?”

“I speak truth,” said Abram. “I speak the same truth to powerful men that I speak to weak ones. That’s why you can trust every word I say. How many men do you know with whom
that
is possible? But now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and see to my other business in the city.”

“I hope you will have sense enough to leave Ur at once,” said Father. “Next time have your father send a trusted servant, and
not
a son. Especially not such an honest and forthright son.”

Abram smiled. “My father has sometimes told me that nothing is more annoying than the inconvenient virtues of one’s children. God be with you, King of Ur.”

In moments he was gone. Sarai was left gasping at all that she had heard. This man called into question all that she had been taught, all that she believed, and he did it with such authority that it was impossible not to listen to him. Even when Father glared at her and demanded what she did to allure this man, Sarai could only answer feebly, “I don’t know, I don’t know.” For as of this day, she was no longer sure of anything. Except this: Abram said he would be back to marry her, and somehow it would happen, for today she had seen for the first time in her life the true power of a king. It was the word of power: To speak, knowing that the thing spoken would come true.

Chapter 2

The next few weeks were maddening for Sarai. Everything happening to Abram in Ur was important to her household—and certainly not least to her!—but no one thought to tell her each bit of news as it came into the house. Instead she had to quiz the slaves, who never quite got the story right, since they didn’t understand it themselves, and who also tended to change the details to make stories more interesting—which usually meant more awful.

But the truth, when she finally learned it, was awful enough. Because Suwertu declared Abram to be the enemy of Pharaoh’s authority and therefore a danger to the authority of all kings, Abram was taken prisoner. Within a day, his father, Terah, came and camped in the grassland half a day’s run from Ur. His messengers passed back and forth, trying to win Abram’s release.

Suwertu, though, was pulling strings behind the negotiations, and the choice became clear. Terah had to renounce his claim to the true priesthood, confess that Pharaoh was the only heir to the birthright of Noah, and swear never to make such a claim again. Otherwise, he could prove the power of his priesthood by raising his son Abram from the dead, after he was sacrificed to Ba’al—or to Horus, or to Pharaoh himself as a divinity, depending on who was telling the story.

Until the gossip about Suwertu and Abram began, Sarai had never heard of offering a human being as a sacrifice. To her, worship was about incense and music, and now and then, from a distance, the ashy smell of burnt meat. But the meat was always an animal—a bullock, a he-lamb—and a year or so back, Qira had explained to her that only parts of the animal were burnt, while the rest of the meat was used by the priests. “What do you think they eat, silly?” asked Qira. But Sarai had never thought about it. She had only had some vague idea that the god they served provided for them. Instead it was the people.

But when she realized that they were seriously planning to sacrifice Abram, her first terrible thought was that the priests would eat him. Qira quickly dispelled
that
notion—but provided her with information that was even more horrifying. “It’s not like anyone in Ur sacrifices babies to Molech.” If she intended to reassure Sarai with this information, she failed. It broke Sarai’s heart just to imagine that somewhere there were people who would kill their own baby—and that they would do it in service to a god. And now that Abram had raised in her mind the possibility that priests might be making up some of the stories about the gods, she was even more confused. For she could not believe in the existence of a god who wanted the murder of children. Yet she could also not believe that a priest could make up such a terrible thing.