By Way of the Wilderness by Gilbert Morris Page A

was no changing his mind.
    Moses put his arms around his foster mother and held her tightly. “I love you dearly, my mother, but something that I cannot explain is pulling at me. I must go and join the fate of my brothers.”

Chapter 5
    Despite the miserable lives of the Hebrews, they maintained a reverence toward marriage unknown in Egypt. This irritated the Egyptian taskmasters.
    One of the most loving couples among the tribes were an older man called Yagil and his wife, Berione. Yagil was some years older than his wife and had been in declining health for years. Berione was an attractive woman, despite her hard life as a slave, and often had to fight off the attentions of the Egyptian taskmasters who sought to seduce all the attractive young Hebrew women.
    Yagil had awakened early and attempted to get out of bed, but when he sat up, he began to cough furiously. He grabbed for a cloth that he kept by his mat and put it over his face, his body racked by spasms.
    Berione was already up, and coming to her husband’s side, she knelt beside him waiting for the coughing to subside. She took the cloth and saw that it was spotted with blood. She put her arm around him and said, “You cannot work today, husband.”
    â€œI must. The taskmasters will not let me lie idle.”
    â€œBut you can’t work if you are sick.”
    â€œWhat do the Egyptians care if a Hebrew is sick?” Yagil fought off the impulse to cough again and got to his feet. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I must go.”
    â€œHere. I have fixed your breakfast.”
    Yagil sat down cross-legged and took the bowl of soup that Berione had placed before him. He had little hunger, for the wasting disease that had struck his lungs had sapped his appetite. He ate what he could and got up, trying to hide his weakness from Berione. “I will go. If I do not, our whole group will be punished because I’m not there to help make up the count.”
    Berione put her arms around him and kissed him, then stood at the opening of their hut as he slowly walked out. She watched as he joined the group of men who trudged silently toward the brickyard, then turned back inside the hut, her heart filled with apprehension for her husband.
    â€œYou don’t look like you can work today, Yagil,” one of the men said to him, but Yagil only shook his head. “You’re sick,” the man insisted. “You need to be in bed.”
    Yagil did not have the strength to answer. He only shook his head and continued walking, each step a misery for him. Several times he had coughing spasms, and the rag that he kept to wipe his face was now thoroughly soaked with his blood.
    When they reached the brickyard, Yagil climbed down into the pit and began the endless treading of the clay.
    The day passed interminably for the old man, and by late afternoon he had lost all feeling in his lower body. He had coughed until his ribs were hurting, and finally he felt himself slipping down into the mud.
    But he did not fall, for strong arms held him up. Yagil’s body was racked with coughing, yet still he turned to see who had picked him up. He did not recognize the face, which was healthy and strong, not weak and bony and starved. The eyes of the man were what Yagil noticed most. They were almost like twin beams of light, and the voice was different from the voice of slaves.
    â€œBrother, you cannot do any more. I will help you.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œA friend.”
    Twenty minutes later one of the guards came to check on the workers in the mixing pit. He looked down and saw Yagil being supported by a tall, muscular man. He did not recognize the slave and shouted, “Let that man go!”
    Instead the tall figure turned and said, “He is too weak. I will do his work for him.” Without another word he picked Yagil up as if he were a child, carried him out of the pit, and set him down in the shade of a scrub