My Name is Moses - Part 4

My name is Moses is an ongoing series prepared by Sunny Reid. Read Episode 1,  Episode 2,   Episode 3 

Episode 4

I had finished my work early that day.  There was never much to do.  Accommodations had been built for the families of our three daughters.  The family finances were thriving, with all the family contributing.  Nubia and her mom and daughters were involved with firing new clay reliefs. 

I was on my own at noon, that day, and decided on a walk to Goshen, through the brickworks.  Men were mixing mud and straw with their feet in large, rectangular pits of mud lined with thick, vertical wooden planks. There were ten pits placed in a row side by side, 8.8 cubits edge to edge. Each pit was 2 cubits deep, 2.5 cubits wide and 20 cubits long. When the mixture of clay, straw and water was right the brick molds were filled and placed on the pit banks around the perimeter.  High walls were built around each long row of mud pits to block the sun and reduce evaporation and cooling the main path through the center. Large, medium, and small diameter split bamboo stalks, placed end to end, brought water for the pits, from upstream the Nile, to a reservoir raised above the elevation of the first pit.  Gated chutes branched off from a large, main chute to each pit conveying water to add when needed. 

This required a coordinated, cooperative effort between slave masters and slaves, which helped alleviate some of the mischief of the more overbearing slave masters.  Of course, not all the masters were cruel, but those who were tried to make up for the others.  The mix had to be right or the bricks were no good.  Too much water and the bricks shrunk too much.   Not enough water and the brick was too porous. So, a mischievous prank would be to make the mix too stiff, or too soupy, which would result in loss of time for the slaves who had quotas to achieve. 

Slaves pushing carts would haul in dry clay and straw in the brick molds on their return trip from the drying fields.  Others pushed around hand carts, one for every two pits, exchanging dry material in molds for newly formed bricks to be carried out to the drying fields. It was a fine day, and the taskmasters were fairly quiet. 

The slaves were singing a pleasant chant to work by. Work was moving along nicely.  Pharaoh had commenced many new projects which these bricks would be used for. No visible antagonism, that day, which was a pleasant change.  Another half mile of mud pits and I would have been near the outskirts of the Hebrew dwellings, which reached far and wide in all directions.  They were a strong, peaceful people.  

The path turned slightly to the left and began to descend toward Goshen.  Several more tiers down at the last row of mud pits, most of which were dry and not in use, I was stopped in my tracks at the echo of distressed cry way off to my right. I peered intently down the row of pits.  In miniature, from my stance, a slave master, facing away from me, seemed to be bent forward, his right arm moving up and down.  I moved as quickly and quietly as I could down the side of the row of pits opposite the man. The scene came into view as I approached. A guard was savagely beating a slave.  I yelled, and he quickly stood straight up.  This kind of behavior was forbidden by order of the Pharaoh, and I rushed at the man incensed with indignation! He tried to turn to meet my assault, he was off balance not prepared for my actions, and fell into the dry pit.  He landed with all his weight on the side of his head, breaking his neck. He died instantly.