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  “Wherever the children are, I’m sure they need you,” Mandisa said, firmly taking Tizara’s arm and pulling her away from Shim’on’s door. “Find them, or I shall have to tell Ani you need more work to fill your hours. Perhaps kitchen duty would suit you.”

  “Perhaps it wouldn’t,” Tizara answered, laughing softly. She walked away, her glance cutting from Shim’on’s door to Mandisa with a look that said she understood completely.

  When the girl had disappeared, Mandisa knotted her hands into fists and blinked back tears of frustration. Why had El Shaddai brought that woman to this place?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A senath felt her smile fade as the last of her guests left her private sitting room. She had entertained twenty ladies of the royal court, young Pharaoh’s cousins, concubines and a host of other relatives. Though the extravagant party had been a rousing success by Theban standards, it left Asenath feeling dull and drained.

  Four months had passed since her visit to her father’s temple, and she had not seen a single sign that Khnum intended to answer her prayers. Zaphenath-paneah was loving and dutiful, pleasant and considerate as always, and he often took her into his arms to express his love in the intimate mystery reserved for husbands and wives. But never did he enter her chamber during the week when Asenath knew she might conceive. Even though the pressures of Pharaoh’s kingdom, a host of duties and the crisis of famine bore down upon him, her husband remembered to count the days on the calendar, to abstain from marital pleasures during the ten-day week when a chance visit to his wife’s bed might result in a child.

  And Khnum had made no difference. Over the past weeks she had written almost daily letters to her father, begging him to offer whatever Khnum required, be it incense, fruit or even blood offerings. And just as regularly her father replied that the god did things in his own time, that she should be careful and not rash, that she should not unduly pester a cautious god.

  “My lady.”

  Mandisa’s gentle voice broke the stillness of the empty chamber, and Asenath tapped her fingers over her lips in a dainty yawn. “Come in. I was just thinking how relieved I am that they are all gone.”

  “Another letter has arrived, my lady. From Heliopolis.”

  More useless words of wisdom; more patronizing drivel. With an air of unutterable boredom, Asenath accepted the papyrus scroll in Mandisa’s hand and studied the seal imprinted on the wax. The unusual design was not her father’s mark.

  She dismissed her maid with a wave of her hand. Mandisa did not leave the room, but moved toward the pottery lamps burning on low stands, snuffing the flames and trimming the wicks for their next use.

  Intrigued, Asenath broke open the seal and began to read:

  The priest Pe-uhem informs the Lady Asenath:

  In life, prosperity, health, and in favor of Amenhotep III, King of the gods, and Zaphenath-paneah, Nourisher of the King’s Soul!

  This is to let my lady know I have heard of your frequent discourse with your father. He has sent me to offer gifts to Khnum in your name. But if you will forgive my boldness, I have a more direct piece of advice for you, my lady.

  If the gods do not bend themselves to our wills, sometimes it is because we pray to the wrong gods. If fertility and children are what you desire, why do you send gifts to Khnum, the divine potter? Offer your gifts instead to Min, the rain goddess who brings life to the barren earth and strengthens fields of wheat. Just as Min strengthens the weak limbs of men, my lady, she will bestow her powers of life and fertility upon you if you are willing to offer yourself. And I would be honored to be your ally in this your fervent desire.

  Send word to me on the day of your choosing, when Min will most richly bless you. Together we will meet in the temple at Thebes and offer ourselves to the goddess who ripens the fertile plains of our land, who waters the earth with life-giving water. Do not let my brash desire to serve offend your gentle ears, but know that I am, in truth, wholly devoted in service to you, Zaphenath-paneah and Pharaoh, may he live forever!

  A blush burned Asenath’s cheek as she lowered the letter. Part of her soul recoiled from what was nothing less than a brazen attempt at seduction, but her brief embarrassment quickly faded to humiliation when she realized that someone else knew her most intimate secrets. What had her father told the other priests? How many wagging tongues knew of the vizier’s unwillingness to bear a child with his wife?

  Smarting in fresh resentment, she rolled the parchment and gripped it while her thoughts scampered. As she weighed the structure and probability of events, she gradually relaxed. If anyone of the royal court knew of Asenath’s distress, some well-meaning tattler would have already alerted her. Some secrets were too delicious to be contained. Since she had heard nothing, it was likely her father had confided only in this young assistant.

  Pe-uhem. His name echoed in the black stillness of her mind. She thought she remembered meeting him at her father’s villa in Heliopolis. If she was associating the right face with the name, he seemed a pleasing sort, younger than her husband, but with a commanding manner and polished veneer.

  But—to commit adultery! For that is how Zaphenath-paneah would see it. He would be wounded, perhaps angry, he would have every right to cast her away and put another woman in her place.

  But perhaps the goddess Min would not see the act as adultery, and who but the gods could judge what was right and wrong? Asenath would surrender herself once, in an act of worship intended only to honor her husband. If by some remote chance the priest later attempted to accuse her of untoward conduct, she could simply deny the charge, for everyone in Thebes knew her as a faithful wife. No one would believe such an outlandish accusation, even if it came from a priest.

  “Can I bring you anything, my lady?” Mandisa’s gentle question startled her; Asenath had forgotten her maid lingered in the room.

  “No, go now.” She clenched the scroll tighter in her hands. “I shall not need you again tonight.”

  When Mandisa had gone, Asenath padded to the table where she kept a sheaf of papyrus parchments, a reed stylus and a bottle of ink. Thanks be to the gods who urged her father to teach his daughter the sacred hieroglyphics! With a trembling hand she penned a reply:

  The Lady Asenath inquires after the success of her father’s friend, Pe-uhem.

  In life, prosperity, health, and in favor of my husband Zaphenath-paneah and Amenhotep III, King of the gods! I say to Khnum and to Min every day: may you be in health.

  Furthermore: your words contained wisdom I have not found elsewhere. I will send word to you at the temple of Min in Thebes, when the time is right to petition the goddess according to my heart’s request. If there is any offering I should bring, I pray you to send word of it before the appointed occasion.

  Have no anxiety about me. I am committed to my desire.

  Two weeks later, as the winter moon lit the high walls of the vizier’s villa with a cold white radiance, Ani wandered in the black shadows of the courtyard below. Two sleepless nights were bearing down on him with an irresistible weight, but he would not allow himself to sleep. Some nameless trouble stirred in the house of Zaphenath-paneah, some impending disaster not even the master had sensed. But Ani, whose duty required him to foresee these things, remained ever alert, waiting for the bough to break.

  Trials enough moved openly through the household. The simple presence of the harlot Tizara had sown discord among the men of the house, soldiers and servants alike. And Mandisa, who had promised to help him manage the girl, had proved to be no practical help at all. Whenever Ani asked her to teach Tizara a more ladylike way to conduct her affairs, Mandisa always found an excuse, an errand to run, or some reason why she couldn’t be bothered. Most of the time her excuses centered on the prisoner, Shim’on.

  And Shim’on—that Canaanite had lately proved himself altogether too adaptable. Something ailed a lion that did not roar, and Ani wasn’t sure if the prisoner was sick, bewitched or saving his strength for his next atta
ck. But if he was stockpiling his rage to vent it later, the house might not be able to contain his next outburst.

  Even Lady Asenath, that most gracious and predictable kitten, had been short, irritable and bothered of late. Last week she had offhandedly mentioned that she would soon require a litter to visit a temple of Thebes during the Feast of Opet, but she had specifically remarked that Mandisa would not be accompanying her.

  “The master will be with you then,” Ani answered, bowing.

  “No, the master will be with Pharaoh,” Asenath replied, dropping her gaze. “I will take the litter alone.”

  “But it is not fitting! You must have a guard with you, at least. A lady of your position should not go about in the streets during a festival! The men will be drunk and the women senseless, there are apt to be sights unfit for your eyes.”

  “You may send a guard, but he must remain outside the temple with the litter-bearers,” Asenath answered, running her fingers over the alabaster tray holding the remains of her breakfast. “I am a priest’s daughter, I can worship alone. How can I commune with the gods if I am watched like a hawk?”

  For that he had no answer. But his dear lady’s voice had been flat, absolutely emotionless, and the sound of it chilled him worse than the night breeze that now blew off the river and over the villa.

  “Oh Thoth,” he babbled, turning his chattering teeth into the wind, “god of learning and wisdom who has blessed me with insight and power, show me what to do! For I am at a loss. My senses and insight tell me that doom hangs over us like a black cloud, and I am powerless to banish it!”

  Asenath waited until the first full week after her red moon had flowed, then she summoned Ani and told him she would visit the temple of Min that night.

  “Min!” The name slipped from the steward’s tongue like a curse.

  She knew his birdlike brain bulged with questions about why she wanted to visit the goddess of fertility, but he had no right to interrogate her.

  “This parched land is in need of rain, which Min can provide,” she said, avoiding his bright, speculative eyes. “I will need Mandisa to help me prepare, but only one guard to run beside the litter-bearers.”

  “Tonight the moon will be full, and bright,” Ani said, folding his hands in a form of entreaty. “Bright enough to embolden any robbers or strangers. Please, my lady, put this journey off until my lord your husband can accompany you.”

  “My husband has no use for the temples of Thebes, nor for Min,” Asenath answered, the steward’s unusual persistence gnawing at her confidence. “And I will not brook another word of opposition, Ani, so leave me!”

  A warning cloud settled on his features, but he bowed and turned to leave. A small voice inside Asenath’s head wondered why she had been so short with him. Ani was a capable steward and a harmless busybody; she and her husband owed much of their well-being to the careful way he regulated the household. Well, tomorrow she’d make it up to him. And when the vizier held a new son in his arms, Ani would be as thrilled and happy as the drunken fools who would celebrate a noble birth in the streets of Thebes.

  In one fluid motion she rose and made her way to her innermost chamber. Without waiting for Mandisa, she dressed in a simple, elegant linen sheath that fell from her armpits to her ankles without wrinkle or ornamentation. Thin straps held the garment over her bare shoulders. After dressing, she oiled her skin, perfumed her neck and carefully outlined her dark eyes—black kohl underneath, green malachite on the lids.

  Her eyes, without a doubt, were her best feature. Zaphenath-paneah had often told her they shone like “stars of twilight fair.” Well, tonight he would be with Pharaoh and her eyes would be shining elsewhere. The thought tore at her heart, but she drew a deep breath and forbade herself to tremble. If Zaphenath-paneah wanted to please her, he would give her what she desired. If he truly loved her, she wouldn’t have to do this.

  Mandisa came into the room, breathless, and blushed when she saw that Asenath had already dressed. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you wanted to go out,” the servant said, wiping her hands on her skirt. “But Adom was with Shim’on, and I had to oversee them—”

  “Help me with my cloak,” Asenath interrupted, replacing her looking brass on the tray top. She had seen her reflection and was satisfied. Her wig was heavy and lush; her makeup all but disguised her features. Anyone who saw her in the concealing cloak and wig would never guess her identity.

  “Going to one of the festivals, my lady?” Mandisa asked, slipping the full cloak over Asenath’s shoulders.

  “One of them,” the lady answered. Before Mandisa could ask anything else, Asenath moved confidently out of the chamber.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I must wear this?”

  Tarik nodded, imposing an iron control on himself as he slipped a wrist cuff onto the Canaanite captive. Zaphenath-paneah had told Mandisa that the prisoner might be allowed to walk freely about the courtyard, not just in the walled garden, and Tarik knew he had no right to question his master’s judgment. Still, such a move seemed ill-advised, particularly with a prisoner as ill-tempered as a wasp in a bottle.

  The shackles were Tarik’s idea. “While in the courtyard, you must remain tethered to Mandisa at all times,” he said, slipping the other iron bracelet around the woman’s fragile wrist. “That way, at least I know you will not get far if you decide to run out the gate.”

  “Why would I want to run with this woman?” Shim’on growled. “No man in his right mind would take a nagging tongue with him.”

  Tarik looked up, expecting to see hurt in Mandisa’s eyes, but one corner of her mouth twisted in a wry smile. Apparently she had grown used to the Canaanite’s surly manners.

  “As you can see, Tarik, the emptier the pot, the quicker the boil,” she quipped, lifting a delicate brow. “I suggest, Shim’on, that you calm yourself and try to be pleasant. If the servants hear your continual carping, they are likely to bribe me to keep you out of sight. If you want a change of scenery as much as you say you do, you should adopt a more peaceable demeanor.”

  Tarik smothered a smile as he turned to open the chamber door. The savage man may have been a brute when he arrived in Thebes, but already Mandisa had gained the upper hand. How long would it take the captive to realize he had been tamed?

  Tarik stepped aside as Mandisa led Shim’on out like a puppy on a rope. Tarik knew every fiber of the man’s body rebelled at the thought of being pulled about by a woman, but when he stepped from the hallway into the open air of the courtyard, his posture changed dramatically.

  Even from a distance Tarik could see the man relax. His broad shoulders flexed as he stopped to inhale a deep breath. Ignoring the hustle and bustle of the courtyard, he placed his hands on his hips and lifted his shaggy head to the sun.

  Mandisa stood by his side, silent and approving. With a gasp of astonishment, Tarik realized that love radiated from her dark eyes.

  Well, why not? He rubbed his jaw. He should have known she would not spend hours with the captive unless she loved him, for she could have fed him and cleaned his chamber in the space of five minutes or had one of the kitchen slaves tend to the odious barbarian. But she had invested her time, herself, even her son. Perhaps unwittingly, Tarik thought, she had invested her heart.

  Can a servant find love in the vizier’s house? Tarik leaned against the wall and watched the twosome in the distance. His only thought, his highest aim, was to please his master. He had been born the youngest son of a simple farmer, probably the lowest position in the Egyptian social system, and yet he had systematically risen through the ranks of society by striving hard and doing his best in every undertaking. Though the others around him seemed consumed by the desire to eat, drink and make merry, Tarik realized at an early age that success did not lie in the overwhelmingly approved national philosophy.

  No, the way to achievement lay in planning one’s work, placating the gods of prosperity and pleasing one’s master. His chosen god was Wepwawet, the ja
ckal-headed god known as the Opener of the Ways. Wepwawet, who piloted the sun boat as it traveled through the chambers of the night, had guided Tarik toward success. And as long as he persisted in ardent worship and sacrifice, Tarik was certain Wepwawet would continue to lead him. For of what use was a god who allowed his petitioners to suffer pain? A man’s god should lead him to prosperity, not failure.

  And so Tarik had joined the local militia and accepted a promotion to Pharaoh’s cavalry. In time he earned a place guarding the villa of a governor. There he caught Zaphenath-paneah’s eye. Sometimes Tarik toyed with the idea of lifting his sights to serve in Pharaoh’s palace, but as long as the king was under the age of majority, the real power lay in this house. As captain of the vizier’s guard, Tarik held one of the loftiest positions in the land, and yet sometimes…

  His eyes fell again upon Mandisa and her beloved captive—Sometimes he wondered if life could offer more than success.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “T his is what you’ve been hiding? Now I understand your reasons for secrecy, Mandisa.”

  The voice was soft, sensual and faintly mocking, and Shim’on jerked his head toward the source of the sound. From out of the courtyard dust, it seemed, a woman had materialized. She stood before him in the sheerest Egyptian gown he had ever seen, revealing a slender but voluptuous body. She did not wear an Egyptian wig, but allowed her wild hair to creep down her back in raveled hanks. Her dark eyes shimmered with dazzling light, and her appearance was so unearthly, so unexpected, that Shim’on took a hasty half step back, struck speechless.

  He must have worn his surprise on his face, for the woman laughed and put out a delicate finger to touch his bare chest. “You are pale, friend,” she whispered in his own beloved tongue. “You should have made these devil Egyptians bring you outside sooner.”