Brothers Page 17

  Tizara tilted her head, and her smile took on a mischievous aspect. “That gossipy old steward tells me you have twice been married, Shim’on, so I marvel that you know so little of the softer sex. Did neither of your wives tell you that the joining of a man and woman has little to do with love?” One dark eyebrow slanted upward as she finished in a dry voice. “Trust me, I know about these things.”

  “Women—” Shim’on clenched his jaw “—are foolish, and there is no pleasing them.”

  Her soft laughter warmed the room. “I would say the same thing about men, but we can argue on the journey. We should go while the house is quiet. All but a few guards are asleep. Are you ready?”

  He looked around the room. He had no possessions, nothing to take but the makeshift dagger. He thrust it into the belt of his kilt, then caught the heavy cloak Tizara tossed him. “The guards will change their watch soon,” she whispered, leading him out into the hallway. “We will slip by them now, while their eyes are heavy and they dream of finding their couches to sleep.”

  Shim’on nodded, his courage and determination like a rock inside him. “Let’s be away.”

  Tarik sat up, breathless and cold on his bed as the real world made its way back into his consciousness. He pressed his lips together, listening to the house around him, and heard nothing but the pounding of his heart. Reassured, he swiped small sparkles of sweat off his upper lip. The nightmare had fled, leaving behind only a phantom of terror, a premonition of disaster.

  When a shadow stirred in the darkness of his chamber, Tarik fumbled for the dagger beside his bed.

  “Stop, Tarik! It is Ani!”

  The old steward stepped into a small rectangle of moonlight near the center of the room. The pulsing knot within Tarik relaxed as he lowered his shining blade and swung his legs to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

  “Do you not sense it?” The old man sniffed the air like a dog parsing a scent. “This afternoon when I poured oil into the master’s divining bowl, the shape of Anubis came to me, then vanished. The raging fiend stalks our house tonight. I thought you might sense it, too.”

  “I had a nightmare,” Tarik admitted. Rising from his bed, he slipped his dagger into his kilt and strapped on his sword belt. A moment later he had lit a lamp and led the way into the hall.

  “Silently now, wake the master but not the other family members,” he told the steward. “I will rouse extra guards and surround the outer walls of the villa. We will double the guard and keep watch all night if we must.”

  Ani nodded, a watchful fixity in his face.

  Tizara’s preparation impressed Shim’on, but her lack of strategy distressed him. As they slipped through the quiet hallways she told him she had assembled food, extra garments, thick leather sandals and several gourds for water. She had even managed to pull a donkey from the herd and tether him to the gate of the stableyard. She gave Shim’on a confident smile. “As soon as we gather the supplies I have hidden by the well—”

  “But the stables and the well are on opposite sides of the villa!” Shim’on protested, halting in midstride to glare down at her.

  Like all Egyptian villas, the innermost house was surrounded by a series of open courtyards that separated it from the noise, sights and smells of the servants’ quarters, granary, stable, kitchens and garden. The stables and cattle yard were situated on the southwestern side of the villa so the prevailing winds could carry away the odors, but the well was located on the eastern side of the estate. In fact, Shim’on thought, recalling what he knew of the house, the well was near the vizier’s quarters so his servants would not have to walk far to draw their master a bath. He and Tizara would have to walk within a few feet of the sleeping vizier.

  “Foolishness, thy name is woman,” he muttered, leaving the harlot in the shadows as he crept toward the well.

  Mandisa woke to screams and shouting. Awareness hit her like a punch in the stomach, and one thought pierced through the fog of sleep: They’ve killed him! Then she heard Shim’on’s angry bellow.

  She dressed quickly, bent to check on her sleeping son and then, as duty demanded, stepped into her mistress’s chamber. Asenath had awakened and dressed, too, and seemed remarkably clearheaded as she picked up a burning lamp and inclined her head toward the hallway leading to the master’s chamber. “They will bring him to my husband, and we shall hear a full accounting of it,” she said simply, leading the way.

  Mandisa followed, grateful that Asenath had not remarked upon Shim’on’s foolishness. How had he managed to escape? And why had he risked his life? She had assured him time and again that his brothers would return before the famine’s end. Zaphenath-paneah had promised it, and he had never been mistaken about a revelation from God.

  The master was awake and dressed when the women entered, his bedcovers unrumpled. If he had slept at all, he gave no indication of it as he greeted his wife with a kiss on the cheek. Asenath murmured a word in exchange, then sat in the carved chair by his bed.

  Mandisa retreated to a corner of the room, but Zaphenath-paneah caught her eye. “Come, Mandisa, stand closer,” he said, friendliness and concern in his tone. “Do not assume that I do not know what feelings you hold for the man who has been in your care.” A half smile crossed his face. “You love him, even as I do, and yet he continues to try our patience.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she whispered, relief flooding her soul. She had barely managed to compose her face into stern, stiff lines when the double doors of the master’s chamber burst open. A dozen erect guards, led by Tarik and followed by Ani, brought in two captives. Mandisa had expected to see Shim’on, but anguish almost overcame her control when she saw Tizara by his side.

  Shim’on planted himself before the vizier with his feet spread apart, his head defiantly thrust back. His bold, black eyes raked the gathering, then trained upon Zaphenath-paneah. From where she stood Mandisa could feel the heat of his hatred.

  Tizara, on the other hand, smiled shamelessly at the master, apparently not caring that his wife sat only a few feet away. She returned the master’s scrutiny gaze-for-gaze, then a sudden tremor touched her lips. A blush colored her cheek as she lifted her gaze to the ceiling and crossed her arms in silence.

  Zaphenath-paneah sat in his carved chair and took his wife’s hand. “Why did you run from my house?” he asked, intending the question for both prisoners. He spoke in Egyptian and Mandisa translated.

  When neither captive answered, the vizier turned to Tarik. “Were any of your men hurt?”

  “One stable boy was cut with this,” Tarik said, holding out a sliver of metal. Mandisa recognized the broken arm of a shadow clock and closed her eyes in despair. Shim’on had used her gift as a weapon. Against a youth.

  “Will he live?”

  Tarik nodded. “The royal physicians are attending to him now.”

  “For harming the boy—” the vizier’s gaze flickered over his captives “—I could have both of you confined to Pharaoh’s prison. But I am curious, and you have not yet answered me. Why did you run?”

  This time Shim’on spoke. “If you knew what captivity does to a man,” he spat the words in contempt, “you would not ask such a stupid question.”

  Mandisa managed a quick translation. Though the vizier had thus far shown mercy, his patience would not last forever. Every servant in this house and most savvy citizens of Thebes knew that her master had once been a slave and a captive. Would Shim’on ever learn to restrain his temper? His anger was a wind that blew out the lamp of his mind.

  “If I had been a captive, it is not likely I would have known the gracious treatment you have enjoyed,” Zaphenath-paneah continued, not raising his voice. “Have you been whipped? Have you been chained so that your wrists bled? Have you been forced to lie in your own filth until maggots attacked your flesh? Have you been deprived of human companionship or kept from a kind word or a soft voice?”

  Shim’on did not answer.

  “I know what captivity does to a m
an,” the vizier went on, pausing for Mandisa’s translation. “Imprisonment can be the stone God uses to crush an impossible person who must rise to an impossible task. Will you be crushed, Shim’on, son of Yisrael? Or will you resist the work of God and harden your heart further?”

  The vizier turned his attention to Tizara. “And you, young woman, have you been mistreated in this house? Has any man forced himself upon you? Has any woman cruelly mocked you? You stood in sore need of love and mercy when you first came to us. We have been generous with both, but have you accepted them?”

  Mandisa felt the bitter gall of guilt burn the back of her throat as she listened. How many times had she avoided, scorned and railed against Tizara? She had never said anything rude in the girl’s presence, but she had made her thoughts known among the other women as they gossiped in the kitchen and worked at the well. Tizara was no fool; though the master had been loving and merciful, his servants had not fulfilled his expectations. And Mandisa had specifically promised to help the young woman feel at home.

  Tizara did not speak, but lowered her gaze as he continued questioning her. When he had finished, she lifted her eyes.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” she said, her voice fainter than air. “You have treated me far better than I deserve.”

  Zaphenath-paneah offered a forgiving smile.

  “Tarik, take his man back to his room and secure the door again. Do not whip or punish him. Tomorrow we shall continue waiting for his brothers.”

  “They will not come!” Shim’on argued, struggling against the cords around his arms.

  “They will come,” Zaphenath-paneah answered, and for an instant Mandisa wondered if her master spoke out of conviction or hope. Then the vizier lifted a hand and pointed toward the doorway. “Take him now.”

  When Tarik and the guards pulled Shim’on away, the brightness of a dozen torches left the chamber. When the men had gone, Zaphenath-paneah turned to Tizara. “You may go back to your room. You sleep in the chamber next to my sons, do you not?”

  She nodded. Tears had tangled in her lashes and smeared the paint around her eyes.

  “Resume your place, then. On the morrow we shall not mention this again.” His voice was oddly comforting in the stillness, and Mandisa took hope from its gentle tone. If Tizara could be forgiven for running away, Mandisa would be forgiven for her less-than-loving attitude.

  Tizara turned with stiff dignity and walked through the doorway. When she had gone, the master gave his wife a bright smile. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? I was afraid one of them would be hurt.”

  Asenath looked at him in surprise. “Did you know they would try to escape?”

  “I would have been surprised if they had not.” Zaphenath-paneah sank back into his chair and stretched out his legs, gesturing to Ani. “My wise steward anticipated their moves and made their provisions readily accessible. I wanted them to prepare without trouble and be stopped without bloodshed.”

  “Both you and your steward are wise, my lord,” Mandisa said, finding it impossible not to return the vizier’s smile.

  “Thank you, Mandisa. Ani, I must thank you for your attentiveness. Now that the excitement is finished, we should sleep well tonight.”

  Smiling out of an overflow of well-being, Mandisa looked to her mistress. But Lady Asenath was not happy; her face had emptied of expression and locked. “My lady,” Mandisa whispered, “is something wrong?”

  Zaphenath-paneah’s smile faded. “My dear Asenath,” the vizier repeated, “is something troubling you?”

  “I am not troubled, my love,” she said, speaking in a suffocated whisper. “We are going to have a baby.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  P acing in her chamber, Mandisa pressed her hands over her mouth, stifling the cry that threatened to burst forth and wake Adom. In a thousand years, she could never have imagined a moment as horrible as the one in which Asenath told Zaphenath-paneah of the coming baby. Even Ani had been stunned by the news. The four of them, connected by the intimate ties of matrimony and servanthood, knew the vizier cared too much for his wife’s life to have fathered the child. Unless the gods had assumed human form and visited Lady Asenath as they reportedly did during the conception of the Pharaohs, the lady had been unfaithful to her husband—and he knew it.

  Zaphenath-paneah’s handsome face had not altered at the news, but he flinched as hurt and longing filled his gaze. Mandisa closed her eyes against the memory, unable to recall the pitiful sight of her sorrowing master without aching in regret. Her teeth chattered, her body trembled, so what tremors must her master be enduring?

  Zaphenath-paneah had said nothing after his wife’s announcement. He sat back and closed his eyes, his face utterly blank. Awkwardness hung in the room like a miasma so thick Mandisa could scarcely see her lady’s face. Asenath murmured something about how the gods had answered her prayers to give the mighty Zaphenath-paneah another son, but no one believed her. Mandisa gripped the back of Asenath’s chair, her own emotions whirling like a piece of flotsam caught in the Nile.

  The master had foreseen and planned for Tizara’s and Shim’on’s escape attempt, but how could he have prepared for treachery coming from one so close to his heart?

  After a long, brutal interval, the vizier stood and extended his hand to his wife. Trembling, Asenath placed her hand on his, then closed her eyes as he bent to kiss her forehead. Without another word, he lifted his wife’s hand to his cheek, then gave it to Mandisa. Through an icy chill that engulfed the group, the handmaid led her lady from the vizier’s chamber.

  In the hallway Mandisa tried to frame words of congratulation, but Asenath stopped them with an upraised hand. “I will talk no more tonight,” she said, looking much older than her twenty-three years. She would not allow Mandisa to see her to bed, but dismissed her with a rapid shake of her hand.

  The same hand the master had caressed.

  Mandisa quivered at the memory and pressed her palms to her forehead. Only two days ago she had told Ani that the master and mistress demonstrated love in a way she’d never seen before…but apparently the master’s love had not been enough for his lady.

  So Zaphenath-paneah would cast her off.

  And love was as insubstantial as a shadow.

  YAAKOV

  And the famine was sore in the land.

  And it came to pass, when they had eaten up the corn which they had brought out of Egypt, their father said unto them, Go again, buy us a little food.

  And Judah spake unto him, saying, The man did solemnly protest unto us, saying, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with you.

  If thou wilt send our brother with us, we will go down and buy thee food:

  But if thou wilt not send him, we will not go down: for the man said unto us, Ye shall not see my face, except your brother be with you.

  — Genesis 43:1–5

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  T he sky above Hebron stretched pure blue from north to south, with no more than a little duskiness lingering in the west. Leaning hard on his staff, Yaakov moved stiffly toward the oak tree outside his family’s settlement. The yellow day had opened peacefully enough, but soon the gaunt hills flanking Hebron would tremble in the heat haze.

  Safe in the shade of the stalwart oak, Yaakov eased himself to the ground and tried to swallow the despair in his throat. He knew the inevitable confrontation would come today. They thought him old and blind, but last night when Dina remarked that the women had opened the last bag of grain, he had seen looks of concern pass between Re’uven, Yehuda and Levi.

  Their food was nearly gone. If he and his children were to survive the months ahead, another trip to Egypt would be necessary.

  A tight pain squeezed his heart. For months he had dreaded this day. He had filled his prayers with petitions for Shim’on’s escape, for rain, for some brilliant plan to find food from some source other than the formidable Black Land whose vizier now held Shim’on. Surely the kings of the east have managed to store s
urplus grain, he had reminded God Shaddai. Or the kings of the Mitanni Empire…

  When God did not respond to Yaakov’s hints, he took action for himself. For months he had been sending servants to Togarmah in the north, Shinar in the east, even to Uz of the south, but the famine had struck those lands as viciously as Canaan. The people of those kingdoms sought grain in Egypt, too.

  Yaakov shook his head, amazed that only one empire had exercised wisdom enough to prepare for disaster. Egypt’s great power further complicated the matter, for an intricate network of unimpeachable governors, captains and scribes connected Egyptian cities and nomarchies to its capital at Thebes. Only the most skilled spies would be able to slip into a frontier outpost and buy grain without approval from the powerful vizier of all Egypt, and Yaakov’s sons were not skilled spies. They had trouble enough playing the role of brothers.

  A pair of vultures circled over a carcass in the distance, but Yaakov stared past the brown hills of Hebron into his own thoughts. How could God Shaddai allow universal famine? Never in the history of the world had every kingdom on earth been driven to another one for its survival. And despite Shim’on’s detention in Egypt, Yaakov had to admit the vizier behaved generously. He fed those who came to him with outstretched hands though he could have forced the hungry nations into slavery and submission. Pharaoh would profit nicely for his vizier’s largesse, but the king’s representative had not attempted to take unfair advantage of nations weakened by starvation and destitution.

  So why had this wise and discerning vizier doubted his sons? Why had he insisted upon testing the truth of their words?

  A familiar niggling suspicion reared its ugly head. Perhaps the man was astute enough to sense duplicity, even as Yaakov had once smelled treachery on his sons as strong as cheap perfume…but that horror took place more than twenty years ago. Since Yosef’s disappearance he had negotiated an uneasy truce with suspicion, just as he had learned to share his tent with grief and loneliness.