“How long will they hold us here?” asked Asher, who had been shivering despite the heat of the day. “Surely they won’t just keep us—”
“They’ll keep us,” said Judah. He had sought to calm his brothers when the guards came for them outside the granary, and now he sat slightly off to the side. “Until one of us brings Benjamin back.”
Reuben and Simeon looked toward him. Reuben shook his head. “Father won’t allow it.”
“What if they mean to trap us here?” Asher asked. “Even if someone brings Benjamin?”
“Benjamin won’t leave,” Reuben insisted.
“Then we all stay,” said Judah.
Some of the other brothers were beginning to mutter, watching the exchange. Simeon turned away and spoke in a low voice to Levi and Reuben. Judah was only half-listening, feeling only too keenly the growing protest in his aging body, left here to sit on the unyielding ground in a foreign land, impossibly far from help or home. He closed his eyes.
What are you no no stop you can’t no you can’t no—
That had been a summer day too, without hint of shade or hope of relief, only the open hole in the ground.
My brothers my brothers please my brothers—
We have no right, Judah thought, to think we deserve mercy.
“Brother,” he heard, and someone touched his arm. He turned toward the voice. Issachar, one of the youngest among them, though no longer young, was watching Judah in the dim light. “Are you all right?”
Judah nodded.
Issachar glanced toward Reuben, Simeon, and Levi, who sat together as if in council. They had been the first to be born into the family, and all had been born to Judah’s own mother, Leah, first wife of his father, Jacob, and mother of seven of Jacob’s children. Judah was the fourth of those children and Issachar the fifth, though four other sons separated them, sons born to serving women who had given birth to children on behalf of their mistresses.
It was somehow fitting, Judah thought, that of all the brothers held together in this prison, only the two sons of his father’s second wife—Rachel, his mother’s younger sister, the woman whom his father had loved above all others—were not among them.
Judah thought of those two half-brothers, boys who had been both favored and motherless most of their lives. Benjamin, the youngest of all the family, had never known his mother, and Rachel’s other son . . . Well, as Reuben had told the official, her other son was not.
Judah closed his eyes, hearing the voice again.
My brothers . . .
And he thought, We are no brothers.
“Judah.” He glanced toward Simeon, who was speaking to him. “Who do you think we should send back?”
Judah looked at Simeon, whose eyes stared through the darkness with their familiar sense of challenge.
“Whoever can be trusted,” Judah said at last, pausing just long enough to let the first half of the statement linger, “to convince Father.”
Simeon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And who would that be?”
“Someone who would not betray his family.”
In the quiet, Judah could hear the scuffling of other prisoners, the low conversations in unknown tongues, and the hacking cough of a man who lay on the floor with his back to them.
Finally Reuben said softly, “That is old blood, brother.”
“Reuben could go,” suggested Gad, who until then had sat silently beside his only full brother, Asher, both sons of Leah’s serving woman, Zilpah, and inheritors of Zilpah’s waving hair and dimpled chin. “As the eldest.”
Reuben flicked a loose pebble away, watching it bounce across the dirt. “Father’s trust in me,” he said, “may not be sufficient.”
Judah looked away into the darkness.
At last Zebulon, Leah’s youngest son, raised his eyes. “There is no heir,” he said quietly, “so there is no clear choice about who should go, is there?”
There was no response to that, Judah thought in the quiet that followed, because there was nothing left to be said.
Chapter 5
Senusret
Khakhaperre—the man whose new name, upon ascending to the throne of Kemet, boldly proclaimed that the Soul of Ra had appeared—had been born as Senusret. He was named for a grandfather of several generations back, who, amidst a time of civil unrest and splintering governments, had risen to found the illustrious dynasty that had since ruled the land of Kemet. It was he who had restored order and unity to the People after the dark time of dissension and chaos. And it was as Senusret that Khakhaperre, fourth king of the dynasty and second to bear the name, preferred to be known.
When his tjaty entered the elegantly appointed receiving hall and bowed in formal greeting, the aging king simply waved his hand and beckoned his loyal counselor, trailed by his flush-faced young assistant, to approach.
“Zaphenath,” the king said, smiling, “what reports do you have for me today?”
Senusret’s great receiving hall, with its lofty pillars and brightly decorated walls, seemed quiet that morning. The usual court advisors were absorbed in their own conversations, and the artfully painted figures and characters adorning the interior felt subdued without the bustle and murmur of more crowded days. Senusret himself wore only an elegant wig and simple linen robes, forgoing the more elaborate pieces of costume that announced his position on earth as a Son of Ra and future god. His mortal face was not so deeply lined as the faces of men his age who had toiled in the fields, and the lines around his mouth and eyes maintained a certain gentleness in his expression.
Rising from where he sat, Senusret greeted his vizier, while Amon lowered his entire body, as best he could, in reverential respect.
“Good to see you again, Amon,” Senusret said, gesturing for him to rise. “Let’s see what news you have.”
As Amon regained his footing, Zaphenath plucked one of the scrolls from the bundle the young man held. “The storage levels of the granaries are falling,” Zaphenath told the king, unrolling the first scroll.
Senusret glanced at him, noting the almost abrupt tone in his voice and the unusual soberness of his expression. Zaphenath remained impassive, so Senusret accepted the offered scroll and studied the figures, frowning.
“The trend is similar throughout the region.” Zaphenath pointed at the columns of numbers collected from granaries around the state. The king nodded, raising his eyes again. Zaphenath plucked another scroll, handing the first back to Amon. “However, we’ve established higher levels of supplies further inland, where fewer foreigners are coming to trade. We can easily transfer the surplus grain while maintaining a steady balance to feed our own people.”
Senusret nodded, looking down at the second scroll. “How long will the transfer take?”
“It’s already underway, Majesty.” Zaphenath inclined his head. “We acted in anticipation of the decline. We should be able to begin redistributing and recalculating wages within the month. Kemet has the supplies to support her People and her neighbors, as long as we are mindful of our constraints.”
Senusret smiled at Amon. “Your father could not have had a finer successor,” he said, and Amon quickly lowered his head at the compliment. “Now tell me,” the king said, looking back at his vizier, “what progress has been made on our irrigation systems in the Oasis?”
Zaphenath heard the sound of sauntering footsteps and a voice call out, “Tjaty.”
Zaphenath turned and made his customary half-bow. “Prince.”
Senusret’s oldest son, named for his father, was away from the palace on a diplomatic errand, seeking to maintain the rather profitable trade relations the elder Senusret had established with some of their northern neighbors. This arrangement left the king’s second son, Asar, with the run of the palace and, Zaphenath thought darkly, free to torment his father’s senior official.
“My father thinks I ought to become involved in helping to oversee these land development projects in the Oasis,” Asar said, waving his hand vaguely.
Glancing at Senusret, who merely smiled his assent, Zaphenath managed a weak smile himself. “It would be my honor.” He reached for a new scroll, handing the other back to Amon, while Asar stepped closer and looked over Zaphenath’s shoulder.
On the scroll was a diagram of a large plot of land. What Asar had been calling the Oasis was really a region of marshlands near the capital city, most frequently used for aristocrats’ hunting and fishing trips. “The additional acreage you’ve identified, Majesty,” Zaphenath said, after glancing over his shoulder at Asar, “can almost certainly become prime arable land with the proper drainage and development. Its central location will be particularly valuable for the resulting ease of distribution.”
“Have you been to the area yourself?” Asar asked.
Again, Zaphenath glanced over his shoulder. “I have been out for several inspections,” he said, “and my assistant recently returned from meeting with officials on my behalf.” He glanced at Amon, who nodded. Zaphenath continued, indicating an inscription on the papyrus, “As it turns out, the lowered water levels right now are allowing us to develop a particularly good estimate regarding the viability of the marshlands.”
“Perhaps,” Asar said, pressing a hand to his chest and looking toward his father, “for the sake of accuracy, it would do to return to the place oneself before presenting a report to His Majesty.”
Zaphenath raised his eyes from the scroll. “I assure you, Prince, the calculations are accurate and in accord with the most recent visits. Observe.” Pointing to the characters written around the diagram, he began to explain the finer details of the drainage and development plan, including the mathematic calculations undertaken to produce a workable model of water flow and progressive estimates of additional crop yield, all while speaking at a steadily more rapid pace. Soon Asar’s eyes began to wander.
“All right,” the prince muttered, waving his hand again. Zaphenath inclined his head and turned back to Senusret, continuing his explanations.
Less than a minute later, Asar interjected, “Forgive me, Father, I have other business this morning.” With a regal sniff, he took his leave.
Senusret watched his son go. “Asar is not so well versed in the matter yet,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps a . . . less-detailed explanation, next time.”
Zaphenath inclined his head. “My apologies.”
Senusret smiled slightly. “You seem agitated, Zaphenath.”
Keeping his eyes on the scroll in his hands, Zaphenath quickly rolled the papyrus closed, tapping the fringed end against his palm. “Not at all, Majesty.”
Senusret looked at him, then, as if acknowledging that there was perhaps no more information to be had, simply shrugged. “Well, your calculations are excellent, if a little difficult for the average man to keep up with.” He paused. “People tend to respond better to being led, not overpowered.” He smiled again. “Gently, Zaphenath. Gently.”
Chapter 6
Asenath
Asenath, daughter of the high priest of Ra and wife of Zaphenath-Paaneah, vizier of all the land of Kemet and special counselor to the king, looked up, listening, as the footsteps (which could only belong to her husband—none of the servants ever moved that fast) came striding down the family’s private corridor. She sat on the floor of a comfortably appointed room with their two sons, the younger of whom was pushing a small, carved wooden horse in a circle, while the elder sat cross-legged, dutifully practicing simple characters with his ink brush on a broken shard of pottery. Then she watched as a figure brushed past the curtain, drawn to keep out the flies, and heard the footsteps diminish on down the corridor.
The children looked at their mother, and she glanced at them. It was a rare day, and never a good sign, for their father to fail to greet them all immediately upon his return to the house.
Asenath rose to her feet. “Watch your brother, please,” she said, addressing her elder son, and the boy nodded dutifully. Moving from the room, she pushed through the thin curtain and walked quietly down the mud-brick corridor that stayed so pleasantly cool despite the heat of the day. Pausing outside the arched entryway into the room she shared with the man who had become the vizier and the king’s most trusted advisor at the same time he became her husband, she took a deep breath and drew the curtain aside.
Zaphenath sat on their bed of cream-colored linens with his back to her.
“My love,” she said, letting the curtain rustle closed behind. He didn’t move. “Zaphenath.”
He glanced back at his name, though the glance barely cleared his shoulder. His fine wig lay beside him on the bed, exposing his own dark, curling hair, which appeared thoroughly ruffled.
“Are you all right?” Asenath’s voice was gentle in the quiet of the afternoon. “Did you present your plan to the king?”
“To the king,” Zaphenath said, turning back away from her, “and his son.”
“Asar?” she asked. “He was there?”
“The king,” Zaphenath said, “has decided that the prince should be involved in the development project.”
Asenath walked closer. “I know he can be difficult, but you’ve said yourself he’s not a bad man.”
“He’s a jealous man.” Zaphenath shook his head. “And has a particularly sore spot for his father’s vizier. The king has to know that.”
“Well,” Asenath sat down beside him, “maybe that’s part of why he wants you to work together.” Zaphenath glanced at her. “The king is very tender toward him,” she smiled, “and you know he lives under the shadow of his older brother.” She gave her husband a little nudge. “You’ve certainly dealt with people who are more difficult than Asar, my love.”
“I don’t need trouble on this project.”
“He’ll be eager to please you if he feels he can.” Asenath put a hand on his arm. “Think of the king’s prisoners. No one else has been able to work with them as you have. Asar can be difficult, but he’s hardly a criminal.”
Zaphenath’s glance implied that he was by no means sure such a development was out of the question.
Asenath smiled again. “At the very least, there’s no need to provoke him, my love.”
He gave her an irritated look. “I don’t provoke him.”
“You don’t?” She leaned in, giving her husband a quick kiss on the cheek. “Then let it go.”
Indignant, Zaphenath opened his mouth but could not seem to summon an adequate response. He looked away for a moment, then back at her. “You,” he said, “have been mercifully spared much interaction with a certain side of human nature.” He turned away. “The man you grew up with is very different from the one I have to deal with. And I’ve already been lectured once today by the king about being gentle and generous with his undeserving son.”
Asenath frowned. After a moment, she leaned in toward him. He turned his face away from her and sat forward, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. She pulled back and stared at him, a little perplexed and not a little hurt, but he did not look at her.
“What did the king say to you?” she asked at last. He didn’t respond. “Zaphenath,” she said, “this isn’t like you.” He sighed, lowering his head. “The prince is harmless,” she said softly. “Really, my love, what is it?” But still he did not look at her. At last, she said, “All right,” and stood up from the bed. “I’ll let you be.” She began walking back toward the curtained entryway.
“Asenath,” he said, and she stopped and turned back around. He was sitting very still, his hair unkempt and his eyes a little wild. “I saw my brothers.”
She felt a sudden change sweep through the room, and a strange, heavy silence in its wake.
“What do you mean?” she asked, as if he could mean anything other than what he had said.
Zaphenath swallowed, looking away. “They came for food.”
She took a step closer, holding out one hand in an unasked question. “But . . . where are they? Did you speak to them?” He nodded. She took another step
. “What did you say?”
“They’re being held,” he said, looking back toward the wall, “on my orders. Until I decide.”
She stared at him, or at least at the back of his head, and asked finally, “Did all this with Asar happen after—?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. Then he looked back down at his hands, and she could see, for the first time, that his fingers were trembling. “Once someone has done to you what has been done to me,” he said, and his voice was quiet, “then you can lecture me on why I shouldn’t worry about the prince.”
Slowly now Asenath moved closer, and slowly she sat back down on the bed. When she reached out, almost hesitant, to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, he did not move either to acknowledge her touch or to reject it.
“They looked like savages,” he said. “That’s what Amon thought. All beards and wool.” He looked over at her. “They didn’t recognize me.”
“How could they?” Asenath ran her fingers up through his curls. “You look like one of the People. You are one of the People.”
“I’m not.” He looked down. “I’m a Canaanite.”
“You are Zaphenath-Paaneah,” she said. “You are tjaty of all Kemet—”
“I was a slave.”
She took his face in her hands, turning his gaze back toward her own. “The man who was a slave,” she said firmly, “is the same man who is the king’s most trusted advisor. The same man.”
“I’m not the same man,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse. “I’m not the same man at all.” He blinked, turning away and putting his hands up to either side of his head as if to ward off a headache threatening above his ears. “Your people are all about being firm in proper punishment,” he said, quietly, “exercising anger when anger is justified, maintaining order in the world by maintaining order between people.” He shook his head. “And nobody knows who I am. I hardly know who I am.”
Asenath looked at him, at the way his fingers clenched at his hair and his eyes stared off and away, and she reached out, resting her hand on his back. He bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.
The Eleventh Brother Page 3
