by Angela Hunt
“And so will you.” She pressed her lips together, trying not to lose her fragile control. He could walk away at any time, just as he had planned to escape and leave her behind forever. He would abandon her just as surely as Idogbe had.
“You are wrong, Shim’on,” she answered, her cheeks burning as she stared at him. “Marriage doesn’t make men miserable. Men make marriage miserable, and you have already brought me more misery than a hundred husbands.”
His eyes gleamed with honest surprise, then a bemused smile crossed his face. “Consider my proposition carefully. I know you love me.”
She pressed her hand to her forehead, unable to believe what she’d just heard. “How could I love a man so filled with anger and bitterness that he cannot see God’s plain truth before him?”
“There is only one truth to consider here.” His hand gripped her arm. “You love me, and you need someone to care for you and the boy.”
“Adom and I were fine before you came, and we’ll be fine after you leave.”
“You are a slave, can’t you get that truth through your lovely little head?”
“I am a free woman.”
“No, you are bound to Zaphenath-paneah, his wife, his children and his house, as surely as if you wore chains of iron around your dainty ankles. Your master says ‘do this,’ and you jump, your lady says ‘I want,’ and you would fly to the moon to fetch whatever she desires. You weep over your master’s sorrows and celebrate his joys when you ought to be creating your own.”
“His sorrows are my sorrows, and my lady’s joys are my joys because I love her, Shim’on. If you knew how to love, you would understand.”
His eyes, black and dazzling, seemed to impale her. “You are a fool.” He lifted his chin and released her arm. “I offer you the freedom to go where you want and do as you please, and you reject it. I offer you my gratitude, and you scorn me. So be it. As you labor for your mighty vizier and work yourself into an early grave, think of me.”
“I will think of you,” she answered, her flesh burning where he had touched her, “every time I hear one of the guards lose his temper and every time Tarik disciplines an unruly slave.” The words poured from her like a river, impossible to stop. “You are a difficult man, impossible to endure! First you insult me by asking me to be a concubine, then you flatter yourself by saying that I love you. How could I? No woman could love a man like you because you have no idea what love is. You think love is only found within a woman’s arms, but it is truly found by a woman’s side, facing together the good and bad life brings. But you would weather a storm by storming the weather! You stomp through life, trampling the hearts of those who would love you if only you would let them.”
“Love.” The word fell from his lips like a curse. “Yaakov loved Rahel. That love condemned the rest of us.”
“Even if your father did wrong, Shim’on, you cannot continue this way. Reach out to him, care for him.”
He chuckled, a cold and bitter sound in the darkness. “How can I care for someone who does not care for me?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” she answered. “And I have realized one thing—you cannot offer love with a clenched fist. It must be given freely. I have tried to offer love to you, Shim’on. But you would not accept it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stood, defiance pouring from his dark eyes. “It is you, Mandisa, who will not be loved. You hide yourself behind the distinguished and noble Zaphenath-paneah. You refuse freedom in order to spend your life serving a man who will never consider you more than a slave.”
She shook her head. “You are wrong.”
“I am right.” He bent forward until his face hovered only inches from hers. “When you think of me in the lonely years to come, remember that I behaved nobly toward you. In gratitude, I offered you a way out of the Black Land, and you refused it.”
“I will remember this night until my dying day,” she whispered, turning away. “But I will not be lonely without you, Shim’on.”
She didn’t know when he left, but a chill wind blew through the chamber, and she shivered, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A n hour before the bark of the sun god was to begin its journey across the dark sky, Tarik steadied the lamp in his hand and urged the flame to strengthen itself. When the coiled papyrus wick burned steadily, he held the lamp aloft and moved through the dark courtyard, checking to see that his master’s orders had been carried out. Zaphenath-paneah had been quite explicit: each Canaanite’s bag was to be filled to the brim with grain, then each man’s silver was to be returned to the mouth of his sack. Tarik was to personally take the master’s exquisite silver divining bowl and hide it inside the youngest brother’s sack.
Moving steadily in the darkness, Tarik patted the sides of the restive donkeys and fumbled with each sack until he had checked all eleven. Then he slipped the silver bowl from a pouch under his cloak and buried it under the grain of the last donkey’s load.
All was ready.
Half an hour later by the waterclock, Ani stood with Tarik on the wide porch as the eleven sons of Yaakov strode out of the villa and into the courtyard. The palm trees along the villa’s walls stood black against the brightening sky as the brothers took the reins of their donkeys. Ani cleared his throat and stepped forward to bid the brothers a final farewell. Zaphenath-paneah, he told them, wished them a safe and prosperous journey. Speaking for the others, Re’uven thanked Ani for his master’s hospitality and promised to give the vizier’s greetings to their aged father.
The loud one, Shim’on, lingered a moment in the courtyard, looking around as if to imprint the villa upon his memory, then waved toward the portico where Ani and Tarik stood. “Farewell, Egyptians,” Shim’on called, flashing a tight, grim smile. “Forgive me, but I hope we never meet again.”
“I share your feelings,” Tarik called, resting his hands atop his sword belt. Then, in a lower voice, the guard murmured puzzling words. “If only he knew.”
Knew what? Ani lifted a questioning brow toward the captain of the guard, but Tarik kept his eyes fastened to the departing men and did not speak again.
As the last donkey disappeared through the gate, a soft sound broke the stillness of the early morning. Ani turned to see Mandisa weeping in the shadow of a papyrus-shaped pillar. Despite the Canaanite’s brazen attempt to run away with Tizara, Mandisa apparently still harbored deep feelings for him.
“My dear child,” he said, walking to the young woman’s side. “If you loved him, why didn’t you let him know?”
“I did,” she answered, running the back of her hand along her wet cheek. “But he did not understand.”
The shaded finger of the shadow clock seemed to be mired in the space between one black slash on the horizontal rod and the next, but finally the shadow moved. An hour had passed since his brothers’ departure. Yosef’s nerves tensed, half in anticipation and half in dread, as he turned to Tarik.
“It is time,” Yosef said, his heart thumping as his gaze crossed the captain’s. “Go after them.”
Tarik gave a whirling salute and sprinted to join his men in the courtyard. After moving to his balcony, Yosef saw over twenty assembled battle chariots, each manned with a driver and an expert archer. The horses pawed the dust in eagerness, their heads straining forward, their tails arched.
Would this show of force intimidate his brothers into surrendering Binyamin? For an instant Yosef wondered if his plan was elementally unfair. Perhaps part of him wanted them to give Binyamin up—Yosef could keep his brother in Egypt where they could enjoy sweet fellowship and make up for twenty-two stolen years.
But if they surrendered Binyamin, their shame would prevent them from ever returning to face the vizier of Egypt. And Yisrael and his children would starve in the famine. Yosef could not believe that God Shaddai would allow such a thing to happen.
From the corner of his eye, Yosef saw
Tarik jog across the sandy courtyard. The captain yelled out the command to mount up and leaped onto the back of his chariot. As the other drivers watched, Tarik lifted the vizier’s standard with one hand and gripped a side rail with the other. At this signal, the villa’s gates opened wide and cracking whips snapped the air. Amid the swirling dust, noise and confusion, Tarik’s chariot peeled away and the others followed in a parade of swift, efficient force.
Shim’on felt a strange and tangible rumbling begin to move along the ground, like a storm coming out of the Sahara. Strong and unreasonable anxiety spurted through him. He stopped and lifted a hand to quiet his brothers, but they had already fallen silent. Their faces clouded with uneasiness as they turned to look back. Toward Egypt.
The earth trembled with the force of galloping horses, and the brothers’ donkeys flapped their ears at the prospect of facing their regal cousins. Finally, rising from a valley of sand, the source of the sound appeared. The sun glinted off the bright opulence of a fleet of bejeweled chariots that stirred up the desert and pressed toward them in a V formation. The quiet morning echoed with the roaring shout of the approaching storm, and yet above the tumult Shim’on could hear his heart battering against his ears.
What evil was this? Were they never to be free from the power of the Black Land?
Before he could consult his brothers, the swift Egyptian guard had surrounded them completely. As the other sons of Yisrael stood in astonished silence, Shim’on widened his stance and put his hands on his hips, ready for a showdown. He had thrown aside the softness of Egypt like an uncomfortable garment; his blood now stirred with familiar energy and old passions. If the Egyptians wanted a fight, they had come to the right place. His home, the desert.
“Not now, brother!” Yehuda called a warning. Shim’on held his stance, waiting.
The circle of Egyptians broke, and Tarik rode forward in a chariot that gleamed with gold. The captain’s mouth had gone thin with displeasure.
Re’uven, Levi and Yehuda looked to Shim’on. You know him, their glances seemed to say. You handle him.
“Life and health to you, Tarik.” Shim’on dropped the reins of his donkey as he took a step forward. The two men exchanged careful, simultaneous smiles. “Why do we meet again so soon?”
Tarik grasped the frame of his chariot, shifting his weight to his arms. “My master Zaphenath-paneah has sent me to ask you one question.”
“Which is?”
Tarik’s cold, proud eyes raked over the brothers. “Why have you repaid good with evil? My master fed you, sheltered you and provided for you, yet one of you has taken the silver bowl he uses for divination. You have committed a shameful wrong.”
Shim’on stared at the captain in utter disbelief. “Why does your lord accuse us of such a thing? We would never steal from him. If we were thieves, my brothers would not have returned the silver they found in their sacks when they reached Canaan. Why would we want to steal from the vizier’s house?”
Shim’on felt a hand upon his arm; Yehuda had come to stand beside him. “You may search us,” Yehuda said, his voice steady and calm. “And if you find your master’s bowl among us, the guilty one shall die and the rest of us will be your master’s slaves. For I tell you the truth, the bowl is not here.”
“I will search you,” Tarik answered, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. He gestured to his guards, who dismounted from their chariots and tightened the circle around the brothers. “And the guilty one shall pay for his crime. The man with the cup shall be my master’s slave, but the rest of you shall be held innocent of this offense.”
Knowing that his bag did not contain the missing bowl, Shim’on stood motionless while his brothers scrambled to untie their sacks. The Egyptians watched the unloading with keen interest, and Tarik insisted upon personally searching each brother’s load. He would begin with the eldest brother, the captain announced, and work his way through the line to the youngest, so no one would be overlooked.
In Re’uven’s sack the Egyptian found the double amount of silver he had brought to Egypt.
“So you are not thieves?” Tarik asked, looking squarely at Shim’on. “Obviously, you are not the innocents you pretend to be.”
At the sight of the silver, Shim’on wondered if they would all be imprisoned, but Tarik said nothing else and moved on to Shim’on’s donkey. Apparently Zaphenath-paneah cared little for silver, but had sent his captain after only the divining bowl.
Shim’on had already reloaded his donkey by the time Tarik reached Binyamin. Confident that the vizier’s captain had made an embarrassing blunder, Shim’on urged the others to load their donkeys, as well. He had just stepped forward to help Levi with a stubborn strap when he heard Re’uven cry out.
Shim’on whirled around. From the sack on Binyamin’s donkey, Tarik lifted the unmistakable silver bowl and held it aloft. Shim’on gazed at it in despair, the spark of hope in his breast completely extinguished.
Tarik lowered the bowl and tucked it under his arm. “Only this man needs to return with me,” the captain said, studying the others with a curious intensity. “The rest of you are free to return to your father in Hebron.”
“We will not leave him,” Yehuda answered, his stentorian voice rumbling through the murmurs of sorrow. “I would rather die in Egypt than face my father without my brother.”
“Almighty God, why?” Re’uven wailed, ripping his cloak in agony. “One was arrogant, the other a thief—why are the sons of Rahel a curse to us?”
“It matters not,” Shim’on answered, resolutely swinging Levi’s sack onto the donkey’s back. He reached for the girth straps and secured the load. “We will go back to Thebes with Binyamin. I have spent a long time in the vizier’s house, so perhaps he will listen to me and show mercy to our brother.”
And if not, someone else in the villa might be persuaded to plead on their behalf…if he had not offended her too severely.
Chapter Thirty
M andisa had just finished thinning Lady Asenath’s brows with a new pair of bronze tweezers when the master entered the lady’s chamber. She paused, ready to bow or receive his instructions, but he moved impatiently through the room, his hands locked behind his back, his mind miles away. After waiting a moment, Asenath signaled Mandisa to continue her work.
As the tiny bronze hands of the tweezers moved deftly over the line of the lady’s brow, the women continued their small talk and waited for the master. Occasionally Asenath asked Zaphenath-paneah about Pharaoh’s wife or the upcoming party in honor of the queen’s birthday, but the master answered in incomplete, short sentences, clearly occupied with other thoughts.
Mandisa lowered the tweezers to the table and handed her mistress a looking brass. Why didn’t her master speak? Did he no longer trust Asenath with the secrets of his heart? Or was he as sorrowful as Mandisa to see his brothers depart?
Asenath must have been thinking similar thoughts, for Mandisa could see tears rising in her eyes, like some slow fountain coming up.
She gave her mistress a smile. “Be at peace, my lady,” she murmured, reaching for Asenath’s favorite jeweled collar. “The master’s mind is burdened with many thoughts.”
She had just finished fastening the collar when the vizier halted his pacing and cocked his ear toward the window. Mandisa paused, straining to hear whatever had alerted him, and felt a shiver pass down her spine when she recognized the sound of hoofbeats.
Zaphenath-paneah’s brows drew together. “Quickly, Mandisa, go to the window,” he said, his voice edged with iron. “And tell me what you see there.”
Was his expression of anxious hope mirrored in her own face? Not daring to question him, she grabbed a chair and dragged it to the high clerestory window. After hopping up onto the seat, she peered out. “I see riders, my lord,” she called over her shoulder, barely able to keep the excitement from her voice.
“Tarik and his charioteers?”
“Yes.” She exhaled a sigh of contentment. “And donkey
s.”
“How many men on donkeys? One—or eleven?”
A thoughtful smile curved her mouth as she turned. “There are eleven, my lord. All of your brothers have returned.”
The arrested expression on his face broke into a look of pure relief and pleasure. He dropped his gaze as if to whisper a prayer of thanks to his God, then lifted bright eyes to Asenath.
“They came back together!” he said, the sound of tears in his voice. Eagerly he approached his wife, then bent and fingered a loose tendril of hair on her forehead. “Rejoice with me, beloved,” he said, pressing a finger to her trembling lips, “for my brothers’ hearts are changing.”
He shifted his gaze to Mandisa. “If Tarik finds you, have him meet me in the central hall at once.” He bent to place a quick kiss on his wife’s forehead, then hurried from the room. In her excitement Mandisa nearly followed before she remembered that her duty lay in serving the wigless woman who still waited in her chair.
“I’m sorry, my lady.” Mandisa moved toward Asenath’s dressing table. “I’m sure you’ll want to join them as soon as possible.”
“Take your time,” Asenath answered, her voice as flat as her eyes. “There is no hurry. He wants me to rejoice with him, but I cannot.”
Mandisa had been about to lift the heavy wig from its stand, but she paused, surprised by her mistress’s words. “He has found his long-lost brothers,” Mandisa answered, speaking in as reasonable a voice as she could manage. “And since he is your husband, they are your brothers, too. Surely you can be happy for him.”
“I can’t understand why anyone would be happy to find relatives in Canaan,” Asenath grumbled, picking at her gown. “The captive we kept in the house caused altogether too much commotion. And herders stink. They smell like sheep when they fill a room. And yet my lord and husband wants me to rejoice with him, he wants me to welcome the same brothers who once wanted him dead. Well, I cannot see them with his eyes. I do not love them, and I don’t think I can.”
