Journey

by Angela Hunt

  Efrayim lifted a brow in amused contempt. “You think my manners deplorable? You are the one who has fallen in love with goat herders! Besides, no one can see me, for we are quite alone. If I displease you, go outside.”

  “I will not go out with the slaves. The sun is too hot, and this is as much my place as it is yours. So stop that infernal smacking!”

  The smirk left Efrayim’s face. “You’re not going to order me around. We are not children and I will no longer listen to you.”

  “Order you around? I’m asking you to exhibit common courtesy.”

  “You’ve commanded me since the day of my birth. And now—” Efrayim gave Menashe a look of jaunty superiority “—I’m not going to listen. The fact that you are the elder doesn’t mean anything. Not anymore.”

  Menashe blinked, as surprised as if Efrayim had slapped him. And even though his brother hadn’t said the actual words, he knew what Efrayim was thinking: Yisrael gave me the blessing of the right hand. I am the favored one.

  Menashe took a deep breath and stifled the urge to choke his brother. He was twenty-five, no longer a child, and as brothers they ought to be able to behave as grown men. If only Efrayim were not so infuriatingly juvenile!

  He brought his knees to his chest and looked away. He ought to go outside, but the sight of the mortuary boat depressed him, reminding him again of the afternoon when Yisrael had looked at him with the same mild interest Yosef always displayed. Then the old man had smiled at Efrayim, those weak old eyes had almost twinkled as they alighted on Efrayim’s twisted grin.

  The memory edged his teeth. “It is good that Father did not see the way you behaved during our banquet with the queen,” he whispered, casting a surreptitious look at Yosef to make certain those lined eyelids remained closed.

  Efrayim frowned. “The princess thought I was captivating. And if I did go a little too far, my behavior was no worse than yours.”

  “I held my tongue, but you talked like running water, and only to the princess. The queen must think you a terrible fool.”

  “At least Sitamun likes me.” Efrayim shrugged, then his heavy brows arched into triangles. “And I have more to be happy about than you, brother. The object of your undying affection does not know you are alive.”

  “The object of—what?” Menashe was glad of the shadows that hid the flush in his cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Do you think I am as dense as a rock? You gazed at the little harpist the entire afternoon. Sitamun even noticed it. She thought you were terribly funny.”

  Menashe felt himself flush with humiliation. He had never meant to act like a fool, but he only saw Jendayi on rare occasions. How was he supposed to sit in the same room with her and pretend she didn’t exist? Should he glance only occasionally at the one treasure of his heart?

  “I don’t care what Sitamun thinks.” He lowered his voice in case a servant stood with an ear to the papyrus wall. “I think she is vapid, entirely foolish. She lives entirely for pleasure. I never know when to take her seriously. You may find her fascinating, but I—”

  “You are no fun at all, Menashe,” Efrayim interrupted, grinning. “No wonder Sitamun finds you boring. Well, your loss is my gain. I will marry a princess while you moon over a slave. And which of us will be happier in the future?”

  Unable to bear the taunts any longer, Menashe stood. Standing under the hot sun would be far preferable to remaining in the same cabin with his brother.

  Several cargo ships joined the convoy a few miles past the palace at Malkata. Flocks of sheep, cattle and goats filled the stalls of these ships, enough to feed the travelers until the journey had been completed. Menashe marveled at the sheer number of animals until he realized that his father’s generous estimations had included feeding not only a sizable host of Egyptians, but his ever-growing family in Goshen, too.

  Standing at the rail of his father’s ship, Menashe’s eyes focused on the far-flung shore. The receding waters of the inundation had littered the shore with uprooted tropical plants washed from lands far to the south. Occasionally the reddish-brown water rippled as a crocodile or hippopotamus ducked beneath the surface, eager to be away from human company. To the east and west, the life-giving floods had muddied innumerable small squares of land marked by stone pillars and mud walls. Soon Pharaoh’s subjects would come forth to till the refreshed soil. God would again bless Egypt, and another round of bountiful crops would dim men’s memories of the seven years when the annual flood had not come, when only the narrow ribbon of land bordering the river brought forth any crops at all. For those years, Yosef had told his sons, God brought him to the Black Land. Because God Shaddai knew the future, His voice could be trusted in all things.

  A tiny vessel appeared on the southern horizon, cutting through the winter waters swiftly enough to decorate her bow with a white garland of foam. Squinting toward it, Menashe recognized Pharaoh’s standard on the mast. Had Amenhotep decided to travel with them? Surely none of the king’s family would travel in a ship so small.

  Menashe moved to Ani’s side and pointed toward the ship in the distance. “Who comes yonder? In the felucca.”

  Shading his eyes with his hand, Ani studied the boat, then his lined face cracked into a smile. “By the life of Pharaoh, the king did remember.” He turned to give Menashe an affectionate smile. “Pharaoh promised to send his best musicians, but I was not sure he would recall his promise. Akil and his instrumentalists are late, but at least they have arrived.”

  Menashe’s heart jumped in his chest. If Pharaoh had sent his best, including Akil, then Jendayi rode on that ship.

  Menashe clutched Ani’s arm and struggled to keep the eagerness from his voice. “Should they sail so far behind? They are Pharaoh’s servants, after all. If they remain back there beyond the cattle, we would not know if they had trouble on the river. Signal them, Ani. Have their rowers increase their speed until they are directly behind us.”

  Ani eyed Menashe with a lifted brow, then a secretive smile softened his thin lips. “Yes, Master Menashe.” He gestured for the slave who handled the signal flags on the mast. “I will see to it at once.”

  Menashe turned away, his mood buoyant. If Jendayi traveled with them to Canaan, he would certainly have a chance to speak with her. Away from the strictures of Pharaoh’s palace, she might feel free enough to open her heart. Anything could happen under a star-filled sky where the wild wind blew away the restraints and conventions that might inhibit love between a slave girl and a nobleman’s son.

  A trembling thrill raced through him as he turned again to face the water. Soon he would know if love and marriage would be a part of his future. For since seeing the little harpist at the queen’s banquet, Menashe had renewed his vow. Unless he could have Jendayi by his side, he would not take any wife at all.

  The ancient river broke into seven tributaries as it entered the delta, and the floating funeral procession anchored on the easternmost branch, a short distance from the Hebrews’ settlement at Goshen. From this point they would journey by camel and donkey and chariot until they reached the burial place near Mamre.

  Efrayim strode down the gangplank of his father’s boat and frowned at the disorderliness of the Hebrew camp. He had not noticed this confusion when he visited at his grandfather’s death; perhaps grief had tempered his vision. But now, fully aware that his Egyptian companions disdained herders of all sorts, Efrayim thought the Hebrew settlement seemed almost slovenly. Stray animals wandered through the tents, gleefully chased by dirt-streaked children, and the smells of dung-fires, cooking food, cows and goats mingled with the scent of dust and dry earth.

  Against the gleaming white of the Egyptians’ linen kilts, the rough tunics of the Hebrews appeared untidy and dirty. The windblown hair and beards of the men seemed unkempt compared to the cleanly shaven faces of the Egyptians; the Hebrews’ heavy tents smelled of animals and age, a distinct and unpleasant contrast to the airy, perfumed villas of the Egyptians. And while the
Egyptians moved off the ships in precise, military order, each man knowing his place and responsibility, the Hebrews wandered in careless confusion, like sheep without a shepherd.

  Seeing his father’s people with new eyes, Efrayim pressed his lips together and folded his arms. No wonder God sent his father to the Black Land! From the ancient and civilized people of the Double Kingdom these Hebrews could learn much. They could rise above these tawdry tents and build fine stone houses; they could use the mud that splashed around their ankles to form bricks that would last for generations. Like the ancient pharaohs who built the pyramids and the Sphinx, the Hebrews could build cities and monuments and settle permanently in this fertile region. For despite their ineffective methods and crude habitations, they had thrived in Goshen. Many babies had been born, and soon the children of Yisrael would be a mighty and populous people.

  Efrayim’s mind traveled back to the day of Yisrael’s death. He would never forget a single detail of the moment when Yaakov focused his pale eyes on him and prophesied that the younger would be the mightier son. Efrayim would never have dared to contemplate such an idea prior to that utterance, but since that day he had been thinking long, deep thoughts.

  As the Hebrew son of Egypt’s vizier, he could lead both nations to greatness. Some of his uncles might resist Efrayim’s ideas, for Yisrael had always insisted that God had promised them the land of Canaan, but wasn’t Canaan now part of Egypt? Tuthmosis III had invaded the land as far north as Megiddo; he had conquered Kadesh and tramped over Mount Carmel. Egypt now extended from the Fifth Cataract of the Nile to the Euphrates River, so why couldn’t the promised land of God include Egypt, too?

  “Good morning, Efrayim. This is quite a company you have brought.”

  Brought back to reality by the sound of a Hebrew greeting, Efrayim turned toward the voice and saw Jokim, Yehuda’s grandson, standing beside him. Managing a polite smile, he lifted his hand to acknowledge the comment. “Yes, but my efforts alone could not have managed such a large group.” He shrugged. “Pharaoh has been generous to us. His guards, his warriors, even his cooks are ours to enjoy on the journey.”

  Jokim’s eyes widened. “I knew your father had influence with the king, but I never dreamed Pharaoh would care so much for Yisrael.”

  “Perhaps Pharaoh knows the Spirit of God rested on our grandfather as it rests on my father.” As it will also rest on me. Efrayim gave the younger man a tentative smile. “Are you willing to help me? We will need to divide the people here into companies. The Egyptians will take care of themselves, but the Hebrews are scattered like feathers in the wind. If we are to make this journey in peace and security, we must be better organized.”

  “I would be honored to help you.” Jokim straightened his shoulders. “But where is Menashe? I expected him to be with you.”

  “My brother,” Efrayim said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a one-sided smile, “waits for the musicians to disembark. He has lost his heart to a slave and his good sense to love. Leave him, Jokim, to his own folly.” He placed his arm across his cousin’s shoulders and turned toward the Hebrew camp. “Never forget,” he said, a teasing note in his voice, “who is the most favored brother. I am the leader, not Menashe. If you want results, come to me.”

  The youth’s square face rearranged itself into a grin. “I hear you, cousin.”

  Akil was not eager to answer Menashe’s impatient questions, but he grudgingly admitted that, yes, Pharaoh had commanded that they journey all the way to Canaan and back and, yes, Jendayi the harpist was among the women aboard the felucca. After making certain that the musicians would be comfortable on the ship, Menashe left the river and strode toward the Hebrew camp. His concern for the musicians caused him to arrive later than his father and brother, and that, he sternly told himself, accounted for the fact that no one made a special point of greeting him outside the camp.

  Yosef had chosen to pass the night in solitude aboard his ship, so Menashe looked forward to an evening of renewing friendships with his relatives. But Re’uven, Shim’on and Levi, the three uncles with whom Menashe had always enjoyed an easy camaraderie, scarcely glanced up when he entered Re’uven’s tent. Shim’on did offer a distracted wave, but Efrayim was seated with the uncles and a handful of younger men around a dinner feast, and he controlled the conversation.

  Menashe halted in the doorway, surprised by the nonexistent welcome, and was only half-aware that a slave girl knelt at his feet, tugging on the strings of his sandals. You are being foolish, he told himself, shaking his head at the maid. These are the men who told you the blessing of the right hand meant nothing, that it didn’t matter. And it doesn’t, for you are still responsible for your actions, as Efrayim is for his, and nothing can change the fact that you are Yosef’s elder son. But the men who had said farewell only a few days before with warm embraces now gestured for him to come near the fire as casually as if he were a servant, not a firstborn son.

  On stiff and unwilling legs, Menashe moved toward the circle and crouched in an empty space. Efrayim was regaling the relatives with a step-by-step recounting of Yaakov’s mummification. “I oversaw the entire process,” he said, an expression of immeasurable satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “I observed as they removed Yisrael’s heart and wrapped it for the ages. For over twenty days I supervised the priests who wrapped our father Yisrael in fine linen.”

  Re’uven threw a sly grin in Menashe’s direction. “And what did our nephew Menashe do while you supervised?”

  Menashe wanted to shout that he had been mourning with them in Goshen for much of that time, but the memory seemed to have slipped his uncles’ minds.

  Efrayim grinned. “Menashe does what he wants to do,” he said, his eyes brimming with smug delight. “You, my uncles, have ruined him for Thebes. Ever since he came back from Goshen he has been fascinated by goats and cows. When he is not examining the new goats in their pens, he walks in the fields and studies the cattle. I am afraid I will awaken one morning and find that he has coaxed a bull into our father’s reception hall.”

  As the uncles roared with laughter, Menashe shot Efrayim a glare. Their argument on the boat had apparently escalated into petty warfare, and Menashe had no wish to continue the feud through the upcoming journey.

  But this little skirmish was Efrayim’s doing, and he should be the one to apologize. Menashe had done nothing wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Jendayi lifted her face to the warm fingers of a caressing breeze, relishing the feel of it on her skin. She and her handmaid rode in a conveyance that Kesi had described as “a pair of huge baskets joined at the middle and slung over a camel’s hump.” After a short while, Jendayi decided that though the swinging motion so high in the air made her a little sick, she liked this form of transportation. Each girl rode in her own private compartment, granting them a rare measure of privacy. A canopy shaded them from the blistering sun, and the fibers of the woven basket remained blessedly cool to the touch. The rhythmic squeaking of the woven reeds and the camel’s grumbling soothed Jendayi, helping her to forget that men of considerable importance—all of them her masters—rode in this caravan as well.

  Secure in her perch, Jendayi breathed in the sounds and scents of the journey and realized that she had been pampered. Other slaves walked alongside the pack animals and the other musicians rode in cargo wagons, but she and her maid had been given a camel.

  She sighed. Undoubtedly her blindness had caused her to merit this distinctive treatment, but being singled out did not make her happy. She wanted to experience life, and yet once again she had been tucked away and protected by the watchful eye of a handmaid.

  None of the other women of the orchestra had maids, but Kesi had been tasked with caring for Jendayi ever since the orchestra’s arrival at Pharaoh’s palace. Free of Jendayi’s encumbering arm, Akil had been eager to enjoy his new mobility, and Jendayi had come to depend on Kesi’s guiding hand.

  But she did not want to need anyone. Sometimes when Kes
i was away, Jendayi practiced moving around her chamber with only her walking stick for a guide, and she usually managed quite well. But sometimes another pair of eyes could be useful.

  “Tell me, Kesi—” Jendayi strengthened her voice to reach to the other side of the camel’s hump “—what is this country like? Where do they say we are?”

  “We are in the wilderness,” Kesi answered, the basket creaking as she shifted her position. “The sky is blue from rim to rim. There are no clouds and no mountains to mar the horizon. They tell me there is water far to the north, but I cannot see it. The land is the color of a camel, brown and dusty. I see a few tamarind trees and occasionally an oak, but little else. This place is not like Egypt. I have not seen a flower in days.”

  “No flowers?” Jendayi adored flowers—their scent, their textures and their almost insubstantial weight on her callused fingertips. Kesi kept a continual supply of flowers by Jendayi’s bed in the servants’ quarters, and Akil occasionally offered Jendayi bouquets when she played exceptionally well. One day, he told her, she would play a song so beautiful that Pharaoh himself would be compelled to lay flowers at her feet. She could not imagine how to play a song more technically perfect than those she routinely performed now, but Akil seemed to think her best music still lay ahead.

  She lifted her voice again. “Tell me, Kesi, what you know about the people with whom we are traveling. I know they are Hebrews. I have heard them chattering for miles. I learned the sound of their language when I lived in the vizier’s house, but I cannot understand them.”

  “Nor can I,” Kesi admitted. The maid’s basket creaked sharply. “From what I can see, most of them are traveling on donkeys. Several women, older children and men with long beards and hair that brushes the tops of their shoulders. They have dark hair like the Egyptians, but the Hebrews do not shave their faces or their bodies. Hair even gleams at the necklines of their tunics.”