But it was not simply the fact that Joseph had been financially profitable that endeared him to Potiphar; it was something else he could not exactly name. He knew it had to do with the god Joseph worshiped. Potiphar was not a religious man, except to declare publicly that Pharaoh was a god. No Egyptian had any choice about this, whether or not they truly believed it. Joseph, however, had an inner strength Potiphar could not understand, and this troubled him, for he was a man who liked to analyze things and assign meaning to them.
Potiphar interrupted Joseph’s report by saying, “So your father and grandfather spoke face-to-face with this god you mention?”
Joseph was not completely taken off guard, for Potiphar had expressed an interest in his God before. Joseph smiled and turned to face his master. In the last year and a half he had changed physically. The hard work had helped develop his build, and with his growing responsibilities he now exuded an air of confidence that had been lacking before.
He rolled up the papyrus he was reading from and bowed slightly. “No, sire. They did not exactly speak with God face-to-face, for God has no body. He is not a man. If He were, who would want to serve Him?”
“But Pharaoh is a god.”
“That is the accepted truth in Egypt,” Joseph said blandly.
Potiphar could not help but smile. “You are as much a cynic about the godship of Pharaoh as I am.”
“Yes, my lord. I think we are exactly the same in that.”
“Pharaoh himself worships other gods. That’s why I do not believe he is a god.”
“Again I would agree with that,” said Joseph. “A god does not need to worship anyone or anything.”
Potiphar nodded his head and stroked his chin in thought. “But this god of yours—you say he cannot be seen … he has no body. I do not understand how a man can worship something he cannot see. If I were to worship one god, I would rather worship the sun. That I can see, and I know it gives us warmth and helps our crops to grow for food. Without the sun we would all die, would we not?”
“Yes, that is true,” said Joseph. “But the sun is just an object. Someone made it, and whoever made the sun is the true God—and the giver of life—not the sun itself.”
Potiphar squinted his eyes in concentration as he considered this novel idea. “So you believe your god, whom we can’t see, made the sun, which we see every day.”
“Yes, He made the sun, the moon, and all the stars as well. That is the religion of my father and his father before him. After all, my lord, someone had to make them. They couldn’t make themselves.”
“I have no answer for that—nor has anyone else that I know of. But do you think your god is … what’s his name?”
“He has many names, sire. One is El Shaddai, which means ‘The Strong One.’”
“Then if he is strong, do you believe he takes a role in the affairs of men like me and you?”
“Most definitely, my lord.”
Potiphar sat up straight. “But if that is true, he must be vindictive, for he allowed you, certainly a religious man, to become a slave. If your god were strong, Joseph, he could have kept you from slavery.”
Joseph himself had been over this thought many times, but now he simply said, “God knows all things, my lord. He makes no mistakes. If He wanted me to become a slave, it was for His own reasons. It’s not for me to question.”
“I find that difficult to accept,” Potiphar said, shaking his head. “What good is a god that makes a man suffer?”
****
As Joseph was explaining his God to Potiphar, the Lady Kesi was going through her daily cosmetic ritual with her maids. Like other fine ladies of the nobility, Kesi was worked upon for hours each day to achieve the height of beauty. The maids had given her a perfumed bath and had carefully removed every single hair on her arms and legs, for none was allowed to grow on the bodies of noble ladies. They carefully polished her fingernails and toenails until they glistened. They flitted about, applying fragrant ointments to her skin and dramatic color to her eyes. They brought out elegant wigs for her to choose from for the day, some with plaited tresses, others with pearl-decorated fringes, all gleaming with gold dust.
Two of the maids, Pili and Rabiah, led Lady Kesi to her couch to lie down when all the preparations were finished. Ordinarily, the noble lady paid no more attention to their conversations than she would to the jabbering of the birds outside, but on this occasion she overheard Pili cooing, “Joseph is the handsomest man in the whole land of Egypt.”
Rabiah clearly sighed and said with intense longing, “Yes. His eyes are enough to make a woman melt!”
“Eyes! It’s the rest of him that’s beautiful. Those long lean muscles, not a spare ounce of flesh. So strong and smooth.”
Lady Kesi held her breath to better hear Rabiah’s words. “He’s shy, though, or else he has a woman somewhere else. None of us have been able to get anywhere with him.”
“I’m going to, though,” Pili boasted. “If a woman knows what she’s about, she can have any man she wants. I’ll have that Hebrew in my bed before the month is out.”
Kesi closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, trying to control the sensations that flooded through her. Her first encounter with Joseph had been a year and a half ago when she ordered him whipped for dropping waste in the hallway and soiling her and Asenath. But that incident was almost forgotten now. As the months had passed, she had begun to pay more attention to Joseph, although she had been sly about it. She had made it her business to be in whatever part of the house he was working, and the sight of his lean, sinewy body gave her such pleasure, she struggled to hide her delight. Now as she listened to her maids speak of his attractiveness, she grew angry and thought, What business do those two have with him! I could have him anytime I want!
The two maids came in shortly to ask their mistress, “What’s all that noise outside?”
Kesi opened her eyes wide. “Don’t you remember? This is the day of celebration for the entire house.”
“Oh, I’d forgotten that,” Pili said and Rabiah nodded.
Three times a year, Potiphar declared a holiday for the house. There was food and delicacies of every sort, and all the servants and slaves were allowed to eat and drink their fill and spend time relaxing with games and merriment.
“Could we go outside and watch the contests, my lady?” Rabiah pleaded.
“Oh, I suppose so. I may go myself.”
Lady Kesi rose from her couch and walked gracefully outside. She stopped short of joining the servants, who were crowded around the food tables, but her eyes went at once to Joseph. He was surrounded by a crowd of men and women, which certainly did not surprise her. She was well aware of how much every servant and slave in the house admired the man. He was laughing and smiling with an air of assurance that no slave in her knowledge had ever possessed.
A few minutes later there were shouts as all the men formed lines for the traditional race. Potiphar offered a prize to the fastest of them, and as the younger men stripped off their outer garments, leaving only their loincloths and aprons that covered them from the waist to just above the knees, Kesi caught her breath. Joseph was a perfect specimen of a man! He was not heavily muscled as some of the slaves, but his body was smooth, and his muscles were long and flexible. His body gleamed with perspiration, and as they lined up and crouched for the start, Kesi’s eyes were fixed on him.
The signal was given, and the men bounded off. Joseph easily took the lead. He loped like a deer with long smooth strides, his head held up and his arms moving rhythmically at his side. As Kesi watched him, she felt within her the pain of having a husband who was no man to her. A desperate yearning seized her to have more of life, more than what her present circumstances could ever offer.
Kesi could not even remember when she first began to notice Joseph. At first she had treated him like any lowly servant, being sure to frown often at him with her displeasure. But that time had long since passed, and now whenever she looked at him,
it was with a strong womanly desire to reach out and touch him. In fact, Kesi was thoroughly infatuated with Joseph, though she tried hard to keep such feelings hidden and barely admitted them even to herself. It made no difference to her that she was several years older than he, for a woman in love knows no such bounds.
The race ended with Joseph having easily taken the prize. Potiphar motioned to his young servant, who went forward and knelt before him. Potiphar handed him a small leather bag, and he took it with a smile, his teeth gleaming white against his golden skin, his hair black and glossy. When he rose and turned, his eyes went to Kesi.
His were large, expressive eyes that seemed to burn at times, and as Kesi felt his gaze, she took in a sharp breath, then turned and left, ashamed of her thoughts.
****
That night was especially warm, and as was his custom at the end of each day, Joseph stood under the stars, letting the quietness soak in. It was a time when he was freed of all his duties, and he would spend it alone, thinking often about his father and brothers with a longing he could not allow himself during his working hours.
When he thought of Benjamin, he could not keep the tears from his eyes. He missed his father greatly, but he missed his younger brother even more.
He had been there for several minutes when he was startled by a voice behind him calling his name. He whirled to see Lady Kesi approaching him, her elegant sheer gown shimmering and floating on the night breeze. She walked up close to him, and he could smell her perfume and see her fresh makeup, the black eyeliner and dark blue powder on the eyelids, giving her eyes a sensuous look. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, Joseph.”
“You have not, my lady,” Joseph said quickly, hiding the discomfort he always felt around her. He was aware that she often watched him, and Masud had warned him to never allow himself to be alone with her. He had not worried much about that over the last year and half, however, for he was usually surrounded by other servants, and this was the first time the mistress had interrupted his quiet nighttime ritual.
“Why do you come out alone like this at night, Joseph? What do you think about?”
“Oh, I think mostly about my youth.”
“Were you very happy?”
“Very happy indeed, my lady.”
Kesi moved closer to him, so that she was almost touching him, and looked up into his face. She had learned that to look up at a man gives a woman an advantage, making her seem smaller, more vulnerable.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the business of the house.”
“Yes, my lady? Is there something wrong?”
“No, indeed. The estate has never been run so well. My husband says he does nothing but rest while you take care of everything.”
“Oh, there are others who do more than I.”
“Now, Joseph, you know that isn’t true. And that’s what I want to talk to you about. There are things I would like to do to the estate.”
“You have but to name them, my lady.”
Joseph was highly disturbed now at the closeness of his mistress, but he did not wish to offend her by trying to move away. Her perfume was rich and heady, and the expression on her face gave him pause. He tried to keep his voice steady and his manner polite. “I will meet with you at any time, Lady Kesi.”
“Now is good enough. Let us talk.”
Joseph nodded and asked her some questions about her concerns but found it impossible to talk sensibly, for she knew little about the actual running of the estate.
It was Kesi who changed the subject suddenly, saying, “Joseph, I’ve been meaning to tell you something that’s been on my heart for some time.” She placed her hand over her heart and held it there. “I have felt badly about having you whipped the first time I saw you.”
“It is not worth mentioning, my lady.”
“Yes, it is.” Suddenly Kesi reached out, took Joseph’s hand, and held it. “It was wrong of me, and I wish I could do something to make it up to you.”
Joseph would have withdrawn his hand, but she was holding it firmly. She was also leaning toward him, her lips parted slightly. “Isn’t there something I could do to make it right?”
Joseph could not speak for a moment. This woman was making advances! He had to get away, and he said quickly, “My lady, it is forgotten, and now if you will excuse me, there are a few things I must do before I go to bed. My duties, you know.”
Kesi released his hand reluctantly. She watched as he bowed, then walked quickly away. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips parted in a smile. She did not speak, but something had passed between the two of them. He had been aware of her as a woman … and he would become more so. She would see to that!
Chapter 11
Masud had developed a protective armor over the years and had come to believe that a man’s first duty was to take care of himself. Almost a lifetime of slavery had produced this attitude, and during his mature years he had protected his position in the house of Potiphar and honed his skills until now he felt secure. He had no true friends, for a man must give up part of himself in order to form a friendship. It was not that he had a cold, scheming heart, for under other circumstances Masud would have been quite a different person. Slavery, however, is not the proper soil for warm, trustful feelings to develop in an individual. So Masud did his job, and having mastered the politics of the household and knowing Potiphar and his wife better than they knew him, he spent his days enjoying the favors that had fallen to him.
Those favors were not new, for Potiphar despised the mechanics of running a large estate. Perhaps he had once been interested, but he had passed beyond that. Unable to be a true husband to his wife, he spent his days collecting valuable objects of art and reading what interested him—mostly the politics of empire. He had risen in the three years since Joseph had come into his house from the fourth tier of Pharaoh’s favorites to the third, a magnificent rise, for the men under Pharaoh fought like wolves for their positions. Most of them spent a great deal of their time devising schemes to cut the ground from under their rivals. Potiphar was as deadly and fierce at this game as he had been as a soldier and was determined not to be maimed as he had been on the actual battlefield.
Masud had long ago learned the weaknesses of the members of Potiphar’s house, and how to play on them. Masud himself was challenged only by one individual—Ufa, the steward. The two men distrusted each other intensely and for years had been struggling for the master’s favor. So far Masud had won the battle, but he always knew Ufa was watching for a single mistake he might use to take him down in Potiphar’s eyes. The two men had one thing in common—neither of them had other friends. They had silently declared a shaky truce years ago and had learned to work closely together to make the household run smoothly.
The two men often played the game of Jackals and Hounds. This had become a symbolic rivalry, the game mirroring the more serious business of gaining the favor of Potiphar. The game was sophisticated and required considerable reasoning powers, imagination playing more of a part than luck.
The two of them were playing one evening and the score was tied. They sat at a table leaning over, their eyes intent on the sticks that rested in holes on the board. Half of the sticks had the head of a hound while the others had the head of the jackal god. Ufa had managed to win the last game, and he leaned back and smiled with satisfaction. “You are not yourself tonight, Masud. I won that game rather easily.”
Masud shrugged. “The game is like life itself. The gods will decide who will win.”
Ufa laughed, then reached down and picked up a goblet of wine. He downed it, smacked his lips, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shook his head. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“Why, of course I do. One must give the gods credit.”
“Nonsense,” Ufa scuffed. “A man makes his own life.”
Masud argued, for he was careful to follow a ritualistic form of religion. It cost him a little to pay the priests, but one had to cover o
neself. The priests were powerful in Egypt—second, perhaps, only to the king. Even Pharaoh had to think twice before reaching out to strike down a priest, for the whole land was organized in a network of religious rules and rituals so that the priests controlled a large part of the power. “My religion is probably about the same as yours, Ufa. Neither of us has a great deal of use for it, but we must be careful.”
Ufa had drunk enough wine that he was careless. “It’s all rot,” he scoffed. “A priest gets to the top of his profession exactly as a soldier or a politician does. They trample everybody in their path, and they spend their days fighting for supremacy.”
This was Masud’s opinion too, so he did not argue. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”
“One more game,” Ufa insisted.
“No. I’ve had enough. Tomorrow we’ll have to begin thinking about next year’s crops.”
Ufa scowled. “If Joseph will allow us to be of some help,” he sneered. “He thinks nothing can be done without his approval.”
A smile tugged Masud’s mouth upward at the corners. He knew that Ufa hated Joseph with a deadly, cold passion and would love to find some way to undercut him. “Joseph is probably no better at running the estate than you, Ufa, but he has one quality that neither you nor I will ever have.”
“What’s that?”
“He has the ability to draw people. Have you noticed how all the freeborn servants and all of the slaves love him?”
“They’re trying to use him,” Ufa snapped. “They’re all fools!”
“You’re wrong about that. They really care for him, and he doesn’t have to work at it. Whatever it is in a man that draws people to make them trust him, this young man has it.”
Ufa’s face grew crimson, and he blurted out, “Well, the mistress cares for him. That’s plain enough to see.”
Masud fixed his eyes on Ufa’s face. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked quietly.
Ufa stuttered, knowing he had gone too far to back out. “You’ve seen it as well as I have. She’s dying to get him into her bed.”
Till Shiloh Comes Page 10
