Dreamers (41 page)

straightened his posture and pulled his sword from its sheath.

“Hail to thee, Zaphenath-paneah,” he said, bringing the hilt

of his sword to his scarred face. “God speaks, he lives! Live

in peace, my son Paneah, for I cannot!”

With a defiant flourish, he swung the blade through the air,

then he knelt, his knees cracking against the tile floor. Posi-

tioning the sharpened point of the blade in a space between

his ribs, he saluted his king in a mocking whisper. “Farewell,

Pharaoh, my only god.”

Bracing the hilt of the sword against the floor, Potiphar

thrust himself forward.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

News of Potiphar’s suicide reached the court just ahead of

Sagira. When one of the guards told her the news, she pulled

her cloak about her shoulders and warily considered her

prospects. Long ago she had dropped any values or dedi-

cations beyond her own pleasure, and Potiphar’s death

barely penetrated the veil of drunken bitterness that en-

closed her.

Strolling into the throne room, she sensed that tide of

public opinion had altered. An hour ago most of the nobles

had considered her a foolish woman, hardly worthy of notice.

But today the crowd in Pharaoh’s great hall thirsted to right

the wrong done to Zaphenath-paneah.

Potiphar, who might have borne more than his share of

scorn and disgrace, had deserted her. She alone would face the

society that now embraced her former slave. The painted faces

that turned toward her seemed to whisper
outcast, she-devil.

But she would not take Potiphar’s cowardly way out. In the

years since Paneah’s rejection she had learned to distance

herself from humiliation and pain. Nothing could hurt a cousin

of Pharaoh. Royal blood would always flow in her veins.

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The revenge-hungry crowd silenced as she walked for-

ward, her mind thumbing through names and faces along the

wall. She knew all these people, had drunk at their parties,

danced for their entertainment. They had laughed with her,

teased her, praised her for her jewelry, her fine clothes, her

handsome servants.

She smiled with remembered pleasure. Paneah had liked

her, too, despite his resolve to keep her at arms’ length. He

had been flattered by her interest, pleased at her attentiveness,

honored by her desire to be with him. The memory of that

final night shuddered through her mind like an unwelcome

chill, but Sagira passed over it and let her mind run backward.

She remembered Paneah’s laugh, his awkward attempts to

retreat from her embraces, his embarrassed fumbling with

papers and pens whenever she happened to run her hand over

his honey-colored skin. She had done everything for him

because she loved him, and because of the prophecy about the

child she had never borne…

She stopped before the golden throne. Pharaoh sat in front

of her, looking very much like a teenager, and beside him sat

the stern-faced foreign queen. Sagira gave her kingly cousin

a brief smile and searched the royal family for Tuya. There!

She stood behind a pair of guards, one arm across her chest,

the other hanging limply, the pose of an insecure schoolgirl.

But her features were still lovely, as handsomely sculpted as

the statues of Isis around the temple.

A trumpet blared behind her and Sagira jumped, unused

to the sound.

“O Pharaoh, live forever,” someone called. Sagira hugged

herself and trembled. Though she had not heard it in years,

she knew that voice.

She turned. He stood there, dressed in the robe of a king,

with a crown on his head and the Gold of Praise about his

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neck. Exultation filled Sagira’s chest until she thought it

would burst. Paneah, her Paneah, was more beautiful than

ever, and today she would tell the world how badly he had

wanted her!

Paneah spoke to Pharaoh, and the king replied, but Sagira

hardly heard a word, so dazed was she by Paneah’s presence.

More magnificent than any mortal man, his very words made

the pillars sway and shiver.

Without warning, the vision turned to her and spoke. She

blinked and staggered on her feet. “What?” She gazed up at

him from beneath the heavy fringe of her wig. “Did you

speak, my beautiful one?”

The faces around her tumbled into laughter, but Sagira

ignored them. Let them laugh. At last, finally, Paneah stood

by her side.

He looked at her with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. “I will

repeat the question. Do you still say that I, your slave,

attacked you?”

Sagira flattened her smile. How long she had waited for

this moment! “Of course you attacked me.” She clenched her

hands and leaned toward him. “You were in love with me. You

wanted me to bear your son.”

The laughter in the room ceased. Sagira stood in the

silence, goading herself with bitterness. He had wanted her!

He had kissed her! He had sought her arms for comfort; she

had wiped his tears with her hands! She was not so foolish as

to throw her pride at a slave, a man who could bring her

nothing but heartache!

Paneah turned and said something to Pharaoh, who replied

while Sagira played her smile on the assembled crowd. When

the doors behind her opened with a sound like thunder, Sagira

whirled to face another ghost from the past. “Ramla!”

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The priestess walked forward, amused resentment evident

in the slight curl of her upper lip. Tall and formidable, she

saluted Pharaoh with a stiff bow.

“Tell us what you know about this situation,” the vizier

commanded, and then Ramla’s voice, high-pitched and reedy,

echoed in the hall. Her words poured over Sagira like water

over a rock, an endless stream that had no meaning. Sagira

heard the old prophecy, first spoken when the optimism of

youth had colored their lives:
You will be remembered through

all time… As long as men walk on the earth, they will speak

of you. Your memory will be immortal… You will leave an

imprint on the sands of time that cannot be erased.

With a sudden gasp, Sagira returned to the present and

heard Ramla’s final comment: “She thought she would have

a baby to replace the present line of pharaohs.”

Treason!

“She wanted to conceive a child with a slave in order to

punish her husband. And she was certain her child would rise

to replace Amenhotep’s son.”

I shall die for this!

Pharaoh’s face flushed. “I will hear no more,” he said, his

grip tightening around the crook and flail in his hands.

“Sagira, wife of Potiphar, I find you guilty of treason, con-

spiracy and giving false witness against an innocent man.”

The rage in him was a living thing; the assembly quaked

before it.

With a visible effort, Pharaoh reined in his temper and ad-

dressed his vizier. “I have rendered judgment in your place,”

he said, his anger lingering like a dagger that must soon find

its way into Sagira’s breast. “But you are the Dispenser of

Justice, Zaphenath-paneah. You shall decide this woman’s

fate.”

“Pharaoh gives me complete freedom?”

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“I do.” The king’s nose was pinched and white with re-

sentful rage, but Sagira kept her eyes fixed on him, not daring

to look at Paneah. Undoubtedly a deep-buried fire of anger

had kept him alive in prison, and now those flames would

consume her.

She closed her eyes, unwilling to bow her head. “I grant

Lady Sagira freedom to return to her house,” the vizier said,

his voice soft. “Furthermore, I shall appoint a manager to

oversee her affairs so Potiphar’s estate may return to its full

glory. From my own estate I grant her two handmaids who

will care for her health and see that she does not harm herself.”

Sagira stared at the king. Surely her mind had snapped. He

had ordered her death, and her brain had mistranslated the

sentence. Send her home? What a jest!

Yet Pharaoh seemed as surprised as she. “This is a most

unusual judgment, Zaphenath-paneah. Are you certain this is

what you wish?”

“For as long as the lady lives, she shall remain under my

guardianship,” the vizier answered. “I shall appoint honest and

fair men to see that Lady Sagira will not want for anything. I

believe she has suffered enough, my king.”

The line of Pharaoh’s mouth curved, then he nodded. “Thus

shall it be,” he said, his voice ringing through the judgment

hall. “Let it be known throughout the kingdom that Zaphen-

ath-paneah was unjustly accused and imprisoned, and the

lady Sagira has this day been found guilty and shown mercy.”

For the first time since hearing his ruling, Sagira looked at

Paneah. If he had ordered her thrown to the crocodiles, she

would have spat in his face, wrapped the rags of her dignity

about her and marched down to the Nile. But how could she

cope with kindness?

The double doors of the hall creaked and opened. After bow-

ing to Pharaoh, the vizier turned and left the hall, his business

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complete. Sagira stared after him, realizing that the assembly

waited for her response.

After a long moment, she lifted her chin and stepped

toward the doors, walking in the wake of the looks of awe and

respect directed at Zaphenath-paneah.

Chapter Thirty

As Yosef predicted, the kingdom prospered during the seven

years of plenty. Zaphenath-paneah’s overseers gathered the

earth’s bounty until the Egyptians had stored up grain as

abundant as the sand of the sea.

Before the first year of famine arrived, two sons were born

to Yosef and his wife, Asenath. Yosef named the first-born

Manasseh, “making to forget.” “For,” he told his wife, “God

has made me forget all my trouble and all my father’s house-

hold.” He named the second Ephraim, “fruitfulness,” explain-

ing, “God has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction.”

During the years of plenty, Zaphenath-paneah redefined

all that a vizier should be. So wide and broad were his duties

that in years to come Egypt would find it necessary to have

two viziers, one for the northern kingdom and another for

the southern.

After taking private council with Pharaoh each morning,

the Zaphenath-paneah stepped in full public view and reported

to the king’s chief treasurer that all was well within the

kingdom. The vizier then unsealed the doors of the royal

estate so the day’s business could begin. Every person and

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item of property entering the palace doors was reported to the

vizier, and it was said that Pharaoh could not cough without

Zaphenath-paneah knowing about it.

The authorities in charge of each nome reported to the

vizier on the first day of each season: inundation, emergence

and drought. When the vizier was required to supervise dis-

putes in local governments, he traveled up and down the Nile

on Pharaoh’s official barge. He also detailed the king’s body-

guard, as well as the garrison of whatever city Pharaoh hap-

pened to visit. Army orders proceeded from the vizier, the

forts of the south fell under his control, and the officials of

Pharaoh’s navy reported directly to him. Though the vizier

was the official minister of war, whenever Pharaoh traveled

with the army, Zaphenath-paneah remained at Thebes and

conducted the administration of domestic affairs. No tree

could be cut without his permission, no building begun with-

out his approval.

Zaphenath-paneah’s watchful eye regulated all things, and

under Yosef’s rule God blessed Egypt just as he had blessed

Potiphar’s house. In time, the Hebrew who had entered the

land as a half-dead slave came to be regarded as the people’s

great protector.

When ambitious men sought positions in Zaphenath-

paneah’s service, they were carefully screened. After they

passed a series of tests, the vizier’s assistants were presented

to Pharaoh and charged in a formal ceremony.

Tuya often joined the royal court for these rituals. She

thought it important to honor her husband by understanding

the affairs of the kingdom, and she yearned for opportunities

to watch Yosef from a careful distance.

“Let not your heart be puffed up because of your knowl-

edge,” the vizier’s voice rang out in a commissioning service

one afternoon. “Be not confident because you are a learned

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man. Take counsel with the ignorant as well as with the wise.

The full limits of skill cannot be attained, and no skilled man

is equipped to his full advantage. Good speech is more hidden

than the emerald, but may be found with maidservants at the

most humble grindstone.”