Counted With the Stars (4 page)

M
y heart stuttered, then rushed loud in my ears as I braced myself against the doorway.

Shira's pale face appeared in front of me. “Shh.” She put her hand over my mouth, anticipating the anguish threatening to pour out of me.

I bit my cheek hard, until I tasted blood, forcing myself to stay calm.

“Let me clean it up.” She arched her brows. “Can I let go?”

I nodded, and she released me. Then, in silence, Shira retrieved a small woven box from the vanity chest, knelt down, and placed Tekurah's kohl pots, rouge, brushes, and the application stick inside. She cleaned the mess from the destroyed cosmetic box, fetched a peacock-feather fan, and then held out a hand and beckoned me to follow.

In a daze, I trailed behind her, dreading each footstep and sifting my thoughts. What could I do to lessen the blow? How could I protect myself?

Nothing. I could only endure as my mother would. Stand tall. Accept the verbal lashing. Submit to the punishment.

A graceful Syrian dancer performed for the guests in the
hall, her enormous feathered headdress swaying in rhythm with the dance of the drums and pipes. Tekurah motioned for us to hurry and bring her the box. I drew in a deep breath and moved forward, but Shira stepped in front of me, walked up to Tekurah, and handed her the little woven basket.

“What is this?” Tekurah opened the lid. “Where is my ebony box?”

I opened my mouth, but Shira spoke faster. “Mistress, I must apologize. I caught my foot on the mat and dropped your box. It is broken. I am so sorry.”

Tekurah's face flushed scarlet. “You did what? That cosmetic box was a gift! How could you? You stupid slave!” Her voice spiraled louder and louder, and everyone stared at the three of us. “I would expect this out of Kiya, but you know better than to be careless with my belongings.”

Tekurah glared at me. Did she know?

But the Hebrew girl stood fast, her voice calm and firm. “It was entirely my fault, mistress. It is my responsibility.”

I fixed my eyes on my bare feet, avoiding curious stares, but my mind reeled. Why would Shira put herself in the way of Tekurah's wrath? Accept the inevitable punishment?

Tekurah demoted Shira to the kitchens immediately. Then, without a blink, she ordered me to reapply her cosmetics. She must have done so with trepidation after the last incident. However, adept after months of applying my own kohl, this time I refreshed her makeup with ease.

Shira must have assumed our mistress would be less severe with her. But how foolish! Standing in the way of another's chastisement—and for an Egyptian who ignored her most of the time, no less. Although confusion and guilt warred in my gut, relief washed through me as well. There would be no reason for Tekurah to shred me in front of the guests.

But still, shame gnawed at me.

Trying to evade thoughts of what Shira would endure in the kitchen, I lifted my eyes, not enough to chance crossing eye-lines with anyone, but enough to survey the guests within the immediate vicinity of Tekurah's table.

Everyone in attendance was stunning.

The women displayed the finest linens, delicately woven and brazen in their transparency. Oiled and hennaed bodies shimmered in the lamplight, competing with the golden sparkle of usekhs, bracelets, earrings, and jewels. The men, too, rivaled the women in plumage and ornamentation, their braided and beaded wigs bobbing along with conversations.

The wine and beer flowed with abandon. In response, the guests grew louder and livelier. The music and dancers followed, but barely stirred the air in the stifling room. Even with the shutters on the high windows opened to the night, not a hint of a breeze drifted through. Shefu summoned more slaves with enormous ostrich-feather fans to cool the guests. I thanked the gods again that I no longer wore a wig. My simple shift, although coarse and roughly woven, hung relatively light, unlike the oppressive jewels and heavy collars most of the men and women wore.

Next to one of the flower-wrapped pillars, I stood as much out of the lamplight as I could, yet still within earshot of Tekurah in case she beckoned. Gossip consumed her at the table, and she did not notice Akhum move from his seat.

A year on a campaign to Canaan had defined his long muscles and darkened his golden-brown skin. He was even taller than I remembered. Befitting his rank, the kilt of the decorated battalion commanders wrapped his narrow hips in pristine white pleats edged with blue embroidery. Gold cuffs encircled his biceps and wrists, and a huge fly amulet hung around his neck—the Gold of Valor. Akhum had been decorated for bravery on the battlefront. My heart swelled with undeserved pride.

Where was he going? He moved through the shadows around the periphery of the room, sliding behind the crowd of servants waiting to attend their masters. He had left behind a table of dazzling young maidens, hand-selected for sure by Tekurah to ensure his attention remained on that side of the room. She did not want him to notice me, but she wanted me to suffer, to look from afar on the life I should be enjoying and mourn.

Akhum's rich, exotic scent alerted me to his presence long before he spoke. He had secreted into the dark shadows behind me. His breath touched my hair and paralyzed me, with the exception of my trembling knees.

“I did not know, Kiya.” His warm whisper caressed my ear. “Had I known I would have . . .”

I dared not even twist my neck to look at him. “There is nothing you could have done,” I whispered back, willing my voice not to quaver.

“No, I won't have this.” His low voice whipped out as sharply as a blade.

I sighed. “I am indentured for life.”

“I will think of something.”

His silken hand brushed down the length of my hair. “You are still so beautiful. Somehow even more so without the jewels and gowns . . .”

Silence took his place.

I was glad I had not faced him. I could not have endured looking into his eyes. His nearness alone brought fresh grief crashing down on me again. Dizzy and afraid to breathe, I feared losing control of the knot forming in my throat.

Did he mean what he said? Could I hope? Should I? Akhum rescued me from my misery each night in my dreams. Could the fantasy become reality? Was freedom within reach?

Tekurah had noticed Akhum's empty chair and signaled me.
She watched his return out of the corner of her eye. She looked between the two of us, back and forth, but Akhum kept his gaze averted.

She pinned me with a look meant to remind me of my place. “Fetch me different sandals. These pinch.”

I backed away.

For the rest of the evening, Tekurah kept me running to her chambers to retrieve different articles: her fan, a silver mirror inlaid with emeralds Shefu had bought in Thebes, the perfume purchased at the market yesterday. She ignored the servers and ordered me to bring different platters of food or keep her cup of wine replete.

Evening stretched into night, and night lengthened into the early hours of the morning. My feet ached and my eyes stung from the smoke of the many dancing candles and the oil lamps bathing the room with light.

Akhum moved from his assigned table to sit with his parents. Their backs were turned, but from the way they were gesturing, they must have been discussing my fate. There was no way to judge where I stood on the balances.

My stomach flipping like a suffocating fish on a riverbank, I pleaded with the gods, as I had every day these past months.
Please let his father honor the betrothal.

From time to time, wealthy Egyptian men took a bride from among the serving class. Akhum could still honor the agreement made with my father a year ago, if he so chose. But if his father forbade the union, Akhum might endanger his position with his family and Pharaoh's army. His father was a general, and without his blessing, I stood no chance.

I tried to avoid staring at their table, but again and again my attention snared on their tense conversation.

Akhum looked back at me one last time. The defeat on his face answered the question I dared not ask. Agony swallowed
up my last and only hope to escape slavery. My heart shattered as the last shred of promise fell away in tatters.

Tekurah, too, witnessed the look Akhum gave me. She turned, placed her bony chin on her shoulder, and flashed a victorious smile.

T
ekurah must have ordered Shira kept out of sight, for a month passed before I caught a glimpse of the Hebrew girl in the kitchen courtyard.

Hauling heavy pots, scrubbing dishes with sand, plucking feathers, gutting fish, endlessly kneading dough, and tending to the blazing-hot bread ovens—Shira endured all this because of me.

Her clothes now engulfed her tiny frame, and her weary face looked gaunt. She collected bowls in a basket on her hip, speaking in pleasant tones with the cooks and other slaves.

Broken down, compelled to endure a life of abject slavery, treated lower than a dog. What did she possibly have to smile about?

I refused to wait any longer. I gathered my bowl and cup in the pretext of bringing them to Shira for washing. Leaning close to her, I placed them in the basket. “I need to speak with you right away.”

Her eyes darted toward the doorway and then over my shoulder. “The canal path. Dawn.” She put her smile back in place and raised her voice. “Thank you, Kiya.”

I nodded and slipped out of the courtyard. Tekurah awaited me, as did another upbraiding for my lateness.

Shira's absence had forced Tekurah to rely on me. Latikah, the Egyptian girl with the fine leather sandals, replaced Shira but still lacked experience with her duties. Tekurah and I had settled into a stiff, but tolerable, pattern in the last month. Without Shira to lean on, I became more competent. Although she still grasped any opportunity to shame me for anything less than perfection, silently and without fanfare Tekurah acknowledged me as head handmaid.

Much progress would be erased by my tardiness, but I did not care. Relaying my gratitude to Shira for her astounding, albeit perplexing, act of kindness was worth the loss.

Well before dawn broke and the rest of the household began to stir, I rose and rolled up my linen sleeping mat in the corner of Tekurah's bedchamber, grateful that Latikah still slept in the servants' quarters.

Allowed to bathe during my morning trips to the canal, I hoped, if Tekurah awoke before I returned, she would assume I'd left earlier only to spend more time in the river.

Few pleasures broke the endless monotony of my days, but the sunrise over the Temple numbered among them. A grand obelisk stood at the heart of the Temple courtyard. From the canal each morning I watched the sun glide to the very tip of the obelisk before launching into the sky. When the sun reached the pinnacle, it reflected against the silver electrum at the top, and dazzling white beams refracted, a signal to return before Tekurah rose from her bed.

Among all the deities, Ra held first place in my heart. The sun-god traveled across the sky each day to bring us light and fought the snake-god Apep in the underworld to push back the
chaos of night. The exalted ancestor to the great Pharaoh also entertained foremost importance in our city. The enormous center of worship in Iunu put even the grand temples of Thebes to shame.

I perched cross-legged on a large rock at the head of the path—a remnant of a monument or boundary stone from ancient times—now pitted and faceless. When I'd first arrived in Shefu's household, Shira herself had pointed out this hidden path through the flax fields.

What a glorious morning.
The sun still lingered low, and the breeze breathed cool on my skin. The Season of Inundation had nearly reached its zenith. The Nile had overflowed her banks and submerged the fields nearest the canal. When she returned to her path at the end of the season, rich black silt would bless Egypt's crops.

Sounds of the earth awakening surrounded me. Ibises, egrets, herons, and ducks called out in seeming joy at the bounty of fish, frogs, and turtles the high waters provided. I closed my eyes to drink in the music of the morning.

Someone called my name, and my eyes flew open. Shira appeared, smiling and waving, a huge earthen pot balanced atop her head. The skill of carrying a burden upon one's head still eluded me. I could not balance an empty jar, let alone a full one.

Uncomfortable with such familiarity between myself and a Hebrew, I offered a reluctant wave.

“Good morning!” She placed the jar on the ground. Her light green eyes glowed translucent in the golden early sunlight.

What should I say? “What were you
thinking? What is wrong with you?” Or perhaps, “Forgive me
, remorse is chewing a hole in my gut”?

I attempted a smile. “Thank you for meeting me. I've been trying to speak with you for weeks.”

“Oh, they keep me in the kitchens most of the time. I sleep
in the courtyard. I cannot mingle with the other slaves outside my duties.”

I looked down at my feet. That should have been my fate.

“No . . . no, Kiya.” Shira closed the distance between us and clutched my hand. “Please don't feel guilty.”

I looked into her eyes, determined to understand. In a rush, all my desperate questions flowed out. “Why? What possessed you? It should have been me . . . It wasn't right . . .” I shook my head and pulled away from her grasp.

“No, I did what was necessary. Tekurah was looking for some excuse to break you. Dropping that box would have provided her with the perfect opportunity. Even Shefu could have done nothing to prevent it.”

True, in front of so many guests, Shefu could only stand by while Tekurah punished Shira.

“Tekurah suspects I took the blame for you. But I needed to step in to protect you from her revenge.”

Her response provided more questions than answers.
Revenge?

I brushed aside that enigma for a moment, determined to understand Shira's motives. “But why do you care? Why not stay silent and keep your well-earned position?”

Shira raised a hand to shade her eyes against the sunrise and smiled up at me, her nose wrinkling. Freckles scattered across her fair skin.

“My position matters little. Besides, the way she treats you, it's . . .” She gritted her teeth. “Unjust . . . and not even about you anyhow. I saw the opportunity to protect you.”

She pitied me? This foreigner? I bristled at the thought. The gods had created Hebrews to be enslaved to Pharaoh. Did she think she held something over me? I might be a slave, but I was still an Egyptian.

She picked up her jug and rested it on her hip. “Let's keep walking so we can talk and get back in time.”

Mystified, yet annoyed with her presumptions, I fell into step behind her out of habit. This narrow footpath cut across wide flax fields. The dainty blue flowers had winked in the sunlight for almost two months now, but their stalks remained green, not yellow enough for harvesting. No one collected crops here today.

Sharp stones plagued the path, but tender feet belonged to my past. Rough calluses now protected my soles. Still, I missed wearing soft leather sandals, one of many luxuries I'd taken for granted all those years. Numerous irrigation ditches cut across our trail, drawing the river's overflow to fields in desperate need of moisture in this arid land. Fertile fields, from rock and sand, were the yearly gift of Mother Nile.

As we neared the engorged canal, the glitter of sun on water made me squint. I glanced around, checking for crocodiles as we neared the edge of the river. The prospect of the lurking beasts brought to mind Shira's strange notion. “What makes you think Tekurah is vengeful toward me?”

“Don't you know how she feels about your mother?” Shira stopped and turned, brow furrowed.

“She is jealous of my mother's social connections, but that's all in the past.” I fluttered a dismissive hand over my shoulder.

“Kiya, Shefu is in love with your mother. Always has been. Tekurah is jealous of his wayward affections. Her only recourse is to take it out on you.” She tilted her head to one side. “You must look a lot like her.”

I nodded, blinking. My mouth hung open, and my throat locked tight. The words slammed around inside my head. My mother? Shefu? What about my father? Did he know?

Shira clucked her tongue against her teeth. “I thought as much. I think she takes perverse pleasure in punishing you in place of your mother.”

The world pitched and swayed, and my eyes refused to focus.
My thoughts came out in a jumble. “But . . . how do you know all this? Who . . . ? Who told you about my mother?”

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I overheard a conversation the night before you arrived at the villa. You know Tekurah takes no pains to keep her displeasure quiet.” She lifted her thin brows.

Tekurah's raving fits of fury regularly entertained the servants, and sometimes all the surrounding villas.

“I waited in the hallway as they argued. Shefu told her about the agreement with your father to purchase your indenture contract.”

Heat buzzed up my spine. I could just see my father, agreeing to sell me, wiping his hands clean of his debt and his daughter—all in one act.

“She was furious. She insisted he jail your father and sell you, your brother, and your mother into slavery to recover his losses.”

My stomach churned as I considered what our fate would have been, left in Tekurah's hands.

The Nile ahead of us hurried along in a swirling reddish-brown torrent. Shira and I knelt next to a filtering pool near the edge of the overfull canal, the sand helping to sift out the minerals swept along on its swift current.

I tied a linen patch over the mouth of the jar to help clear the water even more. As I submerged the vessel to fill it, I tried to reconcile thoughts of Shefu with my mother. Did she return his affections? Was this relationship long ago . . . or more recent? Shefu must have strong feelings for my mother to challenge Tekurah. He rarely raised his voice to his wife.

Shira placed her jar on the ground and leaned back on her heels. “Shefu's anger surprised me. He told her that he would never do such a malicious thing. Your father had been a friend. He told her she had no say in his business dealings.”

Amused by the recollection of Tekurah's chiding, Shira lifted
her chin. “He ordered her to assign you as her own handmaid and forbade her from ever laying a hand on you.”

Shira tucked an errant curl of brown hair behind her ear. Her tight braid hung below her waist, and I wondered if her hair had ever been cut. “That, of course, explains why she beats you only with her words.”

I did think it odd that Tekurah restrained herself with me, when never a day went by that she did not slap a house slave or two. No doubt Shira remembered the sting of Tekurah's palm as well.

“She seemed taken aback by his adamancy. She accused him of being so smitten by your mother that he could not think clearly. Shefu left the room in such a rush, I do not think he even saw me sitting by the door.” She shrugged her slight shoulders. “Shall we bathe?”

I nodded. The sun pressed a dangerous point near the tip of the obelisk.

Six-foot-tall papyrus rushes guarded the pool, but even so, Shira cast a surreptitious glance around before slipping into the water. She wore her simple shift even while immersing herself.

Another new enigma.

Children played naked in the streets until age nine or ten. Slaves labored scantily clothed. Gowns fashioned from sheer linen left little to the imagination. Why would she act so strange and embarrassed?

I harbored no such discomfort about nudity. In fact, I savored the feeling of the sun and warm breeze on my skin. But Shira's obvious unease at being undressed made me feel awkward. I washed my body and hair with haste.

I shared a bit of cleansing natron from the supply Tekurah allowed, for a kitchen slave received no such ration.

Shira overflowed with gratefulness as we dressed. “How wonderful to be clean! The work in the kitchens I can endure, but I
do miss Tekurah's aversion to overripe servants.” Her musical laugh erased my earlier irritation with her and I found myself smiling back at her.

We dressed quickly. Twisting the water out of my hair, I gazed across the swollen canal at the submerged fields on the other side. “Thank you, Shira. I cannot ever repay you for what you did for me. I don't understand why you did it, but I thank the gods that you intervened. If Tekurah had unleashed on me . . .”

She fluttered a hand. “Oh, it doesn't matter what happens to me.” She moved to stand by me on the riverbank. “But what happened that night? Why were you so distraught?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, reluctant to share my heartache with this odd little Hebrew slave who seemed to worry more for my safety than her own.

She placed a warm hand on my arm. “Kiya, tell me, why did Tekurah insist you attend that banquet?”

Shira was nothing if not tenacious. And truth be told, I needed to tell someone. Anyone.

I released a deep breath and told her about Akhum—about our betrothal, his absence during my downfall, and his surprise at my presence that night.

“He was powerless, or perhaps unwilling, to rescue me. I am at the bottom of this pit.” I sniffed, squeezing my eyes against the burn of tears. “There is no hope.”