Dreamers (22 page)

You must separate them, keep him from her arms so he will

be mad with longing for a tender embrace. Then, in time, you

will feed him with your kisses and command your will to be

done.” She lowered her hand, her eyes narrowing as she

looked at Sagira. “Together we can do this. You work with the

man. Leave the slave girl to me.”

Even in her exhaustion, Ramla’s eyes glowed with malevo-

lence.

“You truly hate Tuya, don’t you?” Sagira asked. “Why?”

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“Why does a cat hate a dog? Some beings are natural

enemies.” Without further discussion, Ramla turned her back

on Sagira and walked away.

Two days later, Yosef told Tuya that the mistress wanted

her to accompany Ramla to Bubastis, the home of Bastet’s

main temple. An important center of trade and commerce,

Bubastis lay far north in the Egyptian delta. At Sagira’s

request, Potiphar authorized an escort of ten warriors to safely

guide his wife’s patron priestess.

Tuya had no time for goodbyes, for she had to gather

Ramla’s possessions and load donkeys with their bundles of

provisions. The ten guards, outfitted with bows and quivers

filled with shining bronze arrows, stamped impatiently in the

courtyard as Tuya flew throughout the house, leaving instruc-

tions to those who would fill the vacancy she would leave. She

had no opportunity for a private goodbye with Yosef, for

Sagira kept him by her side, reminding him of the arrange-

ments he had promised to make for her new garden.

Take care, and may God go with you,
Yosef’s smile seemed

to say as he caught Tuya’s eye in the courtyard. She gave him

a timid, fleeting smile, then took her place beside a donkey

in the midst of Potiphar’s men. Tall and dispassionate, Ramla

mounted another donkey and nodded to the guards. Sagira

called a noisy goodbye from the porch; Potiphar lifted his

hand in farewell.

I won’t look back.
Tuya kept her eyes fixed on the scrawny

tail of the donkey ahead as a nameless fear swept through her

soul.
The days will fly like minutes, the years will fly like

days. I will be back soon. This means nothing.

As they passed out of the villa, she balled her hands into

fists, fighting back tears that swelled in her chest.

Chapter Seventeen

With a triumphant smile, Sagira watched them go. When no

sign of the caravan remained on the horizon, she turned and

placed a hand on Paneah’s arm. “Bring a pitcher of water and

honey to my chamber,” she said, taking pains to keep her

eagerness from her voice. “This heat—and this day—have

drained me.”

Paneah bowed, then turned toward the kitchen. Sagira gave

Potiphar a bright smile, but his thoughts had already drifted

toward his guards, for he gave her an absent wave and stalked

away toward the ivy-covered wall that disguised the prison.

Sagira shuddered, watching him go toward that awful place.

She did not like to remember that condemned criminals lurked

in dank cells only yards away from her lovely home, but the

captain of Pharaoh’s bodyguard was also the overseer of

Pharaoh’s jail. The king certainly didn’t want criminals near

his palace.

She ran up the porch steps and hurried through the central

hall of the house. Her chambers had been cleaned and aired

that morning, and fresh linen curtains billowed about her bed.

Sagira touched a burning coal to a coil of sweet incense. She

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would not win Paneah in a day, but she would teach him not

to jump at her touch. With gentle persuasion, any wild rabbit

could be taught to eat from the hand.

She checked her face in her bronze mirror, adjusted the

angle of her wig, and lay on her bed, artfully spreading her

garments so a modest length of her leg peeped through the slit

in her gown. She moistened her lips with her tongue, peered

at her fingernails, and froze like a nervous bride at the sound

of footsteps in the hall.

A discreet servant’s cough signaled Paneah’s arrival out-

side her door.
Now it begins.

“Come in,” she called, her voice a mournful wail. The door

opened and Paneah’s handsome face peered in on her. She

forced herself to bite her lip until her chin quivered; she

looked as woebegone as her pounding heart would permit.

“Mistress, is something wrong?” He lingered in the door-

way, the cup and pitcher on a tray in his hand.

She squinted and pretended to wipe tears from her cheeks.

“It is nothing, Paneah, that you would understand. Some-

times I think no one understands.”

He paused. From eavesdropping on his conversations with

Tuya, she knew him so well she could almost hear two voices

arguing in his head. Part of him wanted to leave the tray and

run; another part wanted to obey the sweet urgings toward

friendship Tuya had given him in the garden.

“When I think no one understands,” he answered slowly,

“I remember that God does. God is good, a stronghold in the

day of trouble, and he is a friend to those who trust in him.”

He gave her a safe and impersonal answer, but a man lived

beneath that cool exterior. Sagira lifted wide eyes to meet his.

“No god cares for me. Put down the tray, Paneah. You may

go. But if you do, I will have no one.” She lifted her voice in

a plaintive wail and turned her face to the wall. “Ramla has

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left and Tuya has gone and Potiphar is busy with his prison!

My mother will not see me because—well, you do not want

to listen. Even the servants here care nothing for me.”

“You are wrong, mistress,” he answered, his voice careful

and quiet. “You are held in great—affection—by all who

serve you. The master is busy, but he will be back, and Ramla

and Tuya will return soon—”

“Each day here feels like a year,” she whispered, covering

her face with her hands. “Every month an eternity. And I am

alone, without a friend in the world—”

Crying came easily, for her heightened emotions had left

her fragile. She burst into tears and curled into a ball on the

bed. Beneath the sound of her sobs she heard Paneah step

toward the door as if to call for help, then he moved to her side.

“Please, mistress,” he said. “Do not cry.”

She did not stop weeping, but extended her hand in en-

treaty. For a moment she feared he would retreat, but he must

not have been able to resist the impulse to help another. Her

senses fluttered when his hand touched hers, and for a mo-

ment she nearly forgot her careful plan.

This hand would one day rule Egypt. This man would give

her a child.

Like a drowning woman, she pulled him to her side, un-

willing to let him go.

“Paneah,” she wept, genuine tears flowing freely as she sat

up and slipped under the warmth of his arm. “Can you know

how it feels to be utterly forsaken?”

His eyes filled with words, yet he did not speak. His tense

arm felt as heavy as lead, but he patted her in wordless sym-

pathy. She was breathless, overcome by the thought of his

power and strength, but she did not move until many moments

had passed.

At last her tears stopped and his hand ceased its gentle

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patting of her arm. The tingling effects of his touch had spread

through her like wildfire, but she forced herself to be calm and

think clearly. This Paneah was still skittish, and very much in

love with someone else.

“Oh—” she forced a laugh as she wiped her eyes “—I

suppose you think me a silly, homesick girl.”

“No, mistress.” He lifted his arm from her shoulders and

lowered his gaze to the floor. “I know what it is to be abandoned.”

“Perhaps you shall tell me your story sometime.” She

tapped his leg with easy familiarity. “We have much in

common, you and I.”

She smiled at him when he stood. “Thank you, Paneah,”

she said, looking into his dark eyes. “I feel—so safe with you.”

“I am glad to serve you,” he replied, and as he left her

chamber Sagira gave her mirror an exultant smile. “Ah,

Ramla, if only you could have seen. The wild rabbit is tamed!”

During the two months of Tuya’s absence, Sagira called

Paneah to her side as often as she could without seeming to

grant him undue favor. Keeping the conversation light, she

inquired about the fields, the cattle and horses, and the ser-

vants. One morning she linked her arm through his and an-

nounced that she had decided to become his shadow.

Honest alarm filled the young man’s eyes. “But, mistress!

It isn’t proper that you should walk in some of the places

where I must go.”

“Paneah,” she chided, facing him. She glanced right and

left to be sure they were alone, then gave him a shy smile. “I

know Potiphar has promised to give you freedom and his per-

mission to marry our lovely Tuya. If you are going to leave

us in a few years, shouldn’t I know how this household is run?

After all, it is a woman’s proper place to oversee the house,

and I have been spoiled by your competence. But since you

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will be leaving—” she pinched his muscled arm “—don’t

you think I should know what you do?”

For this he had no answer. Sagira smiled. “You must wait here

while I change into something more appropriate for the fields.

Then you shall lead the way, Paneah, and show me how and why

Potiphar’s house has become the wealthiest in all of Thebes.”

Before he had time to protest, she hurried into her chamber

where she had already set aside a short tunic that showed her

arms and legs to their best advantage. She tossed aside the

heavy noblewoman’s wig and donned a light hairpiece similar

to the short, swinging style the slave girls wore. With quick,

deft movements she pulled off her heavy bracelets and ear-

rings, then pinched her cheeks and thrust her feet into leather

sandals. She felt like a girl, simple and light-headed, and she

knew from the look in Paneah’s eyes when she joined him that

he approved the change.

“You know,” she said, leading the way from the house,

“I’ve never had a brother. How I wanted one! Someone like

you who would teach me things…”

“I will be happy to teach you, mistress,” Paneah answered,

his long stride easily catching hers. He gave her an open

smile. “Anyone who wants to learn deserves a willing and

faithful teacher.”

While Ramla served in Bastet’s glorious temple through the

months of Thoth and Paopi, Tuya spent her days pacing in the

priestess’s spare living quarters. Why had Ramla needed a

handmaid? Over one hundred slaves served at this temple, all

of them eager to fulfill the commands of the priests and priest-

esses. Perhaps Ramla had brought a maid to give herself

prestige, but she had never seemed the type to care what other

people thought of her. Whatever the woman’s reasons, Tuya

counted the days, anxious for her time of service to be at an end.

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One night not long after they had completed their second

month at the temple, Ramla entered the chamber and sat in her

chair, staring moodily at the setting sun’s rays on the wall. Tuya

ministered as silently as she could, unwilling to disturb Ramla’s

pensive mood. She had just picked up the priestess’s nightdress

when Ramla’s voice broke the silence. “We will leave to-

morrow. You will be happy to return to Thebes, won’t you?”

Tuya flinched at the sharp sound, then took a deep breath

and forced her pounding heart to remain steady. “Everyone

loves to go home.”

“Slaves have no home.” Ramla paused and ran a long fin-

gernail along the arm of the chair. “Neither do priests and

priestesses.”

Tuya let the observation pass without comment. She would

not allow the poison in Ramla’s soul to infect her happiness.

She placed Ramla’s nightdress on the bed, but the priestess

would not be ignored. “I have often thought it ironic that we

crossed paths at Potiphar’s house. I did not expect to ever see

you again, and when Potiphar refused to send you to the temple,

I divined that the will of the gods had brought us together.”

Tuya listened with a vague sense of unreality. She had in-

stinctively known that this woman hated her, but how could

Ramla believe Tuya’s presence was an act of the gods?

Something in the woman’s manner gave Tuya the courage

to speak bluntly. “Why do you despise me?”

The priestess leaned back and propped her head on her

hand, her mouth curving in a one-sided smile. “I am glad you

say what is on your mind. I’ll be honest, too.” She gazed at

Tuya with chilling intentness for a long moment, then tented

her fingers and centered herself in the chair. “In the beginning,

I was jealous of the friendship you shared with Sagira. You

were taken from your parents as a child, as was I, but you were