Dreamers (38 page)

awoke the next morning. The heady scent of lotus blossoms

filled the room where he slept on a cushioned mattress. Gauzy

curtains blew about his bed as a pair of slave girls tiptoed

through the chamber. When he rose up on one elbow, one of the

girls giggled and picked up her lute; within a moment the sweet

sounds of music filled the room. The other girl, smiling behind

a blush as bright as a desert flower, offered up a bowl of fruit.

Yosef smiled and waved the girl away, then sank back onto

the bed. In prison he had not seen a woman, heard music or

tasted the sweetness of fruit, yet all three had been offered to

him in one moment. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the

improbability of it all. What had God done? And why?

After a few moments, he sat up and looked around. A basin

of water lay on the floor next to a pair of fine leather sandals.

A linen kilt had been folded on a nearby chair, and he ran his

hand over it, relishing its softness. Last night he had wanted

to run his hand over the softness of Tuya’s cheek, but he had

forced himself to retain custody of his eyes. Interpreting Pha-

raoh’s dream had been far easier than avoiding the magnetic

pull of her beauty.

He rose and slipped into the new kilt. He sat in the chair

and ate a few grapes, amazed at their juicy sweetness. One of

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the girls came forward and rested her hand on his shoulder in

an attitude of suggestive submission.

“Dance,” Yosef whispered hoarsely, understanding what

she offered him. His skin burned beneath her touch. “Just

dance. I must be ready when Pharaoh summons me.”

And so, while one slave postured and the other played her

lute, Yosef waited in silence and wondered what God was

about to do.

A pair of servants—not guards, Yosef noticed—arrived to

escort Yosef to Pharaoh’s throne room. He paused at the

threshold of the great double doors leading into Pharaoh’s

presence, his breath stolen by the opulence of the dazzling

sight. He thought he had seen everything Egypt had to offer,

but never had he imagined anything to rival the unabashed

elegance and beauty of Pharaoh’s royal chamber.

He walked on shining tiles arranged into the delicate

designs of lotus blossoms. The walls of the grand hall glim-

mered with colorful pictures of the king and queen offering

sacrifices to their gods. High windows far above Yosef’s head

let in light but not heat, and a gentle breeze swirled through-

out the room, dispersing the sweet incense that burned to

honor the god upon the throne. Hundreds of people, it seemed

to Yosef, moved in orderly rows on the left and right sides of

the chamber, but the center aisle had been left open for anyone

who wished to approach Pharaoh, the reigning king and god

of all Egypt.

At the end of the long aisle, on a golden throne, Pharaoh

waited, his eyes lit with expectation. Next to him, on a similar

throne, sat a lavishly decorated woman with eyes too hard for

beauty. A gold tiara rested on her massive wig, and by her

sandaled feet a monkey scampered on a leash. As Yosef ap-

proached, he could read the words engraved on the lady’s

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chair: “Follower of Horus, Guide of the Ruler, Favorite Lady.”

If this woman was Pharaoh’s favorite lady, why had he found

Tuthmosis in Tuya’s chamber?

He could feel Tuya’s presence shining from behind the

queen’s throne, and knew without directly looking that she

stood with her small son by her side. He wanted to meet her

eyes and assure her he was well, but he did not dare acknowl-

edge her before so many others. A richly dressed courtier

wearing the Gold of Praise stood at the queen’s right hand, and

as their eyes met,Yosef was surprised at the strong emotion that

flickered over the man’s face—hatred distilled to its essence.

Even here, there are enemies. No wonder Tuya is in danger.

Upon reaching the throne, Yosef bowed before Pharaoh,

who today wore his full regalia. His short linen garment was

girdled at the waist by an elaborate beadwork belt, supporting

a sporran of panther pelt. He wore the tall, helmetlike crown

on his noble head, and the artificial beard, another symbol of

his divine authority, extended from his chin, held in place by

two slender leather loops hanging from the king’s ears.

Pharaoh stood, extending the crook and flail. “Rise, Paneah,

my much-beloved friend and servant,” Tuthmosis said, his

voice like a warm embrace. “Last night you visited me and

gave me the interpretation of my dream.You were the light that

shone on the truth God sought to reveal, and through your voice

I saw the path that lies ahead for Egypt. Tell these assembled

here, Paneah, how you came to be my light in darkness.”

Yosef cleared his throat. “I am not the light, mighty

Pharaoh. God is the one who reveals all.”

“And which God is this light?” Pharaoh asked, spreading

his hands toward the scowling priests who had been unable

to solve his dilemma.

“The unseen god of my fathers,” Yosef answered. “The

creator. The beginning of all that is, and all that shall ever be.”

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Pharaoh settled the crook and flail across his chest. “Take

down my words, scribes, and hearken unto me, all who listen.

Two nights ago I did not sleep, for I was troubled by the

dream this god revealed to me. Last night I did not sleep, for

I spent the night devising a plan to ensure Egypt’s salvation.

Seven years of abundance are coming to the Upper and Lower

Kingdoms, then seven years of grievous famine. The god who

declared this prophecy has also revealed how we are to

prosper through it.”

The room grew silent, as if the walls themselves had

paused to listen to Pharaoh’s words. Tuthmosis stood in the

hush, then lifted his chin. “I have consulted with my coun-

selors and the priests, and they have agreed with what I am

about to do. Can we find another man like this, in whom is a

divine spirit?” The king stretched his hand toward Yosef as

he glanced around the assembled company. “Can we find a

man better equipped to lead Egypt through the darkness than

this man who has shone the light today?”

The crowd stirred, but no one dared offer another name.

Pharaoh put aside the crook and flail, and a collective gasp

broke the silence as the king descended from the dais and

walked toward Yosef.

“Since God has informed you of the things that are to

come,” Pharaoh said, lifting his hand until it rested on Yosef’s

shoulder, “there is no one so discerning and wise as you. You

shall be the One Over My House! To your orders shall all my

people submit. Only by the throne will I be greater than you.

I have set you today over all the land of Egypt, and to signify

that you speak with my voice, I give you my ring.”

When Pharaoh dropped his hand and fumbled with the

scarab ring on his hand, Yosef caught a glimpse of the seventeen-

year-old boy inside the king. The ring resisted, the boy-king

frowned, then the scarab slid from Pharaoh’s finger. With a

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sigh of relief, Tuthmosis held the golden band between his

thumb and forefinger and presented it to Yosef.

“Thank you, my king.” Yosef lowered himself to his knees.

He wasn’t sure what behavior was appropriate, but he took

the ring and put it on his own finger while Tuthmosis smiled

in approval. “You shall have garments of fine linen,” Pharaoh

went on. He clapped, and a group of slaves appeared from a

room behind the throne, each carrying a box of garments.

“And then, there is this.” Pharaoh lifted the gold chain

from his neck. “My father bestowed the Gold of Praise only

twice in his lifetime—once to Potiphar, captain of his guard,

and once to Narmer, who has also served me well.”

The courtier standing beside Queen Mutemwiya nodded

in acknowledgment of the king’s praise.

“But to you, Paneah, I give the Gold of Praise and every

honor I can imagine. On this day you will ride throughout

Thebes in the chariot behind me. When my warriors cry, ‘Bow

the Knee’ in reference to me, every knee in Egypt shall bow

in your honor as well.” Tuthmosis slipped the Gold of Praise

about Yosef’s neck, then stepped back. “Though I am Pha-

raoh,” he called, his voice echoing off the walls, “without

your permission no one shall raise his hand or foot in all the

land of Egypt.”

No pharaoh had ever granted such authority. Every face in

the room bore the stamp of astonishment.

“May Pharaoh live forever,” Yosef replied, lowering his

head to the floor. His mind swam with disconcerting thoughts,

and he could think of no other reply. In less than a day he had

traveled from a prison pit to a throne. How many men had

covered so great a distance in so short a time?

“And there is this in conclusion,” Pharaoh said, stepping

back to the dais. “You have been called Paneah, ‘he lives,’ and

today I decree that you shall henceforth be called Zaphenath-

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paneah, ‘God speaks, he lives.’ For today I have learned that

the unknown god of whom I have heard much, truly lives and

speaks through his servants. So that your seed may be forever

established on the earth, Zaphenath-paneah, I give you

Asenath, daughter of Potiphera, priest of On, to be your wife.”

A murmur of pleased surprise rippled through the crowd,

a pair of silver trumpets shrilled, and the double doors opened

at the far end of the room. Yosef turned as four priests entered,

each carrying a pole to support a wedding canopy. Under the

canopy walked a slender maiden in a dark Egyptian wig. For

some inexplicable reason, Yosef’s eyes blurred with tears.

Pharaoh had passed a sleepless night in order to honor

him. Yosef had not wanted a wife, but he could not insult the

royal benevolence by refusing this tribute.

Whispering filled the air as Yosef walked toward his bride.

Frankly jealous smiles and nodding faces wrapped around

him as he took his place beneath the wedding canopy, as

much a prisoner of fortune as Potiphar had been years before.

At the thought of Potiphar, Yosef turned to the girl at his

side. He scanned her countenance with cautious appraisal, but

on that lovely face he saw youth, freshness and a flicker of

anxiety, but not a trace of Sagira’s ambition.

Yosef turned to the priest and accepted the hand of his bride.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The smile on Tuya’s face chilled as Yosef’s new wife nibbled

on the traditional crust of bread he offered. Everything had

been set in readiness for a wedding—the canopy, the flowers,

the incense. Why had she not recognized the signs? She

should have known what Tuthmosis would do. She should

have prepared herself for this.

Of course Yosef should be married; what man did not want

a wife and children? It would be unfair for her to expect Yosef

to remain celibate while she enjoyed a husband, and unrea-

sonable to think that Yosef’s god would set him apart from

other men. ThoughYosef had been able to withstand the temp-

tation Sagira flaunted, Tuya had heard his heart pound and felt

the heat in his kiss. More than any other woman, she knew

Yosef ought to be married. He had waited for love long enough.

But why couldn’t she be the woman he loved? Why would

the Almighty God not work another miracle? He freed

Taharka from prison, he kept Yosef safe from Sagira, he lifted

Yosef to the position of leadership and authority he deserved.

She knew El Shaddai was powerful, she agreed with his pur-

poses, so why couldn’t he bring Yosef into her arms?

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Perhaps the Almighty God concerned himself with matters

of life and death, but not with matters of the heart. Yet Yosef

had told her that his god loved his people with a jealous love.

If this god felt human emotion, couldn’t he see that her heart

was breaking? If he loved her as he loved Yosef, why didn’t

he do something about her pain?

One of the priests lifted the traditional stone jar, another

handed Yosef the sword. Yosef swung the blade in a clear arc,

destroying the fragile pottery as surely as his marriage had

shattered Tuya’s heart.

The crowd roared in approval. Tuthmosis beamed, then

stepped from the dais for the ceremonial chariot ride through

the streets of Thebes. The crowd swept forward, emptying the

great hall in an enthusiastic rush, but Tuya hung back, grip-

ping her son’s hand.

Yosef raised his chubby face to hers. “Mama sad?”

“No, dear, Mama is happy,” she said, smiling through the

tears that jeweled her lashes.

Pharaoh ordered his stonemasons to begin building a house

for his new vizier, Zaphenath-paneah. From her chamber in