Dreamers (42 page)

Tuya smiled. Only a man who had spent time in slavery

could have gleaned that insight. “If you are a leader com-

manding the affairs of the multitude,” the vizier further en-

couraged his assistants, “seek for yourself every beneficial

deed, until your own affairs are completely without wrong.

Justice is great, and its appropriateness is lasting. It has not

been disturbed since the time of him who made it, whereas

there is punishment for him who passes over its laws. Wrong-

doing has never brought its undertaking into port. Fraud may

gain riches, but the strength of justice is everlasting.”

Tuya listened to Yosef’s words about justice with a be-

mused smile. He had proved to be a firm disciplinarian with

those who broke Pharaoh’s laws, so why had he been so

merciful to Sagira? That woman’s folly had marred at least

three lives, but she now lived in a restored and prosperous villa.

Perhaps Sagira paid for her crime in other ways. Tuya

knew that Sagira had no friends among the nobility, for she

had been cast from Pharaoh’s favor. Court gossip reported that

Potiphar’s wife suffered from a wasting disease that would

surely take her life unless the gods proved to be as merciful

as Zaphenath-paneah.

A blaze of trumpet fanfare ended the ceremony; the flushed

and happy civil servants bowed their knees to the vizier, then

prostrated themselves before Pharaoh. Tuya sat silently in

the cheering crowd, grateful for the anonymity of the as-

sembly. In a gathering like this she could watch Yosef without

worrying that her eyes revealed the love in her heart.

He had been Egypt’s vizier for six years, and since their

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first interview she had not spoken to him except in the most

ceremonial of greetings when they chanced to pass in the

palace hallways. With a lovely wife and two fine sons, Yosef

had probably forgotten all about her.

But she still dreamed of Potiphar’s garden.

Chapter Thirty-One

Narmer hurried through the halls, slinking through shadows

until he reached the private corridor that led to Queen

Mutemwiya’s elegant chambers. After ducking through the

doorway and the outer room, he insinuated himself between

the heavy draperies on the queen’s bed and waited until he

heard footsteps approaching. “Thank you, ladies, but I shall

not need you tonight,” he heard her call, then Mutemwiya

closed the door. “Narmer?”

“Here.” He stepped out of the curtains and pressed his lips

together as a sign of pique. “I thought you’d never come.”

“That silly ceremony,” she fussed, slipping the heavy wig

from her head. She tossed it onto the floor, then took a seat

on her couch, curling her legs beneath her. “Well,” she purred,

smiling in her unmirthful way, “come and tell me what you

think of our grand vizier’s new men.”

“They are like the old ones,” Narmer grumbled, sinking

into the chair opposite her. “The same enthusiasm, the same

impartial glances, the same glow of righteousness. What I

would give for a single covetous soul!”

“There will be no bribing the vizier’s assistants.” Mutem-

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wiya lifted a manicured finger and stroked her chin. “Do not

attempt it, for they will tell Pharaoh what you have done and

then where will you be, my ambitious love?”

Narmer grinned, accustomed to her sharp tongue. “In the

underworld with you.” He moved next to her, allowing her to

drape her arm over his shoulders. “In any case, I will not bribe

the vizier’s fools. He has surrounded himself with souls who

are faithful and true—even his wife cannot be swayed from

his side. Believe me, I have tried to gain the lovely Asenath’s

attention—” he smiled at the anger in Mutemwiya’s eyes

“—and failed.”

“She would not have an old goat like you,” Mutemwiya

snapped. “Why should she? The one they call the Pride of

Egypt is hers.”

“And the treasure of the kingdom is his. And Pharaoh,

your young fool, is a puppet in the vizier’s hands.”

“As I am a puppet in yours.” Mutemwiya looked up, her fas-

cinating smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, and for a

moment Narmer was distracted. Compared to his luxury-loving

lioness, Egyptian maidens were hothouse flowers. Mutemwiya

had been bred in the wild lands of the north country, and her tem-

perament was as unpredictable as the weather in that change-

able land. She moved with animal assurance and spoke with the

confidence of a woman who knows the potency of her charm.

Narmer had been in awe of her since the day he negotiated

Pharaoh’s marriage contract, and she had recognized his politi-

cal talent, charisma and gift of persuasion. He owed her a great

deal, for she had convinced Pharaoh that Narmer would be the

natural choice to replace Potiphar as captain of the king’s guard.

The strength of her gaze drew him now. Pleased at her open

delight, he forgot what he had meant to say.

“The time is coming, my dear Narmer,” she purred, leaning

toward him, “when the people will tire of giving their abun-

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dance to Pharaoh. They will groan under the weight of this

senseless hoarding.”

“According to Zaphenath-paneah and his Almighty God,

the Nile will not flood next year. Famine is coming.”

She pulled away, yawning, and tapped her crimson lips

with her hand. “I forgot.”

He slipped from the couch and fell to his knees before her,

his hands spanning her waist. “You don’t believe him?”

“No.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “I have not

heard the voice of this god, and neither have any of my priests.

Only Zaphenath-paneah hears the unseen deity, and only

Zaphenath-paneah profits from Egypt’s abundance.”

Her touch triggered primitive yearnings, but Narmer

steeled himself to be patient. “There may be something in

what you say,” he said, catching her hand. “If the Nile floods

next year, the people may well rise up and rebel against this

vizier. But what if famine does come? How can we argue

against one who has been proven right?”

“If famine comes—” she leaned closer to him “—your

people will resent having to buy what they have put into the

granaries. Grain will be precious. A loaf of bread will sell for

a bag of silver, and the poor will starve. When they carry com-

plaints instead of offerings to the temples, the priests will

demand a sacrifice. The divine king will give his life to feed

the earth, and since there is no royal heir, whomever I take as

my husband will ascend to the throne.”

“But what of Tuya’s child? A son of Pharaoh lives.”

Mutemwiya sniffed. “Tuya is a lesser wife, a former slave,

and the life of her child is nothing. Trust me, Narmer, no one

will stand in our way. If the land brings forth her abundance

next year, you shall overthrow this vizier.”

“And if famine comes, as the vizier has said it will—”

“Then we will wait until his food supply runs out.” She

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tucked her hand around his neck with easy familiarity. “Zaphe-

nath-paneah has been busy running the palace and training as-

sistants. Do you truly believe his granaries and storehouses

contain enough to feed the entire kingdom of Egypt?”

He ran his hands over her arms. “It would be difficult to

lead the people without the priests’ approval.”

“The priests will be eager to lead the people back to the

ancient gods,” Mutemwiya answered. “They have grown

jealous of the vizier’s Almighty God, for even Pharaoh has

grown less fervent in his worship of Horus and Osiris. So we

will begin to make generous offerings now, Narmer, and win

the loyalty of the priests. If famine comes, in time the people

will cry out against the harsh god who would smite the land

of Egypt. We shall rise like the phoenix from the ashes of a

burnt and starving kingdom.”

Overcome by her clever logic, he pressed his lips to her

palm in a fervent rush, and she lowered her forehead to his.

“Yes, my Narmer, think of it! You and I as husband and wife,

rulers of the Two Kingdoms and beyond. My Mitanni tribe

will ally itself with us, and after that we shall rule the world.”

Tuya felt a curious, tingling shock when her servant told

her the king’s vizier stood outside her door. “Zaphenath-

paneah? The vizier wishes to see me?”

The frightened girl nodded.

“All right, give me a moment. Seat the vizier in the front

room.”

The girl padded away and Tuya hurried to her dressing

table to check her makeup and wig. This wig was short, well

above her shoulders, and fashionable among the ladies of

Thebes. She hoped it made her look younger, for she was now

thirty-four and the mother of a ten-year-old son. Under her

wig, she had already sprouted more than a few gray hairs.

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She adjusted her eyeliner and smudged the lines of kohl to

disguise the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. After dropping

the bronze mirror to her dressing table, she smoothed her

dress and took a deep breath. Why should facing Yosef make

her feel nervous? He was an old friend.

And he must bring news of some importance, or he would

have sent a messenger instead of coming himself.

His back was to her when she entered the room, for he was

watching Yosef play the lute. “Excellent, young prince,” she

heard him say. “I hope my sons show half as much talent.”

Her son blushed and smiled when he saw her standing in

the doorway. “Zaphenath-paneah likes my playing.”

“So do I,” Tuya answered. “Now go and show your nurse

how skilled you are.” As Yosef hurried away, Tuya turned to

face her guest.

Yosef had aged more than she had. Contentment shone in

his eyes, but stress and responsibility had etched lines in the

forehead that had been smooth six years before.

“Tuya.” The sound of joy in his voice brought a warm

blush to her cheek.

“Zaphenath-paneah.” She gave him a properly formal

smile, aware that her servants moved about in the other rooms.

“What brings our king’s vizier to me?”

“Must we be so stilted with each other?” He gestured

toward a couch. “You’ve never called me anything but Yosef.”

She shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “All right.

What brings you to me, Yosef?”

He smiled, and some of the starch went out of her knees.

“I have come with something important to discuss, but

thought I might at least ask about your health.”

“My health is fine.” Stepping to the couch, she perched on

the edge while he sank beside her. She put her hands in her

lap. “Why have you come?”

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The air of convivial friendliness disappeared when he

frowned. “This is not an easy request to make.”

“Speak it.”

He looked away for a moment, then stared at his hands.

“Do you remember the story I once told you about Avraham?”

She stared at him. She recalled the story well, for every

word he had uttered in her presence was precious. “The man

who took his son to the mountain for a sacrifice.”

“And God preserved them both.”

“I remember.”

“Tuya—” he pressed his hands together “—I have dreamed

again of you and your son, and the danger is nearer than it

was years ago. I believe you can save your son, but there is

only one way.”

“Save my son from what?”

“I am not sure.”

“Well, you can’t ask me to do something unless I know why.”

She lifted a brow. “And what, exactly, are you asking me to do?”

“Only one thing. Offer your son to Pharaoh, and let him

be betrothed to Queen Mutemwiya. It must be done if he is

to be declared the royal heir. You must do it now.”

She sputtered in horror. “Yosef is Pharaoh’s heir. None of

the other wives have given birth to a son, so he is the heir,

without question—”

“No.” Yosef spoke in the firm voice of Justice and Egyptian

Law. “If Pharaoh were to die today, Egypt would have no king

until Queen Mutemwiya marries.”

“But Yosef is Pharaoh’s son.”

“Pharaoh intends to declare the boy Crown Prince at some

future time, but we dare not wait. Yosef must be named

Crown Prince immediately. He must be recognized as the be-

trothed husband of the heiress. Thus he will be King on

Pharaoh’s death.”

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“My baby? Married to that queen?”

“Her ceremonial husband.” Yosef closed his eyes as if he

could not bear to bring her further pain. “Remember Avra-

ham? He trusted God to spare the life of his child, yet he was

willing to surrender that life.”

Tuya stood and backed away. “I can’t give my son to that

witch, not now, not ever. Yosef won’t understand. He’ll think

I care more for ambition than I do for him. And I don’t care

if he’s King, I only want him safe—”