Most of the household servants gulped down their meals and ran to attend their duties. A few lazed around the courtyard, stretching out their last precious minutes of false freedom. Two men behind me argued about fowling and fishing. The women clumped in small groups, laughing, gossiping. None of them spoke to me. None glanced in my direction.
Another quarter of an hour passed before the courtyard started to empty. I would be late, but I must know what had happened to Shira.
When only Hashma, the head cook, and a few weary kitchen slaves remained, I stood.
Most of the servants in Shefu’s household acted less than cordial to me. Being new to slavery and a former-master-turned-slave branded me as an outcast. Most of them had been born into bondage, some in this very household. Therefore, no one trusted me. Besides, friendship with me, or even kindness, might bring about wrath from Tekurah. I was a pariah. No longer on equal footing with masters and mistresses and rejected by the servants that bowed before them.
Hashma, however, did not follow the rules. She treated me as an equal. As dark and exotic as my Salima, she worked tirelessly, with a tattered headscarf barely containing her wildly coiled hair. Her wide face gleamed with perspiration from laboring in the courtyard all day. Her voice boomed with authority, yet compassion exuded from her every pore.
And Hashma knew everything that went on inside this villa.
She ordered the kitchen girls to scrub the pots with sand and to boil water for rinsing. Then she knelt, with a heavy breath, in front of the still-smoldering bread oven to scrape ashes with a clay shard into a flat-sided pot.
“Hashma, may I speak with you?” I glanced over my shoulder.
She looked up, and her eyes flickered, but she smiled and nodded.
“I have not seen Shira for days now. Is she all right?” My voice was soft, for her ears alone.
The warmth on her face faded.
“What happened?” My heart picked up its pace. “Where is she?”
She looked past me and pasted on a bright smile. Someone stood behind me. “Thank you, Latikah, you can put down the tray there on the table.”
“Mistress Tekurah says to hurry up, Kiya.” Latikah’s tone dripped acid.
“Thank you. I am on my way.” I did not turn, for my expression would give away my panic.
Hashma cleaned the oven in silence. The seconds stretched long, but I set my jaw, determined not to leave without an answer.
“You must be more careful.” Her words suddenly flew out in a hiss, but her eyes held on her task.
“Careful?”
“You are putting me in danger.” She glanced again over her shoulder.
I forced an even tone. “Where is Shira?”
“The storeroom.”
“Which one? How do I get there?”
“She is chained in the wine storeroom, guarded.”
I covered a gasp with my palm.
Hashma still did not look up. “Tekurah had her followed down to the canal a couple weeks ago. She had been meeting someone there. I do not know who. The other person had already slipped through the tall grasses and disappeared.”
“Who followed Shira?”
She leaned back on her knees and shrugged her wide shoulders. “Tekurah was furious and accused the poor girl of trying to escape or plotting treachery against the family. She did not imprison her then, but she was gone the morning after the flies left.”
I dropped my head and groaned. “It was me.”
“You?”
“It was me, meeting her. We heard a noise while we were talking one morning. I slipped into the rushes and escaped.” Once again Shira endured my punishment. I closed my eyes and Eben’s livid face loomed.
“Tekurah is determined to finish what she started with that one over the cosmetic box. She knows you were friends.”
“Some friend I am.”
Hashma stood with a quick look around and then patted my shoulder. “It’s all right, dear one. I took her some food last night. She is in good spirits.” She pursed her full lips, brows drawn, her wise eyes bloodshot and rheumy. “I wish Master Shefu knew. He would not stand for it.”
With Shefu gone on business to Thebes for the past week, Tekurah ruled the villa unfettered.
I chewed a thumbnail. What can I do?
Hashma peered at me, divining my thoughts. “An armed guard stands watch. You won’t be able to get in.”
How strange. Why would such a tiny bird need to be under lock and key?
“Can you supply me with some food to take down there?”
“I cannot.” She dropped her voice low. “A whipping would surely follow.”
Reaching forward, I grabbed at her hand, pleading. “Then say nothing, just leave a tray of food on the table there, near the door, and go about your duties. I will steal it. No one will suspect you were in any way involved.”
“I hate to see that little girl suffer.” She let out a long sigh, shaking her head. “All right. But you be careful. You are stepping into an adder’s nest.” She pointed a callused finger at me.
“I will brave the venom. I owe it to her.”
11
I will be taking Latikah to the market today. There are chores for you.” Tekurah primped in the mirror, inspecting the carnelian collar I had just tied around her neck.
Latikah looked down, toying with a thin silver bangle on her wrist.
Dipping my head, I feigned acquiescence so neither of them would notice my relief.
Tekurah listed a full day’s worth of chores to accomplish in the next couple of hours and then strode out of the room. Latikah gave me a satisfied smile over her shoulder before following. Let her rejoice in her prize. Little did she know how grateful I was for my cleaning duties today.
With inordinate speed, I reorganized Tekurah’s linens and wigs in the closet, changed the linens on her sleeping couch, scrubbed down the tiles in the shower room, and dusted every surface in the chamber. Then, stealing down the hallway to the kitchen, I prayed I might avoid crossing paths with anyone who would report my wanderings to Tekurah. A large, blue faience water clock stood on the table in the vestibule, dripping steadily. I looked inside, relieved that the water level was higher than I’d expected—less time had passed during my furious cleaning than I had thought. I kissed my fingers and tapped them on the well-worn bronze feet of Bes as I slipped by his form in the corridor. I welcomed any divine intervention today, even from a grotesque and leering minor god.
A bowl of food and a mug of beer waited on the table. Thank the gods for Hashma. I snatched up the offerings after a quick glance for watchful eyes and put swift distance between myself and the kitchen. I could not allow Hashma to be implicated if my plan went awry.
A guard sat on the top step of the short stairway leading to the cellar door. He slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Egyptian by the look of him, he was young, maybe twenty, but broad-shouldered and muscular. A short sword lay across his knees. Again I wondered why Shira would need an armed guard.
Too nervous to play up charm, I forced a note of authority into my voice. “I have food for the Hebrew.”
He opened one eye, then two, and cocked his head. “You are not the one they sent before.”
“No, she is sick. And I need to return to my duties as soon as possible.” I gestured to the door with a commanding expression. Would he be fooled?
He brushed a slow, appreciative gaze from my hair, down to my feet, and back up to my face. Perhaps flirtation might have been more effective. Too late for that now. I widened my stance.
A corner of his mouth lifted, and he winked, obviously not deterred by my show of dominance. He rose. “Well, be quick about it.” He clomped down the wooden stairs. The iron bolt clanked as he pushed it aside and then opened the door. A small oil lamp burned on a shelf above the lintel. He handed it to me, offered another suggestive grin, then returned to his post at the top of the stairs.
I closed the door with my foot, balancing the tray in one hand an
d the lamp in the other. My eyes took their time adjusting to the pitch-black. Racks of Shefu’s precious wine cooled here in the cellar. But it was the darkness, not the cold, that made me shiver. The feeble glow of the lamp led my way. A small mercy.
“Shira?” My whisper seemed like a shout in the dank stillness.
A small, rough voice reached out from some dark corner. “Kiya?”
“Where are you?” I held the light higher, but the flame barely cast a shadow.
“I’m tied to the wall.”
I followed the direction of the disembodied voice to her childlike form curled against the back wall of the cellar. Her drawn face contorted as the weak lamplight made her blink. She covered her eyes with one hand. After many days here, shrouded in darkness, the weakest light must burn like the sun.
I put the lamp on the ground and handed her the tray. Sitting cross-legged in front of my captive friend, my heart bled as she devoured the fish and bread Hashma had provided. She drained every last drop of barley beer. Poor girl, surrounded by amphorae of the finest wines in the country yet tied to a wall, dying of thirst.
I kept my voice soft, not wanting to alert the guard. “What happened?”
“Latikah caught us, or me, after our last meeting by the river before the flies came.”
Latikah. Threads I’d failed to weave together earlier revealed their design. The fine sandals, the silver bracelet—Tekurah’s castoffs. Rewards for surveillance. I should have known.
“But why are you still here for such a small offense?”
“I have spent this time trying to figure it out. I wondered if she was setting a trap for you. Which may yet be true, you should not stay long.”
She could be right. Perhaps the shopping trip was only a ruse.
“But I think it’s because I am Hebrew.”
“She knows that.”
She nodded. “But ever since Mosheh declared these strokes against the country, hostility has grown. They think we are causing the plagues.”
“I’ve heard the talk in the market. It’s ridiculous. Your Mosheh may be a sorcerer, but the rest of you are harmless.”
“That is true. This is not our doing. In fact, it’s not even Mosheh’s doing. He is just a vessel, a prophet.” She paused. “I think, though, that this may be the reason Tekurah locked me down here.” She held out her arms, and I leaned close to see in the dim light of the lamp.
Sores still healed all over my body, many of the bites infected and oozing with puss, but the flesh on Shira’s arms was smooth, untouched.
My breath hitched in my throat. “You were not bitten?”
“No. I pretended to scratch, hoping no one would notice. But not one fly bit me. Tekurah must have discerned my pretense and decided that the superstitions were true. I think she imprisoned me to protect herself.”
My mind reeled back to my conversation with Eben the day before. No sores had marred his face or arms either. Had the flies affected none of the Hebrews?
The guard banged on the door, and I jumped.
“What’s taking so long in there? You need to be done. Now.”
I called out so he would not look inside and catch me sitting knee to knee with Shira. “She’s almost finished. I need to return this tray to the kitchen. A few moments more.”
“Hurry up, girl,” I added for his benefit.
Shira giggled. “So sorry, mistress, I am a slow eater.” She nodded toward the bowl that she had all but licked clean.
Locked in a cellar, guarded and chained to the wall, and laughing—I would never understand this girl.
Now in a rush, I outlined my plans for her escape.
She tried to smother a smile. “I’m sorry, it seems quite impossible.” But her eyes danced in the weak lamplight.
“Well, I don’t care if you think it’s humorous, I am going to try. I do not care what Tekurah does.”
Her amusement vanished. “Don’t underestimate her, Kiya. She is dangerous.”
“Perhaps, but Shefu seems willing to protect me from her wrath. When he returns, I will try to get you out of here.” I gathered the bowl and cup. “In the meantime, I will do my best to bring you food every day and show the guard I am harmless.” I winked at her and fluttered my eyelashes. She grinned.
I stood and looked at her forlorn figure on the ground. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you here.”
“I’m all right.” She waved her hand at me. “At least I’m not scrubbing pots with sand all day. I can feel my fingertips again.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
I looked back at her one more time before my exit left her shrouded in darkness. She was so small: a tiny, harmless bird. Who could fear her, no matter what the rumors suggested?
12
Tekurah kept me running for days, nerves raw, preparing for Shefu’s return. I scoured her rooms from top to bottom, laundered every linen, scrubbed every inch, and beat the dust out of every tapestry and floor mat while imagining Shira wasting away in the storeroom.
On the sixth day of the week, Latikah and I slathered Tekurah’s entire body with a fragrant mixture of coconut oil and myrrh—one of the only duties I enjoyed. The delicious smell lingered on my own hands and arms, which remained supple for hours. I shaved her entire body, scalp to toe. I stained her fingernails and toenails with orange henna, adorned her eyes with malachite and galena, and tinted her lips and cheeks with red ochre.
When Tekurah was satisfied with her face, Latikah placed a wig on her head, one of braided curls, with tiny silver beads interspersed every couple of inches. Whenever Tekurah moved her head, the beads plinked together, giving the illusion of a hundred little bells. I wondered if she would tire of the jangling noise, but she seemed pleased with her latest purchase and admired it again and again from different angles in the mirror.
All afternoon Tekurah startled every time someone came through the door or she heard a voice in the hallway. She barked orders at us, demanding we tidy her spotless room, reapply her makeup, and fetch any number of odds and ends.
Tekurah ran out of redundant tasks for Latikah and me, so she took to shrilling orders at the kitchen staff, the gardeners, and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her path.
Liat and Sefora waited in the gardens, avoiding their mother’s tongue and playing in the shade of the date palms. Their joyful cries alerted us to their father’s arrival. Tekurah ordered Latikah to tell Hashma that the master would need supper and then rushed to the door to welcome him home, anxious, I assumed, to press him for news from Pharaoh’s palace in Avaris.
The Pharaoh passed much of his time there among the lush green and the cool breezes of the Delta. All the important trade routes from the Mediterranean came through Avaris. I doubted Shefu had time, while negotiating trades, to pay attention to what the First Wife wore, but Tekurah seemed certain he would have all manner of information at hand.
Manit and Lefar, Shefu’s Kushite servants, entered first with his traveling baskets. When Shefu came into the house, both his children tagged along, begging for the treats and presents they knew would be tucked among his clothing.
“Give me a few minutes, children. I have just returned.” Shefu removed his sandals and dipped his feet in the laver by the door without waiting for the servants to wash his feet.
Shefu never used a sharp tongue with his children. They stood blinking teary eyes and even inched closer to Tekurah.
“Husband, I am anxious for news of our son and his wife. Did you find them well?” She was unfazed by his mood.
Shefu threw down his sandals. “I said, I need some time. I will give you your fill of gossip later.” He stalked out of the entry hall toward his quarters.
Tekurah, never one to be patient, followed Shefu. As was my duty, I followed her. She entered his quarters without knocking, and I stood next to the doorway to wait—perhaps a bit closer than necessary. Their voices drifted through the gaps in the door.
“Husband, what is wrong? What has you in such a sta
te?”
“I knew you would harass me until I gave you an answer.” Shefu breathed a ragged sigh. “Manit, Lefar, please leave the unpacking until later. I would speak with my wife a moment.”
The door swung open, and I shrank back. The two tall slaves saw me standing there, and I raised my brows. Lefar shrugged with a smirk and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen. Manit walked the opposite way, shaking his head. I slid closer to the doorway with my back pressed to the wall.
“What is wrong? Has something happened to Talet?” Concern for her firstborn pinched her voice.
“No, Talet and Lathia are fine. Their baby is due any day now.”
“Then what is troubling you so much? Is it the business?”
“Yes and no. The business will be affected. But even more troubling is that Egypt is under attack.”
Tekurah gasped. “Who? The Amalekites? Not the Canaanites. Pharaoh has kept a firm hand over them for these past few years.”
“No, no, it’s not an outside nation threatening us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you blind? Are you deaf? You’ve heard the rumors, the stories about the Hebrew Moses and his god. Were you sleeping when we were under siege by biting flies? Have you forgotten the blood in the Nile? The frogs? The lice?”
Tekurah barked a laugh. “Shefu. Pharaoh is more powerful than some slave-god.”
“I was there. I heard Moses with my own ears.” Shefu’s voice softened.
Eager for gossip, she pressed him. “You did? What was he like? Does he seem like a powerful sorcerer? What did he say?”
“He didn’t speak. At least not much. Another Hebrew speaks for him. I do not know the man’s name, but he certainly projects great authority. Moses only said one thing. That all our livestock would die.”
“How is that possible?”
“How does the Nile turn entirely to blood on the command of such a man?”
A tremble weakened her voice. “What did Pharaoh say?”
“He was livid. He vowed to never let the Hebrews set one foot outside Egypt. Said he would not be bullied by some unknown slave-god who—”
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