This man who once paid an exorbitant bride-price for me, who had prized me so highly, now wanted me to serve him? I had wasted almost two years of my life enslaved to Tekurah, serving her hand and foot, and now Akhum wanted me to do the same for him, but worse. Menial labor was not all I would endure. My body would not be my own as a concubine, not a wife of equal standing. I would be used and cast aside at his pleasure.
“No.” I shook my head vehemently.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I won’t let you own my body.”
“I already own your body. You gave it to me . . . willingly, I might add.” He narrowed his eyes and flashed a crooked smile.
I winced at the reminder, surprised at the whispered guilt those memories raised in my mind, yet somehow the arrogance in his tone fractured his hold over me.
“Yes, I did. But . . . I don’t know how to explain so you will understand.” I pulled farther away, folding my arms across my middle. “I have no freedom. Every movement is dictated, and if all I have left is my body, then I will not let anyone, not even you, take that from me.”
Anger flashed across his face, something I had never seen before.
“You would turn me down? After all I have done to convince my father?”
I put my hand on his arm. “Forgive me, Akhum. I don’t mean to hurt you. But . . . my perspective has changed.”
He shook me off. “You ungrateful slave. Why have I wasted my time? My money?”
I jerked back, shocked at his fury and hateful words.
“How can you say that to me? I was almost your wife.”
He snorted. “Well, you are only a slave now.”
“Perhaps I am, but I am a slave who will keep her heart intact.”
He sneered. “No one else will want your precious heart. You are only fit as a concubine now . . . if that.”
Eben’s face flashed again through my mind. Akhum was right; no one could ever see me as pure.
“It doesn’t matter, Akhum. I won’t sell my body to you or anyone else.”
A cruel smile spread across his beautiful face. “I can still purchase the contract, you know. And then I can do whatever I want with you.”
“Shefu won’t sell me.” At least I hoped for my mother’s sake he wouldn’t. “But go ahead and try.” I turned around, pushing my feet toward the villa door, my heart still pounding in my ears.
A low curse knifed my back as I stepped inside, drawing as much blood as he’d intended.
16
Angry tears blurred my vision, and the dark hallway swam in front of me. All this time I had dreamed of Akhum sweeping in, rescuing me from this oblivion.
Wasted, wasted months.
The last futile vestige of hope separated from me completely, revealing the truth of my situation. I was Tekurah’s slave, nothing more. Akhum saw me as I truly was: property, a commodity. Perhaps I had always been little more than a concubine in his mind. An expensive one, perhaps, for the bride-price was steep, but a woman to satiate only his body, not his soul.
Isis and Bastet—the goddesses I had offered sacrifices to from the time I’d begun my first flow, who promised enraptured love, enduring love—had abandoned me, betrayed me.
My chest ached after enduring the abuse of my furiously thrashing heart. As I forced my breath to slow and willed my pulse to calm its wild pattern, a thought suddenly screamed inside my mind.
Would slavery with him be better than no love at all? I had hoped and prayed for a way to be free, to protect my mother and brother—had I just turned down the answer? Should I have gone with him, endured the chains to obtain protection? I hesitated, rocking back on my heels.
I made the wrong choice. Spurned the only way to protect my family. Nausea welled in my throat. Akhum’s stride was twice my own, but perhaps I could still catch up.
I turned to run—and slammed full force into someone.
The person fell back and something shattered: a vase, perhaps? Although too dark to distinguish any features, it didn’t take long to know who blocked my path.
“You stupid slave! You can’t go a day without breaking something!”
Tekurah.
She grabbed me by the hair. How could she even see? Bastet must bless her with eyes for the dark.
“Where are you going?” Her even tone told me she was not surprised to find me here.
“Nowhere.” Akhum was a thousand miles away now.
“He doesn’t want you.” Her smile was audible in the blackness. She had seen us in the garden. And like one of her cats, she had been waiting to pounce.
My voice came out in a squeak. “Yes he does.”
“No, he wants a concubine.” She had heard the entire conversation.
She pulled me closer by my hair. Her breath smelled of sleep. I must have woken her when I stole from the room. “He has a wife, a well-connected one, one who is giving birth to his first child in a few months.”
She laughed at my quick intake of breath.
“Oh, you didn’t know that, did you?” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Yes, stupid girl. He only wants you because his wife is large with child. He hasn’t been pining over you these last months, just been driven, as any man, by his lust.”
Of course. He was a commander in Pharaoh’s army, I was a slave. I would be only a useful tool, no more beloved than his horse . . . perhaps even less so.
I stood straighter. “Thank you.”
She stammered, “For what?”
“If I’d followed him, I would have suffered a worse fate than staying here with you.”
No reply.
“You are right. He doesn’t want me. I was deluding myself.”
She drew a quick breath through her nose. For some reason, my acquiescence had infuriated her. I tried to draw back, but her grip on my hair tightened.
For the first time, she hit me.
In the pitch-black I could not see when the next blow was coming, or the next, and I tripped over my own feet trying to pull away. Even when I lay on the floor, she would not abate. I knew better than to cry out, nothing could save me. Shefu had slipped out of the villa two days ago on business. If I screamed, it would only be worse.
I tried to protect my face, but her nails ripped down my right cheek. I bit my lip, hard, to prevent a cry of pain. I refused to let her have the victory of my submission.
She kicked me, clawed me, pulled my hair, and ripped my shift. Her grunts of exertion changed to laughter as she unleashed maniacal fury.
When she finally stopped, I lay on the floor, my hands spread over my face, praying to Bes, whose statue stood somewhere guarding this black hallway.
When I finished praying to Bes, I prayed to Ra, I prayed to Isis, I prayed to Bastet—I prayed to every god my mind could conjure.
But even as I pleaded, I knew nothing would happen. Nothing could. The gods were silent to me. They did not hear a worthless slave with nothing to offer. They cared nothing for my bleeding heart and body.
Where was Tekurah? I dared not look up but kept my face shielded for another attack. A torch lit the hall. The glow seeped through the cracks between my fingers.
“Mistress?” It was the voice of Manit, Shefu’s servant.
I peeked through my fingers. Tekurah stood with her back to me, leaning over a marble-topped table, the statue of Bes in pieces around her feet.
The man cleared his throat.
“Mistress. Are you all right?”
She whirled around, kicking the largest piece of the statue as she did. It clamored against the wall and shattered further.
Tekurah did not look at him. “Take this slave to the cellar and lock her up. She tried to escape. She will be punished tomorrow.”
Deep inside, something in me snapped.
I raised my head. It pounded in agony, but I put my hands under my shoulders and lifted my bruised and bleeding body off the floor.
My head swam, but I stood in front of Tekurah. My swollen lip throbbed and crac
ked open. I pulled in a painful breath. “I have done nothing to you, Tekurah. You hate me for my mother’s sake. I do not deserve your wrath. Whatever you do to my body, you won’t steal my soul. You can beat me, lash me, tie me to a stake. You will never break me into pieces like you want to do.”
Manit was incredulous, his eyes as large as boulders as he looked from Tekurah back to me.
Tekurah hissed, “You are—”
“No.” I steeled myself. “I am not done. I see the way you look at Shefu, at your children. You want them to love you, but they don’t. How could anyone love such a bitter woman? You treat everyone around you like a slave and expect love from them? Ha! It will never happen. You think I am the one unwanted? Maybe Akhum only wants me to keep his bed warm, but I have a mother and brother who love me deeply. You think I am the one in chains? Look at yourself in your fancy silver mirror and think again.”
I turned to Shefu’s servant. “I am ready.”
He took my arm, gently and without meeting my eye. I leaned on him as we walked down the hallway, the torchlight following us, leaving our mistress in the dark.
For all I knew, three mornings came and went—it was nothing but black in the cellar. Yet after enduring the thick darkness of the plague, it seemed not nearly as frightening. I enjoyed blissful, deep sleep—an extravagant freedom—even chained to the wall.
When I awoke and attempted to stretch, I kicked a tray of food that lay next to me. Fish, bread, and warm, watery beer: the usual fare. I savored each bite, chewing slowly—something else I had not been allowed in such a long time, always in a rush to accomplish some task or another for Tekurah.
Only a few weeks before, Shira had sat eating in the darkness in this very spot, shackled by these same chains. Somehow being bound here made me feel close to her.
I laid my head on my knees, forgetting my scratched and bruised face. I hissed in a breath at the sting of pain. Instead, I placed my left cheek, somehow left unscathed, against my knees and closed my eyes.
Tekurah had accused me of escaping. She would cling to that story—it was the only way Shefu might forgive her. She would have me flogged publicly, before Shefu could return to prevent it. He was usually gone on business for many days. Hashma had told me yesterday he’d sailed north to Avaris, hoping to salvage what he could of his trading empire, since the entire economy of Egypt lay in ruins.
However, only one servant traveled with him. Perhaps he planned to stay only a brief time and then return.
No, that was too much to hope for, and there was no god to plead to.
Was there?
Would Shira’s God listen to an Egyptian? How would I even pray to him, with no image to conjure in my mind, no temple to turn my face toward? No tribute. No offering. How could I possibly make him do what I needed him to do?
I spoke out loud, feeling foolish praying to a foreign, faceless god, but desperate enough to try.
“God of the Hebrews.” Fear prevented me from speaking his name. “I am trapped. If you can hear me like Shira says you can, release me from this pit. I have nothing to give you, but if you will show me mercy, I will find something to sacrifice, somehow.”
Silence.
What did I expect? A flash of light? My chains to fall away? The door to swing open wide? Nothing came back to me but the sound of my labored breathing and the press of darkness and cold on all sides. I shivered. I curled up with my back to the wall and my arms around my knees.
I fell asleep again, feeling a bit like a traitor to my gods and my country, and ridiculous for attempting to pray to Shira’s invisible god.
17
The long hours of sleep in the storeroom allowed me the luxury of dreaming. I slipped quietly in and out of the world of shadows and lights, disjointed colors and faces. I saw Shira, Eben, Akhum, and Tekurah arguing over me, fighting over whom I should serve. The Nile rose and fell, black, red, and then sparkling gold. A mountain stood high above me, a swirling rainbow of smoke rising high above, an earthquake shaking the ground and a crack appearing between my feet.
The door to my prison slammed open and light flooded in, blinding me.
“Kiya,” someone called out, voice thick with concern. “Where are you?”
Shefu stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“Here.” My throat burned.
A torch hovered over me.
“Manit, bring me the key to the chains.” Shefu crouched next to me and put a gentle hand on my swollen face. “Kiya. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Manit unchained me, shifting his eyes away. He needn’t feel guilty. This was all Tekurah’s doing.
“Here, drink.” Shefu brought a cup of water to my cracked lips. Placing his hand on the back of my head, he held the cup as I drank, as if I were an infant.
“More?”
I shook my head.
“How long has she been down here?”
Manit shuffled his feet. “Since the night before last. I sent for you right away.”
Shefu rubbed his eyebrow with a free hand. The other still curled around me, cradling my neck.
“Go get Lefar. I have errands you both need to do. Hurry!”
Manit turned and disappeared up the stairway.
Shefu’s dark eyes sparkled in the torchlight. Tears? Or anger? “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know.”
I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled. My sore ribs screamed, and when Shefu put an arm around my waist to steady me, a whimper escaped.
“What did she do to you?” His voice broke.
Suddenly he bent and put his hands behind my knees, lifting me into his arms.
The pain and anger on his face confused and terrified me. Through Shira, I knew he’d given Tekurah orders not to lay a hand on me for my mother’s sake, but why was he so distraught?
He carried me to his own quarters.
His chambers were richly appointed, but sparse compared to Tekurah’s lavish suite. A bed with embroidered linens stood in the corner, a few clothing baskets at its foot. Paintings hung on the walls, one with ducks and geese hiding among the rushes in a pond and one of the pyramids at Giza, with the sun framing them from behind. Apart from these decorations, only a tall oil lamp, a low couch, and a large desk underneath the high window, covered with parchments and notes written on broken pottery shards, filled the space. Lefar served not only as his handservant, but his personal scribe as well. I imagined Shefu standing in the center of this room, dictating letters to tradesmen.
Shefu placed me on the couch, then found a linen cloth in his bath chamber and dipped it in a jar of water standing on a pedestal by the door. He washed my face with tender strokes, wincing when I reacted to the sharp stabs of pain that even his gentle touch provoked.
His voice was so quiet at first, I wasn’t sure if he’d addressed me. “. . . how she could have done this, after I told her not to lay a hand on you? Foolish woman. She knew. She must have known or she would not have defied me so.”
My fractured mind attempted to piece together his meaning.
He continued, “But you have to go now. If you stayed . . . no. You have to go. For Jumo.”
“Jumo?” I pushed myself up on my elbows, wounds forgotten.
“Lay back down.” He pressed me gently back to the soft cushions. “Yes, Jumo. You have to go tonight to save your brother.”
“Save him? From what?”
“The Hebrew God.” Shefu sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
“Master, you are not making any sense. Is Jumo in danger?”
His head snapped up, and he looked into my eyes. “Don’t call me master.”
Utter confusion must have been plastered across my face. His features softened as he watched me react to his command. He patted my hand.
“It’s all right. Just call me Shefu.”
“All right . . . Shefu. Is my brother in danger?”
“Yes. I can’t explain it all. I wish I understood myself. I was there when Moses, the leader of the Heb
rew slaves, sent a messenger to Pharaoh. The God of the Hebrews will kill every firstborn Egyptian male. Tonight. Every one.”
I could not breathe. No. Shefu was mistaken, or lying, or delusional . . .
“You have to go. You have to save him.”
“Where would I go?” The room seemed to spin.
“To the Hebrews. Your friend Shira. I don’t understand how or why, but their God protects them, and Jumo’s only chance is to take refuge among them. Do whatever you can to get in the midst of them. You must save his life.”
“But . . . I . . . how?” I didn’t even know where Shira lived.
A knock on the door startled me, and Manit and Lefar swept into the room. I could barely distinguish the difference between the two tall, dark Kushites. They must be brothers. Who is firstborn? But they aren’t Egyptian, maybe they will be spared . . . My thoughts refused to move in a straight line.
Shefu burst into action, giving the men quick orders to fetch different items—a donkey, linens, clothing, and my meager belongings. Shefu sat at his desk, cleared a spot at the center, and laid down a fresh parchment. He wrote with a beautiful quill, made from the feather of a peacock, dipping the tip again and again into the inkpot, squinting as he concentrated.
He stood, walked to the side of the bed, and handed me the papyrus document.
Many women were ignorant of reading. I was not one of them. My mother had insisted I be taught to read and write, as her own mother had done. My father had grumbled but paid tutors to teach me. Many women in Pharaoh’s court were not so well educated.
The declaration on the parchment shocked me. I read it several times before I understood the meaning of the words.
A bill of release. Shefu had released me from indentured servitude. I was pardoned and all debts satisfied.
“I am sorry that I ever did this, Kiya. My only thought was to protect you and your family. If you were sold elsewhere, and separated, I would never have forgiven myself. Jofare agreed . . . I mean, your father agreed to do this to satisfy his debts, and I wanted to watch over you, but it became more complicated than I expected.” His words tumbled out in a confusing jumble.
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