by Angela Hunt
His brothers? Mandisa stared, speechless.
“I wanted to run forward and embrace them,” he continued, his voice dropping in volume, “but on at least one face I saw anger and hatred as strong as it was the day they cast me into a pit.” He stiffened as if ashamed. “I was almost afraid.”
“You are not a coward, my lord.”
The vizier smiled and studied his hands. “I no longer fear for myself, but for my father and my other brother. I fear they may hate Binyamin and hurt him, and so bring my father to his grave with sorrowing.”
“And so you cast them into prison.” Mandisa uttered the words in a neutral tone, not knowing whether he hoped for approval or condemnation.
“Binyamin is the only other son of my mother,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “How can I know the sons of Lea do not hate him as they hated me? How can I be certain they will not do him harm?”
“They said he is alive and well with your father.” Mandisa lowered her eyes, uncomfortable with the frankness of the conversation.
“My father, if they speak truly, has lived one hundred twenty-nine years,” he went on in a hushed whisper. “Binyamin is a grown man, probably with children of his own. For his sake and the sake of his family, I must test the hearts of the other ten.”
Mandisa bowed her head. “I will do anything I can to help, my lord.”
The laughter of children danced into the room, and the vizier’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile as he recognized the sounds of his sons. But before they entered, he turned again to Mandisa. “Do not speak of this to anyone, not even your mistress. Do not reveal my past or my link to the men in Pharaoh’s prison. I must seek the face of Almighty God before I know how to proceed.”
She bowed again as the boys spilled into the room. “I will do my best to serve you.”
Chapter Four
A s his brothers snored around him, Shim’on lay upon his back and studied the dark circle of sky above the prison pit. Glorious Thebes had held them in awe as they entered the city, but no signs of its marble-washed opulence existed in this place. No colorful or ornate pictures adorned the mud-walled pit into which they had been thrust after leaving the vizier’s villa; the primitive structure did not even allow the luxury of a view. With scorched black earth around them and an ebony sky above, Shim’on felt as if they had fallen into the abyss. How could they have plummeted so far in such a short time?
They had observed no signs of trouble afoot when they approached the royal capital. Though drought had scorched the fields outside the walls, reports from passing travelers indicated the city’s granaries and storage houses overflowed with barley and emmer-wheat, onions and leeks, lettuce, pomegranates, apples, olives, figs and the smooth wine of Ka-en-keme, better and sweeter than honey. Thebes was a luxury-loving lioness that rejoiced to feed her young, passersby told the brothers. Because of her generous bounty, the river at her breast teemed with boats large and small, for joy inhabited her gates.
Thebes lay like a glittering jewel in the merciless Egyptian sun, her crowded streets laid out in straight lines that crossed at neat angles. Even in the grip of famine, fish glittered in her ponds and nesting birds squawked beside her pools.
The Egyptians in the merchant stalls seemed simple, cheerful and likable. Slighter than the robust men of Canaan and better adapted to the weather, the simple people wore their brown hair short or shaved their heads. The dry, intense heat dictated the uniform of the day: men wore eggshell-colored kilts of pleated linen; occasionally a wealthy man appeared in a voluminous cloak edged with colored weavings and embroideries.
Naked children scampered among the crowd at the riverside marketplace; regal young women in gossamer gowns kept a careful eye on them as they bartered for household goods and exotic trophies from foreign lands. The women of Egypt dressed themselves in long shirtlike garments exquisitely sewn and tied at the neck with delicate tassels. They seemed industrious, happy creatures, but Shim’on found it difficult to consider anything but their revealing attire.
After inquiring among several merchants for direction, the brothers followed a sea of visitors to the royal granaries. An official explained that all first-time foreign visitors had to register directly with the vizier’s representative. After this initial contact they would be spared the journey upriver and would be permitted to buy grain from one of the more remote outposts.
The brothers waited for hours in the hot sun and finally reached the head of the line, where an Egyptian official sat on the ground, a papyrus reed in his hand, his lips pursed with boredom.
Shim’on closed his eyes, struggling to remember every detail of the morning. Surely they had said something or committed some small act that aroused suspicion. He could think of nothing he had done, but any one of his brothers could have lost custody of his words or actions for a moment. Perhaps Levi had frowned at one of the naked slaves, or Yehuda had unconsciously snubbed one of the bald priests.
“What is your name, and from where do you come?” the scribe had asked in a bored tone, not even looking up. Re’uven, as eldest, stood at the head of the line, with Shim’on immediately behind him.
“I am Re’uven, son of Yaakov of Hebron,” he answered, folding his hands. “We have brought silver to buy a ration of grain from Pharaoh. There are ten of us, and each man will need four hundred-weight of grain, emmer and barley—”
Even from where he stood Shim’on saw the sudden tremor that shook the scribe’s hand. “Re’uven, son of Yaakov?” he interrupted, looking into Re’uven’s face. “From Hebron of Canaan?”
“Yes.” Re’uven strengthened his voice and lifted a hand to indicate the others. “These are my brothers.”
The scribe’s face drained of color. “Hold your place, but you must excuse me,” the man muttered. Without hesitation, he rose and ran doubled-over into a brick building near the domed granaries.
“What did you say to him, Re’uven?” Gad called, joking. “Or perhaps I should ask what you have eaten of late. Did your breath make him ill?”
“No more than yours would,” Re’uven answered, but Shim’on could see a lightning bolt of worry in his eyes.
They waited thirty eternal minutes. The cursing and sweating foreigners behind them lost all patience. First they called upon their gods to deliver them from the heat that covered the city like a blanket, then they demanded that their gods curse the man responsible for the delay.
Finally another official appeared and addressed Re’uven. “By the order of the Lord High Vizier, Father to Pharaoh, Acting Ruler and Commander of Pharaoh’s Royal Army, you and your company are to come with me.”
Re’uven’s heavy brows shot up in surprise. “Where are we going?”
“Are we not allowed to buy grain?” Shim’on stepped forward. “Are we and our families to starve?”
From out of nowhere, three dozen armed men appeared, instantly silencing the noisy rabble behind the brothers. Lance-bearers, the sharp blades of their spears gleaming like razor-sharp talons, surrounded Yaakov’s sons.
“You will come with me,” the Egyptian commander repeated, eyeing the brothers with a critical squint.
“We will come without argument if we may know where we are going,” Yehuda said, moving toward Re’uven.
But the commander had not answered, and in the face of such armed force, the brothers did not protest. In a frightened, bewildered huddle they stumbled to the gates of the largest villa Shim’on had ever seen, then they were escorted into the front hall of the house itself.
And for what? Though he had struggled with questions all night, Shim’on still had no idea why they had been culled from the thousands in line at the royal granaries. Had they offended one of the Egyptians’ stone gods? Or one of the naval commanders at the river? Had their father or grandfather conducted some secret dealings with the Egyptians that now boded ill for his descendants?
Shim’on could find no answers in the night sky. Groaning, he turned onto his side and closed h
is eyes against the depressing darkness. For a shepherd accustomed to sleeping with the unfettered breath of the open land on his brow, the pit was cramped, claustrophobic and cruel. He did not know who deserved the blame for thrusting them into this prison, but when he discovered the truth, that one would be made to pay.
Chapter Five
T hree days after the Canaanites had been taken to Pharaoh’s prison, Mandisa received a summons from her master. She hurried to Lady Asenath’s chamber where Zaphenath-paneah was breakfasting with his family.
“My master and mistress, may you live long and happy,” she murmured, prostrating herself on the floor.
Zaphenath-paneah wiped his hands on a small square of linen on his breakfast tray. “Mandisa, would you ask your son to take my boys into the garden to play? But please, return here after you have spoken to him.”
Mandisa rose and held out her hands to Efrayim and Menashe, the vizier’s young sons. “Come, boys,” she said, smiling. “Adom is in the courtyard with Tarik, learning how to throw a lance. Would you like to join him?”
The two boys, ages five and seven, offered their trusting hands and let her lead them from the room. She found her own son, Adom, on the front portico, his gaze wistfully trained on the courtyard where the captain inspected his guards.
“I thought Tarik was going to teach you this morning,” she murmured, slipping up behind the slender boy.
Adom cast her a quick glance over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to the men in the courtyard. “I don’t think he has time,” he replied, his voice heavy. “He has to do the inspections, then the vizier wants him to bring some captives from Pharaoh’s house.”
“There will be another time, then,” Mandisa said, giving what she hoped was the proper dose of encouragement. Stepping to his side, she lifted the smaller boys’ hands. “But I’ve brought you something to do. The vizier has asked if you would take his sons to the garden.”
Adom’s gloomy expression brightened. “Of course,” he said, grinning at Efrayim and Menashe. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re a good son.”
Adom shrugged off the compliment, but took the younger boys’ hands and led them toward the garden. Mandisa paused to watch the trio depart. Efrayim and Menashe were blessed to have a loving father and myriad caretakers to teach them all a boy ought to know. Adom was less fortunate, for he had her alone, and a single woman could do only so much with a son.…
She tucked her thoughts away and urged her feet back toward her mistress’s chamber.
Slaves were removing the breakfast trays when Mandisa returned. Zaphenath-paneah listened to his wife’s pleasant chatter while the room was cleared, but when the slaves had gone, he folded his arms and regarded Asenath with a grave expression.
“What?” A flicker of a smile rose at the edge of her mouth, then died out. “Have I done something to displease you, my husband?”
“No, beloved.” The vizier’s eyes flickered toward Mandisa, then he motioned to an empty stool near his wife. “You may sit, Mandisa. I want you both to hear what I am about to say.”
Without speaking, Mandisa slid into her place.
“My love,” the vizier of all Egypt began, his eyes melting into his wife’s, “days ago you asked why the arrival of a group of men from Hebron upset me. I could not tell you then, being unsure in my own mind what I should do, but I have prayed to the Almighty God and today I have an answer for you.”
“Go on, my husband,” Asenath said, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
The vizier gave her a strained smile. “I have told you, wife, of my past and the treachery that brought me to Egypt. Now I must tell you that the men in Pharaoh’s prison are my brothers, the sons of the maids and the sons of Lea.”
Mandisa heard her mistress’s quick intake of breath, but Asenath said nothing. She sat motionless at her husband’s side, blank, amazed and pale.
The vizier’s gaze shifted from his wife to her handmaid. “I have decided to remove the men of Canaan from prison today, and will need an interpreter when I speak with them.”
“But if they are your brothers—” Asenath began.
“I must know the intentions of their hearts before I reveal myself. I had thought to keep nine of them in Egypt and return the one who wields the most influence with my father, but in these hungry times it is too dangerous for one man to attempt the desert journey alone. I had also thought to punish them—” his voice softened “—but God has shown me that revenge is not the answer.”
Mandisa nodded. Her master had obviously thought much about what to do with his recalcitrant guests. “So you will allow them all to leave?”
“No.” Zaphenath-paneah gave her a slow smile. “I will keep the one most likely to cause trouble among the others. There are five years of famine yet to come, so they must eventually return to Egypt for more food-rations. As long as I am holding one brother, they will return to Thebes. My father is an honorable man. He will demand that they redeem whomever is left behind.”
Asenath’s hand flew out to rest upon his muscled arm. “My husband, what if they never come back? Won’t you regret sending them away without telling them the truth?”
The vizier leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Mandisa, you are a Canaanite, you know their ways. Tell your mistress—if these men were of your clan, would they return to secure your freedom?”
Mandisa felt her heart shrivel at his words. Her father had married her to Idogbe, a man she did not love, and allowed him to carry her to Egypt against her will. In thirteen years no one from her family had visited or sent word. If not for the goodness of Zaphenath-paneah and Lady Asenath, both she and her son would be enslaved or dead, for none of her father’s people cared that Idogbe had vanished and left her pregnant and alone. But if she had been born a son instead of a daughter, the situation would have been different.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered in a strangled voice, denying her own bitter reality. “If I were a man, they would be honor-bound to come for me.”
He sat back, reassured. “God knows what is in my brothers’ hearts, but He intends that I discern their hearts myself. Mandisa, be ready to face them within the hour. I am sending Tarik to Pharaoh’s prison to fetch them.”
“My husband?” Asenath spoke in a ragged voice. “Should I be with you…when you face them?”
“Not now, beloved,” the vizier answered, taking her hands in his. “If God is willing, you shall be at my side on a far happier day.”
Feeling irritated, gritty and uncomfortable, Shim’on shifted beneath his robe as he followed his brothers into the vizier’s great reception hall. In the vestibule slaves had removed their sandals and washed the black dirt of Egypt from their feet, and as the brothers entered the spotless and elaborate hall, another army of servants lined the walls, each waving an ostrich-feathered fan to circulate the incense wafting from ornately carved stands along the sides of the room. From someplace out of sight, a harpist’s gentle hands played soothing music.
Shim’on steeled himself for whatever was to come. Whoever had ordered these gestures of sweet softness meant to emphasize the difference between the vizier’s luxurious presence and the brothers’ barren prison. Why?
After a few moments of nervous silence, a pair of trumpets sounded. The double columns of lance-bearers marched into the room and the elegant vizier ascended his gilded throne. His linen garment, falling like chiseled marble from his throat to the floor, did little to disguise the strength of his frame. A heavy chain of gold hung about his neck; the finest leather adorned his feet. His heavy wig had been shaped and oiled to frame his aristocratic face.
For a long moment no one spoke. As much as Shim’on wanted to look away, he found himself staring at the king’s regent. Zaphenath-paneah’s handsome features nudged some distant experience in Shim’on’s memory, but he pushed the feeling aside. The vizier should look familiar, for his likeness had been painted on half the statues and frescoed buildings in Thebes. Though Shim’
on guessed the man was less than forty years old, his sharp profile spoke of power and ageless strength. Yet his mouth wore an expression of familiar softness, the way Yaakov looked just before he smiled.
From lowered lids, Shim’on shot a hostile look at the man. Was he gloating over his harsh treatment of the brothers? Did he think they would confess to spying because they spent two days and nights in his pitiful pit? Or was he enjoying the thought of what he would do to them if they did not confess to spying in this encounter?
“Grace and peace to you, most high vizier.” Re’uven sank to his knees. The other brothers followed Re’uven’s cue and lowered themselves until every man lay prostrate on the gleaming floor. From another entrance to the room, the female servant who had previously acted as interpreter came forward and interpreted for Re’uven again.
“You may kneel before me,” Zaphenath-paneah responded, holding out a golden rod. “I have consulted my God, and have brought you out of prison to speak what is on my heart.”
Re’uven rose to a kneeling position. “My brothers and I are listening.”
The vizier waited for the interpretation, then seemed to fix his gaze on Shim’on, who had lifted his head as high as he dared.
“I have asked my God for wisdom,” the vizier said, derision and sympathy mingled in his expression, “and He has provided an answer. If you do what I will tell you, you shall live, for I fear God.”
Shim’on shifted his gaze to the woman as she interpreted, and lost all custody of his eyes as the vizier’s words flowed from her tongue. He had noticed her on their arrival, for what man would not? But today her loveliness seemed to fill the room with light.