by Angela Hunt
He rubbed his chest, protecting the heart only Rahel and Yosef had been able to fully enter. They had slipped from his grasp like steam from a kettle, taking the better part of his life with them. Now dashed dreams and disillusionment raked at his soul. What remained of the covenant promise? Only a parched land and an assortment of bickering sons. El Shaddai had promised Canaan to Avraham, He had renewed his covenant with Yitzhak, He had wrestled with Yaakov and spoken his promise yet again. At Bethel, the House of God, the voice of God Shaddai had promised that all families of the earth would find blessing through Yaakov and his seed: Here, I am with you, God had said, I will watch over you wherever you go.…
“Father.”
Yaakov looked up, disturbed from his thoughts. Levi, Yehuda, Re’uven and Dan stood before him, a delegation of the eldest sons. “We have no food, Father,” Re’uven began. “We must return to Mizraim.”
Yaakov nodded, stilling the last voices of resistance within him. “Go back, buy us a little food.”
Re’uven lifted a brow and looked at Yehuda. He obviously hadn’t expected that answer.
“But—” Yehuda spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness “—the vizier solemnly warned us that we would not see him again unless our brother Binyamin is with us. If you will send Binyamin, we will go and buy whatever we need. But if you will not—”
Yaakov slapped his hands over his ears. “Why did you treat me so badly? Why did you tell this man you had another brother? If he had not known, he could not ask for Binyamin.”
“The vizier asked specific and particular questions,” Levi answered, frowning. “He asked if our father still lived, and if we had another brother. We answered truthfully, never dreaming that he would command us to bring our brother to him.”
Yaakov lowered his hands and looked away.
“Father—” Yehuda lowered himself to one knee “—send Binyamin in my care, and we will arise and go so we all may live. If we do not eat, you and the little ones will die. I myself will guarantee Binyamin’s safety. If I do not bring him back and set him safe before you, then let me bear the blame forever.”
“If you had allowed us to go when we first asked your blessing,” Re’uven said, pressing Yehuda’s point, “we could have gone and returned twice by now.”
Yaakov turned and pinned Yehuda with a long, silent scrutiny. “I am an old man,” he finally whispered, his voice breaking as he gazed past his sons toward distant memories of Yosef and Rahel. “In my youth I loved a woman and lost her. I loved a son and lost him. One son of Rahel’s remains. If I lose Binyamin, all I shall have left are the raw sores of an aching heart.”
He lifted his eyes to Re’uven’s and strengthened his voice. “If you must go, take some of the best things we have as a present for the man—a little balm and honey, aromatic gum and myrrh, pistachio nuts and almonds. And take double the silver you did last time, so you can return the treasure you found in the mouths of your sacks. Someone certainly made a mistake by returning it to you.”
His gaze lifted to the dun-colored, lifeless hills. Death was bearing down on them and he could do nothing to stop it. He had no more choices, no way out…save one.
“Take your brother also,” he said, a suffocating sensation tightening his throat, “and return to the vizier. And may El Shaddai grant you compassion in the sight of this man, that he may release to you Shim’on and Binyamin. And as for me—” he closed his eyes “—if I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
M andisa sighed as she lifted the breakfast tray her mistress had not touched. The morning sky was a faultless curve of blue from one edge of the garden wall to the other while the air shimmered in honey-thick sunshine. Ordinarily Asenath would have rejoiced in a day like this, but today she lay silent and still on her chaise longue, one hand over her stomach, her pale face contorted by nausea.
“Dear wife—” Zaphenath-paneah reached to pat his wife’s free hand “—I must know if you want to attend the party for Queen Tiy. Since Pharaoh’s new bride is a commoner, he wants to invite as many of the nobility as possible. The guest list will be enormously complicated.…”
His voice drifted away when Asenath did not respond. Two worry lines cut into his forehead as his gaze caught Mandisa’s. She shook her head, silently warning him off, and the hopeful glint in his eyes faded.
Mandisa clicked her tongue in quiet pity. In the months since Asenath’s shocking announcement, the master had behaved more nobly than she expected; indeed, he had done the complete opposite of what any other betrayed husband would do. Instead of casting his wife aside, he had said nothing of her obvious infidelity. With inconceivable patience he looked on her with tender pity even when Asenath battled the nausea and exhaustion of pregnancy.
The vizier was an endless surprise; his continued attention and affection toward his wife simultaneously baffled and thrilled Mandisa. Zaphenath-paneah remained at Asenath’s side for longer periods of time than usual, took care that luxurious bouquets of blue lotus blossoms, her favorite flowers, filled her chambers and asked Tizara to keep the boys quiet whenever Asenath was ill or resting.
The slaves, servants and visitors who were not privy to the entire truth soon surmised that Asenath expected another child. Mandisa felt a curious, tingling shock the first time she saw Zaphenath-paneah accept a round of congratulations with his customary polished charm. Immediately afterward, however, she caught sight of her master in an unguarded moment, and her heart broke at the flash of grief that ripped through his eyes. The heartbreak she had experienced over Shim’on paled in comparison to the torrent of anguish her master endured.
Mandisa removed the tray from the stand near her lady’s chair. She was about to murmur some foolish pleasantry to lighten the dismal atmosphere when Ani burst into the garden. Zaphenath-paneah looked up, and even Asenath managed to turn her head in the steward’s direction.
“Life, health and prosperity to my lord and mistress,” Ani babbled. He bent at the waist, a token effort to lower himself to the ground, but obviously had no time for formalities.
“Remain upright, Ani, and tell me what brings your aged legs here in such a hurry,” Zaphenath-paneah answered.
“The Canaanites from Hebron,” the old man gasped, an expression of wonder creeping over his face. “They are standing outside the gates of your villa.”
The master stared at his steward, tongue-tied and stunned, while Mandisa took a wincing little breath. Ani still had no idea of the brothers’ connection to the vizier. “Shim’on’s brothers?” she asked, finding her voice.
Ani’s head bobbed like a cork on the river. “Yes, the loud one’s bearded kin. Ten of them, my lord!”
All color drained from the vizier’s face. “You say there are ten?”
Ani grinned like a well-fed fox. “Yes. The nine who came before, and another one, a younger man.”
A muscle quivered in Zaphenath-paneah’s jaw. “Tell the gatekeeper to hold them outside the villa. And send Tarik to my chambers at once. I will meet him there.”
The vizier pressed his hand over Asenath’s for a brief moment, then rose and left the women in the garden.
After inspecting the positions of his guards, Tarik turned with a quick snap of his shoulders and nodded toward the vizier’s gatekeeper. The double gates swung open and the ten Canaanites, wide-eyed and wary, progressed through the courtyard toward the portico.
Watching them, Tarik marveled. These shepherds, who had been indignant and insistent when they last stood before his master, had returned to submit to the vizier’s demands. The strong-willed brothers who had rejected Zaphenath-paneah a lifetime before and argued with him a few months ago had returned to humble themselves.
A few moments earlier, Zaphenath-paneah had given Tarik clear and concise directions. “Hold them at the portico so I may study them from the balcony of my chamber,” he said, his voice simmering with barely checked agitation. “If they are desperate, or if our father i
s truly unwilling to release my younger brother, they may try to slip an impostor by us. But if the younger man truly is Binyamin…”
Tarik had bowed and left, understanding his orders. Now he stared at the visitors, knowing that his master also studied them from behind a screen of palms on his balcony.
“Halt!” Tarik commanded, hoping his scant knowledge of the Canaanite tongue would prove adequate. “Line up, so we may be certain you would not dare bring a sword into the vizier’s house.”
Obediently, the brothers stretched out in a line, shoulder to shoulder. Tarik’s guards moved among them, patting their heavy garments with the flat edges of their swords in a calculated demonstration of diligence. While his guards worked, Tarik found his eyes drawn to the younger man who stood in the center of the group, his hands hanging at his sides. A blush burned the man’s cheek. His black hair gleamed in the bright morning sun, growing upward and outward in great masses of curls. His clothing was simple, but rich; his head hung in the attitude of one who lives in a perpetual state of embarrassment. Dark eyes framed a handsome square face.
“By Seth’s foul breath, those eyes!” Tarik muttered. “They are my master’s!”
After a moment, Ani’s thin, tremulous voice spiraled down from the balcony. “The master says bring them in,” the steward called to Tarik. “I am to slay a lamb. The men will dine with Zaphenath-paneah at noon.”
Levi’s head throbbed as he climbed the chiseled steps before the vizier’s portico. Like the others, he worried that the Egyptian might wish to detain Binyamin as he had Shim’on. And what had happened to Shim’on? He had not been brought out to meet them.
“What if this vizier has sold our Shim’on to slave traders?” Asher whispered, hugging his arms as he walked. “Suppose the vizier realized he was not paid for our grain? What if he sold Shim’on to make up the difference?”
“What if he chooses to sell Binyamin, too?” Naftali asked. “Or all of us? It is not good that he has summoned us inside. If nothing were amiss, he would have taken our silver, given us Shim’on and our grain and sent us on our way.”
“The Egyptian is odd, there is no predicting him,” Re’uven answered, leading the way into the reception room. “Yet we are at his mercy. Whatever his judgment, we shall deserve it.”
Lethal calm filled his eyes when he looked at Levi. “In the past few months I have thought many times of Yosef, whom we sold into slavery. Can any of us say we do not deserve to suffer the fate we decreed for him?”
“Hush, Binyamin will hear you!” Yehuda hissed. Their collective gaze turned toward their younger brother. Aloof and distant as always, Binyamin wandered alone through the magnificent assembly hall, his hands behind his back, his eyes lifted to the bizarre paintings on the walls.
Dan nodded toward the other side of the room. “Look, now, what’s this?”
A host of Egyptians, richly dressed in golden collars and white kilts, entered the room from another doorway. The latecomers stiffened when their painted eyes caught sight of the brothers. Levi cast them a withering stare in return.
“They look at us as if we are a bad smell,” he muttered in a low voice. “I would like to wrestle that tall one with the earring. I’d show that self-important snob that we are not the stinking herders he thinks we are.”
“Hush, Levi,” Yehuda murmured, turning toward the entryway. “Someone else approaches.”
A pair of sandaled feet shuffled through the doorway, then the bald, wiry man who had spoken from the balcony stood before them. “Greetings from my lord Zaphenath-paneah, Nourisher of Egypt and the World, Guardian of Pharaoh’s Shadow,” he said, speaking Canaanite in a clipped, careful accent. “You have been invited to eat the midday meal with my master.”
Yehuda lifted a brow. “We have news for him, but we do not require much of his time.”
“You shall eat with him,” the little man answered. “My name is Ani. I am Zaphenath-paneah’s steward.” He glanced past them toward the portico and the courtyard, then rested his hands upon his scrawny, birdlike chest. “My master has instructed me to see that your donkeys are provided with fodder, and that your feet are washed.” He lifted his hands and clapped; immediately a half dozen servants appeared with basins, towels and pitchers.
The steward’s lined face arranged itself into a careful smile. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Our brother.” Levi stepped out of the circle. “What has become of Shim’on?”
The steward bowed his head. “He is preparing for you now. He will be restored to you soon.”
“There is one other matter,” Yehuda said, moving closer. “When we arrived home after our last journey to Thebes we found that our silver had been returned to our sacks. We didn’t take it, and we want to pay for what we bought. So today we have returned the silver we owe, and we have brought more to buy what our families need.”
“We have also brought gifts,” Re’uven interrupted, “for your master.”
The old man smiled again, an odd mingling of wariness and amusement in his eyes. “Be at ease, do not be afraid,” he said, nodding. “Your God and the God of your father has given you treasure in your sacks. I had your silver. Now, if you will excuse me, here is your brother.”
The steward turned and moved aside. A quartet of guards stepped smartly through the passageway and separated when they reached the reception hall. Levi half expected to see the mighty vizier step out from behind them, but Shim’on stood there, as massive and self-confident as ever.
Levi put his worries aside with sudden good humor. “Shim’on!”
The Destroyer’s eyes flashed with approval. “Brothers! How well you look!”
Ignoring the servants and the assembled Egyptians, the brothers surrounded Shim’on with much embracing and slapping on the back. He accepted their greetings with good nature, then slipped his burly arm around Binyamin. “My little brother,” he said, his bushy brows rising in pleasure, “I have never been so pleased to see anyone in my entire life!”
“Did they treat you well?”
“Were you in the prison pits?”
“You look well-fed, Shim’on!”
“Not only well-fed—someone has been pampering our brother!”
They laughed, poked and jabbed at one another in merry glee. After a few moments Levi pulled himself from the fray and stepped back to study his brother. He and Shim’on had been close; their mother said they were two of a kind, cut from the same cloth. He and Shim’on had always understood each other without a word of explanation.…
But this was not the same Destroyer they left here months ago. Some quality in him had changed, an edge had softened, the warp and woof of the man had altered. The old Shim’on would have come charging out with threats of revenge and retribution, daring his hosts to take up arms.
Shim’on caught his eye and laughed. “Why, Levi, do you look at me like that?”
The others grew still and parted, their faces painted with surprise.
“I thought you’d be glad to see me,” Shim’on went on, “but you’re looking at me as if I had sprouted horns.”
Levi felt the chasm between them like an open wound. Perhaps Shim’on had been tortured. Pain could account for the way his voice had softened, for his carefree humor and the solicitous way he inclined his head toward Binyamin. Though physically he bore no marks or scars, the Egyptians might have bewitched him or forced him to participate in their vile idol worship. Shim’on would have fought them, of course, but even the Destroyer’s strength had limits.
But he would never admit them. And he would never confess that he’d been broken. But when they had returned to the tents of Hebron, Shim’on would heal and become his old self again.
“It is nothing,” Levi murmured, his mind drifting away from the unsolvable mystery. He waved Shim’on’s concerns away. “You look different, that’s all,” he said, shrugging. “You’re wearing a kilt instead of a robe. And someone has cut your hair.”
“Bah, it co
uldn’t be helped, the Egyptians have foolish ideas about such things.” Shim’on made a face as the others laughed. “At least I managed to keep my beard! But those things are done, my brother. I am ready to go home.”
“Good,” Levi answered, smiling thoughtfully.
Mandisa found her place beside Tarik in the master’s entourage and resisted the urge to cast a questioning glance at the captain. The vizier had already given them strict instructions. “My brothers must be tested,” he had explained, his arms behind his back as he prowled his chamber. “They have brought Binyamin, which is good, but how can I know they will not cast him aside as they once did me? If their hearts are not loyal, I must be there to catch my younger brother when they cast him away. I would know the extent of their devotion. I must be sure their stony hearts have softened.”
The master did not say exactly how he planned to prove his brothers, but Mandisa knew the elaborate stratagem would begin at dinner. She and Tarik were to enter the chamber ahead of the vizier’s bodyguard, then she would take her place at Zaphenath-paneah’s right hand while Tarik stood on his left, ever-ready to defend.
One of the young fan-bearers coughed softly as he moved into line behind her, and Mandisa glanced back. Zaphenath-paneah stood behind the fan-bearers, a stiff and regal expression on his face.
Mandisa’s heart stirred with compassion as she looked at him. For an instant wistfulness stole into the vizier’s expression as he met her eyes, then he smiled.
“He is ready,” she whispered to Tarik.
A trumpet sounded. Like actors in a play they swept down the passageway and into the hall. The servants had already done their work, providing each guest with a chair, a foot-stool and an empty dining tray on a stand. Behind each chair a servant waited with an amphora of scented water, a copper washbasin and fresh linen for drying the hands.
Zaphenath-paneah had been quite explicit in his directions regarding the Canaanites: they were to be positioned far away from his Egyptian guests, and seated in a particular order. The oldest, Re’uven, was to be seated farthest from the vizier, and the youngest, Binyamin, at the vizier’s right hand.