Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “I know. But what else can you do?” Lila’s mouth formed a grim line as she hurried to apply kohl to Sarai’s eyes.

  “There must be something.” They could tell the truth. But her stomach twisted at that thought. Abram would not agree.

  “Perhaps as your brother, Abram can tell the pharaoh you are promised to someone else. Or he could say you are widowed.” Lila coiled her hair with jeweled combs beneath a veil of soft, dark fabric.

  “Don’t say such a thing!” Could saying the words make them come true? A tremor worked through her, and she gripped the sides of the stool for support.

  “I’m sorry, Sarai. Didn’t you and Abram plan for what to do if such a thing came to pass?”

  A shadow fell across her tent opening, interrupting their conversation. She turned to see Abram standing there, blocking the light. She rose slowly, not trusting her legs to hold her, and went to him.

  “Sarai.” Her name on his lips came out strangled. “The pharaoh . . . he is asking to meet us . . . to meet my sister.”

  Her feet held her fast as she took in his gaze, the one that would not quite meet hers. His hands clenched and unclenched, and he shifted from foot to foot.

  “You said it would not come to this. You said you would tell them I am not available.” Her words came out low and harsh, her anger the only thing keeping her from swaying and fainting straightaway.

  Silence met her ear until at last he looked her in the eye. “I tried, Sarai. But apparently Pharaoh Mentuhotep II has an eye for beautiful women. His princes and guards and viziers and governors are all commissioned to keep a lookout for them. They report any they find directly to the king, and they reported you.” He moved into the tent and took her hands in his. She did not pull away, not knowing whether she would feel his touch again after this meeting. “I should never have brought you here.”

  His look of dejection touched a chord within her, melting her anger, and his fear became her own. She pulled one hand from his to stroke his beard. “The famine.” And her foolish sacrifice that caused it. “There was nothing else we could have done.” The words tasted like ash.

  He darted a quick look behind him, then turned and wrapped her in his arms, crushing her beneath his kiss. He broke free too soon and released her, the loss acute. He nodded once, turned, and strode from the tent. Heart racing, she followed him.

  She squinted against the angle of the morning sun, spotting bare-chested Egyptian princes decked out in short crowns of gold, jeweled collars, and sashes, their rich, colorful skirts covering them from waist to knee. Five princes surrounded by twenty guards stood at attention, awaiting her. Their strange beauty impressed and repulsed her. Did they come to show off their military might or their judicial power? What were twenty guards against the one hundred and fifty trained men in Abram’s company?

  And yet she knew Abram’s men would not fight on her behalf. The Egyptian guards were a small show of force against Egypt’s greater might. She and Abram were at the mercy of the king. If she did not cooperate, Abram could die and all would be lost.

  She stepped forward, her heart crying out within her, begging Abram’s God for help, for rescue from whatever lay ahead. If her folly with the moon goddess was responsible, let her offer a sacrifice and be forgiven. What good could come to Abram, the man called by Adonai to start a new nation, if he fell prisoner—or worse—to a foreign king?

  She shivered beneath the veil covering all but her kohl-darkened eyes, but as she approached the guards, she forced courage into her will and did not cower as they took in her appearance. Neither would she cower before this Pharaoh Mentuhotep II. If he were determined to meet her, she would show him an air of pride and dignity. He would not win or woo her easily as Abram’s sister, princess of Ur. Even if he took her into his harem, as she knew Abram feared, she would not let him touch her.

  If Abram could not protect her, and if his God would not rescue her, she would do what she must to help herself.

  12

  Two Egyptian slaves took Sarai’s arms and tugged her away from Abram. She twisted and shrugged out of their grip. “Don’t touch me!” But they only looked at her strangely and muttered words she could not understand.

  She turned toward Abram, extending a hand. But the slaves grasped her upper arms again and tightened their grip, dragging her away. She thought to twist and writhe beneath their grasp, but the sight of the five princes brandishing golden swords beside an elegant, colorful litter made her resist the urge. She clenched her hands but could not still the shaking.

  A prince nodded and pointed to the litter, offering a hand to help her inside. She gave him a disdainful look. His laugh incensed her, and she climbed inside without his assistance.

  Four Egyptian slaves lifted the litter’s golden bars to their shoulders, taking her with them. As the litter shifted, she stifled a cry, fearing she might fall, but the slaves quickly fell into a rhythm, marching at a brisk trot. She twisted, peering through the filmy curtain to see if Abram would follow, but she lost sight of him. She could only assume, alone in a sea of horses and men.

  Would she see him again? Her heart quivered, and she fought the urge to be sick. The litter stopped a short while later, and the sounds of lapping water met Sarai’s ears. The curtains parted, and the same prince stood nearby, a smug smile on his lips. Anger shot through her. She ignored his outstretched hand and climbed out on her own.

  The port city bustled with life, but a quick glance showed no sign of Abram. Sarai’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip as the two slaves came alongside her again.

  She turned on them. “Where is my brother? Keep your hands off me!” She glared at them, but they only shrugged, not understanding.

  They reached for her again, but she waved her arms, batting them away. Uncivilized Egyptians! How dare they treat her like a slave to be auctioned! She whirled about, showing them her back. Laughter erupted from behind, and she cursed the Egyptian prince’s arrogance. She waited a breath until he stepped up beside her. He bowed at the waist and motioned toward the barge, but she did not miss the amusement in his gaze. He thought her a foolish one! She would show him who was the bigger fool.

  She walked the wooden planks to the dock where a barge waited, whose flags and insignias could only be that of the Egyptian king. She stepped aboard, clinging to the rail to keep her balance. Her stomach churned harder as she stumbled toward the seat beneath a colorful linen canopy.

  “Sarai.” She jumped up at Abram’s welcome voice, spotting him with Eliezer near the pilot at the bow.

  “Abram!”

  He hurried to her. She gripped the marble columns holding the canopy, trying not to slip on the platform of gold. She felt his arms come around her, then pull quickly away. She ached to hold him, to cling to him.

  “We cannot do this, Sarai,” he whispered against her ear. “You must be brave.”

  “How can you ask this of me? You need to help me escape,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “The only escape is to leave Egypt,” he said, “and you can see how impossible that is now.”

  Her gaze caught Egyptian slaves milling about, readying long poles for the water. The barge pushed away from the bank, and she gripped the marble column. The annoying prince stepped onto the golden platform, motioning for her to sit. She glared in response, but at Abram’s touch on her shoulder, she obeyed.

  “What will become of me?” She looked at Abram, whose scowl followed the Egyptian prince’s back as he returned to the bow. “Is there nothing to be done then?” Her voice shook like one of the reeds along the river’s edge.

  “I don’t know.” He looked at her then, his expression a mixture of anguish and anger and fear. Bile rose in her throat at the realization of just how helpless he was. And just how hopeless.

  Abram stood at the river’s edge later that day as the barge stopped for the night, staring out over the dark, moonlit water. A splash nearby made him step back a pace. He did not wish to be food for crocodiles. />
  “Abram?”

  “Sarai.” She rushed toward him, and he pulled her down beside him on the bank, hidden among the reeds. Her lips tasted sweet as honey and salty as tears. “Sarai, my most beloved.” He breathed the words against her ear, clinging to her.

  She sobbed against him, though no sound accompanied her shaking. “Oh, my husband!” He winced at the title she used. He did not deserve to be called such a name. What kind of husband allowed his wife to be in such danger?

  He crushed her to his chest, memorizing her feel, her scent. How could he protect her from these people, from Pharaoh?

  “You must get me away from here. We could run even now to the barge and set out across the water to the other side.”

  “The barge is guarded night and day, Sarai. And it takes at least six men to operate the poles on a craft that size.” He raked a hand through his hair, listening to the whisper of wind in the reeds.

  “Then we will swim to the other side. It will be no different than when we played as children in the Euphrates.” She gripped his arm so tight her nails pinched his flesh.

  “The crocodiles would catch us before we stepped fully into the water.” He loosened her grip. “We would need men to help us and a boat small enough to manage ourselves.” He looked into her stricken gaze and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Oh, Sarai, I wish there was a way. But we cannot even speak the language of most, and there are none who will betray their pharaoh to help us.”

  The admission made his gut clench hard, and for a moment he feared he would break down and weep with her. He pulled her to him instead, fighting the emotion.

  “Why is this happening to us?” Her words were a whisper.

  “I learned long ago not to ask such questions, beloved.” He stroked her back, closing his eyes against the sting of the half truth. He had asked the question of himself too many times, certain he was to blame for bringing them here.

  He leaned back and searched her face, visible only in the slim slice of moonlight. She met his gaze, and something flickered in her eyes that he couldn’t define. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

  “I don’t want to live in Pharaoh’s palace. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Nor I you.”

  She drew in a breath. “Then you must do something. We have a week, my husband, until we reach Thebes. You must find a way to help us escape, before it is too late.”

  The enormity and splendor of the Egyptian capital of Thebes filled Sarai with a deep sense of dread. The week had passed too quickly, with no more chance to meet her husband alone by the river’s bank and no plan to get them away from their Egyptian hosts. Egyptian guards came alongside them as they stepped from the barge and quickly escorted them down a brick lane, halting beneath a shaded colonnade.

  Slaves appeared from behind marble columns to brush dust from Sarai’s robes. One offered her a golden goblet of wine. She waved a hand to refuse but caught Abram’s look. He accepted the drink, sipping some dark liquid. She followed his lead, tasting pomegranate wine.

  Sweat gathered along her brow, and the scent of cumin and garlic that hung in the air churned her stomach. She moved closer to Abram. “What are they waiting for?”

  “We have to wait our turn.” Abram took her hand and tucked it over his arm.

  Moments later, the thick double doors opened. Guards motioned them forward, and trumpets blared as they stepped over the threshold. Rows of men and women lined the hall—a wall of interest. Abram’s steps slowed.

  “Keep moving.” A guard prodded them, pointing a sword at Abram’s feet.

  Sarai stumbled. Abram’s grip tightened, and she clung to his arm. The room stretched on for an eternity, but all too soon they stopped before the steps of inlaid stone and Pharaoh’s gilded throne. Abram knelt, pulling Sarai down with him, her face to the tiles, her emotions curling into a tight fist in her middle.

  “You may rise.” The voice came from the left, not from the man seated on the throne.

  Sarai rose, a shudder working through her. Pharaoh Mentuhotep II sat straight, his striped headpiece resting from his head to his shoulder, draping to his chest over a vulture-shaped, jeweled collar. His chin held a fake beard, narrow and woven, and a golden cobra and lapis lazuli vulture stood out on his forehead as though ready to spit fire. A golden shepherd’s crook and a flail of fine leather cords and brass circles extended from each of the pharaoh’s hands, symbols of protection and judgment.

  The pharaoh spoke to a man at his side in a tongue she did not recognize. His voice was deep, and his proud, possessive look turned her blood cold.

  The man responded, and Sarai’s fear rose higher. How were they supposed to communicate to one whose tongue sounded like babble?

  The man spoke again, this time the words familiar though difficult to discern. “Yes, my king. She is the man’s sister.” He pointed at Abram, and Sarai knew the man had spoken for their benefit. Sarai barely dared to breathe.

  Pharaoh Mentuhotep set his gaze on Abram, studying him, then flicked his kohl-rimmed eyes toward Sarai. He took in her appearance slowly, as one tasting many flavors at a meal, leaving Sarai feeling vulnerable and exposed.

  “Remove her veil.” The command, impossible to misinterpret, startled her, but her protests died on her lips as two female servants hurried to do the bidding of the king’s servant, dislodging one of Lila’s carefully placed combs in their haste. Several strands of Sarai’s thick hair tumbled to her shoulders. She snatched at her hair and tried to tuck it into another comb, but the effort failed, loosening it instead. Heat filled her cheeks, and she could not look at anything but the floor.

  The pharaoh spoke again, his tone sounding almost amused.

  The man responded in the Egyptian tongue, then Sarai clearly caught his final words. “She has beautiful hair.”

  They were talking about her as though she were a slave to be sold. The thought chilled her. Was that not exactly what she had become? Despite Abram’s impassioned words, she was only a sister now. A woman free to marry another, to be sold to the king at whatever price could be had. Would Abram do nothing to stop such a thing?

  More words were exchanged in the Egyptian tongue until at last they stilled.

  “I accept.”

  Sarai’s head snapped up at the pharaoh’s words. He had spoken their language. Had he played them for fools from the start? But of course, coming here proved that was exactly what they were.

  “Accept, my lord?” Abram bowed. “I do not understand.”

  “I accept your sister as my wife.” He extended the shepherd’s staff and motioned Abram to touch it.

  Abram glanced at her, his dark eyes flickering with raw pain. But in an instant, he masked the expression and turned, saying nothing. He moved forward, hand lifted, and touched the tip of the crook.

  “It is done then.” A guard clapped his hands, making Sarai’s taut nerves nearly shatter. “Take this woman to the queen’s quarters.”

  Before she could catch her breath, guards escorted Sarai from the audience chambers and down several gleaming corridors, each one filled with carvings of animals—vultures, cobras, cats. And faces of gods she could not name. More servants speaking foreign words passed them, some smiling, others impassive.

  They forced her to stop at a gated courtyard. “Welcome to the Hall of Queens.” The female servant spoke in a dialect of the Canaanite tongue, and Sarai caught the meaning, if not every word.

  Panic rushed in on her, made her heart beat too fast as the young woman motioned her toward a set of rooms off to the left. “This is where Pharaoh’s new acquisitions begin the purification process. You will stay here until your body has been perfumed and oiled and until the right clothes can be fitted for you.” She looked Sarai over, her attitude sparking a hint of disdain.

  “The clothes I have are perfectly fine.” Sarai lifted her chin. How dare a servant act so above her. She was a princess of Ur, wife of Abram!

  “The king likes his
wives to be diverse, but he also has times he prefers they dress as Egyptians. You will be no exception, my lady.” The last was added almost as an afterthought, reminding Sarai that while she might be a princess, even a queen now, she was no longer who she used to be.

  He had lost her. Just as Eliezer had lost Jerusha, only worse. Eliezer had fought to save Jerusha from the king of Nineveh, whereas Abram had stood watching his beloved taken without saying a word.

  Guilt lashed him. He should open his mouth even now and tell the king the truth, demand his wife’s return. He glanced at the king’s face, saw the threatening gleam in his eyes, and the words died on his tongue.

  “You will be well paid for your sister.”

  Abram’s thoughts snapped. Pharaoh Mentuhotep’s honeyed tone seemed as false as his beard.

  The pharaoh laid the crook and the flail across his knees and clapped his hands. “Take this man—what is your name?”

  Abram swallowed the grit on his tongue and cleared his throat. “Abram ben Terah, my lord.”

  He nodded. “Take Abram ben Terah to my inner courtyard and bring the servants. He shall have his pick of menservants and maidservants. Then take him to the sheep pens and the donkey and camel stalls. Give him the best of my flocks and herds.” He stroked his fake chin, eyeing Abram. “Your sister—what is her name?”

  Abram’s chest tightened, his heart beating faster. “Sarai, my lord.”

  Pharaoh Mentuhotep smiled, his teeth showing white above the thin beard. “My princess. How fitting.” He snapped his fingers at his servants. “See to it the man is well paid.”

  Abram bowed low, somehow managing to thank the pharaoh. Servants guided him toward the palace courtyard, but his feet were weighted, his limbs bent and forced to move as though trudging through Canaan’s tar pits. He drew in a shallow breath, but the effort made his knees weak. Eliezer somehow appeared at his side and caught his arm.