Sarai

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Hagar watched doubt flicker beneath the scribe’s outright disdain. She stepped forward. She couldn’t let Osahar endanger himself. “The new wife is already married.”

  “What?” The scribe’s voice rose to a thin squeal. Hagar jumped and glanced over her shoulder. The king’s eyes rested on her.

  “Come forward.” Two loud hand claps stopped the clamor of soothsayers and priests as the large audience hall fell into silence. The king’s tone held no kindness, and Hagar could not pull away from his stern gaze. “Step forward.”

  Osahar hurried forward and fell to his face before she could act, but her father’s gaze did not leave her face.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he said to Osahar. “I was speaking to the girl.”

  Hagar forced her feet to move, her breath growing thin. She stopped at the steps she used to play upon as a child and knelt with her face to the tiles.

  “Why do you disturb my court? Are you blind to what is happening here? Speak quickly before I have you thrown to the crocodiles.”

  “Forgive me, my lord. If I may speak?” She waited, her heart thumping hard.

  “Rise and speak.”

  She lifted her head but did not rise from her knees. “Forgive me, my lord, but I know the reason for the plague.” The crook and flail did not move from her father’s hands, and his regal look could have withered the sun. Did he recognize her?

  “Tell me what you think you know.” His eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth stretched taut.

  “The new wife, Sarai, is the only wife of Pharaoh who remains unaffected by the strange fever and sickness.”

  “Not affected at all?” He turned the flail over in his hands.

  Hagar shook her head. “No, my lord. I assumed her god must be keeping her from whatever is afflicting the rest of Pharaoh’s household. When I asked her about her god, she confided to me that she does not know her husband’s god as he does. I immediately thought she spoke of you, my king, but her words were too vague, and their meaning quickly became clear. She already has a husband, my lord.”

  “Impossible! Who would lie to Pharaoh, Lord of the Two Lands?” He leaned forward, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the crook and flail, the cobra in his crown seeming to breathe venom with his words.

  Hagar swallowed, fear stealing her breath. If he recognized her now, he would know she had lied to him as well. “The man Abram is not her brother only, but also her husband.”

  “You do not speak as a slave girl. Where did you learn such cultured speech?”

  Hagar’s stomach twisted. What would happen if she told her father the truth?

  “She has been in Pharaoh’s house many moons, my lord. She has learned well from those she serves.” Osahar’s words made Hagar’s heart beat faster. He should not have spoken. She could not bear to lose him!

  She glanced at her father, whose silence unnerved her. At last he lifted the flail and waved it high. “Bring the foreigner Abram to me.” The command jolted ten servants into action, and whispers broke out along the walls of the chamber. Pharaoh looked from Hagar to Osahar. “You will stand aside and wait. If I find you have spoken truth, you will live. If you have lied to your king, you will sleep with the crocodiles this night.”

  Hagar fell to the floor once more to pay her father homage, then rose swiftly and moved with Osahar to stand beneath the columns adorning Pharaoh’s audience hall. Her fate would be decided soon enough. If the new wife had lied to her, she had just risked her life for nothing.

  “After the camels are loaded with the rest of Pharaoh’s gifts and settled on the barges, we can head back to camp.” Eliezer came up beside Abram. “Or we can find a place in the city until you decide what to do.”

  Abram drew in a ragged breath. “I cannot leave her. How can you even suggest it?” He waved a hand toward the burgeoning mass of Pharaoh’s gifts of animals and servants, carved leather saddles and finely woven blankets. “What good are such gifts without Sarai?” He fisted both hands, feeling the heat of the afternoon sun beneath his dark turban and wanting to sink under its strength.

  The sound of marching feet jolted his painful thoughts. He turned at the sight of twenty Egyptian soldiers coming up the stone walk, clad in helmets and bearing shields and swords.

  “Abram of Ur, you are to come with us immediately. Pharaoh Mentuhotep would have a word with you.”

  Abram stepped forward. “Do you have news of Sarai? Is she well? Tell me if you know.”

  The guard lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Pharaoh will tell you, if he has a mind to do so. You must come. Now.” He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “And I will come once you answer my question.” Abram’s fear rose, his thoughts spinning. If Sarai was stricken . . .

  “You dare question Pharaoh’s soldiers?” He withdrew the sword in one swift motion. Abram felt the tip of the blade beneath his chin. “You will come.”

  Eliezer stepped forward. “Forgive my father.” He placed a hand on Abram’s shoulder. “He spoke without thinking.”

  The guard gave Abram a stern look, then slowly lowered the blade. “You are to come at once. Defy me again and you will feel more than the tip of my blade.”

  Eliezer exchanged a look with Abram. Why would the king send soldiers when a single servant would have sufficed? Did he think Abram dangerous or fear he might flee? Abram stifled a derisive snort. As if he had a choice.

  Abram bowed his head toward the soldier. “Lead the way,” he said, and found himself quickly surrounded as he made the short, ominous trek back to Pharaoh’s palace.

  16

  The staccato march of rushing feet brought Sarai out of a daze. She had spoken the truth to the maid Hagar, and now they were coming for her. What would become of her, of Abram? Fear tried to crush her, but she stiffened her back, resolved to die if she must. Better death than life in Pharaoh’s gilded halls.

  Oh, Adonai Elohim, have mercy on us.

  Whether Abram’s God heard such a prayer or not, she could not tell, but sharing her burden with the Unseen One steadied her nerves, calming her.

  At the hard knock, she opened the door. One of Pharaoh’s soldiers muttered Egyptian phrases she could not understand as he gestured for her to follow him along the tiled path. She reached for the shawl she had discarded when she arrived, glancing once more around this foreign room. Nothing here belonged to her, and she would be glad enough to leave it all behind. She draped the shawl over her head and walked with lifted chin and proud gait between the Egyptian soldiers.

  The path was the same she had taken the week before, wide-pillared and winding, its carved images staring down at her, accusing. Foreign voices spoke in a cacophony of hurried babbling, and the smoke of heady incense made it hard to breathe. Homesickness and dread rose higher with each quickened step. She drew in a sharp breath when they stopped at the ornate double doors. A sleek black cat sauntered past and into the king’s audience chamber as the doors swung open. She shivered. Such animals did not belong in king’s palaces.

  Trumpets blared, and the soldiers marched forward before and behind her, giving her little space of her own.

  “There she is!”

  “Send her away. Send them both away!”

  “Throw them to the crocodiles!”

  Voices of servants and nobles and priests came from the right and left as she approached the ornate throne. They knew. And they hated her presence here.

  She caught sight of Abram standing near the steps, head bent, looking chagrined. He knew what she had done. The thought chilled her.

  The soldiers stopped at a distance from Pharaoh and knelt. Following their lead, Sarai did the same. Silence fell over the chamber, broken only by the soldiers’ heavy breathing.

  “Abram of Ur, what have you done to me?” Pharaoh Mentuhotep’s voice rang harsh in her ears. “Why did you not tell me this woman was your wife?” His crook moved in his arm with the fluid motion of one who wielded power with authority and ease, one who h
eld the fate of kings in his hands. He pointed to his left toward a group of huddled servants. A woman stepped forward, and Sarai recognized the maid Hagar. “This maid tells me that the woman is not your sister but your wife. Is this the truth?”

  Sarai glanced toward Abram, who stood with hands clasped in front of him. He looked at her and winced, then met Pharaoh’s gaze. “It is the truth.”

  “Why then did you say, ‘She is my sister,’ so that I took her to be my wife?”

  Abram’s chest lifted in a heavy sigh. “Forgive me, my lord. I thought I could protect her better as her brother than as her husband. For in truth, she is my half sister. A brother has rights a husband does not.”

  Pharaoh’s lips drew into a thin line, his gaze living fire. “You have brought the wrath of the gods down on us! Did you think you could escape the gods with your lie?”

  “Only one God, my king. The Creator God, Adonai Elohim, is the one who brought this plague down on Pharaoh’s house. He alone has power to do this. I am His servant.” Abram’s head lifted, and he met Sarai’s gaze. She inclined her head, offering him a faint smile.

  They looked back at Pharaoh. The fire in his eyes dimmed to embers, replaced swiftly by stark fear.

  The king blinked, the fear masked. “Whether you speak truth now or not, I cannot tell. Here is your wife. Take her and go!”

  Guards took hold of Sarai’s arms and escorted her to Abram’s side. Shock filtered through her at the pharaoh’s sudden change of tone. She looked at Abram, seeing faith and strength in his now confident pose.

  “Take this man and all that I have given to him,” Pharaoh Mentuhotep said, his voice hardened stone, “and escort him out of my country. See to it that no one touches him or disturbs him.”

  Sarai lifted her head at that and met Pharaoh’s gaze. She glimpsed Hagar standing near the steps of the throne, one knee bent forward and her head toward the floor. She hoped the girl would not be punished for telling what she knew. Would Pharaoh blame Hagar once she and Abram left?

  As though he could read her thoughts, Pharaoh Mentuhotep looked at Hagar, his slanted brows narrowing further. “This servant was a gift to you,” he said, now looking back at Sarai, his voice softening ever so slightly. “Take her and go.” With that, he rose from his throne and slipped behind a thick embroidered curtain out of sight.

  Surprise filtered through Sarai that the king should address her at all. His expression, though unreadable, had carried almost a hint of regret. As he slipped out of sight, Sarai glanced at Hagar. The girl’s stricken expression as she watched the king depart touched a place deep in Sarai’s heart. She knew what it felt like to leave all she held dear. A longing to comfort the girl rose within her, but before she could think to act, she felt Abram’s firm grip on her elbow, urging her forward. Soldiers fell into step around them, leading them out of the glittering chamber, down the wide marble steps, and beneath the tall columned portico to the pier of Thebes, where servants waited to escort them onto the waiting barge.

  Stars littered the blackness of night as the last tent peg stuck its claim in the ground on the other side of Egypt’s borders. Sarai fluffed cushions in the corner of her tent, grateful for the mat she would sleep on this night, no matter how hard the ground beneath it. Her familiar goat’s-hair tent rose above her head, and the chatter of Egyptian voices came from a tent made of Egyptian linen housing maidservants nearby. The young woman Hagar had remained silent throughout the trip, and her downcast eyes had glinted with the faintest sheen of tears.

  “Thank you, Hagar, for helping bring me back to my true husband,” Sarai had said, attempting to engage the girl a week after the barge had left Thebes. “I am sorry you are forced to leave your homeland, though. If you would prefer we leave you in some city where the pharaoh won’t find you—”

  Hagar shook her head. “There is no city where the pharaoh does not see.” Though by her dejected look, Sarai wondered if the pharaoh had noticed Hagar as much as she had claimed. The thought troubled her, but now all she wanted was for Abram to join her, to hold her in his arms once more.

  But as the voices around her drifted into the sounds of even breathing, he did not come. Disappointment stung, reviving the feelings of hurt and abandonment she had known throughout the days in Pharaoh’s palace. Where was he?

  She lifted the flap of her tent and stepped into moonlight. Embers from the hearth fire sparked upward, and she saw a huddled figure sitting on one of the large stones set nearby. She moved closer, wrapping her cloak tighter against the night air. At the edge of the campfire, she recognized her husband, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. She approached slowly and sat by his side, saying nothing. At last she placed one hand on his arm.

  “Come and take your rest at my side, beloved,” she said, giving his arm a slight squeeze. “I need you.”

  He did not move or respond to her words.

  “Abram?”

  He straightened, looking at her, his gaze intense yet revealing nothing. What thoughts moved behind his dark eyes? Why would he not take her into his arms? She leaned closer, hoping to coax him with the scent of her perfume or the look of longing in her eyes.

  He stood. Taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet and tucked her arm beneath his. His silence lingered as he led her back to her tent, but he did not follow past the threshold. She watched him take in the surroundings as though they were foreign to him. But nothing had changed save a few furnishings the king had sent along with the rest of his gifts. Still he stood, his look uncertain.

  “Come,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him toward her sleeping mat. “Please, my husband. Hold me in your arms.”

  He let her lead him to the mat and stretched out, hands clasped behind his head, his gaze toward the tent’s wooden pole. “I don’t deserve such a name.” His pensive tone stirred her heart. How she loved this man!

  “Well, deserving or not, you are my husband, and I want no one else.” She folded her legs beneath her and traced a line along his arm.

  He looked at her then, and she could sense him warming to her even while his gaze somehow still kept him withdrawn. He grasped her wrist and pulled her down beside him, wrapping strong arms about her. She breathed in the scent of his tunic and felt him stir next to her. As the clouds passed a hand over the moon, blocking the light from filtering through the slits in the goat’s-hair walls, Abram’s lips found hers. She was home again, and this time she would never let him go.

  Part

  2

  Now Lot, who was moving about with Abram, also had flocks and herds and tents. But the land could not support them while they stayed together, for their possessions were so great that they were not able to stay together.

  Genesis 13:5–6

  So Lot chose for himself the whole plain of the Jordan and set out toward the east. The two men parted company: Abram lived in the land of Canaan, while Lot lived among the cities of the plain and pitched his tents near Sodom. Now the men of Sodom were wicked and were sinning greatly against the Lord.

  Genesis 13:11–13

  17

  Eight Years Later

  Sarai settled the head scarf over her face, blocking the wind. The voices of Lila and Melah mingled with the foreign tongue of Hagar and the other Egyptian maidservants. The combined chatter caused Sarai’s head to throb. She moved away, head bent to the wind as she picked the path up the incline toward the stone altar. Abram stood nearby, his staff dug into the dirt, his back erect as he watched Eliezer and one of the younger shepherds maneuver the chosen lambs into place for the sacrifice.

  At the sound of footsteps crunching the sandy gravel, she turned to see Melah trudging toward her. She stopped at Sarai’s side.

  “I’ve never understood the purpose of animal sacrifices.” Melah flicked dust from her sleeve and lifted her chin, assessing Sarai with a glance. “I miss the formality, rhythm, and grace of temple worship. Tell me truly, can you possibly enjoy this crude altar over the beauty of the ziggurats?” />
  Sarai turned her gaze from Melah to Abram’s altar. The stones were not cut or hewn from a quarry but picked from the earth, their sizes and shapes varied, not symmetrical or carved to fit perfectly on top of one another. The wood—sticks of many lengths, some thin, some thick—lay in a heap atop the stones, awaiting the sacrifice. Definitely not like the impressive ziggurats of Ur.

  She glanced back at Melah. “There is beauty in both, only different.” She would never admit it to her niece, but Abram’s altars were crude and rough in comparison to the temples of their people.

  “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if we’d stayed in Egypt? I would have liked to have seen inside their temples. The images of their gods were everywhere, the artistry most impressive.” Melah stepped closer until Sarai could feel her breath.

  Sarai backed up a pace. “I do not care to revisit that place, even in my thoughts. Especially in my thoughts.” She faced the altar again and closed her eyes. The memories had faded in the eight years since their ill-advised trip into Egypt, but the Egyptian servants they had acquired were a constant reminder.

  “I was thinking . . . if you ever want to sell some of the Egyptians . . . I think they could bring a handsome price. And Hagar is one I would keep for myself.” She shrugged one shoulder, her look telling Sarai she would be doing her a favor.

  Sarai startled at that and lifted a brow, curious. “Why should Hagar be any different from the other maids?” If Melah wanted her, there was no way she would part with her.

  Melah waved a hand as though brushing the thought away. “No reason.”

  “Then why did you bring it up?”

  Melah gave a dramatic sigh. “All right, but if I tell you, you will just want to keep her.”

  Sarai stifled a groan. “Just tell me.” The scent of burning flesh from the altar drew her gaze. Such a frivolous discussion at such a solemn occasion. Stepping back from the altar, she moved from the trees and walked down the hill.