Journey

by Angela Hunt

  She shifted so the length of her leg showed within the split in her fitted skirt. “Would the idea displease you?”

  Zaphenath-paneah’s gaze did not leave her face. “I would be pleased if our houses were joined.” His expression softened into one of fond reminiscence. “Since I tutored Amenhotep, I have often felt like his father. So of course I am honored to think that his daughter, whom I hold in great affection, might possibly consider my son for a husband.”

  Tiy looked away so he would not read the depth of her true feelings. He had grasped only the obvious; he was not as intuitive as she had hoped. What had happened to the vizier’s vaunted powers of intuition and observation? Could he not see that she wanted to offer him much more than a royal daughter-in-law?

  Perhaps this conversation was premature. He had grasped the obvious, and she should be satisfied. She could use the growing relationship between Sitamun and Efrayim as a foundation for the future. With adroit handling, Zaphenath-paneah could be won over, and as the steward Senenmut had enabled the queen Hatshepsut to rule as Pharaoh, Zaphenath-paneah would aid her. She would promise him anything, even herself, but one day he would see that Amenhotep was unfit for kingship, that she was the real power behind the throne.

  “You are wise, as always, Zaphenath-paneah.” She looked down at the floor and sighed. “And I am grateful for your influence on my husband’s past. Yet Pharaoh is not the man you knew as a boy—but of course I do not have to tell you what you already know.” She paused and looked away, allowing her eyes to dwell on the family paintings that lined the walls of her chamber—idealistic images that portrayed her and Amenhotep offering sacrifices to the gods. “Pharaoh cares for little these days but his harem and his building projects. Once he considered me the flower and joy of his youth, but—”

  “He still cares deeply for you, my queen,” Zaphenath-paneah dared to interrupt. She lifted a brow and stared in disbelief, but he continued. “He places more trust in you than he does most of his counselors. In fact—” he chuckled “—I daresay he trusts you almost as much as he trusts me.”

  “It is true that he allows me to handle a few ceremonial affairs,” she admitted. “That is why I live here at Thebes. I am honored that he encourages me to meet with the governors and counselors who come to bring him tribute.”

  “So you see how much Pharaoh needs you.” The vizier spread his hands. “He depends on you. So do not doubt his devotion, my queen.”

  “It is not his devotion I doubt.” She lowered her voice. “It is his wisdom.”

  If this slender, delicate thread between them were to strengthen, she must not move too hastily. Zaphenath-paneah was doggedly loyal; he would resist any outright proposition if he sensed the seeds of betrayal. But despite his closed, aloof expression, she felt his vulnerability. He had no wife; he had not known the comfort of a woman’s arms for years, yet he was still an attractive, compelling presence. The pull of his personality grew stronger every time she saw him, but she was another man’s wife. She would have to tread carefully, for only by conclusively demonstrating Amenhotep’s incompetence could she hope to win Zaphenath-paneah’s support.

  “I suppose a queen should not expect to be more involved in the government of the kingdom,” she murmured. “After all, Amenhotep has you to guide his decisions. But wisdom is acquired by capacity, not by gender. And like Hatshepsut, who ruled for Tuthmosis III when he was a child, I have a great capacity for learning.”

  Zaphenath-paneah shook his head. “I don’t know that Hatshepsut actually governed—”

  “Then you don’t know our kingdom’s history,” she retorted, annoyed with the vizier’s impenetrable equanimity. “I am sure you have heard that Hatshepsut was only Tuthmosis’s regent, but she had herself declared Pharaoh, she assumed the royal beard of kingship and wore the full royal headdress. The high priest of Amon-Re supported her, as did others of the royal court.”

  “Then where,” Zaphenath-paneah interrupted, “is her royal tomb? If she was so beloved, where are the shrines to perpetuate her name and memory?”

  Tiy stared at him across a sudden ringing silence. “Hidden, mutilated or destroyed.” She clipped her words. “Though she was a powerful pharaoh, she was not without enemies.”

  “No one is.” The vizier gave her a smile that seemed more an automatic civility than an expression of pleasure.

  “Thank you for listening to my concerns.” She cut him off with a smile of gratitude, which he acknowledged with just the smallest softening of his eyes. At that moment, the happy voices of Sitamun and Efrayim danced into the room, and Zaphenath-paneah’s posture relaxed.

  Tiy studied the vizier’s handsome profile as he greeted the two young ones. One day she would make him realize that Amenhotep cared nothing for Egypt. She would make a better ruler; she and the vizier would be an invincible team. Like Hatshepsut and Senenmut, they could grasp and hold the reins of power.

  Satisfied with the seeds she had planted, she rose and abruptly wished her guests a safe and happy farewell.

  Yosef sat alone under the small ox-hide canopy of the bark as it slipped along the dark Nile toward his house. The evening with Queen Tiy and Princess Sitamun had left him feeling strangely out of sorts, and he could not understand why events had unfolded as they did. He had not been surprised by the invitation to dine with the queen, for the attraction between Sitamun and Efrayim was obvious to anyone who watched them. The dinner itself had passed without any remarkable developments and Efrayim had been at his charming best.

  But after dinner, when Tiy dismissed the young ones to the garden, the gleaming light of hunger in her eye had unnerved him. Her breath had quickened as she leaned toward him and spoke of her unhappiness with Amenhotep; what was he to make of that? He had faced an aggressive woman in Potiphar’s house, and that situation nearly cost him his life. But he was no longer a handsome youth, and Tiy was no affection-starved maiden. She could not want an evening of love from him; she often denounced Amenhotep for spending too much time in such sensual pleasures.

  So what drove her toward him? What had inspired the glitter in her jet-black eyes?

  His gaze fell on the river. The water running alongside the boat was the color of tarnished silver, smooth and glassy in the moonlight. Efrayim stood at the curved bow, his hands tucked into the waistband of his kilt in a relaxed, familiar pose. When he lifted his face to study the eastern moon, his profile was so similar to his mother’s that Yosef caught his breath. Asenath had been in her tomb eighteen years, but when that particular wistful expression crossed Efrayim’s face, Yosef almost expected the boy to turn and speak with his mother’s soothing voice. Asenath’s sweet love had lightened Yosef’s heavy load and helped him endure those first turbulent and trying years as vizier.

  An odd twinge of jealousy and pain stirred in his heart when Yosef recognized the expression in Efrayim’s eyes. Love, youthful and idealistic, filled Efrayim’s gaze just as it had Asenath’s, and Yosef felt an instant’s squeezing hurt at the memory of how love had evolved into grief during his wife’s lifetime. For him, Pharaoh’s welfare had always come first. Yosef had guarded his heart even during his marriage; not since his encounter with Tuya had he completely abandoned himself to love, the most fickle and passionate of human emotions.

  Tuya. Even now, her name brought a smile to his lips. He had not spoken to her in years, though he knew she still lived in the immense palace at Thebes. She was, after all, Pharaoh’s mother and a national treasure. Years ago, Yosef had asked her to become his second wife, but she had wisely refused. After that, he had taken pains to avoid her, to keep old memories and powerful passions safely tucked away. For Asenath’s sake he had never invited Tuya to his house; for his own sake he had never sought Tuya at the palace. And after Asenath died, he waited, half hoping Tuya would send a message, but she did not. Apparently she was happy, so Yosef left her alone.

  After the dark days, he delved into his work for Pharaoh, avoiding his empty house where Asenath’s
laughter echoed in the halls and her scent lingered on the bed linens. Efrayim and Menashe, the fruits of her womb, were content to follow Ani and Tarik through the villa, and the maidservants were eager to spoil them. Yosef’s days brimmed with Pharaoh’s work: dispensing judgments in the great hall, receiving and recording reports from the far-flung nomes and outlying military posts. Among other duties, Yosef was responsible for managing the royal residences, supervising the public works, directing the military police and Pharaoh’s elite Medjay troops, commissioning the royal artisans, overseeing the royal farms and granaries, monitoring the distribution of food to the king’s laborers and officials, and the collection of taxes. Except for the priests, every individual in Egypt was directly or indirectly responsible to the king’s vizier, and there were days when Yosef felt he had talked to or heard from practically every soul in the kingdom.

  The work consumed him, but it had its rewards, and chief among them was the salvation of his father’s people. When Yisrael and his children entered Canaan, Yosef understood the reason for his personal suffering, his pain and desolation. God Shaddai allowed it all to strengthen him, to defeat his pride, to bring him to a place where he could lead. He had learned how to guide men…and how to forgive.

  Now Yisrael was dead and the past forgiven—what work remained? For the first time in his life, Yosef felt drained and hollow. The god who had guided through dreams and whispered in a still, small voice had not spoken in years. What if He did not speak again?

  The bow dipped and rose again in a sudden gust of wind, sending a cool splash of spray into the air. Yosef felt droplets touch his face as he closed his eyes and wearily considered his existence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  If he were to win Sitamun, Efrayim realized, he might need more than the support of his father and Queen Tiy. The opinions of many counselors would have to be considered in view of a royal marriage, and Sitamun’s would be no different. Efrayim would have to prove to all of Egypt that a son of Yisrael could move confidently in Egyptian society.

  During the weeks following Tiy’s banquet, Efrayim wrangled invitations to nearly every gathering and social occasion in Thebes. The citizens of that city, who were naturally fond of entertainment, music and gaiety, opened their doors to him in surprised gratitude, allowing him to grace their gatherings with the aura of his father’s illustrious name. Diligently courting noblemen and their wives, he reciprocated their hospitality by hosting a few festive banquets in his own quarters at his father’s villa.

  As part of his grand scheme, Efrayim sent gifts to the governors of Egypt’s nomes and to the king’s most trusted counselors. Knowing that no marriage would be possible without the approval of the priests, he culled a dozen of his father’s finest cattle from the herd and ordered them to be delivered to the temple of Amon-Re. These things he did without his father’s consent, but in full certainty that Yosef would delight in the result to come.

  Each morning Efrayim anointed himself and painted his eyes, then donned his wig, a finely pleated kilt and a voluminous cloak. In the finest homes of the highest nobles, he danced and drank and discussed life, love and politics with sagacity and wit. He wrote sweet missives to Sitamun and ordered slaves to deliver them straightway to the palace. And while he attacked his work with steadfast determination, he noticed that his brother, Menashe, grew more melancholy with each passing day.

  More than happy to let his queen attend to the meaningless ceremonies of state, Pharaoh remained at Malkata with his harem while Tiy placated his counselors and officials. Zaphenath-paneah was forced to divide his time between Malkata and Thebes, spending half his day listening to the plans of the impetuous pharaoh and the other half tending to vital matters of taxation, productivity and foreign affairs.

  Every third day he reported to Tiy at the Theban palace, more out of courtesy, Tiy supposed, than out of any conviction that she would be able to offer real help or insight. The vizier was yet a long way from where he must be, and yet she never failed to feel her heart flutter when his tall, beautifully proportioned body moved into the throne room. She took great care not to open her countenance before the prying eyes of those who waited before her, but spoke with Zaphenath-paneah in tones of dignity and resolve. On the pretext of asking for his help, she dictated letters to kings of other lands and arranged for the giving and receiving of tribute between Pharaoh and several fledgling city-states bordering the Great Sea.

  She felt her mouth curve into a smile when the vizier informed her she was the first queen whose name had ever been inscribed on official acts. So he had finally noticed her ability! The letter in his hand, to which he had just penned her name, was an announcement of the king’s marriage to yet another foreign princess.

  “Send that papyrus to Malkata with the others,” she told Zaphenath-paneah. A group of six scribes sat cross-legged on the floor at her feet, recording every word she uttered. “And thank the Mitanni king for the offer of his daughter. Assure him that Pharaoh would be pleased to receive her as a bride, and she will be treated with every kindness, given every luxury and so forth.”

  She waved her hand and Zaphenath-paneah nodded in approval. With that matter out of the way, she rested her elbows on the arms of her gilded chair and laced her fingers, eager to be done with the business that had filled the hall with scribes and onlookers. “If there is nothing else, you may all go.” She clapped twice. “Except the king’s vizier. I need a private word with you, Zaphenath-paneah.”

  The eyes of more than one curious counselor flitted in her direction as her coterie rose and filed out of the room. She kept a tight rein on her expression until only the vizier remained. Then Tiy inhaled, deepened her smile and tried to contain the eagerness in her voice.

  “I have wanted, honest vizier, to discuss a certain matter with you.”

  He bowed his head, lowering his gaze. “I am your servant, my queen.”

  “This matter concerns your title.” She rested her head on her cheek, hoping he would lift his eyes. “The title of vizier has always been conferred by the king. But I have been thinking—with the situation developing between our children, might the vizier’s title become an inherited one?”

  He looked up, honest surprise in his eyes. “Inherited?” His mouth curved into an unconscious smile.

  “Yes.” She sighed, pleased that she had managed to discover the flinty edge of ambition within the man’s soul. “Your son Efrayim is a worthy young man, is he not? I have been hearing good things about his generosity and insight. And I imagine that he has been trained by the best tutors Egypt can offer.”

  “He has, my queen.” A flush colored the vizier’s cheek as he bowed his head again. “But my elder son, Menashe, stands to inherit—” He lifted his gaze. “My father knew.”

  She lifted her brows. “Your father knew what?”

  “He crossed his arms.” A spark of some indefinable emotion lit the vizier’s eyes. “He placed his right hand on Efrayim’s head and said the younger son would be greater than the elder.”

  “That is interesting, but what your father did does not matter here. I wanted you to know what I am considering…and of course, to hear your opinion.” She paused as her gaze froze on his long, lean form. “Is this something that would please you?”

  “Yes.” He answered a little too eagerly, and bowed as if aware that he had stumbled. “If it is for Pharaoh’s good, of course. I want only to serve him.”

  She felt blood coursing through her veins like the Nile in flood and she made no effort to hide the longing in her eyes. “Which do you desire to serve most—Pharaoh or his kingdom?”

  He stiffened, but did not look away. “I have never considered the difference. Pharaoh is Egypt, is he not?”

  “Is he?” Her brows lifted the question. “You have today signed my name to Pharaoh’s documents, you have allowed me to use Pharaoh’s seal because Pharaoh has given me his authority. If I am then equal to Pharaoh, and Pharaoh is equal to Egypt, then it follows that I, too, m
ust be equal to Egypt.”

  His eyes gleamed toward her like glassy volcanic rock. “Your logic is sound.”

  Tiy closed her eyes. “I am glad to hear you say it.” The fullness of time had not yet come, but it was approaching. “Thank you for your counsel, Zaphenath-paneah. You may go.”

  Yosef shifted uneasily in the litter that carried him through the streets of Thebes. The gauzy curtains did little to block the gray dust that rose from the pattering feet of the litter bearers, and the oppressive heat of the day weighed heavily on his damp skin.

  More burdensome than the heat, however, was the queen’s offer. Every father yearned for his son to follow in the path he had forged, and today Tiy had practically promised that Efrayim would marry a princess and be the king’s next vizier. But at what price? He had been watching Tiy long enough to recognize her negotiating skills, but she did not bestow benefits without expecting something in return. She did not even make offerings to her gods unless they had met her expectations.

  Still, Yosef found it interesting that she had suggested Efrayim, not Menashe, to be the next vizier. Her offer harmonized with Yisrael’s blessing, so perhaps God Shaddai had revealed the future as Yaakov lay so close to death. God could certainly raise Efrayim to power in Egypt; the Almighty had worked a far greater miracle when He transferred Yosef from a prison to a throne. Nothing was too difficult for God Shaddai.

  But the hungry look in Tiy’s eye still troubled Yosef.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The orange-red sun had not risen far above the cloud-studded horizon when Jokim, his father and grandfather disembarked at a dock outside Thebes. They had spent the night on the river, so Jokim walked unevenly for several minutes, unused to the feel of solid earth beneath his feet. The hard-packed paths of Thebes did not rock and yield like the deck of the felucca they had boarded for the journey, and as he thumped over the ground he knew he would never become accustomed to the Egyptians’ sea-going ways.