Journey

by Angela Hunt

  A guard led him to the queen’s innermost private chamber; a pair of slaves took his dusty traveling cloak and removed his leather sandals. As he sat on a delicate chair and immersed his dusty feet into a basin of water, he closed his eyes and rested his head on a luxurious pillow. The day had been long and hot, his work a series of endless and vain repetitions. He hoped the queen’s business was not urgent.

  A slave dried his feet and urged him to recline on a cushioned chaise longue. Yosef moved to it, pressing the back of his hand over his tired eyes as he savored the sweetly mingled scents of lotus blossoms and incense. Notoriously tardy, the queen might keep him waiting an hour or more.

  He had closed his eyes and drifted into a shallow doze when a hand fell on his skin. His eyes sprang open. Tiy sat beside him on a chaise built for one, her left hand lingered on his chest. He wondered if she could feel his discomfort, the sudden banging of his blood.

  “My queen,” he whispered, scarcely daring to move.

  “My vizier,” she answered, her voice no more than a soft purr in the silence of the room. The scent of her heavy perfume assaulted him; green malachite gleamed from her eyelids, reminding him that just this morning he had jokingly told Pharaoh that most women were not so young as they were painted…

  Glancing left and right, he realized the servants had departed. No guards, no handmaids, no daughters lingered in the chamber. They were alone.

  “Excuse me.” He lifted his head in an attempt to sit up. “I was rude to fall asleep.”

  Her hand held him to the bench. “I understand, and I pardon both your weariness and your lack of manners. I know you have spent the greater part of the day at Malkata.” She lifted her free hand and gazed at her henna-tinted nails. “And how is my husband’s harem faring?”

  “Everyone at Malkata is well.” He lowered his head, tense and tired but not wanting to anger her.

  “I know that, too.” She turned the full power of her smile on him. “There is little about you I do not know, Zaphenath-paneah, known to the Hebrews as Yosef.”

  The mention of his familiar name sent a warning shiver through him, and his face burned as he remembered another woman, another house, another time. Sagira, Potiphar’s wife, had caught him alone in a room decorated much like this one, and she, too, had held the power of his life in her hands. God had preserved Yosef then, though he had suffered mightily for his resistance. But Tiy was not a bundle of raw emotions like Sagira. Amenhotep’s was an intelligent, pragmatic woman. Surely he could reason with her.

  “My queen,” he said, “forgive me if I overstep my authority. But I must beg you to reconsider what our surroundings lead me to believe you intend to suggest.”

  Her lower lips edged forward in a pout. “Ah, Zaphenath-paneah, you are no fun at all. My husband has a harem filled with women. Why shouldn’t the queen be allowed to find love where she can?”

  “Because the queen is wise,” Yosef answered, daring to take the hand that clung to his chest. He lifted it, held it up as if in salute, then dropped it into her lap as he sat upright. “You do not want to do this. Later you would hate me. And such an act would betray the king’s trust in both of us.”

  Though she did not move to touch him again, an invitation lingered in the smoldering depths of her eyes. “Think carefully, my vizier. You have no wife to smell the scent of another woman on your skin, and I am quite alone here. No one would know. We might take our fill of each other until the dawn.”

  “God Shaddai would know,” Yosef interrupted, sliding away from her. “And so, I daresay, would those who know me well. A righteous man’s eyes look openly on the world. If he should build a wall behind those eyes, the people who know him would wonder. My captain, my steward, they would know.”

  “I am surprised you did not mention your sons.” Tiy quirked an eyebrow. “Particularly the elder, Menashe. Or do your sons not know you as well as your captain and your steward?”

  Yosef flushed, helpless to halt his embarrassment. How much did she know about the situation with Menashe? She could have spies anywhere, even in his house.

  “My people know me.” He ignored her question about his sons as he swung his feet to the floor. “If there is no other business here, I should be getting back to my villa. I trust you see the wisdom in this course of action.”

  “I suppose—” she shifted on the chair to see him better “—you are right, as always, noble Zaphenath-paneah. I have offered you the chance to correct an injustice of history, and you have. Tonight you will leave the scorned woman clothed and with your full dignity, not at all like the other time when you ran naked into the stable.”

  Mercifully, the dim light of the chamber hid the extent of his humiliation. Her immodest comments, however true, were ill-suited to her position. Though he had not smelled beer on her breath, she was behaving like a drunken woman. Tomorrow she would remember…and feel shame.

  “I give you good night,” he said, inclining his head.

  “Wait.” Her hand, like a fist of iron, closed around his wrist. “I did not bring you here to seduce you, most noble vizier. I brought you here to discuss a matter of vast importance for the kingdom.”

  “And that is?”

  She gave him a humorless smile. “Amenhotep. I love him, but though he believes otherwise, he is not the greatest pharaoh Egypt has ever known. I would be a better one.”

  Yosef looked up, startled beyond words.

  “Yes.” She stared at him in deadly concentration. “You know I speak the truth. Amenhotep spends all his time and energy on his women and his infernal monuments when he could be expanding Egypt’s boundaries.”

  Yosef pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to force his confused thoughts into order.

  “Just this week I have heard rumors of unrest in Hatti and Mitanni,” she went on, her voice like velvet edged with steel. “With troops gathered from our nomarchs, we could send an invasion force and subdue those unruly kings. Pharaoh is always talking about Tuthmosis the great warrior, and yet he will do nothing to make his own reputation greater than that king’s. Yet it could be done. Just as Hatshepsut placed a puppet pharaoh on the throne while she ruled with her steward’s aid, you and I can rule more effectively than Amenhotep.”

  “Are you suggesting that we—” the word murder would not cross his lips “—get rid of the king?”

  “Of course not.” She frowned as if he’d suggested something distasteful. “I love my husband. I would not even go as far as Hatshepsut, who eventually took the throne, crown and royal insignia for herself. But I can rule in private and leave Amenhotep to his adoring public. Together we could do this. If you will sign your name with mine to letters to the governors of the nomarchs, we will state our intention to handle all domestic and foreign affairs from the palace at Thebes. In time, when Pharaoh finds out, he will be displeased, but then he will realize we have acted for his own benefit. He will be king in people’s hearts, while we will extend the power of Egypt throughout Canaan, Hatti and Mitanni.”

  The heavy power in her eyes laid hold of something in Yosef’s being, and for an instant he found himself caught up in her plans. Amenhotep was unsure of himself, he did spend too much time in pleasure and wasteful entertainments, and Tiy had always been the more resourceful and realistic of the two. Who could say that God had not called Yosef to Egypt’s throne rooms for this time and purpose? If Egypt’s warriors moved through Canaan and subdued the hostile kingdoms there, the sons of Yisrael could chose from the best lands in the world, while he, Zaphenath-paneah, made provision for their welfare…

  When Yosef looked away, needing a moment to reorient himself, the voice of common sense attacked his grandiose dreams. The queen, he realized, was contemplating treason far worse than anything Menashe had ever suggested. The priests would consider her plan complete and unthinkable foolishness. She was not the divine pharaoh, Amenhotep was. She was not even the dynasty heiress; one of Amenhotep’s sisters had married him to establish his place in the r
oyal lineage. And Yosef had sworn to serve Amenhotep, Tuya’s son, not Tiy.

  “My queen—” he shot her a withering glance “—you cannot do this. I will never agree. Pharaoh is the king set apart by God, and you are his queen. Be his supporter, not his enemy.”

  For a moment her eyes met his with fierce determination, then she faltered and cast her gaze downward.

  Confident that he had corralled a dangerous notion, Yosef straightened. “Have you spoken of this to anyone else?”

  Tiy shook her head.

  “Good.” Yosef rested his hands on his knees, then stood. “I will say nothing of this to Pharaoh. I think it is best that we forget everything that happened here. Amenhotep is a fine king, content with his kingdom and his people. God has blessed his country. The people are prosperous and happy. Can any king ask for more?”

  “No,” she murmured, her expression pained.

  “You are right, my queen.” He moved toward the doorway and slipped into the darkness before she could say anything else.

  Ever since her unpleasant encounter with Zaphenath-paneah, delightfully unpredictable thoughts had bounced in Tiy’s head like loose bits of marble after a haphazard blow of the mallet.

  The vizier had proved his unshakable steadfastness yet again, but she was nothing like Sagira, the empty-headed woman who had attempted to execute her vengeance in one mad accusation. Tiy was wiser, and she knew the vizier well enough to know that the threat of physical destruction would do little to disturb his cursed equanimity. In his lifetime he had survived slavery, imprisonment, poverty and a wife’s death—how else could a man be broken?

  Resting on her bed, she rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. She would accomplish nothing by engineering Zaphenath-paneah’s imprisonment or execution. Pharaoh’s proud vizier cared nothing for the wealth he had accumulated or his fine villa on the Nile. Unlike other unusually handsome men, he spent little time consulting with the royal costumers and jewelers. And though he loved his sons and his servants, his passion for Pharaoh overrode everything else.

  Father to Pharaoh. In that title lay the key to the vizier’s destruction.

  She ran the gilded tip of her fingernail over a pattern in the rich linen bedcoverings and felt her lips curve into a smile. Poor Zaphenath-paneah, she could almost pity him. She had tried to appear chastised and humbled when he refused her, a difficult challenge when she yearned to spew hot defiance in his pious face. She might have overlooked his scorn for her loving attention, but she could not excuse his refusal to aid her quest for authority. For if his overwhelming devotion to Pharaoh should ever urge him to divulge the proposition she had made, she would be the one exiled from the source and center of all power.

  Zaphenath-paneah, then, would have to go away.

  She rolled over onto her stomach and propped her head on her hands. On the morrow she would take a barge to Malkata and speak to her husband. She would not be as foolish and obvious as the notorious wife of Potiphar, but she would destroy the vizier nonetheless.

  “You see how it is, then,” Tiy said, regarding Amenhotep with a speculative gaze. She had risen before sunrise and taken her gilded barge to Malkata. Now she sat with her husband in his bedchamber, face-to-face, with no intermediaries or meddling priests about.

  “I do.” Amenhotep studied her. “But I shall miss Zaphenath-paneah. He has been the vizier since my father’s time and my mother adores him.”

  “Queen Tuya has nothing to do with your government of the kingdom.” Tiy leaned forward and rested her hand on his arm. “And the vizier has everything to do with Egypt. Therein lies the problem—the vizier’s duties are too much for one man, and Zaphenath-paneah has now lived more than twice as many years as your father. Since Egypt is two kingdoms, appoint a new, younger man to administrate each half. One man shall supervise Lower Egypt from the city of Memphis, another Upper Egypt, from Thebes. And rather than taking your time each morning, they shall report to me at each new moon.”

  And I will manipulate both.

  Amenhotep stroked his chin. “There may be wisdom in what you say.” He lowered his voice. “I would not admit it to anyone else, but often I have felt like a child who cannot shed his overprotective parent. But what shall we do with Zaphenath-paneah?”

  “Have you not noticed the dark smudges of weariness beneath his eyes?” Tiy placed her hand over her husband’s. “I think he is eager for a well-deserved rest. He has a prosperous villa, a reputation for honesty and two fine sons. Leave him alone, my husband, let him enjoy the leisure he has earned. Do not call him into your presence, do not ask his advice on any subject. Leave him in peace to enjoy his people, his home, his sons. That is all he would ask, I think, were he here with you now.”

  Amenhotep smiled with warm spontaneity. “It shall be done.”

  “Shall you tell him before the court at Malkata this morning?” She held her breath, hoping he would accept her suggestion. Nothing would make her happier than to see Zaphenath-paneah humbled before the pharaoh he had given his life to serve…

  But Amenhotep was too much a coward. “I shall send a messenger to him.” He clapped his hands. “Summon a scribe!” he bellowed to the chamberlain who appeared in the doorway. “And a runner! I have an urgent message to be carried at once to my vizier.”

  Pharaoh’s uncertain eyes sought hers again. “Shall I at least consult him about choosing two new viziers? Zaphenath-paneah is a shrewd judge of character.”

  “He is not so shrewd as you think,” she answered, giving him a careful smile. “He is old, so let him begin his rest today. The honorable and worthy Zaphenath-paneah has served his king well, but no longer shall he enter the palace at Malkata, no longer shall he be required to stand before Pharaoh and report the troubles of an entire kingdom.”

  Pharaoh nodded, considering. “In the name of my father Amon-Re, I think I shall commission a song to honor him.” He sniffed and clapped his hands again. “Send me Akil!” he called to the flustered chamberlain who thrust his head through the curtained doorway. “And waste no time in fetching him!”

  Tiy leaned back in her chair and steepled her hands before her chin, well-satisfied with the beginning of her revenge.

  TIY

  The LORD is slow to anger, and great in power, and will not at all acquit the wicked: the LORD hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet….

  The LORD is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him.

  Nahum 1:3, 7

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Yosef lowered the papyrus scroll to his lap and stared dumbly at Pharaoh’s imprint on the broken seal. Dismissed, the parchment said. Without a word of warning or a hint of displeasure.

  Someone had made a grave mistake. He reread the message, searching for some combination of words his weary eyes could have transposed, some crucial phrase his staggered reason might have missed in his first reading. But Pharaoh’s message was as clear as it was brutal:

  The Horus Living-of-Births, the Two Ladies Living-of-Births, the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Amenhotep, Son of Amon-Re, Pharaoh, Living forever unto eternity!

  A decree of the king to the vizier Zaphenath-paneah:

  Life, health and prosperity to you, High Vizier of all Egypt, Zaphenath-paneah. Behold, your king and pharaoh, Amenhotep III, decrees that henceforth from this day, beginning with the rising sail of the sun-bark of Amon-Re, two viziers shall represent my divine throne throughout the double kingdom of Egypt. For today indeed you have begun to grow old, and will soon lose your virile powers. Be mindful of the day of burial, of passing to a revered state! A night will one day be assigned for you for oils and wrappings from the hands of Tayit, the goddess of weaving.

  You will be placed on a bier, with oxen drawing you and singers going before you, and the mortuary dances will be performed at the door of your tomb.

  Until that day, two younger men, sons of your teaching, shall be appointed in y
our place as vizier. This is done to give you a well-deserved rest and allow you to take your place of honor while life still pours through your heart. As for you, the king sends his thanks, faithful love and appreciation for your outspoken service to the two kingdoms. We shall rest well, knowing that your god will sustain and preserve your coming in and going out as He has from the beginning of your days on earth, and in the two kingdoms.

  You have begun to grow old. Whatever did Pharaoh mean? Yosef had lost neither the quickness of his mind nor the sharpness of his wit. His hair, or what remained of it under his heavy wig, was streaked with silver, but the hoary head was a sign of wisdom and experience, not weakness. Feathery lines marked his eyes and mouth, but those webbed lines had been etched by his concern over Amenhotep, spun out of love and concern and guardianship.

  Old? Young men needed elders, men who were unwilling to become pathetic imitations of younger rivals. What was Amenhotep thinking?

  Yosef clenched his fist as ice spread through his stomach, then remembered he was not alone. The messenger from the king waited before him, as did Ani, who had been drawn away from his duties by this urgent message from Pharaoh. The steward waited, his bright, birdlike eyes alert to the signs of distress and urgency on his master’s face.

  “Pharaoh,” Yosef began, dismayed to hear a strained tone in his voice, “will appoint a new vizier—two of them, in fact—very soon. Apparently I have finished my course of service to the king. He wishes me well. In time, perhaps—”

  Despair rose in his throat, stifling the power of speech. You have begun to grow old. Of course he had! He had spent his life in service first to Amenhotep’s father, then to the present pharaoh. He had set aside his own dreams, trusting his estate to Ani and his children to Tarik and a succession of handmaids. Would he be rewarded for that sacrifice like this? By means of a simple parchment and a few formal phrases he had been thrown out like yesterday’s vegetables.