Dreamers (13 page)

shore, however, and within a few moments the god’s barge

had passed.

“Now the real excitement comes,” Tuya promised, smiling

at Yosef. Behind the sacred god came the gold-plated barge

of Pharaoh, commanded in the king’s absence by Queen Merit-

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Amon. On this barge the queen and the high priest of Amon

made continual offerings of food and incense to the god,

while on the riverbank opposite them paraded a great host that

included befeathered Nubian drummers, a band of lute

players, scantily clad acrobats, blind harpists and Egypt’s

finest wrestlers. A company of soldiers in the gilded chariots

of Pharaoh’s guard followed, their standards lowered to in-

dicate that their captain was away.

“Potiphar’s men,” Tuya said, pride stirring in her breast as she

watched the guard. “They are probably anxious for his return.”

Yosef’s hands tightened about her waist. “Are you?”

“No,” she answered, then turned to face him. “I mean, yes.

He is a good master, but it has been so nice—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Yosef answered, smiling. “I,

too, have found myself imagining what it would be like if the

house, the horses, the fields, the servants—” his gaze focused

on her lips “—were mine.”

The crowd around them surged and moved to follow the

procession, but Yosef and Tuya stood as if rooted to the river-

bank. “You could pretend until the master returns,” Tuya

whispered. Gathering her slippery courage, she entwined her

arms about his neck. “No one here will know, Yosef, that you

are not the master and I am not…your wife.”

She knew he wanted her. They had worked and laughed

and worried together for nearly two years, and their souls were

as close as two could be without joining their bodies in the

mystical union the gods had ordained for husbands and wives.

She had labored to bring Yosef back from the edge of the

underworld, and he had rescued her from unendurable lone-

liness and erased the sting of Sagira’s rejection. Why shouldn’t

they enjoy each other? No one would care if two slaves did

not wait for marriage; no one would bother two sub-citizens

who found delight in each other…

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“Ah, Tuya,” he whispered, gazing at her with something

deeper than mere masculine interest.

Her heart shuddered expectantly. The crowd continued to

jostle them and a passing company of merchants argued over

the price of some trinket. “Come.” Yosef pulled her away.

“This is not the place for us.”

A trembling thrill raced through her as Yosef linked her

fingers with his and took her away from the crowd of revelers.

Yes. No. Yes. No. With every step Yosef’s heart turned from

one conviction to the other. Why shouldn’t he take this girl

who loved him? Over the months he had come to trust Tuya,

and in the security of her steadfast devotion he had finally

found the courage to confide the secrets of his past, his hopes,

even his strange dreams. Surely the feeling between them

was as strong as that which had existed between his father and

Rahel! And Potiphar had practically promised to grant them

permission to marry. It was not a question of if, but of when.

So why not now, when the bloom of youth still graced them

and the fragrance of love filled the air?

He had become a man of Egypt—he dressed like an

Egyptian, spoke like an Egyptian, wrote the language of the

Egyptians. The Egyptians would see nothing wrong with his

taking Tuya into his arms and mingling his flesh with her own.

Egypt had a dozen gods and rituals dedicated to the celebra-

tion of fertility, and the act he was considering would be a

ritual of worship in the eyes of the pagan priests. The other

slaves did not curb their passions. Sometimes, when darkness

obscured faces, some of the men in the slaves’ quarters baited

Yosef with doubts about his masculinity because he hadn’t

already surrendered to Tuya’s considerable charm.

His body yearned to possess her. His heart slammed into

his ribs every time he thought about pressing his lips to hers,

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and the sight of her shadow slipping over a wall was enough

to send a wave of warmth along his pulses. He was nineteen

years old, strong in limb and desire, and alone in a place

where kings and slaves thoughtlessly devoted themselves to

the pursuit of pleasure. Tuya was willing, he knew. Only her

great love for him had preserved her patience.

The crowd buzzed around him, but his ears centered on the

sound of the quiet puff of her eager footsteps in the dust. She

had no doubts about his reason for seeking a private place—

she was certain the time had come.

Had it? Yes. No. Perhaps.

Unbidden, Yaakov’s voice and image came to him on a

wave of memory. His father spoke slowly, still staring at the

mound of rocks where they had just buried Rahel. “For seven

years I worked and waited for your mother without taking her

into my tent. The years passed like hours, so great was my

love for her.” Yaakov let out a short laugh touched with em-

barrassment. “Though her beauty drove me to kiss her the first

time I saw her, I did not sleep with your mother until her father

gave her to me in marriage. Remember this, my son—a pa-

tient man is better than a warrior. A man who controls his

desires is stronger than one who rules a city.”

Yosef stopped in the middle of the street, knowing what his

decision must be. “Oh, Tuya,” he whispered, turning to her. He

caught his hands in her hair as shafts of restless energy coursed

through his veins. What words could make her understand?

“Yosef,” she murmured, ignoring the passersby as she

lifted her lips and flowed toward him.

“What are ye waitin’ for?” an aged crone called from the side

of the street. Startled, Yosef looked up to see a toothless hag re-

garding him with bright eyes. “Kiss her, boy, and get on with it!”

Yosef flushed as a rush of warmth washed over him. He

yanked Tuya forward, desperate to be free of the crowd.

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* * *

Tuya willingly followed Yosef into the shadows of an acacia

grove. Away from the teeming multitude along the river, the

world seemed now to consist only of two. How fitting that he

should lead her here, for trees were the confidantes of lovers…

“Tuya,” Yosef said again, and she turned to face him,

offering her heart and her embrace.

“We cannot do this.” His hands tightened on her arms, but

Tuya did not feel the pressure, so startled was she by the dart

that had pierced her heart.

She shivered in the chill shock. “You do not want me?”

“This is wrong. You belong to Potiphar, and he has placed

his trust in me. To do this would be a sin against God and a

crime against my master.”

“Potiphar will not know! He is far away, perhaps dead.”

“God will know. I will know, and you will know that I have

committed this wrong.”

Tuya stared at him, her mind reeling with his denial of their

mutual desire. “Is it wrong to share love? You cannot tell me

you do not want me.”

“I do want you,” he whispered in an aching, husky voice

she scarcely recognized. “God knows how much. But I cannot

sin against him. We will have to wait.”

Her heart sank with swift disappointment. “For how long,

Yosef? Until tomorrow? Next year? When will this god of

yours approve?” She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you are

waiting for some Canaanite girl to enter the household.”

“No,” he whispered, dropping his hands from her arms.

Without the warmth of his touch, she felt alone and vul-

nerable. “I love you with all my heart and soul,” he said, his

eyes raking her face. “But here—” he tapped the space of flesh

over his heart “—I know we need to wait.”

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She choked at the sight of his hand on the place where she

had so often pressed her ear to hear the reassuring beat of his

pulse. In that instant, her capacity for understanding reached

its limit and her emotions veered from frustration to fury.

“You have mocked me with your talk of love!” she snapped,

turning away.

His strong arm caught her and pulled her back. “I honor

you too much to mock you. I honor you too much to commit

this wrong. We will do what is right, and when our master

returns, he will see that his faith in us was well-served.”

Tuya turned her face from his as she struggled to gather

her thoughts. He did not truly love her. The trees, the gray and

blue-green shadows of the grove reminded her of the garden

where once, during another lifetime, she had offered her love

to Sagira. That love, too, had been spurned.

“I have often thought,” she whispered, watching a slender

finger of light that probed the foliage, “that I was not meant

to find love. Love is not for slaves.”

“How can you say that?” Yosef lifted her chin with his

fingers. A wounded look lay behind his dark eyes. “Love has

found you, it has found us. But we will have to wait, and trust

our master.”

She closed her eyes. “Our master will not know what we

do today.”

“He might. If you have a child, Tuya—what would we do

then?”

She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. The priest-

esses had potions and charms for women to use, but Yosef

would not want to hear of those things.

“Trust the master,” Tuya echoed. She lifted her hand and

gently ran her fingertips over the lovely face she could never

deserve to call her own. “Perhaps you are right, Yosef. We

must honor the master. We must not lose our heads.” She

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gathered her composure and gave him a brittle smile even

though she longed to throw herself on the ground and weep

in frustration. “We will wait for Potiphar, my Yosef.”

She had taken three steps toward the street when his words

made her pause. “I love you, Tuya,” he called, his voice heavy

with longing.

She was certain he spoke only out of kindness, but she

could not be angry with him. Her wounded pride would heal,

but not without the balm of friendship from the only person

she dared trust.

“I love you, Yosef,” she answered, glancing over her shoul-

der. She held out her hand and breathed a sigh of relief when

he took it and led her from the acacia grove.

Chapter Eleven

Potiphar bit back an oath when he learned that Narmer, the

king’s obsequious courtier, had been named a standard bearer

and placed in charge of two hundred fifty men. In addition to

the elite guards Potiphar commanded, other troops were or-

ganized into various corps. At the head of one of those corps,

Narmer now strutted like an ostrich.

Amenhotep II and his troops had been in the east for four-

teen months. During their trek through the numerous buffer-

states, Pharaoh’s warriors either put down rebellions or his

courtiers visited the camps of kings to confirm existing peace

treaties. For his help in subduing the warlike Hittites, the king

of the Mitanni tribe, a plump polyp of a warrior, demanded

and received assurance that one of his daughters would wed

the next pharaoh of Egypt. Tribes from many kingdoms sent

tributes to Pharaoh, and those who did not were engaged in

battle and forcibly vanquished. Kings were captured and

defeated men pressed into service as Pharaoh’s army covered

the land like a swarm of locusts.

At last Pharaoh stood on the banks of the Euphrates where

his father and grandfather had erected stelae to commemorate

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their victories. Amenhotep raised his own pillar to record his

meritorious accomplishments. After the proper sacrifices,

chants and prayers, the king ordered his army to return to Egypt.

The captive kings were bound and marched overland in

front of the advancing army. When Pharaoh boarded the royal

barge at the naval port of Peru-nefer, his warriors hung the

captive chiefs upside down on the prow of Pharaoh’s boat to be

displayed before the throngs of adoring, triumphant Egyptians.

Potiphar knew the chiefs would eventually die at Pharaoh’s own

hand as he beheaded them in a religious ceremony.

The army was finally on its way home. The late afternoon

sun streaked the water crimson as Potiphar stood at the stern

of the king’s boat. “Sweet breath of the Nile, lead me south-

ward,” he whispered, absently staring at the line of boats fol-

lowing Pharaoh’s. Their oars flashed like the wings of

dragonflies, churning up the river with furious motion. Along

the side of the ship, living water sang the king’s praises; along

the riverside, Pharaoh’s adoring people wept and fainted from

unexpected joy. Their god, the divine pharaoh, had returned.