Dreamers (3 page)

fice a man could make for his king.

But after days of blinding white pain, Potiphar did not die.

A contingent of Egyptian troops stormed the enemy’s camp

and rescued their general, bringing the wounded Potiphar

back to stand before Tuthmosis. The fading warrior-king, in

the fifty-fifth year of his reign, proclaimed before his entire

court that Potiphar was a friend of Pharaoh and would hence-

forth serve as captain of the king’s bodyguard. Potiphar was

awarded a villa, a staff of slaves and a secure position, but

before his body could heal, the great king died.

From his bed of convalescence, Potiphar watched with

trepidation as the crown prince assumed the throne. Twenty-

year-old Amenhotep II loved the sea and had spent most of

his princely preparation at the Egyptian naval base at Per-

nefer, near Memphis. Potiphar wondered how the new king

would feel about joining his father’s court at Thebes, but join

it he must. The pharaoh of Egypt could not afford to appear

weak or indecisive. With the mighty Tuthmosis III dead, the

Asiatic city-states and their allies would undoubtedly attempt

to throw off the Egyptian yoke. They would put the young new

king’s military prowess to the test.

In the following months, neither Potiphar nor the far-flung

cities found the new king lacking. Excelling in battle, archery

and horsemanship, Amenhotep delighted in hand-to-hand

combat. With Potiphar at his side, he led his troops into battle,

howling in royal rage. Often the mere sight of his ferocious

visage convinced dismayed enemy troops to surrender.

Now, in the thirteenth year of his reign, Amenhotep had

accomplished his military goals. The far-flung provinces

dutifully sent tribute to their king and toiled to keep peace in

the land. Military maneuvers now involved only infrequent

skirmishes from rebellious territories, and Potiphar rarely

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rode with the army. He found it difficult to admit, but at forty-

four, he had grown tired of the wind in his face and sand in

his teeth. But he continued to venture onto the battlefield in

the hope that a spectacular victory would bring him the one

prize he lacked—the Gold of Praise to encircle his neck.

The Gold of Praise—the most obvious and visible symbol

of Pharaoh’s favor—was a solid gold chain awarded to the man

who had proved himself a friend of Pharaoh. Though Tuthmo-

sis had proclaimed Potiphar his friend, that noble king had died

before presenting his wounded general with the Gold of Praise.

Potiphar had earned it. If the gods were just, at some point

in this life he would yet wear it around his neck.

Chapter Three

A bitter wind howled around the caravan, and Yosef found

himself wincing with every step across the desert sand. A stout

rope bound his wrists, while the end of the rope connected him

to the saddle of a sour-faced camel belonging to a caravan of

Yishmaelites from Gilead. With each step of the Yishmaelites’

beast, the rope tightened and tugged on Yosef’s broken arm.

Every step, every breath, brought exquisite pain. He had

fainted when they first wrenched his arm to tie him with the

other prisoners bound for Egypt; one of the traders tossed a

bucketful of foul water in his face to wake him. Now Yosef

stumbled through the desert in a stupor of agony and grief. In

lucid moments he wondered why his life had taken such a

vicious and unpredictable turn.

His father, the one constant loving figure in his life since his

mother’s death, would feel this loss even more keenly than the

grief of losing his beloved Rahel. “At least I have you,” his father

had often said, his gnarled hand patting Yosef’s as they walked

together. “As long as I have you, Rahel lives on in your eyes.”

How could his brothers do this to their father? To him?

Why did they hate him so?

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Nothing in his past warranted such treatment. A loving and

obedient son to his father, he had been the favored first-born

of Yaakov’s favorite wife, Rahel. His brothers were less than

doting, probably because they were envious of the close re-

lationship he shared with their father. When Rahel died while

giving birth to Binyamin, Yaakov pulled Yosef aside and

spilled his heart, opening a window through which Yosef

glimpsed a love as strong as God and a grief as deep as death.

For the first time, Yaakov recited his personal history, ex-

plaining to Yosef how each of his other brothers came to be

born. Compassion conceived the sons of Lea, duty resulted

in the sons of Bilhah, guilt fathered the sons of Zilpah. Only

with Rahel, Yaakov told Yosef, were sons given life in love.

Perhaps this knowledge gave birth to his dreams. One night

not long after his mother’s death, Yosef had dreamed that he

and his brothers were binding sheaves of grain. Suddenly

Yosef’s sheaf jerked itself out of his hands as if it possessed

a life of its own. Dancing away from the rope with which he

would have tied it, the tall sheaf moved to the center of the

cleared field and stood upright. Within minutes, the sheaves

of his brothers were similarly animated, but those sheaves

circled Yosef’s, then prostrated themselves on the ground

before the golden sheaf in the center of the circle.

His brothers had not found the dream at all entertaining.

“Do you intend to reign over us?” Yehuda sneered when Yosef

told them of the strange vision. “Will you actually rule us?”

Only Re’uven’s diplomatic intervention prevented a fistfight.

The next night Yosef had a similar dream. In this dream he

sat on a star while the sun and moon and eleven other stars drew

near and bowed to him. When he described the dream the next

morning, even his father laughed. “What is this?”Yaakov said,

his face darkening to a deep shade of red as he sat before the

breakfast fire. “Will your departed mother and I join your

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Dreamers

brothers and actually bow before you? Surely you think too

much of yourself,Yosef, and of these dreams. Forget them, my

son, and remember that when pride comes, disgrace follows.”

His father’s words proved strangely prophetic. Yosef had

taken quiet pleasure in those dreams while he dwelled se-

curely in his father’s favor. But now, in the harsh light of

reality and the bitterness of pain, those mocking fantasies

seemed as false as vows made in wine. He had dared to dream

that God would honor him as primary inheritor of the bless-

ings and promises of Avraham, but those hopes, too, were

surely foolish. Disgrace and despair walked with him across

the desert.

From the chatter of the Yishmaelites Yosef knew he was

on his way to the “black land,” Egypt. He had heard much of

the place, for his great-grandfather Avraham had found

trouble among its people. Plagued by fear and blessed with a

beautiful wife, Avraham lied to the Egyptians and told them

that Sarai was his sister, not his wife. Unaware that he desired

another man’s wife, Pharaoh took Sarai into the royal harem

and suffered the plagues of God for his sin. When the truth

was revealed, Pharaoh asked Avraham to take his wife, his

livestock, all that he had, and leave the country. The king’s

army had escorted Avraham from the land to ensure that

nothing remained behind.

Now Avraham’s great-grandson was returning to Egypt as

a bloody and broken slave, reeking of camels and filth. Was this

God’s divine punishment for Avraham’s sin? Were the Egyp-

tians now to have their vengeance on one of his descendants?

Despite the pain, Yosef lifted his head in pride as the rope

bit into his wrists and pulled him forward. Whatever happened,

he would not repeat Avraham’s sin. He would not lie. But to

preserve his life, neither would he admit to anyone that he was

of the house and lineage of the one they had known as Avram.

Chapter Four

Kahent woke before the sun’s rising and dressed in her

finest garment, a narrow sheath of white linen that fell in

intricate pleats from her shoulders to the floor. She selected

her favorite beaded necklaces, bracelets and belt, then sat

at her table to paint her face. Dipping an exquisitely carved

copper applicator into the container for her kohl, she out-

lined her eyes and dabbed her fingers into a secret compart-

ment inside a carved ivory duck on her dressing table. With

a deft movement, she swiped a mixture of ground malachite

and animal fat across her eyelids, effectively giving them a

golden-green glow. Green, she reflected, was the color of

fertility, the root and purpose of the petition she would

bring today.

When her face had been properly painted, Kahent’s maid

lifted her heavy wig from its stand and placed it on her

mistress’s head. Like all Egyptian noblewomen, Kahent wore

her hair clipped short, a necessity when no woman of standing

went out in public without her wig. The massive wig was as

wide as Kahent’s shoulders and several layers thick. A lush

fringe of bangs accented the dark lines around her eyes, and

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Dreamers

the beads that had been woven into the ends of the woolen

strands clicked together with a pleasing sound.

Kahent slipped her feet into her papyrus sandals, then lifted

a bag of silver from her husband’s treasure chest. Offerings

of fruit and meat would not be enough for today. She planned

on asking the goddess Bastet for a serious boon, and a note-

worthy offering would certainly be required.

Her maids stood back and Kahent pointed wordlessly to

the one who would accompany her to the temple. The other

blinked, probably in relief, and the chosen slave lifted the

earthen lamp from its stand and moved toward the outer court-

yard where a special bundle waited. Kahent had chosen the

goddess Bastet as her patron god, and since cats were sacred

to that goddess, more than thirty cats lived within the walls

of this household. When they died, Kahent paid handsomely

to have the animals mummified and wrapped in linen. A store-

room near the temple of the house was stocked with cat-

shaped coffins in which the mummified cats rested in their

eternal journey.

The sleepy servant lifted one of the papyrus coffins into her

arms and laid it across her mistress’s open palms. Reverently,

Kahent carried the burden through the gate and led the way

through the streets of Thebes to the temple dedicated to the

goddess Bastet.

After entering the rectangular enclosure surrounding the

temple, Kahent left her maid in the outer courtyard and carried

the small coffin into Per-Hair, the House of Rejoicing. In front

of its towers stood twin statues, two cats carved of green marble.

Dark crevices loomed where the eyes should have been, and

golden rings hung from the nostrils. A silver pectoral with the

sacred eye of Horus decorated the chests of both animals, sig-

nifying that Horus himself protected the cat from evil.

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Kahent always felt a sudden chill whenever she saw an

amulet depicting the wadjet eye. According to the legends of

the gods, Seth, a god of evil, tore out the eye of Horus in a

struggle for the throne of Egypt. Once in a temple play

Donkor forced her to attend, an actor portraying Seth had

actually plucked the eye from an unfortunate prisoner. After

the bloodletting, Kahent had left her husband’s side and fled

the theater, knowing full well that the ancient legend would

require that the prisoner also be dismembered before the

play’s end.

No bloody legends were associated with Bastet. She was

the daughter of Re, the sun-god, and represented the benign

power of the sun to ripen crops.

After kneeling before the two regal statues, Kahent pro-

ceeded to the sacred burial grounds and placed the cat coffin

in an empty space. She bowed her head to the earth and

murmured words of allegiance, then walked slowly back to

the Per-Hair and passed through the entryway.

The morning sun had begun to beat on the earth in relent-

less waves of energy, but cool air filled the House of Rejoicing.

Moving through a long, columned hall adorned with wall-

carvings of the king and queen, she came to the chamber known

as Gem-Bastet—the Finding of Bastet. A long, narrow court

stretched ahead of her, crowned by an altar atop a flight of

steps. Beyond the altar a causeway ran toward yet another pair

of lofty columns. Kahent passed through them into a second

court, then into a third, and finally into the smallest sanctuary.

By reading her dress and jewels, the temple priests and

priestesses allowed her to pass, correctly intuiting that the

offering in the bag at her waist would permit entry into the

holiest of holies.

The floor rose at a gentle angle under Kahent’s feet as the