Sarah: Women of Genesis: 1 (Women of Genesis (Forge)) (17 page)

The expedition began to move again, but as they crested a rise in the road, Sehtepibre turned his face to the right and said, “Let us leave the chariots and walk this way.”

There was a murmur from the men. There was no reason to stop again so soon, and everyone knew it.

“We came in search of a source of better stone. Yet here, in this old quarry, is some of the finest stone ever found in Egypt. What we should be searching for is not stone, but water so we can cut the blocks for the sarcophagus. The old spring was up here, wasn’t it?”

“No, my lord,” said the chief stonecutter. “The old spring was farther down.”

“And yet the gazelle came from here. How could she live in this mountain without water?” Sehtepibre strode forward boldly, making some show of searching, but in fact moving quite relentlessly toward a place where, Sarai was quite certain, he already knew that water would be flowing.

More than flowing. A spring spilled over and trickled rapidly down to where it filled a natural basin with a small lake of clear and perfect water. Sehtepibre lay down at once, saying loudly, “I will taste first this gift from the gods.”

Sarai shuddered. This was even more blatant than before. To drink first from a new spring was a king’s duty and privilege. Sehtepibre was laying claim to this miracle of finding water. When word spread of this, there would be some who would demand that he be stripped of office for having acted as if he thought he were Pharaoh himself.

But there would be many others who would spread abroad the story that the gods had surely chosen Sehtepibre. Horus sent a gazelle to him, and she gave birth before him on an uncut block of sarcophagus stone. And then Sehtepibre found water where it had not been before. A waterfinder! Surely if the gods had chosen Sehtepibre, did that not mean that they had rejected that disloyal Montuhotpe—no, that would not be his name in the eyes of those who saw him as a fallen Pharaoh. To them he would be nothing more than Neb-Towi-Re, whom the gods rejected and who now occupied Pharaoh’s place unworthily.

To those who had ears to hear and eyes to see, Sehtepibre had declared himself Pharaoh, chosen to take the place of his nominal master, Montuhotpe. And yet Sehtepibre had said nothing to declare himself in rebellion, and it would take some time before Pharaoh began to see the danger that today’s events put him in.

Sehtepibre drank from the pool. Then, dipping his helmet into the water, he brought it dripping back to Sarai and offered it to her.

When she took it from his hands, she almost laughed aloud. “I’m afraid, Lord Sehtepibre,” she said, “that the water has all drained out.”

His dismay seemed real enough as he hurried back for more, this time using Kay’s helmet, which was watertight. But the symbolic statement had been made. This holy, godgiven water had been offered to this noblewoman of the Hsy, only when she went to drink of it, it was gone. Egypt had no more hospitality for the Hsy, that’s what he was saying. And that’s why she had been brought along—to be both the witness and the butt of the joke.

Later, when they were back at the dock, tediously alone while Sehtepibre oversaw the loading of chariots back onto barges, Sarai assumed that Hagar had understood it all, too.

“What are you talking about?” said Hagar.

“Sehtepibre has declared himself,” said Sarai. “Today. This whole trip was designed to announce that the gods have chosen a new Pharaoh.”

“But my lady,” said Hagar, “how could he have planned it when he didn’t know the gods would speak to him like this?”

“I was raised in a king’s house, Hagar,” said Sarai. “Things like this don’t happen by accident. It was the purpose of the expedition. The gazelle was tame—she had no fear of man—and no doubt the spring was dug out weeks ago and then covered over and kept under guard so no one would hear of it until Sehtepibre could discover it.”

“If Sehtepibre can make gazelles give birth,” said Hagar, “he
should
be Pharaoh.”

“Whoever tamed the gazelle knew when its time had come. Sehtepibre chose the day for this expedition, didn’t he? The hand that cut a hole in Sehtepibre’s helmet also caused the spring to be opened and that little pond to be filled. And that same hand caused the gazelle to be trained and the whole expedition to be in place when her time came to be delivered.”

“You are wickedly suspicious, Mistress,” said Hagar. But she smiled, for now she understood how the trick had been set up, and she admired it as much as Sarai did. “Did your father play tricks like that?” she asked.

“My father knew how to make a gesture that the people would understand,” said Sarai.

“And your ‘brother,’ does he help his god along?”

“The true and living God does not give signs to advance the political ambitions of disloyal servants,” said Sarai. “And if he did give a sign, he wouldn’t need Abram to set it up for him.”

Hagar giggled. “It’s like teasing children,” she said. “But it’s only funny to those who know the joke.”

Hagar did not know enough to fear the coming political turmoil the way Sarai did—though in truth what did Hagar have to fear? She had already lost everything, her family and her freedom. Slaves could afford to be amused at how the powerful jockeyed for position, for it would make little difference in their lives. And even if it would make their lives even worse, there was nothing they could do to prevent it.

How long now? Sarai wondered. How long before Sehtepibre puts it in plain language instead of declaring himself in signs and portents? He must have time for word of this manifestation to spread to many ears. Yet he must also strike before Pharaoh has time to recognize the danger.

What is my best part in this? Sarai wondered. Should I keep silence, and so serve the purpose of the conspirators? Or should I give warning, and give Neb-Towi-Re a chance to thwart this revolt before it’s well started?

She doubted the conspirators would know or care if she held her tongue—they would assume that she had not warned Pharaoh because she was an ignorant desert woman and did not realize how she had been used in this little drama. So the only possible advantage would come from warning Pharaoh. But this would ensure the white-hot hatred of Sehtepibre’s people. Did Pharaoh have enough power left to protect her and Abram?

O Lord, is this how you answer my prayer? By putting in my hand the power to save our lives—or end them—without telling me which the result will be?

Silently speaking this inward prayer made her think of something else. If Sehtepibre was in the business of faking omens from the gods, it must mean that he does not believe in any god at all. And if he feared no god, then what would restrain him from any crime he wanted to commit? A man without a god was a man without decency, for he would fear no divine retribution.

Abram, I have to speak to you! How else can I know what I should do!

Chapter 12

A few weeks later, Pharaoh returned for another round of conjugal conversation, and in the midst of his busy days and nights, he met with Sarai again. With Hagar just behind her, Sarai again avoided the place he offered her beside him, and sat humbly—but unaffectionately—at his feet.

“Your brother sends his greetings,” said Neb-Towi-Re.

“I’d like to see him.”

“He wishes he were not so busy, but he hasn’t time to come.”

Sarai knew Abram would come to her if he could, so Pharaoh’s answer meant he was still determined to keep them separated. Still, she couldn’t resist pushing a little. “Then I would gladly go to him.”

“And interrupt the work he’s doing?”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to do that.”

“He reads our most ancient documents and finds meanings in them that were long since lost. For instance, we have long identifed the god Seth with the Fenekhu god Ba’al, but Abram shows us clearly that in the beginning, both our Osiris and the Fenekhu Ba’al represented the same being, whom Abram calls . . . well, he won’t tell us the actual name, but the one he calls ‘the Lord,’ which is what Ba’al means
.
And Seth represents the one Abram calls ‘the Enemy,’ and is not really a god at all, with no power over the living except to lie.”

“I’m so happy that my brother is bringing you such enlightenment,” said Sarai.

“I would be glad to have your brother always with me,” said Neb-Towi-Re. “I would be glad if your brother could also be my brother.”

“The bonds of friendship can be as strong as the bonds of brotherhood,” said Sarai. And then, without quite deciding to do it, she added, “Just as the bonds of stewardship can be as false as the promises of Satan.”

Neb-Towi-Re blinked. “Why don’t we walk in the garden?”

So he wanted to hear her message, and knew better than to converse openly indoors. The trouble was that she had never decided to
give
the message. And yet, at the moment she spoke, she knew that it was right to speak. How had she known? And why did she know even now that she was going to warn Pharaoh of everything she had seen and everything she knew was coming?

Once outside, Sarai was surprised that he allowed his guards to remain within earshot. When she said so, Neb-Towi-Re scoffed. “They’re all Fenekhu. They have no friends among my enemies.”

“The dangerous spy is the one that you trust,” said Sarai—a lesson her father had often repeated.

Pharaoh waved a hand at Hagar.

“She is only one, and she already knows anything I would tell you,” said Sarai.

“But she doesn’t know what I will say in reply,” said Neb-Towi-Re, with a smile.

Sarai turned to Hagar. “While I speak with mighty Pharaoh, please stay as far away from me as Pharaoh’s guards stay from him.”

Hagar bowed and stepped back to stand beside one of the soldiers. With Hagar standing by him, Sarai noticed that while the man’s hair was clean, he still kept it at an Amorite’s length, and he wore more clothing than an Egyptian soldier ever would, though less than Amorites normally wore. The others also showed signs of being Amorite or Canaanite, or from some other land. Not one Egyptian.

“That must please your army, that the soldiers you trust the most are not Egyptian.”

“You had something to tell me?” said Neb-Towi-Re.

It was time. She knew it was dangerous to speak; she couldn’t guess what the consequences would be for her and Abram. Yet she didn’t even hesitate, because in a place deeper than language, deeper than thought, deeper than fear or even hope, she simply knew that this was what she ought to do. And in a place even deeper, the place where her true self dwelt, she wanted with all her heart to do what was right. Her confidence was perfect. And so she spoke. “Perhaps you’ve already heard the story of Sehtepibre’s expedition to find better stones for your sarcophagus.”

“The gazelle that gave birth on a stone was regarded as a very favorable omen, and the priests tell me that the discovery of a new spring nearby is even more so.”

“I was there,” said Sarai. “And these omens were not presented in your favor.”

“It was an expedition for my sarcophagus, in my name,” said Pharaoh.

“These omens seemed to me to have been carefully planned. Sehtepibre knew where to stop to rest and chat with me until the gazelle appeared. She had no fear of humans, which means that she had already been tamed. The expedition was no doubt timed to coincide with her time of bearing. And as for the new spring, it had been flowing for some time. I believe Sehtepibre had a channel dug to connect with a known spring. It was in place for some time, ready for him to discover it after the gazelle gave birth.”

“Sometimes my servants feel that it is helpful to give the gods a little push when there’s a need for an omen.”

“These omens were not intended for your benefit, but rather for your harm.”

Neb-Towi-Re sighed and looked away.

“I was there. Your name was not mentioned. The gazelle was viewed as coming from Horus in order to show favor to Sehtepibre. And it was Sehtepibre who was led by the gods to ‘discover’ the new water source. He could easily have named these omens as being in your favor, but instead he laid claim to them himself, in a roundabout way, so he could not be accused of anything. But it was his announcement, all the same, that the gods had chosen him.”

“How very clever of Sehtepibre,” said Neb-Towi-Re.

“The word is already spreading through the army and among the nobility, I’m quite certain,” said Sarai. “He is preparing to move against you.”

“Yes, I’m not surprised.”

“You knew already that he was your enemy?”

“I choose to keep my enemies close to me, so I can watch them.”

Sarai shook her head. “But you don’t watch him.”

“I have many eyes, Fair Milcah, not just yours.”

“Don’t you see how they manipulate you? Even my presence here, and Abram’s with you—the very thought that you might make me, a Hsy, queen of Egypt, and that you let a Hsy prophet speak his strange ideas about the gods—it must enrage them, frighten them.”

“Yes, your presence is meant as a provocation,” said Pharaoh.