Abraham and Sarah (36 page)

“Then you do not lust for her?”

“No, no, I’m too ambitious and cool-headed to look twice at a woman who could bring me only cheese.”

The Egyptian was momentarily puzzled. “Then you have already decided not to have her.”

The king handed his cup back to the cupbearer in one slow, deliberate movement, “Of course, I don’t object to a woman’s being beautiful, but my first concern is the advantage she can bring me.”

“I don’t understand,” the Egyptian said. “You are a king. What can any woman give you that you don’t already have?”

The king folded his hands over his protruding stomach and leaned forward, his eyes bright with the challenge of the Egyptian’s question. “First,” he said, “I look for a woman who can give me information. A woman who has lived in some great leader’s harem, a woman who knows all his secrets. Next, I form alliances by marriage. They are the strongest, the most binding agreements. You might say the woman is almost a hostage if things go wrong.”

“Then, of course, you are not interested in the concubine of the cheese maker.”

“No, no,” the king said, leaning back among the cushions, “I have other, more interesting projects in mind.”

The Egyptian didn’t forget Warda. His desire for her grew into a veritable fever, and he could neither sleep nor eat for thinking about her.

As he realized his entourage would be leaving in two days, he became frantic. He first sent a messenger to Urim, stating his desire to take Warda with him and promising to pay whatever the cheese maker might demand.

To his surprise, the servant returned, saying that Urim simply laughed and said no amount of gold would tempt him to give up Warda.

When the Egyptian heard that, he was more determined than ever to have her. In a frenzy of frustration he sent one of his wives to the palace where Warda was entertaining some of the wives. “Persuade her to come with us,” he told her, “and I will give you whatever you ask.”

Warda simply smiled at the Egyptian wife’s request. “I am content,” she said. “I love Urim and his wife. I have many friends here.”

When Warda returned home and told Urim, he was disturbed. “The man isn’t to be trusted,” he said. “You must not go to the palace for any reason until they have gone. Tomorrow they will leave and things will be back to normal.”

Warda did as he suggested. She spent the evening with Safra and Urim, counting the round smoky cheeses and labeling them. When it was dark, Warda and Safra pulled out a pallet and lay down to sleep in a corner of the courtyard while Urim went to his special place on the roof.

Later when Safra tried to tell what had happened, she said she remembered nothing until she heard a great pounding at the gate, followed by shouting and splintering of the wooden door frame. She saw men, at least five, burst into the courtyard with torches. They had stern, cruel looks and demanded that Warda come with them.

Warda was still half asleep when they snatched her from the pallet and hurried her out the door. Urim looked over the parapet and let out a roar of anger. He plunged down the steps two at a time, shouting that he would make fast work of them if they did not let Warda go immediately. He dashed out the gate as Warda screamed. There were the sounds of scuffling, shouting, and the dull thud of something hitting hard against the wall.

Within minutes the struggle was over. The men were gone, taking Warda with them. Urim lay limp and bleeding; his head had a great gash in it, and he was unconscious. Safra forgot everything but reviving him. She pulled him inside the gate. Unwrapping Urim’s headpiece, she washed and bound up the wound. He remained unconscious for several days.

Warda was taken directly to the old Egyptian’s rooms in the palace. She had her hands tied and her mouth bound with a piece of cloth torn from her elegant dancing skirt. She couldn’t talk or scream as she came to stand before
the old man. He had not gone to bed in anticipation of her arrival. “Ah,” he said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction, “she is indeed a beauty.”

Warda motioned that she wanted to have the bands removed so she could talk. “Not yet, my pretty,” the Egyptian said as he walked around her, so he could see her from every angle. “I want you to know all that I intend to do for you: the gifts you will receive, the treasures you will wear, and the exalted position you will hold in my house. When you hear all of this, you will see that it is better that you come with me than to have remained with that odoriferous goat man.”

Warda struggled to get free so she could answer, but the Egyptian smiled with pleasure at her discomfort and held up his hand. “I regret having to keep you bound, but it is necessary until we are well on our way tomorrow.”

He ordered an old woman to bring an Egyptian wardrobe, pectoral, girdle, and wig and see that Warda was dressed according to her new rank. “My dear,” he said, running his hand down along her arm with obvious approval, “you will be the envy of all other women when I finish with you.”

Warda could see that it would do no good to struggle.

She was outnumbered. There was nothing she could do. She watched the old man leave the room, leaning heavily on his steward. His robes were of the finest Egyptian linen, the rings on his gnarled fingers were huge, and the jeweled bands on his arms were of excellent craftsmanship. He was obviously wealthy.

After he had gone, the old woman freed Warda’s hands, but left her mouth bound. Warda let her put the fine garments on her without a protest. All the time she listened to everything the old woman had to say about the Egyptian. “He’s rich beyond anything you can imagine,” the woman said. “He buys women like most of us buy bread, but then he tires of them.” She stood back to look at Warda. Her eyes grew slotted and speculative. “I’ll give you a month,” she said. “By the time we’re back in Egypt he’ll be bored with you, just as he’s been bored with all his other women.”

The old woman didn’t see how Warda bristled at her words. She went on talking about her master and the wonderful good fortune Warda had in being chosen by him.

When Warda was finally dressed and seated on one of the cushions next to the old man’s place, she had already sized up her situation. There was no way she could escape. This man was too powerful and influential. She would
have to play for time and decide what she could do. She must do all within her power to please him, or she would be in the most hopeless situation of all, a concubine languishing alone and forgotten, locked in his harem for the rest of her life. He must not become bored with her as he had with the others.

When the old man returned, he was obviously pleased with her appearance. “My dear,” he said, “if I have the bands removed so you can talk, will you be happy?”

Warda nodded and tried to look submissive. He ordered the old woman to remove the bands. When it was done, he walked around her and looked at her. Finally he grimaced and rubbed his hands together. “I hope you will not be foolish enough to seek revenge,” he said, looking long and hard at Warda.

“My revenge,” she said with a look of proud scorn, “will be to never let you be bored.”

“Ha, ha, ha, he, he, he,” he laughed until he coughed. “So I will not be bored. We’ll see. We’ll see. But for now what marvelous threats you make.”

Warda didn’t smile. She almost felt a twinge of pity for this proud, arrogant, and selfish old man. By the time he realized his folly, he would have lost control completely, and she would be in charge.

When Abraham heard the news, he went immediately to visit Urim. He found him still unconscious, with Safra weeping by his side. “It is better a woman be plain and ugly,” she said. “Poor Urim may never recover.”

Abraham had to admit there was some logic in her statement. He had known situations where the husband had been killed so some more powerful man could have his wife. His old fear had been revived. In his eyes Sarah was still beautiful and charming. “I must remind Sarah to tell only that she is my sister if anyone asks,” he muttered as he hurried back home and called for Sarah.

W
arda’s abduction left Abraham feeling wary. However, when on one of his visits to the king of Gerar, the king dropped a subtle hint that he would welcome closer ties with Abraham’s family, Abraham suspected nothing.

Again when the king singled him out after a large dinner party, Abraham was not suspicious of any ulterior motive. “With your wealth and knowledge and my position,” the king said, “we could engage in many successful ventures.” He gave a knowing smirk, and his eyes grew narrow with speculation. He waited expectantly for some response, but when Abraham gave none, he backed off to wait for a more propitious time.

On another occasion, the king motioned for Abraham to sit beside him. He ordered the steward to bring his friend the choicest meats and the finest wine. Then very cautiously, he again edged up on the subject that most interested him. “I believe you have a sister,” he said as he looked over a cluster of grapes and deliberately picked one or two before turning to get Abraham’s answer.

Abraham looked bewildered for a moment, and then his eyes widened in understanding. “A sister, you say? Oh, yes, yes, I do have a sister,” he hedged.

“And,” the king continued in a light, bantering fashion, “is it not true that she was once actually chosen by Pharaoh for his harem?”

Abraham studied the king carefully before answering. He wondered what he had in mind. What had he heard? “I do have a sister and what you say is true.”

Abraham looked around as though getting ready to leave, but the king put his hand on his arm and leaned forward. “Would it not benefit us both,” he said, “if I should honor you, my friend, by taking your sister for my wife?”

Abraham was appalled. He looked at the king and saw his eyes gleaming with anticipation and his small teeth glistening in his gray beard. Abraham wondered what to say. How could he explain? He had never been good at
explaining things, and this was unbelievably difficult.

The king seemed to think that Abraham was speechless with gratitude, and so with a conspiratorial look he turned to his other guests and Abraham escaped into the night.

The next day a messenger from the king arrived at Abraham’s house. Not an ordinary messenger, but one of the king’s chief counselors. The man came with servants bearing gifts from the king and some lovely young slaves to serve Sarah.

Abraham had not spoken to Sarah about the king’s proposal. He had thought there would be more time. He had hoped the king would be busy with other matters and forget about establishing a bond between their two houses. Now he realized that the king was serious and determined. There was probably very little time, and he would have to tell Sarah immediately.

Abraham was filled with apprehension. For all his fears he had not really expected such a development in Gerar. In the first place Sarah was too old. How could it be that the king even thought of such a thing? More than that, what if it should come about that she was really pregnant? How could he ever explain that to the king?

He was so stunned, he didn’t answer until the messenger grew nervous and started fidgeting with the fringe on his mantle. “I realize,” the messenger said, “that you are overwhelmed with the great honor the king has bestowed on you. He has not seen your sister, but he has heard of her beauty. He knows she has spent time in the harem of Pharaoh. Having her in his own harem would be like adding a priceless diadem to a lovely necklace.”