around Yosef’s waist.
184
Dreamers
But Yosef was no weakling. He would not do what Ramla
predicted. He would not even listen to such a suggestion.
The donkeys had been put away and the guards sent home
by the time a single chariot churned the dust outside the gate-
house. Tuya ran to the porch, straining to see who had arrived
in the gathering darkness.
Sagira’s laughter broke the silence of the night. “Paneah,
let Enos put our little picnic away,” she called, her voice
ringing like a bell. “You must be tired after our long day.”
The man in the slave’s kilt hesitated, then followed Sagira up
the path toward the porch. Tuya blinked in bewilderment when
Sagira slowed her step and the man—could it be Paneah?—
caught up and walked alongside his mistress, like an equal.
Tuya stood on the porch like a helpless rabbit caught in a
panther’s hypnotic glare. When the mistress and her compan-
ion entered the circle of torchlight, Sagira gaped in surprise.
“Tuya! You have finally returned! I hope you had a pleasant
journey. I should find Ramla, but we’ve had an exhausting day
among the hills.”
She swept through the porch on her way to her chamber,
but Yosef paused on a step. “Welcome home,” he said, giving
Tuya a dusty smile, but she could not return it. Red ochre
stained his lips and the side of his face.
Gulping back a sob, Tuya turned and sprinted toward the
women’s quarters.
She wept for an hour, then hiccupped until one of the maids
tossed a sandal at her from across the room. “Go outside if
you cannot be quiet.”
Tuya wrapped a thin shawl about her shoulders and slipped
into the night. How could she sleep after what she had wit-
nessed? She might never be able to sleep again. Each time she
closed her eyes she saw Yosef locked in Sagira’s embrace.
Angela Hunt
185
Ramla could foretell the future, and soon a child would be
born. Yosef had rejected Tuya’s love, claiming that he owed
obedience to his god and to his father, and yet he had given
himself to Sagira as eagerly as a bridegroom…
From force of long habit, her feet carried her to the garden.
At the edge of the reflecting pool, she gazed downward and
wondered if it were possible to drown in knee-deep water. She
hiccupped again, then wiped her nose on the back of her
hand. “Oh, Yosef,” she wailed. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” He stepped from the shadows of the trees, his
eyes as troubled as hers. Seeing that he suffered, too, she
could not bring herself to repeat Ramla’s accusations. If Yosef
had become Sagira’s lover, surely he would be with the
mistress instead of pacing in the garden. He would not be
here…unless his conscience troubled him.
Tuya gave him a wobbly smile. “Did you miss me?”
“Very much,” he said, stepping closer. She thought he
would draw her into his arms, but he merely lifted her hands
and held them on his own. He kept his gaze lowered—was he
afraid to look at her?
Somehow she found her voice. “Did you spend much time
with Sagira?”
“Yes,” he answered, finally meeting her gaze. “Because
you told me to. She now thinks of me as a friend.”
“Then why—” Tuya tried to keep her voice light “—why
was your face stained with ochre when you returned tonight?
Have you taken to painting your lips?”
She couldn’t tell if he blushed in the moonlight. “She
kissed me,” he said simply. “A kiss of affection.”
“She kissed you,” Tuya repeated, lowering her hands. Sus-
picion rose again and snarled, blocking the voice of reason.
“When was the last time a mistress kissed her slave?” she
asked, wincing at the edge of desperation in her voice.
186
Dreamers
“How am I to know?” Yosef folded his arms in a pose of
weary dignity. “She kissed me in affection—and you told me
to be her friend.”
“Her friend, not her lover,” Tuya whispered. When defiance
lit his eyes, she pressed on. “She kissed you, Yosef, so tell me
the truth. Did she not long for more?”
Her question brought a hard frown to his face. “Do you
not trust me?”
“Can you not answer my question?”
“Yes, she wanted more! But so did you, remember?” His
words cut through the night, lacerating her. Tuya backed away
and pressed her hand to her mouth.
Yosef growled and knocked a fist against his forehead. “If
I would not lie with you, why do you think I would lie with
a woman I do not love?” He turned toward the pool, placed
his hands on his hips, and breathed deeply.
“Do you, Yosef? Do you love me?”
After a long moment, he lowered his arms and looked at
her. “You know how I feel about you,” he finally whispered,
his voice husky. “Sometimes I wish God had not gifted me
with a form pleasing to women. I walk in the marketplace and
hear them call greetings, I walk in the threshing rooms and
feel their eyes on my back, I sit behind my master at dinner
and catch my mistress’s smiles…”
He walked to a tree and leaned against it, crossing his arms
as he faced her. “The same beauty that bound Rahel to Yaakov
now enslaves me. You should understand, Tuya, for God has
also gifted you with beauty.”
“I understand some things,” she said, moving toward
him. “I understand that you long to be free, Yosef, and that
you dream of greatness. You are proud, you are ambitious,
you dream of the future and aspire to succeed in every effort
you undertake. You are a fire-eater. You will do anything to
Angela Hunt
187
keep faith in your dreams. I wonder if you will do anything
to be free—”
He did not answer, but slouched before her, bleary-eyed
and weary.
“There is no advantage in loving me,” she whispered,
avoiding his gaze. “Yet there is much to be gained in pleasing
a mistress. I love you, Yosef, and I know about your dreams.
And I’ll not stand in the way of their fulfillment. I can’t.”
Before her heart could change her mind, she turned on her
heel and left the garden.
The pleasant sounds of people at dinner drifted through the
house as Tuya approached the main hall the next afternoon.
Sagira, Potiphar and Ramla sat on chairs placed in a circle for
conversation and ate from bowls that had been placed on
stands near them. Between Potiphar and his wife, Yosef lin-
gered like an obedient shadow, ready to do their bidding.
He caught Tuya’s eye as she approached, and for the first
time in her memory his face did not light with excitement
when she entered the room. His smile seemed strained, his
eyes wary. She glanced at him with no more apparent interest
than she would have given a wall painting, then prostrated
herself on the floor before Potiphar’s feet.
“What’s this?” He looked down at her over the deep cres-
cents of flesh beneath his eyes. “I did not send for you, Tuya.”
“If it please my master,” she said, lifting her head. “I have
a request.”
“Should a slave beg for favors?” Sagira interrupted, but
Potiphar smiled and leaned forward in his chair.
“Speak, Tuya. I will listen.”
Tuya swallowed hard, knowing she had stepped onto a
path from which there could be no return. “Some time ago I
displeased my mistress and she wanted to send me away,” she
188
Dreamers
said. “You, kind master, would not allow me to go. But if my
lady still finds me displeasing, I am willing to leave.” She
steeled herself to continue. “I have no place here.”
“What’s this?” Potiphar turned to his wife. “Have you
quarreled with this girl?”
“How could I, my lord?” Sagira lifted her shoulder in an
elegant shrug. “She has been with Ramla for two months. This
request, I assure you, is a surprise to me.”
“The captain of Pharaoh’s guard would do well to consider
her petition,” Ramla said, speaking in the low voice she
reserved for dreaded things. “An unhappy slave can incite re-
bellion and mutiny among the others. Even you, Potiphar, may
have trouble on your hands if she is forced to remain here.”
Potiphar thought a moment, then slapped his knee. “She
was a gift from Pharaoh. One does not cast off a presentation
from the divine hand.” He glanced toward Sagira, another of
his favors from Pharaoh, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Not
that I would want to rid myself of any of our king’s gifts.”
“Still, Tuya is an old friend, and I don’t want her to be
unhappy,” Sagira said, resting her hand on Potiphar’s arm.
“Perhaps you might approach the king or one of his coun-
selors about the situation. I am sure you can find a solution,
my husband.”
Potiphar gave her an approving glance. “I shall try, little
wife,” he promised, rising. He kissed her hand again in farewell,
then turned toward Tuya and lowered his voice. “I would hate
to see you go, but if you are sure you cannot be happy here—”
“I am certain,” she said, bowing before him again. She did
not allow her gaze to drift toward Yosef’s face.
Yosef fought against the maddening tedium of the after-
dinner ritual. Potiphar left the house, Tuya slipped away, and
Yosef attended Ramla and Sagira until they finished a lengthy,
Angela Hunt
189
rambling conversation and moved to the women’s quarters.
When they had gone, he clapped to summon slaves to clear
the chamber, then he hurried from the hall.
He found Tuya in the room where the lowliest of all slaves
worked to grind corn into flour. On her hands and knees, she
was bent over a slab with a heavy grindstone in her hand. The
toothless old hag who usually ground the corn sat on the
floor, watching with wide, amused eyes.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, pulling the
grindstone out of Tuya’s grip. “This is not your work!”
“I thought I may as well learn how to do everything,” she
said, not looking at him. “If a family can afford only one
slave, they will purchase a woman for grinding, so I thought
I should learn—”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her from the room,
oblivious to the old woman’s curious stare. In the corridor, he
stood Tuya against the wall and leaned over her, his arms
blocking her escape. “What foolish, womanish, jealous notion
entered your head today?” he asked, taking pains to keep his
voice level. “You have harmed your reputation with Potiphar.
I may be able to dissuade him from approaching Pharaoh, but
now the master and mistress both know you are not happy.
The damage is done.”
“I will leave even if I have to run away,” Tuya answered, her
eyes large and fierce with pain. “I cannot stay here,Yosef. I love
you too much. I cannot bear to watch Sagira trap you—”
“I will not be trapped,” he said, pressing against the walls
with all his strength. What would it take to make her believe
him? “Sagira may be infatuated—” he lowered his voice
“—but I am only her friend. My heart belongs to you, Tuya,
and she knows it. Soon she will grow tired of me.”
“She won’t stop until she wins. She has the power to
command you.”
190
Dreamers
“Some things cannot be commanded.”
Tuya released a bitter laugh, then looked into his eyes.
“Then consider this—she hates me and she has the power to
take my life. If I stay and you refuse her, she will hurt me
somehow. She’s already hurt me—”
“So you would exchange this house for some place where
I cannot protect you? What if you are sold to a cruel master?
What if you find yourself commanded by a man who would
ask more of you than Sagira asks of me? You are not thinking,
Tuya! You may find yourself in a nest of vipers—”
“I don’t know where I will go,” she whimpered, sliding
down against the wall. “I only know the gods have not smiled
on us. Montu’s strong arm has not been able to save you from
Sagira, and your god is silent—”
He knelt in front of her and reached for her hands, his heart
breaking at the sight of tears on her cheeks. “You must trust
in the true god,” he said, gentling his voice. “Please, Tuya, stay
with me. Our time of waiting is nearly over, then we shall be
married and have a house of our own. I have handled Potiphar
for years, so I can handle Sagira.”
“You think too highly of your own abilities, Yosef. You
cannot hold Sagira off and cling to me. Such dreams are im-
possible. She will never allow them.”
“Faith is believing in the impossible. Why can’t you put
aside your fear and trust me? You have no faith in me, no, not
even in yourself, or you would see that you are as precious to
me as life. Please, dearest, let me tell Potiphar that you have
changed your mind about leaving.”
“No.” She pulled herself free from his grasp, then stood and
stumbled as she moved away. “I love you too much, Yosef,
and I know Sagira. Whether she wins or loses, you will suffer.