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
Angela Hunt
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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
26
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