Tuya smiled. Only a man who had spent time in slavery
could have gleaned that insight. “If you are a leader com-
manding the affairs of the multitude,” the vizier further en-
couraged his assistants, “seek for yourself every beneficial
deed, until your own affairs are completely without wrong.
Justice is great, and its appropriateness is lasting. It has not
been disturbed since the time of him who made it, whereas
there is punishment for him who passes over its laws. Wrong-
doing has never brought its undertaking into port. Fraud may
gain riches, but the strength of justice is everlasting.”
Tuya listened to Yosef’s words about justice with a be-
mused smile. He had proved to be a firm disciplinarian with
those who broke Pharaoh’s laws, so why had he been so
merciful to Sagira? That woman’s folly had marred at least
three lives, but she now lived in a restored and prosperous villa.
Perhaps Sagira paid for her crime in other ways. Tuya
knew that Sagira had no friends among the nobility, for she
had been cast from Pharaoh’s favor. Court gossip reported that
Potiphar’s wife suffered from a wasting disease that would
surely take her life unless the gods proved to be as merciful
as Zaphenath-paneah.
A blaze of trumpet fanfare ended the ceremony; the flushed
and happy civil servants bowed their knees to the vizier, then
prostrated themselves before Pharaoh. Tuya sat silently in
the cheering crowd, grateful for the anonymity of the as-
sembly. In a gathering like this she could watch Yosef without
worrying that her eyes revealed the love in her heart.
He had been Egypt’s vizier for six years, and since their
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first interview she had not spoken to him except in the most
ceremonial of greetings when they chanced to pass in the
palace hallways. With a lovely wife and two fine sons, Yosef
had probably forgotten all about her.
But she still dreamed of Potiphar’s garden.
Chapter Thirty-One
Narmer hurried through the halls, slinking through shadows
until he reached the private corridor that led to Queen
Mutemwiya’s elegant chambers. After ducking through the
doorway and the outer room, he insinuated himself between
the heavy draperies on the queen’s bed and waited until he
heard footsteps approaching. “Thank you, ladies, but I shall
not need you tonight,” he heard her call, then Mutemwiya
closed the door. “Narmer?”
“Here.” He stepped out of the curtains and pressed his lips
together as a sign of pique. “I thought you’d never come.”
“That silly ceremony,” she fussed, slipping the heavy wig
from her head. She tossed it onto the floor, then took a seat
on her couch, curling her legs beneath her. “Well,” she purred,
smiling in her unmirthful way, “come and tell me what you
think of our grand vizier’s new men.”
“They are like the old ones,” Narmer grumbled, sinking
into the chair opposite her. “The same enthusiasm, the same
impartial glances, the same glow of righteousness. What I
would give for a single covetous soul!”
“There will be no bribing the vizier’s assistants.” Mutem-
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wiya lifted a manicured finger and stroked her chin. “Do not
attempt it, for they will tell Pharaoh what you have done and
then where will you be, my ambitious love?”
Narmer grinned, accustomed to her sharp tongue. “In the
underworld with you.” He moved next to her, allowing her to
drape her arm over his shoulders. “In any case, I will not bribe
the vizier’s fools. He has surrounded himself with souls who
are faithful and true—even his wife cannot be swayed from
his side. Believe me, I have tried to gain the lovely Asenath’s
attention—” he smiled at the anger in Mutemwiya’s eyes
“—and failed.”
“She would not have an old goat like you,” Mutemwiya
snapped. “Why should she? The one they call the Pride of
Egypt is hers.”
“And the treasure of the kingdom is his. And Pharaoh,
your young fool, is a puppet in the vizier’s hands.”
“As I am a puppet in yours.” Mutemwiya looked up, her fas-
cinating smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, and for a
moment Narmer was distracted. Compared to his luxury-loving
lioness, Egyptian maidens were hothouse flowers. Mutemwiya
had been bred in the wild lands of the north country, and her tem-
perament was as unpredictable as the weather in that change-
able land. She moved with animal assurance and spoke with the
confidence of a woman who knows the potency of her charm.
Narmer had been in awe of her since the day he negotiated
Pharaoh’s marriage contract, and she had recognized his politi-
cal talent, charisma and gift of persuasion. He owed her a great
deal, for she had convinced Pharaoh that Narmer would be the
natural choice to replace Potiphar as captain of the king’s guard.
The strength of her gaze drew him now. Pleased at her open
delight, he forgot what he had meant to say.
“The time is coming, my dear Narmer,” she purred, leaning
toward him, “when the people will tire of giving their abun-
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dance to Pharaoh. They will groan under the weight of this
senseless hoarding.”
“According to Zaphenath-paneah and his Almighty God,
the Nile will not flood next year. Famine is coming.”
She pulled away, yawning, and tapped her crimson lips
with her hand. “I forgot.”
He slipped from the couch and fell to his knees before her,
his hands spanning her waist. “You don’t believe him?”
“No.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “I have not
heard the voice of this god, and neither have any of my priests.
Only Zaphenath-paneah hears the unseen deity, and only
Zaphenath-paneah profits from Egypt’s abundance.”
Her touch triggered primitive yearnings, but Narmer
steeled himself to be patient. “There may be something in
what you say,” he said, catching her hand. “If the Nile floods
next year, the people may well rise up and rebel against this
vizier. But what if famine does come? How can we argue
against one who has been proven right?”
“If famine comes—” she leaned closer to him “—your
people will resent having to buy what they have put into the
granaries. Grain will be precious. A loaf of bread will sell for
a bag of silver, and the poor will starve. When they carry com-
plaints instead of offerings to the temples, the priests will
demand a sacrifice. The divine king will give his life to feed
the earth, and since there is no royal heir, whomever I take as
my husband will ascend to the throne.”
“But what of Tuya’s child? A son of Pharaoh lives.”
Mutemwiya sniffed. “Tuya is a lesser wife, a former slave,
and the life of her child is nothing. Trust me, Narmer, no one
will stand in our way. If the land brings forth her abundance
next year, you shall overthrow this vizier.”
“And if famine comes, as the vizier has said it will—”
“Then we will wait until his food supply runs out.” She
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tucked her hand around his neck with easy familiarity. “Zaphe-
nath-paneah has been busy running the palace and training as-
sistants. Do you truly believe his granaries and storehouses
contain enough to feed the entire kingdom of Egypt?”
He ran his hands over her arms. “It would be difficult to
lead the people without the priests’ approval.”
“The priests will be eager to lead the people back to the
ancient gods,” Mutemwiya answered. “They have grown
jealous of the vizier’s Almighty God, for even Pharaoh has
grown less fervent in his worship of Horus and Osiris. So we
will begin to make generous offerings now, Narmer, and win
the loyalty of the priests. If famine comes, in time the people
will cry out against the harsh god who would smite the land
of Egypt. We shall rise like the phoenix from the ashes of a
burnt and starving kingdom.”
Overcome by her clever logic, he pressed his lips to her
palm in a fervent rush, and she lowered her forehead to his.
“Yes, my Narmer, think of it! You and I as husband and wife,
rulers of the Two Kingdoms and beyond. My Mitanni tribe
will ally itself with us, and after that we shall rule the world.”
Tuya felt a curious, tingling shock when her servant told
her the king’s vizier stood outside her door. “Zaphenath-
paneah? The vizier wishes to see me?”
The frightened girl nodded.
“All right, give me a moment. Seat the vizier in the front
room.”
The girl padded away and Tuya hurried to her dressing
table to check her makeup and wig. This wig was short, well
above her shoulders, and fashionable among the ladies of
Thebes. She hoped it made her look younger, for she was now
thirty-four and the mother of a ten-year-old son. Under her
wig, she had already sprouted more than a few gray hairs.
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She adjusted her eyeliner and smudged the lines of kohl to
disguise the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. After dropping
the bronze mirror to her dressing table, she smoothed her
dress and took a deep breath. Why should facing Yosef make
her feel nervous? He was an old friend.
And he must bring news of some importance, or he would
have sent a messenger instead of coming himself.
His back was to her when she entered the room, for he was
watching Yosef play the lute. “Excellent, young prince,” she
heard him say. “I hope my sons show half as much talent.”
Her son blushed and smiled when he saw her standing in
the doorway. “Zaphenath-paneah likes my playing.”
“So do I,” Tuya answered. “Now go and show your nurse
how skilled you are.” As Yosef hurried away, Tuya turned to
face her guest.
Yosef had aged more than she had. Contentment shone in
his eyes, but stress and responsibility had etched lines in the
forehead that had been smooth six years before.
“Tuya.” The sound of joy in his voice brought a warm
blush to her cheek.
“Zaphenath-paneah.” She gave him a properly formal
smile, aware that her servants moved about in the other rooms.
“What brings our king’s vizier to me?”
“Must we be so stilted with each other?” He gestured
toward a couch. “You’ve never called me anything but Yosef.”
She shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “All right.
What brings you to me, Yosef?”
He smiled, and some of the starch went out of her knees.
“I have come with something important to discuss, but
thought I might at least ask about your health.”
“My health is fine.” Stepping to the couch, she perched on
the edge while he sank beside her. She put her hands in her
lap. “Why have you come?”
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The air of convivial friendliness disappeared when he
frowned. “This is not an easy request to make.”
“Speak it.”
He looked away for a moment, then stared at his hands.
“Do you remember the story I once told you about Avraham?”
She stared at him. She recalled the story well, for every
word he had uttered in her presence was precious. “The man
who took his son to the mountain for a sacrifice.”
“And God preserved them both.”
“I remember.”
“Tuya—” he pressed his hands together “—I have dreamed
again of you and your son, and the danger is nearer than it
was years ago. I believe you can save your son, but there is
only one way.”
“Save my son from what?”
“I am not sure.”
“Well, you can’t ask me to do something unless I know why.”
She lifted a brow. “And what, exactly, are you asking me to do?”
“Only one thing. Offer your son to Pharaoh, and let him
be betrothed to Queen Mutemwiya. It must be done if he is
to be declared the royal heir. You must do it now.”
She sputtered in horror. “Yosef is Pharaoh’s heir. None of
the other wives have given birth to a son, so he is the heir,
without question—”
“No.” Yosef spoke in the firm voice of Justice and Egyptian
Law. “If Pharaoh were to die today, Egypt would have no king
until Queen Mutemwiya marries.”
“But Yosef is Pharaoh’s son.”
“Pharaoh intends to declare the boy Crown Prince at some
future time, but we dare not wait. Yosef must be named
Crown Prince immediately. He must be recognized as the be-
trothed husband of the heiress. Thus he will be King on
Pharaoh’s death.”
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“My baby? Married to that queen?”
“Her ceremonial husband.” Yosef closed his eyes as if he
could not bear to bring her further pain. “Remember Avra-
ham? He trusted God to spare the life of his child, yet he was
willing to surrender that life.”
Tuya stood and backed away. “I can’t give my son to that
witch, not now, not ever. Yosef won’t understand. He’ll think
I care more for ambition than I do for him. And I don’t care
if he’s King, I only want him safe—”