5

Tekurah must have ordered Shira kept out of sight, for a month passed before I caught a glimpse of the Hebrew girl in the kitchen courtyard.

Hauling heavy pots, scrubbing dishes with sand, plucking feathers, gutting fish, endlessly kneading dough, and tending to the blazing-hot bread ovens—Shira endured all this because of me.

Her clothes now engulfed her tiny frame, and her weary face looked gaunt. She collected bowls in a basket on her hip, speaking in pleasant tones with the cooks and other slaves.

Broken down, compelled to endure a life of abject slavery, treated lower than a dog. What did she possibly have to smile about?

I refused to wait any longer. I gathered my bowl and cup in the pretext of bringing them to Shira for washing. Leaning close to her, I placed them in the basket. “I need to speak with you right away.”

Her eyes darted toward the doorway and then over my shoulder. “The canal path. Dawn.” She put her smile back in place and raised her voice. “Thank you, Kiya.”

I nodded and slipped out of the courtyard. Tekurah awaited me, as did another upbraiding for my lateness.

Shira’s absence had forced Tekurah to rely on me. Latikah, the Egyptian girl with the fine leather sandals, replaced Shira but still lacked experience with her duties. Tekurah and I had settled into a stiff, but tolerable, pattern in the last month. Without Shira to lean on, I became more competent. Although she still grasped any opportunity to shame me for anything less than perfection, silently and without fanfare Tekurah acknowledged me as head handmaid.

Much progress would be erased by my tardiness, but I did not care. Relaying my gratitude to Shira for her astounding, albeit perplexing, act of kindness was worth the loss.

Well before dawn broke and the rest of the household began to stir, I rose and rolled up my linen sleeping mat in the corner of Tekurah’s bedchamber, grateful that Latikah still slept in the servants’ quarters.

Allowed to bathe during my morning trips to the canal, I hoped, if Tekurah awoke before I returned, she would assume I’d left earlier only to spend more time in the river.

Few pleasures broke the endless monotony of my days, but the sunrise over the Temple numbered among them. A grand obelisk stood at the heart of the Temple courtyard. From the canal each morning I watched the sun glide to the very tip of the obelisk before launching into the sky. When the sun reached the pinnacle, it reflected against the silver electrum at the top, and dazzling white beams refracted, a signal to return before Tekurah rose from her bed.

Among all the deities, Ra held first place in my heart. The sun-god traveled across the sky each day to bring us light and fought the snake-god Apep in the underworld to push back the chaos of night. The exalted ancestor to the great Pharaoh also entertained foremost importance in our city. The enormous center of worship in Iunu put even the grand temples of Thebes to shame.

I perched cross-legged on a large rock at the head of the path—a remnant of a monument or boundary stone from ancient times—now pitted and faceless. When I’d first arrived in Shefu’s household, Shira herself had pointed out this hidden path through the flax fields.

What a glorious morning. The sun still lingered low, and the breeze breathed cool on my skin. The Season of Inundation had nearly reached its zenith. The Nile had overflowed her banks and submerged the fields nearest the canal. When she returned to her path at the end of the season, rich black silt would bless Egypt’s crops.

Sounds of the earth awakening surrounded me. Ibises, egrets, herons, and ducks called out in seeming joy at the bounty of fish, frogs, and turtles the high waters provided. I closed my eyes to drink in the music of the morning.

Someone called my name, and my eyes flew open. Shira appeared, smiling and waving, a huge earthen pot balanced atop her head. The skill of carrying a burden upon one’s head still eluded me. I could not balance an empty jar, let alone a full one.

Uncomfortable with such familiarity between myself and a Hebrew, I offered a reluctant wave.

“Good morning!” She placed the jar on the ground. Her light green eyes glowed translucent in the golden early sunlight.

What should I say? “What were you thinking? What is wrong with you?” Or perhaps, “Forgive me, remorse is chewing a hole in my gut”?

I attempted a smile. “Thank you for meeting me. I’ve been trying to speak with you for weeks.”

“Oh, they keep me in the kitchens most of the time. I sleep in the courtyard. I cannot mingle with the other slaves outside my duties.”

I looked down at my feet. That should have been my fate.

“No . . . no, Kiya.” Shira closed the distance between us and clutched my hand. “Please don’t feel guilty.”

I looked into her eyes, determined to understand. In a rush, all my desperate questions flowed out. “Why? What possessed you? It should have been me . . . It wasn’t right . . .” I shook my head and pulled away from her grasp.

“No, I did what was necessary. Tekurah was looking for some excuse to break you. Dropping that box would have provided her with the perfect opportunity. Even Shefu could have done nothing to prevent it.”

True, in front of so many guests, Shefu could only stand by while Tekurah punished Shira.

“Tekurah suspects I took the blame for you. But I needed to step in to protect you from her revenge.”

Her response provided more questions than answers. Revenge?

I brushed aside that enigma for a moment, determined to understand Shira’s motives. “But why do you care? Why not stay silent and keep your well-earned position?”

Shira raised a hand to shade her eyes against the sunrise and smiled up at me, her nose wrinkling. Freckles scattered across her fair skin.

“My position matters little. Besides, the way she treats you, it’s . . .” She gritted her teeth. “Unjust . . . and not even about you anyhow. I saw the opportunity to protect you.”

She pitied me? This foreigner? I bristled at the thought. The gods had created Hebrews to be enslaved to Pharaoh. Did she think she held something over me? I might be a slave, but I was still an Egyptian.

She picked up her jug and rested it on her hip. “Let’s keep walking so we can talk and get back in time.”

Mystified, yet annoyed with her presumptions, I fell into step behind her out of habit. This narrow footpath cut across wide flax fields. The dainty blue flowers had winked in the sunlight for almost two months now, but their stalks remained green, not yellow enough for harvesting. No one collected crops here today.

Sharp stones plagued the path, but tender feet belonged to my past. Rough calluses now protected my soles. Still, I missed wearing soft leather sandals, one of many luxuries I’d taken for granted all those years. Numerous irrigation ditches cut across our trail, drawing the river’s overflow to fields in desperate need of moisture in this arid land. Fertile fields, from rock and sand, were the yearly gift of Mother Nile.

As we neared the engorged canal, the glitter of sun on water made me squint. I glanced around, checking for crocodiles as we neared the edge of the river. The prospect of the lurking beasts brought to mind Shira’s strange notion. “What makes you think Tekurah is vengeful toward me?”

“Don’t you know how she feels about your mother?” Shira stopped and turned, brow furrowed.

“She is jealous of my mother’s social connections, but that’s all in the past.” I fluttered a dismissive hand over my shoulder.

“Kiya, Shefu is in love with your mother. Always has been. Tekurah is jealous of his wayward affections. Her only recourse is to take it out on you.” She tilted her head to one side. “You must look a lot like her.”

I nodded, blinking. My mouth hung open, and my throat locked tight. The words slammed around inside my head. My mother? Shefu? What about my father? Did he know?

Shira clucked her tongue against her teeth. “I thought as much. I think she takes perverse pleasure in punishing you in place of your mother.”

The world pitched and swayed, and my eyes refused to focus. My thoughts came out in a jumble. “But . . . how do you know all this? Who . . . ? Who told you about my mother?”

She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I overheard a conversation the night before you arrived at the villa. You know Tekurah takes no pains to keep her displeasure quiet.” She lifted her thin brows.

Tekurah’s raving fits of fury regularly entertained the servants, and sometimes all the surrounding villas.

“I waited in the hallway as they argued. Shefu told her about the agreement with your father to purchase your indenture contract.”

Heat buzzed up my spine. I could just see my father, agreeing to sell me, wiping his hands clean of his debt and his daughter—all in one act.

“She was furious. She insisted he jail your father and sell you, your brother, and your mother into slavery to recover his losses.”

My stomach churned as I considered what our fate would have been, left in Tekurah’s hands.

The Nile ahead of us hurried along in a swirling reddish-brown torrent. Shira and I knelt next to a filtering pool near the edge of the overfull canal, the sand helping to sift out the minerals swept along on its swift current.

I tied a linen patch over the mouth of the jar to help clear the water even more. As I submerged the vessel to fill it, I tried to reconcile thoughts of Shefu with my mother. Did she return his affections? Was this relationship long ago . . . or more recent? Shefu must have strong feelings for my mother to challenge Tekurah. He rarely raised his voice to his wife.

Shira placed her jar on the ground and leaned back on her heels. “Shefu’s anger surprised me. He told her that he would never do such a malicious thing. Your father had been a friend. He told her she had no say in his business dealings.”

Amused by the recollection of Tekurah’s chiding, Shira lifted her chin. “He ordered her to assign you as her own handmaid and forbade her from ever laying a hand on you.”

Shira tucked an errant curl of brown hair behind her ear. Her tight braid hung below her waist, and I wondered if her hair had ever been cut. “That, of course, explains why she beats you only with her words.”

I did think it odd that Tekurah restrained herself with me, when never a day went by that she did not slap a house slave or two. No doubt Shira remembered the sting of Tekurah’s palm as well.

“She seemed taken aback by his adamancy. She accused him of being so smitten by your mother that he could not think clearly. Shefu left the room in such a rush, I do not think he even saw me sitting by the door.” She shrugged her slight shoulders. “Shall we bathe?”

I nodded. The sun pressed a dangerous point near the tip of the obelisk.

Six-foot-tall papyrus rushes guarded the pool, but even so, Shira cast a surreptitious glance around before slipping into the water. She wore her simple shift even while immersing herself.

Another new enigma.

Children played naked in the streets until age nine or ten. Slaves labored scantily clothed. Gowns fashioned from sheer linen left little to the imagination. Why would she act so strange and embarrassed?

I harbored no such discomfort about nudity. In fact, I savored the feeling of the sun and warm breeze on my skin. But Shira’s obvious unease at being undressed made me feel awkward. I washed my body and hair with haste.

I shared a bit of cleansing natron from the supply Tekurah allowed, for a kitchen slave received no such ration.

Shira overflowed with gratefulness as we dressed. “How wonderful to be clean! The work in the kitchens I can endure, but I do miss Tekurah’s aversion to overripe servants.” Her musical laugh erased my earlier irritation with her and I found myself smiling back at her.

We dressed quickly. Twisting the water out of my hair, I gazed across the swollen canal at the submerged fields on the other side. “Thank you, Shira. I cannot ever repay you for what you did for me. I don’t understand why you did it, but I thank the gods that you intervened. If Tekurah had unleashed on me . . .”

She fluttered a hand. “Oh, it doesn’t matter what happens to me.” She moved to stand by me on the riverbank. “But what happened that night? Why were you so distraught?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek, reluctant to share my heartache with this odd little Hebrew slave who seemed to worry more for my safety than her own.

She placed a warm hand on my arm. “Kiya, tell me, why did Tekurah insist you attend that banquet?”

Shira was nothing if not tenacious. And truth be told, I needed to tell someone. Anyone.

I released a deep breath and told her about Akhum—about our betrothal, his absence during my downfall, and his surprise at my presence that night.

“He was powerless, or perhaps unwilling, to rescue me. I am at the bottom of this pit.” I sniffed, squeezing my eyes against the burn of tears. “There is no hope.”

Shira wrapped a fragile arm around my waist and pulled me tight against her side, causing me to ache for my mother and brother. “No, there is always hope. As long as we have breath in our bodies, there is hope.”

No graceful bowing palms shaded us here, and the tall clumps of papyrus afforded little refuge from the sun’s unrelenting glare. Even the soft morning breeze did little to assuage the heat. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as tears threatened to spill over.

Shira did not let go. I did not pull away.

Just as I realized the sun had already passed the tip of the obelisk, hundreds of birds lit into the skies in unison. Shrill cries of alarm shattered the stillness of the morning.

Shira gasped and pointed upstream with her free hand. “What is that?”

I stared, blinking, trying to comprehend the darkness spreading across the water as it rushed toward us. No longer a muddy reddish-brown, the river ran a deep, dark crimson.

Mother Nile, the Great Heart of Egypt, was bleeding.