14

Sarai walked beneath the columns of an elaborate garden portico, her feet skirting the edges of a circular blue pool. White and blue lotus blossoms floated on the surface, and tall sconces filled the air with perfumed smoke. Palm trees lined one wall, a barrier to hide a brick wall beyond, keeping her from wandering too far from this Hall of Queens. Tears pricked her eyes as she rounded a corner, finding guards posted outside her doors and the halls strangely quiet. Even Hagar had deserted her this day, leaving her with no one to talk to, no one to comfort her.

She lifted a fist to her mouth, quelling the emotion, and headed back to the set of rooms reserved for her. She turned at the sound of running feet to see Hagar rushing toward her. The servant paused at a marble column, gripped it for support, and dragged in air. Fear filled her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes.

Her gaze moved over Sarai as though she had never seen her before. “You are well?”

“Of course I am well. What could possibly happen to me in the short time you were gone?” Though she wondered at her own choice of words. Much had happened to her in the past week, which seemed a lifetime ago.

Hagar fidgeted and nodded. “Perhaps it is a sign.” She followed Sarai into the sitting room and paced, fluffing pillows and straightening cushions as she went. She stopped abruptly. “I will bring you something cool to drink.”

She hurried away as though chased.

“Wait.” Sarai’s thoughts grew anxious, matching Hagar’s mood.

Hagar whirled about, hands clasped in front of her.

“What do you mean, perhaps it is a sign? What sign?” Sarai studied the dark eyes and plain features, wondering why the girl acted so skittish.

“All of the wives and daughters of pharaoh have been afflicted by a sudden illness. That you are spared . . . perhaps the gods do not yet know that you now belong to the king. They do not see everything or everyone, so it is possible . . .” She twisted the sash of her narrow white linen skirt. “If there is nothing else . . .”

“All of the wives and daughters of pharaoh?” Impossible!

Hagar nodded, then appeared to consider her words. “Almost all—more than should be. It is as though someone poisoned them at once.”

Sarai drew in a tight breath. Poisoned? “Are they . . . will they live?” Fear coiled in her middle, mingling with the already overpowering sense of despair. Would she be next? Would she die in this place too, abandoned by both Abram and his God?

“They all still live . . . for now. I came to stay with you until the danger is past.” She bowed then and did not wait for Sarai to dismiss her, but turned about and hurried from the room.

Sarai watched her go, wanting to call the girl back. Despite her strange and immodest dress, she was someone to talk to, someone who understood Sarai’s Mesopotamian language, who could help her feel like she was not completely alone in this place. A chill worked through her, and she sank into a chair, wishing the cushions would swallow her whole. She needed to get out of here. There had to be a way.

Hagar slowed her steps as she reached the storerooms of grain and wine. If her mother and sisters were dying . . . she should be with them. But she needed to speak to her father first. The thought stirred her blood, heating her skin. She alone had escaped the wrath of the gods. She and Sarai. But why?

The servant in charge of the wine casks returned with a painted jar and handed it to Hagar. She hefted the heavy clay vessel onto her shoulder and moved slowly back to the Hall of Queens. Would Pharaoh’s overseers see her as singled out for blessings or curses? Would they notice her at all? Worry persisted, and her heart picked up its pace at the sight of Osahar waiting for her outside of Sarai’s rooms.

“You called for me, my lady?” He bowed his head in respect.

“Yes, I did. Oh, Osahar!” She set the jug on the stone tiles and flung herself into his fatherly embrace, relieved when he held her, accepted her.

“There, there now, my lady.” He patted her back, and for the briefest moment she felt loved, as she had when Nitianu held her. “Are you ill as well, Mistress Hagar?” At his gentle words, she pulled away and stepped back.

“No, no. I am well.” She wrapped her arms about herself.

“How is that possible, my lady? The affliction—”

“You have heard of it?”

He nodded, his dark skin gleaming in the afternoon light, his brows furrowed with worry. “Pharaoh’s household is in a panic.”

She choked back the threat of tears. “Oh, Osahar, the gods have stopped protecting Pharaoh’s wives and daughters.”

“And his sons, my lady.”

Shock sifted through her, and she teetered, nearly losing her balance. “All of the king’s sons?”

Osahar nodded and folded his arms across his bare chest. Only a loincloth gave the servant covering, the sight of which Hagar had long ago become accustomed to. “The entire palace is in an uproar. Even the king suffers the malady, though he is not as ill as his sons. Ra has looked upon him with kindness . . . though it seems Ra has looked upon you with greater kindness than Pharaoh himself, Mistress Hagar.”

“The new wife, Sarai, is also untouched.” She met Osahar’s gaze, noting the lift of his dark brow at the news.

“Indeed?”

Hagar shivered, suddenly chilled. “Perhaps I was spared because the gods thought I was a servant or because I was with the new wife?”

The ever-present fear throbbing within her sprang to life in Osahar’s eyes. “This can only be the work of the foreigner’s god. Their god must hold some power over our deities. It is the only explanation, for no evil plan of men could poison the king’s entire household at once. It came on too suddenly and is too careful in its choosing, knowing the difference between royal and servant.”

“What will we do?” Her voice sounded weak, and she felt like a child longing to crawl into a corner and hide from the world.

“I will go to the king and tell him my suspicions. You return to the new wife and find out what you can about her god. Perhaps she can explain what has happened.” He turned to go, then looked back over his shoulder. “I will return with whatever news the king brings. Whatever you do, Mistress Hagar, take care not to offend the foreign wife. If her god is the cause of this, worse things could still come.”

Hagar nodded. A deep shudder shook her thin frame, and for a moment she feared she had been stricken after all. But after several careful breaths, the feeling passed. Summoning her courage, she lifted the jug of wine to her shoulder again and walked to Sarai’s rooms to find some answers.

Abram only half listened to Eliezer and the servants of Pharaoh Mentuhotep II, who inspected and chose donkeys and camels to add to the already burgeoning number of sheep and oxen that had been handed into Abram’s care. The air in the stables, whose size seemed to stretch on forever, had grown warm and stifling, the scent overpowering. The amount of the pharaoh’s gifts was staggering, but Abram could not look upon them without the constant weight of guilt in his gut. Sarai was worth so much more than this, and yet how could he approach the pharaoh and tell him the truth? He had already lived a week with the lie, and the anguish of losing her was killing him.

Oh, Adonai Elohim, how do I get her back? The prayer had played over in his mind as he imagined one rescue after another, only to discard each idea. He would risk his life and hers if he approached Pharaoh with the truth now. And yet he could not leave Egypt without her.

A commotion near the front of the stables caught his attention. He touched Eliezer’s arm, motioning him from the middle stalls for a closer look.

A half-naked slave wearing only a loincloth bowed low before the overseer.

“Rise and speak,” the overseer said. He straightened the jeweled collar at his neck and looked down at the darker-skinned slave.

“On order of Pharaoh Mentuhotep II, you must come at once!”

“What is this about that is so important?”

“A plague of illness has fallen on the king’s sons, his wives, and his daughters. The king has sent for the priests and diviners to discern the cause. He has ordered every overseer to report to him at once.” The slave bowed low again, and the overseer dismissed him.

Abram looked at Eliezer, tension and fear filling him. Eliezer leaned closer to Abram. “All of the wives?”

Abram’s head throbbed. No reason for Sarai to be spared. He rubbed his neck and looked at Eliezer. “We must do something.”

“Perhaps Sarai was not afflicted.”

Abram moved to the doors, into the fresh air. “Adonai could have spared her.” But would He? “We need a plan. We have to get her back.” Abram lowered his voice at the sound of a donkey’s clops on the dirt behind him.

A servant held the reins. “We will take the animals on barges to your camp at Succoth, my lord.” He bowed to Abram and moved past while a line of servants leading nineteen more donkeys followed.

The overseer hurried to Abram’s side as the servant started forward. “I must leave you. Other servants can complete the pharaoh’s gift to you. Just follow the camel’s scent around toward the back.” He pointed behind him through the door and beyond, the opposite direction from where Abram wanted to go. “You will smell them before you see them.” He inclined his head, then turned.

“Wait!” Abram called after him.

The man turned back, clearly annoyed.

“The wives of the pharaoh. My sister is among them. I must know how she fares.”

The man’s eyes widened at the rash comment. “No family members are allowed to visit the pharaoh’s newest acquisitions. After she is established as a wife or concubine, then you may visit her. The process can take up to a year.”

A year! Abram’s insides melted. “But this illness . . . surely there would be an exception, to know whether she is well?” His heart beat heavy with dread as he read sympathy in the man’s gaze.

“I am sorry. I cannot help you.” He glanced behind him. “I cannot keep the pharaoh waiting.” He rushed off without a backward glance.

Defeat settled over Abram. He turned at Eliezer’s touch on his shoulder.

“Do not despair, Abram.”

But he could not help the feeling that he was spiraling downward toward the yawning mouth of Sheol. If he could not get Sarai back, what good was his life?

Sarai accepted a golden goblet of spiced wine from Hagar’s trembling hand. The girl had done nothing but fidget and mumble in the Egyptian tongue since she had returned from the storerooms, and her anxiety was seeping into Sarai’s already worried thoughts. She held the drink to her lips, letting the tart tingle rest on her tongue, but the heady feeling she expected did not come, nor did the wine ease the tension in her heart.

Frustrated, she set the goblet aside and stood.

“Hagar, sit. You are making my head spin watching you fret so. You cannot help the king’s wives and daughters with such anxious movement. If something is to be done, you must find a way to help them and act.” She walked toward the girl and motioned for her to sit in the chair normally reserved for nobles, not servants. But propriety mattered little now.

When Hagar hesitated, Sarai gave her an encouraging smile. She walked to a window looking out on the courtyard garden, the only place that allowed her to breathe deeply, though none of it felt like home. “How can I help you, Hagar?”

How long should she keep up the pretense in this place? Was there yet a chance she could speak the truth to someone and have that truth reach Pharaoh’s ears? Could she be spared marriage to the king?

“I . . . that is, there is talk . . .”

Sarai turned at the girl’s halting words. Hagar tugged at her narrow shift, moving the wide straps to cover her exposed breasts. Sarai released a sigh, relieved that she could at last look upon the girl without discomfort.

“If you have something to tell me or a question to ask, do not fear to ask it.”

Hagar crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the floor. “This malady . . . it has to have come from a god greater than the gods of Egypt, for our gods have not protected our people as they should.” She lifted her gaze to Sarai’s, her dark eyes filled with questions. “Is your god strong enough to overpower the ancient gods of my people?”

Sarai’s heart skipped a beat at Hagar’s haunted look. She took an involuntary step back, searching for a way to respond. Was Adonai Elohim more powerful than Egypt’s gods? He had not kept her from being taken into Pharaoh’s harem. Yet could He have afflicted Pharaoh’s household?

“Why do you think this ‘malady,’ as you call it, is the work of a god? Perhaps the king’s enemies are to blame for poisoning his household.” Sarai turned, suddenly needing to walk, and moved from the sitting room through the latticed doors toward the pool.

Hagar slowly followed. “Only a god could do such a thing, my lady. My fa—the pharaoh has many guards who are loyal to him. No enemy could breach our walls. Not like this.”

Sarai stopped at the edge of the pool and stooped to pluck one of the petals of the lotus flower. She fingered the smooth edges and held it to her nose, taking in the heady scent. Would they grow in Canaan? She shook herself. Canaan was lost to her.

As was Abram.

Sudden longing for her husband weakened her knees, and she swayed, grasping about for a place to sit. Hagar rushed forward and gently grabbed her arm. “Are you all right, my lady? Do you have the illness too?”

Sarai steadied with Hagar’s hold on her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “I am not sick. Only heartsick for my home.” She met Hagar’s concerned gaze, then tossed the broken lotus petal into the pool. She nodded toward the sitting room and moved there to perch on the edge of the cushioned couch.

“I will tell you, Hagar, that I do not know the God of my husband as well as he does, but I do know that He is the Creator Elohim, maker of heaven and earth. Abram would call Him all-powerful. As for me, I do not know, but I would like the chance to see if what Abram says is true.” She clasped her hands in front of her.

“Your husband, my lady? The pharaoh’s god is Ra, and the pharaoh embodies the deity. You will soon get to know him when he comes to you.” She searched Sarai’s gaze, but Sarai did not flinch or hide the truth in her expression. “You do speak of Pharaoh . . . do you not?”

Silence stood between them, a thick wall of uncertainty.

“I’m sorry, my lady. I did not mean to suggest . . . I did not mean to offend.” She bowed low, and Sarai wondered if the girl feared that Abram’s God was Sarai’s to command, that she might have Him send the plague on her for questioning her mistress.

“No need to fear me, Hagar. I will not hurt you.” She stood and walked to the window. “As to your question, I would prefer not to answer it, and yet if I do not tell someone, I fear I will go mad in this place.” Even Melah’s company was preferable to naked servants and this strange new world of solitude. She wanted to go home.

“Tell someone what, my lady?” Hagar picked up the goblet from the table and offered it again to Sarai, as though she needed something to do or she too would go mad. Had the plague brought with it a spirit of fear as well? The very air seemed oppressive now.

Sarai accepted the goblet and stared into the contents. “I do not speak of Pharaoh, Hagar. There is another husband of which I speak. Abram, the man who stood with me before Pharaoh Mentuhotep II, is indeed my brother, but he is only my half brother.” She paused only a moment, though it could mean her death. “He is also my husband.”