T hree days after the Canaanites had been taken to Pharaoh’s prison, Mandisa received a summons from her master. She hurried to Lady Asenath’s chamber where Zaphenath-paneah was breakfasting with his family.
“My master and mistress, may you live long and happy,” she murmured, prostrating herself on the floor.
Zaphenath-paneah wiped his hands on a small square of linen on his breakfast tray. “Mandisa, would you ask your son to take my boys into the garden to play? But please, return here after you have spoken to him.”
Mandisa rose and held out her hands to Efrayim and Menashe, the vizier’s young sons. “Come, boys,” she said, smiling. “Adom is in the courtyard with Tarik, learning how to throw a lance. Would you like to join him?”
The two boys, ages five and seven, offered their trusting hands and let her lead them from the room. She found her own son, Adom, on the front portico, his gaze wistfully trained on the courtyard where the captain inspected his guards.
“I thought Tarik was going to teach you this morning,” she murmured, slipping up behind the slender boy.
Adom cast her a quick glance over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to the men in the courtyard. “I don’t think he has time,” he replied, his voice heavy. “He has to do the inspections, then the vizier wants him to bring some captives from Pharaoh’s house.”
“There will be another time, then,” Mandisa said, giving what she hoped was the proper dose of encouragement. Stepping to his side, she lifted the smaller boys’ hands. “But I’ve brought you something to do. The vizier has asked if you would take his sons to the garden.”
Adom’s gloomy expression brightened. “Of course,” he said, grinning at Efrayim and Menashe. “I don’t mind.”
“You’re a good son.”
Adom shrugged off the compliment, but took the younger boys’ hands and led them toward the garden. Mandisa paused to watch the trio depart. Efrayim and Menashe were blessed to have a loving father and myriad caretakers to teach them all a boy ought to know. Adom was less fortunate, for he had her alone, and a single woman could do only so much with a son.…
She tucked her thoughts away and urged her feet back toward her mistress’s chamber.
Slaves were removing the breakfast trays when Mandisa returned. Zaphenath-paneah listened to his wife’s pleasant chatter while the room was cleared, but when the slaves had gone, he folded his arms and regarded Asenath with a grave expression.
“What?” A flicker of a smile rose at the edge of her mouth, then died out. “Have I done something to displease you, my husband?”
“No, beloved.” The vizier’s eyes flickered toward Mandisa, then he motioned to an empty stool near his wife. “You may sit, Mandisa. I want you both to hear what I am about to say.”
Without speaking, Mandisa slid into her place.
“My love,” the vizier of all Egypt began, his eyes melting into his wife’s, “days ago you asked why the arrival of a group of men from Hebron upset me. I could not tell you then, being unsure in my own mind what I should do, but I have prayed to the Almighty God and today I have an answer for you.”
“Go on, my husband,” Asenath said, her hands fidgeting in her lap.
The vizier gave her a strained smile. “I have told you, wife, of my past and the treachery that brought me to Egypt. Now I must tell you that the men in Pharaoh’s prison are my brothers, the sons of the maids and the sons of Lea.”
Mandisa heard her mistress’s quick intake of breath, but Asenath said nothing. She sat motionless at her husband’s side, blank, amazed and pale.
The vizier’s gaze shifted from his wife to her handmaid. “I have decided to remove the men of Canaan from prison today, and will need an interpreter when I speak with them.”
“But if they are your brothers—” Asenath began.
“I must know the intentions of their hearts before I reveal myself. I had thought to keep nine of them in Egypt and return the one who wields the most influence with my father, but in these hungry times it is too dangerous for one man to attempt the desert journey alone. I had also thought to punish them—” his voice softened “—but God has shown me that revenge is not the answer.”
Mandisa nodded. Her master had obviously thought much about what to do with his recalcitrant guests. “So you will allow them all to leave?”
“No.” Zaphenath-paneah gave her a slow smile. “I will keep the one most likely to cause trouble among the others. There are five years of famine yet to come, so they must eventually return to Egypt for more food-rations. As long as I am holding one brother, they will return to Thebes. My father is an honorable man. He will demand that they redeem whomever is left behind.”
Asenath’s hand flew out to rest upon his muscled arm. “My husband, what if they never come back? Won’t you regret sending them away without telling them the truth?”
The vizier leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Mandisa, you are a Canaanite, you know their ways. Tell your mistress—if these men were of your clan, would they return to secure your freedom?”
Mandisa felt her heart shrivel at his words. Her father had married her to Idogbe, a man she did not love, and allowed him to carry her to Egypt against her will. In thirteen years no one from her family had visited or sent word. If not for the goodness of Zaphenath-paneah and Lady Asenath, both she and her son would be enslaved or dead, for none of her father’s people cared that Idogbe had vanished and left her pregnant and alone. But if she had been born a son instead of a daughter, the situation would have been different.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered in a strangled voice, denying her own bitter reality. “If I were a man, they would be honor-bound to come for me.”
He sat back, reassured. “God knows what is in my brothers’ hearts, but He intends that I discern their hearts myself. Mandisa, be ready to face them within the hour. I am sending Tarik to Pharaoh’s prison to fetch them.”
“My husband?” Asenath spoke in a ragged voice. “Should I be with you…when you face them?”
“Not now, beloved,” the vizier answered, taking her hands in his. “If God is willing, you shall be at my side on a far happier day.”
Feeling irritated, gritty and uncomfortable, Shim’on shifted beneath his robe as he followed his brothers into the vizier’s great reception hall. In the vestibule slaves had removed their sandals and washed the black dirt of Egypt from their feet, and as the brothers entered the spotless and elaborate hall, another army of servants lined the walls, each waving an ostrich-feathered fan to circulate the incense wafting from ornately carved stands along the sides of the room. From someplace out of sight, a harpist’s gentle hands played soothing music.
Shim’on steeled himself for whatever was to come. Whoever had ordered these gestures of sweet softness meant to emphasize the difference between the vizier’s luxurious presence and the brothers’ barren prison. Why?
After a few moments of nervous silence, a pair of trumpets sounded. The double columns of lance-bearers marched into the room and the elegant vizier ascended his gilded throne. His linen garment, falling like chiseled marble from his throat to the floor, did little to disguise the strength of his frame. A heavy chain of gold hung about his neck; the finest leather adorned his feet. His heavy wig had been shaped and oiled to frame his aristocratic face.
For a long moment no one spoke. As much as Shim’on wanted to look away, he found himself staring at the king’s regent. Zaphenath-paneah’s handsome features nudged some distant experience in Shim’on’s memory, but he pushed the feeling aside. The vizier should look familiar, for his likeness had been painted on half the statues and frescoed buildings in Thebes. Though Shim’on guessed the man was less than forty years old, his sharp profile spoke of power and ageless strength. Yet his mouth wore an expression of familiar softness, the way Yaakov looked just before he smiled.
From lowered lids, Shim’on shot a hostile look at the man. Was he gloating over his harsh treatment of the brothers? Did he think they would confess to spying because they spent two days and nights in his pitiful pit? Or was he enjoying the thought of what he would do to them if they did not confess to spying in this encounter?
“Grace and peace to you, most high vizier.” Re’uven sank to his knees. The other brothers followed Re’uven’s cue and lowered themselves until every man lay prostrate on the gleaming floor. From another entrance to the room, the female servant who had previously acted as interpreter came forward and interpreted for Re’uven again.
“You may kneel before me,” Zaphenath-paneah responded, holding out a golden rod. “I have consulted my God, and have brought you out of prison to speak what is on my heart.”
Re’uven rose to a kneeling position. “My brothers and I are listening.”
The vizier waited for the interpretation, then seemed to fix his gaze on Shim’on, who had lifted his head as high as he dared.
“I have asked my God for wisdom,” the vizier said, derision and sympathy mingled in his expression, “and He has provided an answer. If you do what I will tell you, you shall live, for I fear God.”
Shim’on shifted his gaze to the woman as she interpreted, and lost all custody of his eyes as the vizier’s words flowed from her tongue. He had noticed her on their arrival, for what man would not? But today her loveliness seemed to fill the room with light.
Slender and poised, the woman stood in the slanting sunbeams from the high windows. The dark curls of her wig twisted and crinkled above glowing eyes that pierced the shadows of the room. A leather belt defined the smallness of her waist, and the apricot tones of her skin blended into the sheer material of a gown that did little to disguise the womanly curves beneath. She paused, her gaze flitting around the room before it locked with Shim’on’s. He caught his breath, but she dropped her eyes before his steady stare.
“What shall we do, my lord?” Re’uven’s voice jerked Shim’on back to reality.
The vizier’s voice rose in a commanding tone. “If you are honest men, let one of your brothers be confined in prison. But as for the rest of you, go, carry grain for the famine of your households. And when your food-rations are depleted, bring your youngest brother to me, so your words may be verified. If you are willing to do this, and you have not lied, you shall live.”
“Bring Binyamin?” Zevulun gasped. “It is impossible. Our father will never agree to let his youngest son go.”
The vizier listened to the translation, then managed a short laugh and a reply.
“Zaphenath-paneah says your brother is a grown man and married. He is no longer a child,” the woman interpreted. “You must bring your younger brother before the vizier of all Egypt.”
A flicker of apprehension coursed through Shim’on at the words your younger brother. Once the sons of Yisrael had known two younger brothers, but though Yosef still haunted Shim’on’s dreams, he was forever gone. Only Binyamin remained.
Re’uven responded to the interpreter’s words. “My lord, let me speak to my brothers.”
His request needed no interpretation. Apparently understanding, the stony-faced vizier nodded in assent.
Re’uven stood. Turning his back to the vizier, he looked at the others. “We must do as he says,” he murmured. “We have no choice.”
Yehuda’s brow creased with worry. “Father will never allow it. He would die himself before he would let us take Binyamin from Hebron.”
“Would you rather our father lose ten sons?” Levi snapped. “If we agree to this, we will have time to prepare Father for what must be done to appease this Egyptian.”
“Levi is right,” Dan added. “And the man has made a reasonable request. If we do not consent, we are practically admitting we have lied. The vizier will be convinced we are spies, and he may kill us all—now.” He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps we deserve death. After what happened at Dotan—”
“Dotan was more than twenty years ago,” Shim’on snapped, stiffening as though Dan had struck him. Though their absent brother’s name singed every conscience, if they did not speak of him, they would not have to remember. “Our father has put the past behind him.”
“Our father has not ceased to mourn for Yosef,” Re’uven interrupted. His voice, cold and exact, echoed in the cavernous hall. “You know I speak the truth. Answer me truly, Shim’on. Did I not warn you that we should not sin against the boy? But you would not listen, and now we will pay for what we have done.”
A sudden choking sound disturbed the silence, and Shim’on turned in time to see the vizier, his hands over his face, rise from his chair and flee the room. The captain of the guard followed his master like a pursuing shadow.
“Now we will be meat for the vizier’s dogs,” Levi said, his mouth grim as he turned to the others. “Whatever the Egyptian ate for breakfast does not agree with him, and we shall pay the penalty for his sore stomach. We must agree to his plan, and we must agree quickly.”
“But which one?” Asher looked around the circle. “Which of us will remain here in prison while his family suffers alone?”
No one spoke until Re’uven lifted his chin. “We all have children,” he said, giving Shim’on a compassionate and troubled look. “But we do not all have wives. You, Shim’on, have no wife waiting at home. You should volunteer to remain behind.”
Shim’on glared at his brother. “I may not have a wife, but I am the only one of you who remembers to provide for our sister. With no husband to look after her, Dina has only me for support.”
“I’ll look after Dina,” Yehuda volunteered.
“And my sons?” Shim’on frowned. “Who will see to them? I would sooner die tomorrow than remain here one day longer than necessary.”
“But we have wives!”
“I have six sons!” Shim’on answered, seething with mounting rage. “You, Re’uven, are the eldest, why don’t you volunteer for prison? You’re always quick to speak up when it is to your advantage. Or Yehuda! With all your talk of God and holiness, why don’t you offer to stay?”
“Father listens to Yehuda,” Dan said, “while you howl like the desert winds and our father pays no mind. You bring nothing but trouble.”
“Enough!” Yehuda lifted his hands and stepped into the center of the circle, turning until the bickering stopped.
When the brothers stood silent, Yehuda ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted motion, then looked up to the ceiling as if the answer would be found there. “El Shaddai will make the choice,” he said, his shoulders drooping. “We will listen and accept His will.”