Sarai heard these ideas with some interest, yes, but mostly she felt a sharp pang of jealousy, for Abram had never spoken to her of the stars. She thought he spoke to her of everything, that he shared his life with her as if they were equals, but now she realized that he excluded her from his loftiest ideas. It was fine for her to learn about the household and help with the governance of his flocks and herds, his servants and his possessions. But when he wanted to talk about how God had ordered the universe, he could not speak of this to a mere woman. To this weak-chinned narrow-faced man, top-heavy with the double crown, he could confide these great mysteries. But to his wife, not a word.

  She tried to quell her resentment, but she could not will away her hurt feelings. Abram thinks me foolish after all. He still has great secrets that I will never know.

  “He told me,” said Pharaoh, “that he tells his wife everything, so I’m surprised that his sister did not know of them. He says God sees men and women as having equal value. But perhaps you were busy with the distaff when he would have taught you these things.”

  Was he goading her? Did he suspect that Abram’s wife and this woman kneeling at Pharaoh’s feet were the same person, so that these words were meant to taunt her, or to show her that he did not hold her in high esteem?

  “In truth,” said Pharaoh, “I speak of such things to none of my women, because they would not understand me or, if they did, they would not care. Indeed, few men care—certainly not Sehtepibre, whose eyes glaze over whenever I try to discuss heavenly things with him. His eyes are only on provisioning the troops, collecting the taxes—all the concerns that are for servants, not kings.”

  This comment did what the earlier comments did not—it caused several people in Pharaoh’s retinue to shift their position, to breathe differently, showing their discomfort. Was Sehtepibre here himself to hear Pharaoh’s criticism of him? No, Sarai would have recognized him if he had been among these men. But she had no doubt that Pharaoh’s words would be relayed to him. It was a foolish thing, for Pharaoh to denigrate his chief steward before his household. Unless this was an assertion of Pharaoh’s supremacy after winning a power struggle between them. She would have to find out something of the history of this household. She hated being ignorant of the context in which such things were said.

  “The king’s house does not run itself,” said Sarai. “I know that Eshut labors mightily in the king’s service, and I have no doubt that outside these walls, Sehtepibre does the same.”

  There. If the king wanted to cause bad blood between himself and his most powerful servants, that was his affair. She would not be part of his goading. Not that they would be grateful that she spoke up for them. All she hoped was that they would not become hungry for her or Abram’s death. Let us be the enemies of no man or woman in this dangerous place.

  “Oh yes, they work very hard,” said Pharaoh. “But their labors all have to be done over again the next day. It is the work of the mortal world, which is never completed and undone every moment. But the work of Pharaoh is to learn truth and cause it to be written, for learning is work that, once done, remains done as long as scrolls can be read and copied and read again. Sehtipibre feeds soldiers, who are never grateful and are hungry again in the morning. But I feed the mind, which keeps everything that is fed to it and builds upon it, even in sleep, for the gods teach us in dreams as surely as men teach us in the light.”

  “Pharaoh’s works are mighty indeed,” said Sarai.

  She thought of Abram, and the hours he spent in his tent, reading the books that most certainly held some of these very ideas he was teaching Pharaoh. He would agree with Pharaoh that truth was important, and that as long as you had someone to receive what you wrote, your learning would never be lost. Still, Abram emerged from his tent and saw to the feeding of his household, for even though he relied on Sarai and others to do that work, he made sure he knew of every lamb and kid in his flocks, and every child of every servant in his household, and nothing happened that was not according to his will.

  Pharaoh, you love wisdom, but how wise are you to leave the daily power of your kingdom in the hands of others, and to let them know that you disdain them even as they make your life possible?

  “By the way,” said Pharaoh, and his voice sank to a whisper, though she was quite sure that everyone in the room could still hear every word he said, “I have given your brother permission to call me by my personal name. I am Neb-Towi-Re, but you, like him, may call me Neb when we are alone.”

  “A generous gift, such confidence,” said Sarai. “But I cannot imagine when it would be proper for us to be alone, and so Pharaoh’s personal name is a treasure I shall guard in secret, and never utter aloud.”

  Pharaoh glowered. “I see that you are a stubborn woman,” he said.

  “My brother has often said so,” said Sarai, “and so I’m sure it must be true. However, what you see as stubbornness, I see as obedience to God and respect for the dignity of your crown. Even the lowliest shepherd would never expose to scandal a girl that he claims to love.”

  Pharaoh rose abruptly. “When your brother told me that it was his sister’s decision what man she would marry, I can see that he knew her well indeed. What seemed to be generous permission was actually a warning from a friend. I can see why Milcah has no husband, for if she can turn away Pharaoh, what other man can possibly be worthy of her hand?”

  Frightened at the suddenness of his anger, Sarai bowed her head. “Forgive me, mighty Pharaoh. I do not know how I gave offense, or what was being asked of me. Is it the custom in Egypt that a woman is given no choice, nor time to think? Or that she is condemned for having refused an offer that was never made?”

  Pharaoh stood there for a moment, his fingers drumming on his thigh. “Perhaps I have blamed you for a fault caused only by your ignorance and humility,” he said. “There is no hurry. But I must tell you—I would be cheating Egypt if I gave my kingdom an heir who did not have the true priest-right. Knowing now the great knowledge and power that come from that priesthood, I will have it for my people and my house.”

  “But I have no such power,” said Sarai.

  “You have it in your power to give it to my sons,” said Pharaoh. “I know the value of that, even if you do not. A man who does not hope for his sons to surpass him in excellence is not a good father.”

  “Does Pharaoh not have sons already?” asked Sarai.

  “Seven women in my house carry my children in them,” said Pharaoh, “and of that number, surely some will be sons when they are born. But it matters not to me, for they will be born without the ancient priesthood of Abram your brother, and so they will not be sons that can come to me when I am dead and raise me into heaven. What Egypt needs, that will I do.”

  “Everyone knows the devotion and magnanimity of Pharaoh,” said Sarai.

  “And I know now of the willfulness and stinginess of the woman I love,” said Pharaoh.

  The woman you love! The very words made Sarai burn with outrage. He had said nothing to her of love, and dared to call her stingy for not having given in to his suit before he even bothered to make it.

  “I know not what woman you refer to,” said Sarai. “For myself, I know that it is impossible for a man to love a woman or a woman to love a man if they do not know each other well. One cannot love a stranger.”

  Pharaoh almost lashed back with a quick retort. Then his face softened, and that cheerful smile returned. “If I am to regain the ancient knowledge of the land of Retenu, where the first Pharaohs came from, then I must also learn to respect the customs of that land. What Lady Milcah asks for is not a burden, for any man, even a god-in-making like Pharaoh, is only blessed when he takes the time to know a lady like Milcah, and to let her know him.”

  “Pharaoh’s condescension is remarkable,” said Sarai, “and I pray that he will find me worthy of it.”

  “I have plenty of time,” said Pharaoh, “but not an infinite supply.” He turned to his retinue. “Tell the Lady Eshut that I will see the pregnant ones first.” Then Pharaoh walked to his throne and sat down. “Lady Milcah may remain, so she can see the gentle way that Pharaoh deals with the women who bear him children.”

  Never mind that it seemed far from gentle to Sarai that the women were brought to him instead of him going to them. Pharaoh could not know that the cruelest thing he could have done to Sarai was to make her sit there by the pool and watch as these fertile women were brought in, one by one, to be petted by Pharaoh as he asked about their health and commiserated with them on their discomforts and promised them the favors that they asked of him. If he had such gentle ways with the women who bore him children, what ways did he have with the women who bore him none? Somehow she doubted that Pharaoh would have the same unconcern with her barrenness that Abram had always shown. Even if she wanted to marry Neb-Towi-Re, even if she were free to do so, she would not dare. Such a marriage would be a double fraud—for not only could she bear no children at all, but also, even if she could, they would not have the priest-right through her lineage. All she had to offer was the king-right of the ancient house of Ur. What Pharaoh wanted, or at least said he wanted, was Abram’s to give, not hers.

  Though if Pharaoh knew who she really was, he might just as easily decide that the ancient king-right of Ur was good enough, and he would happily marry Abram’s widow.

  O God, she prayed silently, over and over, as the women came in and went out, keep Abram safe, and me also, from the wrath of this Pharaoh, and from his love, both equally dangerous to us.

  Part IV

  Ma'at

  Chapter 10

  Pharaoh stayed the night in the House of Women, and the next night, and the next—but he did not see Sarai again. Nor did anyone else pay much attention to her, which she did not mind, except for the endless boredom of having nothing worthwhile to do.

  Of course it was no secret why Pharaoh had visited there. Besides the wives and concubines who were with child, there were others who were not, and Pharaoh had come to alleviate their loneliness. Hagar was full of stories about Montuhotpe’s virility, but Sarai did not care to hear them. “He may not look like a god,” said Hagar, “but he—”

  “Please,” said Sarai. “Enough.”

  “A king—no, a god desires you, he is known for being able to put babies into any womb, and you don’t even want to hear about it?”

  “I don’t,” said Sarai.

  “You don’t believe he is a god.”

  “In Pharaoh’s house, you expect me even to listen to such a thing?”

  “You don’t believe his seed could grow in you.”

  “I believe that my barrenness is caused by God.”

  “So let a god take it away!”

  Sarai shook her head. “Hagar, I don’t want to talk about this again.”

  Miffed, Hagar continued dressing Sarai’s hair, but now was sullen and jerky in her movements.

  “If you’re trying to hurt me by pulling my hair,” said Sarai, “you have succeeded a dozen times already.”

  “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

  “Hagar, do you really want to be my friend?”

  “You know that I do, Mistress—am I not your true handmaid?”

  “Find me something useful to do.”

  Hagar laughed. “Useful? To whom? Pharaoh has something useful for you to do, but you won’t do it. What else can a woman do that’s of use?”

  “All my life, whenever I wasn’t doing something else I had a distaff in my hand. Surely I may spin.”

  “Have you ever spun linen?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not the same as wool.”

  “So teach me.”

  “And the weaving is different, too.”

  “That I don’t need to learn.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I will never weave linen in the Egyptian fashion.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can see through it as if it weren’t there.”

  Hagar was baffled. “But don’t you like to intrigue your husband?”

  “Eshut manages to intrigue every man in this house—that’s what such fine linens do. Modesty is right for a woman, not brazenly showing her breasts to everyone.”

  Hagar looked down at her own bosom. “But I have nice breasts.”

  “They are for your husband to see, and no one else.”

  “Are you trying to hurt me, Mistress? For you have succeeded, six times sixty, with those words.”

  Sarai was startled at the grief in Hagar’s voice. “What have I said?”

  “I will never have a husband, Mistress! I am your handmaid!”

  “But of course you will find a husband, when we return to Canaan, or wherever the Lord leads us when we get free of this place.”

  “How can I be your handmaid then, with a husband?”

  “At that time, you’ll cease to be my handmaid and I’ll find another.”

  “You would send me away?”

  “No, I would permit you to go away! What are you talking about?”

  “I have been raised up to be handmaid to a princess of Ur, and you would turn me away and force me to be with a mere slave and bear slave children?”

  “But you said it broke your heart that you would never marry, and I told you that you could!”

  “No, it broke my heart that you thought so little of me that you would deny me the pleasure of showing my body while I’m still young and I can take pride in the way men look at me, and pleasure in the knowledge that they cannot have me. But I never want to leave your side, Mistress. There is no man who could tempt me to want to fall from this elevated station and go back to carrying night soil from the House of Women.”

  Sarai blushed to realize how Eshut had insulted her. “You were the servant who emptied the chamber pots?”

  “I was, Mistress. Didn’t you know that?”

  “All I know is what I’m told, and no one told me.”

  “I washed many times before I ever touched you, Mistress.”

  “I’m sure you did. If there’s one thing they do in this house, it’s wash.”

  Hagar was silent.

  “Hagar,” said Sarai. “Find me something useful to do.”

  Hagar stepped back and looked at Sarai, at first petulantly, but then slyly. “You could teach me curses from the temple of Asherah.”

  “Hagar, there are no curses in the worship of Asherah! And if there were, I would not have learned them. And if I had, I would not teach them to you.”

  Hagar shrugged. “I was going to offer to teach you some good curses in return. There’s one that can make a baby cry all night.” Hagar giggled. “Oh, that’s a nice one! That one makes them crazy!”

  “I don’t understand you, Hagar,” said Sarai.

  “Why should you?” said Hagar. “I obey. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s never enough,” said Sarai. “What do you want? What do you dream of?”

  “I dream terrible dreams, Mistress, of being taken into slavery, of losing my family. It makes me hate to sleep. Does that help you understand me?”

  “Do you grieve all the time, then?”

  “Grieve? I never grieve.”

  “But I thought . . . when you think of being taken into slavery, that you . . .”

  “It fills me with hate. And anger. I hold it in, because if I ever let it out, blood would flow all through this house, and they would torture me to death.”

  If Hagar had said this with virulence, Sarai would have understood. It might have frightened her, but she would not have been surprised by that. Instead, though, Hagar said it coolly, with a touch of amusement.

  “You’re joking?” asked Sarai.

  “No, Mistress.”

  “But you’re smiling.”

  “I am holding my rage in a little pot, with the lid fastened tightly on. It never shows in my face.” Hagar turned around and pulled her gown over her head, showing her naked back to Sarai. There were scars from her thighs to her shoulders. Hundreds of them. “That is how I learned to keep my face from showing what I feel.”

  “Just a little smile,” said Sarai, “to keep off the whips.”

  “And the reeds. And the rods. And the open hand, and the fist, and the bare foot, and the shod foot, and the hands that push down into water, and the hands that push down steps, and the hands that push off roofs, and—”

  “No, please,” said Sarai. “Surely you were never pushed off a roof!”

  “I saw it done. To a boy who was impish but meant no harm. He walked crooked from then on, but the overseer made him run everywhere, knowing the pain it caused him, and knowing how he was ridiculed for his camelish walk. Emptying the chamber pots in the House of Women was a great improvement over working for that overseer.”

  Sarai ducked her head to brush tears from her cheeks.

  “My mistress has a tender heart,” said Hagar.

  But there was something in her tone that made Sarai look sharply at her. “What did you mean?”

  “I saw your tears of pity, and I praised you for them.”

  “That was not praise,” said Sarai.

  Hagar’s face wore that little smile. “If you thought I did not mean my words, then you may slap me, Mistress. I am yours.”

  “Why are you trying to provoke me?”

  “Mistress, I am trying desperately not to provoke you.”

  “You were not praising me! You were mocking me, and I want to know why.”

  “Mistress, if I knew what you were talking about, I’d answer you.”

  “Did you think my tears were false?”

  “I could see that they were real.”