Abraham and Sarah Page 11

  Senebtisy had already chosen the suitable husband for Hajar and only waited for the right moment to approach Pharaoh. The man she had chosen was an aged nomarch from the delta. He had ruled this area almost like a king until Amenemhet became Pharaoh and united the country. Pharaoh was sure to consider it a wise move. To have a marriage agreement with such a powerful man would assure some control over the nome he still held.

  As the day wore on, Hajar had hoped she would be eliminated, but each time the chief eunuch had passed over her and other young girls were rejected. The other girls wanted nothing in life so badly as to win while she wanted only to remain a princess, a favorite of her father.

  Quickly she decided she wouldn’t smile. She would stand straight and remain distant. She would make no claims to brilliance in any field and then perhaps they would excuse her. She almost laughed thinking how angry Her Radiance, Senebtisy, would be.

  Hajar had been so preoccupied with her own frustrations that she hadn’t paid attention to anything or anyone. Now she looked around. It had been the only home she had known. She loved the fountains, the banks of flowers, and the servants always waiting to serve. To think of leaving pained her, but to stay and be under the control of the new favorite was unbearable.

  In most homes there was only one small pool and a fountain that played on special feast days. Here there were numerous courtyards, all beautifully cared for with fountains bubbling constantly. The pillars that edged the lotus pool were decorated with bright designs, and the light, airy material that was strung in between to keep out the sun gave the whole portico a soft glow. Incense burned on twin braziers, and though the summer had passed, it smelled like spring because of the fragrant, spiraling smoke.

  Gradually Hajar became aware of an uneasy silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone or something. The young girls giggled nervously and whispered furtively to their friends. She would have been as nervous as the others if she had wanted to stay. Since she didn’t want to stay, she was totally relaxed.

  Suddenly there was the sound of a trumpet being blown somewhere in another courtyard or perhaps in the entrance hall. It was the signal for the two great brass doors leading into the main building to swing open. There, framed in the doorway, were the royal eunuchs. Their short skirts were carefully pleated and their headbands fashioned with gold coiled snakes, the spears they carried sharp and deadly.

  Behind them came an open sedan chair that rested on delicately carved ebony poles and carried by four footmen. The group of hopeful beauties gasped as they saw the woman in the chair. She gave the illusion of youth by her erect bearing, small exposed breasts, and full black wig held in place by a cap of golden wing feathers with a cobra at its crest. The hand that seemed so carelessly draped over the chair’s arm flashed with rare jewels.

  She looked straight ahead until the chair was gently placed on the warm blue tiles, then with a regal lift of her chin, she gave her hand to one of the bearers and stepped down. They all noticed that she wore no shoes, but several of her toes were decorated with gold rings. Her eyes darted over the bowed heads of her slaves until they lighted on the young girl who carried her sandals.

  “Layla!” she said firmly as she reached out and gave the kneeling girl a sharp thump on the head with her scepter. The girl looked up with alarm and noticed the royal one pointing at her feet. “My sandals, I want my sandals.”

  Quickly the girl sprang forward and deftly eased the sandals onto her feet.

  “It’s Her Radiance, Pharaoh’s new favorite,” one of the youngest girls whispered. Senebtisy looked around as though wanting to determine who had spoken. Her eyes were outlined in heavy black kohl, and her eyebrows were carefully arched. It was easy to see that at some time in the past she had been a beautiful woman. Now, though she was still slim and gave the illusion of youthfulness, close observation showed her to be considerably older than she at first appeared.

  Her expression was the fixed, pleasant half-smile the members of Pharaoh’s family had always worn in public. However, Hajar knew from months of observation that she was a woman who seemed pleasant on the surface but could be both bitter and vindictive. Hajar also knew from personal experience that Her Radiance could be a very hard taskmistress. Hajar was more determined than ever to fail whatever test was put to her. She moved to the back where she would be less likely to be seen.

  Her Radiance began pointing to one girl after another, signaling them to come out where she could get a better look at them, then quickly decide their fate.

  Her eyes settled on Hajar with recognition. She singled her out to walk back and forth before the royal chair. Hajar had deliberately walked with a swinging gait like a peasant from one of the villages of Upper Egypt. To Hajar’s disgust, that didn’t discourage the woman, and in the end she was placed among those who were chosen.

  At last, just as the test was finished, a frightful thing happened. Senebtisy accidentally dropped the scepter with the glowing golden ankh on the top. Her hands flew to her face as she stood looking with horror at the scepter bouncing across the bright tiles. No one moved. For anyone but specified royalty to touch the symbol of power and authority with its emblem of life and good luck on the crest could bring death, yet for Her Radiance to stoop was unthinkable.

  It was a bad omen. The new favorite grew pale as she sank into her chair. No one moved. All eyes clung to the scepter.

  Quickly Hajar stepped forward. She cared nothing for royal favor, nor did she fear the punishment that could be meted out to her. With a deft movement she stooped down and picked up the scepter. There was a gasp of astonishment from those who were watching.

  Bending slightly in deference, then advancing in a manner that could only be considered haughty, she came forward and returned the scepter. Senebtisy took the scepter, but as their eyes met, she flashed a look of virulent hatred at Hajar. “No one but the chosen one touches the sacred ankh and lives,” she said.

  Hajar smiled, affecting a show of innocence. “Maybe I am chosen,” she said.

  A gasp went around the room while Senebtisy’s eyebrows shot up dangerously. “If the gods don’t destroy you, others will. Bind her,” she ordered her eunuchs.

  The pharaoh’s favorite raised her chin and, looking down at Hajar with total disdain, ordered the eunuchs to take her to one of the back rooms and lock her up.

  The eunuchs moved forward to obey. “It would be better that you had died from touching the scepter,” one of them said. “Now she will see you as a real threat. You are a foolish girl.”

  Hajar was more surprised than she let anyone see. She had felt such hatred well up inside her that she had acted impulsively. She, better than the rest, knew the danger involved in touching the queen’s scepter. Then to have suggested she might be one of the “chosen” had been total arrogance.

  Hajar was locked in an old storeroom for five days and fed only water and stale bread. During that time, she received word that her mother had been sent back to her family in disgrace. At the end of the five days, Pharaoh had discovered Hajar’s fate. To everyone’s surprise, he was amused and thought it showed her royal bearing. “So she touched the scepter and still lives. The girl does me credit. It’s too bad she wasn’t a son.”

  With no more consideration, he ordered Hajar to be allowed to continue in training with the other maidens. That order infuriated Senebtisy. If she had been against the girl before, now she was doubly determined to have her married and out of the court. However, it was not her way to go against Pharaoh’s wishes. She determined to do as he wished, but encourage the wedding as soon as possible.

  Everything seemed to have changed for Hajar. The chief eunuch who came to release her was eager to please, and the young women in training viewed her with obvious envy. She was given new clothes, a beaded pectoral, and a ring from Pharaoh’s treasure house. Since her hair was thick and glossy, the attendants decided not to shave her head, but cut it in the shape of the wigs most of the girls wore.

  When they
had finished, she was taken to join the others being shown the secrets of Pharaoh’s perfumery. The perfumery was in a walled courtyard surrounded by a luxurious garden of flowers. It contained expensive secrets that required a full band of Nubian slaves as guards. The few old women who knew the secret formulas were virtual prisoners and were never allowed to leave.

  Hajar and the other maidens did not have access to the secret formulas, but they were expected to learn the uses of each wax cone, every stick of incense, the contents of numerous alabaster bottles, and just what fragrant oils were preferred by Pharaoh’s favorites.

  Hajar learned quickly, and in two months, when she had become familiar with every aspect of the process, she was moved on to the open courtyard. There in the shade, old women squatted in groups, either picking over dried leaves that were spread out on leather mats or working with mortar and pestle. They looked up briefly to inspect the maidens but then went on with their gossip and work.

  During that time, though Hajar had adjusted to the daily schedule, she was secretly determined to find a means of escape. For the first time, in the open courtyard, she saw a possible opportunity.

  On the far side of the court was a well-worn wooden door that stood open. It led outside into a marketplace. Rough-looking peasants loitered beside carts laden with baskets of herbs and flowers. They shouted and joked as they waited for the old women who came out to bargain with them for their wares. If the old women could go out to bargain for herbs, it shouldn’t be impossible for her to do the same and then manage to escape. Once outside she should be able to bribe a peasant to take her to the Nile where she would hire a boat to take her upstream to her mother’s family. In the meantime, she would seem interested in all that was going on.

  She moved over to observe one of the women working with a mortar and pestle. Hajar saw that she had some graphite soaking in water and then, placing it in the mortar, she worked to crush and pound it into a fine powder. Every once in a while she tested it with a long bony finger to see if it contained any lumps. “What are you making?” Hajar asked as she squatted beside the old woman.

  “Kohl to outline the eyes and lapis for the blue shadow. There must be no small lumps or …” The woman shook her head and continued with the pounding.

  “Or what, old woman?” Hajar asked. “If you don’t grind it well, what will happen?”

  For a moment the woman stopped the steady pounding movement and grimaced as she glanced up into the sunlight. Her teeth were rotting, and she was blind in one eye. The woman fixed her one good eye on Hajar and then slowly and deliberately, without a word, drew her gnarled finger across her throat. The meaning was all too plain. Hajar could see that perfection was expected, and punishment for failure was swift and severe.

  She looked around at the pleasant scene. Nothing was as it seemed. People worked hard, not because they liked what they were doing, but because they feared the punishment that was meted out for any irregularity.

  With a start she remembered how impulsively she had picked up the queen’s scepter. Undoubtedly she had barely escaped some horrible punishment. She wasn’t used to such restrictions and had never been punished for anything. As she joined the rest of the young apprentices, she swore by the horns of the goddess Hathor that she would use every means possible to escape.

  She went over and over in her mind all that she had learned of the palace. She noted especially the doors leading out and decided they were all well-guarded. There were too many people around not to notice and give the alarm if someone tried to escape. Only the gate leading to the market was a possibility. However, even there, she would need a plan and a great deal of luck.

  She would have to use her wits, but for luck she would depend on her personal goddess, Hathor. Hajar had chosen Hathor, the horned cow goddess, because she was the lady of all gods and the mistress of heaven. Hajar had long ago decided she was the most powerful goddess.

  Hajar kept a smooth, cleverly shaped image of Hathor with her at all times. Even when one of the delicate horns broke off, she took it to the local idol maker and had it mended. She didn’t want a new one; this one had belonged to her ancestors and was supposed to be very powerful. Anytime her grandmother or mother needed anything or had any problem, they prayed to Hathor, and she was sure the goddess rarely failed them.

  As a child, Hajar had been afraid of the small image. It had a woman’s body, but the head of a cow with two small black stones for eyes. The eyes frightened her. They were not soft and gentle like a cow’s but hard and accusing, even angry. There seemed to be a hidden strength about the very ugliness of the image, and now Hajar was depending on this strength.

  Hajar wasted no time in devising a plan. She had often seen the scribe who had first recorded her name. She could tell that he genuinely hated her and would do anything to rid the palace of her. When she heard that he was once again to be in the great room recording the names of children conceived or born during the past month, she quietly stood behind the curtain until she was sure that he had finished. He was gathering up his quills and fitting them back in his case when she came out and addressed him as politely as possible. “Most learned scribe of my mistress,” she said.

  He looked up, squinted, then when he recognized her, frowned. “So the spitfire is tamed,” he said. “It must mean that some favor is desired.”

  Hajar tried to resist an impulse to curse him.

  He stood up and continued stuffing his reeds in the worn wooden case and rolling the parchment. “I have no time to do favors for insolent women.”

  “Your hate has won, for now you are to be rid of me.”

  For a moment he stopped gathering up his belongings and looked at her with pure loathing. “Aye, by the royal beard, to get rid of you would be an accomplishment. How’s it to be done?”

  She sniffed and turned up her chin. “You have only to write a permit for the guards at the gate. I am being dismissed by Her Radiance after all.” She could not meet the scribe’s scrutiny lest he see the cunning in her eyes.

  “Aha! I knew it would come to this. She never should have chosen you in the first place.” The scribe’s eyes had narrowed and he smiled knowingly.

  As he set out his writing equipment and proceeded to write the permit, she complained. “It’s so unfair. I had such bright prospects and now …” she managed to sob convincingly.

  The scribe smirked and then grinned as though enjoying a private joke. “I told them you wouldn’t last. A sassy one as ever I’ve seen.”

  “It isn’t fair,” she wailed as she snatched up the permit and fled. She didn’t want to stay a minute longer lest he see the smile of triumph that crossed her face.

  Just before sunset she rode out the traders’ gate. She easily passed the guards who were so busy hurrying the craftsmen and merchants out that they barely looked at her pass. As she rode down the crowded lane toward the dock on the Nile, she could feel the small sharp horns of the little goddess Hathor pressing into her side. She had tucked her at the last minute into her girdle as the only object she was going to take with her.

  More than the scribe’s pass, she was depending on the goddess to help her escape. Miraculously the goddess seemed to be with her, and within a short time she had reached the Nile. She had nothing to pay the boatman but a ring given her by her father. Parting with it pained her deeply, but there was no other way. She watched with growing anxiety as the boatman turned the ring over and over, looking at her with hooded, suspicious eyes. He went below deck and she became nervous. She could hear sounds of heated discussion and feared the man had recognized the ring and was afraid to accept it.

  Minutes later the boatman sent a messenger ashore and then came to where Hajar stood. “I have sent the ring to be checked. I can’t afford to get in trouble with Pharaoh,” he said.

  Hajar ran her fingers back and forth between the small image’s horns, then took her out and held her in her hand. “I am depending on you, my beloved Hathor,” she whispered over and over. She felt
sure that if the ring was recognized, she would not escape without the help of the goddess.

  However, remembering all the stories her mother and grandmother had told her of the great power the goddess possessed, she had little doubt that all would be well. Surely it would not be long until she would be headed for Upper Egypt and her family home.

  Suddenly and without warning a black linen sack was thrown over her head, and strong hands grabbed her from behind, tying her so that she couldn’t move. There was the braying of a donkey nearby, then the rattle of cart wheels. Hajar knew what was going to happen. She had taken the chance, and it was just her vile luck to get caught. Undoubtedly she would be taken in the cart back to the palace and there would be made into a laughingstock, a warning to others who might want to run away.

  There was no reason to doubt that she would be executed. She had heard of others who had been publicly executed for a much less serious crime. She thought of her father, the pharaoh. He would be angry that she had tried to run away, and if he heard of the ring being used for her passage, he would never forgive her. Her Radiance, Senebtisy, would probably hold a celebration.

  There was no hope. No matter what she did the punishment would not be reversed. However, she was determined to maintain her dignity. She would not plead for mercy or weep. She would be proud and defiant, not showing her true feelings.

  Flooded with a mixture of despair and frustration, she also knew a growing anger that she should have been so close to escape before she was caught. The anger centered on the goddess Hathor who had deserted her at the most crucial moment. She blamed the small goddess for everything.

  “You’re brown and ugly and completely in my power,” she muttered. “There’s only a short time. If you don’t rescue me, I’ll know you’re useless.” For a moment she held the small clay figure in one hand and was about to press hard with her thumb so the head would snap off. Then she thought better of it and kept it in the palm of her hand. She would wait and see. The goddess might yet help her.