Hamid turned to face Joseph, glanced about the area, then pulled Joseph farther from some of the servants who were tending the field close enough to hear them speak. Though the two of them spoke Hebrew and the others did not, Hamid was clearly worried.
“I will tell you this, though I do not know why I trust you when you have been in Egypt such a short time. But it might be wise for you to be aware. In case.” Hamid glanced again at the house and ran his hand over the back of his neck.
“In case of what?” Joseph’s curiosity was heightened now, and he could not help but wonder why Hamid seemed to fear the captain’s house.
“The captain’s wife,” Hamid said, lowering his voice and leaning close to Joseph’s ear, “is not faithful to the master. Many of the servants have fallen prey to her desire to draw them to her bed.”
Joseph’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from growing wide. “Why would she risk that? Would this not make the master angry?”
“She thinks he does not know, but we believe he does. He simply does nothing about it. She is the daughter of a priest of Neper, a god of grain in Egypt, and the master does not want to accuse the man’s daughter publicly. At first, I’m told, Potiphar was possessive of her, and no one dared look at his wife without consequences. Now he is distracted with too many things, so he ignores her and her . . . ways.” Hamid’s color heightened as he spoke, and Joseph wondered if he had also bedded the woman.
“So do you think one of the servants who did as she asked did this to the fields? Might she have encouraged such a thing, given her father’s role?”
“There is one servant she shunned,” Hamid said. “He is not as attractive as she likes, so she never invited him to join her.” His words came out slow, as if he were trying to frame each one correctly. “That man wanted her, so he assumed she would want him. He had seen the others called to her rooms when the master was away, so he expected he would also receive a summons. When he didn’t get one, he approached the mistress. She shunned him in front of two other servants. He was humiliated.” Hamid crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and turned to lead Joseph to another field.
“Does that man still work here?” Joseph glanced around, wondering which man had so offended or displeased the master’s wife.
“Yes. The mistress could not tell the master, for then she would have to give a reason for why she wanted him sold or sent away. And she wants to keep her secret.” Hamid stopped near another row of wheat far from the first one. “Let us check this row, and every row, to be sure the tares are among them all. I will let you handle this, as I have other business to attend. When I return, I will expect a full report.”
Joseph dipped his head in respect. “Of course. I will do as you say.” He wanted to ask so much more, but it was not his place to know what Hamid’s duties were or where he intended to go next.
Hamid turned to walk toward the cattle stalls, then turned quickly back. “Tell no one what I have said to you. I have trusted you. Don’t let me regret that trust.”
“You have my word.” Though Joseph did not yet speak well in the Egyptian tongue and so had little ability to share secrets, he offered Hamid a slight bow to show his honorable intent. Hamid seemed pleased, for he turned again and headed off to his next task.
Joseph bent to examine the next row of wheat, working backward from where they had started. Every row was littered with tares and impossible to weed until they were grown. Perhaps half of the harvest would be ruined. The master was not going to like that information. But what would he do to the person responsible? And could anyone prove the man’s actions?
What more might this enemy do, given the chance? What might the master’s wife do if she were found out? Joseph didn’t want to explore the answer to those questions.
15
CANAAN
Judah walked the fields with his new friend Hirah, inspecting the man’s flocks and offering advice as they walked.
“You know much about shepherding, my friend,” Hirah said, his thick accent carrying admiration. “Don’t you think it is about time you join me in a partnership and we raise sheep together? You can provide your knowledge where I lack, and I will provide the animals.” He laughed merrily, and Judah’s heart lightened.
“I have so little to offer you. I have knowledge, but I could not even come to you with flocks of my own. My father would not have divided his sheep for me.”
A sense of sadness filled Judah at the thought. If he’d asked, he surely would have been refused, wouldn’t he? His father had never offered to divide the sheep with his sons, and after losing Joseph, he would not have considered such a request had Judah made it. Still, by now Jacob knew he was gone and not returning. Might he have sent Judah away with more than his tent and clothes? Or was he secretly glad to be rid of him? Did his father suspect him?
Hirah touched his arm, jolting him back to their conversation. “I will give you a third of my flock if you can increase our stock by a third within five years. Then we will share the increase, and you will soon have many animals to provide for a family.”
“I will need a wife to begin a family.” The thought brought Shua’s daughter to mind. Shua was a wealthy man with a good family, and his daughter was inviting to look upon. Judah flushed as he remembered the way she had glanced at him when she served them the day Hirah included him in an invitation to Shua’s home. “Though I can think of one I would like to wed.”
“I will be your go-between to ask for her,” Hirah said, sounding certain that he would be successful. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know her name, but she is the daughter of Shua.” Judah’s cheeks heated as he imagined their wedding night. He could have taken any of the women of Shechem years ago when Simeon and Levi had killed the men there and taken the women and children captive. But most of them had ended up as servants, and he had not found any of them appealing. Perhaps he’d simply been too young to want a wife.
Now, however, Shua’s daughter seemed most appealing.
“I will speak to Shua on your behalf,” Hirah said, his grin wide and his eyes carrying a spark of knowing. “We will have a wedding soon!”
“I have nothing to give the man as a bride-price.” Judah thought of the items of gold and silver his father owned and of the priceless robe he had made for Joseph, but Judah had no such luxuries. If only he had asked for some type of inheritance.
“Shua will understand,” Hirah said, calling to the sheep and leading them toward an area beneath the trees along a slow-moving stream. “You will pay him once you earn your wages by working with me.”
Judah searched Hirah’s face for any hint of manipulation but saw only sincerity in his gaze. “It will be as you say.” He gripped Hirah’s shoulder, and they kissed each other on opposite cheeks as a sign of their friendship and covenant.
Judah returned to his tent that night with the promise that Hirah would speak to Shua on the morrow. Soon he would be sleeping beside a wife, and she would bear him children. And no one in his entire family would be there to celebrate with him. He was fairly certain that his father would not approve of his Canaanite choice. But in that moment, he determined that he would forget his family and begin one of his own. It was time to move on.