The scent of the fire, the baaing of sheep, and the delightful laughter of Benjamin filled his mind, and he could not stop the tears from slipping to the pillow that cradled his head. He rarely cried. He had told himself it would do no good. All of his cries for help from the brothers who were supposed to care for him had done him no good. Egyptians considered tears to be a sign of weakness. Not to mention they would not want to mar their painted faces.
But Joseph had no need of kohl for his eyes—at least not yet. Though he dressed as an Egyptian, he did not mingle in circles where he needed to impress anyone. And still he did not allow himself to publicly express the emotion that slipped out now and then in private.
Oh Adonai, why am I here? I have no one I can truly trust. I have no friends, no wife, no place to call my own. I do not belong in a foreign land, and I miss my family, hatred and all.
He wasn’t sure he meant that last part, for he could not decide which was worse—betrayal at the hands of his brothers or seduction by the master’s wife. In the world he once thought good, he would have had none of this.
A bitter taste filled his mouth, but he swallowed it down and rolled onto his side. He’d been a slave in Egypt for eight years, and though he had it better than most, he was not free to go home. He was not free to choose a wife and marry. Here he was lost, forgotten, unwanted, unloved. Useful was the best he could be.
He wanted so much more.
Potiphar returned home the following week and called Joseph into his audience chamber. On the way, Joseph passed the weaving rooms, where he glimpsed Heba, a beautiful young woman close to Joseph’s age, bending over the loom. She was new to Potiphar’s household, and Joseph had been unable to keep himself from feeling an attraction to her.
Of course, he could not befriend her or grow close to her. Potiphar’s slaves could not marry each other, could they? What kind of life would they have? And what would happen to any children she might bear? Potiphar could sell their children, as any master could. Joseph could not live with yet another family loss.
More female slaves surrounded Heba, their looms spread in a large circle. Behind them in another part of the large space, spindles and distaffs whirled as younger slave girls spun the linen to be made into cloth.
What would happen to these women? Were they safe in Potiphar’s house? Memories of Dinah’s rape in Shechem those many years ago surfaced. That coupled with Hamid’s liaison with Aneksi, and he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen to the beautiful Heba.
He shook his head, reminding himself it was not his concern, then hurried past the rooms before she could look up and see him. Potiphar sat waiting on his raised dais as Joseph entered the ornate chamber moments later and bowed before his master.
“Joseph,” Potiphar said as Joseph straightened to meet his gaze, “tell me—how have things fared while I was away?”
Joseph clasped his hands in front of him and reported all that had gone on in the fields, the household, and the prison. Potiphar nodded with interest, but his mind seemed to wander as his gaze shifted beyond Joseph. Was someone else waiting in the chamber? Joseph did not turn to look.
Potiphar returned his attention to him when he had finished and asked, “And what of my wife?”
Joseph had not expected this. Normally Potiphar did not concern himself with Aneksi, so why ask about her now?
“I’m not sure what you mean, my lord. She has been here as always. She remains mostly in her rooms as far as I can tell. I am not always in the house to know.” Joseph fought the desire to twist his belt.
Potiphar nodded again. “No doubt she has had visitors while you were not near to see.”
Joseph swallowed. He did not want to give away Hamid’s secret and silently prayed that he would not have to. “It is possible, yes,” he said at last.
Potiphar studied him. “You are an honest man, Joseph. I trust you with everything, even with my wife because I know you are the one person she cannot have because you will not allow it.”
How Potiphar could know this or even address the subject caught Joseph off guard. “Yes, sir. You can most assuredly trust me. I would never do something so offensive to you or to my God.”
Potiphar leaned away from him and rubbed his chin. “You have never spoken of your god.”
“It was not a subject to discuss until now.” Joseph’s heartbeat quickened as he watched this powerful warrior sitting there with his sword at his side, dressed in his military garb, one eye twitching.
“This god you worship. Which one is it? We have many gods here, and I am glad to know that you believe as we do.” Potiphar smiled, showing the deep lines along his mouth. This man had known a hard life despite his wealth.
“If I may explain freely?” Joseph asked, silently praying for wisdom. How much should he tell of his past? Hamid had warned him to keep his history to himself. Adonai was part of that history. He glanced at his feet, then met Potiphar’s gaze once more.
“Yes, please. I wish to know.” Potiphar intertwined his fingers and rested them under his chin.
“I believe in Adonai, the Creator God. He alone is God, and I ascribe allegiance to no other god.” He bowed. “He forbids me to take a woman that is another man’s wife, so you can be certain I will never betray you.”
Potiphar’s look grew intense, but a moment later he nodded. “This is good. I knew I could trust you.”
Joseph thought the conversation at an end until Potiphar cleared his throat. “Would your god hold it against me if I took another woman who is not my wife? I ignore Aneksi’s actions because her father is a priest of Neper. If I brought charges against her . . .” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Let’s just say that she comes from a powerful family. She married a powerful man, but the priests hold more sway with the pharaoh than his guards do—even a guard such as I.”
It was more than Joseph ever expected to hear him say, and he wasn’t sure how to answer. Adonai? “I understand your concern. It is unfortunate that your wife feels the desire for anyone other than you, my lord.” Had he said the right thing?
“So for me to take one of the slave girls to my bed would be no different than what she has done to me.” Potiphar looked beyond Joseph again, and Joseph did not know if he expected a response. What slave girl did he have in mind?
“Would your wife’s father cause you trouble if she found out, my lord?” Joseph asked, suddenly fearing that the woman he wanted was Heba. The very girl Joseph felt protective of, though he had no reason to feel thus.
Potiphar startled at the question. He glanced down, then looked over the room as if wanting an answer from its decor. “I do not think her father can say a word against me when I can prove to him that his daughter is less than faithful to me.” He spoke with a hint of anger.
Words failed Joseph. He could not condone the man committing adultery simply because his wife did. And though his own father had married several women, Joseph knew from his grandfather that in the beginning God had not designed marriage to include many wives or many husbands. One man and one woman, Isaac had taught him, was what God always intended. But how could he explain that to this foreign man?
“But you are right,” Potiphar said, interrupting his thoughts. “This is something I must give consideration to. My reputation matters more than hers does. Still . . .” He looked away, his mind obviously churning.