This was no doubt her father’s doing. He held the highest rank as priest of On, worshiper of the sun god, Ra, and was nearly as powerful as a prince in the land. Priests held special favor with Pharaoh, and because she was the next daughter in line to wed, her father had surely told Pharaoh that she was available.
But marriage to a Hebrew? She had always expected to wed an Egyptian prince, one of Pharaoh’s sons or the son of another of On’s priests. What was this man like? What if he did not please her?
What if he is not happy with me?
She turned away from the window at the sound of her door opening. Her maidservant Jomana bustled into the room, her arms laden with a tray of bread, garlic, onions, leeks, and grapes, while another servant followed bringing a gilded white robe, along with jeweled sandals that were more delicate than her everyday wear.
“There you are. Up already,” Jomana said. “And it is a good thing too. The wedding is set for noon today, when Ra hits the exact midpoint of the sky. You must hurry if we are to be ready on time.”
Asenath looked at the food Jomana placed on an ivory table and felt her anxious stomach turn over. “I’m not sure I could eat a thing,” she said.
Jomana gently pushed her toward the dais, plucked grapes from their stems, and placed them on a golden plate. “At least eat some fruit. If you do not eat, you will become faint, and you do not want your new husband to think you are weak. Royal women are not weak.” She placed a cup of honeyed barley beer beside Asenath. “Drink,” she commanded, as she had been doing all of Asenath’s life.
Asenath scowled at her maid but ate as she was told. The fruit and bread, what little she could handle, did revive her. She dabbed her mouth with a piece of fine linen, rose, and followed more servants led by Jomana into her adjoining bathing chambers.
A few hours later, she had washed, shaved all but the short hair of her head, and oiled her scalp, and now she smelled of rose petals.
Jomana hurried to the window to glance at the sky. “The sun is nearly there. We must finish your makeup, dress you, and go.”
All fear slipped away as Asenath allowed her servants to paint her face and eyes, complementing the intricate henna designs on her hands, then they put a sheer white tunic over her head and a pure white robe over the tunic. Jomana tied a golden sash at her waist. Asenath sat gingerly on the raised bed and allowed a young girl to tie the delicate sandals to her feet.
At last she stood, accepting the jewels draped over her neck and the veil placed over her black wig.
“You look exactly as a princess should,” Jomana said, smiling. The maid looked her up and down, turned her around, and finally pronounced her ready. “And now the chariot awaits you.”
They walked the halls to the wide doors of the home on the temple grounds. Asenath could have easily walked the distance, but not on this day. Today she would ride in the gilded chariot her father used when he moved throughout the city.
The driver helped her with the step and seated her behind him, then slowly drove her past waiting crowds of men, women, and children. They all tossed palm branches and lotus flowers along the path, scenting the air and reminding Asenath of how many times she had done this very thing for her older sisters.
And now it is I who rides in splendor to meet my prince. Thoughts of him sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her. She had not even seen this Zaphenath-Paneah yet. The servants from the palace proclaimed him quite handsome. They said that he spoke fluent Egyptian, and looking upon him, no one could tell he was anything other than a prince from Egypt.
The chariot stopped at the temple doors, and the driver helped her alight. Guards lined the steps as she took each one slowly. The doors opened, and she moved into the familiar chamber where her father and Pharaoh waited at the end of a long hall. A strange man who must be her intended stood beside Pharaoh, showing him to be of high ranking in Egypt indeed.
Asenath drew in a small breath, unwilling to release a deep sigh lest someone hear and assume she feared this day. She must remain strong. She was the daughter of Potiphera, priest of On, and equal to this man who would be her husband.
But was she equal? Women were held in high regard in Egypt and priests had great authority, but as she drew closer to Zaphenath-Paneah, she knew by his clothes and Pharaoh’s signet ring on his hand that she was marrying a man of higher status than her own father. What protection could her father give her if this man proved to be unworthy?
A sliver of fear moved through her as she stopped at last near the dais where her father and Pharaoh sat. Zaphenath-Paneah stepped close to her. Her father also rose and came to stand before them both.
“I have chosen Zaphenath-Paneah to be your husband, Asenath,” her father said. “Though he has no gifts of his own to bring us, the pharaoh has generously given this man great power and many favors. You will share his life and these ouroboros rings, which you will give to each other. They mark this promise of life’s circle that has no end and show that you will stay together your life long. Zaphenath-Paneah will marry no other but you.”
Her father held an embroidered blue pillow out before them. Her groom took the ring intended for her, grasped her hand, and placed it on her second finger. Asenath looked at the golden serpent, the head with sapphire eyes eating its tail of diamonds. She met Zaphenath-Paneah’s gaze, her pulse quickening at his touch. She told herself to breathe as she lifted a matching ring from the pillow and placed it on the second finger of his left hand.
“Now,” her father said, “let us go to the banquet hall of Pharaoh’s palace to celebrate your union.”
Asenath felt her husband’s fingers grasp hers. He lifted their hands high and walked slowly, dignified, through the hall, down the steps, and into a chariot.
Asenath’s senses heightened at the spikenard wafting from him as their driver took them on a long, circuitous route to the doors of the royal palace. Her father and Pharaoh came in separate chariots, Pharaoh before them, her father behind.
When the horses came to rest, her new husband leaned close. “When we are alone,” he said, “I want you to call me Joseph.”
“Joseph?” A strange name to her ears, but she nodded.
“It is my Hebrew name, and I do not wish to forget who I am.” He took her hand and helped her to the ground, then played the part well of newlywed husband escorting his bride to their feast.
“Joseph,” she whispered so low he did not seem to hear her. She liked the sound of the name on her tongue.
The day turned swiftly to night. Joseph watched his new bride mingle among the women, sit sedately in her pure white robe with the golden sash, and laugh freely, though he could not tell whether she was laughing for joy or if her nerves betrayed her. His own caused his heart to beat harder.
When the sun set below the horizon, Hamid touched his shoulder. “It is time, my lord. Our custom is for the groom to take the bride in his chariot to their home at sunset.”
Joseph knew that, for Potiphera had made sure he knew exactly how to treat his daughter this night and for the rest of his life. Though Joseph held a higher position now than anyone but Pharaoh, he could not deny that Asenath’s father would always want to protect her. Much like Aneksi’s father intimidated Potiphar.
He rose from the seat where he’d been speaking with one of Pharaoh’s advisors and walked the length of the room. He came up beside Asenath and took her hand, drawing her away from her suddenly giggling friends.