his
chest. “Go now, and walk in the favor of Amon-Re and your
king.”
The return of the crook to the king’s chest meant the inter-
view was over. The musicians played louder as Potiphar stood
and walked backward from the throne room. He would have
to find the harem girl and take her to his house straightaway,
or some wagging tongue would tell the king that his favor had
not been readily appreciated. Though Potiphar felt secure in
Pharaoh’s favor, never was it wise to assume anything in the
royal court.
Since only emasculated slaves and the king might enter the
harem’s chambers, Kratas escorted Potiphar’s prize from the
royal apartments to the wide room where foreign slaves were
sorted and evaluated. Despite his disinterest, Potiphar smiled
in appreciation at the sight of the slender girl walking by the
eunuch’s side. Tall and willowy, her skin was the color of bur-
nished honey and surely as sweet. She wore a simple linen
sheath that accented her regal posture, and her face, when she
finally lifted it, was as elegantly chiseled as the goddesses in
the finest temples.
“I must thank you as well as Pharaoh,” Potiphar told
Kratas, his eyes sweeping over the girl. “She will be a beau-
tiful addition to my household.”
The eunuch bowed. “Is your house fully staffed, my lord
Potiphar? We have just purchased several slaves from travel-
ing Midianites. The Asiatics will not do for Pharaoh—he
wants only Nubian slaves.”
“I don’t know, Kratas.” Relieved for an excuse to turn from
the fear-widened eyes of the girl, Potiphar glanced around the
room. Several bearded men, uncouth and raveled in appear-
ance, sat or lay on the floor in a molten mess of humanity.
56
Dreamers
They looked at him with burned-out eyes, soured with bitter-
ness. Most wore defeat like a banner, but one youth caught
his eye. Though stained with dust and fatigue, the teenager’s
face seemed lighted from within. Some god had chiseled in-
domitable pride into that flushed face, along with intelligence
and hard-bitten strength. This lad, if harnessed correctly,
would pull more than his share of the workload.
“That one.” Potiphar pointed to the boy. “How much?”
Kratas frowned. “You don’t want him. His arm has been
broken, and his body burns with fever from the devils of the
desert. He’ll die before two suns have set.”
“I don’t think he is ready to die,” Potiphar countered.
“How much?”
The eunuch scratched his chin and eyed Potiphar thought-
fully. “Fifty deben weight of silver.”
“You have just said he is worthless. Ten.”
“I paid forty for him. Do you want your king to suffer a loss?”
“Within two days the crocodiles will have him. Take
twenty, and be content.”
Kratas frowned again, then he nodded. “So be it, Lord
Potiphar. But I do you this favor only because our divine
pharaoh holds you in high esteem.”
“So it would appear,” Potiphar answered, pulling his purse
from his kilt.
Through a haze of exhaustion and pain, Yosef saw the
exchange of silver and realized that he had been sold to the
loud man who had come for the pretty girl. The king’s man
accepted the money, then one of the guards yanked Yosef
upright. Colors exploded in his brain as the rope chewed on
his splintered arm. The long journey had not afforded his
body a chance to heal, and fever coursed through his veins like
the quick, hot touch of the devil.
Angela Hunt
57
The girl’s wrists were bound as well, then a broad-shoul-
dered slave took the ropes and led Yosef and the girl out of
the chamber. They followed the loud man as he walked
through the palace courtyard and along the streets of Thebes.
People babbled in an unfamiliar tongue as they walked, and
though Yosef had managed to pick up a few words on the
journey southward, his thoughts drifted into a fuzzy haze in
which nothing made sense. He was exhausted, and every step
taxed the small store of
chest. “Go now, and walk in the favor of Amon-Re and your
king.”
The return of the crook to the king’s chest meant the inter-
view was over. The musicians played louder as Potiphar stood
and walked backward from the throne room. He would have
to find the harem girl and take her to his house straightaway,
or some wagging tongue would tell the king that his favor had
not been readily appreciated. Though Potiphar felt secure in
Pharaoh’s favor, never was it wise to assume anything in the
royal court.
Since only emasculated slaves and the king might enter the
harem’s chambers, Kratas escorted Potiphar’s prize from the
royal apartments to the wide room where foreign slaves were
sorted and evaluated. Despite his disinterest, Potiphar smiled
in appreciation at the sight of the slender girl walking by the
eunuch’s side. Tall and willowy, her skin was the color of bur-
nished honey and surely as sweet. She wore a simple linen
sheath that accented her regal posture, and her face, when she
finally lifted it, was as elegantly chiseled as the goddesses in
the finest temples.
“I must thank you as well as Pharaoh,” Potiphar told
Kratas, his eyes sweeping over the girl. “She will be a beau-
tiful addition to my household.”
The eunuch bowed. “Is your house fully staffed, my lord
Potiphar? We have just purchased several slaves from travel-
ing Midianites. The Asiatics will not do for Pharaoh—he
wants only Nubian slaves.”
“I don’t know, Kratas.” Relieved for an excuse to turn from
the fear-widened eyes of the girl, Potiphar glanced around the
room. Several bearded men, uncouth and raveled in appear-
ance, sat or lay on the floor in a molten mess of humanity.
56
Dreamers
They looked at him with burned-out eyes, soured with bitter-
ness. Most wore defeat like a banner, but one youth caught
his eye. Though stained with dust and fatigue, the teenager’s
face seemed lighted from within. Some god had chiseled in-
domitable pride into that flushed face, along with intelligence
and hard-bitten strength. This lad, if harnessed correctly,
would pull more than his share of the workload.
“That one.” Potiphar pointed to the boy. “How much?”
Kratas frowned. “You don’t want him. His arm has been
broken, and his body burns with fever from the devils of the
desert. He’ll die before two suns have set.”
“I don’t think he is ready to die,” Potiphar countered.
“How much?”
The eunuch scratched his chin and eyed Potiphar thought-
fully. “Fifty deben weight of silver.”
“You have just said he is worthless. Ten.”
“I paid forty for him. Do you want your king to suffer a loss?”
“Within two days the crocodiles will have him. Take
twenty, and be content.”
Kratas frowned again, then he nodded. “So be it, Lord
Potiphar. But I do you this favor only because our divine
pharaoh holds you in high esteem.”
“So it would appear,” Potiphar answered, pulling his purse
from his kilt.
Through a haze of exhaustion and pain, Yosef saw the
exchange of silver and realized that he had been sold to the
loud man who had come for the pretty girl. The king’s man
accepted the money, then one of the guards yanked Yosef
upright. Colors exploded in his brain as the rope chewed on
his splintered arm. The long journey had not afforded his
body a chance to heal, and fever coursed through his veins like
the quick, hot touch of the devil.
Angela Hunt
57
The girl’s wrists were bound as well, then a broad-shoul-
dered slave took the ropes and led Yosef and the girl out of
the chamber. They followed the loud man as he walked
through the palace courtyard and along the streets of Thebes.
People babbled in an unfamiliar tongue as they walked, and
though Yosef had managed to pick up a few words on the
journey southward, his thoughts drifted into a fuzzy haze in
which nothing made sense. He was exhausted, and every step
taxed the small store of
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