Free Dreamers by Angela Hunt Page A

the sirocco winds accumulated
    in a single blast could not have diffused the stench.
    Tuya noticed that Yosef perked up when she led him to the
    stockyard. Potiphar’s horses were in fine fettle, for the master
    loved to ride and often engaged in chariot racing, but the few
    cattle in the pen were scrawny and blotched with skin dis-
    eases. Yosef paid special attention to the cattle, probing their
    skins with deft fingers and examining their eyes and noses
    Angela Hunt
    69
    with great care. “I know how to cure this condition,” he said,
    catching up to Tuya as she strode through the stockyard.
    “With the right grains and a poultice or two, these cattle can
    be made well.”
    “That would please our master.”
    From the stockyard, an open, roofless corridor led to the
    well, and beyond the wall surrounding the well lay the mas-
    ter’s formal gardens. Tuya showed Yosef the small door that
    led to the gardens. The pool, which had been stagnant and
    laden with green scum, now glimmered in the sun while lotus
    plants dotted its surface. Yosef gave the area an admiring
    smile. “This is beautiful.”
    “The blue lotus is my favorite,” Tuya said, unwillingly re-
    membering the lotus blossoms of Sagira’s pool.
    “Not just the flowers,” Yosef answered. “Everything. You
    have done well.”
    “Not I alone,” Tuya answered, taking his uninjured arm as
    she led him back to the servants’ quarters. A thin sheen of per-
    spiration shone on Yosef’s forehead, and she knew the brief
    walk had tired him. “Without your encouragement, I would
    never have had the nerve to speak to the other servants.”
    If any of the older slaves bore resentment toward Tuya, they
    did not dare show it after Potiphar praised her administration.
    He called her into his presence one evening as he sat at dinner
    in the central hall. From the high windows near the ceiling,
    the rays of sunset tinged the room with gold.
    “You were presented to me on account of your beauty,”
    Potiphar said after she knelt at his feet. “But now I find that
    you are more than ornamental.”
    Bent into submission, Tuya felt her stomach tighten.
    Donkor had never summoned her into his presence, and the
    few occasions she had faced Kahent had ended in punishment
    or rebuke. What did Potiphar have in mind?
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    Dreamers
    “Rise, girl, and speak freely,” her master mumbled through
    a mouthful of food.
    Slowly, Tuya stood, lifting her head at the last moment.
    Potiphar sat before her, his hands busy with his food, his eyes
    bright and alert as an eagle’s. She gathered her courage.
    “What would you have me say?”
    He swallowed. “How does a harem girl know so much
    about running a house?”
    “If it please you, my lord, I was not reared for the harem.
    Before entering Pharaoh’s house, I was companion to Sagira,
    daughter of Donkor, a kinsman of the king.”
    Potiphar bit into the pigeon the cook had prepared ac-
    cording to Tuya’s direction. “Does Donkor know you live
    now with me?”
    Tuya shook her head. “I have no way of knowing, my lord.
    I was sold when his daughter no longer wanted—had need
    of—a companion.”
    Potiphar lifted his goblet and took a deep drink, then sighed
    and smacked his lips. “Well, Tuya, I have no harem and no
    need of a concubine. But I like what you have done, so you
    may continue to oversee the house.”
    Relief washed over her, but Tuya did not leave. In three
    months, Potiphar had spoken to her only once, and if all went
    well in his house he might never speak to her again. If she
    wanted to speak to him of Yosef, she’d have to do it now. For
    despite her intentions to remain aloof from the young man’s
    dancing eyes, she could not bear the thought of waking one
    day to find him gone.
    “If it please you, my lord—”
    The master lifted a brow. “You have a question?”
    “A suggestion. If you want your estate to truly prosper, you
    would do well to heed the advice of Paneah, the injured slave
    you