said,
fury lurking beneath his smile.
“Today you are,” Potiphar answered with an easy grin.
“Our divine pharaoh will not mind if you are a moment out
of his presence. And I will have you back at the palace before
your youthful face can sprout its next pimple.”
Narmer flushed and clenched his fists, but he followed
Tuya.
Potiphar stalked back into his chamber, indignation seeth-
ing beneath his breastbone. The trouble lay in his spending
too much time at home. Of late his villa had become a refuge
from the pitfalls of the palace, but while Potiphar was away,
a new cat had come to toy with the royal favor. The smell of
ambition rose from Narmer like a cheap perfume, and Amen-
Angela Hunt
93
hotep was wily enough to goad his old friend and fellow
soldier with a fresh and competitive face.
This Narmer would not act high and mighty for long. I may
be an old cat, Potiphar thought, stepping into a fresh kilt and
fastening a belt at his waist, but I have learned tricks from the
wisest souls in this world and the one beyond.
Abruptly, he bellowed for Paneah.
The dim haze of sleep still filled Yosef’s head when he
entered Potiphar’s chamber and stooped to help his master dress.
“I must go away,” Potiphar said as Yosef strapped on his
sandals, “and I am leaving the household in your care. I cannot
say how long this whim of Pharaoh’s will last, for something
has aroused the bloodlust in him. We are traveling to the
eastern dominions and back, a journey of some months.”
The sleep haze vanished like fog before the sun. “Through
the lands of Canaan?” Yosef asked, not looking up. Did he
dare suggest that he accompany Potiphar? The army might
cross the lands of Yaakov, might even encounter the family.
Yosef could return to his father in the company of the foremost
military general of the world’s greatest king. He could repay
his brothers’ treachery with righteous vengeance; in one bold
move reveal that ten of Yaakov’s sons were fiends and one,
thought dead, alive and strong.
“Of course we’ll pass through Canaan,” Potiphar snapped,
fumbling with the leopard-skin belt that held his dagger.
“The Mitanni tribes are causing trouble, probably feuding
with the Hittites.”
Yosef finished fastening the sandals and reached up to
hook the enclosure of the dagger belt. “You might have use
for a servant on the journey.”
The master’s brows knitted in a frown. “I have ten thousand
soldiers at my bidding, Paneah,” he said, his voice surprisingly
94
Dreamers
gentle. “What I need—what I have never had till now—is a
home waiting when I return. I place you in charge of every-
thing you find here. Speak with my full authority and act as
my steward.”
Narmer stalked into the room as Potiphar finished speak-
ing. With a superior smirk, he lifted a jeweled hand and
pointed to Yosef. “Dare you leave your house in the care of a
slave? You will have nothing when we return, for even this
boy will run away.” He snickered. “Can Potiphar’s renowned
wisdom be fading?”
“My gift of discernment is still strong,” Potiphar answered,
not bothering to look at the younger man as he made a last-
minute check of his person. “I would trust Paneah with my life.”
He turned to Yosef and lowered his voice, his eagle eye
staring down his nose. “I trust you, Paneah, with all I have.
Do not prove my intuition wrong.”
Yosef straightened. “I will not, my lord.”
Potiphar nodded, then scowled out the doorway.
Rebellious would-be kings from the northeastern provinces
of Carchemish and Tegarama had amassed a sizable force, but
their troops proved no match for the swift battalions of Pha-
raoh’s golden warriors. The well-organized Egyptian army,
comprised of both infantry and chariot troops, flew across the
desert like a whirlwind, churning up sand and wind and
debris. The chariots, each manned by two soldiers and two
horses, were made of
fury lurking beneath his smile.
“Today you are,” Potiphar answered with an easy grin.
“Our divine pharaoh will not mind if you are a moment out
of his presence. And I will have you back at the palace before
your youthful face can sprout its next pimple.”
Narmer flushed and clenched his fists, but he followed
Tuya.
Potiphar stalked back into his chamber, indignation seeth-
ing beneath his breastbone. The trouble lay in his spending
too much time at home. Of late his villa had become a refuge
from the pitfalls of the palace, but while Potiphar was away,
a new cat had come to toy with the royal favor. The smell of
ambition rose from Narmer like a cheap perfume, and Amen-
Angela Hunt
93
hotep was wily enough to goad his old friend and fellow
soldier with a fresh and competitive face.
This Narmer would not act high and mighty for long. I may
be an old cat, Potiphar thought, stepping into a fresh kilt and
fastening a belt at his waist, but I have learned tricks from the
wisest souls in this world and the one beyond.
Abruptly, he bellowed for Paneah.
The dim haze of sleep still filled Yosef’s head when he
entered Potiphar’s chamber and stooped to help his master dress.
“I must go away,” Potiphar said as Yosef strapped on his
sandals, “and I am leaving the household in your care. I cannot
say how long this whim of Pharaoh’s will last, for something
has aroused the bloodlust in him. We are traveling to the
eastern dominions and back, a journey of some months.”
The sleep haze vanished like fog before the sun. “Through
the lands of Canaan?” Yosef asked, not looking up. Did he
dare suggest that he accompany Potiphar? The army might
cross the lands of Yaakov, might even encounter the family.
Yosef could return to his father in the company of the foremost
military general of the world’s greatest king. He could repay
his brothers’ treachery with righteous vengeance; in one bold
move reveal that ten of Yaakov’s sons were fiends and one,
thought dead, alive and strong.
“Of course we’ll pass through Canaan,” Potiphar snapped,
fumbling with the leopard-skin belt that held his dagger.
“The Mitanni tribes are causing trouble, probably feuding
with the Hittites.”
Yosef finished fastening the sandals and reached up to
hook the enclosure of the dagger belt. “You might have use
for a servant on the journey.”
The master’s brows knitted in a frown. “I have ten thousand
soldiers at my bidding, Paneah,” he said, his voice surprisingly
94
Dreamers
gentle. “What I need—what I have never had till now—is a
home waiting when I return. I place you in charge of every-
thing you find here. Speak with my full authority and act as
my steward.”
Narmer stalked into the room as Potiphar finished speak-
ing. With a superior smirk, he lifted a jeweled hand and
pointed to Yosef. “Dare you leave your house in the care of a
slave? You will have nothing when we return, for even this
boy will run away.” He snickered. “Can Potiphar’s renowned
wisdom be fading?”
“My gift of discernment is still strong,” Potiphar answered,
not bothering to look at the younger man as he made a last-
minute check of his person. “I would trust Paneah with my life.”
He turned to Yosef and lowered his voice, his eagle eye
staring down his nose. “I trust you, Paneah, with all I have.
Do not prove my intuition wrong.”
Yosef straightened. “I will not, my lord.”
Potiphar nodded, then scowled out the doorway.
Rebellious would-be kings from the northeastern provinces
of Carchemish and Tegarama had amassed a sizable force, but
their troops proved no match for the swift battalions of Pha-
raoh’s golden warriors. The well-organized Egyptian army,
comprised of both infantry and chariot troops, flew across the
desert like a whirlwind, churning up sand and wind and
debris. The chariots, each manned by two soldiers and two
horses, were made of
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