Work Text:
When Tamet the daughter of Pethu was not yet become a woman her father fell ill, and could not work the fields as before. The first year, her father paid the taxes and the year's rent when the son of their landlord came calling, for the illness was but a new thing, and the money was already earned. The second year, he sold all that her mother had brought in as dowry, and put the money, weeping, in the hands of Meshullam the son of Zakkur. The third year, when all the family were thin and weak all that was left to be sold was the ox with which they ploughed the fields, and Tamet's father turned his face to the wall, for this was something they could not come back from.
"My lord," Weni, Tamet's brother said, "Another month, please. We will have the money in another month."
Meshullam the son of Zakkur crouched on his heels before their house as if he were a peasant, and not an officer of the garrison and their landlord's son. "The taxes must be paid to the governor," he said, "Are we not all servants of the king?"
"The king is far away," Weni said, as if a beardless boy knew anything of the king's lands. "Just one more month, my lord –"
"The king's governor is in his palace," Meshullam said. "And he wants the taxes." He looked through the door to where Tamet's father lay. "I would give you the time if I could, but –"
The whole family wept, while Pethu stared wordlessly at the wall. Meshullam put a hand on Weni's shoulder, as kind as an older brother. "It is hard for you. Will you not go up to the Judean garrison for work, while your mother and sisters work the fields?"
"Can one boy earn enough?" Weni said through his tears. "Will your countrymen not say there is no work for one who prays to the gods of Egypt?"
"Pray to the Lord Yau also," Meshullam said. "Is he not the god of this island? You must be a man, have you not your parents and four sisters to consider?" While Weni sniffled back his tears in an attempt to seem older Meshullam said, his voice light as if he had just considered the matter, "It may be that I can do good unto you and your family. I have many friends in the garrison, I will speak on your behalf. You will earn enough at least for the taxes, and as for the rent – my wife is ill, it is in my heart that she will need a maidservant to care for her. Let me have your sister Tamet for a maidservant, and I will pay the taxes and rent for this year, and behold, next year you will have earned enough to pay them."
Tamet froze, thinking of how Meshullam had looked at her when first he came near their house, how he had looked at her the year before, quick glances as if a wealthy man should find a peasant girl beneath his gaze and yet he could not help staring. "Brother," she said.
"Yes," her mother said. "My lord, let it be as you say." She whispered in Weni's ear as Tamet covered her face in shock.
"My lord, in the bill of sale, please have it written that we may –" Weni looked back at their mother, who whispered again, " – that we may redeem her when we have the money."
As he and Meshullam spoke, Tamet's mother dragged her hands down from her face and patted her cheek.
"Your brother has not seen twelve summers, and there is nothing left to us to provide dowries for any of you girls," she said urgently. "He is not so old, Tamet, he has never spoken harshly to us. You will not be a wife, but you will not starve. Think of the younger children, and smile at the man."
Tamet raised her face, and smiled.
*
"My wife has miscarried," Meshullam said, breaking the silence. He had said nothing to her for hours, though they had walked all through his father's lands, collecting what was owed. He looked at her quickly, and away again. "She is a good woman, she will not be harsh with you." He smiled at her, a little forlornly, and looked up at the sky, muttering in Aramaic.
There were as many Judeans on the island as Egyptians, and Tamet knew the language, enough to understand if not sound like a Judean woman. She is going to kill me, Meshullam said. Tamet's heart sank, knowing herself to be a thing bought on a whim.
"You will be well treated," Meshullam said suddenly. "You will have enough to eat, and you will have clothes to wear, and I will not hurt you."
"My lord," Tamet said, "Would it not be better if I cared for your wife during the day, and returned to my father's house at night? I would be less expense to your family –"
"No," Meshullam said fervently, and winced as she flinched back. "Come along." He led her to the house of a scribe, and sat with the man, having him write up that Tamet's price was the rent and tax on her father's house for one year. "In your father's tax records, it says a girl of fifteen years," Meshullam said, "That is you?" She nodded. "And her name is Tamet," he said to the scribe. "Put down that the family may redeem her, if they can."
When the scribe had finished, and the men in the house with him had said they witnessed it, he turned to Tamet and beckoned her close, then, with needles and ink, wrote upon her hand. It hurt, but she did not cry. She silently followed her master, her hand throbbing, until they came to his house, a large building with rooms set all about a central yard.
"The servants, Amatiah and Pashur," Meshullam said, as if he were introducing a guest. "And my wife, the lady Yehoishema. This is Tamet, maidservant to my wife. From this day forth our people shall be her people, our god her god." He looked about him, as if embarrassed, then patted Tamet's head. "You are welcome, child. Attend my wife."
Tamet gingerly approached Yehoishema as Meshullam muttered about how much work he had to do and fled to an inner room. The lady was not as old as she first thought, perhaps ten years her senior, her face drawn with recent illness. She looked after her husband in wry irritation, and back to Tamet.
"You are, perhaps of a family whose father is stricken by illness?" she said. "My husband has spoken for days of how it is good to help those in need and the compassion he feels for your poor parents. I can see why; you're pretty."
Tamet crept closer, her eyes downcast. "I am your servant, lady," she whispered.
Yehoishema laughed, not unkindly. "That's not what your hand tells me."
Tamet looked at the marks, still red and sore and into her mistress' eyes. "What does it say, lady?"
"Belonging to Meshullam," Yehoishema said. She sighed and wiped at her eyes with her veil. "Has he not been patient with me all these years?" she said as if to herself, and to Tamet, "Do not fear, girl, no harm will come to you. He is not a bad man, just a man." She put her hand on Tamet's, hiding the writing. "I will make sure he waits until you are not afraid."
Tamet sat, wordless, at her feet.
Elephantine Island (Yeb)