Honour for Honour

In the cool, shaded room, a young man sat, tablet in hand, checking accounts. A puzzled momentary frown creased his high, wide forehead. Dark eyes scanned the figures before him; the handsome, intelligent face tense as he concentrated on the job at hand. A loose-fitting robe – so perfectly adapted to the hot climate – fell in soft folds over his broad shoulders and strong, muscular arms.

A bell tinkled, and he rose to his feet, as attractive a young man as any could wish to behold. As he crossed a courtyard to his chief’s room, his walk was unhurried, his bearing regal, the aristocratic head held proudly.

When he first came into this well run – military household, he was given quite a humble task. He performed this conscientiously and diligently that he was soon promoted to something higher. Gradually, he rose in the hierarchy of servants until he was the Head Steward of this large household and estate.

A very able administrator, he soon knew more about the family’s concerns than his master did, having details at his fingertips. Each servant knew their job and was well supervised.

The man Joseph, though still a servant, was now treated – for the most part – as one of the

family. Except that racial laws obliged him to eat separately.       

He had reached the top of his profession. He had done well. He had everything a young man could ask for. But one thing is his freedom. That precious right to get up and walk out if he so desired. He was, in fact, far from home and relatives. An outcast. A refugee. Disowned by all his brothers. Dead to his family.

Yet he was happy, with a deep abiding faith in the God of his fathers. Not all the vicissitudes of his existence had shaken this. But he was to be yet more cruelly tried. The master of the house was often away on campaigns for long periods. Joseph enjoyed these times, savouring the responsibility, alert to ensure that matters prospered. Their success or failure reflected on his name.

When he walked abroad, men of rank acknowledged him and the poor made way for his person. Yet such adulation did not mar his pleasing personality. He was popular as much for himself as for any influence his position may wield.

There was something about him that was very attractive to women, but the strict moral code of his religion kept him from seeking solace with them.

At times, a strong, virile young man, he longed for the companionship of a woman of his own kind. Yet, as far as he could see, this would never be.

His master’s wife was an exceedingly beautiful woman, used to the admiration of men.

Clothed modishly in the fashion of the day, hair carefully dressed, skin skilfully made up, her trim figure enhanced by costly gowns, she disposed of her favours to her own best advantage. No man could look at her without a quickening of his pulse. The languid movement of a hand, the flutter of an eyelash enslaved many.

In the tight confinement of an old Eastern community, she longed for more freedom, more social intercourse and exchange with both men and women. What use to a warm, attractive woman was a husband continually bound up with his duties and often absent from home? All her natural desires rebelled against this treatment. She sought an outlet wherever she could.

Her maids hated her. The manservants adored her and fought to wait upon her, held in a fearful fascination of desire to please, yet knowing that the slightest overstepping of propriety would bring swift retribution. She held their lives in her hand and knew it. It pleased her to play with them, like a cat with a shrew.

Quickly she would tire of their merely physical attributes and long for a companion of intelligence and learning—an educated man, young and charming. Married, bound to the house as she was, and tied by the conventions of the society in which she lived, she could not go out and seek one such.

Then it seemed the gods had taken pity on her.

One day a new Head Steward made his appearance in her room.

How handsome he was, and how cultured! The proud upright carriage, and the way he spoke to her, proclaimed him a man of good breeding. She found herself addressing him as an equal.

All the women within her responded to this fine specimen of manhood.

Polite, respectful and always correct, he held her at a distance.

One by one, she tried her womanly charms upon her but met with no response.

It intrigued and infuriated her.

She noticed that her husband treated this servant with some familiarity, conversing with him as with a fellow officer. Obviously, he trusted him implicitly and gradually left more and more of the administration in his hands.

It was to this young man that everyone now turned for information and advice. For their daily orders. This pleased rather than annoyed her.

She would wait for her chance. There must be some way into the heart of this paragon of virtue. Every man had his price. Daily she watched and waited. Her desire grew till it knew no bounds. Her womanly pride was laid aside; She gave him an open invitation.

“Madam”, he replied, “My master trusts me and has committed everything he has into my hand. He kept nothing back from me but you because you are his wife. How can I let him down – and sin against my God?”

He stood firm.

Yet she saw that the temptation was great. She would persist! Break him down. So does the devil transform himself into an angel of light to bring about a man’s downfall? Day by day, the temptation came with renewed strength until it reached a climax. The husband is away—nobody in the house but this man and this woman.

“Surely, now?” she pleaded and caught at his gown as he passed.

With given strength, Joseph wrenched free and fled, leaving his garment in her hand.

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned!”

If she cannot have him, she will have her revenge! Wait till her husband comes home! She would produce evidence and witnesses. A head would roll for this! Her husband’s wrath was aroused. How dare this Hebrew to touch his wife! He would have him flogged and put to death. Yet, are the order was given, a more sober judgment prevailed.

Such an action was so out of character for his Head Steward. Did the husband know his wife’s foibles better than she suspected? So a hurt, bewildered young man found himself in prison, yet grateful still to be alive.

Looking around the miserable prison cell, Joseph wondered: “What reward is this for my faithfulness to God and loyalty to a fellow man?” Here he was again, an outcast, a refugee, with no home, no hope, no future before him. Or so he thought. There was before him a brilliant future far greater than anything he could envisage – he was to become Prime Minister of his adopted country.

The God Who had not tried him above that which he could bear, but had made a way of escape, would honour him as he had honoured God.

God still honours those who honour Him, and are faithful in the little everyday things, content to walk one step at a time.

Note from the editor: This article is a reprint from the 1973 Vol 5-#2 edition of Asian Beacon.