hand or chattering tongue. The long hours of play in the court-
yard disappeared as Sagira spent time alone with Ramla. Once
when Tuya casually asked what Ramla and Sagira talked
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37
about, her young mistress turned on her and said that if Tuya
didn’t mind her manners she’d have Tanutamon administer yet
another whipping.
Two weeks after Ramla had come to live in the household,
Tuya made her way to the kitchen. Taharka, the chief butler,
had always been a friend and used to give both girls sweet
treats from his lunch box whenever they managed to sneak
into his workroom. On this day he was tasting a new wine
especially selected for a party Donkor intended to give for
several noble guests, and he had little time to spare for a
lonely slave girl abandoned by her mistress.
“Taharka, can I speak with you?”
“Not now, my pretty one,” Taharka said, frowning as he
looked at her sad face. “The master has invited guests to eat,
drink and be merry through the night. Spiced wine and beer, the
wine jars and even the alabaster vases have to be made ready.”
“Can I help?”
Taharka smiled as though out of pity for her. “You are
bored, aren’t you?”
“I’d love to help. Surely there is something I can do.”
“All right. You can see to the perfumed cones. The animal
fat must be set out into the sun to liquefy, then mixed with
the precious oils of perfume. When they are mixed, bring
them into the coolness of the house and pour the liquid into
the molds.”
“I can do that,” Tuya replied, moving toward the large
copper pots of animal fat. The cones of perfumed fat were a
treat enjoyed only by the nobility, for perfume was precious.
As each guest arrived, a perfumed cone would be placed on
his head. As the afternoon and party wore on, the cones would
melt and run down the heavy wigs and sweltering skin of the
overheated guests.
Tuya lifted one of the pots and staggered toward the door-
38
Dreamers
way, but halted when Taharka let out an earsplitting scream.
She dropped the pot, startled, and whirled to see him standing
at a table, his hand purpling before her eyes. A scorpion
scuttled across the table.
“I am bit!” the butler screamed, his eyes wide in fright and
pain. “Oh, daughter of Seth, why am I bit tonight?”
Obeying a primitive instinct, Tuya scooped up a handful
of ashes from the firepit, mixed them with animal fat, and
placed the mixture over the rapidly swelling spot on Taharka’s
hand. Stunned by the pain, the butler leaned against the wall,
still holding his wounded hand out in front of him.
As if in response to his call, Ramla and Sagira appeared in
the doorway.
“What happened to Taharka?” Sagira snapped, her eyes
drilling into Tuya as if she were somehow to blame.
Tuya lowered her gaze. “A scorpion.”
Ramla stepped into the room and dramatically lifted her
hands. “I am a priestess of Bastet, and have come to lay bare
the poison that is in the limbs of Taharka, Donkor’s servant.
As Bastet lives, so shall live Taharka!”
Taharka clenched his jaw against the pain as Ramla swayed
in front of him. “You, poison, shall not take your stand in his
forehead; Hekayit, Lady of the Forehead, is against you! You
shall not take your stand in his eyes; Horus Mekhenty-irty,
Lord of the Eyes, is against you! You shall not take your stand
in his ears; Geb, Lord of the Ear, is against you!”
Tuya watched Sagira’s face as Ramla continued the roll call
of the various gods. Her mistress’s eyes shone toward the
interloper with devotion and admiration.
“You shall not take your stand in his nose; Khenem-tchau
of Hesret, Lady of the Nose, is against you! You shall not take
your stand in his lips; Anubis, Lord of the Lips, is against you!
You shall not take your stand in his tongue; Sefekh-aahui,
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39
Lady of the Tongue, is against you! You shall not take your
stand in his neck; Wadjety, Lady of the Neck, is against you!”
Taharka groaned as Ramla called out for the gods of the
arm, back, side, liver, lung, spleen, intestines, ribs and flesh
to stand against the scorpion bite. A crowd of servants gathered
as the priestess continued to chant, calling on the gods of the
buttocks, perineum, thighs, knee, shins, soles and toenails.
Finally, as sweat dripped from her brows, Ramla raised her
voice in a terrible shriek. “You, poison, shall not take your
stand anywhere in him! You shall not find refreshment there!
Go down to the ground! I have incanted against you, I have
spat on you, I have drunk you! As Horus lives, so does
Taharka. Go down to the ground! I know you, I know your
name! Come from the right hand, poison, come from the left
hand! Come in saliva, come in vomit, come in urine! Come
hither at my utterance according as I say! Grant a path to
Taharka! As the sun shall rise and as the Nile shall flow, so
shall Taharka be better than he was!”
She ended in a hoarse shout and flung her arms toward the
heavens. As if on cue, Taharka leaned sideways and vomited
onto the packed earthen floor. Tuya lifted the poultice she had
used to cover the scorpion bite. The wound was still red and
slightly swollen, but seemed less violent than it had before.
The assembled crowd cheered Ramla, and Sagira slipped
her arm around the priestess’s waist and helped the exhausted
woman from the room. Two slaves from the kitchen helped
Taharka to his feet, and after a moment Tuya found herself in
the workroom with only a handful of servants while guests
were arriving at the entryway.
“Hurry,” she commanded, gesturing toward the pots of
animal fat and the trays of fruit. “The party begins, and our
master will not care that Taharka has met with a scorpion. This
food must be ready, so help me!”
40
Dreamers
Knowing that Tanutamon’s lash awaited anyone who
displeased Donkor, the slaves did as she commanded.
Kahent sighed in satisfaction as her slave poured a pitcher
of cool water over her tired back. She lay on a slab of polished
granite in the bathroom of the house and her maid had just
massaged the worries of a hectic week into oblivion.
Not that her worries were major ones. In the three weeks
since the priestess Ramla had come to dwell with them, Sagira
had spent less and less time with Tuya. It would not be diffi-
cult now to manufacture an excuse to remove the girl from
Sagira’s quarters. And when Sagira had been weaned from her
dependence on the slave, the serious search for a husband
could begin.
“Excuse the interruption, my lady.” Another of the maids
appeared in the doorway. “Your daughter and Ramla wait
to see you.”
“I’ll see them at once,” Kahent said, sitting up. Her hand-
maid threw a light gown over Kahent’s upraised arms. She
stood and shimmied into it, then went with open arms to
embrace her daughter.
“Sagira, what brings you to me in the middle of the day?”
she asked, resting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders as she
kissed the girl’s cheeks. Behind Sagira, Ramla stood in practiced
detachment, her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on Kahent’s face.
“I’ve been thinking.” Sagira’s lower lip edged forward in
a pout. “If I am truly to be the mother of kings, perhaps it is
best if I am not attended by such a familiar slave. Tuya knows
too much about me to be properly respectful. Ramla has sug-
gested that I send her away.”
Kahent blinked in honest surprise. She had not dared to
dream that Ramla’s influence would work so quickly. “You
would be rid of Tuya?”
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41
Sagira crossed her arms. “She’s jealous and spiteful and I
don’t trust her. For months she’s been looking at me with a
strange gleam in her eye. I don’t like it. She frightens me.”
“Perhaps one of the dark gods has invaded her heart,”
Ramla suggested in a cool voice.
“Exactly!” Sagira slammed a clenched fist into her palm.
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Mother. You gave her to me, but
now I’d like to be rid of her.”
Kahent gave her daughter an innocent smile. “Perhaps
she could work with the butler. Taharka seems to think
much of her.”
“No!” Sagira snapped. “I will not have her anywhere near.
I want her out of the house as soon as possible. She does not
understand my destiny. She sees herself as my equal, and that
she can never be.”
Joy flooded Kahent’s heart. “As you say, Sagira,” she said,
placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders again. “And
because she is yours, whatever silver comes from her sale
shall go to you.”
“I shall give it all to Ramla as an offering for the goddess.”
Sagira turned to the priestess. “Without her I would never have
learned of my future.”
Ramla leaned forward in a gentle bow. “Thank the goddess
we discovered it.”
Kahent closed her eyes in relief. “Bastet be praised.”
The sun bark of the god Re had moved only a short distance
across the sky when Ramla came alone into the women’s room
of the villa. Surprised by the visit, Kahent put aside the scroll
she had been reading and waited for the priestess to speak.
“Your daughter is resting,” Ramla announced, gazing at
Kahent with dark eyes that seemed to probe the recesses of
her soul. “And your petition has been heard.”
42
Dreamers
“I trust it has.” Kahent straightened on the couch where she
had been reclining. “I owe you a great debt.”
“Your daughter’s offering will suffice,” Ramla answered.
“That, and the opportunity to watch the future unfold. I did
not fabricate or elaborate on my vision, Lady Kahent. Sagira
will leave a mark on the world.” When she hesitated, Kahent
toyed with the fabric of her dress, dimly aware that she was
fidgeting. What was she supposed to do now? Did the priest-
ess expect special favors in return for good news?
“Please sit.” Kahent gestured to an empty chair. Ramla
moved to the chair and sat down without breaking the straight
line of her back.
“You and Sagira have become friends,” Kahent said, cast-
ing about for some avenue of conversation. “I am sorry you
must leave soon. I fear Sagira will be lost without your
company or Tuya’s.”
“She will never be lost,” the priestess answered. “We have
already made arrangements. I will serve my month for the
goddess, then live with your daughter for three months.” Her
pale lips curved into a mirthless smile. “I have become your
daughter’s spiritual counselor. She has decided that we shall
remain together.”
Kahent forced a laugh. “You want to remain with Sagira?
But she is a child while you are a mature woman. Surely
there are others who will value your unique gifts.”
A dark brow shot up, creating a startlingly oblique line
across the young woman’s face. “May I speak frankly?”
“Please do.”
The corner of the priestess’s mouth dipped slightly. “I am
old enough, lady, to know where favor and fortune lie. A
woman cannot find them within the temples of Egypt’s gods.”
She shrugged. “But I know Sagira’s future, and I know she
will need a friend. You asked me to pull her away from the
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43
slave girl, but your daughter is weak, she cannot stand alone.
She needs love and a companion. She has found both in me.”
“I am grateful, of course,” Kahent answered, her stomach
tightening at the thought of having the strange priestess in her
home for nine months of the year. “But you know Sagira will
be married soon.”
“I will go to the house of her husband,” Ramla answered,
tilting her head. “You should be grateful for my help, Lady
Kahent. Without my special gift, you would never have known
of the gods’ plan for Sagira’s future.” Her lips curved in a half
smile. “But you will not want Pharaoh to know of these things.”
“Of course not,” Kahent snapped. She could feel sweat
beading under her heavy wig. It was treason even to think of
taking the throne from the one who ruled as the incarnate god.
If Pharaoh heard that those in Donkor’s house were grooming
themselves to become the next rulers of Egypt—
“Do not fear, lady,” Ramla said, a sweet ripple in her voice.
“As long as I am your daughter’s spiritual counselor, I will
say nothing of her destiny. With the patience of the gods I will
wait for her sun to rise.”
Kahent recognized the implied threat in the words. “Then
I,” she answered, “will wait with you.”
She pressed her finger to her lips as the priestess rose and
left the room.
Taharka rolled a heavy barrel into his workroom, his short,
graying hair gleaming silver in the slanting rays of the open
window. He saw Tuya and frowned. “Why, my pretty one, are