Reflections in the Nile (12 page)

His voice rose with incredulity. “How can you not know if you have been with a man this season? If his seed is growing inside you? Was your visitor god or man?” She jerked away, shaking her head in denial, then stopped.

She didn't have access to any information that would confirm or deny his accusation. Chloe put her head in her hands. This was ridiculous! Her nausea and tiredness were because she wasn't the same person in the same body. They were side effects from her unbelievable trip through time. It was impossible for her—for Chloe—to be pregnant, but, she thought sinkingly, it was Very possible for RaEmhetepet. Her body sagged and she felt Cheftu's hand on her shoulder.

“If what is suspected is true, do not confirm it with anyone,” he said in an undertone. “These should help.” He pressed a small papyrus-wrapped package into her hand. “Do you know where Phaemon is?” He stared at her blank face for a moment, then rose and spoke normally. “We leave for Avaris and Prince Thutmosis’ palace in two days. We shall stay for the rest of the season.” He gave her another searching look, his golden eyes translucent in the light. “Life, health, and prosperity to you, priestess.”

He stepped through the curtain and was gone, leaving Chloe to contemplate the newest hairpin curve in her once well-ordered life.

T
HE NIGHT WAS DARK,
the House of the Dead unlocked because locks were unnecessary. No Egyptian would defile such a sacred place. The man stepped lightly from the shadows, motioning to the bearded servant who helped him. The room was long and narrow, with bodies laid in rows, each in a different stage of embalming, the stone beds set apart, allowing room for priests. They would move around the body, removing organs: first the brain, then make an incision in the abdomen and remove all the viscera except the
ab,
the heart.

The smell of incense and bitumen was hideous, and the man wondered if it would forever burn in his nostrils and chest. The bearded servant followed closely, his religion forbidding him to touch a dead body. They had no choices. A sudden deathbed promise had ensured that.

The body should not be in here; they walked on, passing into another room. The smell of natron hit them, and the man tasted his lunch from many hours ago. Deep boxes filled with the expensive dry salt stood close together, entirely covering the bodies in them, drying the flesh, toughening it.

He walked quickly to the wrapping room.

The body should be here, with all the organs intact yet having spent some time in the natron to stunt the natural rot of human flesh. He turned aside, lighting his torch, shining it on the hieratic designation for each inhabitant of this mummified world. He stopped. The body
was
here. Muttering prayers underneath his breath, he and the bearded servant lifted the corpse and carried it to the closest door, which opened onto an alleyway.

They hurried now to the front, to retrieve the remains of an unnamed peasant who would enjoy the hereafter as a wealthy tradesman. The man held up the torch—he had done a good job of wrapping the peasant's body, so no questions should be asked. Since the viscera hadn't been removed, the priests would expect its rotten odor.

He extinguished the light and they ran from the place of death, carrying the body up the wadi, past the City of the Dead, into the realm of Meret Seger: “she who loves silence,” the guardian of the Valley of the Kings.

After hours of hiking they entered a short cave, a hole in the ground. Swiftly they laid the body in the earth, covering it with dirt and ostraca. The bearded man watched as his companion made motions over the grave, speaking in a language so foreign that he had never heard it or its like. In his heart he prayed for the soul of his deceased master. When the man was through he motioned the slave to exit the tomb first. In the last reflection of the torch, the man pulled out an ankh, its upper loop broken, forming a cross, and nestled it among the ostraca.

“Memento, homo quia pulvis es, et in pulverem revertis. Allez avec Dieu, mon ami.
” He crossed himself and left the dark tomb, an Egyptian once more.

T
HE GIRL LEFT THE BED OF HER LOVER,
retreating from the gaze in which she'd seen such passion. The time had come for separation. The girl bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. Her earliest memories were of the two priestesses: one kind, one cruel. For all her life she had served the one in terror and followed the other in love. Her sister-of-the-heart had guided and instructed her. She had rescued her, and to her the girl owed her life.

So the minute sacrifice she was making was for the greatest glory to Egypt. Terrible catastrophes were foretold. Her heart-sister said only purifying the priesthood and the throne would avert them. The girl, born on a less sacred day, would actually be part of the cycle of prevention. For what greater blessing could she ask? She swallowed, furtively wiping beneath her eyes as she completed her ablutions.

“You understand, do you not?” her lover said as she watched the girl. “She is chosen by HatHor. But if she has forsaken her vows and carries the spawn of a demon, become Sekhmet! It must be destroyed, at any cost! We must save our people through her death! Else the price the goddess demands will be our lives!”

The girl finished tying the simple sash of her gown and stepped into her sandals. “She is so powerful, beloved,” she said, her voice trembling with fear of her task. “Will Amun-Ra be safe without her protection?”

The woman on the couch rose, anger flaring in her eyes, her perfect body naked in the filtered moonlight. Her voice was steady. “Is Amun-Ra aided when her prayers are profane? When the very limbs she uses in sacred dance are used with the unclean in mating?” She shrugged. “It is only for a little while. The Great House is seeing to the training of another.”

The girl cowered at the poison in her lover's voice. “I cannot hope to understand, but I shall do as I am bid, my lady. I seek only your continued pleasure and satisfaction with me.” She prostrated herself until she felt a gentle hand on her head, caressing her hair.

“Stand, my precious. Do not tremble. She no longer has power over you. Should she hurt you again, tell me and I will deal with her.” The girl nodded, shaking. “Now, Ra has not yet risen, we have many hours left to love.” Before the woman lowered her lips to the girl's she said, “We must protect the priestesshood at all costs, my sister. Nothing is too precious to sacrifice. Each sacrifice is an offering to HatHor. We must be Sekhmet, we must be Sekhmet!” The girl stifled a cry as the high priestess of the Sisterhood ravaged her mouth with sharp, angry kisses. Her sash was torn as she lifted a hand to her mouth.

Blood.

C
HEFTU PACED HIS PALACE APARTMENTS.
He had closed his house and embossed the wax on the doors with his family's seal. Ehuru had moved him, packed his belongings, prepared his dinner, and set out a fine wine, yet Cheftu could not settle. It was well into the descending decans, and still he felt tension in his neck and shoulders. He had secreted away Alemelek's scrolls. He had kept his promises, all of them. He was prepared to leave. Cheftu paused as he heard approaching footsteps along the corridor, then a muffled rap on the door.

Cheftu glanced into the next room. Ehuru snored peacefully in the darkness. After tightening his kilt sash, Cheftu opened the door. One of Hat's Kushite guards greeted him.

“The golden one requests you.” Cheftu motioned for the guard to wait while he dressed and shaved. “Do not bother with a toilette,” the guard said. “She will see you this moment.” Cursing Hat for her lack of courtesy, and trying to hide his shaking hands, Cheftu followed. Another guard marched behind him.

They wound through torchlit-painted hallways until they came to the one leading from the palace to Karnak. They entered the wide walkway, where the guards extinguished the existing torches and opened a panel in the inlaid floor.

Cheftu descended into utter darkness, his sandaled foot reaching tentatively for each step. The guards clanked on, seemingly unconcerned about the lack of light. Once they were on level ground again, he heard the trapdoor shut and the torches were relit. Where in the name of Osiris were they taking him? Had the scene with RaEm just been a ruse—would they now steal his secrets from beneath his very skin? Acid burned his throat and Cheftu admonished himself to calm down.

They were in a narrow passageway. Cheftu's stomach knotted—this was not a good omen. Silently they marched through the twisting and turning tunnels beneath the palace and temple complex, until Cheftu was all but lost. His muddled sense of direction suggested they were close to the Sacred Lake, but he was not certain.

The guard rapped on a plain wooden door and Cheftu heard Senmut's response. As the door opened he saw Pharaoh, Senmut, and Hapuseneb in the flickering light of the room.

“Greetings of the night,” Senmut said, as if it were not the fourth decan in the morning and as if meeting under the Great Temple were an everyday occurrence.

Cheftu bowed to Hat and took the proffered chair and glass of wine. “Life, health, and prosperity to you, Count Senmut; Your Eminence, Hapuseneb; Pharaoh, living forever!”

“There is more you must know before leaving with the Priestess RaEmhetepet for Avaris,” Hatshepsut said abruptly, pinning him with her black gaze. “You have been selected for a special medical assignment. It is of the utmost importance and secrecy to Egypt.”

Cheftu felt his guts twist. There could be only one such assignment.

Hat spoke. “When RaEm was found, she was covered in blood. Whose blood we do not know, for it was not hers and there was no evidence of anyone else in the chamber. That same night, Phaemon, guard of the Ten Thousand, disappeared. The priestess ReShera is only now coming out of mourning for her brother. Since there is no body, he cannot be mourned for the forty days his position demands.” A packet was placed in Cheftu's hands. Hatshepsut looked at him with wide black eyes, eyes that darted from side to side with barely restrained paranoia.

“Do what must be done, silent one.”

GOSHEN

T
HUT ENTERED THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER.
An awed silence fell— a silence he, as commander of the army and soon-to-be pharaoh, well deserved. He seated himself slowly on his stool and motioned to the chamberlain to admit the petitioners. He glanced toward the magi on his right. Some of Egypt's finest wonder workers were in his court. Yet he could not help but tighten his jaw in apprehension when the chamberlain announced the Israelite trouble-mongering brothers, Ramoses and Aharon.

There was something disturbingly familiar about Ramoses … the set of his shoulders or maybe his direct gaze, an unlikely bearing for a slave bred from countless generations of slaves. Of course, the Israelites were different: never intermarrying without the spouse converting; speaking their own language; and resistant to other gods and lifestyles. Thut dismissed his thoughts and halted the slaves’ progress toward the dais.

For moments Thut looked at them. Determined to rid himself of this nuisance so he could fish in the Nile's swelling waters and fantasize about Hatshepsut's downfall, he spoke directly to Ramoses.
“Haii!
You are back. I trust the brick quotas are being met even without your assistance.” Gazing at the older man, Thut called for a scribe to verify the figures. The Israelites were keeping up. “Have you come with another ultimatum from your desert-dwelling god, then?” To Thut's surprise, Aharon spoke. His voice carried easily throughout the chamber.

“We have come—”

Thut cut him off. “Perform a miraculous sign, if indeed you do come at the behest of a god.” Ramoses and Aharon exchanged a brief, matter-of-fact glance, then Ramoses stepped forward and threw down his shepherding staff.

Thut felt an icy hand grip his throat as the wooden staff slowly began to writhe. Its end raised up, and Thut stared into the dark, mesmerizing eyes of a hooded cobra. It was the most enormous serpent Thut had ever seen, standing at least three cubits high, swaying slightly, half its length coiled on the floor.

The others in the courtroom stepped back, their cries and yelps of fear swallowed as the snake perused the company with cold, predatory eyes.

The prince was transfixed, oblivious of the sounds of retreating nobles, of his guards drawing their swords. Ameni, head of Pharaoh's division in Avaris, stepped to his side. Thut tore his gaze away and motioned everyone back. Ramoses and Aharon stood calmly. Clearing his throat, Thut glanced away and spoke to his magi. “This simple trick can be repelled by your greater magic, my lords?”

Unhesitatingly Balhazzar, his Sumerian magus, stepped forward. “A child could do this magic, Your Majesty.” After saying magic words over his staff, he threw it down. It too began to writhe and turned into an asp, slithering across the floor. The cobra waited until it came within easy range; in a flash of scales and fangs … the asp was gone.

Thut glanced quickly at Balhazzar. His face had paled under his towering red turban. “More simple magic?” Thut hissed. Another magus, Kefti Shebenet, threw down his staff, and before it had even completely changed, the Israelite's snake ate it. Halfheartedly the other four magi threw down their rods and staffs. Each was eaten in turn.

Thut looked back at the Israelite's snake. Apparently the magic was no longer simple. The serpent was now enormous, as if it had gained length from each of the snakes it had consumed. It stretched across the width of the room. Thut was glad the courtiers had left. No need to see and repeat this incident in Waset! He inhaled sharply as he saw Ramoses lean toward the snake and grab it by its tail.

Then all Ramoses was holding was a sturdy staff. Thut felt perspiration coat his body. It had all been a horrible vision.

Except that Ramoses’ staff had previously been nothing more than a three-cubit-tall wooden stick, with knobs and small twists in it. Now it was straight and brightly colored, with a bronze tip that looked alarmingly like a hooded cobra, towering a cubit above Ramoses’ head.

Thut stood and left the chamber. The audience was over.