Counted With the Stars

by Connilyn Cossette

  “The new wig.” Tekurah snapped her fingers at me. “Now.”

  The large closet overflowed with chests, baskets of gowns, countless pairs of sandals, and wooden stands laden with all styles and varieties of wigs. For all the seeming lack of affection between Tekurah and Shefu, he certainly allotted her a generous share of clothing, jewels, and accessories. The Queen herself might covet such a vast assortment.

  A new rosewood wig chest was tucked behind a basket. I carried it to the vanity and opened the lid, choking back a sneeze. Spiced to mask the odor of wool and human hair, the box reeked of cinnamon with such potency my eyes watered.

  An exquisite hairpiece lay inside, interlaced with gold and red faience beads and braided with the elaborate plaits made popular by the First Wife of Pharaoh. I centered the wig on Tekurah’s bald head. Bodies, candles, and lamps would elevate the temperature of the hall during the banquet, and the weight and heat of such an intricate headdress was staggering. Tekurah would thank the gods for her shaved head tonight.

  The one mercy in my downfall was release from wearing wigs. Allowing my hair to grow freely, I escaped the burden and irritation caused by the uncomfortable fashion. I had always abhorred shaving my head, but Salima usually convinced me to at least trim it short during the blaze of the hottest months. My straight black hair brushed past my shoulders now, and I rejoiced to simply pull it back with a leather tie each morning.

  By the time I adjusted the wig to Tekurah’s satisfaction, Shira had returned with the jewels. Fashioned from beads of pure gold, multicolored glass, and brilliant blue lapis lazuli, the usekh collar was indeed extraordinary. A large gold amulet embossed with etchings of ibises in full flight sat suspended in the center. The neckpiece extended just past the edges of her wide shoulders. Enhanced by Tekurah’s height and long neck, the collar did not overpower her as it would most other women. It galled me to admit such a thing, but Pharaoh himself would take pride in the impressive display of his gift.

  Shira applied kohl to our mistress’s eyes—the art still eluded me. After a few failed attempts and dangerous near misses, Tekurah forbade me to even approach her cosmetics chest. The newest trend—green malachite on the upper lids and gray galena below—accented and widened her black eyes. I loathed the almond-ash-and-water concoction I was allotted to beautify and protect my own eyes. However, after a year, I could finally apply it without stabbing myself in the eye each morning.

  Tekurah did not turn, but her gaze pierced me from the distorted reflection of the silver mirror. “You will not embarrass me tonight. Clumsiness will not be tolerated.”

  My skin flashed cold.

  The Festival of the New Year, birth day of Ra, would be the first celebration I attended as a servant, instead of one being served. Standing behind Tekurah’s chair and at her mercy, my humiliation would be on full display for all the guests—many of whom I was well acquainted with.

  Tekurah’s cruel mouth curved into a smile.

  2

  Every surface in the main hall bloomed with vibrant blossoms in anticipation of the lavish banquet tonight. I wilted at the reminder that a year ago I had attended this annual celebration as a guest, enjoying the splendor of Shefu’s hospitality. Now the pungent jumble of fragrances overpowered my senses, evoking queasiness instead of awe.

  Tekurah had commanded that we help prepare, so Shira approached another slave to ask for direction. The tall Egyptian girl was dressed like me in a roughly woven garment, but instead of bare feet, she wore sandals with fine leather bindings. She threw a dark glance at me and then jerked her chin toward the baskets in the corner.

  “Decorate tables.” She dismissed us with a turn of her back and continued wrapping a garland of roses and jasmine around one of the painted cedar columns.

  Shira rummaged through the baskets overflowing with lilies, henna blooms, and other exotic flowers. She selected a few blue lotus blossoms and arranged them in the center of a table with smaller flowers encircling them. She then tucked two alabaster oil lamps into the centerpiece, where they would flicker and sparkle amongst the vibrant color of the flowers. I marveled at her ability to choose flowers with complementing scents. Their careful placement would cast lovely shadows on the faces of the ladies seated around the tables.

  I handed her another lotus. “Why are you a handmaid?”

  “Excuse me?” Surprise flashed across her face. I rarely spoke to her.

  “You should manage an entire household. Where did you learn these skills?”

  Her curious expression transformed into shock as she looked over my shoulder. She dropped her eyes and bowed low. “Master.”

  I spun, scattering my armful of flowers across the floor as I collided with Master Shefu. My cheeks flamed.

  “A word please, Kiya.” He eyed the mess on the floor. “Shira will tend the flowers.”

  “Yes, master.” I bowed and followed him into the empty corridor. Already dressed for the banquet, he wore a pleated white kilt and belted tunic, paired with simple gold cuffs and a short, tightly braided but unadorned wig. Shefu lavished his wife with finery but wore little jewelry himself.

  “Tekurah and I will not attend the processional today. We must prepare for this evening. The twins are pouting.” A tinge of a smile colored his voice. “I would like you to take them down to the parade route so they can have a little bit of excitement. Will you do that for me?”

  “Of course, master.” I dipped my head, not daring to look into his face.

  For a long moment he stood silent. Then he put his hand under my chin, lifting my face to meet his eyes. “I wish things were different, Kiya. You know that. Don’t you?”

  My heart pounded a confused rhythm. Shefu’s gentle question and familiar manner baffled me, but his deep brown eyes held nothing but kindness. I tried to conjure an answer, but no words formed. He sighed and released my chin, his shoulders seeming to droop. “Sefora and Liat are waiting for you in their quarters.”

  I backed away to collect the children, my mind hazy and flooded with questions.

  Sefora and Liat were full of nine-year-old boundless energy. Thankfully, they did not echo their mother’s disdain for me. Cheering and clapping greeted me when I entered the room.

  “Kiya, can we go now? Please?” Sefora pulled on my hand, her kohl-rimmed eyes gleaming with excitement. “I don’t want to miss the dancers and acrobats.”

  “Or the sweeties.” Liat grinned and licked his lips.

  Against my better judgment, anticipation swelled in my chest as we left the house and walked through the villa gate—a faint echo of my own eagerness as a child on festival days. Glad for the preoccupation, I pressed away the dread of tonight.

  The city of Iunu bustled with activity. Servants scurried here and there, baskets on heads, bundles in hand. A baker with crates stacked three high on his head wound his way through the city, drawing a procession of children tantalized by the aroma of fresh bread.

  I grasped Sefora and Liat’s hands. “Stay close. I do not want to get separated in all the confusion.”

  Liat eyed the baker’s parade with longing but trudged along next to me.

  Shefu’s magnificent home stood at the heart of the city, nearly adjacent to the Temple of the Sun. The Temple gleamed like a polished white diamond in the late-morning glow. Banners of red and purple draped from every freshly painted column and marked the processional route. Priests in brilliant white tunics, leopard-skin robes, and flashing gold jewelry streamed through the pylons and up and down the entry ramp. Merchants snaked through the mob with baskets of flower garlands, bouquets, sweet breads, and fruits. Their rhythmic invitations to buy goods harmonized with the laughter and chatter of the crowd.

  My mother plied wares here, among the other merchants and tradesmen. Jumo’s exquisite artwork drew attention to her stall and piqued interest in the rest of the goods. I’d searched for her earlier this morning as I returned from the canal with Tekurah’s bathwater, but my quest was fruitless. Too much confus
ion and chaos reigned in the city on festival days. My delay yielded only the tongue-lashing from Tekurah.

  The Festival of the New Year drew unparalleled crowds. As soon as Sopdet, the brightest star in the heavens, rose from her grave below the horizon, we knew Inundation would soon be upon us. People from all over the region streamed into Iunu, anxious for the celebration.

  All classes of people mixed together in the melee. Powerful priests with flowing robes, wealthy merchants, pampered wives, and even common household slaves pressed in on one another—intoxicated by the arousing sights, sounds, and smells of this festival day. The children and I made our way through the crowd to catch a glimpse of the procession.

  Sefora hopped around on tiptoe. “I can’t see!”

  Relieved Sefora had asked first, I lifted her onto my hip to watch the dancers, just as my nursemaid had done for me as a child. Although tall for her age, her willowy body was as light as a reed. Liat’s love for sweets made lifting him a bit more complicated. For now, he directed his attention to the treats being passed into the crowd by the priests’ attendants.

  The dancers, clad in little more than beaded linen girdles tied about their hips, preceded the barge. Most were Syrians or Kushites, enslaved by conquests of the great Pharaoh. Their dark bodies gyrated to the wild pulse of the timbrels and sistrums played by temple musicians.

  Ra’s golden barge sparkled with jewels: brilliant blue lapis lazuli, scarlet carnelian, dark green malachite, and deepest obsidian. At the center stood the god himself. Once again the wonder of beholding the beautiful statue struck me. Seated on a golden throne, his human-shaped body and falcon head had been polished to gleaming, and his onyx eyes glittered like black fire.

  Fifty priests bore the barge through the flower-strewn streets, their heads, brows, and faces shaved clean in the ancient tradition and pristine linen kilts shining in the sun. A troupe of acrobats followed, flipping, flying, and performing mystifying feats of contortion.

  Cloying incense tainted the air. The pungent odor wafted from the robes of the priests and the rich fabric adorning the barge. Spying a lotus blossom on the ground, I put Sefora down and snatched up the flower, desperate to camouflage the smell. I buried my nose in its petals, but even so, a headache throbbed in my temples. I always did my best to steer clear of the Sun Temple during times of sacrifice. The sickly sweet odor poured out of the entrance during the daily offerings, and the stench permeated the courtyard day and night. Sometimes, when the breeze carried the stink through the windows of the villa, my head would pound and my eyes would swim for hours.

  When the priests and their burden had passed, Sefora tugged at my hand. “Can we go down to the canal? I want to see the decorated boats.”

  “All right.” I would take full advantage of my semi-freedom today. “But stay back from the water. There are too many people down there. Let’s go, Liat.”

  I looked around when the boy did not answer. “Sefora, where is your brother?”

  She shrugged and pushed out her bottom lip.

  My heart galloped like a team of Pharaoh’s stallions. I had lost Tekurah’s son! Until now I had escaped being beaten by her, but this very well could be the day I experienced a cane against my back.

  I grabbed Sefora’s hand, dragging her with me against the crush of the crowd. I would not lose a second child today.

  Every noisy beat of my heart drummed new fears into my mind. Why had I let go of Liat’s hand? Why did I pick up that flower? How long had he been missing? Would he go back to the villa? Did Tekurah already know?

  I pushed harder against the mob and received many angry glances and a few curses in response. The baker. Might Liat have gone to find him?

  Nearly empty of customers, the market lay ahead, a sea of colorful linen-covered stalls. Most of the revelers had followed the procession down to the canal to watch the launch of Ra’s boat into the Nile. Perhaps Liat had followed the priests passing out treats to the crowd.

  I stopped, torn. Should I go back the other way?

  “There he is!” Sefora pointed across the market.

  Relief coursed through me. Liat was perched on a stool in the shade of a merchant’s stall.

  Still not releasing Sefora’s hand, I hurried across the market. Before I even reached the boy, I yelled, “Where have you been?”

  Liat offered only a lopsided grin and a shrug.

  A dark-haired man behind the booth turned on his stool. He wore a simple sleeveless brown tunic, not a kilt like most other male slaves. He must be foreign. No Egyptian would let his beard grow in such a barbarous way.

  His eyes narrowed as I approached. “Is this your child?”

  Musical instruments littered the table in front of him. He held a large, hollowed-out cut of wood between his knees: the beginnings of a drum, perhaps. Tiny flecks of wood from the project he was sanding dusted his disheveled hair.

  Something about the way he spoke—accusing and with a heavy accent—aggravated me. My response was equally terse as I gripped the boy to my side, my heart contracting with gratitude that he was safe. “No. But he is with me.”

  Liat held up a lyre. “Look, Kiya! Eben let me play this. Even taught me some notes. Want to see?”

  “No, we must go.” I took the lyre from him, ready to place it back on the table, when a memory washed over me from the last morning before my father sold me. This instrument, carved with intricate markings, was similar to the one I had nearly purchased before Yuny found me and summoned me back to the villa.

  Although that lyre had been carved with roses, this one was decorated with swallows, their wings lifted in swift flight against the backdrop of the sun, as if they were declaring its arrival. My finger traced their progress up the smooth rosewood.

  “Do you play?” The instrument maker, Eben, had stopped working to look at me.

  I blinked, startled by the mixture of curiosity and disdain in the man’s question, as well as the intensity of the green-gray eyes that scrutinized me.

  “No.” I slid my thumb across the tight gut strings, but not hard enough to elicit music from their tension. I had always wanted to learn to play the lyre. Its haunting, sweet tone reminded me of lullabies sung by my mother long ago. Now I would never have the chance to do so; every minute of my life was dictated by Tekurah.

  Unlike the swallows, whose quick split-tailed flight scorned captivity, my cage was securely latched. Perhaps, like my ancestors, my soul might one day ascend on unfettered wings, becoming one with the imperishable stars, as the legends promised.

  Battling the desire to strum the lyre and enjoy a moment of pleasure from its melodic vibration, I moved to place the instrument back on the table while avoiding the weight of Eben’s gaze.

  A large Egyptian, wiping his beefy hands on a soiled cloth, emerged from the shop behind the stall. I recognized him as the vendor I had spoken with last year regarding the rose lyre.

  “Ah. I see you have chosen a beautiful instrument. There is no craftsman more skilled.” He clapped Eben on the shoulder. “I would not trade Eben for all the artisans in Pharaoh’s workshop.”

  Eben shifted in his seat and returned to sanding the drum with long, swift strokes. Had he also created the rose lyre that had caught my eye last year? I did not remember seeing him at that time, but then again, I had barely regarded Salima with more than a passing glance when I was her mistress.

  A rush of longing for her quiet presence by my side seized me. Salima had been the only steadfast companion in my life not driven by greed. The look in her dark eyes as she bade me farewell that day had told me she’d considered me more than a mistress. She had loved me, in spite of my selfishness.

  “Will you be purchasing today?” The shop owner’s thick brows shot skyward in anticipation of a sale. “Perhaps for the young master?”

  Liat’s round eyes pleaded with me. If only I could purchase such a treasure—for him, or for myself.

  “Thank you, no. We must return to the villa.” I placed the instrume
nt back on the table, and my hands immediately missed its weight.

  The shop owner shrugged and turned away, all friendliness erased in the absence of a profitable transaction.

  At my urging, Liat hopped off his stool and waved. “That was fun, Eben.”

  The man winked at Liat, and a corner of his full mouth turned up the tiniest bit. I nodded at him in thanks, but he diverted his green-gray eyes back to his task and ignored my gesture with an air of dismissal.

  Hopefully Tekurah would never have need of a musical instrument. I’d be glad to not have to deal with such a rude man again—no matter that the lyre he’d crafted was one of the most beautiful things I had ever held in my hands. Yet somehow, with or without the uncivilized beard, there was something about his face and his stormy eyes that intrigued me.

  Wrapping both children’s hands in my iron grip, I quickly walked toward the villa.

  Liat tugged the other way, begging, “Can’t we go down to the canal first? Please?”

  “And lose you again? No. There are thousands of people down there.”

  Sefora added to the pleading. “We promise to stay right next to you. I swear by the sun and moon and all the stars.”

  I looked back and forth between the two of them, hesitating. Letting out a noisy breath, I dropped my shoulders. “Oh, all right. Only—” I cut off their loud rejoicing. “Only if you both keep what happened today quiet. Your mother will not be pleased with me. We must keep it secret. Understand?”

  They nodded with wide eyes, and I prayed to the gods that the children would hold to their promise. Tekurah needed little provocation to berate me.

  I jogged the trade road with the children, hoping that the pleasures of the day would overtake their memory of the few breathless minutes Liat had been lost.

  Hundreds of papyrus boats glutted the wide canal. We stood at the back of the crowd but found a high spot where we could see Ra being loaded onto a huge cedar boat. The vessel sparkled with gold and shining white electrum. A hundred soldiers in full regalia stood at attention upon each shore of the canal, ready to heave the enormous boat and its precious cargo down to the Nile by rope. Children splashed in the water, laughing and wrestling, wading through the masses of floating lotuses and lilies thrown by revelers.