After giving instructions for the already immaculate temple to be cleaned again, she signaled Tawaret to accompany her to her chamber. The small house inside the walls had only two rooms—one for her to greet her guests, the other where she slept and bathed. A copper tub sat in her bedroom, already half-filled with clean water since she bathed four times daily to purify. This time, she quickly stripped and stepped into the water.
Tawaret’s eyes rounded. “Mistress, I will send to the kitchen for hot water to warm your bath.”
“There’s not time,” Khepri said, drawing a deep breath as she submerged her body in cool water. “My husband sent me warning. Guests approach. I must greet them in better than my oldest linen gown.”
Tawaret nodded. “Do you want the lavender kalasiris?”
“No, a sheath in its natural flax coloring will do. I don’t want anyone thinking me vain.”
One of her dark brows rose, a sparkle in her eyes. “But you are a God’s Wife. Shouldn’t you be dressed in leopard skin?”
Khepri didn’t scold the girl for her impertinence. The quality was one she adored. Only with loyal Tawaret could she abandon decorum and be herself. “I am a woman of humble birth, chosen for my purity of heart and body. While I will rim my eyes with kohl to ward away an evil eye, I will not dress myself in finery other than the best linen our farm produces.” Khepri wrinkled her nose. “Besides, animal skin is not permitted in the temple. You know that.”
Tawaret chose a plain kalasiris that boasted one shoulder strap and would fall to her ankles.
The linen was fine and thin, nearly transparent, but Khepri wouldn’t let herself think of that now. If the linen was the best her temple had to offer, she wouldn’t shame the workers for the sake of modesty.
“I could rouge the tips of your breasts,” Tawaret said, one corner of her mouth quirking. “They would show very nicely through the fabric.”
Khepri’s eyes widened. “Do women do that?”
“For such a wise woman, you aren’t very worldly.” Tawaret shook her head.
Tawaret was a temple worker and so not constrained to keep her body pure. Khepri was sure Amun had sent the imp as a test of her resolution. “I am a priestess, the antithesis to worldly. If I am beautiful, that blessing exists only because my beauty will please Amun.”
“Does that mean you want the rouge?” she asked slyly.
Khepri laughed. “I could have you whipped for impertinence.”
Although a smile curved her mouth, Tawaret instantly dropped her head to show obeisance. “I’ll bring oil to scent your skin, mistress.”
Khepri sighed, and then rose from the water and dried herself with a thick linen towel from the stack beside the copper tub. When she finished, she dropped it and stood still while Tawaret anointed every inch of her skin with fragrant oil. Khepri’s eyes glided closed as firm hands molded the muscles of her back and shoulders. A momentary pleasure she savored, because the massage was the only intimate touch she’d ever known.
“Your hair is getting long. I could shave your head …”
At the suggestion, Khepri sucked in a breath. She knew her hair wasn’t fashionable, and that she risked attracting nits, but she’d never shaved her head when she lived on the farm. She didn’t like the way a bald scalp felt. So long as she could hide her lapse beneath a wig, she would. Already, she submitted to a sharp bronze knife for removal of hair over the rest of her body. “There isn’t time,” she murmured.
From Tawaret, she accepted a mirror of polished bronze and a small reed brush. Khepri wet the brush with her tongue, pressed it against the cake of kohl powder her servant held, and painted black circles around her eyes. Then she strode to the wall and lifted her best gown from a peg. The linen was smooth and cool, breathed better than any of the other garments she owned. If she wet the fabric like the loose women in Thebes did, she’d never perspire.
Tawaret took the gown from her hands and bunched it carefully to hold out for Khepri to slide over her outstretched arms.
The dress settled around her body, falling straight from her shoulders, but hugging her lithe hips and swishing around her ankles.
“You are beautiful, Mistress,” Tawaret said, giving Khepri a proud smile.
Khepri glowed under her approval. Everything she was, everything she stood for, was a reflection of those around her. All took pride in her status and her beauty. When Amun was pleased, a good harvest and wealthy visitors followed.
Shouts sounded from outside the window.
Tawaret hurried over and lifted a woven papyrus mat covering the small window. “The boat is pulling up to the quay. Any last instructions?”
Khepri shook her head. “Just help me with my wig.”
The handmaiden scraped Khepri’s brown hair into a bundle and tied it, and then settled the raven black wig over her head. Although made of human hair rather than horse, the tightly woven wig was hot and made her scalp itch. Those inside the temple walls knew of her odd preference to wear her own hair, but after she’d been wed to Amun, they no longer teased her. While they gossiped freely inside the walls, they were careful to preserve secrets from spreading to the outside. Those who lived and worked inside the temple coveted their jobs and would do nothing to risk them.
Their loyalty was something Khepri never doubted—and one of the reasons she hated leaving her sanctuary. The servants protected each other as a family would. Today, they couldn’t protect her as she ventured to the river and greeted a royal visitor.
Her stomach tightened. She wasn’t ready, even though she’d prepared for this visit for years. She’d serve Pharaoh in the sanctuary, call upon the gods for their blessings, and hope the king wouldn’t request more. The thought this was the one living man who was entitled to command her body made her stomach revolt. Having a stranger touch her, even a living god, left her feeling breathless and little nauseated.
She’d been spared so many hardships since the previous God’s Wife, Nephthys, spotted her in the fields that she ought to feel ashamed of her unruly thoughts. And she truly was grateful for her education and for being spared a harsher sort of life.
But even though she’d been raised to submit to Amun’s will, she wasn’t a submissive person by nature. She was willful, stubborn, and always questioning, qualities Nephthys had ignored but which others had found appalling when she’d been named Nephthys’s successor. How she’d come to be here, a girl from such lowly beginnings, was just as unlikely.
While still a young girl, The God’s Wife had discovered her while she played with butterflies. The insects had swarmed, lighting on her hands and lips. No doubt they’d been lured by the honey she’d eaten and left smeared on herself. The beautiful lady carried on a litter on the road beside the fields viewed the butterflies as a sign and had purchased her from her beaming mother that very hour.
From that moment, Khepri’s life had changed forever. Why she thought of that now, she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t have time to wonder whether she was receiving some sort of premonition. Aware now of the many faces turned her way, Khepri strode with more confidence than she felt through the gates of the temple and down the stone-paved road to the quay beside the river.
The barge was exactly as she’d envisioned it—a red-painted hull with gold symbols surrounding the prow, calling to the gods of the river and the creatures who inhabited it. Ropes were flung over the side. Dockworkers scrambled to tie off the barge. The usual jovial shouts and coarse language were absent. All were on their best behavior, taking their cues from her quiet demeanor.
As the plank was raised and tipped over the side of the boat to land with a shudder against the wooden quay, Khepri schooled her features into a polite but remote mask and strode down the pier.
The vizier was the first off the boat, his long light-brown thighs lifting the hem of his knee-length shendyt as he moved with purpose toward her.
Her breath caught, and she halted before they would collide, dipping her head. “Welcome to Amun’s house,
” she blurted. “We are honored by our king’s visit.”
“Pharaoh is dead,” he said, his words blunt, his tone cold.
Her head lifted, shock loosening her jaw. For a moment, the sickening tightness in her gut eased. Pharaoh wouldn’t be seeking the pleasure of her body. “King Selk is dead?”
“His name will not be spoken.” The vizier gave a harsh shake of his head. “Not now, not ever again.”
She narrowed her eyes, knowing instantly something was very wrong. Speaking the names of the dead empowered their spirits, increasing their status in the afterlife. To never speak their names cursed them. “I don’t understand.”
“Now isn’t the time for explanations.”
His glance swept her and then returned to her face, which she knew had grown pale.
Perhaps he read something in her eyes, because as he stared, his gaze probed hers. Gradually, his tight features softened. His head tilted to the side. “Khepri, Amun’s wife, we have come for you.”
The words flowed like honey, like a lover’s caress, or so she imagined. She couldn’t help the blush heating her cheeks. The vizier was a charismatic man. He’d visited twice. Once when Nephthys had named her successor, and the next time to celebrate her union with Amun. After both visits, she’d spent days in prayer to erase the temptation his handsome features and strong body posed. Then she realized what he’d said. With a gasp, she drew back. “You’ve come for me? But I never leave the temple.”
“You are The God’s Wife. You are needed for the procession. We take the nameless one to bury him. As one close to the gods, your presence is required for our appeal to the gods.”
Something in his voice raised the hairs that shouldn’t be on the back of her neck. Not that his words or tone were ominous, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he withheld something. “He had his own priest at court and you are a former High Priest of Set. What do you need with me? You can say the prayers to send him on his journey.”
“We need someone pure of heart and body to fight an evil.”
She shook her head. In her role, she could only offer prayer. No more or less than he could do. Unless he knew... “I am no warrior.”
“And yet, you have trained …” he said, his gaze narrowing.
She blinked, wondering how he might have heard, but deciding on the spot not to deny her skills. “Nephthys foresaw I would lead a great battle. She interpreted the battle would likely take place in defense of the temple.” At his continued stare, she lifted her chin higher. “She insisted that everyone inside the walls learn to use a lance and a bow and to use our hands and feet to protect our temple against a threat—against invaders, not some mystical battle against evil.”
Breathless now she’d vented her unease, she waited for a response.
The vizier’s expression remained unchanged, but he fisted his hands on his hips. “Pharaoh is dead. Do you know what that makes me?”
She shook her head slowly, resenting the satisfaction curling up one side of his firm mouth.
“His death makes me Pharaoh in his stead—until his successor is installed.” He leaned toward her, his features once again taut. “Board my barge.”
Chapter Three
Board my barge.
At his words, softly but emphatically spoken, her breath caught and held. This close, she felt his breath on her face, smelled his male musk. The naked expanse of his broad chest, leaning so closely they would have touched if she hadn’t drawn away, was mesmerizing. The tension in his face was … thrilling. Things she should not have noted. But she was human, and he was standing so near she could feel the heat rolling off his gleaming chest. In that frozen moment, he represented the living god. She could not refuse.
Nor did she want to. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she met Tawaret’s fascinated gaze. “Tell Akil when he arrives.”
Tawaret nodded, and then gave her a surreptitious wink.
No doubt she thought Khepri would at last surrender her purity. Khepri suspected intercourse was the last thing on the handsome vizier’s mind, but her fantasies had been stirred to life. She was about to begin an adventure. Had her husband read her troubled thoughts after all?
The vizier crooked his arm, offering her an honor, perhaps to soften the harshness of his command.
She raised her hand and set it atop his, liking the warmth of his skin against hers, and not feeling the least bit resentful he’d used his higher rank to ensure her cooperation.
With sedate steps, he led her up the ramp and aboard the large barge. They passed boatsmen, but she didn’t look their way, nor they at her. Her gaze was on the man who’d commanded her presence as he pushed aside the papyrus panels enclosing a good portion of the deck. Beyond the rough curtain was a sitting area with bolster cushions on the deck. “Servants will wet the rushes,” he said, inclining his head. “You’ll be cooler in the shade.”
He intended for her to relax … with him? Her mind whirled. Pharaoh was dead. His vizier, a noble of great power, sought her company. She boarded a barge for a journey northward. To the tombs at Giza or Saqqara? The destination didn’t much matter. Excitement skittered over her skin, warming her, making her nearly giddy.
She ducked beneath the panels, which were already saturated. Cool moist air awaited in the shaded alcove. The starch in her kalasiris quickly lost its stiffness. The linen clung to her breasts and hips, outlining her body. Would he notice? Still, she was too excited to make use of the cushions. Too excited to sit.
The deck beneath her feet shifted, one side dipping then rising. The boat was pulling away from shore. Bending forward, she pushed under the panels and strode for the bow. The boatsmen swung the large craft in a slow circle, long poles digging into the silty river bottom as the boat turned midriver, and then oars slapped the water, catching the current, to carry them downstream.
As she watched the temple on the hilltop getting smaller, then disappearing altogether from sight as they turned the bend, she worried. Who would see to the everyday rituals? Who would make the offerings? Would Amun bestow his favor on another? Her visions occurred inside the sanctuary. Outside the temple’s walls, she was only ordinary, hardly gifted at all.
And yet, a premonition made the skin on her arms prickle. Or was the reaction just her unease at leaving when she hadn’t set foot off of temple lands in over ten years? For just a moment, she felt a chill spill down her spine, and the thought flitted through her mind this might be the last time she would see her home.
The vizier stepped beside her and his head bent. His dark gaze skimmed over her again.
Khepri felt heat rise in her cheeks and glanced over the water to the far bank where crocodiles basked in the bright afternoon sun.
A finger trailed along her cheek. “Join me. There’s wine and bread. We can pass the time.” His hand slipped over hers as it lay atop the wooden rail.
The action confused her for the way her thoughts flew and her cheeks blushed hotter. Where she remained poised while sorting heated disputes among workers and suppliers, now her mouth dried and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth at one intimate touch.
His hand squeezed hers then lifted it. He tugged her arm to force her gently to follow him back beneath the papyrus mats.
A soft, red carpet cloaked the planks. Thick bolster cushions were arranged perpendicular to each other, a cozy corner. A large tray with rounds of flat bread and cut melon and grapes now rested on the rug in front of the cushions.
The vizier held her hand while she knelt on a cushion. She let her legs slip to the side, trying her best not to strain the delicate fabric of her gown. The garment was her only gown, she reminded herself, since she’d not been allowed time to pack any clothing—or to consider what this journey really meant. A problem which had her brows drawing together. She hadn’t thought this through.
A fingertip touched the furrow she’d made. “Do not think. This journey will be short, your every need fulfilled.”
She liked the deep rumble of
his voice, but pride had her lifting her chin. “I’ve no clothing other than what I wear.”
His gaze dipped to her breasts, no doubt outlined by the dampened fabric. “I have Pharaoh’s wealth at my disposal. His heir has given me his blessing. Whatever I need, I shall have.”
His tone and dark penetrating gaze intimated that he needed her. Her breaths deepened. “Tell me, Pharaoh’s tombs aren’t yet complete. Where will he rest?”
His lips thinned. “Again, no worries. Would you rather speak of the dead, or discover your role in this adventure?”
His deep voice held a note of amusement, and the corners of his eyes wrinkled, hints of a smile that didn’t touch his generous mouth.
Wishing she could rein in her wayward thoughts, she drew a deep breath. Her attraction was unseemly. Not unexpected, however, because he was a handsome man, and powerful in build as well as influence—someone whose benevolence could prove helpful if she wanted to improve the temple’s grounds.
Only the last thing she wanted to contemplate was a desire to expand the temple or build another shrine. As he took his seat beside her and signaled for beakers of wine, she only wanted to contemplate the breadth of his light-brown shoulders, the strong curve of his hawkish nose, and the brilliance of his golden brown eyes.
Although likely close to the same age as she was, his worldliness gave him confidence beyond his years, an air of sophistication she could only admire but never assume for herself.
When a beaker touched the back of her hand, she blinked and gave a quick smile to the servant.
The vizier’s mouth twitched. “How long has it been, three years, since you assumed your duties?”
“Three years since Nephthys’s passing.” She nodded. “No one was more surprised than I when I was named priestess.”
His brows rose. “Why were you surprised?”
“Because I’m not of noble birth. The appointment was unusual.”
“But not without precedent. When someone shows unusual intelligence or powers, they are seen as a gift coming straight from the gods.”
Crescent Moon Page 2
