Warlock: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)

by Wilbur Smith

  In his mind he ran lingeringly over their brief meeting this morning. It had been dark, not the faintest glow of dawn to dim the glory of the star panoply that hung over the world, each star so plump and bright that it seemed he could reach up and pluck them like ripe figs from the tree. Mintaka had come down the pathway from the temple, her way lit for her by torchbearers, and her maids following close behind her. She wore a woolen hood over her head to ward off the river chill, and no matter how hard he stared, her face remained in darkness.

  “May Pharaoh live a thousand years.”

  These were the first words he had ever heard her speak. Her voice was sweeter than the music of any lute. It was as though ghostly fingers were stroking the back of his neck. It took him some moments to find his own voice. “May Hathor love you through all eternity.” He had consulted Taita on the form of greeting he should employ, and he had rehearsed it until he had it off pat. He thought he saw the flash of her teeth as she smiled under the hood, and he was encouraged to add something else that Taita had not suggested. It came to him in a flash of inspiration. He pointed up at the starbright sky. “Look! There is your own star.” She raised her head to look up at the constellation of the Hunter. The starlight fell on her face, so that he saw it for the first time since she had come down the pathway. He caught his breath sharply. Her expression was solemn, but he thought that he had never seen anything more enchanting. “The gods placed it there especially for you.” The compliment tripped off his tongue.

  Immediately her face lit up, and she was even more beautiful. “Pharaoh is as gallant as he is gracious.” She made a small, slightly mocking obeisance. Then she stepped into the waiting skiff. She did not look back as the royal huntsmen rowed her out into the swamp.

  Now he repeated her words to himself as though they were a prayer: “Pharaoh is as gallant as he is gracious.”

  Out in the swamp a heron boomed. As though this was a signal, the air was filled suddenly with the sound of wings. Nefer had almost forgotten the reason they were out on the water, which was a measure of his distraction, for he loved the hunt with a singular passion. He tore his eyes off the dainty figure in the boat across the water, and reached for his throwing sticks.

  He had decided to use the sticks rather than the bow, because he was certain that she did not have the brawn or skill to handle the heavier weapons. This would give him a distinct advantage. When skilfully thrown, the spinning stick cut a wider swathe than the arrow. Its bludgeoning weight was more likely to knock down a bird than the blunt-tipped arrow, which might be deflected by the dense plumage of the waterfowl. Nefer was determined to impress Mintaka with his hunting skills.

  The first flight of ducks came sweeping in low out of the dawn. They were glossy black and white, and each had a distinctive knob on top of its beak. The lead bird shied away, leading the others out of range. At that moment the traitor ducks began to call seductively. They were captured and tamed birds that the huntsmen had placed out on the open waters of the lagoon, held there by a line around the leg that was anchored to a stone on the muddy bottom.

  The wild ducks turned back in a wide circle, then started to drop and line up to settle on the open water alongside the traitors. They set their wings and streamed in, losing height swiftly, passing directly over Nefer’s skiff. Pharaoh judged his moment neatly, and rose to his feet with the stick cocked and ready to throw. He waited for the lead bird to flare out and then let fly, sending the stick cartwheeling up. The duck saw the missile coming and dropped a wing to avoid it. For an instant it seemed it might have succeeded, but then there was a thud, a burst of feathers, and the duck dropped into an uncontrolled dive, trailing a broken wing. It hit the water with a heavy splash but almost instantly recovered and dived under the surface.

  “Quickly! Go after him!” Nefer shouted. Four naked slave boys were hanging in the water alongside, only their heads showing. They clutched at the side of the skiff with numb fingers. Already their teeth were chattering with cold.

  Two swam to retrieve the fallen bird, but Nefer knew that it would be in vain. With no injury other than a broken wing the duck could outdive and outswim the retrievers indefinitely.

  Lost bird, he thought bitterly, and before he could throw the second stick the flight of ducks had angled across the lagoon, directly toward Mintaka’s boat. They were still keeping low, unlike teal, who would have rocketed almost straight up. However, they were going very fast, their blade-shaped wings whistling through the air.

  Nefer had almost discounted the hunter in the other boat. At that height and speed the targets were too difficult for all but the most expert archer. In quick succession two arrows rose to meet the straggle of ducks. The sound of the double impact carried clearly across the lagoon. Then two birds were falling with that peculiar inert look, wings loose and head flopping, killed cleanly, stone dead in the air at the same time. They plopped onto the water and floated there, motionless. The swimmers picked them up easily and swam back to Mintaka’s skiff, carrying the carcasses gripped in their teeth.

  “Two lucky arrows,” Nefer voiced his opinion.

  In the bow of the skiff, Taita added, without a smile, “Two unlucky ducks.”

  Now the sky was filled with birds, which rose in dark clouds as the first rays of the sun struck the waters. So dense were the flocks that from a distance it looked as though the reed beds were smoldering and spewing up clouds of dark smoke.

  Nefer had ordered twenty light galleys and as many smaller boats to patrol all the open waters within three miles of the temple of Hathor, and to chase up any waterbirds that settled. The winged multitudes never thinned. Not only a dozen varieties of ducks and geese, but ibis and herons, egrets, spoonbills and openbills were in flight. At every level, from high overhead to low down over the waving tops of the papyrus, they wheeled in dark cohorts or raced low in V-formations with rapid wingbeats. They squawked and honked and quacked and bleated and wailed.

  At intervals through the avian cacophony sounded a peal of sweet laughter and squeals of girlish glee as Mintaka’s slave girls urged her to greater efforts.

  Her light bow was well suited to the task. It was quick to align and draw without taxing her strength unduly. She was not firing the traditional blunt-tipped arrows but using instead sharp metal heads that had been especially forged for her by Grippa, the famous armorer. The needle-points drove through the dense layer of plumage and went straight to the bone. She had realized, without a word being exchanged, that Nefer intended to make a contest of the hunt, and she was proving that her competitive instincts were every bit as fierce as his.

  Nefer had been badly rattled both by his first failure and by Mintaka’s unexpected skill with the bow. Instead of concentrating on his own task, he was distracted by what was happening in the other skiff. Every time he glanced in that direction it seemed to him that dead birds were falling from the sky. This flustered him further. His sense of judgment deserted him, and he began to hurl the sticks too soon or too late. To try to compensate he strained and started to jerk his arm into the stroke instead of using his whole body to launch the club. His right arm tired quickly, so instinctively he shortened the arc of his throwing arm and bent his elbow, almost spraining his wrist as a result.

  Usually he could count on hitting with six out of ten throws, now he was missing more than half. His frustration increased. Many of these birds he brought down were only stunned or crippled, and eluded his slave boys by diving under the surface and swimming into the thick papyrus beds, staying submerged beneath the mat of roots and stems. The number of dead birds piled on the floorboards of the skiff grew pitifully slowly. In contrast, the happy cries from the other skiff continued almost without a break.

  In desperation Nefer discarded his curved sticks and snatched up the heavy war bow, but it was too late. His right arm was almost exhausted by his efforts with the sticks. His draw was labored and he shot behind the faster birds and in front of the slower ones. Taita watched him flounder ever deepe
r into the trap he had set for himself. A little humiliation will do him no real harm, he told himself.

  With a few words of advice he could have corrected Nefer’s mistakes: almost fifty years ago Taita had written the standard texts, not only on chariot handling and tactics but also on archery. For once his sympathy was not wholeheartedly with the boy, and he smiled secretly as he watched Nefer miss again and Mintaka take down two birds from the same flight as they passed over her head.

  However, he felt pity for his king when one of Mintaka’s slaves swam across the lagoon, and hung onto the side of Nefer’s skiff. “Her Royal Highness Princess Mintaka hopes that mighty Pharaoh might enjoy jasmine-scented days and starry nights filled with the song of the nightingale. However, her boat begins to sink under the weight of her bag, and she is hungry for her breakfast, which she says was promised her these hours past.”

  An untimely sally! Taita thought, as Nefer scowled furiously at this impertinence.

  “You can give thanks to whatever god of apes and cur-dogs you worship, slave, that I am a man of compassion. Otherwise I would myself hack off your ugly head and send it back to your mistress to answer that jest.”

  It was time for Taita to intervene smoothly: “Pharaoh apologizes for his thoughtlessness, but he was enjoying the sport so much that he forgot the passage of time. Please tell your mistress that we shall all go in to breakfast immediately.”

  Nefer glowered at him but put up his bow and made no effort to revoke Taita’s decision. The two small boats paddled back toward the island in close formation, so that the piles of duck on the floorboards of each could be readily compared. Not a word was said by the crew of either skiff, but everyone was conscious of the results of the morning’s hunt.

  “Your Majesty,” Mintaka called across to Nefer, “I must thank you for a truly diverting morning. I cannot remember when last I enjoyed myself so much.” Her voice was lilting and her smile angelic.

  “You are too kind and forgiving.” Unsmilingly Nefer made a regal gesture of dismissal. “I thought it was rather poor sport.”

  He turned half away from her and stared broodingly out at the horizon of reeds and water. Mintaka showed not the least distress at the pointed snub, but turned to her slave girls. “Come, let us give Pharaoh a few verses of ‘The Monkey and the Donkey.’ ” One of her maids handed her the lute, and she strummed the opening bar, then launched into the first verse of the silly children’s song. The maids joined in with the chorus, which involved raucous animal imitations and uncontrolled hilarity.

  Nefer’s lips twitched with amusement, but he had taken up a position of frosty dignity from which he could not retreat. Taita could see that he longed to join in the fun, but once again he had trapped himself.

  First love is such unmitigated joy, Taita thought, with sympathetic irony, and to the delight of all the girls in the other boat he improvised a new version of what the monkey said to the donkey, which was much funnier than any that had preceded it. They squealed anew and clapped their hands with delight. Nefer felt himself further excluded and sulked ostentatiously.

  They came into the landing on the island still singing. The bank was cut away steeply, and the mud below it black and glutinous. The boatmen jumped over the side into the knee-deep ooze and held the first skiff steady while the slaves handed the Princess and her maids across the gap onto the firm dry ground at the top of the bank.

  As soon as they were safely ashore, the royal skiff came in and the slaves made ready to hand Nefer across to join Mintaka on the high bank. He waved them aside imperiously. He had suffered enough humiliation for one morning, and he was not about to lower his dignity further by clinging to a pair of half-naked wet slaves for support. He balanced easily on the transom and the entire company watched respectfully, for he was a splendid sight. Mintaka tried not to let her emotions show, but she thought he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen, slim and sleek with his boyish body just starting to take on the hard contours of manhood. Even his haughty, sullen expression enthralled her.

  He is of the stuff from which heroes and great pharaohs are moulded, she thought, in a surfeit of romantic ardour. I wish I had not angered him so. It was unkind, and before this day is ended I shall make him laugh again, as Hathor is my witness.

  Nefer launched himself across the gap between skiff and land like a young leopard springing from the branch of an acacia tree. He landed gracefully on the high bank almost within arm’s length of where she stood. He paused there conscious of every eye upon him.

  Then the bank collapsed beneath him. A chunk of the friable dry clay on which he was standing broke off under his feet. For an aching moment he windmilled his arms, trying to keep his balance, then he toppled backward into the swamp.

  Everyone stared down at him in horror, appalled by the spectacle of Royal Egypt sitting waist-deep in sticky black Nile mud with a startled expression on his face.

  For long moments nobody moved or spoke. Then Mintaka laughed. She had not meant to do so, but it was too much for her self-control and once it began she could not stop herself. It was a delightful, infectious laugh that none of her maids could resist. They burst into merry squeals and giggles that set the huntsmen and boatmen off. Even Taita joined in, cackling unrestrainedly.

  For a moment Nefer looked as though he might burst into tears, but then his anger, kept so long on a tight rein, exploded. He snatched up a handful of thick black mud and hurled it up at the laughing princess. His humiliation gave strength to his arm and improved his aim while Mintaka was so helpless with mirth that she could neither duck nor dodge and it hit her full in the face. Her laughter died and she stared at Nefer with huge eyes in a running black mask.

  It was Nefer’s turn to laugh. Still sitting in the swamp, he threw back his head and gave vent to all his frustration and humiliation with a howl of mocking laughter. When Pharaoh laughs all the world laughs with him. The slaves, boatmen and huntsmen redoubled their shouts of merriment.

  Mintaka recovered swiftly from her shock, and then, without any warning, launched herself over the bank into the attack. She dropped on top of Nefer with all her weight. He was taken so completely by surprise that he could not even draw a full breath before he was driven clean under with her sitting on his head.

  He floundered about beneath the surface, trying to get purchase on the muddy bottom, but her weight kept him pinned. She had both arms locked around his neck. He tried to throw her off, but she was nimble and slippery as an eel with the coating of mud. With a huge effort he lifted her just long enough to allow him to stick his head out and catch a quick breath, then she plunged him under again. He managed to get on top of her, but it took a mighty effort to hold her. She wriggled and kicked with surprising strength. Her tunic had rucked up round her waist and her legs were bare and smooth. She hooked her one leg through his and hung on. Now they were face to face, and he could feel her body warmth through the slippery mud.

  Their filthy faces were only inches apart, her hair was streaming down into her eyes, and he was startled to realize that she was grinning at him through the slimy coating. He grinned back, and then they were both laughing. But neither would concede defeat, and they kept up the struggle.

  His chest was bare, and her shift so wet and flimsy that it might not have existed. Her bare legs were still hooked around his. He reached down with one hand to prise himself free of their tenacious grip. Unintentionally his right hand came upon a hard round buttock that was wriggling around with great energy.

  Nefer became aware of a strange and pleasurable sensation that seemed to suffuse his entire body, and the urgency went out of his efforts to subdue her. He was content to hold her and let her struggle against him while he enjoyed this new and extraordinary feeling.

  Abruptly she stopped laughing as she in her turn made a momentous discovery. Between their lower bodies had grown up a protuberance that, only moments before, had not existed. It was so rubbery and large that she could not previously have overlooked
it. She pushed her hips out to test its nature, but every time she did that it grew harder and larger. This was something beyond her experience, and in a spirit of discovery she repeated the movement.

  She hardly noticed that he had stopped his violent efforts to dislodge her, and that his left arm was wrapped around her upper body. His right hand was cupped around her posterior and when next she pushed out her hips to examine the lump, he imitated her movement thrusting out to meet her and his cupped hand drew her closer still. The lump prodded against her as though it were some small animal with a life of its own.

  She had never anticipated the sensation that overcame her. Suddenly that mysterious creature took on an importance far beyond anything she had dreamed of up to that time. Her entire being was filled with a dreamy, pleasurable warmth. Without conscious intent she reached down with one hand to catch hold of it, to capture it as though it were a kitten or a puppy.

  Then, with a shock like a blow to her stomach, she remembered the wild tales her slave girls had told her about that thing, and what men did with it. On more than one occasion they had described it to her in startling detail. Up to that time she had discounted these descriptions as pure invention, for they bore no resemblance to the small dangling appendages that her younger brothers carried in that area of their anatomy.

  She particularly remembered what Saak, the Numidian slave girl, had told her: “You won’t waste any more prayers on Hathor once you have seen the one-eyed god when he is angry.”

  Mintaka threw herself backward out of Nefer’s embrace and sat in the mud staring at him in consternation. Nefer struggled into a sitting position and returned her stare with a bemused air. Both were panting as though they had run a grueling race.

  The guffaws and shrieks of laughter from the high bank slowly petered out as the spectators became aware that something untoward had taken place, and the silence became uncomfortable. Taita covered it up smoothly: “Your Majesty, if you extend your swim much longer you will offer a fine breakfast to any passing crocodile.”