Sunrise on the Mediterranean

by Suzanne Frank

  “The people are starving. The temples are ruins. We’ve lost sons and brothers and fathers to endless skirmishes that aren’t even acknowledged as battles!” He turned to her. “I come to you, to plead for the land Pharaoh is sworn to consider above all other concerns. And you mock me!” He was crying again, tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks. “It would mean my life were I found here, speaking with you. I am the only pebble holding back the river, woman. Build me a corvée, or we will all drown.”

  RaEm got off the throne. Her kilt, carefully shaped to fit becomingly on the chair, fell into a mass of wrinkles with her movement. She stepped down one step, a jeweled foot resting by her footstool.

  Carefully she laid her more delicate versions of the crook and flail on the throne, then looked down into his eyes. “I will get you gold. I do not know where, but I have heard rumors.” She ground her teeth. “More than you, if one word of this conversation were repeated, then I would die. Drawn and quartered after spending a week in an ant pit, I assure you.” She stepped down again, still taller than he. “Keep the river from overflowing for a few more months, I beg you. I will provide the gold.”

  He looked at her; RaEm thought of the mess that tears could make of kohl and feared she looked more of a specter than a co-regent of the living god. “Tuti’s marriage to Akhenespa’aten can be announced by time of flooding,” RaEm offered.

  “It will not put off the need for gold,” he warned.

  They stared at each other. He was a young man, though the lines of worry had creased his cheeks, drawn grooves along his forehead. His brows were dark, as were his eyelashes. Again RaEm felt no personal interest emanating from this man. His gaze was limpid and pure, that of a child’s.

  “You are worthy of the double crown,” he whispered. “For you love Egypt more than your own heart.”

  RaEm wanted to laugh, then weep. Aii, Hatshepsut, my friend, the illness of character I teased you about now apparently infects me! RaEm was exhausted, trying to guess what would be said or done about their meeting. “I must have you flogged,” she said softly.

  His eyes widened for a moment, then he nodded. “Since the last priest was stripped naked and made to swim back to Waset, I guess I should consider whipping a … lesser sentence.”

  She stood in silence. If he were not beaten, then questions would abound. If this priest left without a mark, it would be too obvious that they were in collusion. Already Akhenaten would be asking for details that she had yet to invent. “Have you felt the bite of leather before?”

  He smiled wryly. “Only by my old schoolmaster, who claimed the ear of a boy was located on his back. The more often he disciplined us, the better we would hear.”

  A common Egyptian belief, RaEm remembered. “When you feel it, breathe out, from your belly. Listen to the way that I breathe and join it.”

  “Will you be the one wielding the whip?”

  She bit her lip, turning from him. It seemed so long ago, those many men and women. Lords and ladies who would eat of the poppy or the lotus, drink too much, and then beg for her whippings. How it used to excite her, thrill her. Even the sailor on the ship, whose body she had striped with blood before using him, excited her. Pain, blood, they had seemed such rare, precious samples of the edge of life. “Do you want me to be?” she asked.

  “I trust you,” he said. “You will do what is necessary for Egypt.”

  “Slaves!” she screamed, spinning. As the doors flew open, Horet was seized by both arms. His expression of bafflement was quickly hidden. “He is to be flogged!” she yelled, pointing at him. “He dared to bring his talk of Amun” —she spat—“Ra, that outdated, puny god of Waset, into the chambers sacred to the mighty Aten!” One of the overseers quickly pulled out his whip, testing it on the floor as RaEm paced, ranting.

  “You fool!” she shouted, snatching it from the man’s hands. “Why test a whip against the tiles when you can test it on his back? Turn him!” she shouted.

  The priest was spun around as though he were on a spit. The leopardskin was torn off his shoulder, his kilt untied, revealing his pale, trembling backside. RaEm lifted the lash and brought it cracking down on him, careful to exhale as the reverberations traveled up her arm. He’d gasped, increasing his torment.

  She struck him again, then walked over and pulled his face back by the skin on his neck, like a cat. “Polytheistic cur!” she said, spitting on his cheek. Beneath her breath she admonished him to breathe with her. Tossing him away, RaEm returned to her scourging position and, alternating arms, beat him soundly. Welts of red were interwoven like a basket pattern on his back.

  But he’d breathed with her. Though he was in great pain, he had decreased it considerably.

  “Give him his kilt and throw him back to Waset,” RaEm said, perching herself on the throne. Her clothing was damp with sweat, the crown sliding on her forehead. “Nay! Wait, bring him to me!”

  What do they see? RaEm wondered. They watched Smenkhare with wide eyes as the priest was thrown before her, his hands shackled behind him so he fell on his face. She picked him up enough to see into his eyes. Did they see his skin go white when she whispered to him? Pressing her foot against Horetaten’s forehead, she kicked him off her dais, then called for wine.

  The high priest was dragged from the room, then she dismissed the many slaves, soldiers, and scribes.

  Where was gold?

  She’d sent informants to every sector of Egypt, hoping that some untapped vein of gold would be found. A hundred men combed the Sinai alone. She drank another cup of wine to ease her fears. Would she be found out about today?

  Would Egypt be given the chance to live?

  Help me find gold, she prayed to the Aten. If you are real, give me the gold. Show me where it is. Save Egypt.

  JEBUS

  ONCE I’D DEPOSITED the water with my employer, thus earned my wages—some bread, some salt, some wine—I hoisted my jar to set about exploring the town. Ostensibly I was drumming up more water-drawing business. In reality I was both doing recon and trying to find alternative routes in … and out. On that hill, right outside the gate, I knew that some soldiers awaited me.

  However, Jebus had lots of gates, though you were admitted in only through one. I could sneak out though, then head …Where, Chloe? I forced myself to focus on the reconnaissance. Don’t give up yet, there may be another way.

  The thought of facing half the territory of Israel alone with no money, as a fair-skinned woman, on foot, was terrifying.

  Recon was many things, or so I’d been taught. Learning how many men are quartered, what their weapons capacity is, their level of readiness and awareness, seeking out those who are disgruntled, all these things are part of it. A huge amount could be learned through observation.

  Not that I’d done this before—just taken a class or two, with a required text. I’d also listened to Mimi’s passed-down tales of the War Between the States.

  The biggest difference I noticed between Jebus and Mamre, aside from the weird lack of kids, was the presence of blood and idols. In Mamre, for all its mud, life was pretty hygienic. Here, blood ran in the streets. The butchers worked in the open, even letting flies sit on the meat. The men paid no attention to the coagulating blood they stood in or left the meat in. Granted, I’d grown up in countries where buying meat meant standing in an open-air market and pointing to a swinging carcass, but the way these vendors handled the meat made even my skin crawl.

  More than that, the scent of blood tinged everything. It coated the inside of my throat and nose, and it seemed to almost tint the air.

  The next thing I noticed was the teraphim. I’d seen them in Ashqelon, but none in Mamre. Statuettes ranging from the size of a bottle of fingernail polish to the size of a German shepherd dog filled shop after shop. Some of them were stone, but most were clay.

  There seemed to be two basic models: Ba’al, brandishing a lightning bolt while wearing a crown that looked exactly like an upside-down bowling pin; and Ashterty
, the mother-goddess, sporting a sixties flip hairstyle and a strategically placed flower or two on hips wide enough for twins.

  Another shop had crude copies of Egyptian gods, though the fineness of the original design managed to glimmer through. Could I make these, sell them? I wondered frantically.

  Focus, Chloe, focus.

  I passed two rug shops that were side by side, with their works hung on the doors. Thickly woven wool dyed in shades of blue and green, woven into an indiscernible mass, hung next to rugs in yellow, orange, and a putrid red. The next salesman had the upscale stuff: rugs in yellow but interlaced with a bluish purple.

  “You like, isha?” the rep said to the woman standing in front of me. “It’s very fine, the purple is from the Keleti, taken painstakingly by beautiful women like yourself from the sea creature, then mashed.” He stepped closer. “This mollusk is what makes it so rare, so desirable. Come, see, I have another,” he said, flipping through his merchandise.

  The next example was orange with an even more faded shade of purple. Watching her expressions from the corner of his eye, he stopped when he sensed her interest.

  It was a game.

  She pursued her lips. “You want to buy?” he asked her, elated.

  She shook her head no, then left.

  Like any decent salesman, he chased her into the street, screaming the discounts he would give. Except that it wasn’t in terms of coinage, but rather of trades. For a horse, he would give her the purple rug. For the yellow-and-purple one, though it was robbery to him, he would let her have it for only two asses and a chicken. His final offer was for the purple-and-orange rug. Such beautiful colors together! What a bargain for only three doves and a donkey!

  She was gone by the time he’d finished his tirade.

  It seemed so commonplace, so everyday normal. Did they know the highlanders prowled outside the city? That David, God’s favorite David, wanted this place and sooner or later would get it? Were we all pawns? Was it all some plan? What was I doing here? As my feet turned me onto the Rehov Shiryon, the Street of the Armorers—bronze weapons, since only we Pelesti had iron—I felt as though I were drowning in my fears.

  Concentrate on eavesdropping, Chloe. Think! Grateful that everyone seemed to speak loudly and clearly, I meandered down the wide street.

  The combined heat of the forgers with the heat of this summer afternoon made the stone walkway shimmer. My nostrils felt singed after only a few moments. This was an important street; weapons were built here. The clang of working metal pounded through me as I counted the weapons, then the armor, then how many men in uniform I could see.

  One guy, probably not much older than eighteen, was hammering horseshoes. Sparks flew with every strike of his tool, leading me to wonder just how many horses they shoed. However, the horses weren’t quartered here—so I couldn’t steal one—the city gates weren’t big enough.

  Did they sell them to someone else? Mentally making a list, I walked on. Spearheads, sword blades, arrowheads— all were laid out, displayed for sale. It was hard to tell if they were copper or bronze from this distance. Because it would be suspicious, I didn’t step closer.

  However, the count in my head grew. Jebus was one well-stocked city.

  A quick stroll around the perimeter of the walls showed me that the foundations were in great repair, each guard tower was manned by three men, and despite the many gates, each was guarded by three soldiers. If these people ever managed to build a portcullis, Jerusalem would never ever be conquered!

  Still not a sight of a child.

  At dusk, with the rest of the travelers, I went outside. My employer had been willing to let me stay in her courtyard, but her younger, savvier son suggested otherwise. Under the distant but watchful eye of Yoav’s soldiers, I slept.

  MIDIAN

  CHEFTU LOOKED AROUND them. He was convinced they were lost. It had been almost four days of travel, and they should have found the mountain in two. Yet they were nowhere near anything. All that stretched around for miles was sand, soft, supple, endlessly undulating sand.

  The majority of the slaves had traveled in the first crew, to prepare the camp for their masters. Cheftu had been bidden to look around, see if he saw any signs of gold at the foot of the mountain.

  Not only was there no gold, there was no mountain.

  The guides refused to speak to the slaves or to him. They led by gestures, they stopped and went as they felt the urge. Cheftu touched the stones against his waist; he’d prepared them for use, if needed. Then it had dawned on him that he already knew the pathway the Exodus from Egypt had taken, because he knew the Bible.

  In the still of the afternoon, when they were all supposed to be resting in the heat of the day, he had scribbled down those things he could remember. According to Holy Writ, the Hebrews had traveled for three days without water after the crossing of the Red Sea. Then they found water, bitter water. Moses and God intervened, and the water was healed, made sweet, and God told them that he was a God Who Heals, Yahwe Yi’ra.

  Then they arrived at an oasis named El’im, where they camped.

  They left El’im and started into the desert. The Bible said it had been one month since they had fled Egypt. It had been one month since Pharaoh had cornered them against the sea;

  he knew because he’d been there. It still gave him chills to realize these words were true, transmitted correctly through the ages. Why did Chloe have such a problem understanding the validity and reality of the Bible, the existence of God?

  Manna and quail fell to the Hebrews in the desert. Then Moses incorrectly struck a rock, after they had traveled to another spot, but still God gave them water. The Amalekites—the Amaleki, as they were called—had attacked, only to be defeated by the tribes.

  Shortly afterward Moses was reunited with his family, most especially his father-in-law. He was the one who suggested Moses delegate authority. Then he returned home, and the tribes entered Sinai, to camp at the foothills of the mountain of God.

  Accordingly, Cheftu’s group should have passed the springs of bitter water, Mara springs. Palms, seventy of them, should be on the horizon, somewhere.

  Unless they were lost.

  Cheftu turned onto his stomach, feigning sleep. He slipped the stones from his waist sash and whispered to them, “Are we lost?”

  “Y-o-u a-r-e i-n t-h-e c-o-u-r-t-y-a-r-d o-f Y-H-W-H.”

  As the last letters clicked over, Cheftu knew he would wear shoes no longer.

  He was walking on holy ground.

  AKHETATEN

  “WE MUST MAKE the pronouncement,” RaEm said softly. “Egypt needs to know who the next ruler will be. It is the way of Ma’at.”

  Akhenaten pulled away, his sweaty skin detaching from hers. “Still you mention these outdated”—he looked over his shoulder—“outlawed gods.”

  “Ma’at is an ideal!” RaEm protested. “Not a deity.”

  “Egypt is new, now,” he said darkly, looking away. Inwardly she sighed. Pharaoh was becoming more difficult by the day—and his days were growing shorter. “Beloved,” she purred, her hand on his back, still red from her nails. “Times are uncertain. This is a safe thing to do.”

  “The Aten asks that we believe, even when things seem uncertain. There is to be no other way.”

  “See it from another perspective,” she said, trying again. “If you announce that Tuti will be pharaoh next, it gives a sense of continuity to the reign of Aten.”

  He was silent a long while; she felt his breaths beneath her palm. “To announce Tuti pharaoh will be to deny my own seed,” Pharaoh finally said. “The Aten wants a child of my own flesh to sit the throne. Not some little brother, not the son of Amenhotep Osiris.”

  “I am your brother, and I sit the throne,” she said.

  Akhenaten shrugged. “You are my son-in-law—” His voice caught, and Pharaoh spent a moment weeping silently for his daughter. “You sit beside me.”

  Meryaten, the little brat, RaEm thought. There had to be
another way out of this problem. She had told the high priest of Amun-Ra that Tuti’s ascent would be announced; it must be done. Egypt must not die.

  Her place on the throne, in history, must continue.

  When in doubt seduce him, she thought. RaEm was leaning forward to reengage her lover when they heard footsteps running in the corridor. Akhetaten had a near silent palace. Who would be running? Why?

  Outside they heard a scuffle, then a rap on the door. RaEm looked about for a slave, but none were hovering. They were terrified of her. Sighing, she drew on a wrapper and flung open the door.

  The messenger immediately fell to his face, quaking. “What interrupts the rest of Pharaoh, living in the glorious light of the Aten forever!?” she asked.

  “Sightings, My Majesty! As requested.”

  RaEm stiffened. She felt Akhenaten’s interest behind her.

  “Report to the kitchens for refreshment,” she said, dismissing the man. The messenger scurried backward. RaEm motioned to the guard, gave him her instructions, then closed the door.

  “What sightings?” Akhenaten asked, suspiciously. “Do those cursed priests of the outlawed god sneak across the desert?”

  The one way to get Pharaoh interested in the workings of his kingdom was to want to keep them secret, RaEm thought with a sigh. “I asked the soldiers to keep a watch on those who passed by our copper mines in the Sinai. That is all.”

  His dark eyes searched her face, then moved over her body. He looked at her again. “How many soldiers do we have in Sinai?”

  “Several companies.” Not near enough to defend our interests there. “Most of them work the slaves.”

  “How many slaves?”

  RaEm shrugged. “I have no idea.” Not enough, though. “A few thousand, perhaps?”

  “Why do we need copper?”

  She had to fight to keep her expression from revealing how stupid she occasionally thought he was. Did he imagine that the country just ran itself? That Egypt needed nothing from other peoples? That all services and products were produced in Egypt?