Deka’s gone with the youngish muscle-y one. Ari’s out of this evil place with the crown prince. Who do I get? Is it one of these old men? Even the king is old, handsome though, she thought. The inspector? I will die before he touches me! She really wanted to die rather than remember the way she had danced to tease him when he visited her apartment the month before.
The young woman sat by the pool, swallowed by her grief. Her fingertips felt the gentle healing flow of the water through them, and the sympathy of the sesen flowers, now closed and submerged for the night. The king watched her as she sat, but even a chance that he might choose her tonight no longer mattered to her. She planned to lose herself in the memories of Marai’s touch, his mouth, his wonderful shining eyes, and the secret ways that had grown between them in their year together.
Naibe and he had fallen together, on too many journeys through each other’s hearts. She had wanted to have his child, and had been waiting for his time with the priests to be completed. For a time right after he left, she thought her womb had woken up and had begun to swell; it hadn’t. Now, all of her hope of having his child was forever lost.
She overheard the men talking; snickering a little about the young man who had just taken Deka and remarking that the crown prince might find his beloved wife not too appreciative of Ariennu, since they had sought a fertile concubine. The red-haired one had no proven children.
Is that awful high priest daring to speak about me? she felt another sob rise in her chest, is he speaking of me as if I’m a brood cow when he says the older prince should have chosen ‘a ripe thing like me’? Does he dare make sounds in my direction after destroying everything good in my life? I will see him dead. He will die choking on his pride, drown in my vengeance, and all in his house will be evermore cursed. Naibe swore to herself as she swirled her hand in the water of the pool again.
“Young NaBe…” the elder priest cleared his throat as if he had just discovered an idle servant in need of an assignment, “would you dance for us?”
Naibe sat up straighter suddenly and turned to look at the men. She was so stunned she couldn’t focus on their faces in the flickering torchlight. Let him speak. I won’t hear him until his guards come at me, she sighed, devoid of any care. The young man who left with Deka said something about the rain. Is the wetness in the air they felt rain, or is it my tears? I could make them come from the sky because I weep. She, too, weeps; the goddess within me. We cry out for our beloved, my Marai and our very own Dumuzi the shepherd. Naibe-Ellit knew the kohl on her eyes had run, and that she had smeared it all over her face.
Dance…
The sad little voice of the stone in her brow whispered to her as if it finally understood the depth of her grief. When she heard it whisper inside her thoughts, it was in the sound of Marai’s gentle voice. For a moment, the sound of it comforted her, but in the next instant, it broke her heart again because she knew it was only a spirit voice. She knew it would be her only link to him for the rest of her days.
Know, beloved goddess, that I want you to.
Naibe almost let a sob escape. Then, with her eyes cast down, she struggled to her feet. One of the attendants shook a sistrum again. A musician resumed pulling the strings of his harp. Somewhere, she thought she heard the voice of another man whisper: ‘I think she was his favorite.’
His favorite, the words echoed in her heart. Then, I must give my dance back to him, as he has asked, once more before I die.
Naibe-Ellit twirled and swayed, moving toward the men. Her arms began to roll and play as the seductive music of the harp and the jingle of the sistrum reverberated in her body. Her naked breasts trembled and shimmered, the spirit glow of pure and healing love rose through her lion gold skin. With a quick flip, she loosened the gaily woven scarf that had been tied about her hips to reveal a dark, snug fitting loin belt with short golden beaded ropes dangling in the front. The music drove through her body and soul as she danced and began to call down the spirit of a woman’s ecstasy.
Oh, Goddess in me, please! Let this be for my beloved to see it from where he is, so that he can come to take me with him to his world. Let death come to take me too, she shimmied on among the smiling men. Ah, look. The king is smiling. He has no right to desire me, she affirmed as she arched her back until her forearms brushed the floor sweetly behind her. Her knees parted a little as her buttocks poised above them. They tightened until she could gain her balance on her arms and kick one leg over at a time. She slid into the floor, then rolled on her belly with her arms extended in front of her. She reached toward the king. Her hands implored as he leaned forward for a better look. She knew, as if by instinct, the next step she needed to take.
King…
Naibe looked up. She whispered into the thoughts of the man with the full nemes who sat in front of the spot where she lay. Her soul spoke to his:
You looked the other way,
While my beloved suffered.
Yet you have suffered.
Remember,
I have seen your sorrow in my heart.
The precious one who has died
while, again, you did nothing.
The curse you bear within your heart
which the oracle told
was your failure to protect your beloved child
from the hidden one summoned by another.
Her head tossed and arms traced the floor as she arched her hips forward slowly, becoming a woman merged with a serpent. Her movements undulated to the beat of the sistrum.
Are they murmuring at my skill? Are they whispering that it’s good? Of course it is! Has the king felt my thoughts? Then he should listen to these:
I am the serpent of earth
I am temptation to life,
To birth through my sacred womb.
The king shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The other men snickered uncomfortably, like young boys, as they watched her moving in joyous rapture while she balanced above her own ankles. Do they see the serpent in my heart? Do I care? I will bite them with my poison one by one! The dance isn’t for them. It never will be for them. Only my vengeance will they take from me! Her eyes closed and mouth opened in a gasp of pleasure, knowing once again the memory of all of Marai’s touches and caresses. Oh, Marai, please be here. Be with me, sweet, again. Be part of me. You see how I need you so much. She felt movement at her feet; someone approached her. Is it you, my beloved? she asked the hot air above her.
A hand went under her arched back, but the owner of that hand tottered and slipped. Naibe collapsed backward in a heap on the polished tile, a man who was not Marai lay sprawled on top of her. Instantly sobered, she sobbed helplessly; her dream shattered. It was the high priest, Prince Hordjedtef. He had risen from his throne chair and advanced to seize her. He had been a little drunk, half-dazzled by the dance and halfway convinced that she would fall into the pool if he didn’t grab her. She felt his wiry, ancient frame weighing down on her, aroused. It was too much.
“You?! No! Murderers!” she clawed at him, fought, kicked, scratched, and bit. “Marai! Help me! Let me die! Now! No! Get off me!” she screamed.
Elder Prince Hordjedtef scrambled up from the young woman, shocked. He leapt back a full step, infuriated at her rejection but also amazed he had even moved toward her.
Inspector of the Ways Wserkaf darted to her and grabbed her up into his arms. He touched her shoulders, then pressed at her neck to calm her. Clapping her firmly to his chest, he accepted her grief weakened fists as they beat at his arms.
The king frowned, suddenly sitting straighter in his chair. “Uncle?” his voice rose in bewildered surprise as if what he had heard the young woman cry out instantly cleared his hazy and meditative thoughts. “Did she just call us murderers? I know my Kina-Ankht, now. What is this? Is there something you’re not telling me?” The now-sobered man bent forward in his chair again, then nodded to Wserkaf to keep a fast grip on her as he extended his hand. King Menkaure turned his ringed hand palm upward, and gest
ured to the Inspector of the Ways that he wanted Naibe brought forward as soon as she stopped struggling.
Hordjedtef shook himself out, clasped his hands behind the back of his neck, and hissed something under his breath about sorcery and fiery winged seref. He quickly praised Goddess Seshat that he had not been on duty when he had been caught in the young woman’s demonic spell.
“No, nooo. Please let me end it.” Naibe-Ellit continued to quietly struggle against the inspector’s chest as he moved her toward the king. Her right hand slipped to her side, afraid at first to grasp the king’s extended hand.
“There, poor one…” the inspector consoled as he pressed and massaged the back of her neck until her head lolled and relaxed against his chest. “Your king wishes that you…” he started to remind her she needed to obey Menkaure’s kindness. He didn’t need to finish. Naibe let the king take her trembling hand in his.
The tense moment lengthened, punctuated occasionally by her light sobs. The king stroked her hand gently, trying to calm her. “Poor thing’s heart is really broken, it seems,” King Menkaure sighed a little as his own voice drifted.
Naibe felt the king’s secrets enter her heart. Her power to read emotions and unlock hearts had been heightened by her sorrow and by her dance. At first she thought his reaction to her was due to the cups of wine he had gulped all evening, but even through her misery she saw more of his heart than she wanted to see.
In King Menkaure’s eyes, Naibe saw his memory of being crouched by a young woman who lay dying on a pale, polished floor. Naibe knew the woman lying there was the king’s daughter, even though she knew nothing of his family through the rumors she’d heard. A strap of the woman’s torn kalasaris was twisted tight around her neck. The king wrested the fabric from her neck and stared, horrified at the growing bruise on her neck and the way her head sagged unnaturally as he lifted her to hold her close. In the distance, frantic servants pointed to a place above him; it was an upper balcony. She had jumped over the upper rail to hang herself. The king lifted her tearfully, imploring all the gods for her. He begged the Goddess Hethrt to not depart the vibrant body in which she had so artfully walked these twenty years.
When she saw the king’s own sorrow, Naibe remembered it was her own call for vengeance a few moments ago that must have made his sad memory come forward. That she had gained such a power, made her cry even harder.
Remember…
I have seen your sorrow in my heart…
The precious one who has died…
while, again, you did nothing…
The curse you bear within your heart
which the oracle told
was your failure to protect your beloved child
from the hidden one summoned by another.
“Yet…” the king’s voice sobered a little more, “see how touching. She still tries to please us, despite her grieving,” Menkaure continued, his manner so nurturing and un-kingly.
Naibe-Ellit felt a sudden sense of calm. Perhaps this king, though older, might not be as these other men. She allowed the inspector to transfer her to King Menkaure’s lap. As he did, she noticed his strong arms. Though slightly hefty, they surrounded her like a warm blanket, which convinced her for a moment that he would have been a great comfort to her if this had been any other time. Overwhelmed by her misery, she tentatively lay her head on his chest. She sensed his heartbeat and felt the slight bite of the stones and glass beads in his wide collar as she put her arms around his neck. Naibe stopped being a woman who had offered herself to her king and became a little girl who wanted to be soothed. She tried to stop crying so that she could feel the gladness of the king’s touch, but only sobbed harder because this king’s warmth brought back all of her thoughts of Marai and the way he would hold her so tenderly after they had loved. King Menkaure patted her back a little, waiting for his host, the elder high priest, to answer his question about murder.
“As we have said, Your Majesty, there was no murder.”
Even though she was secure in the king’s arms, Naibe sensed more than she heard Count Prince Hordjedtef clear his throat. His thoughts were too easy to read. His embarrassment over her rejection trumpeted itself out across the courtyard to her.
Damn her. The girl is a heka-filled she-beast. First she tricks me into drinking too much, then dazzles me! But, I was the quicker one to get on with the protection I spoke! Almost, young heifer, almost…
Without raising her weary head from the king’s chest Naibe knew he had returned quietly, albeit rattled, to slump in his dark stone chair.
“The man, their ‘husband’ as it were, demanded to learn of the sacred keys of knowledge before he was ready to undertake it,” the Great One explained. “Your kind Majesty, do recall this was the sojourner who claimed prior knowledge of the ‘First Age’. When we, against our better judgment, admitted him to study, he progressed through all our lessons in a quick order.”
The king looked up at the servant who had arrived at the left side of Hordjedtef’s dais with a tray of cups that contained the last round of drinks for the evening. Sensing him shift, Naibe clung harder, but lifted her head to look as Menkaure blessed the youth who had gone to his knees the moment he set down the tray. The king accepted some soothing honey-infused tea and nodded to the other men who were still present that they should try his uncle’s new calmative brew.
“But… he had not entirely emptied himself…” She heard Prince Hordjedtef continue. “He was neither master of nor match for the light of the Maat. As I had perceived, he understood only the physical and the sensual dimensions. He was able to parrot higher truths, but not comprehend them,” he sipped again as he framed his next words. “His boasting of his readiness for final trial undid him,” the elder breathed. “It was a tragic accident! We discovered too late how little he truly knew, and figured him to be naught but a usurper. Because he had trespassed, we had little choice but to turn the matter over to the gods. So, we placed him in the preparatory ritual. He went mad and raged like a bull. Then, the true Bull of the Sky engulfed him and he self-immolated.”
Naibe bowed her head again, distressed, but sensed the inspector was upset by his senior’s story, too. She sobbed once. The king pressed her again, but the young woman knew he thought of his daughter who had once sat on his lap and had been held in his arms.
“It’s alright Mery, sometimes…” he started, but stopped with an inaudible gasp. Clearing his throat, he took the cup and offered it to Naibe.
She sipped a drop or two, then shut her eyes and shook her head, not wanting any more.
“I read the report when the Inspector of the Ways brought it to me last week, Uncle,” the king’s voice sounded even wearier.
Naibe knew it wasn’t the wine or the tea that tired him; it was sorrow. At that point, she almost regretted she had cursed him. She sensed the inspector tried to hide his feelings, but his thoughts had come through her easily. She knew he was only successful in blocking them from a still distracted high priest. He had already gone on record the week before, but his notes stated he did not actually see the sojourner die; he had only learned of it through Hordjedtef. He had gone into a trance to locate the sojourner’s spirit, and could not find it in the land of the living. That part wasn’t a lie, but his demeanor told her the elder, not both of them, who had destroyed Marai. No god or goddess of Kemet had been the cause of the death of her beloved. Now, she understood, the inspector wanted to burst when he heard the new layers of falsehood his elder had woven over the truth.
The king nodded as he solemnly stroked the young woman’s loosening hair. It cascaded down her back like a soft easy-curling black river. Even in her grief, and wild with sadness as she was, the king sensed something of her reaching out and into his thoughts. She allowed it now, her calmness allowing him to feel comforted for the first time in several years. Does this sweet girl see my heart? Does she understand why I need to drink more than usual when that despicable wretch of a man attends me? Can it be that she
sees me? his thoughts implored.
Naibe didn’t want the king’s sorrow in her already broken heart, but it insisted on invading her. Naibe sensed the deceased daughter’s partnership with the young general who had taken Deka away earlier that evening, and then knew that after a tempestuous and often scandalous year, the young princess hanged herself for reasons unknown. The young prince and the king had cut her down, but her neck had already snapped. She had died in her father’s arms.
My uncle, Count Prince Hordjedtef’s, grandson. I trained him and took him into my home for her, to ease our anguish when my son young Kuenre died. She had been so vibrant and joyous, but so stormy and wild-hearted as well. I thought Prince Maatkare might settle her with his own hot-blooded nature. I never denied her wishes to have him as her royal consort, but he could have been so much more, the king lamented the past as he continued to hold Naibe.
Going Forth By Day Page 10
