Going Forth By Day

by Mary R Woldering

  “Something to cover her…” Khentie suggested to her maid, but as soon as Wserkaf put the pillows under Naibe’s head, he unfastened his travel cloak and laid it over her. “Poor thing. Is she one of those women you were telling me about?” she asked.

  Wserkaf bent to fan her face, but she didn’t stir. After a few silent moments, he checked her signs again. Wserkaf then nodded to his wife and sighed in relief slightly; Naibe was alive though her life-signs were very slow and tentative. “The one who danced for me that day, yes… the youngest wife. I think the favorite, Khentie.”

  “Well, why would you bring her here?” the woman asked. “Besides, I heard there were three of them.”

  Kneeling down as well, Khentie smoothed Naibe’s hair and noticed how cold the woman’s hands had become.

  “It was important that they be separated one from the other for a time. The other two found homes to go to,” he answered, checking the girl again. “One is in our brother’s house; the other went with Maatkare Raemkai to his house. I had hoped our Father-God would take this one to gladden his heart, but she was in no shape for his holy house. He asked me to see if you could help her mend her heart with your gentle counsel, then perhaps send her back when she is better.”

  The inspector lifted Naibe’s head again to see if she would respond, but noticed a raised blue mark on her forehead. Thinking he might have accidently hit her hard enough to raise a knot, he worried. Examining the spot, he froze the moment he touched it; the place beneath his fingertips purred a little.

  Kindness is the cure, and the undoing

  A small voice whispered in the man’s thoughts. He tensed, not knowing the source of the spirit voice, and then sat on his heels in puzzlement. He knew his wife of nearly twenty years, Khentie, had more questions when he saw her sigh and shake her head.

  Her father, King Menkaure, didn’t deal well with grief. The tragedies and the curses that had shattered his own life, even separating his official wives from him and leaving him to his concubines, were too much to bear. His wives attended him cheerfully at official functions, but could not bear to stay at his palace out of fear that grief and tragedy would overwhelm them once again. Wserkaf knew the king came to the event solely because it would be a diversion from his haunted solitude. He went out of his way to have joy, happiness, parties, and entertainments of every kind so they would overshadow everything else, day or night.

  “You know our Great Father far better than I, Khentie. A woman this distraught…”

  “Well, if he asked it then I am honored, Wse. You know that,” Khentie hesitated, as if another thought was forming in her heart but never found its way to her lips.

  “Perhaps the guest room can be hers for now,” Wse suggested. “She’ll need a close eye on her through the night. Then, tomorrow, she can move to stay with your women in their room if she feels better.” Wserkaf gestured for the men who had placed Naibe-Ellit on the tiles to carry her to the little room that overlooked the edge of the pool. Mya, Khentie’s little handmaiden, and another servant moved the unconscious woman’s basket of things from the set-down sedan chair to the guest room. “And go get some wet soil from the cattle pen… some that’s strong-smelling, to shock her senses back to us,” Wserkaf ordered the men to go to the back yard of his estate, where a few head of cattle were kept. Still very worried, he gently tucked his arm around Khentie and brought her to the guest room behind the men who carried Naibe. The men carefully set her on the padded bed once they were in the room and the two maids set her things down along with two leather-seated folding stools for Wse and his wife.

  “Smell that, Wse?” Khentie gasped, a little astonished. She clasped his hands affectionately, as if she expected he would magically calm the strife that had entered their estate with the weeping woman.

  Wserkaf recognized the smell; it was that of a coming storm. Silently, he thought about the little bit of rain that might come before day. His distant cousin, Maatkare, had talked about it. The man’s an animal. Smelled it like the dog of his spirit, he did, Wserkaf thought, nodding to Khentie.

  “Rain, in the distance,” Khentie whispered, settling beside her husband and looking up into his eyes. “What an odd time of year for it. Do you think it’s a sign? This woman cries to the stars as if she commands them to aid her. Now, rain comes to soothe her hurting heart,” Khentie reached forward to hold Naibe’s hand, blowing on it to warm it.

  Wserkaf looked up from the girl and Khentie. The servants had returned from the livery. They carried a strong smelling sponge soaked in bull urine. The priest blessed it of any impurities and placed it under Naibe’s nose. When he waved it, her head jerked a little but she remained senseless.

  Khentie jumped slightly as Naibe’s head moved; worried the girl would come awake and continue as she had before she fainted. Aware of his wife’s tension about the curse Naibe had levied before she fainted, Wserkaf knew he needed to assure her that they could both be in control of such a matter. Too much in the way of spells and curses had already been placed on her family. If this one held it would just be added and compound the effect of the others. “Here,” he caressed her hand to sooth her. “I’ll sit with her first. Perhaps a cleansing blessing, beloved, so that no ill befalls our house,” he suggested.

  “Well, give her this, then. I think it’s hers,” Khentie handed the inspector priest a red sash. “Our man, Bek, passed it to me. It was in the carry coach, Wse. She must have dropped it. It’s lovely work, don’t you think? Bulls, like El Anu, I heard her words. I really must become better at the Kina tongue. I’m afraid all I took from her words was the name of the god and that she was making an evil utterance,” Khentie got up, and then called to her attendants and maids to come assist her with the purification. They bustled around silently and in moments had returned to move with their incense and prayers all around the house and yard, until they had covered and chanted over each place.

  Wserkaf had accepted the sash from his wife’s hand before he recognized it. The man, Marai, had worn it as a token every day until the start of his final ritual. For a long time as the women went singing and waving cedar bundles from room to room, the inspector sat in silence. He contemplated the sash in his hand. El Anu, he mused, And Hordjedtef told me he became a Bull. But, he said it had been a sacrilege worthy of death because it was the Bakha Montu. El Anu’s not the same thing. He would have looked different if he had been El Anu. Wonder if this sash protected him from harm until his last trial when he couldn’t wear it, he thought. When this poor child saw it, did she think it could have protected him in his final hour? Respectfully, Wserkaf draped the sash over young Naibe, weaving it through her fingers so she could grasp it. After that, he sat quietly and tried to reach into the young woman’s thoughts so that he might ease and heal her.

  Through the girl’s thoughts, Wserkaf saw the sash being sewn. The young woman who lay before him, broken by grief, gently handled the fine copper needle, couching the gold and yellow fiber thread. Her nails were tinted rust red from henna paint. She was laughing merrily. Big hands reached down along her arms in a loving caress that turned into an embrace.

  “What’s that, pretty Brown Eyes? A bull?” the deep but sweet voice asked her.

  “Oh!” she startled, covering the pattern. “It was supposed to be a surprise!”

  The priest heard the man he knew as Marai the sojourner laughed.

  “There’s a row of them, though. You’ve made a herd of young bulls on there,” Marai sweetly encouraged her.

  Wserkaf knew he was looking at the daily life of two people who loved each other very much. The image blurred and then cleared again. This time, he heard passion shared and glimpsed very briefly Marai and this woman lost in each other’s arms. He ached at their tender whispers, because he knew they would not exchange them again and that he had been part of the reason they could not. Once again the image changed and showed him a mash-chinned, pop-eyed girl. She laughed so hard her fat shoulders shook. She was doing something with h
er frazzled black hair for a moment. She drooled a little, then stuffed something into her mouth. The priest had remembered the big sojourner telling him the women were in a terrible state when he found them. The woman in his vision was the same as this “Naibe” before him. He knew that, but didn’t want to believe she had ever been that imbecilic little toad of a woman in his thoughts.

  Wse knew the young woman wanted to die. As he meditated on her life, he tried to stabilize her life force by sending her thoughts of tranquility. As he continued his work, he understood more and more how unfair the suffering of the women and the death of Marai had been.

  After some time, Khentie and the women had returned to their starting point in the front plaza by the guest room. “Not awake yet?” Khentie entered the small room and asked, seeing that Naibe slept peacefully by herself. She still clutched Marai’s red, bull-embroidered sash.

  Wserkaf stood, stretched his arms tall, and embraced his wife.

  A sound came from the bed a moment later. Both the priest and his wife looked, thinking the girl would wake. They bent down to tend to her, bracing themselves for her emotions.

  “Marai…” she whimpered as if she was about to cry.

  Wserkaf listened carefully so he could translate her words for his wife.

  “Don’t leave me, the storm is coming…” the girl mumbled then drifted.

  “Look, Khentie. I think she opened her eyes a little. I saw her look into my eyes for and instant before she rested. She said ‘Don’t leave me, the storm is coming…’” the inspector whispered, a little more satisfied. Wserkaf had just related her words when he realized a light, wet wind had begun to blow. The tip-tapping of the first drops of a gentle rain sounded in the plaza.

  The servants, who had settled to rest for the evening, roused themselves. They called to each other and pulled out open vessels, bowls and pans to catch the fresh water that was blessed to come from Nut, goddess of Night Sky.

  Wserkaf and Khentie stared open-mouthed at each other as the droplets began to splatter on the tile roofs and awnings in the estate. The Goddess weeps… They both thought simultaneously.

  Khentie got up, yawning a little. She was about to go to her room but pulled her husband to the door and whispered a question: “This girl. Are you thinking to have her as a concubine when I am called away from you, my king?”

  Wserkaf knew his wife tried to sound unaffected, but she couldn’t hide her concern. It was a routine for noble to have a secondary younger wife to create additional offspring. In all of their years, he had never mentioned that he might want another woman in his household. “I don’t think I need one, do I, Khentie? We have healthy, grown sons. Our legacy extends beyond us. We meet each other well in sacred union. We both have our duties now, so when would I be able to take time to attend or entertain another without neglecting you, my best beloved?” the priest whispered tenderly and ushered her up the stairs to his own bedchamber. “Later, before we both sleep, one of us ought to check on her. Maybe young Mya can come in here and bring a mat. I heard her outside moving some water pans.” Wserkaf kissed his wife’s head and felt her hold him tightly. Something in the way she embraced him worried him, but he couldn’t quite name it. Something in the future, perhaps a coming event that wanted to leave its hint tonight, plucked at his thoughts ever so gently.

  CHAPTER 10: HIS SPELL

  Deka lay on her side. She remembered the Land of Grass where she had been born. For several quiet moments as she rested, she saw even more of her life parade through her awakened memory. At that moment, no thoughts from the present or even the recent past haunted her. She had flown so far away that she thought he would never be able to pursue her. Once again, she saw herself as a young girl, held tightly in the arms of something great, powerful, and dark red. A hand stroked her arm.

  “Tired?” A man’s voice sounded almost tender in its rich seductiveness.

  She shook her head a little.

  “Come here,” the man pulled on her shoulder a little. “Come on, sit up,” his wistful suggestion became a command when she didn’t move. His irritated sigh became a low and half-hidden growl. “I told you…” he began as if he intended to seize her forcefully, but then he stopped to stare at her.

  Deka turned to look up at the man who quietly glared down at her as he gripped her arm. They lay together on a bedding–and-cushion-strewn tile floor in his low-lit bedchamber. The distant rumble of thunder she heard meant the young man’s earlier prediction of a strange off-season rain had been right.

  The young general was incredibly beautiful to look at. Everything about his body was firm, muscled, and hard, yet it was smooth-skinned and refined to the touch. She had felt only a few calluses on his hands when he seized or caressed her. They had come from his handling of spear and bow, not manual labor. Such work wouldn’t have been allowed of one so nobly born. His soft skin, scented with perfumed oil, showed meticulous grooming. The close-cut black hair on his head felt like fine animal hide when she touched it. A peaked pattern in his hairline mimicked his straight, upswept, brows. His broad, Kemet nose was not typical in that it turned down like a hawk’s beak, rather than rounded in a slight ball to the lip. His ears were sharper than most ears as well; almost pointed. Coupled with the line of his plucked brows, which had been arched into smooth, straight black wings, his expression took on a permanent scowl. When he smiled, his perfect teeth flashed over his full lips and firm jaw, showing that the teeth on the side were unusually long, like dog teeth.

  “Drink this to refresh yourself,” he reached over her to fetch a cup of beer that had been set out for them on a table between the mounded-up goose-down pillows and the wall.

  She stared quietly up at him, almost as if she didn’t comprehend, then shook her head, “no.”

  “Hmph? Cold to me now, my Ta-Seti ka’t?” His voice sighed, more disgusted than disappointed.

  Deka flinched a little at the word ka’t. Alone, it bore no particular insult as it was the word for ‘woman’. The inflection he used, though, or use of it as a label meant ‘vagina’, specifically ‘walking vagina’. In that case, it was a term that objectified her.

  “It’s not like you didn’t like it,” the prince looked away from her, his manner having grown suddenly dismissive. “Not a while ago you couldn’t get enough of it, or was that someone else shouting my name and begging to me?” He took the beer for himself, drank it in a single gulp, and then moved beside her.

  “Maatkare, please…” Deka spoke just above a whisper. She was tired, and very confused. Ta-te, hidden from me, will he not drift to sleep now? she prayed silently. She knew that she needed time to sort the whole day and this evening out. It would be dawn soon. Maatkare was still awake and seemingly unmoved by any of the passion they had shared. It appeared that at any moment he would regain himself and mount her again, without any consideration for her exhaustion; he would simply expect and command her eagerness. Worse than that, she already knew she would obey. Something about him had reached into her heart and throttled it until it was dry and cried for his release of it. He steals my soul for his food in lying with me. He consumes me. I said I would not fight a man tonight, because Man-Sun had died and I must lift myself up. My heart cries now… and she’s so weak. I cannot fight him, only desire him. See him sit, hear him mock my desire and call my weariness cold. Trembling, she whispered a further reply to Maatkare “I …I just can’t. This is…”

  The young prince slid behind Deka, as if her last statement had finally reached him. He leaned against the wall and took a last sip of beer, then pulled her up against him, her back to his chest. One of his hands lazily stroked the dark sunburst tattoo that surrounded one of her nipples, and the other hand held his empty cup. In the distance, the wind stirred and the thunder rumbled softly again, showing the rare but brief early morning shower had moved closer. He shrugged again, and then put away the cup. Lying back with her locked in his arms, he began to faintly snore and sink into a sound sleep.

  De
ka lay in the prince’s arms trying to piece together everything that had happened that evening and to somehow make it fit with the rest of her life, because none of it did. He is going to my homeland, to Ta-Seti. If I am somehow strong enough to match him, I will run with him as a mate. He will take me with him. Once I am there, I will be free of all that binds me… even him. She had overheard him speaking to the men at the party that he would be returning there soon on an annual campaign of inspection. Once she arrived in Ta-Seti she would break free of everything except the small red stone that pulsed just under the skin in her brow. Somewhere in the middle of letting the body do “what it does” and flying away into the dreams of her childhood, she woke to find that the bird of her soul had flown straight into a hopeless thicket. Although the sensibility of it made her nauseous, she wanted this man Prince Maatkare rather desperately.

  She went over the evening she had just spent. With an almost horror-filled shock, she watched herself as if she had flown away and seen everything that happened from a distance. She shuddered, but felt compelled to relive the moment the prince had tugged her past the gate of his grandfather’s open courtyard.

  He had been silently walking her toward the interior lake and harbor to “see the boat”, or so she thought. They walked peacefully and in silence, but as they did she sensed something peculiar about the way he held her hand. At first, she thought she was just some kind of intoxication from the horrid day and the wine she had consumed all evening. She stared slightly up at him. Puzzled by the warmth of his hard-looking face and eyes, she instantly glanced away. He avoided her face in favor of scanning the horizon ahead of them.

  Is the fierceness from his warrior soul? From many battles? she asked herself. A kind of energy that came from the palm of his hand drew the energy out of her body. It was a good feeling at first, but it quickly became alarming. Deka suddenly rethought going home with him, but knew she had nowhere else to go without calling on the feline energy that engulfed her whenever she was upset. She had promised herself she wouldn’t do that, unless he hurt her. She pulled her hand a little in uncomfortable protest and wormed it slightly free from his tight grasp.