Dancer of the Nile (Gods of Egypt)

by Scott, Veronica

  “You walk on your own two feet now, dancer, and make the best of it you can.” He leaned close. “General Nebuchazz is not merciful.”

  She limped along next to him.

  The renowned general was a small man, barely taller than she, intense, with a shaven head, a pointed black beard, and intensely frowning eyes. She trembled to find she recognized him. I remember him. He made me uneasy when I danced at the Blue Lotus inn. And then he showed up again a few days later at the next place we performed.

  Seated behind a table full of maps and papyrus scrolls, Nebuchazz shot one dismissive glance at her, did a slower double-take, raising one bushy eyebrow, and frowned.

  He slammed his fist on the table, making the papers and the ink stand jump. Nima flinched. When the general spoke, his voice was low and deliberate. “By the lake of fire, what joke is this, Amarkash?”

  “I bring you the dancer, as ordered, sir.” Amarkash’s face was expressionless, his voice bland, but the muscle twitching in his cheek close to his right eye betrayed tension.

  Pushing the maps aside with a careless gesture, Nebuchazz left his chair to stalk Nima. Instinctively, she retreated, mesmerized by the intense expression on his face, raising her bound hands in a futile attempt to ward him off. Like a crocodile, he made a sudden lunge to grab her by one shoulder. Studying her face from just inches away, his breath smelling of garlic and spoiled meat, he rubbed a fading bruise on her cheek with his fingertip. “Much the worse for the trip, apparently. I told you she was to be untouched.” He shoved Nima away from him as if expecting Amarkash to catch her. Ankle buckling under the force of his violent rejection, she crumpled to the floor with a cry.

  The general stood over her with hands on his hips, eyebrows rising practically to his bald pate. He nudged her hip with one sandaled foot. “And she's injured as well?”

  “The ankle is healing—” Nima said, massaging the joint awkwardly.

  Grabbing her tangled hair, Nebuchazz yanked her to her knees. “If I desire to hear your voice, I‘ll command it. Best not to speak again uninvited, or I might decide to cut out your pretty pink tongue, no matter how talented.” For the second time, he shoved her, and Nima bit her lip not to moan as she sank to the cold stone floor. Above her head, the general said, “What happened to her? Why is she no longer the beautiful flower I remember, the woman I sent your patrol to fetch for me?”

  “She escaped with an Egyptian soldier our other patrol had captured,” Amarkash reported crisply. “Somehow, the pair killed the soldiers I sent after them, eluding capture for over a week. After I located her, we were delayed on our journey here by a series of mishaps.”

  “Mishaps?” Nebuchazz tilted his head. “Explain yourself.”

  “Sandstorms blocked my column’s progress twice, and then we had a series of broken chariot wheels.” Amarkash ticked off the disasters on his fingers. “I had to sit and wait while my patrols went on foot to find an oasis with trees suitable for mending the wheels. I lost two teams of horses to—”

  Nebuchazz held up one hand, closing his fingers into a fist.

  Biting his lip until he drew a bead of bright red blood, Amarkash shut up.

  “I assume the soldier is dead,” the general said. It was not phrased as a question.

  No one contradicted him, Nima least of all. You never would have caught Kamin. Nima comforted herself, a little flame of warmth in her mind and heart. I was his weakness, and I solved the problem for him.

  Drumming his fingers on the edge of the table, the general asked, “You fail to address my pertinent question—how was she injured?”

  Stabbing a finger in the priest’s direction, Amarkash deflected the general’s ire away from himself. “This one unleashed the devil dogs of Qemtusheb on her.”

  “You did what?” Turning on his heel, Nebuchazz stalked toward the priest, who scuttled sideways, alarm on his suddenly pale face. One of the guards prevented his exit from the room, using his spear to trap the man in a corner.

  Scooting herself farther away from the ugly and dangerous drama, Nima grabbed the corner of the table, pulling herself shakily to her feet.

  The priest raised his hands as if to ward off the general. “I wanted to shorten the time we were spending chasing her all over the desert. To—to bring her to you sooner. The black magic beasts—they were only supposed to track her, my lord, not touch her. She has power of her own and must have altered my spell.”

  All eyes in the room turned to her. The general tilted his head, fingering his belt knife and stroking his beard. “Well, what say you to this accusation, woman?”

  Finding her voice, Nima said, “I’m a dancer from the border towns, not some priestess or sorceress with dark powers.” She extended her right leg like a heron might, balancing on her good side while hanging on to the table for dear life. “See what the creatures did to my foot?”

  Nebuchazz spared a rapid glance in the direction of her lower limbs. Then in between one breath and another, he took his dagger from his belt and stabbed the priest through the heart.

  Nima’s throat closed in terror. She couldn’t even scream. Seeking anything she could use as a weapon to make a fight of it if the general came in her direction, she eyed the writing utensils on the table.

  “Take this offal out of my office,” Nebuchazz said to no one in particular, yanking his knife free and stepping away from the corpse of the man he’d summarily executed.

  Two soldiers leaped to do his bidding, dragging the unfortunate priest’s body out by the heels, a long smear of blood left behind on the stone floor.

  Stoically, Amarkash watched as a servant hurried in and wiped the floor with water and rags. “And the girl, sir?”

  Cleaning his knife, Nebuchazz eyed Nima dispassionately, his face calm. “The festival is approaching rapidly, but I’ll not insult the god by having a limping dancer.” Walking to Nima, he circled her waist with his free arm and drew her close, resting the tip of the dagger in the hollow of her throat. “Dance for me in two days time as you did at the Egyptian taverns, with passion to stir my loins,” he said, “I’ll spare your life, make you my personal slave. I can be quite generous. If you fail to please, I’ll sell you to the highest bidder on the spot. Do I make myself clear?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. And I was refusing to dance for lecherous Egyptian nobles—they’re nothing compared to this man’s arrogance. He’s danger personified.

  As abruptly as he’d seized her, Nebuchazz let her go. “So, if you are a woman of power, as the priest claimed, turn your magic on yourself.” Seating himself behind the desk again, he picked up a tablet, scanning the symbols, openly dismissing Nima and Amarkash. Not looking up again, he issued crisp orders. “Lock her in a cell but ensure she’s well treated, well fed. Have her bathed, dressed in clean clothing. I want the physician to treat her ankle twice each day.”

  “As you command, sir.” Amarkash saluted and picked her up, foiling her efforts to limp out of the room on her own.

  When he’d carried her into the hall, the captain put his lips next to her ear, holding her tightly as she tried to wriggle away. “I might buy you myself. There’s no way you’re going to be able to dance for Nebuchazz, is there?”

  “I don’t know,” Nima lied. I’ll be lucky if I can hobble across the room in two days, much less dance.

  His hand moving to close painfully on her breast, thumb caressing her nipple through the dress, Amarkash whispered, “I’ll enjoy stripping you naked, wrapping you in ropes again, playing games with no limits this time, when you’re mine, not his.”

  She was actually glad when they headed down a dank, dead-end corridor lined with heavy wooden doors, each with one small, barred window in the center. Carrying her into the last cell, the captain deposited her on a cot. “Servants will bring you what the general has authorized, and I’m sure the doctor will attend you shortly. Likely we’ll not meet again until your attempt to dance in two days. And then, if Nebuchazz lets you live, I’ll
buy you.” He winked suggestively as she glared at him. Drawing his knife, he sliced the cords on her wrists and left the cell. A grim-faced soldier closed the door, and Nima heard heavy bolts being shot home a moment later.

  She contemplated the dank interior of the cell. At least it’s clean, and I don’t see any vermin. Bugs, yes, rats, no. Two days. I have two days to live. Extending her leg, she tried to point the toes on her injured foot, flexing and stretching the tendons, ignoring the pain until it made her nauseated. I’m not going to be able to dance. I don’t even want to dance. Shuddering, she flicked a scurrying, many-legged insect away from her.

  The cell door opened again, and several servants entered, carrying clothing and food as ordered by Nebuchazz. By their facial tattoos, the women were from some southern tribe and didn’t speak any language known to Nima but smiled at her shyly, relieving the tension somewhat. Watching avidly, the guard stood in the doorway as the two serving girls helped her disrobe and conduct an awkward bath. Nima burned with embarrassment and anger, but the maids tried to keep themselves between the guard and her, holding up towels and clothing to obscure his view.

  The doctor arrived before she was quite dressed. Tall, thin, garbed in the standard Hyksos brown and gray, he tolerated no nonsense. “I want no audience here. If you aren’t my patient, get out,” he said, pointing at the servant girls. Then he studied Nima. “You, sit.” He made a shooing motion to the guard, still leaning insolently against the open door. “You, go. I’ll call you if there’s any need.”

  The man moved aside to let the two slaves pass, then stepped inside the cell. “But the prisoner—”

  “Is a woman. She won’t harm me. Will you?” He looked at Nima over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.

  “No.”She tried not to laugh sarcastically at the question. I’m anxious to see if he can help me. The last thing I want to do right now is harm the doctor.

  He turned to the guard. “Well, then, there you have it, no danger to me. No one eavesdrops on a physician’s consultation with his patient, even one who is a prisoner. Get out.”

  The guard scowled but stalked out, slamming the heavy door behind him aggressively.

  The doctor laughed. “The soldiers hate taking orders from me, but no man wants to alienate the army’s physician, lest they need my services someday.” Walking to the bed, he set his wooden box of instruments and potions on the thin mattress.

  “Thank you,” Nima said through gritted teeth, hobbling to the bed and sitting as she had been ordered.

  “There are few women in this forsaken place. Not many slaves are kept here when they can be sold for a profit. Going out on the raids, being allowed to rape and pillage, is a privilege accorded to only a few of the platoons stationed at this outpost. You’re attracting a great deal of attention in the garrison.” He knelt and took her ankle in firm but gentle hands, examining the gashes closely.

  “I don’t wish to be an object of attention.” She flinched as he manipulated her ankle.

  “Don’t fidget, I need to assess the damage,” he said unsympathetically, flexing the foot in the other direction. “Well, until you’ve danced for the general, no one will do more than leer at you. You might have to endure some furtive fondling from the charming fellow outside your door.” He frowned. “But once you’ve failed Nebuchazz’s test, you’ll be fair game.” Whistling, he released Nima and opened the top of his lacquered cedar box, sorting through the contents of the many drawers cunningly folded inside. “It’s pleasant to have a professional challenge other than sword and arrow wounds.”

  “We both know I’m not going to be able to dance.” Closing her eyes, Nima shook her head.

  The doctor brought out a small pot of strong-smelling ointment. The odor immediately permeated the small cell. Gagging, Nima wrinkled her nose and put her hand over her mouth. “Horse liniment?”

  “Yes.” He slathered the smelly green cream on her foot and ankle. The ointment delivered soothing heat as he massaged it into her skin in small, circular motions, banishing the throbbing pain. “If liniment works for the general’s favorite chariot horse, why not for the general’s favorite dancer?”

  Nima laughed, until she felt the mirth edging into tears. I can’t lose my self-control in this place. Shuddering, she tried to quell her emotions as the doctor finished ministering to her with cold efficiency and packed his supplies away. He stood, evaluating her. “Do you want something to help you sleep, calm your nerves?”

  “I doubt you have a potion strong enough to make me forget the threat of becoming Nebuchazz’s personal slave.” She curled her lip, tossing her head. “Despite his claim of being extremely generous, not an enticing future.”

  “Your other choices are worse,” the doctor pointed out, handing her a small cup of green liquid with pieces of leaves and stems floating on top. “I’ll examine you again in the morning, since the sun goes down already today. The liniment can’t be applied too often or your skin will suffer.” He nodded at the small table covered with plates and bowls of food and a pitcher of water. “I suggest you eat, perhaps try to sleep. You’ll need your beauty intact to placate Nebuchazz.” Strolling to the door, he pounded on it with his fist. “’Til the morning,” he said over his shoulder.

  The guard let the physician out, but paused to gaze at Nima’s body for a long minute before slamming the door shut again.

  She set the medicine on the table and listlessly examined the array of dishes—quail, a half-spoiled plum, two kinds of bread. None of it appealed to her. Breaking the fruit bowl on the stone floor, she kept the biggest, jagged shard as a deterrent, should the guard make a middle of the night visit. Shaking out the scratchy blanket the slaves had brought, she curled up on the cot, against the wall, forcing herself to blot out all thoughts except the ones having to do with Kamin, trying to comfort herself against the terrors of the night and the days to follow. She left the small oil lamp on the table burning. I pray light can keep the nightmares at bay.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day passed slowly. The doctor came twice, as ordered, slathering more of the strong-smelling liniment on her foot. She tried a few tentative dance steps when she was alone, humming a tune with an easy beat, but soon collapsed on the cot, near tears. Even if I wanted to dance for Nebuchazz, I can’t. My ankle is too weak.

  The slaves brought her dinner, and the guard lingered in the cell after the women left.

  “What do you want?” Nima picked up a piece of flat bread and nibbled at it to hide her nervousness.

  Eyes locked on her chest, he came closer, rubbing his hands. “I’ve told my friends in the barracks you won’t be able to dance tomorrow. I’ve seen you practicing and weeping, through the bars.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder.

  “So?” Nima dropped the bread to the floor and backed away from the man’s overwhelming odor of sweat and onions. “What is it to you? Or your friends?”

  “We’re pooling our money to buy you, to try to outbid the officers. I wanted to let you know, so you could think about ways to please your new masters.” He reached out one hand, grabbing her by the elbow in an attempt to drag her closer. “There’ll be ten of us, at least.”

  Slapping him hard enough to bruise her hand, Nima almost fell. The guard cursed as he crushed her in a forced embrace, the buckles on his leather breastplate digging painfully into her breasts. Laughing, he ran his hand over her body, lower and lower, until he was cupping her through the dress. “I’m thinking I should sample the wares a little, eh?”

  “Let go of me, you inbred jackal.” Nima slammed her head up into his chin and tried to whirl away, but her ankle betrayed her and she fell. In her hand she brandished his belt dagger, which she had grabbed. “Leave me alone, I warn you.”

  The guard circled her as she scooted to get her back to the wall, managing to stand up, holding the dagger at the ready.

  A sharp voice brought them both to a halt. “What is the meaning of this?”

  An officer Nima had never seen
before stood in the doorway. Cheeks flushed, the guard saluted and stood at attention. “The prisoner is trying to escape, sir.”

  “You know it’s death to lay a hand on her before the general releases his claim. You’re a good man, corporal, if stupid, so I won’t report your rash action. Retrieve your knife from the wench and lock her in.” The man stood watching as Nima reluctantly handed back the dagger and the guard stalked out of the cell, slamming the door with enough force to set the small lamp flickering.

  Limping to the bed, Nima lay down, curling up with her back to the door. Fingering the knotted cloth bracelet on her wrist, she sighed. If only the officer hadn’t come along, I could have stabbed that lout of a guard and gotten out of the cell. Just give me half a deben’s worth of luck, and I’ll be gone from this evil place. She rolled the golden bead around the string with her fingers for a moment before drawing a deep breath and holding it, excited. Could she use this last gift from Renenutet to summon supernatural help? Nima frowned as she examined the bead more closely in the dim light. Amarkash had said this fortress was under some kind of all-encompassing spell from their god Qemtusheb. And who knows what kind of aid the snakes could give her in this situation anyway?

  Rolling over onto her back, Nima stared at the dancing shadows the lamp cast on the ceiling. If you only have one weapon, how foolish not to unleash it? I’m going to die tomorrow anyway since I can’t dance for Nebuchazz. What if I could call the snakes and create some chaos? Some destruction? Some deaths? Grinning, Nima sat up. Anything I could do to delay the attack they’re planning on Egypt buys time for Kamin and the nomarch’s army. If not for myself, I should try to summon the snakes for his sake.