Though the guards looked at her open curtains with disapproval, she could not bear to shut them. Karnak sat on the river-bank, with a wide avenue leading into ancient Thebes, now called Waset, and another leading to the noblemen's houses and the palace. Her conveyance jogged along while Chloe looked back and forth, taking in the rich green border to the Nile's lapis blue. Trees arched over the roadway, lending patches of shade from the winter sun overhead. The noblemen's mud-brick houses were flat roofed and whitewashed, enclosing, she knew, peaceful courtyards, cool reflecting pools, and whole families of Apiru slaves. Only the gods in Egypt had permanent stone housing.
They jogged through the palace gates and stopped. Chloe alighted with help and new sandals and was led through a series of painted-and-gilded courtyards and hallways until they came to Hat's audience chamber. With a shaking hand Chloe smoothed her wig as she heard her titles announced for the first time.
“The Lady RaEmhetepet, Beloved of the Night, Servant of Ra in Silver, Speaker of the Sisterhood and Priestess of HatHor. Favored of the Great House.” The chamberlain banged his staff and Chloe walked into the long, narrow room, letting the “other” control her. Gold-and-white-clad courtiers and glittering ladies lined the room in an elegant gauntlet. She noted a few heads inclining in acknowledgment as she walked past.
At the far end was a raised dais, holding one of the most controversial women in all history. She, the “Great House,” sat stiffly on a golden chair, her feet in gilded, curved toe sandals planted firmly on a leopard stool, her arms folded with the symbols of her office clasped tightly in beringed fingers. As Chloe drew closer she saw that Hatshepsut was indeed dressed like a man in only a kilt and collar, which further accented the decided femininity of her heavy breasts and long lacquered fingernails. Her broad forehead was smooth above unmoving, wide-set black eyes, framed by weighty gold earrings set with precious stones. Her wide mouth was dusted with gold, and the pharaonic artificial beard of lapis and gold was fixed onto her pointed chin.
Chloe prostrated herself before the dais. Minutes passed before she was bidden to rise. The “other” told her this was a bad sign. Finally she was bade to look into Hat's black eyes. Chloe felt fear, respect, and wonder. This woman had maintained peace for her entire solitary reign of fifteen years.
“My Lady RaEmhetepet, My Majesty is saddened you still cannot greet me with your own tongue. As the sage Ptah-Hotep said, ‘Confine thy heart to what is good and be silent, for silence is more important than the tef-tef plant’. Is your heart confined to that which is good, my lady? Waset is filled with disturbing rumors concerning a strange visitor you had while serving the goddess HatHor.”
Pharaoh's voice was low and throaty, with the unmistakable tone of command. Chloe blushed when Hat's glance flickered to her feet. Had Basha told everyone about her feet? Chloe kept her face carefully blank, wondering where this was leading. “Perhaps after such esteemed company the rest of us are not worthy of your brilliant conversation?” This caustic remark sent a twitter of comment around the room. Chloe smiled ruefully and drew the papyrus note she had prepared from her sash. After handing it to the scribe, she perused the front of the room while he passed it to Hat to read.
The court was living artwork, from Kushite slave boys wielding huge iridescent peacock feather fans above Hat's head to the black-ringed eyes and obsidian bodies of her royal guard, dressed in red and gold, their oiled bodies gleaming in the filtered sunlight. Chloe unconsciously searched for one face, spotting it off to the right.
Lord Cheftu leaned casually on his ibis-headed staff of office, his face dark against his red-and-gold-striped head-cloth and heavy gold collar. Chloe jerked her gaze away as Hat looked up with a grim smile. “‘The lady begs My Majesty's pardon for appearing while she is still unable to speak, and begs my tolerance as she recuperates,’” she read. Hat fixed her fathomless black stare on Chloe. “I have also heard my lady is unwell in the mornings?”
Chloe blanched, and the tension level in the audience chamber rose.
“Perhaps her ladyship needs more than rest?”
Chloe smiled uncertainly in response. She didn't need the “other” to tell her that things were not going well.
“In My Majesty's graciousness,” Hat said, “I have decided you should have complete privacy and total attention until you are able to tell me yourself that you are well. We cannot let the RaEmhetep priestess of HatHor go unattended.” She paused for effect “I think perhaps the green of the delta will do you good. The palace,” she said with a smirk, “shall be at your lady's disposal. As shall”—she looked to her group of magi, physicians, and seers—“my private physician and Hemu neter, Lord Cheftu.” She smiled at him and he inclined his head, his expression inscrutable.
What began as a murmur became an uproar. Chloe knew this was as good as being banished. What had she—correction, what had RaEmhetepet done to incur such wrath?
“I wish my lady… to be delivered … with perfect haste,” Hat said in a ringing, biting tone, and then laughed.
Chloe backed from the room, her face on fire and her mind in a whirl. She walked hurriedly through the hallways and climbed into the traveling litter, pulling the curtains tight around her. Basha could find her own way.
She took several deep breaths, calming herself. She had few choices. Despite her best efforts it seemed she was unable to return to her time right now, so she must make a life here for herself until she found a way to go home. Life here wouldn't be too unbearable if she only knew what she was up against. Cammy would probably really profit from her experience. She must remember details for Camille.
After arriving back at Karnak, she rushed to her room and threw herself on the couch in a pique of frustration.
“Whatever have we done to be thrown from My Majesty, living forever's presence and made to consort with the pretender?”
Chloe rolled over and saw Cheftu seated at her vanity. The light glinted off his jewel-studded collar and the stones in his sandals and rings. His rugged face was taut and his saffron gaze deprecatory. “You do understand, do you not? The golden one suspects you of being unfaithful to your vows,” he said in a velvety voice. He walked toward her, disdain in every line of his body. “Have you been?”
Chloe, uncertain as to which part of her lengthy vows he was referring, shrugged forced herself to remain calm. What had she done?
Cheftu sat on the couch next to her and grabbed her shoulders roughly. “Do not be flippant, Moonlight; to break your vows is dangerous and sometimes deadly. I know you spread your legs easily enough when you are not serving. Perhaps you lost track of the time?”
The sarcasm fell like acid rain on Chloe's abraded nerves and feelings.
Cheftu ranted on, his voice rising in angered frustration. “Have you or have you not?”
She looked at him, suddenly weary and even more confused. What the bloody hell was wrong now?
His voice rose with incredulity. “How can you not know if you have been with a man this season? If his seed is growing inside you? Was your visitor god or man?” She jerked away, shaking her head in denial, then stopped.
She didn't have access to any information that would confirm or deny his accusation. Chloe put her head in her hands. This was ridiculous! Her nausea and tiredness were because she wasn't the same person in the same body. They were side effects from her unbelievable trip through time. It was impossible for her—for Chloe—to be pregnant, but, she thought sinkingly, it was Very possible for RaEmhetepet. Her body sagged and she felt Cheftu's hand on her shoulder.
“If what is suspected is true, do not confirm it with anyone,” he said in an undertone. “These should help.” He pressed a small papyrus-wrapped package into her hand. “Do you know where Phaemon is?” He stared at her blank face for a moment, then rose and spoke normally. “We leave for Avaris and Prince Thutmosis’ palace in two days. We shall stay for the rest of the season.” He gave her another searching look, his golden eyes translucent in the light. “Life,
health, and prosperity to you, priestess.”
He stepped through the curtain and was gone, leaving Chloe to contemplate the newest hairpin curve in her once well-ordered life.
THE NIGHT WAS DARK, the House of the Dead unlocked because locks were unnecessary. No Egyptian would defile such a sacred place. The man stepped lightly from the shadows, motioning to the bearded servant who helped him. The room was long and narrow, with bodies laid in rows, each in a different stage of embalming, the stone beds set apart, allowing room for priests. They would move around the body, removing organs: first the brain, then make an incision in the abdomen and remove all the viscera except the ab, the heart.
The smell of incense and bitumen was hideous, and the man wondered if it would forever burn in his nostrils and chest. The bearded servant followed closely, his religion forbidding him to touch a dead body. They had no choices. A sudden deathbed promise had ensured that.
The body should not be in here; they walked on, passing into another room. The smell of natron hit them, and the man tasted his lunch from many hours ago. Deep boxes filled with the expensive dry salt stood close together, entirely covering the bodies in them, drying the flesh, toughening it.
He walked quickly to the wrapping room.
The body should be here, with all the organs intact yet having spent some time in the natron to stunt the natural rot of human flesh. He turned aside, lighting his torch, shining it on the hieratic designation for each inhabitant of this mummified world. He stopped. The body was here. Muttering prayers underneath his breath, he and the bearded servant lifted the corpse and carried it to the closest door, which opened onto an alleyway.
They hurried now to the front, to retrieve the remains of an unnamed peasant who would enjoy the hereafter as a wealthy tradesman. The man held up the torch—he had done a good job of wrapping the peasant's body, so no questions should be asked. Since the viscera hadn't been removed, the priests would expect its rotten odor.
He extinguished the light and they ran from the place of death, carrying the body up the wadi, past the City of the Dead, into the realm of Meret Seger: “she who loves silence,” the guardian of the Valley of the Kings.
After hours of hiking they entered a short cave, a hole in the ground. Swiftly they laid the body in the earth, covering it with dirt and ostraca. The bearded man watched as his companion made motions over the grave, speaking in a language so foreign that he had never heard it or its like. In his heart he prayed for the soul of his deceased master. When the man was through he motioned the slave to exit the tomb first. In the last reflection of the torch, the man pulled out an ankh, its upper loop broken, forming a cross, and nestled it among the ostraca.
“Memento, homo quia pulvis es, et in pulverem revertis. Allez avec Dieu, mon ami.” He crossed himself and left the dark tomb, an Egyptian once more.
THE GIRL LEFT THE BED OF HER LOVER, retreating from the gaze in which she'd seen such passion. The time had come for separation. The girl bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. Her earliest memories were of the two priestesses: one kind, one cruel. For all her life she had served the one in terror and followed the other in love. Her sister-of-the-heart had guided and instructed her. She had rescued her, and to her the girl owed her life.
So the minute sacrifice she was making was for the greatest glory to Egypt. Terrible catastrophes were foretold. Her heart-sister said only purifying the priesthood and the throne would avert them. The girl, born on a less sacred day, would actually be part of the cycle of prevention. For what greater blessing could she ask? She swallowed, furtively wiping beneath her eyes as she completed her ablutions.
“You understand, do you not?” her lover said as she watched the girl. “She is chosen by HatHor. But if she has forsaken her vows and carries the spawn of a demon, become Sekhmet! It must be destroyed, at any cost! We must save our people through her death! Else the price the goddess demands will be our lives!”
The girl finished tying the simple sash of her gown and stepped into her sandals. “She is so powerful, beloved,” she said, her voice trembling with fear of her task. “Will Amun-Ra be safe without her protection?”
The woman on the couch rose, anger flaring in her eyes, her perfect body naked in the filtered moonlight. Her voice was steady. “Is Amun-Ra aided when her prayers are profane? When the very limbs she uses in sacred dance are used with the unclean in mating?” She shrugged. “It is only for a little while. The Great House is seeing to the training of another.”
The girl cowered at the poison in her lover's voice. “I cannot hope to understand, but I shall do as I am bid, my lady. I seek only your continued pleasure and satisfaction with me.” She prostrated herself until she felt a gentle hand on her head, caressing her hair.
“Stand, my precious. Do not tremble. She no longer has power over you. Should she hurt you again, tell me and I will deal with her.” The girl nodded, shaking. “Now, Ra has not yet risen, we have many hours left to love.” Before the woman lowered her lips to the girl's she said, “We must protect the priestesshood at all costs, my sister. Nothing is too precious to sacrifice. Each sacrifice is an offering to HatHor. We must be Sekhmet, we must be Sekhmet!” The girl stifled a cry as the high priestess of the Sisterhood ravaged her mouth with sharp, angry kisses. Her sash was torn as she lifted a hand to her mouth.
Blood.
CHEFTU PACED HIS PALACE APARTMENTS. He had closed his house and embossed the wax on the doors with his family's seal. Ehuru had moved him, packed his belongings, prepared his dinner, and set out a fine wine, yet Cheftu could not settle. It was well into the descending decans, and still he felt tension in his neck and shoulders. He had secreted away Alemelek's scrolls. He had kept his promises, all of them. He was prepared to leave. Cheftu paused as he heard approaching footsteps along the corridor, then a muffled rap on the door.
Cheftu glanced into the next room. Ehuru snored peacefully in the darkness. After tightening his kilt sash, Cheftu opened the door. One of Hat's Kushite guards greeted him.
“The golden one requests you.” Cheftu motioned for the guard to wait while he dressed and shaved. “Do not bother with a toilette,” the guard said. “She will see you this moment.” Cursing Hat for her lack of courtesy, and trying to hide his shaking hands, Cheftu followed. Another guard marched behind him.
They wound through torchlit-painted hallways until they came to the one leading from the palace to Karnak. They entered the wide walkway, where the guards extinguished the existing torches and opened a panel in the inlaid floor.
Cheftu descended into utter darkness, his sandaled foot reaching tentatively for each step. The guards clanked on, seemingly unconcerned about the lack of light. Once they were on level ground again, he heard the trapdoor shut and the torches were relit. Where in the name of Osiris were they taking him? Had the scene with RaEm just been a ruse—would they now steal his secrets from beneath his very skin? Acid burned his throat and Cheftu admonished himself to calm down.
They were in a narrow passageway. Cheftu's stomach knotted—this was not a good omen. Silently they marched through the twisting and turning tunnels beneath the palace and temple complex, until Cheftu was all but lost. His muddled sense of direction suggested they were close to the Sacred Lake, but he was not certain.
The guard rapped on a plain wooden door and Cheftu heard Senmut's response. As the door opened he saw Pharaoh, Senmut, and Hapuseneb in the flickering light of the room.
“Greetings of the night,” Senmut said, as if it were not the fourth decan in the morning and as if meeting under the Great Temple were an everyday occurrence.
Cheftu bowed to Hat and took the proffered chair and glass of wine. “Life, health, and prosperity to you, Count Senmut; Your Eminence, Hapuseneb; Pharaoh, living forever!”
“There is more you must know before leaving with the Priestess RaEmhetepet for Avaris,” Hatshepsut said abruptly, pinning him with her black gaze. “You have been selected for a special medical assignment. It is of the
utmost importance and secrecy to Egypt.”
Cheftu felt his guts twist. There could be only one such assignment.
Hat spoke. “When RaEm was found, she was covered in blood. Whose blood we do not know, for it was not hers and there was no evidence of anyone else in the chamber. That same night, Phaemon, guard of the Ten Thousand, disappeared. The priestess ReShera is only now coming out of mourning for her brother. Since there is no body, he cannot be mourned for the forty days his position demands.” A packet was placed in Cheftu's hands. Hatshepsut looked at him with wide black eyes, eyes that darted from side to side with barely restrained paranoia.
“Do what must be done, silent one.”
GOSHEN
THUT ENTERED THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER. An awed silence fell— a silence he, as commander of the army and soon-to-be pharaoh, well deserved. He seated himself slowly on his stool and motioned to the chamberlain to admit the petitioners. He glanced toward the magi on his right. Some of Egypt's finest wonder workers were in his court. Yet he could not help but tighten his jaw in apprehension when the chamberlain announced the Israelite trouble-mongering brothers, Ramoses and Aharon.
There was something disturbingly familiar about Ramoses … the set of his shoulders or maybe his direct gaze, an unlikely bearing for a slave bred from countless generations of slaves. Of course, the Israelites were different: never intermarrying without the spouse converting; speaking their own language; and resistant to other gods and lifestyles. Thut dismissed his thoughts and halted the slaves’ progress toward the dais.
For moments Thut looked at them. Determined to rid himself of this nuisance so he could fish in the Nile's swelling waters and fantasize about Hatshepsut's downfall, he spoke directly to Ramoses. “Haii! You are back. I trust the brick quotas are being met even without your assistance.” Gazing at the older man, Thut called for a scribe to verify the figures. The Israelites were keeping up. “Have you come with another ultimatum from your desert-dwelling god, then?” To Thut's surprise, Aharon spoke. His voice carried easily throughout the chamber.
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