Chloe felt his gaze on her.
“I hope you are able to serve her again, RaEm.” His voice was personal, intimate and low, the former sarcasm and bitterness missing. She turned her head, meeting his warm glance, his gold eyes lit with reflections of the stars above. Hesitantly he touched her jaw, his thumb caressing her lower lip. Chloe didn't breathe as she moved toward him. Cheftu met her, his lips soft and gentle, a questioning heat that burned through her body. She felt the impact of his kiss in every cell, heat rushing from her extremities inward. His thumb stroked her chin as he angled his face over hers. Chloe began to melt, but he pulled back abruptly, looking away.
“There is Ptah, far in the east,” he said conversationally. Chloe didn't give a hoot about Ptah at this point but looked up anyway, trying to calm her pounding heart. “He has left the house of HatHor and is now heading toward Isis and Nephthys.” Her mind jarred. What had he said that was so familiar? She put a hand to her head, bending forward and away. “Ptah in the east”? What was that from?
Cheftu sat up next to her, his warm arm around her shoulders. “Are you well, RaEm?” She shrugged, barely hearing his question. He touched her chin and turned her face to him. Ptah and HatHor left her mind as blood surged through her body. Cheftu sat immobile, staring intently at her lips.
She licked her lips, inhaling his wine-scented breath, so close that she could see the texture of his skin. The moment stretched into eternity as he bent his head and kissed her, his fingers caressing her chin and jawline, his touch tentative but fiery. He traced the seam of her lips, and she tasted the rough texture of his tongue as he teased her, swallowing her excited gasp when he gripped her neck and pulled her closer. His kiss was lazy and warm, and she held his hand to her neck, feeling the blood race beneath his satiny bronze skin.
When he drew back, his eyes were dark, unreadable. He swallowed hard, and she tried to collect herself. They were both breathing heavily in the cool night air. What had happened? Why was he suddenly so cold? He released her as if he'd been bitten, and she quickly let go of his wrist. They stared at each other for a moment.
Cheftu looked stunned, then angry, then he was Lord Cheftu again—flawlessly polite and remote. In a fluid motion he drew to his feet, his voice rough. “When my lady is ready to return, I shall be waiting.” She watched his star-spattered figure walk to the southern side of the Pyramid, the wind blowing his cloak flat to his body.
She sat, letting her pulse return to normal and her anger to full boil. What a jerk! One thing was certain: she now knew who the stranger in the marshes had been; the recognition of his touch had warmed every molecule in her body. He'd kissed her again with a hopeful restraint, as if he were afraid to really touch her, then hunger had overtaken restraint. She had been a most willing participant, too. Damn. Sighing, Chloe leaned back, staring into the blackness. Why did she care, anyway? He was an alien to her, a member of a lost race. Soon she would be returning home. So why did those thoughts give no comfort? Why did she want to see, feel, and know more of Cheftu? To break beyond the facades of nobleman and healer? He hates RaEm, she reminded herself. RaEm is who you are. She rubbed her necklace across her chin as she shivered in the night air.
Cheftu glared into the wind. What had come over him? He knew RaEm was available for bedding. In fact, her easy willingness cooled his ardor. At least it had before. By the gods, he'd never touched RaEm like that or been touched by her so intensely, so bone-shakingly close. A pity he didn't want just her body. …
In the many years since they had last seen each other, he had missed her childlike surprise and freshness; but it was gone, it had been gone for many years. Still, there was an unfulfilled sensuality and femininity in her touch. A purity. The gods must be laughing at that! Her perfect kiss had been a falsehood—further proof of what an amazing deceiver she was, this priestess of the goddess of love and mirth. She and all she touched were lies, alluring reflections that faded with the introduction of truth.
Then by the gods, why could he still taste her?
Chloe awoke in the afternoon, feeling as though she'd been hit by a train. The walk back from the Pyramid had been grueling. Her feet had bled from a dozen blisters. The sand rubbing into the wounds had been like salt. Cheftu had walked ahead of her the whole way, never looking back to help her, leaving that chore to his slaves. When they finally reached the boat she had kicked off her sandals and clothes, crawled into bed, and covered her head, letting sleep take her away.
However, with the brilliant day around her, the turquoise sky, blue river, and all-encompassing foliage, she found her mood improved. The river began to split into the many branches that formed the delta of Goshen, and Chloe settled into a chair by the stern, watching the multitude of birds and fish. Surreptitiously she sketched their markings, more details with which to complete her drawings that night.
They had to arrive soon; she was almost out of papyrus.
Two days later she was out of papyrus. She spent her nights filling in details and shading. She actually slept some, too. Reproducing the Pyramid eluded her, and Chloe doubted anything other than a wide-angle lens on a Hasselblad would do it justice. In addition, her nausea returned. She lay in bed for two days, taking only soup and bread.
Her personal physician ignored her.
CHAPTER 6
GOSHEN
Thutmosis III was awakened, as he was every morning, by priests chanting a welcome to Amun-Ra. He pushed off the linen covers and sat up, running a hand over his shaved head. Arbah, his slave, entered and knelt.
“Make haste!” Thut commanded. “I am late to sacrifice this morning, and I have special guests coming in from Hatshepsut, living forever! this evening. Not to mention those strange omens of disaster in the Great Green. Whatever happens there could affect Egypt!” As he spoke, Arbah ran his bath, steamed the towels for Thut's face, and instructed that the prince's white-fringed kilt be pressed.
Before Ra moved much farther in the sky, Thut rode down to the temple to sacrifice another offering for a good growing season. He leapt down from his chariot and joined the saffron-clad priests who chanted as they walked down the water steps: “Praise to thee, Father-Mother Nile, that rushes up from the underworld and gives breath to the dwellers in the red and black lands of Kemt. Hidden of movement, a darkness in light. Which waterest the plains and valleys which Ra hath created to nourish all life. That givest drink to the dry places which have no dew from thy brow. Beloved of Geb, controller of Tepu Tchatchaiu, that maketh every workshop of Ptah to flourish. He who maketh barley and createth spelt …” A commotion to his right caused Thut to pause.
“What is the problem that we cannot worship first?” he shouted to Commander Ameni, who detained two men. Thut clenched his fists when he recognized the two troublemakers. Striding toward them angrily, he said, “Have you come with your petty requests and idle threats again, Apiru?”
“We come to ask Your Majesty to grant us leave to go into the desert.”
“Why?”
“As we have said before, we go to worship and sacrifice to our God.”
The prince walked away, demonstrating that he thought them and their god no threat and of no consequence. He walked down the water steps, where Ramoses stood before him. The Apiru raised his bronze-tipped staff in the air and brought it down with a crash on the river Nile. Thut stood back, arms crossed, watching the performance. Strangely, there was no ripple. The waters were still.
“He who is, God of the Israelites, Elohim, has again sent me to you,” Ramoses said. “He said for you to let his people go, to worship him in the desert. But,” Ramoses noted with a grim smile, “you have not listened to him. So he says, ‘That you will know that I am Lord of all, the water will be changed to blood. The fish will die and the water will reek. You will be unable to drink or use this water.” He fixed Thut with a glowering stare.
“Anything your uncivilized ‘el’ can do,” Thut scoffed, “the great magi of Egypt can also do. Turn the river, the source o
f all life in Egypt, to blood? The gods will not allow it!” His face paled as he saw the river behind Ramoses churn, as if just being struck.
Suddenly fish started rising onto the surface of the river, belly up, catching in the reeds along the shoreline. His courtiers gasped and whispered among themselves. He turned to his priests and phalanx of magi.
“You incompetent fools,” he hissed. “Will you wait for the Nile to clog, or will you act now? Stop this, instantly!” Sweat broke out across his wide forehead, and suddenly the weight of his headdress seemed overwhelming. He clapped his hands and faced Ramoses.
“I will continue my morning prayers if you have taken the time you wished, Apiru. I will not let you, or your people, go into the desert. Ever! Now begone from my sight!” As he spoke, he extended his arms to be rinsed for prayers. The priest hoisted the jar of water and poured from his shoulder.
Gasps turned to shrieks as the clear water fell on Thut's hands and turned to fresh blood, thick, slippery, and still warm. Thut looked with horror at his hands.
The blood of Egypt.
Looking at the floor, he saw that all the water, once it touched him, had turned to blood. Seeing Ramoses had left, Thutmosis rounded on his magi, his countenance all the more frightening with spatters of blood on his white kilt and gold collar, droplets already darkening on his face.
“By the gods! Do something! Should the Glory of Egypt—” He caught himself. “Should the consort of the Glory of Egypt be captured in the spell of a foreigner!” He drew in a deep breath and said through gritted teeth, “Clean up this sacrilege!” Fish were already rotting in the warm sun, and Thut knew that by high sun no one would be able to work by the river.
His Egyptian magus Menekrenes came forward. “I know the spell, gracious Majesty.” Thut gestured. Menekrenes turned toward the pots still full of water and, eyes half-closed, began to chant. The slaves brought forth another jug of water. The magus, still chanting, reached down and with a swift movement grabbed a handful of water.
It turned to blood in his very grasp. With an angry shout, Thut turned back up the pathway to the palace. A frightened priest ran to his side. “Prince! You must finish the prayers! More than ever they need to be completed.” Menekrenes stood immobile, staring at the rapidly drying blood on his hands. The other magi deserted him.
Thut walked to the edge of the water and looked across the red and churning river, the stench engulfing him. Raising his blood-spattered arms, he intoned to the cowering priesthood and the dying fish, “Lord of finned life …” Thut heard himself and leaped forward in the liturgy. “If the Nile is weak, all the world suffers, prostrate.” Thut hoped that wasn't to be prophecy. “Sacrifices are few and the rekkit are made low. When he-she rises, joy bubbles from the lips of men, rejoicing in living. Creator, sustainer, he-she who brings richness to the earth rejoices. Lord of verdant life, drowning evil, nourishing good. Creating life for livestock, offerings for all neter. Replenishing and restoring life—feeding the poor. Causing trees to flourish to the uttermost desires so that men may not lack in them.” Thut finished the prescribed prayer but, without precedent, added his own words. “He who would defeat the god of slaves and make Egypt rich with land, food, and trees. He who rejects the curse of the foreigner and rewards the faithful worshiper. O, Father-Mother Nile, we beseech thee!” Thut ignored the gasps his addition brought and backed away from the Nile, his nostrils pinched.
Dismissing his retinue, he began to walk to his apartments. Surely this insufferable Apiru, Israelite, or whatever had not cursed his private baths and pools. The priests had dispersed and only three brave courtiers followed at a distance, most of them spies for Hat.
The group came to the first level of a series of lotus ponds, and Thut stopped abruptly. “These are still clean and clear.” He walked up to a pond, gestured for a lord to remove Thut's sandals, and he stepped in the water. No sooner had both feet entered than red stains began snaking their way from Thut into the clear water. He jerked out his feet with an oath, his toes covered with warm, gooey blood.
“Give me your kilt, Nakht,” he growled to his least favorite of Hat's spies. The unlucky nobleman flushed but unbelted the finely woven linen and handed it to Thut, his proud head high despite his nakedness. Thut wiped his feet dry and clean and threw the linen at Nakht Coldly Thut said, “My Majesty will retire to my apartments.” He gestured toward the pool. “I do not wish to see this muck at all.”
His retainer asked, “Should the Great House be warned of this?”
Thut caught his eye. “Do you think this has truly affected the whole Nile? Such a thing is impossible! I do not know how the Israelite did this trick, but I think perhaps my error was in underestimating his magical capabilities. I am sure it was only for our benefit. It will soon pass. The Great One,” Thut said with growing solicitude, “has greater tasks to occupy her valuable time and resources than a squabble with the local slaves. Let us not bother her.”
So saying, he turned and followed the private path to his apartments. He intended to spend the rest of this bloodbath feasting, fighting, and fornicating. Part of him hoped this little trick did inconvenience the royal wench under the Double Crown.
Lips in a grim smile, he summoned his body servant. “I will have nothing but wine to drink, and I will be bathing in milk. See to it.”
THE SUN WAS HOT on the wooden deck as Chloe stared idly across the blue green water. An earthy perfume of unwashed men, stagnant water, and fertilized soil rose around her. Cheftu had smiled stiltedly at her this morning, and Chloe promised herself she would be pleasant but distant. It didn't help when his scrutiny dropped to her lips and she felt blood pound in her ears. He'd gone into his room to pack his medicines and scrolls, for soon they would arrive in Avaris. She would have to dress herself for that. God alone knew how she would pleat and fold her gown without a slave. Ahh, Velcro.
A scream rent the air.
“Blood!”
Chloe leapt to her feet, but she felt Cheftu's restraining grip on her shoulders. He held her back from the slave, who was screaming and swearing. Gallons of blood covered the deck, the stench in the harsh sunlight revolting. Covering his face with a cloth, Cheftu firmly pushed Chloe onto her stool and walked forward. He looked around, a peculiar expression on his face, his skin gray beneath his tan.
He's looking for a body, Chloe thought. Though it would have to be a horse to carry all that blood. She gazed out across the Nile, the blue sky, green bushes, and red water … She stood up slowly.
The Nile was red. A thick, viscous red, and as she watched, dead fish rose to the surface. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The ruckus behind her on deck was gaining in volume as Cheftu tried to make sense from the slave's ramblings. She turned to him, but he was focused on the slave.
Only a bolt of lightning would get his attention, she thought. Chloe looked away, but as she did so, she saw something as familiar to her as a telephone and far more accessible. A bow and a quiver of arrows. She looked again at Cheftu, but he was still ineffectively engrossed.
Chloe bent down for the bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver. As she did, she saw the edge of a papyrus page. Pulling away the cloth that lined the inside of the quiver, she saw a stack of scrolls wrapped around inside. Why was Cheftu carrying pages inside his quiver? She looked for another moment; she saw the top page was black with writing. Probably spells, she thought.
A cry returned her to the present, and she nocked the arrow, pulled the bowstring, and released it. It sighed faintly as it flew over Cheftu … and into the Nile. Cheftu watched its path, and a shocked silence hung over the ship for a moment as the whole crew looked out onto the bloody red water. Then he barked, his voice hoarse with horror.
“Sweet Isis, mother of the gods!”
The sailors’ terrified cries joined his, and Chloe turned to look out across the … whatever it was. She turned back sharply.
No water. If something was wrong with the Nile, t
here would be no drinking water. Although people could last a long time without food, water was a necessity, especially under the burning rays of Ra.
She marched over to Cheftu, who stood looking into the Nile, his face blank, his golden eyes wide. She waved a hand in front of him and he turned to her, his gaze foggy with disbelief. Pulling out some papyrus and summoning RaEm's memory, she wrote the simple hieroglyph that meant life or death to them all. Water. When she looked at him again, his vision had cleared and the set of his mouth was resolute.
“ARE THERE JUGS OF WATER on board?” he asked Seti.
“Aye, my lord,” the captain responded as his hands twisted the hem of his kilt. “What curse has befallen on Egypt, my lord? Are you not a great hemu neter? Can you not purify these waters?”
Cheftu looked at him grimly. “If this is the working of the gods, do you think I, a mere man, can change their desire? If this is the working of natural causes, perhaps they can be discovered and rectified,” he said. There was no need to mention that if not, Egypt faced certain disaster.
Slaves brought out the water jugs, and Cheftu was pleased to see there was enough water to get through the next few days, if it were rationed. RaEm was already there, silently listing people and determining how much water for each. Cheftu gazed at her for a moment, caught in a welter of emotion: distrust, admiration, disbelief … and desire. He felt his body tighten and redirected his thoughts. The woman he thought he saw was just an illusion. For whatever purpose, it suited RaEm to be helpful now. Do not be deceived, he admonished himself.
“We must stop and gather more water from the marshes.” He dismissed the group and followed Seti to the tiller, looking for a safe place to disembark for the few hours needed. As they steered into a tiny niche, Cheftu glanced over his shoulder.
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