“Sitting in the marketplace, writing letters for the ignorant?”
“Nay.” He looked away, a sad smile on his lips. “I would be a scribe of the times. Tracking the reigns, the traditions, the wars, of Egypt.” His tone turned sardonic. “You, RaEm? Would you be the wife of a dozen men?”
Chloe stiffened. What a jerk! She'd tried for peace and look how he'd behaved!
“My lady, I apol—”
She cut him off. “Good afternoon, Cheftu. I must prepare for my duties of office tonight.” Her shoulders were stiff as she walked away … she had only two hours.
When the litter arrived, she was dressed. After two hot baths and an icy one, Basha had started sharpening a blade to shave Chloe's head. No way. Whether or not she was in RaEm's body, with RaEm's genes, Chloe wasn't going to run the risk of cutting her hair again. It had just started to be manageable, and she knew it would take forever to grow out. It wouldn't do to go back to her own time looking like a radiation victim. She'd have enough to explain as it was. And she was going back.
Basha was shocked, but she was also obedient and put away the shears and razor. She pulled out the pleated white tunic Chloe was to wear and a long, fringed shawl After slipping the tunic over her head, Basha tied the shawl, thoroughly covering Chloe's hips and thighs.
Now why can't I dress this way all the time? Chloe thought. It certainly was not underwear, but it covered just the same. The shawl was beautiful, its blue and white stripes shot with silver threads and tiny embroidered horns and ankhs.
Basha brought out the jewelry trunk, and Chloe, consulting her “other” memory, selected a silver circlet with horns, a disk, and a filigreed feather, and a malachite-and-silver bracelet. Basha then tied a headcloth of woven silver on Chloe's head, the folds falling over her shoulders and down her back. She put the circlet on top and bowed.
“My lady is ready?”
Chloe wondered at the lack of makeup, but when Basha draped her in a hooded cloak, she got the feeling it wouldn't matter. She heard the jingle of tiny bells in the hallway, and when the door opened she saw a similarly shrouded person waiting.
She noticed the other woman was not wearing sandals, and turning to Basha, saw she was once more prostrated. Who is this that Basha should behave this way? Chloe thought, then forgot her question as she was helped into the waiting litter and its curtains were drawn.
Once inside, a powerfully sweet odor assailed her, and Chloe had to breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging. They were carried up and down streets, until the light coming through the curtains had almost faded.
When they stopped, Chloe was the first to climb out, almost falling out when she realized she was stepping on another person. They were at the doors of a small temple, its ruined columns covered in ivies and vines—quite a bit different from the encroaching desert in every other temple location.
She walked through the hypostyle hall, for the temple was built according to the plan of Karnak. The paint had long ago faded from the halfway walls, and the jewels had been removed from the depictions of HatHor and her various myths.
The opposite wall told the story of HatHor going to Nubia, where she had assumed the shape of a wildcat and wrought absolute destruction until the god Thoth, in the guise of a baboon, cajoled her back to Egypt.
Chloe could read every word and had the smallest vision of a schoolroom where she had written out the story many, many times as punishment for … for what? Oh, joy, she thought. Another unanswered question.
They walked to the back of the temple, threading their way through a dense forest of HatHor-headed columns. They stepped into the goddess's chamber, and Chloe looked around. The walls had once been covered with silver, the “other” said, but most of it had been removed, leaving only a glint of the sacred metal here and there.
The barque where the silver statue should reside was empty, but there was a low table with the ritual offerings of grain and beer standing before the clearest depiction of HatHor. Goddess of music, dancing, laughter, drunkenness, and love, she also foretold the future of children, in the form of seven exquisitely beautiful women. Each of the maidens here was a physical counterpart to each of the seven HatHors. Egypt was the child whose future they would predict.
Oh, Camille, Chloe thought, you would not believe this!
They sat down at scattered tables, each place designated by a goblet and plate. Chloe saw her name, RaEmhetepet, etched on the silver and chose a nearby chair. Each of the maidens sat down, ending with ReShera next to her. In a motion they all pulled off their hoods and dropped their cloaks around them.
The six HatHors sat looking at her, and Chloe had to agree they were the most gorgeous women she had seen in Egypt, including Hatshepsut. No one was wearing makeup, which served to accentuate their beautifully sculpted features. Some were tall and willowy, others, like ReShera, petite and delicate. All were wearing the silver cloths and circlets. She alone wore the horns and disk and Feather of Truth. They were like an ancient sorority, Chloe thought, amused.
It seemed to be up to her to get started. As she glanced around, a child brought a silver dagger and laid it before her. Chloe raced through her mind, searching for some of RaEm's clues, but could locate nothing except some chants for an Apis fertility ritual.
She looked to ReShera, bewildered. “Sister?” she prompted.
With a gentle smile ReShera placed a hand on her wrist. “The mother understands, RaEm. I will take responsibility. May I have the sacred dagger?”
Relieved, Chloe handed it to her and watched as she walked to a far alcove. Slaves led forth a white cow hidden there. It must be drugged, Chloe thought, because it just stood there, watching the dagger with almost human eyes.
She looked around. The maidens were weeping. Silent tears streaked their perfect faces as they watched ReShera approach the cow, torchlight flickering off the silver threads in her shawl and headcloth.
She stood before the cow and slowly raised the dagger in the air. Throwing back her head, she began her prayer in a high, keening wail that echoed through the empty temple, freeing the spirits to worship.
“O Mother HatHor, Divine Sister of Amun-Ra, Lover of all Beauty, Defender of the Sacred Eye, please come to thy own. In desperation for thy goodwill we seek the flesh of this animal. Nurture thy own through its blood and milk. Guide thy own for the continuation of Ma'at, the holy balance of the universe. Gird thy own like lionesses to seek that which has weakened the holy order of priesthood. Mother, grant us thy power, thy ruthlessness, they all-seeing vision.”
She plunged the knife into the cow, its anguished moo mingling with the wails of ReShera and the maidens. Blood spurted from the wound in the cow's side, and slaves ran forward with silver pitchers to catch the flow. As soon as the pitchers were full, ReShera removed her shawl and stanched the wound. The cow was led away and ReShera brought the pitchers to the table.
Chloe began to sweat: things were looking pretty strange. A slave poured the steaming blood into their goblets, and Chloe resisted the urge to cover hers with her hand; she didn't dare. Gerchet clapped her hands and the servants came forward with what looked like a stew but smelled like curdled milk. They scooped a portion for each maiden; Chloe wanted to gag. It was some kind of meat stew, cooked in milk.
ReShera raised her hands to heaven. “O Lovely HatHor. Bless thy own as we consume our holy meal. Prepare thy own for the Field of Reeds in the milk of thy provision, just as this kid was prepared for eternity in the milk of its mother. Bless us, Mother Goddess.”
The priestess dropped her hands and lifted her glass. “Tonight we need special assistance from the mother. We must set aside our daily concerns and live only for her knowledge.” She turned to Chloe, her hand outstretched. “The vial, my sister.”
Chloe stared at her. Vial? Closing her eyes, she remembered a tiny, detachable part that slipped onto her circlet. Slowly she reached up and found the silver disk. She couldn't get it out. “Allow me, sister priestess,” ReShera sai
d, and, standing, pulled out the two-inch round disk.
Tapping it smartly with a long fingernail, she popped it open and then put a pinch in her goblet of warm blood. Holy shit! Chloe thought. What am I in for? Camille never mentioned drinking blood or doing drugs! ReShera handed the vial to her, and Chloe had no choice except to add a pinch to her own “beverage.” Herit-tchatcha-ah dug into her meal, tearing the flesh from the bones and soaking it in the milk before she ate it. Chloe followed suit, trying not to think about what she was eating. It couldn't be worse than chocolate-covered locusts, she thought. She hoped.
Finally the meat and milk were gone, and ReShera raised her goblet. The maidens, including Chloe, followed suit and drained them. Chloe swallowed harshly, her face twisted in a grimace behind her goblet.
Each woman set down her cup, not wiping away her macabre mustache. Chloe felt the blood begin to dry on her face, but table manners didn't appear to be much of a priority.
The slaves cleared away the dishes, then the table, and just around the time Chloe was about to fall onto the floor, they brought cushions. She felt strangely light as she stared up at the dark ceiling. RaAfu began to wail, then each of the women joined in. Unfortunately, to Chloe's twentieth-century ears they were not all in the same key, but another part of Chloe opened her mouth. When in Egypt …
AnkhemNesrt began a prayer. Everyone chimed along, not at the same time and definitely not in the same pitch. Chloe sang, too, neither comprehending nor recalling the words that came from her mouth. Something about seeing into the future and protecting Egypt … but Chloe wasn't certain.
Her mind filled with hazy memories. She was watching herself with an Arab, their bodies laced together like ribbons, straining, seeking pleasure. Camille was in the doorway, shocked almost beyond recognition. The Arab man looked familiar as he covered himself. Chloe reclined naked and unashamed in the bed, her large brown eyes hostile and angry.
Ruha-et's piercing yowl brought Chloe out of her reverie. Gerchet's wails had become screams, and when Chloe struggled to sit up, she saw ReShera weaving around the room, eyes wide and pupils dilated, promising to be HatHor's hand of vengeance, to cleanse the priesthood so that Egypt could defeat the slaves’ desert god.
Then, like a top that had lost momentum, ReShera spiraled around backward and fell flat, her voice cut off midscreech. Leaning on an elbow she barely remembered having, Chloe watched the twisting, tortuous dance of three of the maidens. Chloe thought it was seven, eight, and ten o'clock, but what with everyone wearing the same clothes and … it was bloody hard to tell.
She started to giggle at all of them, staggering around like some ancient version of the Seven Stooges, stepping on each other, crashing into walls, tripping over nothing. Her giggles grew louder as she got toiler feet and careened after them. It was like bumper cars, only not as jarring, since she couldn't feel anything.
The torchlight joined in the dance, the orange flickers fading to white and then turning into … Gene Kelly! What was he doing in ancient Egypt? He looked so young!
She opened her mouth to ask, but before he could answer he morphed into a huge Dr. Seuss Starbelly Sneech. When she reached out to touch his belly, someone grabbed her arm and pulled. They let go, but Starbelly was gone, just a large flaming brazier before her.
She looked around the chamber. The maidens had collapsed on the floor, like heaps of crumpled laundry. Chloe yawned. It did look comfortable, so, with all the grace of a felled sequoia, she joined them.
Chloe awoke in her own room. It was still dark, which was good, since even the reflection of the moon on her linen sheets made her wince. The pounding in her head gave the term “hung over” a profoundly nasty meaning. She eased out of bed moving very slowly to keep the room from spinning out of control.
What did I drink last night? The memory of her copper-scented cocktail sent her lurching toward the bath chamber. Unfortunately there was a wall. The impact knocked Chloe to her knees as Basha screamed out, “My lady, my lady!”
The slave girl came running toward her, sounding like a dinosaur out of Jurassic Park. “Are you well, my lady?” she screamed. Chloe clutched her head leaning against the wall.
Quietly and succinctly Chloe whispered “My head is exploding. I am about to die. If you make one more sound I will have you skinned alive.”
Basha gasped in fear. Evidently the slave girl had no sense of humor. Chloe was led to her chamber pot and left in silence.
The morning sun grazed Chloe's face, and she pulled up the blanket and turned over. Amazingly, she felt okay, at least compared with last night. Memories of the nasty liquid Basha had forced down her came rushing back, but at least her stomach stayed where it was.
As for last night, talk about hallucinating! She laughed aloud when she remembered the Starbelly. I always loved Dr. Seuss, she thought, chuckling. But those other memories? Couldn't be me, and certainly not with Cammy watch—
Hold a bloody minute, Chloe's mind raced What if what I saw was not a memory, not a dream, but a look at the future? We were asking to see the future. But why would I have brown eyes? The answer hit with such impact, she fell back onto the couch. RaEmhetepet had had brown eyes; now she had green. What if RaEm kept her own eyes and stepped into my skin … in the twentieth century! What could she be doing to my life?
Could that drug have opened my mind enough to see 3,500 years into the future? I don't believe in these ancients’ gods, but that was potent stuff I drank. Could it have done that? What else could it be? What is she doing to my life? The pain on Camille's face had made her almost unrecognizable. Who was that guy? Why would he sleep with RaEm? He doesn't think it is RaEm. He thinks it's me! Damn!
Basha was not around, and Chloe ran to the chest, looking for the circlet she had worn last night. It was nowhere to be found. Frantically she tore through the other chests, spilling kilts, sheaths, collars, and sandals into a gaudy multicolored mess on the polished floor. It was not here.
Chloe was startled by a knock on the door. Seeing no Basha, she crossed the chamber and opened it Cheftu stood there, impressive and approachable in a simple kilt headcloth, and faience collar. His golden eyes widened briefly, and Chloe thought she even saw the corner of his mouth lift for the briefest second.
Then he was Cheftu. Confusing, frustrating, arrogant, watchdog supreme. Cheftu, who'd thrown her olive branch in the fire. “My lord?” Chloe inquired in her haughtiest “RaEm” tone.
He inclined his head. “Life, health, and prosperity! The prince has invited us to join him fowl hunting in the marshes today.” He looked away. “I was unaware you would be, uh, indisposed, this morning.”
Chloe looked down. She was wearing a brief sleeping shift, and she could feel her hair in short clumps on her head. The desire to wipe away Lord Cheftu's obvious opinion that she did nothing except scream and faint overrode all else.
“I am quite well, my lord, and would greatly enjoy such a journey. If you will but wait a few minutes, I will change and be with you.” She stepped back to admit him to the room and saw with satisfaction the surprise, quickly hidden, on his face. She walked ahead of him, clapping her hands for a slave.
“See that my lord is served the Perfuming,” she instructed, “and begin my bath.” With what she thought was a singularly gracious smile, Chloe left Cheftu seated on the delicate reed chair as she raced into her sleeping room ready to strangle an already scared Basha.
In record time for an Egyptian noblewoman, Chloe stepped into the sitting room. Cheftu rose to his feet, again surprised. “My lady … ?”
Chloe walked to the chair opposite him and bade him sit. “I too need to break my fast. Please join me.” In silence they ate crusty rolls and juicy fruit, though Chloe turned away with a grimace the fresh milk Cheftu offered.
He kept sneaking sideways looks at her. Chloe tried not to smirk. RaEm had rarely risen before the midday meal, she knew. She always took at least two hours to dress. Did I beat that record, she thought, munching triumphan
tly.
Cheftu was surprised. Be honest, he told himself, you are shocked. The prince had requested RaEm's presence, and Cheftu had told him it was a hopeless cause, but he would ask nonetheless. Provided she was still speaking to him after yesterday. By the Feather, her question was so uncharacteristic!
He arrived here, and RaEm herself had opened the door, looking for all the world as though she had just left her lover's couch, and informed him she would go. Then she'd walked in, only a few minutes later, as radiant as the sun, a short kilt swinging above her sleek, shapely legs and a linen shirt displaying a sense of modesty he had seen in RaEm once. A modesty he found decidedly alluring.
She finished her meal and stared out at the garden, her legs crossed and one sandaled foot swaying. Her short hair was unadorned, and except for kohl around her eyes, she was not made up. She was more appealing than Cheftu had imagined.
“A bead for your thoughts,” he said quietly.
A bittersweet smile crossed her lips. “My family.”
“Have you heard from Makab?”
“Makab?” She looked startled. “Uh, nay. He is not much for correspondence,” she said quickly.
Too quickly, Cheftu thought and frowned. The Makab he knew wrote almost constantly. He watched her eat some dates, her long fingers gracefully picking out the pits—something wasn't adding up. Her questions, her mannerisms, her movements, her attitude. Haii, holy Isis, her kisses!
The effect she had on him was devastating. He felt like a green boy, shaky and uncertain. He cared, he actually cared what she thought. By the gods! Was he mad? He knew what type of woman she was. She was bored and banished, and of course she would become what he wanted; she could not stand to be alone. Once back in her own environment, she would again grow her scales and fangs. Remember that, fool, he chided himself. She wouldn't be a good deceiver if you weren't deceived.
The outing was in honor of the seven HatHor priestesses. They very rarely traveled beyond Waset or their home nomes. It also was a celebration of having water again. Though dangerously bereft of life, the Nile was once more a muddy blue green. Not only had the blood killed the fish, but the crocodiles and a lot of the waterfowl had starved. Egypt was hunting the remainder. Great conservation technique, Chloe thought wryly.
Reflections in the Nile Page 16
