Chloe stared. He was already kneeling, fastening one of his sandals. “What about the Apiru? Aren't we escaping with them?” she demanded.
He paused, bowing his head to look at the floor. “The answers are not so easy anymore, Chloe,” he said, his accentuation of her name sending a shiver down her spine. He turned to look at her, his eyes molten in the golden rays of morning. “We can talk later, but now I must act.” He reached for his heavy belt.
Chloe snatched up her gown. “We go together or not at all.”
His glance flickered over her. “If you were a Frenchwoman, you would be too weak from amour to consider roaming about the countryside during a plague.”
She was almost outraged until she saw the side of his mouth twitch with amusement. “American women are hardier.” He helped her adjust the straps of her dress and fasten her collar.
Gently he dropped a kiss on her neck. “I will miss these slow days with you, my lady. In all that may transpire, know that you are my heart. Je vous aime.”
She leaned back into his warm chest, her pulse jumping in her throat. Apparently French in his time was still very formal. Cheftu kissed the top of her head, then moved away, grabbing his cloak. “Cheftu, isn't this going to ruin our credibility with the Apiru? We're going to have to sneak out. We're breaking their traditions after begging asylum.” She looked around, her gaze sharp for their belongings from years of staying in hotel rooms. “Are those your armbands?”
“They are a small payment for those who have risked their lives for us. Perhaps it will enable them to forgive our social gaffe. If they do not see us leave, they cannot be questioned about where we go. Thut will not be able to punish them.”
Theoretically, Chloe thought.
The door opened directly onto an inner courtyard, making them visible at once. It wouldn't work. Cheftu crossed to the window and looked out into the deserted outer court. “This is the only way.” He kissed her briefly. “I will send someone for you as soon as possible.”
She looked out the window. It was a drop, but there were niches and crevices in the crumbling wall of the building for foot- and handholds. She gave a mighty yank on her sheath and pulled off half of the skirt so it ended just above her knees, then swung over the side.
She hoped she'd remember her brief rock-climbing seminar. Cheftu sputtered protests in the room above her, but Chloe was determined to go with him. She skimmed her feet and hands, moving from hold to hold until she was a few feet from the ground. She dropped and rolled, the shock of the hard landing absorbed in the roll. Cheftu dropped next to her, grabbed her hand, and shrank into the faint shadow of the building.
“Should I know anything more?” he hissed. “Besides glace and your arachnid tendencies?”
They dodged through the village, running from shadow to shadow. The soft whinny of a horse got Cheftu's attention, and they were soon standing in a lean-to with a pretty bay mare and no chariot.
“Can you ride?” he asked in French.
“Not very well,” she said in Egyptian. “These horses have not been broken for that. Won't it be dangerous?”
“No more so than anything else we have done,” he said wryly.
Cheftu reached around the horse's neck and hoisted himself up. With a loud whinny she pranced in the stall but apparently decided his weight was no worse than a chariot. Chloe looked up at Cheftu, daunted by the size of the horse. As she looked around for a mounting block, the “other” told her Egyptians didn't ride horses. They would think Cheftu truly a magician when he showed up like this. He reached down for her, and with a heave that almost unseated him, Chloe was seated, precariously, behind him, thinking fondly of underwear as she arranged the remains of her dress.
The horse didn't like two passengers and began to buck, trying to rid herself of the weight. Cheftu laced his hands through her mane and held on with his knees. Chloe wrapped herself tightly around him as they jounced around. The mare kicked away the lean-to walls and ran into the square, Cheftu and Chloe clinging to her back. Amid the confused cries Cheftu pulled the side of her head, forcing her toward Avaris. Determined to free herself, she bolted.
By the time the horse slowed, Chloe was exhausted. Cheftu was still hunched across the horse's back, guiding her by pulling at her mane. She hated it, yet Chloe knew there was no other way to goad her—she wasn't trained for this. They stepped out of the overgrown greenery and were on a small road when Chloe noticed it was dusk.
At least at first glance it seemed like dusk, but the sun was still high in the sky. Cheftu yelled something over his shoulder that was lost on the rising wind. When he slapped the rump of the horse and she took off again, Chloe barely had time to grab his waist. The wind began to howl, furiously whipping the foliage and swirling dust. The horse reared when lightning flashed across the sky. Chloe scrambled to stay seated, Cheftu her anchor.
The world was a cacophony of sound as the sky grew darker by the minute. Soon they would be unable to see anything. With a giant boom the skies opened and it began to hail. She crouched farmer over Cheftu's back, cringing from the onslaught. Amid the steaming rain was small, pea-size hail. Miraculously, every piece missed them.
When they turned onto a wider road leading into Avaris, Chloe gasped. Fires burned everywhere as hail continued to fall. Each piece was larger; sizzling rocks the size of oranges battered trees. Chloe saw the brutalized bodies of wild dogs in the desolate streets. Cheftu yanked the horse toward the palace. They pulled up to the gates, and he slid off the horse to seek admittance. He pushed the heavy cedar … and it swung in. There was no one on duty. Chloe jumped down, and the horse reared and bolted, running beneath the leaden sky.
Chloe and Cheftu ran toward the covered walkway. Once underneath, she looked out at the strange world. The hail was larger: Chloe had no doubt that being hit now would be fatal. She also noticed that when the hail landed, a small flash of fire would ignite the ground, resulting in grass fires that burned despite the damp. She shivered and Cheftu drew her close.
They walked unchallenged through the empty hallways and porticos of the prince's palace. When they reached the audience chamber, voices could be heard from inside. Cheftu halted her and they stood, eavesdropping unabashedly.
“I must do this!” thundered a voice, recognizable as Thutmosis’. “In Avaris alone more than a hundred have died! We must summon him! There is no other choice!” The words of the other man were lost, but the thinly veiled derision in his tone was not. Thut cut him off. “Enough! I have spoken!”
They waited for a moment, but no one came through the towering doors and no other sounds were audible. Squaring his shoulders, Cheftu walked up and pushed open the doors.
Thut spun around, noting their presence with a lifted eyebrow. “Haii-aii! The fugitives return.” He continued pacing. This is a pleasant shock, Chloe thought, having expected death or prison.
Cheftu crossed his chest in respect. “Another plague, Prince?” he asked calmly.
Thut looked at him from beneath lowered brows. “Aye, magus. Have you any advice for the Egypt you have betrayed?” His voice was cold, his movements marked.
“Aye, Prince. The God with whom you fight is going to win.”
Thut stopped pacing and faced Cheftu. “Are you a convert to speak so firmly? Or have you and my aunt-mother conceived this plot to undermine my claim?”
“I am neither, Prince. However, I have seen”—Cheftu struggled for a moment—“the future. If you persist in this hardheartedness, you will not be in it.”
Thut approached him, wary. “Are you saying that Horus-in-the-Nest should beg the pardon of a minute god who has neither temple nor treasury nor priests?”
Cheftu looked him directly in the eye. “He is an all-powerful God who has the width and breadth of time and space as his temple, his treasury all imagined wealth. His priesthood one day will cover the earth.”
Chloe listened to the conviction in Cheftu's voice. Thut must have also heard it. He turned away, his shoulder
s hunched. “I have already sent for Ramoses.” He walked up to his stool on the dais. “It seems that Pharaoh Hatshepsut, living forever! is also journeying this way.” He gestured toward the stools to the left of him. “Please, sit and join me as I plead with a shepherd-slave for the life of Egypt. After I deal with him, I will deal with you. You were wise to let my temper cool.” He cast a bitter glance at Chloe.
Cheftu looked back at Chloe, and she followed him to the gilded stools on the floor at Thut's foot. They sat in silence. Chloe looked around the room with its plain stone floors and etched alabaster columns. Behind Thut was a huge mural with the pharaoh smiting his enemies, the same picture that would grace every pharaoh's tomb, along with the list used since the dynasties began, enumerating who would be killed. The list never changed, regardless of who was on the throne. To the people of Egypt whether or not Pharaoh would win was not a question—it was a foregone conclusion.
The more powerful the pharaoh, the more powerful the common man. That was why Thut tried so hard to fight against this “desert god.” He truly believed that with his actions went the reputation of Egypt, Chloe realized.
The doors opened and two men, clad in long cloaks and beards, walked in, covering the length of the room in seconds. They inclined their heads toward Thut, waiting for him to speak. Thut waited for innumerable moments. “The golden god's greetings to you, Ramoses and Aharon.”
The taller man stepped forward. “Call me no longer Ramoses, as my Egyptian, mother did, for I acknowledge no Amun-Ra. Rather call me Moshe.”
Chloe almost choked in excitement. Moshe? This was Moses! De Mille wasn't too far wrong about how he looked, though his charisma made even Charlton Heston fade in comparison.
Thut's face darkened with anger, but he held it in stiff control. Ignoring Moshe's request, he said, “Ramoses, take away this plague.” He spoke with an imperiousness that would have done Hatshepsut proud.
Moshe spoke, not with arrogance, but with mind-numbing confidence. “I am not God. He hears only prayers. He commands me, I do not command him. Will you let us go? Or will your pride continue to destroy this land you have been given?”
Thut sighed deeply, the weight of the past months starting to tell on his fleshy features. “Please,” he said, the entreaty sounding odd on his lips. “Pray to your god for me to take away this torment. I …” He paused, the seconds turning into minutes as he sought for the words he had never before said, a concept he had never before understood. “This time, I have transgressed.” He stopped, surprise on his features. “This Elohim of yours is in the right I and my people are in the wrong. Intercede with your god for us and go, for we have had enough. You need not stay in Egypt any longer.” He fell silent, his mud-colored eyes almost black in the near darkness of the echoing audience chamber.
Moshe spoke, and Chloe could see Cheftu's lips moving along with Moshe's words. Did he know his Bible stories that well? “When I have gone out of the city, I will spread my hands in supplication to Elohim. The thunder will stop and the hail will no longer destroy, so that you will know all the earth is Elohim's, even Egypt. But I know you are still not a believer in our God and you still do not respect his power.”
Thut had no further comment, and without any acknowledgment of Thut's status the Apiru left the room, the click of the embossed door jolting them all.
Thut turned to Cheftu. “So, magus, have you seen enough of Horus pleading? Will you tell my pharaoh that I am not fit because I am moved by the destruction of my land? Or should I end your life before you chance to betray me again?”
Cheftu fell gracefully on his face in obeisance. “You have averted the greatest disaster Egypt will ever know and have ensured for yourself an afterlife of peace, Pharaoh,” he said.
Thut looked shocked; Chloe was stunned. Cheftu was swearing fealty to the pretender to the throne? He could be killed for treason! She looked into the shadows that encompassed most of the room. Any spy could be there, memorizing his words to take back to Pharaoh.
Thut walked to where Cheftu lay on the ground, then raised a foot and placed it on Cheftu's neck. “Your oath is taken, High Lord Cheftu sa'a Lord Khamese, vizier of the Oryx nome. Shall you serve me and serve Egypt for your breath and life?”
“Aye, My Majesty,” Cheftu said into the floor.
“Then rise, magus.” Cheftu got to his feet and accepted a ring Thut took from his right hand. “Why do you do this, Cheftu? You who have been Hat's friend and counselor for my lifetime?”
Cheftu took the ring and placed it on his left-hand little finger. “Because you must keep to your word. Now I am a trusted counselor, so you will listen to my words. You must honor your vow to this God, Pharaoh.”
Thut snorted. “For everyone's safety, do not call me ‘Pharaoh.’ For Osiris’ sake, do not harp on this like a papyrus hawker. I said they can leave, and they can, under my stipulations.” He smiled wickedly. “I am not such a fool as to let them leave forever, Cheftu,” he said, clapping his new lord on the back. Cheftu's expression became grim again.
“You cannot defy this God and win, Majesty.”
Thut glowered at him. “I am Horus-in-the-Nest. My word is Ma'at.”
“Will you hold to your word, My Majesty?”
“As it suits me, my lord.”
Cheftu looked away, disgusted. “May my wife and I have shelter here?” He was challenging Thut with the relationship. Chloe moved to stand by his side.
Thut growled, his eyes agate. “Aye, but if you ever flout my will again, the jackals will feast on your flesh, magus. Take this used priestess from my sight, and stay far from my chambers and my gardens. I will send for you when your presence is required.”
Cheftu and Chloe then bowed stiffly, hurried across the stone pavement, their bare feet making no sound. Once outside they saw the sky was brightening, and true to Moshe's God's word, the hail had stopped.
The destruction was unbelievable. Outbuildings were crushed to the ground. People who had been caught outside were flattened under hailstones as large as basketballs. The gardens were in shambles, vines ripped away from buildings, the odor of crushed lotus rising up through the flame-scented air.
They walked the length of the palace without seeing another soul. Entering Cheftu's suite, they found Ehuru on his mat, the rotten stench of his open sores making Chloe gag. Cheftu knelt at the side of his faithful servant, commanding Chloe to bring water, cloths, and his herbs. Covering her face, Chloe stepped into the chamber where Cheftu slept. She picked up the woven papyrus basket that contained vials and jars, grabbed some fresh linens from Cheftu's couch, and walked into the bathing chamber for water.
She laid everything down by Cheftu and stood, calling for servants. None came. She stepped into the narrow servants’ hall that ran through the entire building, where the same smell of rotting flesh reached her. Lighting a torch, she saw the place was littered with ill Egyptians, their burst boils draining onto the mud-block floors. She ran back to Cheftu, repulsed and angry that God could do such a thing.
Cheftu had bandaged Ehuru and was mixing an ointment. The manservant had not woken, but he was breathing easier. Chloe grabbed Cheftu's arm and more linens. “There are more, Cheftu. A whole hallful need your help,” she said, dragging him into the servants’ hallway. With a muttered oath he knelt by the first victim.
Hours later Chloe stumbled into the bathing chamber. The water was colder than she would have liked, but added to the scented sand bar, it was refreshing and cleansing. Cheftu came in after her, spattered with a variety of noxious fluids and staggering from exhaustion. He sank under the water, and Chloe paddled to him, massaging the kinked muscles in his neck. She washed his torso until his burnished skin glowed in the torchlight. Cheftu leaned against the side of the pool and drew Chloe to him. Burying his face in her neck, he held her.
She leaned into his body, feeling every inch of water-softened skin from the tops of his feet up his strong thighs to his flat abdomen and the curved muscles of his arms. She fe
lt his steady heartbeat and ran her fingers through his dark, wet hair.
“I love you,” she said quietly beside his ear.
His arms tightened around her in acknowledgment. “That gives me air to breathe, Chloe,” he murmured. His arms relaxed and his breathing became slow and even. Chloe pulled away, realizing he'd fallen asleep. She stepped out of the pool and tapped Cheftu on the shoulder, jerking him awake long enough to follow her into the bedroom. She handed him a robe and grabbed a blanket before they fell onto the couch.
Shouts from the next room roused Cheftu. He looked at Chloe, snuggled into the sheets like a cat, one hand curled beneath her face. He tucked linens in around her and went to the sitting room, closing the lightweight door behind him.
Ehuru was on his pallet, stirring. Two soldiers stood inside the room. A faint odor of illness still emanated from them, and neither was standing with the precision of the military. They crossed their chests, and one spoke:
“Horus-in-the-Nest requests your presence in the audience chamber, my lord. We will wait for you to wash and dress.”
Cheftu waved to the chairs and table. “Then please seat yourselves before you fall. I would call for refreshments, but the servants are all unwell.” The soldiers sat down, and Cheftu went into his bathing room, rinsed, and donned his robe. Without disturbing Chloe, he dressed for court, but in the blue of mourning for those who had died. After strapping on a leather belt and collar, he left the room, unable to shave himself or apply the necessary makeup. It felt strange to greet the world this way, a breach of proper etiquette, but this was a national emergency.
If Thut did not keep to his word, it would be a national disaster.
While following the guards through columned walkways unattended and unswept, Cheftu realized the palace was in shambles. They entered the audience chamber through one of the side passages. He was startled to see so many people present, but they were all sick. Open wounds from the previous plague were healing but still unsightly. No one was shaved, and very few had indulged in the elaborate toilette required for court.
Reflections in the Nile Page 27
