Reflections in the Nile

by J. Suzanne Frank

  “Summon this Moshe and his brother to the main chamber. Find Ameni and my guards! This time they shall see Egypt in all its glory!” His voice was biting. “Glorious Hatshepsut, living forever's throne should be placed on the dais. See that it is so!” The rest of Thut's commands were lost under the tramping of the many pairs of sandals that echoed through the corridor. Where could Cheftu be? Chloe began to make her way to the audience chamber. The darkness should enable her to hide in a corner and hear all that was happening.

  Stepping slowly away from the wall, she retraced her footsteps, hunting for the cross-passageway that would take her to the chamber.

  LORD CHEFTU PACED BEFORE HIS PHARAOH, living forever!

  “So what is the fear here, magus?” Hat asked, her voice pitched higher than usual, the only evidence of terror at this midnight at noon.

  “My Majesty, for many weeks this God has visited these plagues on Egypt. Only by letting this people go will we escape with our lives.”

  Hat shifted in her seat. Cheftu couldn't see her, even in the torchlight, but the rustle of linen on gold and the tap of her tapered nails on the armrests let him know she was irritated and impatient. “Since you have been gone, my lord, I have been using another's services. He is not as efficient as you, but he does have an explanation for these plagues. He said it has almost nothing to do with this prophet. Now, I hear the Lady RaEm has both regained her voice and lost the bastard she was carrying. Is this true?”

  “Aye, My Majesty,” Cheftu said, wondering at her sources.

  “Good. She is now wed to Thut, and that should keep him out of my way for a while.”

  “My Majesty—” Cheftu began.

  “No more now, magus. Let us go to the audience chamber of Thut's lamentable little palace and see this prophet put in his proper place.”

  “But My Majesty—”

  “Oh, do stop interrupting, Cheftu!” She clapped her hands. When the slow footsteps of a slave were audible, she said, “Prepare my cloth-of-gold kilt and skirt. They have wanted to negotiate with Egypt, and indeed they shall!”

  Cheftu sighed softly. Whatever would be, would be. “Where is the noble Senmut?” he asked. Hatshepsut rarely traveled without him. It grew ominously quiet.

  “He is working on a special project. First, he is finishing the details of his parents’ tomb. Although he is of poor stock, he is an honorable man in the ways of Ma'at.”

  Cheftu bowed, though in the darkness the movement was pointless.

  Hat continued, “There is no need for him to leave his work to deal with some insubordinate slaves.”

  “A special project?” Cheftu said. “Has not Senmut created the most beautiful of all monuments to My Majesty in her mortuary temple at Deir El-Bahri? How could even such a magnificent artist as Count Senmut surpass that?”

  “He is not creating something beautiful, but he is creating something divine and eternal.” Her tone was final. “My Majesty is the pharaoh of Egypt, living forever! I have brought peace and prosperity to this land. There is no need for My Majesty to answer to anyone.”

  “Aye, My Majesty. However, the peace you have brought is being challenged, both in Goshen and in the south. The Kushites are testing their strength once more. Surely you should take the army and crush this rebellion before it grows full-size? Cannot the gold be better used that way?”

  Hat's tone was icy. “My Majesty is aware the country is seeking blood. My Majesty knows that men want to go to war and the sons whose lives I have saved in these years of peace are now chafing in their security. Still, My Majesty will not sacrifice Egyptian mothers’ hopes and joys to meet the needs of a bored male populace! I am surprised at you, Cheftu! You have always been the voice of reason. The one time I dragged you to battle you refused to fight, but instead treated the fallen of both sides. Has being in the rage-filled presence of my nephew-son changed all of that? Or are you simply suggesting that My Majesty step down and let Horus-in-the-Nest take the double crown?”

  Cheftu tried to still the fear in his throat. His guts twisted and gurgled. Did she know about the oath he swore to Thut? Or was this simple anger at being out of control of what was happening to her beloved country?

  “My Majesty,” he said cautiously, “I want what is best for Egypt. I have given my life to serve her. It concerns me that the people are discontent with the peace and prosperity you have provided in the god's wisdom. Would it not be better to take a small army and defeat the Kushites? Would that not meet the needs of the people better than building something more? Already you have restored so much of what Egypt lost in the time of the Hyksos; is that not enough?”

  “It is not.”

  They sat in the darkness, Cheftu fearing the cold tone of Hat's voice. “Have you always shared your secrets with me, Hemu neter? My silent one?”

  Cheftu frowned into the darkness. “I have, My Majesty.”

  “There is nothing you have kept hidden? No magic formulae, no hidden languages?”

  Feeling trapped, Cheftu answered calmly, as his stomach boiled. “Nay, My Majesty. I have used my abilities for you alone.”

  “Do you swear this?”

  “Aye.” He hoped she did not notice his brief hesitation.

  “By all that you hold sacred?”

  “Aye,” he said, confused and more than a little frightened. Hat would not normally act this way. What was wrong?

  “By the ka of your friend Alemelek?”

  Acid burst into his throat, and he swallowed and tried to control the cold sweat breaking out across his body. “I beg your pardon, Majesty?”

  “Alemelek. You carry with you drawings he has done. Sketches and drawings unlike anything I have ever seen. All explained in a writing so foreign, it must be from the Shores of Night, for not even Set would do away with pictures of the gods.”

  So that was where his drawings had gone. The one of two things that Alemelek had asked of him, and he had failed. That which was intended for the future had been discovered now. What would the repercussions be?

  “Who is your spy, My Majesty?”

  “The same who saw that you would not help the Lady RaEmhetepet regain her position by ridding her of the baby, and had to do it herself.”

  Assst, Cheftu thought. The little serving girl Basha. She had disappeared the night RaEm had miscarried and the night his scrolls were stolen.

  “It would seem you know all, Majesty.”

  “To the contrary, magician. When these things were discovered in your apartments here, it was decided to search your homes in Waset, Gebtu, and Noph. Do you know what we found there?”

  Cheftu stood, numb. It was all over.

  “More of that kheft-writing. Pages of it, bound together. Are they spells, magus? Or curses? From this world or another? Do you have a reasonable explanation why you would deliberately deceive your pharaoh?”

  His mind raced as Cheftu stood in the darkness. She had found his notebooks, the many pages of notes he had written the first years he was here, hoping to use them in his research someday. The darkness was foreboding, and he wondered where his friend Hat was in this night-black room.

  “I await your explanation, Hemu neter,” she said, her voice frigid. He heard her move toward him. “For years I have held your counsel at my heart. For my lifetime I have trusted you.” Her voice cracked. “It appears I have held a cobra to my breast.” Her whisper was fierce: “Begone, magus. If this magic is so dark you cannot explain it to me, I want no part of you. Take your spells and your pictures and go back to the pit from which you came. I give you one week to leave Egypt, and if you ever return, I personally shall destroy your body and your evil.”

  Cheftu was shaken to the core. Leave Egypt? For where? For what?

  “My decree stands for all time. No matter who is pharaoh, this decree shall be law. Just as my father banished the traitor prince who would side with the slaves against his own family, and ruled that his name never be spoken again, so I banish you!”

  Hat threw the
papyrus scrolls and his many notebooks at him. “Begone!”

  Cheftu scrabbled to retrieve the years of documentation. She had left the room; he could hear her receding footsteps as she walked out on the deck. He garnered his things close and walked cautiously across the room, looking for a lighter black patch that would lead to the world beyond. Banished. From Egypt. He swallowed hard as he thought of his vineyards, his loyal servants … his wife.

  Unimpeded by others, Cheftu walked across the deck. The voices he heard were weak, like the mewling of lost kittens. His sandaled foot found the downward slope of the ramp leading to land, and he inched his way down it carefully, the scrolls tucked into his belt, one arm holding the small notebooks, the other outstretched. He felt the give of sandy soil and heaved a sigh of relief.

  For all that Hat knew, apparently his marriage to RaEm had slipped past Would she also banish RaEm or leave her here to further tear apart his soul? Automatically Cheftu found himself on the way through the gardens to the palace. He remembered Ramoses. He, Cheftu, must be there when Hat had her confrontation, but he was reluctant to leave Chloe alone. He came to the gates, and his approach was noted by a scared sentry.

  “Who goes there!” The soldier's voice trembled with fear.

  Use it for all it's worth while you still have it, Cheftu thought. “His High Lord Cheftu! Open the gate, sentry!”

  The soldier responded to the authority in Cheftu's voice. He went through the gates and hurried toward the audience chamber. He would stop here for a moment before going back to Chloe.

  The presence of people was palpable. Their fear was like a rancid perfume in the air. They shouted out, “Who is it?” every time someone breathed. Fear of the dark and the evils it held was obviously a large part of the national consciousness, the scholar in him thought distractedly. He addressed the group at large. “When are the Israelite prophets expected?”

  A swell of sound answered him, those calling for the Apiru's deaths, those pleading with the gods, and a few responding that the slaves had not yet been found. “Where is the prince?” he asked, and was met with a lot of uncertainty. There were rumors he was praying in his room or that he had gathered an army and they were going to kill the Israelites. Everyone seemed to know it was the Israelites who wanted to leave and that the majority of the Apiru were still going to be here, even if the Israelites departed. When they departed.

  He headed back to their apartments. He must speak to Chloe.

  CHLOE HAD JUST REACHED THE CORRIDOR to their apartments when she heard her name, her Egyptian name, hissed out. She spun around, trying to pinpoint the voice.

  “Sister,” the voice said, “the priestesses have been summoned. We must gain Ra's attention. He is ill and needs our help. ReShera would assume your position, but we dare not let her. She sees only with the vengeful glare of Sekhmet, not with the mercy of HatHor. Come with me, please, my lady.”

  Chloe strained to see through the blanket of darkness, but it was difficult. The “other” identified the voice as AnkhemNesrt, eight o'clock. Chloe doubted she'd ever heard her speak, but RaEm had.

  “Will you come, priestess? I am scared….” The soft voice trailed off, ending in a hiccup of swallowed tears.

  Chloe pushed away from the wall, arms outstretched. “Of course, sister,” she said, and felt the impact of a slender body in her arms.

  The girl sobbed quietly. “Why has this happened, great lady? Why have the gods abandoned us? Ma'at is destroyed!”

  Hysteria tinged the girl's voice. “It will be reestablished, AnkhemNesrt,” Chloe said firmly. “However, we must listen to the demands of the Israelite's god. He alone can provide help through this time.”

  The girl was silent as they stumbled along the corridor. “How can he be more powerful than Amun-Ra?” she wondered aloud. “Never, never has the power of Ra been hidden! Not in all the dynasties of all the pharaohs. Not even in the time of the Hyksos! Who is this god?” Her voice was filled with wary respect.

  “He is the beginning and the end. Who was and is and is to come.” The words tripped off her tongue, and Chloe recognized they were words she'd heard in churches all her life. Then she realized she actually believed it. “Come, sister, we must hurry to the temple.”

  Easier said than done. The streets were empty but haunted, filled with the petrified cries of an invaded people. Their world was upside-down, and Chloe felt the spirit of fear stalking the streets. They hurried as quickly as possible through the blinding darkness, guided by AnkhemNesrt's sense of direction. Chloe feared total pandemonium would break out before long. The people were too scared They almost were impaled by a young boy with a quick sword It was definitely unsafe outside, disaster brewing.

  Chloe's legs were beginning to ache when AnkhemNesrt came to an abrupt stop. “We have gone one street too far.”

  They turned around and at long last found the temple. They could hear the wails of the priestesses from inside, beseeching HatHor to aid Amun-Ra. They entered the main chamber, and AnkhemNesrt began to tug at Chloe's clothes.

  “What are you doing?” Chloe whispered.

  The girl stopped, shocked. “Undressing you, my lady. Of course, if you wish a more worthy priestess to—”

  “Of course,” Chloe interrupted, ready to slap herself. When would she learn to consult the “other” before opening her mouth! “We must dance unclothed for the goddess so that she will take off her clothes and thus cheer up Ra to come out of hiding.” In Chloe's opinion it was one of the more ridiculous myths, but it was better than doing nothing, and the ancient Egyptian part of her was climbing mental walls in inactivity and horror.

  In RaEm's world nothing happened that did not have a precedent of a thousand years. Repetition was worshiped, the steady, on going, never-altering prescription for life. Spontaneity was not valued by ancient Egyptians. Change was shunned. Individuality was not prized. Improvement was inconceivable.

  To be a part of the cycle—birth, life, marriage, children, and death—or the cycle of the land—Inundation, Growth, Harvest, Rest: these were the sacred rhythms; anything that stepped away from them was to be feared and mistrusted, dismissed from memory as quickly as possible. For the first time Chloe understood that this aberration in Egyptian history would never be recorded.

  These plagues, this crisis, would be forgotten; after all, it happened only once.

  They walked on toward the others, the air heavy on Chloe's naked body. The priestesses were rubbing ashes on each other, mourning the loss of the fulcrum of their existence, Amun-Ra.

  ReShera had been silent since Chloe entered; she handed the silver sistrum to Chloe with rather more force than necessary. Allowing RaEm slight control of her mind, Chloe began to move the sistrum and dance, the slow movements straining her muscles and the words of the other priestesses ringing in her ears.

  “Oh! HatHor! Save us from eternal night!

  Ok! Lady! Retrieve the sun for us!

  Bring back the equilibrium of Ma'at!

  Fill us with your glory!

  Let not the darkness win!

  But restore to us thy life!

  Oh! Ra! Come back to us!

  Oh! Amun! Leave us not!

  Oh! Gods! Save us from the darkness!

  Keep us in your eternal light!”

  Chloe's voice was rough with tears as she heard the pleading of the women around her. What had begun as singing became wailing—lost, pitiful, hopeless. For hours they danced and sang, heaping ashes on their heads and tearing at their hair to invoke the goddess's pity, so she, in turn, would persuade Ra to shine again.

  The night did not lift, did not lighten. Finally, all her limbs trembling, Chloe sank to the floor. Sweat ran in rivulets down her naked body, mixing with the ash and forming a thick paste. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing the short strands away from her face. Her mind was blank, numb with RaEm's rising terror and her own pity for those around her.

  AnkhemNesrt sank to the ground beside her. “We will rest now, grea
t lady. Perhaps it is night and the god will rise in the morning?” She laid a warm hand on Chloe's naked leg. “Do you wish to sleep in the White Chamber, lady?”

  Chloe didn't want to move, even for a room at the Hilton. “Nay, sister. You may if you wish”

  “The prince will come tonight, lady. Are you certain? It is your responsibility.”

  Something in AnkhemNesrt's voice made Chloe drag her weary mind to the “other.” After a few seconds she said decisively, “Nay. You must serve the goddess, AnkhemNesrt. Unless you wish for someone else to go?”

  AnkhemNesrt almost collapsed with relief. “Perhaps ReShera, lady?”

  “Very well Summon her and tell her, please,” Chloe said as she drifted to sleep.

  CHEFTU TRIED TO KEEP A REIN ON HIS PANIC. Just because Chloe was gone did not mean anything was wrong. He paced the room for the third time in as many minutes. Ehuru was there, silently fearful in the darkness. They had lit several torches; at least they thought they had. It made no difference.

  The sound of running feet in the corridor stopped him. The high, panicked voice of a child announced that the prophets would be with Thut and Hat (though he was much more respectful) in six decans, and a runner would announce when the court would convene.

  Ehuru stirred. “Should I prepare a bath, my lord?”

  Cheftu chuckled despite himself. “Aye, Ehuru. I could use a wash if you can find the water.”

  Ehuru's laugh joined his own. “If that is what my lord needs, that is what he shall be provided.” Cheftu heard the retainer's shuffling steps leave the room. He sat on a stool, drained. Hands clenched, he leaned forward. What could he do? Soon things would be beyond his control.

  First he must provide for those who had served him so faithfully, Ehuru among them. Second he must find Chloe and explain all that had happened—warn her of probable danger. He must liquidate what he could of his holdings and get gold. They must make arrangements to leave. By ship? Could they go to Kallistae? No, it was gone in the eruption. Retenu? Hatti? Where was safe? What had survived this disaster? Where would the approaching famine be the least? He ran a hand over his blind, bloodshot eyes and the scruff on his face. They must pack.