In minutes they were equipped, and Imhotep slashed the back of the tent for an escape route. With luck there would be too few soldiers to surround the tent. Tears streaming down his face, Imhotep said, “May your God lead you and protect you,” he said.
Then they were gone, ducking from shadow to shadow, weaving through to the other side of the oasis. They traveled through the heat of the day, though the wind through the wadi kept them cool. Imhotep had warned it was flood season, so they walked on the wadi's edge. Any sound could foretell a rush of water that could submerge them instantly.
“Why do we have to travel as brother and sister?” Chloe asked at atmu.
Cheftu sighed; though he rode the donkey to ease his leg, he was still weak. “It's protection. As your brother, if someone harms you, I have recourse. Either they have hurt my family's standing and future, or they have insulted my forefathers.” He groaned, shifting on the gray animal. “Unfortunately, as your husband, they have simply hurt my feelings. I have no greater, claim on you.”
“So it is better to be my brother than my husband?”
“Absolument.”
“That makes no sense to me.”
“Why not?” Cheftu asked. “Doesn't your brother carry the responsibility for your family name? Makab does.”
“Since my only brother is a black sheep and hasn't been mentioned by name in many years, it is up to Cammy and me to ‘carry on’ our names. Cammy is, was, so much like Mom with her love of archaeology, it was obvious she would follow in her footsteps,” Chloe said. “That is why I joined the military, like Father. There's a long-standing tradition of Bennets and Kingsleys serving—from every generation. Someone had to maintain our heritage— it was not going to be Caius—so it was me.”
“You have a brother named Caius?”
“My mother is really into history. At least it's not Caligula.”
He chuckled weakly. “So you are a woman of the future. It makes sense now.”
Chloe wiped sweat out of her eyes. “A strange form of rebellion?”
“There is so much about you that I do not know,” he muttered. “I do not even know what to ask.”
It was dark. After the business of setting up camp, eating, and feeding the donkey, they leaned against each other, with Cheftu's leg stretched out.
The braying of the little gray animal woke him, and Cheftu jerked awake, his knife close to his body. Growling, an animal pounced from the rushes, landing beside Chloe. Poised to stab the attacker with his knife, Cheftu recognized Thief just in time. He hobbled over to the donkey, who was straining at her ties, her eyes rolling in fear, and tried to calm her. By that time Chloe had convinced the cub to get off her, and he was sniffing the bones from dinner.
Cheftu rubbed his face, sore with mosquito bites. He could see the tint of dawn sneaking up on them. They had made such a noise that any moment he expected arrows to rain down on them. Thief butted his leg, and he groaned from the pain shooting through it Multicolored spots rose before his eyes, and he realized in surprise that he was sitting again; Thief, who had been soundly admonished, was his cushion. Chloe handed Cheftu water and dates. The Perfuming, he supposed.
“What now?” she asked.
“We walk.”
“Aye.” They rose to their feet Cheftu wincing.
“Does that need to be rewrapped?”
“Nay. Just keep that overgrown house cat on my other side. Agreed?”
PART V
CHAPTER 18
The moon was a crescent above them, and Chloe shivered, drawing her cloak closer. Thief skulked in the dunes, and Cheftu traced the map from his memory onto the sand. Staring up at the sky, he was a picture of every woman's fantasy: the lean, muscular lines of his body etched in silver light, his long lashes casting angled shadows across his cheekbones. His hair was still long and was tied back, but he was clean shaven.
Chloe sighed. They hadn't touched each other for more than thirty days—but who was counting? They'd been lucky; the caravan they'd hooked up with was going to Waset, then south into Kush. Unfortunately it was some strange religious sect where the women and men lived completely apart, and they expected the same from Chloe and Cheftu in exchange for the journey. The walking had been good for Cheftu's leg; his limp was now almost unnoticeable. In Waset they had finally stopped, and Cheftu had gotten them a donkey ride out to one of the rekkit's fields. From there on they'd walked.
The caravan had been strange, not speaking to anyone for a month. No one spoke the high Egyptian she did. Chloe had never produced so much work in such a short period of time. The other women spent a great deal of time with their children. She had caught their pitying looks, for, she guessed, they thought she was an old maid. Worst of all was that the distance between her and Cheftu had grown to be more than physical. They could have been strangers. Thief, who had terrified all of the animals initially, lived at a distance. Out of kindness they had left the donkey behind.
For a month Cheftu had barely spoken, and she had lost the ability to read his eyes. No practice, she thought. So she had drawn … putting in ink those memories that haunted her days and filled her nights: the sea, the soldiers, the camps, the fire, the cloud, and the Passover.
She had even managed to capture an accurate rendition of the specter of death. Eerily enough, the drawing had blown into the fire and burst into flame. This experience greatly spooked Chloe, so she stuck to pictures of the streets and the sky. Altogether she had done fifteen … which was more than she remembered Cammy mentioning, but she'd allowed for rats and dust and damage. The best work would survive; she was certain of that.
Camille—she seemed little more than a dream. Chloe couldn't remember even one tag line or commercial, how to get to her house from the Tollway or even, distinctly, what the Tollway was. Little by little the twentieth century had faded, so much so that when she did get home—who knew?
Had RaEm traded places with her? It seemed likely. Cheftu had told a similar story of “merging” into someone else. If RaEm had, what had she done to Chloe's life?
“It is nearby,” Cheftu growled in frustration, looking at the sea of silver sand around them. “I cannot mark it exactly, but we are here, southeast between Waset and the sea.”
Chloe looked around, jerked back to the present. “Did Hatshepsut mention what kind of marker she set up?”
“Nay. She only mentioned the place once. I had never thought to come here, so I didn't ask for directions!” He was tense and snappish, but so was she.
“There is no need to take out your anger on me. We just have to think like Hatshepsut. Did she know the desert well enough to pinpoint her location by the stars?”
Cheftu snorted. “Nay.”
“There must be something around here. A cenotaph, an obelisk, something.” She started walking.
Cheftu kicked over his drawing and walked toward her. He touched her gingerly on the arms. “I apologize for my anger. It just seems we have come so far, to have achieved nothing.”
“We just got here,” Chloe said. “Let us get some sleep, then we will look things over tomorrow.”
“Seal it with a kiss?” he asked, tilting her head back. He looked into her face with a faint smile. Then the humor faded from his features, and his eyes glowed with emotion. “I want so badly to hold myself away from you,” he whispered. “I do not want the agony of our separation.” He swallowed, his gaze dropping to her lips. “However, if we are going to be separate for always, I want to live now.”
Chloe traced the lines of his face, gasping as his eyes closed in pleasure. He pulled her closer so that she felt his body beneath his kilt, smelled the earth and sun in his skin. He caught her hand and held it “Have I told you how beautiful I think you are?”
“Never,” Chloe said. “You have never told me.”
“I have been a fool.” His fingers trembled as they moved across her face, and his voice thickened. “I think the beauty of your ka far outshines the perfection of your face and figure. I lo
ve to see you straighten your shoulders to face a task. Your courage far outweighs the feel of your skin or the melody of your voice; I wept those days, though I had no tears, when they forced you to run behind the chariot.
“The nights you slept with a knife at your throat, yet you never let it truly frighten you.” He looked up to the sky, speaking to the Unknown in which he believed. “Thank you for this woman! Her spirit holds me, her heart heals me! Thank you for giving her to me, if even for a little while.” He choked and pulled her close, running his hands up and down her back as they stood in the hazy silver glow. “Please forgive me for wasting even one precious moment,” he whispered against her shoulder.
He held her away, looking into her face, the words bubbling out of him. “Je vous aime, Chloe. I have missed you. You are my compatriot.” He kissed her hands, and she was startled to feel his face wet “You excite my body, entice my spirit. Your eyes shine with a life and enthusiasm in living that makes me awaken joyfully every day.” He ran a finger over her lips. “From here I take the breath to sustain me, body and soul. I can live without food, endure without water, but only your kisses and words give my life color and flavor. These past weeks have been cold and tasteless.” He bent to her, coaxing her heart into his body through lips, tongue, and hands. “You hold my heart, chérie,” he whispered.
Chloe was amazed at how much she desired him, dirty and exhausted as they were.
“Je t’ aime, Chloe. Je t’ adore,” he whispered over and over, his hands seeking her body beneath her voluminous robe. Drunk on adrenaline, hungry for each other after weeks of nothing, he gathered her up and stumbled into the shadow of a sandstone cliff.
Frantically they tore at each other's clothes, murmuring endearments and taking the life from each other, their bodies asking and answering age-old questions, their hearts and souls intermingling with every whispered word and impassioned confession.
Thief stood guard in the moonlight, high up on the cliff's edge, his fuzzy bottom resting on a cartouche etched slightly into the stone.
WASET
THUT PACED THE SILENT ROOM, FUMING. How could there be no funds? “What about the priesthood of Amun-Ra?” he asked. “They were well provided for by my aunt. Surely they can donate a little for the sake of Egypt's protection?”
Ipuwer, his newest advisor, raised his scrawny arm for permission to speak, placating the new pharaoh. Thut grunted his consent. Ipuwer was a weasel, but he was somewhat meticulous.
Thut glowered; when the desert god had taken all of the firstborn sons, he had crippled Egypt for generations. The firstborn were the ones whom parents spared no expense in educating. They were the brightest because they received the most attention, the best of everything.
Now Egypt was being managed by idiots. Hardly a friend or confidant remained. Now that he thought about it, he was lucky to be alive. If his older brother had not died as an infant, then … then what? He would be in the same position, just now taking the throne and crown that had belonged to him for so long.
Ipuwer had stopped speaking several moments earlier, and the whole cabinet was watching Thut, waiting for a response to the half-witted second son's comments. Thut put hand to his head. Where could they get more gold? Egypt was destroyed. He must revive her and make her an empire. Empires feasted on gold, but one had to have it to get it.
He walked to the open balcony, staring onto the beauty of Karnak. Gold-hammered doors, gold-covered floors, obelisks covered in electrum. To take any of it would be blasphemy, and with all the discontent in the land, that would be suicide. Not that the rekkit would be upset, but the priesthood and the nobles—they were the power in the country and had yet to accept Hat's death.
No body, no proof. So he was acting regent; everything would be done in her name for the next five Inundations, until she was declared dead. Unless he could find that cursed magus and wily priestess! He clenched his fists. They knew! They had seen something and had vanished into the wastelands of the Sinai.
He walked back into the chamber. “You are all dismissed,” he growled.
Ipuwer raised his hand in supplication. “Does My Majesty desire to hear my poetry?” he asked. “Would it soothe you?”
Thut glanced down at the papyrus before the scrawny man. “What have you written?
Ipuwer smiled and began reading: “The land spins as though on a potters wheel. The towns are destroyed. Upper Egypt is a ruin. All lies wasted. Mourning does not cease, wailing will not be still. Plague reigns in Egypt and the Nile is blood. Every tree has been smote with hail. Nothing green lives, from the delta to the cataracts. The stones, columns, and walls of the cities are ash. Egypt dwells in a cloak of darkness.”
Thut felt his blood vessels bulge through his shoulders, chest, and abdomen as he clenched his fists. “What drivel is that?” he shouted.
Ipuwer took one look at the acting pharaoh and grabbed his papyrus, backing wildly toward the door. “Just a record of past days, Majesty,” he warbled.
“Destroy it!” Thut bellowed. “Tear it, burn it, then bury the ashes!”
Ipuwer shuddered and left.
Forcing himself to calm down, Thut sprawled on a chair. He needed to go to his pottery room, maybe even take a dancer with him. Either sex or ceramics should calm and replenish his soul.
A pity they could not replenish his coffers.
Night had fallen. Thut wondered if he would ever feel safe again, watching the sun go down. Deep inside was a fluttering fear that it wouldn't rise and he would spend the rest of his days like a jackal, scouring the earth under the moon. He looked down into the garden … Hatshepsut's garden.
The men, the second and third and fourth sons, had tried to restore some of its beauty, clearing the pools and refilling them, training new vines to grow as the old had done, sweeping the porticos and replastering the walls. It retained a haunted feel, waiting for a mistress who would never return. Thut turned into the rooms—his rooms as pharaoh.
He hated them, the overdone decor and everywhere, everywhere, Hatshepsut's face! They would be torn down soon and melted, probably into plating for his new chariot.
Suddenly overwhelmed with all he had to do to restore Egypt, he put his head in his hands. He had to rule in her name unless someone testified to the priesthood and nobles that she was dead. The fools were still waiting, along with the families of her soldiers, for a communication to tell them where she had chased the Israelites. It was unfathomable that so many people would just disappear—that there would be nothing left.
Unfathomable, just like the past seasons. Ipuwer's words came to mind: All lies wasted…. Plague reigns in Egypt and the Nile is blood. It would be five years before he became Thutmosis III, living forever!, wearing the double crown he had coveted for so long. Five years before he would have the authority to start healing his bleeding, bludgeoned land. Yearning rose within him. His gods were dead, but there was one who lived on … triumphant. Unbidden, a prayer spilled from his lips: “Just let me rule … be a wormy pharaoh … restore my people… please.”
MY LEG! CHLOE WOKE UP FRIGHTENED. Where is it? It's gone! She tried to move, but it was numb, dead. Genuine fear woke her fully. Then, when she saw the reason for her alarm, she exhaled so forcefully that Cheftu woke. Thief had curled up on her legs, as he used to do as a cub. However, unlike the two of them, he had gained weight and size in the intervening months, and his raw muscle and bone were deadening her circulation.
When Cheftu stopped laughing and actually helped, they were able to push Thief off, despite his unhappy cries. “Overgrown house cat?” she asked Cheftu, breathing hard after freeing herself. He smiled and shook his head.
Chloe opened her seed package and took one with the water from her water skin. “I am glad there is this cliff for shade,” she said. “Ra is already punishing this morning.”
“Aye,” he agreed, drinking after her.
The thought struck them at the same time. This was the only cliff for henti and henti. A natural marker.<
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The sun was setting by the time they found the passageway. A deep well had been sunk into the ground, and after some finagling they had refilled their skins and washed off a little of the sand. After walking around and searching almost every square cubit of the rock, they found the steps. As they shoveled the sand with their hands, Chloe finally understood the all-consuming thrill of knowing you were about to discover something incredible. No wonder Cammy loved this!
The steps led under the rock, the last few actually a ladder of sorts, carved into the wall. It was a narrow passageway, and Cheftu grunted as his shoulders scraped, squeezing through it. Once below, they lit torches. It was a plain, dark room, the ceiling low. They crouched, moving the torch to find the other exit. They searched the floor, the walls.
Chloe called Cheftu to her side, and they saw a faintly carved ladder leading up, through a small crevice, into the ceiling. Chloe went first, grateful for the weight loss that made it slightly less painful to squeeze through She took the torch from Cheftu and held it out “Oh, Cheftu!” she gasped.
“What? What do you see?”
Then, like a discoverer before her, she said, “Gold. Everywhere the glint of gold.”
With some extra chipping at the ceiling, they got Cheftu through. They sat there, struck mute by all they saw. A few more torches showed them they were in a long corridor: the corridor of a great pharaoh's tomb.
It was haphazardly done, though, not intended for use any time soon. The walls were drawn, but only half painted. The sky that stretched the length of the ceiling was painted blue, but only in one corner were the gold stars picked out. Carved into the sandstone were columns, one-sided versions of the HatHor-headed columns at Hatshepsut's mortuary temple in Deir El-Bahri, the-Most-Splendid. The same graceful sweep of ramp, building up into the rock above, proclaimed Senmut as architect.
Gold was everywhere, a pharaoh's ransom. It looked as though someone had dumped off her belongings: gilded chairs and small tables, heaped with painted and enameled trunks, filled with the clothes Hat had worn since birth.
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