Mara, Daughter of the Nile

by Eloise Jarvis McGraw

  Aye, he could, and she knew it.

  PART 6

  THE TRAP

  CHAPTER 20

  The Bait

  The little flame still burning in Sheftu’s bedside lamp flickered orange and transparent in the flood of morning sunlight. Old Irenamon, letting himself into the room at the usual hour with his master’s breakfast, halted in astonishment at the sight of it. Setting down the salver of fruit and soft cheese, he hurried around the end of the tall couch where his lordship still lay, and picked up the snuffer which stood on the table beside the lamp. But to his further astonishment, Lord Sheftu sat bolt upright, seized his wrist, and snarled, “Leave it! Let be!”

  “But your lordship!” protested Irenamon in bewilderment. “I meant only to snuff the lamp here.”

  Sheftu loosed the old man’s wrist and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Daylight fell strong and clear over the tumbled, twisted coverlets and linen sheets. The night was over. “Of course,” he said more quietly. “Put it out, Irenamon. I fear I was not quite awake.”

  “Aye, that’s it, still dreaming.” Irenamon extinguished the flame and hobbled back around the couch to set out the fruit for the Perfuming of the Mouth. “However, I wonder you slept at all, with a lamp shining in your eyes. I cannot think what careless slave would have—”

  “I lighted the lamp, Irenamon,” said Sheftu, climbing out of bed.

  “You . . . this morning?”

  “Nay, during the night sometime. I know not when.”

  Sheftu belted his dressing gown, and ignoring the old man’s troubled eyes, strolled over to the table on which his fruit awaited him. He intended to make no explanation, now or ever, of the lamp Irenamon was going to find burning at his master’s bedside every morning from now until the end of his life. There were many nights in a lifetime; it had taken Sheftu only one of them to discover that the gods of the tomb had exacted their tribute after all. He would never again be able to endure a darkened room.

  Absently he took his place at the table while the old man served him with fruit and cheese, and set his silver-rimmed goblet in front of him. Sheftu himself reached for the flagon of milk, only to snatch his hand back as if burned. Next instant he had torn the collar of lotuses from the flagon and flung it from him.

  “Your lordship!” gasped the old man.

  “Have I no other flowers in my gardens, Irenamon?”

  “Aye, dozens! They—they but await your pleasure, my lord. There are scarlet sage, and heliotrope and larkspur, and—stay now—mignonette . . . But the lotuses were ever your favorite.”

  “I have lost my taste for them,” said Sheftu savagely.

  “A thousand pardons, my lord, if they have offended you.” Irenamon hurried to gather up the lilies and hide them from sight in his wide sleeve, every line of him quivering with distress. “May I further serve Your Excellence before I—”

  “Nay. Begone.”

  Irenamon turned disconsolately and padded toward the door. Sheftu leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing his forehead with both hands.

  “Irenamon,” he said. “Please come back.” He waited until the old man stood beside him again, then reached for the flagon and poured his goblet full of milk. “I want you to send a slave to the wharf. Bid him discover if a ship called the Silver Beetle has docked this morning.”

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  “And Irenamon—I spoke in haste, old friend. About the lotuses.”

  “Pray do not think of it, my lord.”

  There was a silence. Sheftu raised his eyes and met the sad, concerned ones of his majordomo.

  “You have great trouble,” said the old man softly.

  “Aye. Trouble with a maid.”

  “A maid? Is that all, my lord?”

  “It is quite enough. Irenamon, I fear I have been a fool. I plucked a lily from the gutter, and it has turned to a cobra in my hands.”

  The old man’s nostrils flared a little with his quick intake of breath, and his mouth set hard. “Then you had best destroy it without mercy.”

  “Never fear! But it may have done for me already. Be not surprised if you do not hear from me for a day or two. I shall be safe—but absent. If anyone inquires here, say that I have gone to Abydos.” Sheftu smiled faintly. “Nay, do not look so. Naught’s over yet. Go now. Send the barber up in fifteen minutes, and make haste to inquire about that ship.”

  “Aye, my lord. And may the gods go with you!”

  The old servant hurried out, and Lord Sheftu turned at last to his breakfast.

  * * *

  • • •

  An hour later he was crossing the worn stone wharfs to the Beetle’s anchorage. Nekonkh hung over the gunwale, his arms propped wide, his shoulders burnished copper in the brilliant sunlight. Every line of him spelled anxiety. Sheftu stepped into the cool shadow of the hull, swung onto the rope ladder, and climbed up through the blue-green dancing reflections into the glare of sun on deck. Nekonkh stretched out a big hand to haul him aboard.

  “Was it you sent down to see if we had docked yet?” he whispered.

  “Aye.”

  “Naught’s amiss, is it? I landed your cargo at four this morning, and was back by sunrise. All’s well with my task.”

  “It’s something else. Send your men ashore, I must talk to you.”

  Nekonkh bellowed an order, waved his hairy arms. As the crew swarmed down the ladder, chattering like monkeys over their unexpected liberty, Sheftu walked to the far side of the deck and stood there, feeling the warm sunshine beat down over his head and shoulders and the backs of his hands where they lay clasped on the rail. The very air smelled of heat and sun and water this morning. A fleet of fishing boats traced in gilt skimmed across Sheftu’s line of vision, their sails pure light and their shadows ink puddles. Two barges moved ponderously upstream. Far across the river a hawk flapped up suddenly, curved and soared and dwindled to a speck in the cobalt sky.

  Nekonkh came up beside him, wheezing a little. “All’s clear, mate. They’re gone. Now what’s amiss?”

  “We’ve a spy to reckon with, Captain.”

  “Hai! That’s easy.” Nekonkh’s hand went to his knife. “Only tell me where he’ll be tonight—”

  “She’ll be at the inn, I fancy.”

  “She?” Nekonkh’s voice changed. “Who is it?”

  “Mara.”

  There was a stunned silence. After a moment Nekonkh began to swear bitterly under his breath. “I can’t believe that!” he burst out. “Have you proof?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then how can you—”

  “Patience, I’ll tell you everything. Do you remember the day in your cabin yonder, when we hatched our plans? I gave her a ring—”

  “Aye, aye, to bribe her friend in Abydos.”

  “There was no friend in Abydos, Nekonkh. She has the ring yet. She forgot, and left it on her hand last night.”

  “Oh, mother of the gods,” said the captain wearily. He rested both forearms on the gunwale, staring out at the river. “And she had no explanation?”

  “Oh, indeed she did. Can you picture that maid without an explanation? But she was lying.”

  “Now how do you know, mate? It may be she found a way to get what she wanted in Abydos without bribing that fellow! I’ll wager she never had a trinket of her own, and what a trinket that was, to be sure! It would tempt the most scrupulous of— Aye, you can smile. I know the maid’s not overburdened with scruples, but think of the life she’s led, by the Sacred Eye! Ill used and half starved, at the mercy of this master and that one—”

  “Save your breath, Nekonkh! I used her well enough, and got naught but treachery for thanks. I assure you I’ve done some thinking about this—though a little late! She kept the ring because she didn’t need it as a bribe. Everything was arranged for her already, in Abydos—she was a spy whe
n she boarded this ship.”

  “Why, she was naught but a little runaway.”

  “So we believed,” said Sheftu grimly. “So I continued to believe until last night, when I came to my senses. She didn’t run away at all, Nekonkh. I think she was sold.”

  He waited, then looked around at his companion. Nekonkh’s still face was carved in sunlight, the jutting nose copper, the eyes deep caverns. “To an agent of the queen,” Sheftu went on softly. “That changes everything, doesn’t it? I’ll wager I’ve no hold over her—not the slightest—and never did have. A comforting thought, is it not, when you remember what she knows, what she could tell?”

  “Why hasn’t she told, then? For the love of Amon, she could have wrecked our craft four weeks ago! Why, in the name of—”

  “That’s the question. Why? I was hard pressed to find the answer, I confess.”

  Nekonkh eyed him thoughtfully. “I’ll wager I know the answer now.”

  “Devotion to me, you think? Captain, pray do not ask me to believe in fairy tales!” Sheftu’s voice was savage, and he realized he was gripping the rail so hard his fingers ached. He had suspected Nekonkh would say something like that, sooner or later, but he had not known what it was going to do to him, how vividly the warm touch of Mara’s lips would come back to him, even the fragrance of the lotus in her hair.

  He jerked his hands from the rail and turned his back to it. “Nay, we’ve underestimated the maid. She’s playing both sides, Captain—that’s the answer. She’s maneuvered me as neatly as a toy on a string, all the while dangling this master of hers—the queen’s man—from another finger. Hai, she’s clever, is she not? No matter who loses this game, she means to win.”

  “I don’t believe it! You yourself said you’ve no proof.”

  “I said not yet. I mean to obtain proof, and I mean you to help me.”

  “Now, how can we do that?” roared the captain, slapping his palm down upon the gunwale. “Man, you can’t judge a thing like that on the word of another! Give the maid a chance to defend herself! She may have reasons we know naught of, good reasons—”

  “She’ll have every chance, Captain,” said Sheftu softly. “Every chance.” He eased around to face Nekonkh. “I am interested in your attitude toward all this, but I confess, a little confused. Perhaps you can enlighten me. Till now, I understood your allegiance to be to myself and the king—and no one else. Was I mistaken?”

  Nekonkh’s sun-burnished face lost a little of its rich color. He started to speak, swallowed, then turned to stare out over the river. “What are my orders?” he growled.

  “You will not care for them—nor do I. But we shall set a trap. That’s fair enough, as I think you’ll have to agree. If she’s innocent the bait won’t even tempt her.”

  “And if she’s—guilty? If the trap works?”

  Sheftu’s shrug and cold eyes gave the answer.

  “All right!” roared Nekonkh. “Get on with it, can’t you? What am I to do?”

  “You’re to go to the Falcon tonight. I’ll be with you, to make sure all’s well, but I’ll not go in. Give her some message from me—” Sheftu hesitated, then gestured impatiently. “I’ll think of one presently. It must reassure her, so she will think I’ve dismissed the whole matter of the ring as something of no importance. Make certain she feels safe, Nekonkh. If she’s seen the king she’ll have a message for me—say I’ve sent you for it. Act a little excited, as if you had heard good news, as if there were plans afoot. In time, you will tell her those plans—they’re the bait for our trap. Do you understand thus far?”

  “Aye,” muttered Nekonkh.

  Sheftu fastened his gaze on the purple sail of a temple boat far out across the blinding, dancing water. “Do not tell her alone, however. Wait until there are others present—Nefer the goldsmith, Ashor, Sahure—it matters little who, but no lingering uneasiness about that ring must prevent her reaching for the bait. If others hear what she heard, she will feel she could blame the treachery on any one of them, if she had to. Hark now. Drop your news casually into the midst of this company. Say the leader I represent has obtained almost limitless funds from some wealthy Theban. Say that the gold is to be smuggled away to a place of safety tomorrow night at about the mark of eight, on the vessel— What ships will be loading cargo tomorrow evening, Nekonkh?”

  “The Friend of the Wind will be. She sails the following dawn.”

  “That will serve. On the vessel Friend of the Wind.” Sheftu straightened, drawing a long breath. “If the queen’s soldiers raid that ship tomorrow night, Captain, we’ll have our proof.”

  “And if little Blue Eyes does not take your bait?”

  “Nay, she knows the time is running out. She could want no better chance to deliver the whole revolution to that master of hers, gold, rebels, and all, and be off with her own winnings. She’ll take the bait, right enough—unless she’s innocent. Now, is there anything I’ve not thought of?”

  “Nay, you would seem to have thought of everything,” said Nekonkh bitterly. “Stay, though. You’ve not told me that message from you. The one that is to reassure her.”

  “Oh yes. That.” Sheftu ran his palm carefully along the gunwale. It was hot from the sun, and the grain of the wood showed clear and beautiful in the strong light. “You may tell her,” he said, “that I have not forgotten what I said last night, when I held her in my arms.”

  Nekonkh regarded him a moment in silence, then turned away. “Gods of Egypt, this is an ugly business!” he snarled.

  “Aye, Captain! It’s an ugly world.” Sheftu pushed away from the rail and started across the glaring decks, the other following. “Remember,” he added sharply, “you’re but the counter in this game—I choose the gambits. Is all clear now?”

  “I think so. Will I meet you at the Falcon?”

  “On the wharf yonder. We’ll go together.”

  Nekonkh nodded sourly, scowling at an imperfectly coiled rope lying near the stern sweeps. “Ast! Look at that!” he roared suddenly, striding over to kick it into a sprawling pile. “By the Forty Judges, these idiots can’t do anything right! Rivermen, they call themselves. Hai! Swineherds, more likely—”

  Leaving him manhandling the rope and cursing savagely, Sheftu swung over the side and down the ladder. He knew how Nekonkh felt. The cheerful laughter of a pair of deckhands on the next ship grated on him like a file on stone as he dropped to the wharf, slung his cloak half over his face, and strode toward the nearest alley.

  * * *

  • • •

  The tavern courtyard was dark and empty when Sheftu and Nekonkh pushed open the gate that night and cautiously let themselves in. They crossed the yard in silence, and Sheftu melted into the shadow of the dom palm while Nekonkh strode on to the torchlit door and disappeared inside. A moment later he thrust a hand out to signal.

  Sheftu left the dom palm and moved swiftly across the paving stones and into the little entry hall, closing the door silently behind him.

  “She’s here,” muttered Nekonkh.

  He motioned toward the door to the big common room, which he had half shut to conceal Sheftu’s entrance. Stepping to the crack at the hinge, Sheftu peered through it. One glance told him all was well. A second showed him a lithe, familiar figure curled up in the corner booth, waiting for him. She had slipped her sandals off, as usual, and had tucked her feet under her. Her bare, brown shoulders gleamed in the torchlight, looking like carven gold in contrast to the white straps of her dress and the ink-black locks which fell over them. As always, she had fastened a lotus in her hair.

  A hard, cold core formed inside Sheftu. With a jerk of his head he motioned Nekonkh on into the room.

  “Ah! Good evening, Captain! May thy ka rejoice. . . .”

  It was Ashor’s voice, and almost at once his broad back appeared in front of the door crack, cutting off Sheftu’s view of the room. B
y the time the innkeeper moved on, Nekonkh was approaching the corner booth. As he stopped beside it, Mara’s head jerked around as if he had pulled a string.

  Sheftu found that he was chewing his lip cruelly, and made himself stop. Her first, sharp, wary glance had told him much. It was the same look she had given him that day on the Beetle, when he had surprised her out of sleep, and it reminded him of nothing so much as a quick-drawn sword.

  She had disguised it at once, this time, and appeared to be questioning Nekonkh as he edged his big body into the booth beside her. Sheftu watched him closely as he answered her. He was making a great to-do about settling himself on the mat, his eyebrows going up and down with elaborate nonchalance as he talked. Nekonkh could shrug his eyebrows as other men shrugged their shoulders. He seemed to be convincing Mara that all was as usual.

  Feeling relief as to that, coupled with a restlessness of such prickling intensity that he felt he was being bitten all over by flies, Sheftu left his post and moved distractedly about the tiny entrance hall, then returned to his crack.

  Even from across the room, her eyes looked blue. Sheftu leaned against the wall and let the noise and music and clatter of crockery beat against his ears, trying to pick out her quick laughter from the confusion, trying once again to fathom the strange quality of wistfulness which underlay all her swift-changing expressions, even the most sardonic, the most impudent. What was Nekonkh saying to her now? She had grown serious, frowning down at the cup she toyed with, nodding. He spoke again and laughed; and as she raised her vivid eyes to him, her whole provocative, gamin’s face lighted in an answering grin.

  Suddenly Sheftu could bear no more. He fled silently out of the inn, through the dark courtyard, and across the street, where he took up his waiting again in a doorway that smelled evilly of filth and rotting fish.

  It seemed hours before the courtyard gate clicked open and Nekonkh emerged. Sheftu took a firm grip on himself and managed to appear casual as he joined him. “Well, Captain?”