by Angela Hunt
“Love of my heart,” Tuthmosis answered, his lips moving over her cheek with exquisite tenderness, “I’m half returned even before I go.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sun sank toward a cloud-bank piled deep on the western horizon as the royal company reclined in the shadow of their tents and recounted the day’s adventures. They had been away from Thebes a full month, and among their hunting trophies were scores of antelope, oryx and gazelles. On this day Pharaoh had shot and killed a lion with his golden bow, and already the men were composing songs to praise their divine king’s skill and talent. “Even the lion knows his god Pharaoh,” they sang, their voices rising in the wilderness. “He stands and awaits the golden arrow of his king.”
But this hunt lacked the thrill of the chase, for the famine that had turned Egypt to dust had also wasted the African wilderness. Not a trace of green could be found. Even the wiry bushes in the gorges were as desiccated as the mummies of men dead a thousand years. The act of killing was a mercy, for the gazelle and the antelope had no grass to graze. The lion had been sleek and fat, but in time even the king of beasts would be unable to find prey. Only the vultures that fed on carrion would thrive during the famine.
Pharaoh sat by the fire, his eyes fixed on nothing, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Narmer pressed his lips together. The pensive look on the king’s face could only mean that he had grown weary of the hunt and would want to return to Thebes. Tuthmosis loved hunting, but found little joy in pursuing skeletal animals with barely enough strength to outrun the chariots. He had enjoyed pursuing the lion, but as much as Pharaoh loved the chase, he also revered wild creatures. He would not want to take another of those magnificent beasts.
Time to present Pharaoh with the ultimate challenge. “They say,” Narmer said, nodding casually to his king, “that south of us is a place of great trees with timber enough to build a house for every man in the world.”
“I have heard of this place,” Pharaoh said, looking up. A gleam of interest flickered in his eye. “But we have not left Thebes to hunt for timber.”
“No, but another animal lurks in these forests,” Narmer went on, fingering the Gold of Praise about his neck. “Elephants. Thousands of them. And on each bull’s snout rests a king’s ransom in ivory.”
Pharaoh stared into the fire. “I have seen pictures of these elephants. They are slow, lazy creatures.”
Narmer allowed his mouth to twist into an indulgent smile. “I have heard they are the greatest challenge a man can face. They say manhood is proved or lost when a hunter faces an elephant bull.”
As Narmer had hoped he would, Pharaoh took up the challenge. “I had thought to return to Thebes tomorrow,” he said, looking at the trusted warriors who awaited his instruction. “But we have strength enough for one more journey, don’t we? We shall find this grove of great timber, and ride without fear into a herd of these creatures. And I shall bring home twin tusks of an elephant bull—one I shall offer to Zaphenath-paneah’s Almighty God, and the other to Queen Tuya, mother of our crown prince.”
“As you wish, my king,” Narmer said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tuya sat up in the darkness and winced as if her flesh had been nipped. A dream, a horrible nightmare had disturbed the peace of her sleep, and her skin crawled with the memory of it.
She lay back down and turned onto her stomach, clinging to the soft darkness as hard as she could, but sleep would not return. Finally Tuya rose from the bed, wrapped herself in a light mantle, and crept out of the bedchamber. Moving to the front hall of her quarters, she pulled a cord and rang for her servant.
Within moments the maid stood in the room, her eyes heavy-lidded from sleep. “Quietly—” Tuya kept her voice low “—run to the vizier’s house. Tell him Tuya summons him, and the matter is of great importance.”
The girl nodded, then slipped out into the corridor. Tuya sat and rubbed her hands together, trying to banish worry from her mind. Yosef would know the meaning of this dream. And, being Yosef, he would know how to prevent the disaster it foretold.
At the sound of a quick step in the corridor, Mutemwiya darted into the shadows. She had grown lonely without Narmer’s company and sought to invite sleep by walking through the palace’s torchlit halls. On a perverse whim, she had turned into the hall that led to Tuya’s modest chambers.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized Tuya’s servant in the hall, then her curiosity roused. For what reason had Tuya summoned her handmaid in the darkest hour of the night? Had she taken ill? Or did she entertain a guest in Pharaoh’s absence?
Scarcely daring to hope, Mutemwiya slipped from her hiding place and followed the slave girl. When the servant turned, a question in her eyes, Mutemwiya gave her a brilliant smile. “Do not fear,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty hall. “Is Queen Tuya well?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“Then she must have need of something. Is there something I can get for her from my rooms?”
“I think not.” The girl twisted her hands. “I have an errand to run.”
Mutemwiya lost her patience. “Speak, slave, and tell me what errand you are on.” She gave the girl a brittle smile. “If you do not tell the truth, I will tell the guards I found you stealing from my room. You will spend the rest of your days in Pharaoh’s prison—”
The maid lowered her voice to a whisper. “Lady Tuya has sent me for the vizier. That’s all I know.”
Stunned, Mutemwiya let the girl slip away. Why would the vizier be called at this hour? Was Tuya responding to some secret communication from the king? No, for if anyone brought word from the hunting party, she would have heard from Narmer. Why, then, would Queen Tuya want the vizier and send an inconspicuous handmaid for him under the cover of darkness? Mutemwiya slipped toward a hiding place among the pillars in the corridor. Like the cobra who sits motionless until the mama bird hops away from its nest, she would wait and see what this night brought to pass. Better yet, she would summon a royal scribe to witness this midnight liaison—no. A priest. One with power and authority, a man whose honor might easily be offended…
Quickening her step, Mutemwiya pressed through the halls and hurried toward the temple of Osiris.
Tuya wrapped her mantle closer as she hurried to answer the rap on the door. Yosef stood there with her slave, his wig askew, his face unpainted and strangely drawn in the dim light. He greeted her in a terse voice: “Is Amenhotep well?”
“Yes—I mean, no. I don’t know.” She dismissed the slave with a distracted wave and pulled Yosef inside. When the door had closed behind him, she turned toward the single candle in the room so he would not see the fear in her eyes. “Forgive me for pulling you from your family, but I have suffered much this night on account of a dream.”
“I thought you did not believe in them.”
“How can I not believe?” she answered, wiping a tear from her eyes. “I saw Pharaoh’s dream come to pass. Your dreams, as grandiose as they were, have been fulfilled. And now I stand before you half-blind with terror that the events of my dream might come to pass…”
She heard him move to the chair; the wood creaked as he lowered his strong frame into it. “Tell me, Tuya,” he urged. “God speaks through dreams. He is trying to speak to you.”
Tuya wondered if her fragile soul could bear to relive the black vision, but she took a deep breath. “I am walking along the banks of the Nile,” she said, not looking at Yosef. “Bundles of dry rushes are burning on the watch fires. It is dark, but the flames leap up and push the darkness back so I can see clearly.”
“What do you see?”
Tuya shook her head. “I do not understand why, but Amenhotep is a baby again, and in my arms. Pharaoh walks beside me, his hand holding the edge of my skirt.”
She paused, feeling foolish. “I suppose it is quite silly. You must think me a coward.”
“Never,” Yosef answered. “Go on, please.”
T
uya turned to face him. “There are crocodiles in the water, and they begin to advance toward me. One has his eyes fastened on the baby, and the other snaps his jaws toward Pharaoh.”
She broke off and sat on the edge of a chair. “I’m sorry I summoned you, Yosef. It is probably nothing but a childish nightmare, brought on by the fact that Pharaoh is away. But something urged me to fetch you.”
“Go on, Tuya,” Yosef said, his eyes wide. “Please.”
She pressed her lips together and struggled to maintain her composure. “The rest is too awful, I hesitate to speak it. The land grows dark, but the flames of the watch fires dance in the wind while streams of sparks whirl off into the darkness. I scream and try to shield Yosef as best I can, but while I am struggling to run from the first crocodile, the second lunges toward Pharaoh…and drags him into the Nile.”
She shuddered at the memory. “That’s when I awakened.”
She sat silent, waiting for Yosef to assure her that the vision meant nothing. But he who had never been at a loss for words met her curious glance with astonished silence.
“I have had this same dream,” he said, his voice trembling. “But not in many months. God has not spoken to me this time, Tuya, but to you.”
“But what does it mean?”
His eyes veiled with sorrow. “You don’t need me to tell you.”
She sat motionless as the full meaning of his words sank into her mind, then she pressed her hands to her knees and bowed in despair. “Is there nothing we can do? You saw the coming famine and you urged Pharaoh to prepare for it! I see my beloved Tuthmosis dying, but if I can stop him—”
“The famine came.” Yosef lowered his head into his hands. “And God was merciful, for we were prepared. What you have seen will come to pass, Tuya. In his mercy, God urges you to prepare for it.”
He looked at her with weariness while Tuya floundered in a gulf of despair. “Why,” she whispered, lifting tear-blurred eyes to his, “when I have just begun to love him as he ought to be loved?”
Yosef stood and rested his hand on her head. “Take heart in God’s mercy,” he said, genuine remorse in his voice. “Take courage in God’s love. He has shown you what is to come and urges you to be ready.”
“For what? Loneliness and suffering? I have already walked with those companions. I know them well enough to understand that the pain of losing someone never goes away.”
“No, it doesn’t. But you must be ready for your son’s sake. In the dream, the baby remained in your arms. Amenhotep will need you when Pharaoh is gone.”
“Oh, my dear baby,” she whispered, staring past the lamp at the elongated shadows on the wall. “You will be a young and vulnerable pharaoh.”
Mutemwiya waited until the vizier left Tuya’s chamber and then turned wide eyes on Chike, the high priest of Osiris. “I thought to have you offer a blessing for Queen Tuya, who cannot sleep. But apparently our Tuya meets with our vizier this night.”
Chike’s aged eyes peered at the vizier’s retreating form. “It is an odd time for a meeting.”
“Isn’t it,” Mutemwiya murmured. “I am sorry I have disturbed you, Chike, but I only wanted to be of service to our dear sister. Forgive my mistake.”
The old man bowed and shuffled off, grumbling under his breath.
“Hold this inconvenience entirely against me,” Mutemwiya called, her voice echoing down the hall, “but do not forget this night.”
For three weeks Pharaoh’s party traveled down the course of the Nile. A broad savannah of grassland stretched before their chariots, blown by the hot wind and browned by the sizzling sun. The great trees Narmer had promised rose like a protective backdrop to the east and west.
One afternoon, just after the sun boat had reached its zenith, living gray mountains appeared on the horizon. “There!” Narmer lifted his arm and pointed. “See there, my king! Elephants!”
Like solid rocks in the plain, the great gray forms moved along the fringes of forest at a slow and steady pace. Thousands of them, large and small, strolled beside springing herds of antelope and gazelle with the haughtiness of a superior race.
“Let us stop and make camp.” Pharaoh lifted his hand to signal the other charioteers. “We shall unload our supplies and ready our bows. Not a moment is to be wasted.”
Narmer slapped his reins and turned his horse. From Nubian slaves he had heard bloodcurdling stories about the surprising might and power of the elephant. One man could never bring down a bull, the slaves said, not even ten men. But Pharaoh, trusting in his divinity, might be tempted to risk everything.
And his and Mutemwiya’s hands would remain free of blood and blame.
“Give the horses drink,” Narmer called to the warriors who were chattering like magpies. “Tighten and secure the traces. We ride in an hour.”
Pharaoh dismounted and stood in a delighted trance as he studied the lumbering giants.
“May the gods be praised,” Narmer called, “to have delivered such a goodly number of the elephants into our hands. I know Queen Tuya will be pleased to have an ivory carving for her chambers.”
“Yes, yes indeed,” Pharaoh murmured, his eyes alight. He gestured to his quiver-bearer. “Check my arrows and mark each with my motif. I will know which man’s arrow kills one of these beasts.”
“Which motif should I use, my king?” the servant asked.
Pharaoh’s lips curved in a smile. “A lotus blossom.”
After the provisions and tents had been dumped by the river’s edge, Narmer, Pharaoh and a handful of the best hunters mounted their chariots. Pharaoh rode with only his chariot driver beside him, choosing to handle his own bow and arrow like a true sportsman. Narmer dismissed both his charioteer and his quiver-bearer with a single glance. “Get away, fools,” he said, adjusting his leather gloves as he prepared to assume the reins. “I will not hunt. I ride only to guard Pharaoh.”
The slaves backed away. Pharaoh’s driver slapped his reins across his horses’ backs and turned the royal chariot toward the herd of elephants. The giants moved slowly, feeding themselves from the foliage they had ripped from towering trees. Stout branches lay broken and scattered over the ground, evidence of the animals’ great strength.
Narmer smothered a smile. An older king would have sent his men in to gather the trophy. But Tuthmosis possessed the stubborn courage of youth.
Pharaoh advanced to within a moment’s ride of the animals and halted his chariot. The herd, unsettled by his approach, moved about, the females gathering the young into the midst of the herd, then turning outward to guard their offspring. The mammoth bull, however, grazed as if nothing had happened. Not until Pharaoh’s horse broke the silence with a nervous whinny did the bull lift his head and turn to face the divine ruler of the Two Kingdoms.
The creature’s great, leathery ears spread and seemed to block out the sky. His tusks, broad yellow shafts, extended from his bewhiskered head, as solid as the pillars in Pharaoh’s throne room.
Narmer called up to the king. “Imagine what the crown prince will say when he sees those tusks!”
Pharaoh gestured for his driver to wheel the chariot to the left. As the horses moved forward in a gentle trot, the old bull turned, keeping his eye on the intruder, and Narmer held tight to his reins. The other hunters dispersed to stalk other prey, leaving this bull to the divine king.
The chariot circled its quarry, leading the bull, then cut between the cows and the bull so the male was singled out from the herd. Pharaoh lifted his bow and notched a barbed arrow. He pulled and aimed, his muscles shining golden in the sun. As the elephant wheeled to turn again, Pharaoh let the arrow fly.
The missile lodged in the great bull’s side and the beast let out a blood-chilling squeal. Narmer’s horses shied at the sound and trembled in their traces, requiring all his strength to hold them steady. Pharaoh’s team lurched forward. Quick as a gazelle, the bull snorted and charged with surprising speed. Narmer smiled when he saw Pharaoh’s jaw. The chariot driver’s
face froze as the vehicle turned and raced away from the raging anger behind them.
Narmer tightened his hands on the reins as Pharaoh drew the mad beast nearer. As the king’s chariot bounced over the uneven ground, Pharaoh lifted his bow and notched another arrow, but seemed to realize he was leading the bull toward Narmer. He yelled to the driver and the chariot swerved, drawing the bull to the east, but not before passing close enough for Narmer to see a look of deadly concentration on the king’s face.
Pharaoh lifted his bow, took careful aim and told his driver to swerve again. The slave did so, this time to the north, and in the instant the bull’s flank was exposed, the king released his arrow. The bronze-pointed barb went in behind the animal’s shoulder and buried itself in the folds of gray skin.
The bull bellowed again in rage and pain, but he did not stop his charge or lessen his speed. As his leathery ears slapped against his shoulders, he pressed forward, bridging the gap between the king’s chariot and those swordlike tusks.
“For the love of Osiris, run, you beast!” Narmer whispered.
Unfazed and undaunted, the king kept shouting directions to his driver. At each turn of the chariot, Tuthmosis managed to sink another arrow into the great bull’s ribs. Arrows bristled from the beast’s side; blood streamed from his flank like tears. With every trumpeting squeal, a red cloud spurted from the massive trunk, but still the creature reached for the king in an agony of fear and anger.
For a moment Narmer thought Pharaoh would escape. His chariot pulled away from the weakening beast, but the driver, frightened out of his wits by the bloody apparition off the chariot’s footplate, veered too sharply at a turn. The chariot teetered on one wheel for a long moment, then fell on its side. Screaming in their traces, the horses dragged the splintered contraption out of the mad bull’s reach, but the human cargo had spilled.