As she sat lost in thought, the drum and flute players completed their tune. The assemblage fell silent. Neferet, puzzled, looked up to see Pharaoh Heratkhy standing at the head table, holding his wine glass aloft and praising the troops who rescued the Egyptian booty. All in the room cheered, and the soldiers accepted their praise with silent grace, bending their heads low over their plates.
Then another hush fell as a dining hall door opened and a soldier pushed the Hittite princess into the vast room. Her hands were bound and her strange attire — boxy and bag-like, yet embroidered with golden threads — looked dirty and torn.
“For your harem,” the soldier, who had forced her into the room, said. She whirled around to look at the Pharaoh and began to protest in her rough language. She didn’t understand much, but she knew who the king was and she tried to make herself understood. King Heratkhy gestured with his hand and told the soldier he had enough concubines. This girl could go free. Meryt pulled herself even more rigid in her chair, but Neferet couldn’t figure if her mother approved of Pharaoh’s decision or not. Her father never visited the concubines and was joined to only one other wife, who was Kamose’s mother. The slain former God’s Wife, Maya, was the daughter of another Pharaoh’s wife who died in childbirth. Unlike many monarchs of the past, Neferet’s father didn’t seethe with libido. He stayed with the two wives he had left and that suited him.
“Surely not, Your Holiness, with all gracious respect,” the soldier protested. “We captured her at great danger to the troops. She is the daughter of the Hittite king, and he will bargain almost anything to get her back.”
The Pharaoh looked at her with her dirty long hair and arrogant manner and began to laugh.
“Are you so sure the king won’t bargain for us to keep her instead?”
Laughter roared up from the crowd. The poor woman, not knowing she was the butt of a joke, ran around in circles, continuing to shout her unintelligible words. Pharaoh called up the captain of the corps and spoke in his ear. The captain, one of the few men in the kingdom who could translate this hideous language, addressed a few phrases to the girl. She answered without delay and at some length, hardly taking time for a breath between words.
“She says she’d rather work in our kitchens than go back to her father,” the translator said. “It seems he has an unwanted marriage arranged for her.”
At that moment, Neferet felt Zayem’s eyes upon her. She refused to meet his gaze and, instead, raised her voice.
“If she would like to attend me and learn our language, I’d be grateful for more help at the temple.”
Her father smiled, and the translator did his work again. The captive gave Neferet a cautious glance before nodding a curt assent. Neferet stepped down off the stage and, with a ceremonial knife, sliced the woman’s bonds, signifying that she was a free woman. The entire room exploded in a cheer, and the girl was led away.
Now was the moment.
Neferet returned to her place at the table but did not sit. Instead, she grabbed her heavy staff and stood at attention.
“Father,” she said, bowing her head, “If I may speak …”
“The God’s Wife of Amun may speak whatever is on her mind at any time,” the Pharaoh said and eased down in his chair with an admiring smile on his face. It seemed Meryt was becoming petrified as she stared straight ahead into space. The Grand Vizier, a gaunt man with dust-colored hair, opened and closed his thin-lipped mouth but ended up saying nothing. Some of the courtiers crossed their arms and leaned back against the walls to enjoy this breach of protocol.
“I beg forgiveness that I must speak of sacrilege in the temple,” Neferet announced. The audience went silent, some revelers gazing slack-jawed at the newly empowered princess. “The sanctuary, which is locked to all but chief priest Nebhotep and me, suffered a break-in two weeks ago, and Amun is displeased.”
The crowd still remained silent, but Neferet saw some people shudder. Getting a god angry was serious business in Kemet. Who knew what would befall the people? A drought? Sickness of the cattle? Dust storms?
“We have been investigating,” Neferet continued, raising her voice to return attention to herself. “We have searched the temple for any secret way the intruder could have violated the Holy of Holies. We have found no gaps, no hidden doorways. Nor have we found anyone to suspect.”
At this lie, she glared defiantly at Zayem, who stared in apparent fascination at his plate of dates.
“So, we ask you to be on the lookout for anyone who enters the temple without official business. Ask your friends, ask the children if anyone has been tunneling under or climbing the temple walls.
“Tonight, I shall perform a spell of protection at the holy sanctuary, and it will remained sealed until my next visitation. Know that the gods will grant us this magic to keep Amun safe.”
The crowd was open-eyed. No one had mentioned a magical spell publicly in a long time — although the lesser priests worked spells for money all over the kingdom. But those were little bits of magic. A charm for an easy birth. A healing chant over an ailing sheep. An exhortation that the thief of a vat of wine would be caught in due time. What Neferet suggested, however, was high magic, and the crowd was impressed with their new Adoratrice.
She took her scepter and pounded it with authority on the stage. It made an inspiring boom, and some in the crowd cowered back, afraid of its power.
“I say this as Amun’s blessed wife. Your reward will be great if you catch the villain.”
With that, she sat down, and the crowd broke into loud chatter. Nothing like an offer of money to get the audience’s attention. Meryt continued to stare forward, unmoving, and ignored whatever Pharaoh whispered in her ear. What was the matter with her? She never once looked at Neferet but stood with her husband in the ritual ending of a state dinner.
They soon would begin to leave the tables and mill around, so Neferet slipped down the seldom-used back stairs, only to feel a familiar strong hand gripping her forearm.
“Now why did you dare to do that?” Kamose, who pulled her into a discreet corner, whispered. “Meryt always speaks after the Pharaoh. You just usurped her with a wave of that thing” — he gestured at the wand — “of yours.”
“I’m the second most powerful in the land, and it was my right to speak,” Neferet said, pulling herself with dignity from Kamose’s grip. “Besides, I had to quell that rumor that I’m indolent. The one Zayem’s been spreading all over Wast.”
Kamose’s features became pensive.
“There is that,” he said. “And you know your dear mother had something to do with the slander.”
“She was hissing at me on the reviewing stand. Something had to be done.”
They both giggled when they thought of Meryt’s comeuppance, smothering their laughs so they wouldn’t be discovered in the little cubbyhole in the back of the dining room. Neferet’s speech now forced Zayem into inactivity, Neferet realized he wouldn’t dare make a move without the entire city on the lookout. Kamose’s spies were guaranteed to be everywhere — that he assured her.
“Excellent move.” He moved closer. “My love.”
She backed away. She still had to admit she was uncomfortable with the erotic license the royals enjoyed. Anywhere else, this brother-sister love would not be tolerated. She didn’t feel sophisticated enough to just toss this off as another perquisite of power. Still, broad-chested Kamose made her defenses weak, and she wanted to grab him right where they stood.
“I must attend to my duties,” she said, gathering her skirt. “It’s time.”
He smiled that winning blaze of white teeth that had won him friends and allies throughout the kingdom. It was a smile that would make men follow him into war. How could she resist that?
“Meet me tonight,” he said. “I love to see you in this powerful mood. I’ll make sure the guards are blind to you.”
She stiffened. “The God’s Wife may go anywhere she pleases.”
“Of course, sh
e can. My place, tonight.”
She nodded her head in agreement, grabbed her scepter and was off in a rustle of linen.
#
Neferet, after pleasing Amun as she did every night, stood outside the Holy of Holies with Nebhotep and four of the priests. A new sort of incense burned, filling the air with a light jasmine scent. Upon her head she wore the golden twin feathers of Ma’at. They topped the vulture crown of Eset, known as Isis by the greater world. She raised her pole, and Nebhotep began the spell:
“I am Atum Khepri, who came into being upon the lap of his mother, the goddess of the night sky, who gave jackals to those who are in the abyss and hunting dogs to those in the tribunal.”
Neferet continued, “I have gathered this magic in every place where it was … more speedily than a hound, more swiftly than a shadow.”
As she spoke, she and the priests sprinkled natron salt around the base of the walls of the sanctuary. She continued.
“Collect this magic from wherever it may be … Now there is given me this magic ... more speedily than a hound, more swiftly than a shadow.” The priests all chanted the final words together so it became a mystical murmur, “more swiftly than a shadow.”
The priests continued their recitation, and the cadence rose and fell in waves of sound. The language was lilting and hypnotic. The incense burned stronger and began to spark. The flames created shadows that danced like specters against the walls. Magic was at work.
At that last intonation of the word “shadow,” Neferet took the natron salt and mixed it with water. Then she and Nebhotep traced the paste around the areas where the wall met the floor, on the roof and around the edges of the door. The sealing finished, Nebhotep turned and spoke with arms spread wide. He spoke in singsong fashion, and his voice cracked.
“Get back. Retreat. Get back, you dangerous one. Do not come against me or my lord Amun, the god of mysterious places. No enemy that lives by magic will take this spell away.”
The chant ended, and the priests all turned and bowed at the small chapel. One by one, they left until Neferet stood alone. With the natron paste, she traced the graceful eye of Heru with its kohl-lined rims and one single tear on the front door. It radiated a powerful repellant of the evil eye. It would watch for her when she must be absent, an eye into the unseen world. Sandals removed, she slipped out in silence, but the magic lingered, sparkling in the dusty air.
#
The stars lit the way to the palace that night, and Neferet ran along the footpaths to the door farthest from her parent’s quarters. She slipped past the guard, who gave her the barest nod of the head, and headed down the corridor toward Kamose’s apartments. She knew the magic she had worked would hold Amun’s sacred shrine. But she held conflicted feelings about flushing Zayem into the open. He wouldn’t dare attack the shrine now, but what would his next plan be?
When she tiptoed halfway down the hallway, deep in thought, she heard a loud clash of voices and breaking pottery. Someone yelled and called for the guards, who materialized out of every dark recess of the empty-looking hallway. They stormed into Kamose’s rooms, and Neferet scurried a few steps behind, alarmed about her lover’s safety.
When she slipped into his main living quarters, Kamose gesticulated with broad sweeps of his muscular arms. Guards were racing out into the night, jumping down to the ground below the palace windows. Chairs and plants lay like debris, tossed about the room. Neferet could see through the doorway to the bedroom. The chaos was far worse in there.
“Two of them! Lunging at me! One with a knife and the other with a club,” Kamose told the captain of the guard. He used his hands to indicate the height of the attackers and the captain nodded at each phrase.
“My men are already after them, my prince. Do not fear.” He called some orders to soldiers, who flew off into separate directions.
Kamose caught sight of Neferet, took her hand with surprising gentleness and led her to the doorway. “It’s best you stay away. Someone made an attempt on my life here tonight. I’m afraid they could be after you, too.”
Neferet pulled back, her muscles rigid.
“What did they do?”
“I had finished my washing up and was putting things away to relax, when someone crept up behind me. It was not someone who knows of my warrior background, or they wouldn’t have tried. I saw him in the corner of my eye and flipped him over like brush. The other man I rammed in the stomach. Then I yelled for the guards.” Neferet could still hear his breathing from the exertion.
At the same time, she felt cold river water in her gut as she tried to make sense of the timing. Why tonight? Why now? As Neferet fretted, balling her fists and pressing her knuckles together, Kamose held her by the shoulders and spoke in a low, calm voice.
“This wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to kill the crown prince. Why do you think I have so many guards attending me?”
The captain bowed his head in Neferet’s direction, getting her attention. She nodded, indicating that he might speak at will.
“If I may be so bold, my lady, I will put extra guards around your residence, as well,” he said. “We are not sure, but we suspect those beasts were looking for you, too.” He nodded toward the bedroom, where torn linens hung from the windows and mattress feathers blew about the room.
“They attacked the bed?” she guessed, incredulous.
“Yes, but it was unoccupied,” the captain said, bowing again in her direction. “They clearly expected someone there.”
Neferet locked eyes with Kamose. Someone must have overheard them at the end of the state dinner. Kamose’s spies weren’t the only ones working overtime at that feast. Another brand of snoops knew she’d be staying the night with her lover.
“Where is Zayem?” Kamose demanded, crossing his sturdy arms over his chest. She noticed he was still perspiring, more from nerves than from exertion.
“I sent my fastest sentry out to look for him,” the captain answered. “If he were in the palace, we’d have known by now.”
“So, he’s out there,” Neferet said, looking at the sleeping city that lay at the feet of the palace. “And I’m afraid to go home.”
“We will escort you to your apartments. Your rooms will be well guarded tonight and for many nights onward. Have no fear,” the captain said. “You should have no trouble sleeping tonight. By morning, we’ll have found the rascals and tossed them in jail.” He lifted his jaw in jaunty confidence.
Neferet turned to go, but spun around one last second to look into Kamose’s eyes. He stood solid and unafraid. They traded one unspoken thought: Zayem was no longer satisfied with rape and mayhem. Now, murder was on his mind.
Chapter Nine
They made up their tiff over a box of pizza in front of a Chicago Cubs game on television. This early in the season, Jonas hadn’t turned into Mr. Cub on her yet, and conversation was easy. After they cuddled and got the small talk out of the way, Jonas stressed that she needed to tell Randy about her blackouts.
“You owe it to the show,” he said.
“But I’ve never blacked out when dancing. In fact, when I lose touch with time, I dance better than ever. Emmylou says so.”
“Does she know about the blackouts?”
Rebecca shook her head and stared as the opposing team turned a quick double play.
“Why do you stay awake and dancing when this … this fit hits you, but you collapse into a heap otherwise?” he asked. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know,” she said, eyes sliding to the near-empty pizza box. “Maybe the dancing energizes me. I just feel like I’m getting the inspiration and the power from somewhere else.”
Jonas’ eyes took on a befuddled look, with his eyebrows all scrunched up and his eyes pinched together. She wanted to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, there’s no way to explain it,” she said. “It’s from the earth. Energy surges straight from the ground through my feet.”
He frowned and shook his head, wo
lfing down the last triangle of pizza. They had agreed to call this series of fainting episodes hypoglycemia for a while, and he encouraged her to stay on a high-protein diet, but it looked like they would have to start their experiment tomorrow. Pizza had too many carbohydrates. To be on the correct diet, Rebecca must have no sugar, which meant no spikes in insulin production and no corresponding plunges in blood sugar. That should eliminate the blackouts. For moral support and to act as the experimental control, Jonas planned to eat the low-blood-sugar diet along with her.
Rebecca sighed as she thought of the regimen. Jonas always did things by the book. His job at the medical association required that sort of rigid thinking. Left-brained, logical Jonas. He always made so much sense — sometimes too much sense for her creative self. However, by intuition, Rebecca knew her condition was something that no physician could diagnose. So, she would be game and play guinea pig to Jonas’ armchair experiment. She toyed with telling Jonas the full scale of her malady, about the invisible presence that looked over her shoulder now and then, and then shook the idea off. He would never get it, never.
For a man who played guitar with such thoughtful sensitivity, he was singularly tuned out when it came to matters of the spirit. He could appreciate a dance, a blues concert, the opera or modern artwork, but he could not understand the mystical feelings that often rocked Rebecca’s inner mind. This connection she had with her inner Egyptian — that would freak him right out. Jonas might love her to her soul, but how could she get him to see into her inner world?
“Okay, I’ll talk to someone tomorrow, either Emmylou or Randy.”
Jonas reached out to take her hand, which he caressed.
“Babe.” That said it all. Pride. Love. Concern.
Rebecca felt a surge of pleasure rising through her chest. He gave her a reaction to her art that she never got from her Iowa home life. She craved this sort of adoration.
“Jonas ... I ...”
Rebecca nodded her head but then dropped her gaze, looking down at her plate in an awkward silence. How could she love this man so much and still not trust him with the truth about her connection to Egypt? There would have been no better time to tell him of the mysterious twin soul that lurked in her dreams, but she let it slip away in a moment of fearful indecision.
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