I held on to that thought. I would not be lost! Not even in spirit. As long as the hunter, Sah, was in the sky, I was safe. This was just as well, because we were to come across the royal barge again sooner than expected.
9
ESCAPE
We journeyed upstream, driven by the steady wind that blew at our back and a fear that never left us. We were constantly alert and watchful. The thought that at any moment we might suddenly come across Wosret and his soldiers in some lonely bend of river kept us vigilant and uneasy.
Our journey took us past clusters of villages hidden among tufts of palm trees. The mud-and-palm-thatched houses were almost invisible in their surroundings with their walls the exact color of the ground on which they stood. In the fields men hoed in preparation for the floods, and along the banks, women washed tunics and spread them over the reeds to dry.
The river was wide. The broad expanse made our boat seem small and gave us the chance to give other boats a wide berth. We sat low in the water and kept close to the reeds. Crocodiles slithered and plunged from the banks with a splash when we came upon them unexpectedly. But for the most part they lay still as stone, their mouths open and their throats exposed to the sun.
Bubbles on the water and a flick of ears gave us warning of hippopotamuses lurking beneath the surface. When they came up with snorting, angry grunts, we gave them space and sailed quickly past.
Occasionally there were men with plaited fishing nets and spears in small reed boats like ours who waved from a distance but paid little attention to us. The larger boats were too intent on carrying their grain and oil and cloth to the temples along the river to take note of us.
Food was no problem. The reeds were teeming with every type of waterfowl—duck, wild geese, heron, crakes, and waders that had nests hidden among the papyrus stems. Tuthmosis was good with a throw-stick and spear. Here and there we pulled ashore in smaller villages and traded the mullet and catfish we caught for dates and honey and barley bread.
Once, we came to a village of linen dyers where the river ran red with their dye. Sometimes there were markets where linen and wool weavers and craftsmen made cloths, pottery jugs, bowls, leather sandals, and copper pots. Some merchants offered cones of salt, dried fish, sesame oil, ox hides, cosmetics, combs of ivory and tortoiseshell, rolls of papyrus paper, and fly whisks made from giraffe tails.
Sometimes market attendants walked about between stalls with baboons on leashes trained to catch thieves. The baboons barked and bared their teeth and made me uneasy and nervous about being found out.
For the most part we avoided busy places where there was more chance of our identities’ being discovered by Wosret’s spies. We stopped in quieter villages to cook fish and share meals of chickpeas and lentils stewed with garlic and onion over a fire while children played late into the night under the stars.
In the boat Tuthmosis wore only his wrap and refused to dress disguised as a girl. But when there were others about, he put on his girl’s wig and drew a cloth around his face to keep his eyes in shadow so their color was hidden. We kept to our story—we were sisters sailing south to discover another life. For the most part Tuthmosis remained silent. I spoke for both of us. We drew no attention to ourselves, and in our rough clothes and crudely woven boat, it wasn’t difficult to convince people we were peasants.
By carefully listening to gossip we tracked the route of Wosret. He was traveling ahead of us but was no favorite of the people.
“Dazzling Aten passed along the river here.”
“The highest of high priests came at dusk. His soldiers moved through our village, eating our food, drinking our barley beer, and threatening anyone who opposed them.”
“I heard the commotion from the fields. They held my wife and children captive, searching through the rooms of our house, ransacking our belongings.”
“What were they searching for?”
“An Egyptian prince, they say. But they wouldn’t name him. Some say it might even be Tuthmosis.”
“But he’s dead.”
“So they say. But so sudden a death seems odd.”
“Did they find him?”
“They found nothing!”
“Have they returned this way?”
“Not that I know. But they could’ve passed at night while we slept and returned to Thebes.”
We heard no further stories, nor did we catch sight of the royal barge the farther south we sailed, and so we believed that this is what had happened. Finally we began to feel free of fear.
Tuthmosis eyed me as we sat in our boat among the reeds one day. “You’re accurate with your throw-stick. You hunt like a boy!”
I smiled. In the base of the boat lay two waterfowl. Secretly I was pleased with my stealth. I had come upon a pair of shy green herons with the female on her nest and the male fussing next to her. Before they could fly up, I’d aimed the throw-stick and stunned both birds with one throw. Silence and stealth. Days spent on the river with Katep had taught me this.
I shrugged. “It takes a good stick. My brother, Katep, carved mine from the rib of a hippopotamus. It’s easy to handle. Perfectly balanced. Deadly accurate. See—he made carvings on it of a jackal and snake to invoke their power and help me throw accurately.”
Tuthmosis laughed as he ran his fingers over the carvings. “It’s not the jackal and the snake that are accurate, it’s you!”
I felt a blush rise to my cheeks and turned my face so he wouldn’t see. I fumbled with untying the sail, my hands made clumsy by his compliment.
Tuthmosis was in a playful mood. As soon as he stepped ashore, he began gathering poppies and cornflowers.
“What are you doing?”
“Wait and see.” He sat with the flowers in his lap, first cutting a long length of papyrus stem and tying the end pieces together to make a circle. Then, using thin strands of the papyrus head, he tied and wove leaves and flowers onto the ring. His hands worked easily, deftly twisting olive leaves and white willow and the heads of wild celery and sage with blue cornflowers and red poppies.
“Where does a prince learn to make flower collars?” I teased.
He smiled. “From the palace serving girls. They sat in the gardens weaving collars for one another.” He made some final adjustments and carefully placed it over my head and arranged it across my shoulders.
Then he snapped his fingers. “I forgot! There must be perfume as well.” He snatched up two blue lotus lilies from the river’s edge and stuck them into the collar. “There!” He stood back, smiling. “A temple goddess.”
To hide my embarrassment, I pulled a water lily from the necklace and placed it behind his ear. “You must wear one as well!”
Tuthmosis stood there looking more like a prince than ever before—even without a crown and fine robes. He was handsome without seeming to know it. And his eyes were truly blue. As blue as the lotus flowers he’d picked.
He built a small fire with reed and driftwood while I plucked the two waterfowl and split them open. I scraped out the gall and innards, wrapped them in lotus leaves, laid them in the embers. We ate in silence, listening to the frogs and picking the meat off the bones. Then I lay looking up at the stars with the strong perfume of the lilies about my neck wafting over me.
Tuthmosis held his head cupped in his hands and looked up as well. “I slept like this in the desert when I was a child.”
I smiled into the darkness. “Princes don’t sleep on the ground. They sleep on gold beds in palaces.”
“Believe me, I slept on the ground. I went hunting with my father. His days were free of military skirmishes. Syria, Palestine, and Babylon were already his dominions. He had plenty of time for hunting.”
“And . . . ?”
“We raced in two-horse chariots over the flood-plains, a charioteer at the reins, the wheels of the cart careering across the sand, my father wearing the blue gold-studded Khepresh warrior crown, targeting antelope and ibex. As we gained on them, my father would draw his
bow and add to his tally. Fierce lions and leopards, too. He hunted them all.”
Tuthmosis seemed to grow fierce with his words. “You saw the skins on the floor of my mother’s chamber. In ten years my father felled more than a hundred lions! He wore the skins as cloaks to show his greatness. So all would know his strength and courage!”
I turned on my side and rested my head on my elbow to look at him. “And you? Were you courageous?”
“My father never gave me the chance to test my skills. I stood at his side while he shot the arrows. When we returned and the pace was slow, he allowed the charioteer to hand me the reins. But I never seemed able to prove myself to my father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything he did, whether it was hunting lions or building monuments, was always to demonstrate how powerful he was. The lavish banquets, the gigantic statues guarding his mortuary temple, the sprawling palace, the Temple of Luxor inscribed with his name, were all intended to overawe.”
Tuthmosis sat up abruptly and raked some life into the fire. Suddenly there was a bitter tone to his voice.
“My brother, sisters, and I grew up not wanting for anything. Our playthings were made of gold inlaid with precious stone. We had giraffe and cheetahs for playmates. Monkeys were trained to fetch fruit for us from the highest branches of our orchards. Slaves stood by to attend to our every need.”
He broke a stick with a sharp snap and laid it across the flames. “My father was generous, but in exchange he wanted absolute power.”
I glanced across at him. In the firelight his eyes sparked. But he sat silently as if searching for the right words.
“Yes . . . ?” I urged.
He shrugged. “His power sapped me. Nothing I did, whether it was driving a chariot well or showing I was an expert marksman, ever made him proud of me. In his eyes, I was nothing. Especially after the accident.”
I stole another sideways glance. He stared past me into the fire as if he’d forgotten I was there.
“On a hunting expedition, I fell from the chariot when the wheel hit a loose stone. My leg caught in the spokes as it rolled over me. They thought my leg might have to be amputated. The bone was broken. The flesh wouldn’t heal. But I eventually recovered. I’ve walked with a limp since.”
He turned and searched my face as if looking for some answer there. Then he shrugged. “My father wanted perfection. He chose my younger brother, his namesake Amenhotep, as his favorite then.”
The next morning we set out early, hugging the bank of the river. I found myself humming softly as we sailed. There had been days without news of or sight of the Dazzling Aten. I felt light and easy. Free of the threat of Wosret. My mind was far away when a sudden glimmer caught my eye.
A mirage rose above the reeds in a bend in the river up ahead. A tall, hazy shape shimmered in the heat, as if overlaid with gold gauze. A shape with a mast and a high golden prow.
It came downstream directly toward us in the glittering morning light with its red sails slack, driven forward by the fast current and the strength of its oarsmen.
I heard Tuthmosis’s sharp intake of breath behind me. “It can’t be!”
I sat like a snake charmed into stillness by its master. I knew there was something we should do. But the barge had appeared so silently and unexpectedly in such a deserted part of the river that my body was numb.
The hiss of water against the barge’s prow and the beat of oars brought me back to my senses. “We can’t fool them a second time. There’s no protection of darkness now. They’ll easily recognize us. We must hide before we’re spotted.”
“There’s nowhere to hide, except under the water.”
“That’s it! Take a hollow reed to breathe through.”
Tuthmosis frowned.
“It’ll work. I’ve done it before. My brother and I used to play this game. We took turns to see how long we could stay under water.” I snapped a hollow reed and passed it to Tuthmosis. “Here! Hurry!”
“What about crocodiles?”
I glanced around quickly and shook my head. “None!” I didn’t tell him one of us had always kept watch. Then I slipped over the side of the boat, ducked down, and prayed to Sobek to spare us from crocodiles in exchange for all the times Katep and I had fed his sacred beasts.
I thrust the end of my reed upward and sucked hard. No air came. For a moment, my heart raced. The reed was blocked. There was no time to surface and choose another. Panic was setting in. I blew hard and dislodged whatever had been stuck inside it. Under the murky water I saw Tuthmosis holding his reed tightly in his mouth, his eyes wide open and staring back at me like two silveryblue fish. He gave me the thumbs-up sign.
There was a muffled swish of oars and a surge of water as the barge beat down on us. My heart was drumming in my head. Or was it the noise of the barge? I held my breath. Would they notice our boat lodged among the reeds? Its fibers were water-soaked and had bleached to a dull gray, and the woven strands were beginning to unravel. I prayed they’d mistake it for debris swept down by the floods.
Yet at any moment, I expected to hear the hiss of a flax rope and the splash and thump of a heavy anchor. Expected to see the dark hull at my side and to be yanked up by my arm.
I wasn’t getting enough air. My lungs were bursting. I tried to even my breathing. Under the water Tuthmosis held his hand out with the palm toward me as if telling me not to be in too much of a hurry.
We waited for what seemed like forever. I strained my eyes for the shadow of the boat and my ears for the beat of oars. But this time it was truly only my heart I could hear thudding.
We burst through the surface and gasped for full, deep breaths. The barge was nothing more than a golden dragonfly hovering in the heat haze, far, far in the distance—heading in the direction of Thebes at last.
I spit a piece of reed from my mouth and bellowed after it, “Murderer! Vile murderer! You act divine. As untouchable as a god! But you’re not! You killed my father, Wosret!”
Tuthmosis was silent as he held out his hand to help me from the water.
I brushed my cheeks angrily with the back of my hand, hoping the tears would seem like river water, and stood shivering even though the sun was hot against my skin.
The prince picked a single blue lotus lily and pushed it into the collar of flowers that lay in wet, bedraggled strands around my shoulders. He gave a slight bow. His mouth curved up into a broad smile but his eyes were serious. “To Kara—most supreme waterfowl hunter and deviser of untold tricks!”
10
MIRAGES OF
THE DESERT
We came eventually to a lonely part of the river with nothing but high desert sand dunes to our western side and dry, barren, stony ground to the east. Both riverbanks were desolate and empty of palm trees, or villages, or children tending goats and playing in the mud. The landscape was harsh, arid, and unwelcoming.
The next morning I woke stiff and chilled next to huge dunes that rose up clear and cold, almost blue in the early light. There was a smell of wood smoke. Tuthmosis was already crouching over some embers, stirring them back to life. I moved closer and spread my hands out to warm them. The dunes began to glow and take on the color of the rising sun. He handed me a gourd of water he’d scooped from the river. Then he fumbled in his girdle bag and held out some dry pieces of millet bread and a few dried olives.
“I saved them from the last village in case you might be hungry.”
I couldn’t help smiling into the gourd. “You’re suited to the life of a nomad.”
Suddenly I saw his face freeze. A movement high up along the ridge of the nearest dune caught my eye. I turned sharply.
Five men on camels were outlined in silhouette against the pale sky. For a moment they stood completely still and silent. I twisted my head from side to side to scan the landscape. There was no escape. They had seen us. It was too late for Tuthmosis to slip on his girl’s tunic and wig.
“Bind your head at least!” I hi
ssed.
Just as the sun tipped the horizon, the men began riding slowly down the slope toward us. As the light caught them, they appeared to be dressed in brilliant metallic mesh, woven with gold brocade that shimmered with every slow, tantalizing step.
But as they drew closer, I saw the motley mix of clothes they wore—the layers of bleached and tattered linen with edges unraveling and cloth more patched than whole, the sleeves that hung in tatters around their wrists, and the head cloths that blew and unfurled in the breeze in teased-out strips. The men were bleached, weathered, and worn to nothing but rags, bone, and sinew. Their dark faces were scorched and lined from sun and wind.
Then I noticed something more fearful—the glint and flash of sunlight on metal. An icy coldness swept over me. The girdles around their waists were stuffed with weapons—jeweled daggers and adzes and bronze sickle swords. And, slung across their backs, were enormous bows and dark-hide quivers bulging with arrows.
I’d never seen desert nomads, but instinctively I knew these were the Medjay—expert bowmen who roamed the deserts trading and slitting throats and impaling people for whatever price or prize.
“Stay silent! Let me speak,” Tuthmosis hissed as he straightened up to meet them.
Their leader stopped short of us. His face, half shadowed by his head cloth, was harsh and his eyes dark and unfathomable. Up close I saw the strong jawline and high tattoo-marked cheeks. His head cloth was worn to threads, but the boots sticking out from under his wind-torn cloak came as high as his calves and were made of strong leather and stitched in an intricate design.
The other men were silent. Their reins lay loose in their hands, but their eyes watched fiercely.
The leader’s dark eyes flicked over us. “What do you want here?”
“We’re sailing to beyond the First and Second Cataract.”
Eye of the Moon Page 7