Warlock: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)
Page 32
“Yes!” Nefer agreed. “When can we leave for Avaris?”
Taita replied, “There is great urgency. We will leave at once.”
It took them fifteen days of hard travel to reach the tiny garrison and remount station of Thane a day’s travel south of Avaris. They had changed horses four times on the road—Taita used the royal requisition order that Naja had given him to replace the worn-out animals and to replenish their supplies at the military garrisons and camps they had passed along the way.
Since leaving Gebel Nagara they had discussed their plans endlessly, knowing that they were pitted against the might of Pharaoh Trok Uruk. The officers they spoke to at the garrisons estimated that Trok now had twenty-seven fully trained and equipped regiments at his disposal, and almost three thousand chariots. To oppose this multitude they had a wagon showing the effects of long, hard service with a back wheel that showed a marked propensity to fall off at the most inappropriate times and bodywork held together with twine and leather strips. There were only the four of them: Nefer and Meren, Hilto and Bay. But the fifth was Taita.
“The Magus is worth twenty-seven regiments at least,” Hilto pointed out, “so we are evenly matched against Trok.”
Hilto knew the captain in charge of the encampment at Thane, a scarred and grizzled old warrior named Socco. Long ago they had run the Red Road together. They had fought, roistered and whored together. After they had reminisced for an hour and shared a pot of sour beer, Hilto handed him the requisition scroll. Socco held it upside down at arm’s length and looked wise.
“See the cartouche of Pharaoh.” Hilto touched the seal.
“If I know you at all, Hilto, and by Horus I do, you probably drew that pretty picture yourself.” Socco handed the scroll back to Hilto. “What do you need, you old rogue?”
They selected fresh horses from the herd of several hundred in the remount herd, then Taita went over the ranks of parked chariots in the garrison pool that had just been sent out from the makers in Avaris. He selected three vehicles, and they harnessed the fresh horses.
When they left Thane, Taita was driving the old wagon. Meren, Hilto and Nefer each drove a chariot, while Bay brought up the rear herding twenty spare horses. They did not head directly for Avaris but made a detour to the east of the city.
On the edge of the desert there was a small oasis used by the Bedouin and by merchant caravans heading out to and returning from the Orient.
While the others unloaded the fodder they had carried from Thane in the wagon, hobbled the horses and greased the wheel hubs of the new chariots, Taita went to barter with the Assyrian master of the caravan that was encamped nearby. He bought an armful of dirty, tattered clothing, and twenty woolen rugs woven in the land along the Further Sea. They were of inferior workmanship and material, but he was forced to pay an extortionate price for them. “That Assyrian ape is a cut-throat and a robber,” he muttered, as they loaded the carpets onto the wagon.
“Why do we need them?” Nefer wanted to know, but Taita pretended not to hear the question.
That night Taita dyed his mane of silver hair with an extract of mimosa bark, which altered his appearance dramatically. In the darkness of early morning they left Bay in charge of the herd of horses and the chariots, climbed into the dilapidated wagon and, sitting high on the pile of dusty carpets, headed west toward Avaris. They were dressed in the rags and cast-offs that Taita had procured. Taita wore a long robe and sash, and the lower half of his face was veiled in the fashion of a citizen of Ur of the Chaldeas. With his dyed dark hair he was unrecognizable as the Magus.
It was evening when they reached the royal city of the north. There was a permanent encampment of several thousand souls outside the walls, mostly beggars, itinerant players, foreign traders and other riff-raff. They set up camp among them, and early the next morning they left Meren to watch the wagon and went to join the throng waiting outside the city for the gates to open at sunrise.
Once they were past the city guard, Hilto went to tour the taverns and brothels in the narrow streets of the old quarter where he hoped to find some of his cronies and former comrades-in-arms and gather the latest news from them. Taita took Nefer with him and they made their way through the crowded streets of the awakening city to the palace gates. Here they joined the beggars, tradesmen and supplicants. Taita made no effort to gain entry to the palace, rather they spent the morning listening to the chatter of those around them, and gossiping with the other idlers.
At last Taita struck up a conversation with a merchant from Babylon, dressed in similar style to himself, who introduced himself as Nintura. Taita spoke the Akkadian language like a native of Mesopotamia, which was why he had chosen this particular disguise. The two shared a pot of coffee brewed with rare and expensive beans imported from Ethiopia, and Taita exerted all his wiles to charm Nintura, who had been loitering outside the palace for the last ten days, waiting for his turn to display his wares to Trok’s new bride. He had already paid the exorbitant baksheesh demanded by the palace vizier to be allowed to enter the presence of the young consort, but many others were ahead of him.
“They say that Trok has been cruelly treated by his young wife. She will not allow him into her bed.” Nintura chuckled. “He is wild for her, like a stag in rut, but she keeps her legs crossed and the door to her chamber locked. Trok is trying to win her favors with expensive gifts. They say he will refuse her nothing. Also, she buys everything that is offered to her and then, to spite him, she immediately resells it for a fraction of what he was forced to pay and distributes the proceeds to the poor of the city.” He slapped his knee and roared with laughter. “They say she buys the same things over and over, and Trok keeps paying.”
“Where is Trok?” Taita asked.
“He is campaigning in the south,” Nintura replied. “He is stamping out the flames of rebellion, but no sooner does he turn his back than they flare up again behind him.”
“Whom should I approach to enter the presence of this Queen Mintaka?”
“The palace vizier. Soleth is his name, the fat, gelded freak.” Nintura had not realized Taita’s own physical status.
Taita knew Soleth only by reputation and that he was one of the secret brotherhood of eunuchs. “Where can I find him?” Taita asked.
“It will cost you a gold ring just to enter his presence,” Nintura warned him.
Soleth was sitting beside the lotus pond in his own walled garden. He did not rise when one of the harem-keepers brought Taita to him.
The Hyksos had so forsaken their ancient customs, and taken to Egyptian ways, that they no longer kept their wives sequestered in the zenana. The eunuchs still exercised much of their former power over the royal women, but when suitably chaperoned their charges were allowed much freedom. They could walk abroad, sail on their pleasure barges on the river, have merchants visit them to display their wares or dine, sing, dance and play games with their friends.
Taita made a dignified salutation as he introduced himself to Soleth under an assumed name. He followed that with the recognition sign of the brotherhood, crooking both his little fingers and touching them together. Soleth blinked with surprise and ran his eyes down Taita’s lean frame: he did not have the shape or the look of a eunuch. Nevertheless, he waved to Taita to seat himself on the cushions opposite him. Taita accepted the bowl of sherbet a slave offered, and they talked for a while of seemingly trivial matters, but swiftly they established Taita’s credentials and common acquaintances within the brotherhood. Without seeming to do so, Soleth was studying Taita’s features thoughtfully, looking beyond the veil and the dyed hair. Slowly recognition bloomed in his eyes and at last he asked softly, “In your travels you might have met the famous Magus, known through both kingdoms, and beyond, as Taita?”
“I know Taita well,” Taita agreed.
“Perhaps as well as you know yourself?” Soleth asked.
“At least as well as I know myself,” Taita affirmed, and Soleth’s chubby face creased in
a smile.
“Say no more. What service can I perform for you? You need only ask.”
That evening Nefer, Meren and Hilto were on the carpet load when Taita drove the creaking wagon, its incorrigible back wheel wobbling lopsidedly, up to one of the side gates of the palace where a gang of ragged urchins skulked in the mean, narrow lane. Taita gave one a copper ring to guard the wagon, then banged on the gate with the butt of his staff. It swung open at once, but they were confronted by a file of levelled spears. The entrance to the zenana was heavily guarded: Trok was taking good care of his little hind.
Soleth was not there to greet him—obviously, he was keeping his nose clean—but he had sent one of his underlings, an old black slave, to usher Taita past the guards and to act as a guide. Although Taita was armed with the papyrus scroll that Soleth had given him, the captain of the guard insisted on searching them before he would allow them to pass. He ordered Hilto to unroll the carpets and prodded every fold with his spear point. At last he was satisfied, and waved them through.
The ancient slave hobbled ahead of them, guiding them through a labyrinth of narrow passages. As they progressed, the surroundings became grander, until they stopped before an elaborately carved sandalwood door guarded by two huge eunuchs. There was a whispered exchange between them and the old slave, then the sentries stood aside and Taita led the others through into a large airy room redolent of flowers, perfume and the tantalizing aroma of young womanhood. Beyond there was a wide terrace, from which floated the sounds of a lute and feminine voices.
The old slave went out onto the terrace. “Your Majesty,” he quavered, “there is a merchant with fine silk carpets from Samarkand to wait upon Your Grace.”
“I have seen enough rubbish for one day,” a woman’s voice replied, and Nefer thrilled to those familiar well-beloved tones so that his breathing came short. “Send him away.”
The guide looked back at Taita and pulled a face, spreading his hands helplessly. Nefer dropped the rolled carpet off his shoulder onto the stone floor tiles with a weighty thump, and strode to the entrance onto the terrace, where he paused. He was dressed in tatters and a grubby cloth was wrapped around his head, covering the lower half of his face. Only his eyes were visible.
Mintaka was sitting on the parapet wall with two of her slave girls at her feet. She did not look in his direction but started singing again. It was the monkey and donkey song, and Nefer felt every word twist his heart as he studied the sweet curve of the cheek turned half away from him and the tresses of thick dark hair that hung down her back.
Abruptly she broke off and looked at him with annoyance. “Don’t stand there gawking at me, you insolent oaf,” she snapped. “Take your wares and go.”
“Forgive me, Majesty.” He spread his arms in supplication. “I am but a poor fool from Dabba.”
Mintaka screamed and dropped her lute, then covered her mouth with both hands. Patches of bright crimson rouged her cheeks and she stared into his green eyes. The black slave drew his dagger and tottered forward feebly to attack Nefer, but Mintaka recovered herself at once. “No, leave him.” She raised her right hand to reinforce the command. “Leave us. I will speak with the stupid fellow.” The slave looked dubious and hesitated, the naked dagger still aimed uncertainly at Nefer’s belly.
“Do as I tell you,” Mintaka snarled, like a leopardess. “Go, fool. Go!”
Confused, the old fellow sheathed his blade and backed away. Mintaka was still staring at Nefer, her eyes huge and dark. Her girls could not fathom what ailed her. They knew only that something strange was afoot. The curtains over the entrance fell back into place as the slave withdrew. Nefer whipped off the cloth that covered his head and his curls fell to his shoulders.
Mintaka screamed again. “Oh, by the grace of Hathor, it is you. It is really you! I thought you would never come.” She flew to him and he ran to meet her, enfolding her in his embrace. They clung to each other, both talking at the same time, incoherently trying to tell each other of their love and how much they had missed each other. The slave girls recovered from their astonishment and danced around them, clapping their hands and weeping with joy and excitement until Taita silenced them with a few well-directed prods of his staff.
“Stop that mindless squealing. You will have all the sentries here in a minute.” Once he had them under control, he turned back to Hilto and Meren. At his direction they spread the largest carpet out on the tiles.
“Mintaka, listen to me! There will be time for that later.”
She turned her face to him, but kept her hands locked around Nefer’s neck. “It was you who called to me, wasn’t it, Taita? I heard your voice so clearly. If you hadn’t stopped me I would have—”
“I thought you more sensible than to stand here chattering when so much is at stake,” Taita cut across her. “We are going to hide you in the carpet to get you out of the palace. Hurry now.”
“Do I have time to fetch my—”
“No,” Taita said. “You have time for nothing other than to obey me.”
She kissed Nefer once more, a lingering embrace, then ran into the chamber and threw herself full-length on the carpet. She looked up at her girls, who stood amazed in the doorway. “Do whatever Taita tells you.”
“You cannot leave us, mistress,” her favorite, Tinia, wailed. “Without you we are nothing.”
“It will not be for long,” Mintaka said. “I promise I will send for you, Tinia, but until then be brave, and do not fail me.”
Nefer helped Hilto and Meren roll Mintaka in the patterned red carpet, and placed one end of a long hollow reed between her lips. The other end, protruding a few inches from the heavy folds, would enable her to breathe.
In the meantime Taita instructed the weeping slave girls: “Tinia, you are to go into the bedchamber and bar the door. Cover yourself with bed linen, as though you were your mistress. The rest of you will stay here in the vestibule. You must not open the door to any demands. Tell anyone who asks that your mistress is laid low by her moon sickness and can see no one. Do you understand that?” Tinia nodded, broken-hearted, not trusting herself to speak. “Delay them as long as you are able, but when you are discovered and can no longer dissemble, tell them what they want to know. Do not try to hold out under torture. Your death or crippling will serve little purpose, except to prey upon the conscience of your mistress.”
“Can I not go with the Queen?” Tinia blurted. “I cannot live without her.”
“You heard your mistress’s promise. Once she is safe she will send for you. Now, bar the door behind us when we leave.”
The old slave was waiting in the passage when they carried out the rolled carpet on their shoulders.
“I am sorry. I did my best for you, as Soleth ordered me. Queen Mintaka was once a kind and happy girl,” he told them, “but no longer. Since her marriage she has become sad and angry.” He beckoned them to follow and led them back through the warren of the zenana until at last they reached the small side gate, where the sergeant of the guards confronted them once more.
“Unroll those carpets!” he ordered brusquely.
Taita stepped closer to him and stared into his eyes. The sergeant’s hostile expression faded. He looked mildly confused. “I can see that you are feeling contented and happy,” Taita said softly, and a slow grin spread over the man’s ugly, wrinkled features. “Very happy,” Taita said, and laid his hand gently on the man’s shoulder.
“Very happy,” the sergeant repeated.
“You have already searched the carpets. Surely you do not want to waste your valuable time. Do you?”
“I don’t want to waste my time,” the sergeant declared, as though it were his own idea.
“You want us to pass.”
“Pass!” said the sergeant. “I want you to pass.” And he stood aside. One of his men raised the locking bar and let them out into the lane. The last glimpse they had of the sergeant as the door closed showed them that he was grinning benignly after them.
“It is hot and stuffy, but that is a small price to pay to know that you are near.” Her voice was muffled and he reached down the tube formed by the roll and touched the top of her head.
“You are as brave as a lioness,” he said, and scrambled up behind Taita on the wagon box as he urged the horses forward.
Taita whipped up the horses. “The city gates will soon be closed for the night. When Mintaka’s escape is discovered the first thing they will do is seal off the city, search every building and vehicle and question every stranger within the walls.”
They galloped down the wide avenue leading to the eastern gate. As they approached they saw that the way was blocked with other wagons and chariots lined up in front of the gate. There had been a religious festival and procession earlier in the day, and these were worshippers and revellers returning to the outlying villages around Avaris. Their forward progress was tantalizingly slow.
The sun had already sunk behind the walls and the light was fading, but there were still two vehicles ahead of them when the captain of the guard came out of the gate house and yelled at his men, “That is enough! The sun has set. Close the gates!”
There were yells of protest from all the travelers still trying to pass out.
“I have a sick child. I must take her home.”
“I have paid my toll, let me pass. My load of fish will spoil.”
One of the smaller wagons drove forward deliberately and blocked the efforts of the guards to force the gates shut. A small riot broke out, with shouting guards swinging clubs, outraged citizens screaming back at them and frightened horses rearing and whinnying. Suddenly there was a further commotion from without the walls. Louder voices drowned the protests of travelers and guards alike.