Dream Boat

by Marilyn Todd

  As though reading her mind, Mercy said, 'Ach, to be sure, I've never looked back! I dedicated the best part of forty years

  to me family, doing what's right for them, what's best for them, until it's time, I thought, I did something for meself before it's too damned late.' She relieved Claudia of her discarded gown and held it up admiringly, before folding it away in a chest. 'So I up and left the lot of 'em.' Claudia's rings, armbands and pendant she placed in a dish shaped like a water lily, and Claudia knew that would be the last she'd see of her lovely jewels!

  There was something in Mercy's manner which prompted her to ask, 'Left, as in "without a word" you mean?'

  'Best way, me lovely,' Mercy said, helping her into a pleated shift dress, white and patterned with diamonds of green, blue and turquoise, identical in every respect to her own. Identical, in fact, to everyone else's.

  'Me husband was a bastard,' she added matter-of-factly. 'Beat me when he drank and beat me when he was sober, a proper brute, and I don't care what anybody says, I recognise his type in Geb, and so I do! Geb's Keeper of the Central Store - he oversees the domestic side, the cooking, laundry, that kind of thing - you'll know who I mean when you see him. A Barbary ape on two legs. Are your shoulder straps too tight? Anyway, you'll have no trouble with Geb. He hates women - men like that do - he avoids them when he can, which is, of course,' she laughed, 'most of the time.'

  Her hand dithered over two small wide-rimmed, flat-bottomed pots, finally reaching for the one in the form of a duck.

  'Black,' she pronounced, and Claudia realised they were eye paints she'd been choosing. 'Later,' she said, Til show you to the rabbit hutch which passes for your bedroom, but first it's prayers. My, my, you look a picture!'

  She steered her charge towards a tall mirror of polished bronze, and what shone back was not Claudia, but a replica of the three hundred other women in the commune. Hair had been twisted into a simple bun at the nape, eyes rimmed with kohl, a shift and sandals identical to everyone else's. Incredible. In

  the space of ten minutes, Mercy had bestowed upon Claudia a veneer of invisibility . . .

  'Tomorrow,' she said, replacing the disc-shaped lid on the kohl, 'I'll henna your palms, your fingernails and the soles of your feet, ooh, it's a heavenly sensation. Tomorrow's a public holiday, and tonight we celebrate the passing of the crocodile—'

  Whoa! 'We're mourning the death of a future piece of luggage?'

  'Tch! Hasn't that lazy sod, Zer, told you anything about your new way of life here?' Outside, thunder rolled and rumbled, lightning streaked the sky. Glancing up, Mercy prayed aloud that the rain would hold off until after the ceremony had finished. 'We operate a ten-day week, a ten-month year in the commune, and the months are named after the festivals. Hathor's marriage to Horus, for instance, is one, which we abbreviate to 'the cow'. Gets too complex otherwise.'

  Otherwise? Claudia was already confused! But then that's what this whole place was about. Disorientation. New clothes, new regime, new identity. No personal possessions. No contact with home or even with the outside world - come on, that double set of gates wasn't to impress local wildlife! Memories would be eradicated by ritual, by work, by devotion to Ra through homage to his Ten True Gods working on earth and this, of course, suited cult members as well as cult leaders. It would be wise for Claudia to remember that. People were here, because they chose to be here. Because they had a need for dependency, for numbing, for sublimation of self. They did not want the responsibility of thinking for themselves, they were content with being set repetitive, mindless tasks which relieved them of personal accountability, even on the most menial level.

  Brainwashing, she belatedly realised, works both ways . . .

  Large raindrops began to fall, loud and hot. Grabbing Claudia's arm, Mercy ducked her head and dashed towards a high wall, whose enclosure was covered by a huge blue canvas awning worked by a contraption of wooden laths, poles

  and ropes. Quite a crowd was already assembled, which didn't stop Mercy from pushing her way to the front for a good and clear view, and what a view! If Claudia had thought the boat on the upstairs floor of the apartment block was a knockout, here was surely its mother.

  No replica, this! The barque was full-scale, a vessel fit for a king - for a god - its high prow and stern glowing with gold. Due to the heavy, dark sky, lanterns and torches had been lit around the temple front, making the jewels and gems shimmer and turning the rubies to living red eyes. Zigzag fangs of lightning turned the overlaid silver to incandescent flashing waterfalls. Behind the boat, stone hieroglyphs covered the white temple wall - Claudia recognised the Eye of Horus (why this preoccupation with body parts?) - and alabaster sphinxes lounged haughtily either side of the great, gaping doors.

  'How many wives has Mentu got?' Two? Three?

  'Twenty,' Mercy said, without blinking an eyelash. 'Why?' she chuckled. 'D'you fancy your chances?'

  As more and more people huddled under the awning, Claudia was blown back by this overpowering odour of cloves and myrrh. The unguent, she realised, was yet another erosion of personality and decision-making, and in small quantities -well, you couldn't say it was pleasant, far too pungent for that, but nevertheless the fragrance was tolerable. En masse, though, and exacerbated by the heat, the smell was truly awesome! By now, the rain was drumming heavily on the canvas carapace, splattering over the side in thick torrents, and for a few moments, Claudia noticed no change in the background noise. Then she became aware that a different kind of drumming had started.

  Booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-boom.

  A broad-shouldered Negro beat a giant bronze tortoise with a fleece-covered drumstick, and the slow pulsing rhythm made the hair prick on Claudia's neck.

  Booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-boom.

  A man moved into the spotlights cast by the high, mounted torches, and at first, she thought it was Zer. It was not. Zer

  had already left on his return trip to Rome. But this man was also clad in priestly garb, and the strong, broad ridge of his skull showed a man of courage, strength and character, a man for whom wool would not easily be pulled over shaven eyebrows.

  Booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-boom.

  'He's permitted only goosemeat and beef for his protein intake,' Mercy whispered. 'Not allowed to touch fish, the poor darling, and as for beans. Tch. Can't so much as look at the divils!'

  Small fry, Claudia thought, to being forced to bath in cold water twice daily. Fine in this weather, but winter?

  Behind the High Priest, ten white-robed priestesses swayed and rattled their sistrums, the tune from their silvery bells almost inaudible against the rumbles of thunder. Booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-booom, boo-boo-boom.

  Then the eerie drumming stopped. An air of expectancy sizzled round the crowd. The High Priest reached into a moleskin bag at his waist and threw what looked like grit on to the brazier. Whooosh! Clouds of smoke billowed up, and when they cleared, Claudia gasped. Emerging as though airborne from the building came the most extraordinary procession she had ever seen!

  Led by a man with his face painted blue and covered to the mouth with a dazzling gold mask, other figures filed out of the temple. Each wore a long, floating cloak of either gold, silver, copper or black which scraped the marble floor and, all except one other, bore the mask of an animal. Claudia recognised Horus, the falcon god, Bast the cat (oh, Drusilla; she's the spitting image of you!), a cow, a cobra, a vulture - ten in all. But then, as Mercy said, everything here came in tens.

  Claudia used the opportunity to glance over her shoulder, and nobody noticed her backwards inspection, because five, maybe six hundred pairs of eyes were entranced by the theatricals (sorry, religious observances). Goddammit, which one was Flavia among this herd? Her eyes swivelled round. The girl was shorter than Claudia, but then so, it appeared,

  were three-quarters of the women gathered here. She was fatter than Claudia, but then so, it appeared, were three-quarters of the
women here . . . Claudia let out an impatient sigh. With their regulation frocks and regulation eyes, it would be easier to tell sheep apart! Somewhere, she imagined, Flea would be snaking her way through the crowd, pocketing fistfuls of blue scarab amulets, although quite how a dungbeetle was supposed to protect a person from harm, Claudia had no idea.

  'Hear me, for I am Osiris!' The rich tones of Mentu carried over the lashing rain. 'Tonight my holy father, Ra, departs to do battle with the Serpent and traverse the Realm of the Dead.'

  The High Priest stepped forward. 'Hail to thee, Ra, in thy departing.'

  Around Claudia, hands clamped together and a reverential chorus rang out. 'Mine eyes adore thee.'

  'May thou cross in peace the Underworld in thy glorious Boat of the Evening.'

  'Beautiful art thou.'

  'And may thou rise in the horizon of heaven to give life to all that thou hast made, those who worship when they behold thee and sleep when thou dost depart.'

  'For the joy thou bringest, O Lord, we adore thee.'

  Two drumsticks now feathered the shell of the tortoise, faster but softer, and as the priestesses rattled their silver bells and showered the barque with rose petals, ten white-robed acolytes, five on either side of the boat, hauled the vessel back inside the temple buildings, the silver, lapis, amethysts and emeralds flickering wildly in the torchlight. The door closed behind them, but before the crowd could disperse, Osiris held up his hand.

  'Brethren,' he said, and all eyes were upon him. 'You all know me, for I am Mentu, father to the fatherless, husband to the widow, protector of the poor. Through me, and my holy father, Ra, we bring you goodness, peace and harmony, that when the Day of Judgement comes, your hearts may weigh true at the Balance. And yet.' He paused for a count of three. 'There are those among us who do not believe.' This time the

  pause was longer, to take account of the astonished gasps, the shuffles. 'There are those among us who wish to destroy what we have created!'

  Expressions of disbelief rippled round the horrified crowd, and Claudia thought, so this is Mentu, the man who controls this herd of mindless peabrains. She squinted across the dancing lamplight to get a better view of the Egyptian who sold himself as a Pharaoh, as Osiris incarnate, son of Ra -and no doubt many other things besides! Min and Mentu, the Brothers of Horus? More like two barrow boys from Memphis with an eye to the main chance - an eye that most certainly did not belong to Horus!

  Impossible to see much under the blue paint, the mask and the voluminous floor-sweeping cloak, except that, unless Mentu had exceptionally long legs or disproportionately short arms, the people's beloved Pharaoh wore built-up heels to compensate for a distinct lack of height.

  Bored with the liturgy, Claudia had daydreamed her way through much of his monologue, but her attention was drawn back by a young man being escorted up the temple steps to stand before Mentu on the platform. He was a handsome enough lad, eighteen and muscular in his linen loin cloth, but what made her sit up sharp was that, flanking him, stood two guards armed with scimitars.

  The storm's vicious scything of the sky mirrored the contours of their weapons. Claudia's blood ran chill. Armed guards. Tall double gates. Fences. Claudia swallowed. She was glad, now, she'd hired those henchmen. The first sign of trouble, and they'd swoop down like a shot at her signal.

  'How will we know it?' one of them had asked.

  Inspired by the Serving Women re-enactment, Claudia had said simply, 'I'll light a fire, of course.' (Although, unlike the pallid Prefect, she would not pedantically insist on a fig tree!) Absently, she wondered how she'd manage to kindle one in such a tempest, and reassured herself that any storm would have burned itself out by then. Not, she added hastily, that she imagined there would be a problem.

  A second youth had jumped on to the stage (Claudia! it's a religious platform, behave yourself!). An unprepossessing creature, being podgy and sallow and prone to spots, but dazzled by piety, this second youth had sunk to his knees, sobbing, saying that he, too, once believed he would be better off back in the old world. He, too, had wanted to leave. Mentu floated over to him and placed his hand upon the fat boy's head. The boy was blubbering in earnest, telling everyone he'd been a fool, a narrow-minded fool, because this is his family, these are his friends, these are the people who love him.

  The crowd, gripped by the boy's penitence, were surging forward, urging him on with avowals of love, and a flock of bats fluttered beneath Claudia's ribcage. Like the first youth, hauled up half-naked before them by the guards, she was less than convinced.

  She had not realised how deep the indoctrination was planted.

  Oh, shit. It was something she hadn't considered - the fact that leaving might not be an option. This boy had obviously tried and had been carted back under armed guard to be put on show for everyone to gawp at.

  Something happened.

  For a moment, Claudia did not understand its significance, this subtle movement of the animal gods. One moment they were standing in a V formation behind Osiris, now they had surrounded the youth who'd tried to escape. Their voices were soothing, almost cooing, but when the V fanned out again, the boy - and the armed guards - had disappeared.

  Every hair on Claudia's body stood on end.

  'It saddens me,' Mentu said, 'whenever a brother or a sister leaves us. What saddens me more, however,' and he brushed at his face, as though wiping away a tear, 'is that our brother Sorrel here sought to sneak away like a common burglar. He is free to depart, you all are - no!' He held up his hand. 'Anyone who wishes to leave is free to do so with the blessing of Ra, only come to me, first, I beseech you.

  Seek the wisdom of Ra, through his son, Osiris, for outside this valley our enemies surround us. It is not purely the soul which imperils itself beyond these hills.' He voice rose a pitch. 'Rome seeks to destroy us, brothers.' The volume rose, too. 'To cast down Ra and the Ten True Gods, to smash what we have built.'

  The baying of the crowd made Claudia's flesh crimple.

  'But we shall resist! We shall fight to the very last breath for the right to resurrection, to eternal blessedness, they shall not deny us!'

  The howling grew louder.

  'I say, our enemies must perish!' Mentu was bellowing to make himself heard. 'They have no hope of salvation. If they attack us, we -' he made stabbing signs in the air - 'must -fight - back.'

  'Fight!'

  'Kill!'

  'Die for the cause!'

  'Brothers!' With a cutting gesture, Mentu held up both arms and silence descended at once.

  Claudia, terrified, had never experienced anything like it. Her breathing had stopped. Her heart was hammering. She had never been more alone in a crowd.

  'Sisters.' His voice was mellow once more, almost coaxing. 'If Rome breaches our defences, we will meet the enemy head on and gladly. That's why we have men in the hills, to protect us, to give us advance warning of hostile attacks.' The gold mask shook sadly. 'If you want to leave, brothers, I beg you to leave openly through the gates. These men are mercenaries. Trained fighters. They cannot see in the dark and we do not want to suffer,' there was a catch in his voice, 'any more grievous accidents.'

  The silence which followed was almost as frightening as the animal sounds the herd had made before, when it had risen to the mood of its leader.

  'Accidents?' Claudia turned to Mercy, who was gazing enraptured at the speaker on the platform.

  'Tch. Terrible, it was. Terrible.' Her eyes focussed again. 'One, gored right through by a rutting boar, poor soul. Another tripped and fell and impaled himself on the very stakes designed to keep the enemy out, while the third lad our noble watchmen mistook for an assassin, poor lamb was cut to pieces. Terrible. Such a waste of young lives.'

  'But people do leave, right?' Claudia was not sure her voice was as obedient as she had hoped.

  'There's been a spate of silly geese,' Mercy admitted, 'who've taken to stealing away in the night as though it's fashionable or something, although for the life of
me I cannot see why. This is paradise on earth, is it not? Mind, they were young, the girls, and who knows what goes through empty heads at that age? Not that I'm suggesting they were touched like Berenice, you understand! To be sure, I'm not.'

  On the platform, as though nothing unusual had occurred (perhaps it hadn't), the High Priest began to intone his thanks to Ra for the prosperous past month, the bounteous harvest, the plump cattle and ripening fruits. The figure wearing the crocodile mask stepped forward, to be garlanded with flowers by the ten white-robed priestesses and sprinkled with incense by the High Priest.

  'Berenice?' Claudia prompted. Her voice was a rasp.

  'Let's be charitable and say the heat got to her and she couldn't cope,' Mercy said, lowering her voice. 'He'd been running a temperature and grizzling, poor wee mite, so to shut him up, Berenice poisoned her baby. Aye. Fed him hemlock and left his wee body on the temple steps to stiffen, then -' she snapped her fingers - 'off she swanned. Not a word, the irresponsible besom. You're beginning to get the drift of this, aren't you?'

  For a wild moment, Claudia wondered what the hell she meant, then she realised Mercy was talking, incredibly, about the ceremony taking place under the lights. The tragedy - the breathtaking horror - of Berenice, her poisoned baby, the fate of the boy, Sorrel (Sorrel? who dished out these weird names?), who'd tried to walk out, none of these things had

  actually touched Mersyankh. This worldly, stoic creature had merely been saddened by what had happened.

  'That's the end of the crocodile,' said the woman whose husband used to beat her. 'Tomorrow we greet the new month of Ibis.'

  Oh, Mercy! Won't you ever learn? First your husband, now Mentu, they've taken out your spirit and you've just rolled over and allowed them to do it. Like a rag mopping up a spill, they've sucked up all your spunk - and along with it, your ability to question!

  'Not difficult once you get the hang,' Mercy continued cheerfully. 'And because it's a special occasion, tonight we get palm wine with our supper.'