Going Forth By Day

by Mary R Woldering

  Marai slipped back into his midday reverie and sensed the princess had spoken to Naibe-Ellit when she had been unable to speak with her husband. He saw, in his thoughts, that Khentie, Naibe, and Mya had been doing needlework together on a sunny, but tense afternoon toward the close of the week. Naibe continued to show the princess how to make the twists of fine gold wire with colored thread couched onto the cloth.

  “Know first, Lady Naibe, that you are well appreciated as a good woman in our household,” The princess spoke suddenly, “and that we understand you bear no evil intent. You cannot hope, though, that Prince Wserkaf will ever call you more than a concubine simply because you are in our house and he has taken special interest in your care,” Khentie was both polite and firm, “nor shall I give any child of yours a title. It will just never happen,” she explained, setting down her needlework. “Not if both of my sons and my brother were struck down in the same hour and my husband, on some whim of the goddess, was to himself ascend to the seat of god could he be free to do so either without my request of it.” Silent, Khentie waited for the girl’s response to what had been a variant of a ‘know your place in our household’ speech which one might give a wayward or overly ambitious servant.

  Naibe-Ellit sighed and cast her eyes down. In humble tones, she replied. “He is a good man to me, and he is ever kind, but I still grieve so much for another whom I cannot forget… This he also knows, Your Great Highness.”

  Darkness crossed the princess’ face when she heard the young woman’s words. To her, Wserkaf coming to love more than lust after this pretty young woman was one thing. He had lied at first about his intent to take her as a concubine and then could not speak of it to her when he somehow changed his mind. That this woman, who seemed so much like a foreign high prophetess despite her youth, accepted and returned that love fluidly and without motive scared Khentkawes witless. She knew, despite her lofty birth and high position, that nothing she said that afternoon worried Naibe-Ellit or made a difference to her; the young Kina-ankh Shinar woman was unafraid. There was very little Khentie could do, except ask her to leave their household. She was very nice about it and civil as always. She even seemed sympathetic when she told Naibe that perhaps she should help her make arrangements to go to the king’s household soon as had been originally intended. Naibe’s face crumpled then. It looked as if she would cry. She dropped the veil, and a gentle breeze lifted it into the stand of papyrus where Marai had found it. She ran from the open plaza to the guest room. There she lay, weeping until Wserkaf returned from the temple.

  CHAPTER 16: THIS ENDS

  The message that King Menkaure and his queen would dine with Inspector of the Ways Wserkaf was always welcome news; it was seldom a surprise. Official business of some kind was always being conducted with his family, and the king invited them to his home and saw them casually after the day of duty and work at his own palace or temples. Today, Wserkaf’s youngest son, Kakai, had arrived from Per-A-At to the north where he studied under his grandfather Userre’s tutelage at the temple of Ra. Tonight, the boy’s betrothed and her family would also attend. Her name was Khentkawes Kiki. They had been matched shortly after each of them was three years old. Now young Kakai’s days of childhood were drawing to a close. In two years, he would build a house and establish a household with the girl as his chief wife. This dinner was to be one of the many “formal meetings” between the two children.

  The king had also come because of his curiosity about the young woman he assigned to the house. Just that glance between Naibe and the king when she had been wild with grief had been enough to captivate the monarch. Menkaure knew she was magical because she saw through his heart and into his sorrow. Since that evening the week before, his dreams had been filled with her image.

  Naibe demurely took her place on Wserkaf’s left while Khentie was at his right. No one said anything about the seating or had to. The young foreign woman had assumed the position of favored concubine or second wife as they reclined at the table.

  After the pleasantries and the meal, when the king was waiting for his bearers to assemble in order to carry him and his queen back to their separate residences, King Menkaure pulled Wserkaf aside. He ordered the inspector to follow him to a place just outside the walls, then told his guards to stand where they could see him but not hear his words.

  “My son,” the aging but still statuesque man began.

  “Great Majesty,” Wserkaf bowed, then kept his eyes down. He already knew what this conversation would be about.

  “The young woman, the sojourner, has become more to you than a servant?” he stated. “Tell me about how this has happened, as I thought the outcome might differ from what I saw at supper.” the king glanced to see if the royal chaise was ready.

  Wserkaf felt a slight tremble in his heart. He feared talking about Naibe and the way he felt about her. He hadn’t even been able to speak to his own wife of her, and now the king wanted answers. “She has improved, your Majesty, and I have become more than fond of her.”

  “I see,” the king paced a little, noticing how uncomfortable and embarrassed Wserkaf had become.

  “My child approves, then?”

  The air went out of the priest in a dismal sigh. The king had his answer. “I will respect her wishes; protect and yet obey her desires,” his words were sad and dull.

  “My loins all but created you. Speak to Khentkawes and speak to me through her,” the king paused in his pacing. His men were ready. They bowed in position so he would know to mount his chair. His queen had already departed.

  “Majesty,” Wserkaf offered. “In some days I will prepare for my duty weeks in Khmenu. I just want the Lady Naibe to be safe from the pain she has endured and to continue to heal her heart. I want happiness for her again. There are things…” the priest caught himself, but felt instantly relieved that the thoughts of the king had moved on. Menkaure had turned to get into his chair. His men and guards were lifting him. As if he had become the statue of a god, the king looked straight ahead. He spoke once more without looking at his inspector.

  “Take care of your heart that it may not break. Too many hearts in my household go forth with knives run through them. The young woman can see into your soul and she will drink up the bitter parts. Be safe, my son, on your journey.”

  Wserkaf worried over how he would speak to Naibe about what she might do while he was away. He puzzled over what suggestions to bring to his wife, the princess. Lying awake in the middle of that night with Naibe in his arms, Wserkaf, tried to piece everything together. He loved his wife more than the world, but loved Naibe in ways far beyond her loveliness. It was as simple and as difficult as that.

  The following day, young Kakai returned home. He had passed his oral examination with the local priests of Ra. After a week or two at home, he would return to his grandfather’s school in Per-A-At to complete more studies.

  Naibe swam near the edge of the pool by the papyrus pots, then rose from the water unaware that the boy watched her at first. She twirled a little, lost in her own world of sun and water.

  “Aha! Hethrt at the river’s edge, awaiting a divine mounting, as all can see…” the boy called aloud. He laughed and began to move toward the pool to get a better look.

  “Why thank you…” she giggled in a lighthearted innocent tease, then lifted her breasts in the Ashera pose. Caught in the moment, she wandered around the edge of the pool with an extra kick in her rump. It was a saucy leftover from her days dancing at the wadi station… a ‘come hither’ that wasn’t even serious. When she looked up to see the effect, the youth was gone.

  Meanwhile, Wserkaf was at work in his chart room. He was transcribing a worn notation onto new hide in preparation for its being handed over to the newly initiated sesh candidates in Khmenu the following week. He had been unaware of the goings on at the pool.

  “Father,” the boy chortled in his new, but still squeaky, lower voice, “I have an idea.”

  “Regarding what?” the i
nspector looked up, distracted. He was drained and exhausted from a night of little sleep.

  “The fine new ka’t you have was playing in the water,” the boy started. He grinned and looked back over his shoulder as if he was about to tell a dirty joke.

  Wserkaf felt the blood of an uncanny rage rush through his temples. His eyes narrowed, but he controlled his response.

  “When you go on duty, I think I should like to climb aboard it a few times until I have to sail back to school. We wouldn’t want it to be without that daily shot for too long,” the boy beamed expectantly.

  It. He called her a ka’t, the inspector’s world turned crimson. He was horrified to speechlessness. Slowly, his hand closed around his walking stick and then, with the grace of a young lion, he flung aside the lap board, leapt up, and cracked the youth so hard across the face with his walking stick that it bloodied the boy’s nose and blacked one of his eyes.

  “Help! Stop! Don’t hurt me! Father. No!” Kakai shrieked. He ran out to the pool, tripped on a bench, and then tumbled flat while Wserkaf sought him out. The priest was about to rain some more blows down on the fallen, crying boy when the sesh, who had come from Count Prince Hordjedtef’s estate to receive the translation, and his attendant dragged the inspector priest away. They held the enraged man tight until his thoughts cleared.

  Naibe stood frozen at the pool’s edge, realizing what she had not-so-innocently started. She stared at the bruised and bleeding boy who cowered on the tiles and the enraged and a very out of breath Wserkaf who screeched nasty but pointless utterances and struggled to free himself from the men so he could continue the beating.

  Mya shrieked at the sight and ran all the way to the gardens to get Princess Khentie when the scuffle started. Now, both had returned. The princess stood there, calm-faced, with her arms folded and an imperious look about her.

  “This stops,” her voice was barely above a whisper, “by my divine order. Today.” All motion in the sunny open plaza froze at those words, as if everything had become a block of stone or a statue. “My divine brother, Shepseskaf, has need of another handmaiden. There will be no argument or discussion on this.” With that, she went to assist Kakai. The men holding Wserkaf released him and went to help her with the boy as well.

  Wserkaf’s face quickly went from red to pallid brown-gold chalk. Immeasurable pain and sadness filled his expression because there was absolutely nothing he could do other than respect and honor Khentie’s wishes as goddess walking. Silently, he turned and went back to the chart room, picking up the lapboard and writing utensils as he went.

  Marai sighed as he came back from his vision. He keenly understood the misery in the priest’s heart as he stared down at the veil and remembered the inspector and his beloved Naibe’s entire time together as if he had been with her himself. The gentle voices of the Children of Stone whispered the stories to him, as if they were narrating a legend. They had begun to understand a little more about the emotion of such intense love, he thought.

  Though he knew it was right for them

  to be together,

  if he was thought to be dead,

  his heart still ached until

  he wept that he had ever been lost.

  Where is she? Where are Ariennu and Deka? Marai felt tired again and returned to his room to lie on the straw and wicker bed, knowing Naibe had slept there for so many days. Sadly, he clutched the little veil and wished it was the woman who had sewn it instead.

  He wanted to send his thoughts to the palace, perhaps making one of the statues of the king come alive, speak with the king’s voice, and demand the answer to his search for his wives. Unfortunately, the Great One was there in attendance. It was a good way to bring even more trouble on himself. Until he was sure he had fully recovered, Marai decided he would wait at least until Wserkaf returned and told his own side of the story.

  The sojourner already knew the major architect of all of his misadventures was Hordjedtef; that was only a starting point. Naibe was not here. From what he saw, all evidence that she had ever been there was gone. The Inspector of the Ways had certainly demonstrated his skill in blocking his thoughts to Marai many times, even before he had been ‘killed’. If it hadn’t been for the shred of the veil which the inspector had bought for Naibe, Marai might never have suspected a thing. So much had happened, and Marai still didn’t know how much time had passed since the events he saw when he held the veil.

  You couldn’t help yourself, could you, sweet goddess. It’s your gift… to take a man and own all that he is until he exists no more outside you, Marai caressed the veil in his hands, dotting tears from his own eyes at the aching sweet-sad memory he felt from it. He saw, in his heightened thoughts through the touch of the white cloth, that Wserkaf had given her a lovely loin belt. It had hundreds of little jingly, coiled serpents that rang like tiny singing bells on the chains that composed it. They made such sweet music whenever she walked. Her magic, the placing of heka by goddess-given instinct was the reason why. Lying there, he held the veil up one more time. Is that her scent, like warm honey and buttery spice? Yes, it’s still there, Marai relaxed in the scent of his love and the sound of the jingling in his memory as he waited for the evening to come.

  CHAPTER 17: NO ORDINARY MAN

  When Marai opened his eyes again, he noticed the light of a low oil lamp on a stand as it flickered on the wall. Someone, perhaps the servant who had assisted him, must have been brought into the guest room while he slept. Through the undraped door, he saw that the plaza also blazed with dozens of strategically placed lamps. At first, the sojourner didn’t notice the Inspector of the Ways as he sat in the corner of the little room. The moment that he saw Wserkaf, Marai knew the man must have come to check on him, then stayed sat to watch him rest and to reflect on everything that had happened to him. Tonight, the inspector wore a formal long shendyt and his dark cloak, as if he had recently arrived from the king’s palace. A bright yellow-gold sash of mourning, that symbolized the soul rising like the sun, crossed his body from one shoulder to his waist.

  “So, you know then,” the inspector whispered, almost shyly.

  “I guess you felt the thoughts I sent you when I was suffering and thought I was dying,” Marai nodded somberly, his sigh filled with continued fatigue. “How long was I in the chamber?” He felt dull and hollow as he sat up, so he stayed on the edge of the little bed. His hand still clutched Naibe-Ellit’s veil in the same way a child would with a scrap of his mother’s clothing. When he noticed it, Marai opened his stiff fingers and smoothed the linen piece over his naked leg. He looked at it sadly for a moment, then noticed how much his body still ached and how weary it was.

  I’m still not up to strength. This fatigue… My stone still hasn’t fully healed me. It should have been able to… he thought.

  “About three months,” the inspector shook his bowed head a little. “I still don’t see how, by all the gods, unless you are a god already. There is just no magic or sorcery that can bring someone back after such a long time without air, food, or drink,” Wserkaf’s eyes cast down and then up slowly, almost reverently. “I too, was certain you had died; that your visitation to me that first night may well have been your winging away forever, with all of the poison you took. But you didn’t die, or else your unprepared corpse would have festered. You have to be a god! Asarmaat, true Asar,” he sighed, then leaned his head back against the wall in Marai’s small guest room. “Gods. What has my family done to itself now?” his laugh bore a sickened but quiet tone. “And Hordjedtef, proud old fool that he is, just couldn’t see it.”

  Marai regarded the inspector’s suddenly solemn face and let all of the emotion play through it. He fiercely guarded his own reaction. Three months, not days, have passed. I wasn’t even under the protection of the sleep pod in the Children’s vessel near the old wadi station. Now all this? he chortled wryly. Far too much has happened.

  “I… I can’t study with him anymore,” the inspector’s whisper grew disma
l. “I spoke to my father again; to make amends. But now this: All of this is going away,” Wserkaf made a sweeping gesture with his hand that indicated everything in his home. “This life, all that I’ve built of it or ever known!” his eyes closed. “As soon as we have mourned and buried our Father Menkaure, I will go to Per-A-At on a regular tour but then seek asylum there once I arrive. It’s where I belong. Old Dede won’t suspect a thing until after it’s done.” The priest announced, then realized Marai was still stroking Naibe’s veil. That the sojourner had reverently laid it over his leg, but hadn’t asked about her or the other women unnerved him.

  “You don’t seek glory in any of this, do you?” Wserkaf’s hand went to his head, almost in a salute. “You’ve said to me and even to my senior that there’s no skill, nothing that makes you a god, yet here you sit wonderful and strong. You speak on the wind. You’ve touched on magic and you whisper to the heart and now you’ve overcome death!” the inspector rambled in breathless astonishment. “My senior forced enough Sweet Horizon into you to fell two bull elephants out of dark and wretched Kush in mid-charge. It should have hurled you at the pylons of Amenti before we finished ten of the more than two hundred Divine Utterances! Then there is this matter of the three months, when the required three days without the medicine or a guide have killed even those who have prepared for years.”