‘No!’ he heard her yell.
He opened his eyes to discover a large copper goblet caught upside down in her hand. It appeared that she had plucked the metal projectile out of the air, preventing it from landing on his head.
‘Holy King,’ she shouted breathlessly, ‘if you sacrifice this man, then you must sacrifice me as well!’ She smashed the goblet upon the ground.
The crowd hushed and the attention of a thousand eyes turned to Hathor’s dauntless face.
The King scowled. ‘Hathor,’ he explained, ‘this man has harmed Khemet. He shall be sacrificed to the Great Osiris, God of the Dead and Judge of Spirits. This is justice. Osiris will look upon this man’s death and smile.’
‘Then, Your Majesty,’ Hathor continued, ‘I should die too—for I, too, have sinned against Khemet,’ she said.
The King stared at her in confusion. ‘Hathor, you are not in your right mind.’
‘Do not do this, Hathor,’ Tahar begged softly.
But there was no stopping her. She was as wonderful and fearless as the desert wind.
‘My King, I have never been more sane. If you want justice, you must sacrifice us both—him for the grain tent raid and me for...for labouring upon the Great Pyramid of Stone.’
The King’s eyes became tiny slits. ‘You are Hathor, Goddess of Life. You could not possibly have laboured upon my tomb of death and rebirth.’
Kiya raised her voice above the horrified gasps. ‘I disguised myself as a man. I helped pull the carts up the tunnel,’ she explained. ‘I am not a goddess, Your Highness. I am not Hathor Incarnate. I am... I am just a woman.’
The King glanced at Tahar, his eyes glimmering with rage. The cobra upon his head appeared to grow larger, and Tahar thought he could see the red flicker of its tongue.
‘If you worked in the tunnel, then tell me the number of chambers—I challenge you!’ the King shouted.
Hathor bowed her head. ‘There are three, My King—one large, one small, and one beneath the earth.’
The King’s large round face grew as red as the setting sun. ‘Woman, you are a traitor, an imposter. You have dishonoured me and my noble house. You have offended the Gods.’
The King’s eyes flitted about the great hall. It was as if he were hoping to mollify the humiliation he now suffered before his guests.
‘By Horus’s tongue,’ he said suddenly, ‘for how long did you work upon my tomb?’
Kiya paused.
Civilisations came and went. Rivers flowed through the desert. Ancient seas teemed with creatures strange and wonderful. The world was greater and older than anyone knew, and nobody saw the wonder of it. Nobody except him. He had opened her eyes to possibilities beyond the realm of the Gods. He was her spark of light in a dark, suffocating world, and she did not want to live in it without him.
‘Two full cycles of the sun, Your Majesty,’ she lied, and she knew that it was just the answer the King needed.
‘Two years?’ the King repeated. ‘You laboured on my tomb for two full years?’
‘Aye, My Lord.’
‘Then you are the reason for the drought!’ The King stood. ‘You are not Hathor the Beautiful—you are Hathor the Imposter!’ Khufu raved. ‘I thought Osiris had sent you to be my wife, but now I understand that he sent you to be sacrificed. For Khemet!’
Stunned, Khufu’s guests glanced worriedly among themselves, as if searching for the correct response. Had their splendid monarch just commanded an act of sacrifice? For the good of Khemet?
‘Neferdula!’ the King shouted. ‘Relieve this imposter of her royal finery.’
Slowly, Neferdula emerged from the crowd. Her smudged eyes betrayed the tears she had been shedding in the shadows. When she reached Kiya, she bowed slightly.
‘You are still Hathor to me,’ she whispered as she lifted off the heavy turquoise necklace. She pulled each of Kiya’s serpent bracelets from her arms, her hands trembling. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘And the wig,’ the King added.
Amidst quiet sobs, Neferdula stroked Kiya’s beautiful black wig, then pulled it quickly from her head. Kiya felt both relief and shame, and she slumped her shoulders in exhaustion.
‘Guards, take them both,’ commanded the King.
The dozen King’s Guardsmen who had been standing placidly around the hall’s perimeter marched forward, surrounding Kiya and Tahar. Kiya felt four different hands on her arms, pulling her in different directions. The men turned and began to drag Kiya and Tahar through the parting crowd, towards the workers’ entrance to the hall.
‘Hathor the Imposter and this Libu worm will be sacrificed upon the tomb they have desecrated,’ said the King. ‘We shall spill their treacherous blood upon the Great Pyramid of Stone—a gift to my father in the sky.’
The King opened his arms for all the crowd to see.
‘And then we shall finally have an end to our drought.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Beware the three serpents... Her mother had warned her. The third will succeed...
Fie—he already had. In only three days Kiya would feel his deadly bite.
In the meantime she waited, imprisoned in the same dank grotto where Menis had met his fate. Outside, two guards kept vigil, allowing just enough candlelight into the chamber for her to see Menis’s bloodstains. Kiya positioned herself as far away from the gruesome smudges as she could, trying not to think of the malevolent act that had made it. Still, her thoughts turned to Imhoter.
Long ago, the kind old priest and advisor to the King had endured the same vicious sentence. What sin had the gentle man perpetrated to deserve that penance? Kiya considered the cold-heartedness that would be required to exact such a punishment. Khufu’s father had not been above it, and apparently neither was he.
Khufu was no different from any other king. He did whatever it took to get and keep his power. To be his Queen would have meant supporting him in that purpose above all else. It would have meant becoming his slave.
She had seen the blank, lifeless looks in the eyes of his two other Queens. Whatever joy Kiya might have found in helping ordinary Khemetians would have been eaten away over time by her complicity in their manipulation. Everybody was an actor in Khufu’s great plan; everyone was expendable. It would have been a miserable life, and she was glad she would soon be free of it. She only wished to see Tahar’s face just one last time in this world before she began her journey to the next.
The hours passed like days inside the underground cell. Soon she could no longer tell if it was morning or night. On the far side of the space a small stream traversed a stone channel, where she bent for sips of water. The stream’s source was certainly the Great River: she could taste its silty waters as surely as she might taste wine. The water entered and exited the room via a rock-lined tunnel, which was barred at both openings by two trellised metal gates. The gates allowed water to flow freely from its source outside, but thwarted the movement of anything—or anyone—through the tunnel.
There were two large perch hovering in the stream—trapped, just like Kiya. They had likely been caught the previous day by one of the King’s fisherman and were being stored for the Festival of Mut’s Departure, to take place immediately after Kiya’s own departure. As Kiya’s hunger grew she considered capturing one of the stout swimmers, but something inside her would not allow her to do it.
Let them meet their doom together.
Her hunger was soon satisfied anyway—and in a most unlikely way. Kiya was sitting against the metal bars of the cell door when she sensed movement above her head. She looked up to find a delicate, finely manicured hand reaching through the bars. The hand held a heel of bread.
‘What is this?’ Kiya asked.
‘Shh,’ whispered a young woman. A candle flickered in her hand, lighting up her face.
‘I am the King’s concubine, Iset. The guards have allowed me to visit, but just for a few moments. Please—take it.’
Kiya accepted the bread—likely the last she would ever swallow. ‘My deepest gratitude,’ she said.
‘It is my joy.’ The young woman handed Kiya a wineskin.
‘Wine? I am truly blessed!’ Kiya exclaimed, untying the skin. ‘I owe you a debt—one that I fear will never be paid.’
Kiya lifted the skin to her lips.
‘Stop, Goddess!’ Iset cried. ‘Do not drink the wine. It is...um...special. You may not wish to drink it until you are...ready.’
Slowly Kiya absorbed the young woman’s meaning. She tied the leather tie tightly about the neck of the skin. The wine had been poisoned. She had been given the means to take her own life.
‘Why do you help me, Iset?’
‘There is much talk of you at the palace, Blessed Hathor.’
‘I am no longer Hathor. I never was.’
‘To me you remain Hathor, and to many others as well—including Imhoter the Seer.’
Imhoter the Seer? It was the first time she had considered the title, though she recalled that he had used it the day he had introduced himself to her.
‘Imhoter was my advisor and my friend,’ Kiya explained. ‘I betrayed him by confronting the King. I have disappointed him beyond measure.’
‘I do not think so, Goddess. I think you shine even more brightly in his mind—as you do in mine.’
Kiya was confounded. She had ruined all Imhoter’s plans. By unmasking herself she had destroyed his vision of hope for the people of Khemet.
‘After you were taken, Imhoter begged the King to spare your life.’
‘He did?’
‘Aye. But the King would not hear him. He ordered the guards to seize Imhoter. Now the Seer is imprisoned with the Libu captive.’
‘They are together? Where?’
Iset moved her mouth close to Kiya’s ear. ‘They are in the slaves’ cells, near the docks. I visited them late last night. The guard let me speak to them over the high wall. Imhoter said that you must be hungry for escape.’
Iset gave the heel of bread a significant look.
‘That I am,’ Kiya said, glancing at the bread. ‘Very hungry. But you risk much to bring me this news. Why?’
‘You are an inspiration, Hathor.’
‘Forgive me. I do not understand.’
‘You are a commoner,’ whispered Iset, ‘and yet you captured the heart of the King. Your story makes people believe that anything is possible. It makes me believe...’ A tear traced a path down Iset’s perfectly painted face.
Kiya reached with her finger and plucked the tear from Iset’s cheek. This lovely young woman was a concubine, as Kiya’s mother had been—sentenced to a life in the service of a single man. Kiya remembered all those glass vials littering her mother’s chamber. Like her mother, Iset abided in a kind of prison, and would do so for the rest of her life.
‘Listen to me now,’ said Kiya, ‘and I will tell you the secret to capturing the King’s heart. It is quite simple.’
‘You will? It is?’
‘Aye, but first you must know that the King is not special. To all other Khemetians he may be the Living God, but to you he is just a man. As such he is easily conquered.’
‘But how?’
Kiya smiled to herself, remembering the long boat ride downriver. ‘Do not flatter him without cause or give your gifts freely. Know your own worth and make sure he knows it too. That is how you will win his heart,’ Kiya said.
Iset’s eyes grew wide with amazement, and Kiya continued.
‘You must understand that you are the prize, dear Iset. You must know this and believe it in your heart. The King must labour to deserve the affection of the people of Khemet; so he must labour to deserve yours.’
The young woman burst into tears. ‘You are indeed a goddess, my dear Hathor,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Thank you. For ever, thank you.’
She glanced behind her. A guard had silently moved his body inside the arched entrance to the space. He slid Iset a biting look.
‘I must go,’ Iset said. ‘May the Gods protect you.’
As Iset stepped back through the archway Kiya saw her drop an ingot of gold into the guard’s hands. Their few minutes of conference had come at a high price.
Go forth and conquer him, thought Kiya. In time, Khemet will be the better for it.
For Kiya, however, there was no time to lose. She pulled apart the bread to discover a thick copper rod. The object was not large, but it appeared strong enough to bend metal.
She walked to the site of Menis’s bloodstains, and poured the poisoned wine upon it. She would not take her own life. She refused to follow her mother’s fate. If she was destined to die then her blood would be on the King’s hands, and all of Khemet would know it.
But she was not going to die.
She stuffed the heel of bread into her mouth and let it fill her with strength. Thank you, Imhoter. Then she lowered her body into the channel, letting her fine silk gown become soaked to the waist. The agitated fish swished around her as she wedged the thick rod against the wall and pushed hard on the first bar. Slowly it began to bend. She pushed with all her might and soon she had made a gap.
She smiled as the two fish shimmied through the narrow opening and swam away. Go forth, my piscean lovers, for you are finally free. In fact the gap she had made was quite narrow, and she was not sure she could squeeze through it. She heard a voice inside the chamber. A guard had entered the outer room and seemed to be calling through the bars, searching for her in her cell. If she stood up now she knew she could return to her cell without consequence, making some excuse about accidentally slipping into the stream. But if she waited any longer the guard would surely spot her inside the stream, attempting her escape. She had to make a choice.
Sucking in her breath, she pushed her body through the small opening. She felt the bent rod press against her skin as she squeezed her body against the tunnel wall. She heard the back of her dress rip.
‘Come quickly!’ shouted one of the guards. ‘She escapes!’
She heard the guard’s footfalls at the edge of the stream just as her feet cleared the small opening and she was thrust into the dark tunnel. She propelled herself forward with the current, making no splash. She was a giant perch, a lonely crocodile, a mighty serpent careening silently to freedom.
Then—whoosh! She exploded into a large, flat bay surrounded by palms. It was night-time, but Thoth’s almost round face hung high in the sky, illuminating her path across the bay to the Great River beyond. Before her a long, sandy beach stretched for many measures. Kiya recognised the lovely, tranquil space as if it were her own home. It was a home she had never been allowed to enter: The King’s Shallows.
The dream that she had dreamed so long ago—she was fulfilling it. This was her safe place. There were no crocodiles here, nor anything that could harm her. She bequeathed her jubilant tears to the tranquil waters, stretched out her limbs and began to swim.
She swam without fear or anger. She swam apart from time. There was only the feel of the cool water upon her skin and the knowledge that this was hers, all hers. She was a nobody, a street orphan, a woman without a home. But right now, as her body propelled itself across the moon-drenched bay, she belonged to the world and everything in it.
Soon she arrived at the papyrus gate that protected the Shallows from the main course of the Great River. Metal rod in hand, she hacked at a corner of the woven barricade. Again she had to squeeze through. She sucked in a breath and pushed herself through the small hole she had wrought. She could hear the sound of voices arriving at the beach as she slipped invisibly into the Great River.
Now she moved with the current, feeling the cool water flow ove
r her dress. She swam with pure awareness, sensing where the depths changed, where the thick water grasses grew, and where the hippos and crocodiles lurked. She did not falter. Her finely tuned senses had been honed through a lifetime of risk, and they kept her from harm.
The docks were not far from the Shallows, and soon she began to hear the telltale slapping of the river water against their wooden legs. She pulled her dripping body from the depths and made her way to the traders’ holding cells on the shore.
Built for the temporary staging of livestock and cargo, the three windowless chambers were housed in a single building with high, mud-brick walls and no roof. Kiya imagined Imhoter and Tahar milling about their small fortified cell during the day as the Sun God blazed down upon them. At night the two men likely shivered with cold as the stars moved mockingly across the sky, marking the hours before their deaths.
Kiya’s heart squeezed. After two days the men were probably already mindless with fear and privation.
‘Tahar? Imhoter?’ Kiya called softly.
She was standing outside the wooden door of the first of the three cells. Thankfully the two guards on duty had not noticed her shadowy figure.
‘Is anybody there?’ she whispered at the door.
Nothing.
Cautiously she stepped closer to where the guards had made their camp, around the corner of the building.
‘Tahar? Imhoter?’
Nothing.
She moved to the final one of the three cells. She was now so close to the guards’ camp she could hear the men’s muffled voices and see the glow of their small fire.
Suddenly the knot of a rope hit her upon the head. Her heart wept for joy as she silently wrapped the rope about her waist. She braced her feet against the wall of the building and gave it a single tug.
Soon a thin shadow was cresting the wall. Imhoter. He moved with quiet stealth, despite his advanced age. He set himself down beside Kiya and embraced her, and Kiya felt her ka flood with joy. With a finger to his lips Imhoter took his place next to her, wrapping the rope about his own waist. Together, Kiya and Imhoter braced themselves against the wall, holding fast.
Enslaved by the Desert Trader Page 18