Reflections in the Nile

by J. Suzanne Frank

  The party was small, no more than twenty, but all men whom Cheftu knew—the most powerful nobles in the land. Those who were most loyal to the golden woman on the throne. Hat herself approached him, and he bowed, waiting for her to speak.

  “I am glad you obey my commands, Hemu neter,” she said, extending her hand to him. He kissed the unlined back of it and looked into her black eyes, filled with laughter.

  He smiled. “I live only to serve you, My Majesty. Health! Life! Prosperity!” She laughed, a low throaty sound, and linked her arm in his. He accepted a cup of wine from one of the attendants and allowed her to lead him into the garden. The growing season was yet upon them, and it was chill outside, yet the trembling he felt in Pharaoh was more of a suppressed excitement.

  They stood together, Pharaoh staring up at the sky, Cheftu admiring the strength in her body and spirit—a strength he had not seen in another woman. She could be fierce, possessive, and single-minded, but she had a passion that drew men to her and an intelligence that was unheard of in a female.

  “How goes the work on your tomb, Cheftu?”

  He stared at her for a moment, mind racing. “I assume it is going well; I have not been there since before I left for Retenu.”

  “Two Inundations, Cheftu?”

  “Aye, My Majesty.”

  “You did not return when your father died?”

  “Nay, My Majesty. He was buried before I even heard of his passing.”

  “Where is his tomb?”

  Now Cheftu turned to her, openly. “Your father invited his nobles to join him in the same valley where Thutmosis-Osiris the First is buried. The Valley of the Kings. I do not presume, I trust, but why the questions?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes shining with excitement. “Haii! Cheftu! I could never keep a secret from you, my silent one. I suppose the gods already know, so what is the harm in sharing with you?”

  Cheftu waited.

  “My tomb,” she said excitedly. “I am building my House of Eternity. It is so beautiful, so worthy of My Majesty!”

  “I thought that Senmut had built your tomb underneath the mortuary temple he created for you at the-Most-Splendid on the western crescent?”

  Hat shrugged. “It is a temple indeed, where I can be worshiped with my father, Amun-Ra, and HatHor for all eternity. This tomb I speak of, however, is private; a home for love.” She bit off the last word.

  Cheftu stood, stunned. Pharaoh? Building for love? “I take it you will not be alone?”

  She looked at him, and in the shadows Cheftu could not see the fine network of lines around her eyes and mouth, brought on by years of conniving, manipulating, and enduring. Yet in these twilight years she had found the love of her life … Senmut. Now she was building a place where they could be together.

  He felt her intent gaze. “I think it wonderful to be united for all time.”

  “Wonderful,” she said, “but forbidden.” She darted a quick glance at him. “The priests do not dare say such a thing, for I am Pharaoh, living forever!, but husbands and wives of royalty have always been buried separately.” They stood quietly as she said, “Marriage has been denied us, but eternity shall not be.” With deft fingers she twisted her gold and electrum rings. “Already I have moved my treasure there. It is so secret that there is no temple, nothing except a natural marker.” Cheftu stood in the darkness, watching her mobile lips twist. “I shall have to kill you for what you know, magus,” she said with a laugh.

  He waited, smiling at what he knew was a jest.

  “Cheftu, you know I will not. There are no secrets between us, and I ask you to swear that this is your most precious secret. Swear it by what you hold dearest. Would that be Ma'at, the Feather of Truth?”

  “Always, My Majesty, although you have told me nothing. I could walk through the Valley tomorrow and not know.”

  “Not in the Valley—in the desert.” Her words were deliberate. “The eastern desert.” They stood in silence as the knowledge penetrated Cheftu's brain. “Swear, magician. Swear!”

  Cheftu fell to his knees, his guts wrenching and stomach burning. Hatshepsut, living forever! pharaoh, had told him the location of her tomb! He would die for this knowledge! “I swear on the Feather of Truth, Pharaoh, living forever! I will not betray your secret!” He could feel Hat's smile in the darkness.

  “Very well, my silent one. There are no secrets now between us?”

  “Never,” he agreed emphatically.

  “Then join the others. I understand your companion has already left on the arm of a younger son. I imagine she felt abandoned.”

  Cheftu got to his feet, shrugging. “It is no matter, Majesty. I would rather enjoy your company than any gilded Flower in these gardens.”

  “Did the Retenuian women excite you, Cheftu?”

  He flushed in the darkness. He hated his private life to be so public. “I confess they are overlarge for my tastes, Majesty. They wear loud clothing and do not often bathe.”

  Hat laughed out loud. “So only an Egyptian woman for my Cheftu! Haii-aii! Then go into the hall and take whoever pleases you most, my favorite. I will explain. Go now.”

  He crossed his chest and backed away into the brightness of the chamber. Hatshepsut had covered the mudbrick walls with life-size depictions of herself embossed on beaten gold. He knew that should he look carefully, he would find a small illustration of himself, his Thoth-headed stick in hand, the Feather of Truth on his head.

  The same picture would reveal the graceful figure of a woman wearing the horns and disk of HatHor. He swore quietly as he followed the slave through the winding hallways and back into the feasting hall. Without another thought he walked up to one of the resting performers, her black hair hanging down her back and shoulders, her body damp and warm from dancing, and brought his lips down onto hers in a hard kiss.

  THE DAYS SETTLED INTO A PATTERN.

  Chloe learned that since she was ill, thus imperfect, she could not attend the goddess. However, since she had become ill while on attendance, she also could not leave the temple complex.

  Cheftu showed up every few days or so, his two priests in attendance as they made Chloe swallow hideous concoctions, tie amulets of shell and bone and hair around her neck, and undergo countless enemas.

  She'd never been so regular in her life.

  Cheftu hadn't said one more personal thing, and the one time he and Makab had come together they had ignored her thoroughly, making wagers on which of the nobles would come home with a lion carcass from their hunting trip with Pharaoh, bloody living forever.

  She spent the mild days of winter wandering through the temple in its glory—a glory that made even Hollywood on hallucinogens look like black and white.

  Everywhere was the glitter of precious and semiprecious stones. She had learned that each of the eyes represented in the hypostyle hall was inlaid with onyx. Each representation of the god Amun was studded with lapis, carnelian, and feldspar. The ithyphallic god Min sported a gold-plated condom.

  To the Egyptians, these were re-creations of the gods and goddesses, each endowed with life through magic. The same magic was wrought on the dead through the Opening of the Mouth ceremony, making it possible for them to see, smell, hear, eat, and move, even make love, just as in life.

  One day Chloe wandered down the colonnade leading to Thutmosis I's special temple—still within years of being finished, though he had flown to Osiris almost forty Inundations ago—when she saw a flash of brilliance. Pharaoh Hatshepsut, living forever! was having her obelisks set there and covered in electrum, an expensive blend of gold and precious silver. Because the obelisks had towered above the roof of the temple, the roof had been torn off, letting the metal-covered pyramidions pierce the turquoise sky.

  The place was overrun with sweating dark Egyptians whose long eyes flicked away from Hat as she paced up and down like a caged animal. With a combination of ropes, pulleys, and brute strength they straightened the obelisks in their sanded pits. Chloe tried
to make herself invisible as she watched, but the black eyes of Senmut, architect and grand vizier, found her, and she was politely asked to leave—for her safety, of course.

  For days after, the court gossiped about how the army would receive no new breastplates so Pharaoh could erect more monuments to commemorate her holy conception, birth, and life. From what Chloe overheard, the army had not received anything new in many months because Pharaoh was more interested in beautifying deserted temples than in enlarging Egypt's empire, more than half the reason that Thutmosis III, her nephew, was straining at Hat's leash. He wanted to conquer new lands and bring new tributes into Egypt as pharaoh.

  Apparently Hatshepsut had given Egypt a lifetime of peace, but the people wanted war. With every passing day Hatshepsut grew more paranoid about the young man in Avaris who would one day sit on her throne. It was commonly thought that if Thut III had been her son, Hat would have taken her place as consort many years ago. But her hatred for Thut II and her even greater hatred for his lowborn wife, Isis, had forced her to press on, determined to be pharaoh until she died.

  Only Basha attended Chloe. She kept to her tasks and spent little time with her mistress. Chloe rested, read, and practiced writing, something her memory did provide for her. As a last resort, she tried embroidery. Apparently only Cammy had a gene for that.

  Chloe made a sketch pad to capture some of the wonder around her, but Basha had been so shocked to see Chloe's drawings that she drew only covertly. She was scared they would discover her secret. Not knowing the consequences made it scarier.

  Fear nauseated her; usually it was most intense in the morning. Later in the day she could pack away roasted fowl, fish, bread, fresh fruit, and vegetables, whatever was offered her. Time travel had given her quite an appetite—not that it had been delicate before. Cheftu had once watched her eat lunch, his expression one of polite horror. Apparently the “Flowers” of Egypt were supposed to be delicate. What else was there to do? Chloe had no way to exercise, wasn't allowed to pass beyond the tenemos walls, was sick of the smell of myrrh, and was bored to distraction.

  Still she could not speak.

  When Hatshepsut's royal summons came, she was reclining in the shade of a sycamore, reading some even more ancient poetry, munching from a bowl of figs and dates. She felt exhausted and couldn't imagine why. She certainly hadn't exerted any energy.

  Basha rushed ahead of the courier, her brown face alight with excitement. “The Great House calls you, my lady!”

  Chloe stood. Pharaoh wanted to see her? After receiving the summons scarab from the guard who would wait to escort her back, she and Basha hurried through the gardens and hallways. What to wear?

  CHAPTER 4

  GOSHEN

  The audience chamber in Avaris was filled: red-and-white-clad soldiers, Retenu in long gold-shot robes, Kallistaens and Kefti with their many-layered garments and elaborately curled hair, and Kushites in exotic furs and feathers. It was easier to deal with foreigners at this far northern outpost than to bring them to Waset on the Nile. Everywhere Apiru slaves darted back and forth with drinks, food, and fans as they sought to keep the visitors comfortable.

  At the far end stood Thutmosis III, Horus-in-the-Nest, Rising Ra, Child of the Dawn, impatience inscribed on his florid face and affirmed in the tap of his golden sandals on the polished stone floor. Faintly the sounds of flowing water and other conversations drifted in from the rooms surrounding the chamber.

  He scowled.

  The palace and audience chamber were not separated, as in a civilized land. No, his darling viper aunt-mother had seen to it that even the smallest courtesies were denied him. Here he was, in the mud and marsh of Goshen, forced to oversee disputes among commoners and foreigners. His blood surged at the gall of his aunt-mother, Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Gritting his teeth, he sat down on the stool—stool, not chair—and motioned to the chamberlain.

  As Thut's titles were intoned, the painted doors opened and a band of Apiru entered, a motley selection from among the many enslaved races that kept Egypt building and beautiful. He knew from their distinctive one-shouldered garments that this particular party was composed of Israelites. Thut glanced to the wall where his “appointed” counselors and seers stood at the ready.

  He turned back to observe the petitioners. There were about ten. They always traveled in packs, like scavengers, he thought. The man at the front of the group was tall, head and shoulders above most men in Egypt, bespeaking a diet rich in meat: not the usual Apiru fare. He wore the shirt and kilt of an Egyptian but covered it with an Israelite cloak, and he had a filthy Israelite beard, once black, now streaked with white. His heavy brows were straight gashes over deep-set dark eyes, whose depths spoke of great love and great loss. The soldiers behind them pushed the Apiru to their knees, for no one gave full obeisance except to the Great House. The soldiers looked to Thut solemnly.

  Thut shifted his scrutiny to the man on the leader's right side. He was a faded reflection of the taller man, with the same face shape and features but lacking his power and vitality. Although unshaven and bedraggled like his companion, he had at least fixed his warm brown gaze appropriately on the ground. Thut motioned absently for a scribe to begin the audience.

  “Who calls on the mighty Horus-in-the-Nest?”

  The assistant replied in a pleasant baritone, “We are but two of Pharaoh's, living forever! servants, residing here in the two lands since before the time of your illustrious grandfather, Thutmosis the First, may he fly with Osiris! Life! Health! Prosperity! We seek the pleasure of Horus-in-the-Nest.”

  The scribe translated for Thut, who, though he knew the language of the Apiru, feigned ignorance, a wise choice at times. “Your Majesty,” the scribe whispered, “this man is one of the leaders of the Apiru. He sits on their council. He is an important man.”

  Thut glowered at the scribe. “He is of no importance. He is only a slave. As we are not barbarians, though, I will hear his request.”

  “Horus grants you to speak,” the scribe said.

  The leader began speaking. Rather than the rough speech of a slave, however, court Egyptian haltingly emerged. His words were uncertain and his phraseology slightly antiquated, as if he had not spoken high Egyptian in many Inundations, but no translation was necessary. As the man searched for words, it became embarrassing to see his struggle. “My Lord of the two lands, upon whom your god Amun-Ra shines, my people worship Elohim. We beg your exalted favor to take a leave of three days and worship him in the desert.”

  Although the words were appropriately humble, the expression in his dark eyes was not This man's request was a challenge, flung at Thut's feet.

  Horus-in-the-Nest was affronted. Pushing aside his flustered scribe, he rose and walked down the steps, his irritation growing the closer he drew to the man. “Old man, though you may have the speech of a courtier, you are nothing but a slave! Your pleas to meet with your desert god have fallen on unwilling ears. Three days! Also one day to travel there and another to travel back? That is almost half a week! You people have multiplied like vermin, and I have no doubt that if you took your hundreds and thousands of tribe members into the desert, you would not return! Are not the gods of Egypt enough for you?” Thut asked in disgust. “Or perhaps they are too noble, too gracious, and too civilized for you, living in these marshy lands, with sheep and goats for family? If you cannot worship your god here, then perhaps he is not worm worshiping at all?”

  A low rumbling passed through the audience, and the supplicants flushed, except for the leader, who stood straight backed and unflustered.

  “Our God commands you to let us go,” he said.

  Thut, on his way back to his stool, turned and stared. Did these Apiru not know they were supposed to wait for his dismissal or continuance? “Commands me?” Thut could not believe his ears. He was the prince regent; Horus-in-the-Nest; only Hatshepsut, living forever! reigned higher. He repeated, “Commands me?” The arrogant words of the old slave finally penetrated. “Com
mands me? No one commands me. No one!” His face purpled with rage. “I do not know your god, and I will not let you go!”

  The leader persisted, undaunted. “The God of the Israelites has met with us. Let us make this journey or he may strike with plagues or the sword.”

  Thut advanced on the leader, halting close enough that his infuriated whisper could be heard. “What is your name; slave? You dare to threaten me with your puny god? Get you and your people back to work.” With a gesture he dismissed them and climbed up to the dais to his stool.

  While the Apiru were still within hearing he called out, “Scribe, send this message to all of my overseers and architects, effective upon receipt. Write, ‘Apparently the tribes have too much time on their hands if they can be planning festivals and sacrifices. From this time on, the people who have,’”—he consulted the papyrus scrap his chamberlain handed him— “‘Aharon and Ramoses for leaders from among the Apiru must collect straw on their own to make the bricks required of the Great House. The production quotas will remain the same.’”

  Under his breath he muttered, “Lazy, insolent wretches. That is why they want to go into the desert. Give a foreigner enough to do and he won't listen to lies or dream ridiculous dreams.”

  Thut had the satisfaction of seeing the assistant's shoulders slump in defeat. But the leader stood tall, his brown hand gripping his twisted and knobby staff. Teach them to cross the son of Thutmosis! he thought. He sat down and called for beer. It was turning out to be a pleasant day after all.

  WASET

  AS SHE RECLINED IN THE TRAVELING CHAIR, Chloe Stared out in amazement. She was in ancient Egypt, about to see the pharaoh. What Camille wouldn't give to spend just one day here! The thought of her sister in this environment, her mouth wide open and her indigo eyes bulging, made Chloe almost laugh aloud. She turned it into a cough under the curious gaze of Basha. Chloe's eyes pricked with tears as she remembered her losses. Temporary losses, she thought fiercely.