As if she felt him watching, RaEm paused in her tallying and raised her head. Cheftu looked into her brilliant green eyes, indeed the color of Canaanite stone, but clear. She winked at him and he looked away, smiling.
They arrived at the torchlit water steps of the palace at Avaris. Night had fallen, and Chloe was amazed at how dark it was. At least now the stained waters were no longer visible.
Cheftu motioned for her trunks to be taken, and they stepped onto the dock, the heavy scent of night-blooming flowers masking the rot of dead fish.
The chief herald announced the approach of Thutmosis III. As he was not yet pharaoh, the courtesy title “living forever!”—required every time a pharaoh, living or dead, was mentioned—had not been added. That should make him easier to refer to, Chloe thought. He also did not require obeisance. She and Cheftu remained standing, waiting. A short, squat man with distinctly military bearing walked toward them. He wore the red crown of Lower Egypt and was clad in gold: gold-fringed kilt, gold collar, and multitudes of bracelets and rings. Even the kohl around his eyes was gold, reflecting a dozen torchlights. He stopped a few feet away so he would not have to look up at them.
Cheftu inclined his head. “Greetings, Horus-in-the-Nest. Life! Health! Prosperity! Your royal aunt-mother, Pharaoh Hatshepsut, living forever!, sends her hope that glorious Amun-Ra watches over you.” Thut's beady brown eyes looked like pebbles in muddy water, Chloe thought.
Through a clenched-teeth smile Thut asked coldly, “How is she? She who wears the double crown?” Without waiting for a response he turned to RaEm and extended his hand. “This is the lovely priestess, then?” As he touched her, a searing pain pounded through Chloe.
Clutching at her throat, she gave an agonized scream and tore at her chest with gilded nails. Her throat was on fire! She couldn't breathe! She clawed away at the fire, but Cheftu grabbed her wrists before scratching brought relief.
He looked into her wide and rolling eyes, fear and pain dilating her pupils until they were black pools. She continued to scream, a piercing, heartrending wail.
“What in the name of Osiris is wrong?” Thut yelled. Then, just as suddenly as her outburst began, she collapsed, unconscious.
Cheftu caught her falling body.
“Is the lady mad?” Thut asked.
“I know no more than you, Prince,” Cheftu said in a monotone as he lifted her body into his arms. “Please lead me to the lady's apartments and have a bath prepared.”
Thut summoned a slave to meet Cheftu's needs. “But, Your Majesty,” the slave protested fearfully, “how is she to bathe with no water?”
“It is your head to find some,” Thut growled.
ONLY THE REMOTE FUCKER OF A TORCH WAS VISIBLE when Chloe woke. She saw a dark-haired girl lying on a that beside her couch, with a jug close by her hand. A raspy voice came through the darkness, startling the girl.
“The lady needs liquid,” Cheftu said, and Chloe saw the white of his kilt, a ghost moving toward her. He took the cup and added something to it, then sat next to Chloe. Gently he lifted her shoulders and held the drink to her lips. It was cool, so cool, and she gulped it thirstily.
He chuckled in the darkness. “By Isis, priestess, there is more.”
Chloe wiped her mouth with her hand and instantly felt lethargy reclaim her body. He'd drugged her, but at this point she didn't care. The pain was gone … anything was worth that. Cheftu eased her down, his fingers fluttering, across her face, a strong and gentle caress. She nuzzled into his broad hand with a sigh and fell asleep.
Chloe awoke with a strong drumming in her ears, but when she moved her head it became less insistent. She placed her hand on the surface and opened her eyes in surprise when she felt warm, hard flesh. Cheftu was beside her, one arm flung over his face, the other hanging off the couch. She was pillowed against his smooth chest, her bare leg crossed over one of his. Feelings of embarrassment warred with contentment.
He must be exhausted, she thought, and quietly crept to the chamber pot. She looked over her shoulder and watched him for a moment: the strong, determined lines of his face relaxed, his sculpted body at rest. Most of it, anyway.
The water was lukewarm, but she stepped in and began to wash. Silence enveloped the palace, and she heard early morning birds calling outside. Cheftu muttered in the adjoining room, and Chloe froze. What had happened yesterday? What should she do? What did this mean? Silently she sat thinking, then she heard the door close quietly. He'd gone. Rinsing off, she went back into the room where Basha was setting out the Perfuming of the Mouth.
She crossed her breast. “Welcome to Avaris, my lady. Is there anything you need this morning? Your stomach? It is well? I see my lady has already bathed.”
Chloe noted Basha's condescending, insolent tone, a tone RaEm would never tolerate. Fear of discovery made Chloe do what she thought RaEm would. She walked across to the trunk and picked it up, dumping all the garments on the floor. With a kick worthy of RaEm, she scattered the garments and noticed the hauteur vanish from Basha's face.
“Of course, my lady,” she said hurriedly. “Your ladyship's linens will be attended.” Basha grabbed the clothes while Chloe stood, foot tapping. She moved with speedy grace, and after the door closed Chloe smiled and laughed silently. That should prove that RaEm was just as obnoxious and arrogant as she had ever been.
Ergo, she was the same person.
Morning sun drenched the sky in mists of lavender, orange, and pink, a pastel reflection of atmu. Chloe circled her eyes with kohl and stepped into the warming dawn. The sun rose higher and higher as she finished her meal and paced through the slightly overgrown garden. Thut probably did not care much about fripperies like neat flower beds.
Seeing no one else about, she knelt and began weeding, memories of Mimi's many rose gardens clouding her mind. A budding fig tree was almost obscured by an encroaching vine, and Chloe sat cross-legged on the ground, clearing some growing space for the tree She was astonished at the feeling of accomplishment when, a long, sticky while later, she had weeded the area around the tree and several of the empty beds completely. Smiling, she felt comfortable and rested for the first time since waking up in HatHor's chamber.
“Why does the lovely lotus RaEmhetepet stay in the midday sun? Will she not wilt, she who is truly of the night?” The deep bass voice was heavy with sarcasm. Chloe twisted around to see Thutmosis in a dusty kilt and blue-and-white leather helmet, leaning against a date palm behind her. She could smell the sweat and dust of his body. She began to kneel, but he reached out and clasped her shoulder.
“Please, my lady, do not trouble yourself with court manners. You will find those of us banished to this wet land are not so …” He paused and then, with a glint in his eyes, said, “ceremonial in our greetings. Although if you would care to offer me a drink, I would be honored to take it with you.” His release of her arm was a caress, and she wondered why he was here, alone. Didn't princes have bodyguards and entourages?
She got up and poured him a cup of wine. Although he was obviously thirsty, he sipped carefully as he watched her from under bushy black brows. His gaze wandered, taking in her short, scraggly hair, her round perspiring breasts, her hands crossed protectively over her gently rounded tummy, and her long legs outlined through the thin linen. Chloe, determined not to be flustered by his intent appraisal, swallowed shallowly and met his gaze. He grinned, showing jutting, yellowed teeth.
“I am afraid I have forgotten how to play the foolish romantic games of the Wasetian court. I am more a man of action. You are not beautiful,” he mused. “You lack the softness of a woman. Your eyes belong to a khaibit, but your allure is legendary. Will you dine with me tonight?”
Chloe, smarting from his unflattering comparison to a bloodsucking ghost, smiled grimly at him.
“The lady is under strict command to rest and heal,” a velvet voice said from behind her. Walking smoothly up to Thut, Cheftu gestured to Chloe. “Hatshepsut, living forever! was most insistent. Tho
ugh she did not believe this would be the best place for the lady, I persuaded her that, as a prince among princes, you would encourage the lady to heal so that she can return to the Silver Room of HatHor. She is the sole defensive priestess of the twenty-third hour.”
Chloe stared at Cheftu's bold-faced lie; Hatshepsut had wanted to send her here. However, when Thut muttered his compliance and walked away, she was impressed at Cheftu's rescue. He inclined his head politely to the prince, and Chloe studied this ancient lord. He was remarkably alive this morning. Flushing, she remembered where she woke up, and the scent and feel of his skin against hers was suddenly all too real.
Quickly she walked over to some overgrown grapevines. She knelt and began to weed. Cheftu crouched beside her, his nearness unnerving. His braceleted arm almost touched her. Did he feel anything? Nervous sweat trailed down Chloe's back.
“A word with you, my lady,” he said quietly. “Since your memory has failed you, I would remind you that there is great mistrust here. For your safety it would be well if you could get a guard.” She glanced at him. She could protect herself; the last thing she needed was someone watching her all the time. She really would go mad.
“Has that which you feared made itself apparent?”
Chloe looked at him, an eyebrow raised in query.
“Holy Osiris!” he swore. “Must I speak to you as a wanton?” He looked away, and Chloe noticed the white lines around his lips. Again, he wasn't as in control as he seemed. “Are you with child?” he blurted out.
Chloe sprang up, outraged. She opened her mouth to read him the riot act, when doubts assailed her. She didn't know what it felt like to be pregnant, and though she thought she had a few of the symptoms, she could not be certain. She certainly hadn't missed any periods. Chloe licked her lips and shrugged halfheartedly. What did she know?
Cheftu looked away, but not before she saw the disgust in his glance. A long moment passed before he said, “Very well, then.” As he stepped toward her, she stepped back. “I will not harm you, but with Osiris as my witness, you must trust me.” His eyes were hooded, his face solemn. He seemed sincere enough, but he was a diplomat, a courtier. That was his job. Should she put her life in his hands? A man who had accused her of being a tramp the first time he'd spoken to her? Not bloody likely.
She watched him silently. Sure, she thought. Tell you I'm from the future and watch you burn me or beat me or wall me up or whatever Egyptians do to traitors and madmen! Cheftu walked away, shaking his head as he left, his striped headcloth brilliant in the sunshine.
Chloe spent the rest of the day quietly. She puttered in the garden, weeding and completely ruining her linen robe, until Basha suggested she take a rest. Exhausted from her strange arrival the night before, she slept until after nightfall.
When Cheftu sent after her for dinner, she sent a note saying she would eat in her room. When Thut sent a slave to retrieve her for dinner, she again declined. After a long bath (in old bathwater) she strolled with Basha down to the river's edge. By starlight the water looked thick and heavy, like oil. The acrid smell burned her nostrils, reminding her of something else, another time she had smelted this same odor. Blood, a lot of blood. Doesn't matter, she thought dismissively.
Chloe longed to ask questions about how the water, or lack thereof, was affecting the country, but she didn't want to take the time to write it out when probably only Cheftu or Thut would be able to reply. She trudged back to her room and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Two days passed in silence. She gardened, drew, and ate. She slept a lot. Her hair was growing; in a couple of days it would probably even lie flat.
Basha announced the next day that the Apiru had asked Thut when he wanted the curse lifted from the Nile, and Thut had said tomorrow. “Though why he did not say today, my lady, I fear I do not know,” she commented. Chloe agreed. A bath would feel good. Although it was not summertime hot yet, all the foliage and water in Avaris made the place feel muggier and warmer than it actually was. Kind of like Houston.
Chloe walked into the wilting garden and wondered how she would entertain herself for the next several weeks or months. When would her voice return? When could she go home? How?
The stench of the Nile was horrendous. Hundreds of fish lay dead and rotting on the shore. She saw the slaves were cleaning up. Despite the overseers with long whips and short tempers, their lack of enthusiasm was notable.
Chloe returned to the palace and was stopped by a shout.
“My lady, my lady!” Chloe turned to see Cheftu's Apiru. “Health! Life! Prosperity! My Lord Cheftu inquires if my lady is up to dining with him tonight? He also said this was yours and begs your forgiveness in not delivering it earlier.”
Chloe accepted the small scroll and cracked open the seal. It was written in messy hieratic. “You anger me, RaEmhetepet. Your childishness is wearing thin. I expect to be received differently when next we meet.” It was unsigned, but she turned it over. The seal was from Nesbek's house. What was this about? Glancing around, she rerolled the papyrus and tucked it in her sash. She was tired of not understanding what was going on in her adopted lifestyle, and the “other” was ominously quiet.
Suddenly she felt she was not alone.
“Surely if the lady is well enough to stroll in the heat of the day, she can break bread with me tonight?” Chloe could tell from his tone that he was not asking permission … he was commanding her. Thutmosis looked at her. “My lady?”
Chloe did not want to eat with this man whose gaze wandered over her as if she were on the menu, yet she knew no alternative. The story of her life recently. She nodded assent and turned away. He may be the prince, but this is my garden, she thought grumpily.
She clapped imperiously for Basha. After impatiently scrawling a note, she sent the girl for Cheftu. Maybe he could get her out of this mess. Or bring his own date.
The thought of Cheftu with another woman made her even crankier.
She was seated in her cool room when Cheftu entered. She handed him her brief note describing Thut's request.
“My lady has received a royal invitation,” he said. “Do you have second thoughts about accepting?”
Chloe stared at him, frustrated with her inability to communicate. Could she be overreacting to Thut's stares and invitation? Cheftu watched her through narrowed eyes. Slowly she shook her head. Somehow she would be fine.
“Does my lady feel, um, unsafe with Horus-in-the-Nest?” he asked gravely.
She shrugged, uncertain and embarrassed. Cheftu considered for a moment, his long-lashed gaze never leaving her face. “I shall send a guard with you.” He paused; for a moment an expression of very human confusion crossed his face, then he spoke, cold as ever. “I confess I do not understand your concerns, RaEm. Thutmosis has been your goal for years, so why the facade of fear? This is the opportunity you have lusted after; or are you playing the reluctant maiden for my benefit? I assure you, it is unnecessary.” Chloe averted her face. His words and manner were offensive. RaEm may have been free and easy, but she, Chloe, had a different standard.
Kissing strangers in the bulrushes and enemies on pyramids notwithstanding.
Cheftu grabbed her and pulled her close to his side, wrenching her arm cruelly. His eyes were no longer opaque, and with blazing revulsion they raked her face, yet his touch warmed her. Once more gaining his precious control, he thrust her away and walked rapidly from the room.
“Get over it!” she wanted to scream. His sniping, his barbed comments … in the other facets of his life he seemed to be reasonable and rational, but not with RaEm. Basha jolted into the room. “My lady,” she said, anguished, her gaze open, “how are we to prepare you in such a short time?” Chloe entered the bath and saw fresh water. Apparently Thut's Apiru had quite a lot of power. She allowed Basha to undress her and climbed gratefully into the inlaid pool, bracing herself for hours of pampering and toilette.
The moon had already risen when she was ushered into Thut's private apartments
. Torches flickered across the beaten-gold walls, portraying the triumphs of Hatshepsut.
Thut stood in the corner, his wrestler's body draped in gold-fringed linen. A red leather collar spanned his wide shoulders, matching the gold-and-red henhet crown, the cobra and vulture standing out in solid gold. He stepped toward her, his hands extended.
Although Chloe stood almost a foot taller, the power of his body was overwhelming. She began to wonder if her hooded guard, tall and muscular though he was, would be any help if Thut decided he wanted more than just companionship.
“Come forward, Lady of Silver. I see you have dressed according to your name.” Chloe grasped his warm, meaty paw as he scanned her. A filmy veil of silver cloth encased her body, her only jewelry a filigree silver collar and a white flower in her hair. Though her eyes were ringed with black, she had worn no other makeup or fragrance, despite Basha's obvious attempts to make her as alluring as possible.
Since her own hair made her resemble someone in the latter stages of mange, Basha had covered it with a white-and-silver headcloth. A wig was out. The “other” said that wearing a wig to a private dinner was parallel to offering a date a selection of condoms when he came to pick her up. Not a signal Chloe was interested in sending.
She looked around the room, avoiding Thut's murky gaze. A curtained room stood off to the side, a low rumbling coming from it. She looked at the prince; what was the noise?
He dropped his gaze and called for wine, seeming suddenly nervous. The noise stopped and something heavy fell. A human groan. Was someone hurt? Immediately she was standing in the doorway, the curtain over her shoulder.
It was a studio. A potter's studio. Chloe blinked and turned to Thut. He drew himself up, refusing to look at her. “It is my hobby,” he said stiffly.
She walked in. He was a craftsman? The room's simple whitewashed walls had been used as drawing boards. Imperfect ideas were sketched out and polished in the same hand. A high shelf was lined with bowls, statuettes, and molds. Two large pots were spattered with liquid plaster, and at one table were works in progress.
Reflections in the Nile Page 14