Reflections in the Nile

by J. Suzanne Frank

  Picking up a double-handed jug, Chloe turned to Thutmosis. He took it from her grasp, explaining the handles were still wet. Chloe looked at her hands, slightly smudged with paint from the detailed artwork of ram's horns she had held. Beside a bar was a high stool, an unfinished sculpture before it. Bast?

  She looked at his paints and a literal, physical yearning gripped her. With a shaking finger she touched his palette. It was rectangular, carved of ivory, the wells for color inscribed with etched hieroglyphs. Ocher, lapis, cadmium, white, malachite, gold, and black. She rubbed the paint between her fingers, gauging the consistency. A little more liquid and it would be perfect for papyrus. Oh! Paint! To be able to create in color!

  Thut coughed and Chloe realized she'd wandered through his personal chambers with the disregard of a three-year-old. She felt herself blush and turned, expecting a reprimand. Thut fixed his gaze to the left of her nose. “The projects in the kiln are complete, if you would like … ?”

  Chloe smiled, the first genuine smile in what seemed like days. They walked to the back, where the air grew hotter and heavier. Through waves of heat she saw large jars, the same double-handled design, and flat plates with painted centers. She leaned down over one to get a better look.

  “My lady …”

  Chloe turned on her heel and walked swiftly through the studio, absently noting the throwing wheel. It felt as if her whole body were red with embarrassment. Pornographic pottery! The picture she'd bent down to see was difficult to comprehend … because of the … gymnastics the couple were involved in. She slammed a glass of wine.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the guard. He stood erect, his tanned skin sheened with sweat in the torchlight, his face hidden by a leather mask. She saw that his biceps were pale … almost as if he wore armbands, something only not wore.

  Thut touched her back and she spun, stepping away.

  “Does it surprise you that a prince would do something besides rule and conquer?” His nostrils were flared, and Chloe realized he was offended. She shook her head.

  “In your understanding of men, Lady of Silver, do we all seek nothing except destruction? To maim? To kill? Do you think conflict is all we live for? Do you think the beauty of life, a child's smile, a beautiful wall painting, a poem of longing … that these things are beyond us?”

  She backed up.

  “A man can be both a conqueror and appreciate the creating arts.” He reached for his belt, unlatching it so that the gold-and-leather strip dropped to the ground with a soft thud. “Although I would hate for you to doubt my word.” He lunged for her and Chloe ran, dodging the columns and skittering on the mats. He grabbed her wrist, his hand a vise, and twisted it behind her, kissing her with the fury of an outraged ego.

  His tongue pressed against her teeth as she turned and twisted. She had height, but he was strong—and angry. He squeezed her breast painfully, and Chloe kneed him. Growling with anger, he threw her away, blinking rapidly. “How dare you refuse my royal attentions!” he said through gritted teeth.

  “How dare you defile a priestess of HatHor!” she retorted. “Your manhood is not in question, Horus, your manners are!”

  Chloe couldn't tell who was more surprised to hear her speak.

  Thut stared with dropped jaw, and the guard stumbled after taking a step toward her. Was she speaking this strange language in her own voice? She pressed a hand to her throat. Thut took a step back, and she ran out of the golden chamber, her guard trailing. Elated, she turned to him. “Where is Lord Cheftu? I must speak with him tonight!”

  He shook his head vigorously and in a somewhat choked voice said, “I will tell him my lady's good fortune after I see you safely to your apartments.”

  Chloe shrugged. He left her at her door and she entered the chamber, whistling. Basha came running out of her adjoining room.

  “My lady?”

  “Basha, I can speak! I can speak! My voice has been returned to me!” Chloe clapped her hands in delight, grabbed Basha, and began waltzing around the room, stepping all over the girl in the process. “I can talk, I can sing, I can chatter, I can yap—” She looked up and saw Cheftu staring at her from the doorway. He looked stunned, and his body was glazed in perspiration. Chloe stopped and thrust Basha away from her.

  “My voice has returned, Lord Cheftu.”

  She saw his pulse jump as he smiled a wide, courtly smile. “You must be so pleased, Lady RaEm. His Majesty's kisses must carry the healing powers of Thoth himself.”

  Chloe's face froze. “So the guard was also a spy?”

  “Horus-in-the-Nest has presented you with this gift, my lady,” Cheftu said. “The slave was instructed to pass on His Majesty's gratitude and pleasure.” He stabbed her with a wrapped parcel, a narrow box tied hastily with ribbon.

  “I did not—”

  Grabbing her arm, he said loudly, “Let us go to the garden, my lady.” When they stood beside the fountain in the center of the lotus garden, Cheftu turned to her. “You endanger the lives of us all, RaEm! Your careless behavior is even now in the ears of priests from here to Waset! The Great House will not be pleased. Now your unborn child can be said to be either the incarnation of Amun or the son of Horus-in-the-Nest! Your ability to speak after ‘seeing’ Thut will read like treason to the Great House. These are uncertain times. You will be in danger. You had best pray Thut is generous with you!”

  Chloe pulled her arm out of his grasp. She recognized now what the pain had been when they'd first arrived. It had felt like a zillion fire ants camping out in her throat and chest— the same burning itching that had presaged gaining feeling back in other parts of her body after she'd arrived in ancient Egypt. So she had had the ability to speak for several days but had never tried. Haii-aiii! However, her anger toward herself was quite different from her anger toward this uppity man who was always unhappy with her, no matter what.

  She said sarcastically, “I ask your great mercy for my voice having returned at an unfortunate time. I have done nothing wrong. Now I may return to the Great House in complete safety, able to explain my actions and assume my responsibilities. Why do you care, anyway? I'm just another notch on your Thoth-headed stick! Your position is secure. I am healed and I am safe!”

  Cheftu's face was shaded in the moonlight, but his hard grip around her waist and his long-fingered hand pressing on her tight belly communicated clearly. “Safe, my lady? When even now proof of your broken vows grows within you? When your betrothed, Nesbek, your former lover Pakab, or the soldier Phaemon is the father and could betray you at any moment? Or is it another of your other debauched Egyptian nobles?” He shook her slightly. “Are you mad?”

  Chloe's thoughts raced. For the briefest second a man's face flashed before her; his mouth was open, and his eyes were round with disbelief. Before the image faded, she saw blood gush from his mouth. A pair of hands, woman's hands, were covered in his blood. She damned RaEm to a personal hell for not cataloging her memories. Who was that? Why had she seen him?

  Cheftu had terrifyingly good points about a father. She placed her hands on his. “If there is a child, it shall not suffer due to my shortcomings.”

  “Then you'd best proclaim it to be the offspring of Amun-Ra, priestess. Say it is a man-child to marry the princess Neferurra and help her rule over Egypt. Then, though Pharaoh herself will hate you, you will have the nominal protection of Hapuseneb. Or rid yourself of it. Herbs grow here along the Nile—”

  She cut him off. “Nay. This is a life. I will find a way to protect it.” It's not even my own, she thought dazedly. If it is at all.

  “Meanwhile you also need protection from—” Cheftu's grip lost its intensity but gained in familiarity.

  “From Thut,” she interrupted. “He would have bedded me tonight had I not shocked him so.”

  “Maybe from Thut, but also from me,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers. His kiss was as different from the bestial grunting of Thut as the sun from mud. Chloe's head swam as she leaned in
to him, feeling the hard heat of his body as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing him closer, inhaling his intoxicating scent. She opened her mouth and felt electricity flow between them at contact. When he pulled away his breath was rasping, his eyes gleaming in the dark like a wild animal's.

  “What is this enchantment, RaEm?” He lifted a shaking hand and drew it down the side of her face, tracing her lips with the slightest touch. “Why do I desire you and despise you in the same breath? You are no mystery to me, yet I long to know more. Have you cast a spell on me?” He dropped his hand at Chloe's silence and bowed abruptly. “I bid you good evening, my lady,” he said, and vanished into the darkness of the garden.

  Chloe stood there, trying to catch her breath, to forget the feel of his demanding body, blocking out every other thought on this incredible night.

  She still held the gift from Thutmosis. Slowly she unwrapped it.

  It fit in her hand. The colors were still wet from Horus’ use, the delicate brushes now tucked in the carved pocket beneath the cartouche-embossed lid. His artist's palette.

  CHAPTER 7

  The morning sun was already creeping across the painted floor when Chloe jerked awake. Soon Basha would be in with the Perfuming of the Mouth. Thank the gods it was only fruit and milk, because even the memory of scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee sent her out of bed in search of her chamber pot.

  A few minutes later, face cool with perspiration, she leaned against the whitewashed wall. She'd ignored the signs long enough. All the wishing in the world would not change what was now a fact.

  Apparently she was pregnant, and if this being sick and feeling tired all of the time was pregnancy, then pregnancy sucked, Chloe doubted she had slept this much in her entire life. Who was the father? As her mother had always said, “It takes two to tango.”

  A product of mostly conservative societies, Chloe viewed the sexual conduct of her own country with a mixture of revulsion and surprise. She was still a virgin, a tough decision at times, but one she did not regret.

  Her decision dealt partly with opportunity. Most of the guys she went to school with had also been military brats, unwilling to commit to any relationship in a world where one could be yanked away with a phone call. The fear of pregnancy was very real. Unmarried motherhood was never an option; in the Middle East a girl would be killed by her male relatives for disgracing the family name. Likewise she wouldn't want to shame her parents. They expected the most from their daughters.

  Most important, however, was Chloe's knowledge that she could not stand to share so intimately with someone and then lose him. Perhaps because of her lifestyle, sexual intimacy had never seemed worth the risk: to not only get naked, but to bare her heart and then be dumped. That part seemed inevitable, to judge from her friends and even by Cammy's short-lived marriage. To wake up alone and abandoned would kill Chloe inside, and she knew that. So she dated, had fun, and made friends of the men who wanted to take her to bed. Maybe it was cowardly. However, it was the only solution she saw.

  Joseph had been her one serious boyfriend. He was an Italian American Jew she'd met on a study tour of Italy. He was Orthodox, studying the jeweler's art on the Ponte Vecchio before taking his place in the family business. Their relationship had been less sexual and more romantic. Picnics (of nonkosher foods), walks through the narrow streets, quiet dinners. Even poetry. The tension was there, but he was already engaged, so they both exercised self-control.

  They'd known their relationship could go nowhere, but Chloe had been entranced. All her life she had heard negative things about Israel and the Jews, since Saudi Arabia and most of the other Arab countries in which she'd grown up were not among Israel's fans. Then there he was, larger than life, with a thirst for beauty and self-expression that rivaled her own. He'd been beautiful—Michelangelo's David in a black suit with a wide smile and gentle spirit.

  So, either because of strength, weakness, or cowardice, she was a virgin.

  However, RaEmhetepet was not. She had obviously violated the sacredness of her season of serving. She must have been pregnant before Chloe stepped into her skin. So some guy knew the whole story and was waiting for her to … to what? Chloe shook her head, the reasoning always returning to the same point. Banishment was the penalty for RaEm's transgressions and her lover's. Was that what was keeping him silent? Maybe there were too many possibilities to be certain? Again the face—the blood—the woman's hands—flashed through her mind.

  She flinched at the sound of sandals in the corridor. Damn, am I nervous, she thought, hoping it wasn't the enraged prince regent. He'd sent her the palette; perhaps he'd forgiven her? Basha came in, balancing a large tray with fruit, beer, and pastry. At the sight, Chloe's stomach rebelled and she turned away.

  Later, while lying on a table and being massaged with a lemon-scented oil, she felt a tiny movement deep within, as minuscule as the fluttering of a transparent hand and as significant as the opening of an otherworldly door. She dismissed the slave and sat up, staring at her naked brown belly in amazement.

  It moved again. There was life inside her! Chloe covered her stomach protectively, a surge of unknown, fierce emotions coursing through her. “I will take care of you, my little stranger,” she whispered in English. “Somehow it will all be okay.” She caressed the hardness under her oiled skin; it felt like a tiny ball, lodged between and above her hipbones. “I will protect you,” she muttered in awe.

  Later Chloe was seated before her dressing table when her visitor was announced. Basha prostrated herself on the floor, and Chloe watched in amazement as a petite woman with the bearing of a goddess stepped into the room. She was trailed by five other women, all dressed alike in white cloaks and silver collars.

  Chloe stood, accepting the delicate hand extended to her, racking her brain for information. “Life, health, and prosperity,” she said before she clapped her hands and bade Basha get chairs and refreshments. She noted the look of surprise on several of the faces when it became apparent she could speak. Basha returned, instructing the Apiru slaves to position the tables and chairs, setting out wine and fruit.

  The leader—Chloe still couldn't remember a name—hadn't stopped staring at Chloe, observing every nuance of her appearance. It made Chloe intensely nervous, considering her recent discovery.

  “My sister is recovered. I am pleased, as is our mother HatHor,” the woman said in a low, melodious voice. “You shall return to serve the mother tonight, RaEmhetepet.”

  Chloe smiled, trying to keep outwardly calm. How did she serve the “mother”? If it was tonight, how could she prepare? She drank deeply, stalling for time, her mind racing. One of the other maidens leaned forward and helped the leader—what was her name? —out of her cloak, and Chloe choked.

  Dangling from her throat, on a delicate silver chain, was Chloe's silver ankh. Actually, not Chloe's, but one almost exactly like it.

  The woman leaned forward, calling for water, and Chloe could see the inscription on her necklace. “Little sun,” a nickname for five o'clock in the evening. Chloe calmed herself and glanced around. Each woman was wearing the same necklace, but Chloe could not see all the names.

  Holy Osiris, she thought. Then the knowledge came rushing in. She was one of the priestesses who prayed through the night, guiding the weakened Ra through his darkened course by praising and singing, invoking the aid of the goddess of love on his behalf. A defensive priestess.

  From the time the moon was full until it was horned, she would spend those nights from eleven o'clock until midnight, dancing and singing before the silver statue of the goddess.

  Some other nights they would all be summoned to make predictions and would drink the “goddess's milk” and look into the future. Tonight was such a night, and the others could not do it without her. Such was RaEmhetepet's destiny because of her birth date and her ancestry.

  This knowledge filled her mind in seconds; suddenly she knew everyone in the room, most of whom she had trained. ReShera, five P.M.;
Ruha-et, six o'clock; Herit-tchatcha-ah, seven o'clock; AnkhemNesrt, eight; RaAfu, nine; Gerchet, ten; and Chloe, as RaEmhetepet, was eleven. Petite ReShera was the next most powerful priestess and also a member of the sacred Sisterhood who policed the temples. She was also the missing Phaemon's twin sister, though Chloe remembered nothing of him.

  Chloe's gaze flickered to the blue band ReShera wore around her waist. A mourning band. “I am sorry for your loss,” she said, indicating the belt. ReShera's eyes flamed with intense passion for just a moment, and the other priestesses held their collective breath. Basha dropped a goblet on the stone floor.

  ReShera looked down. “The gods will deal with me and Phaemon, I am certain,” she murmured. Her gaze met Chloe's. “About tonight…”

  “I look forward to speaking with the goddess,” Chloe said. “Although I am unfamiliar with her temple here.”

  The priestess smiled and said, “It is a secret temple. I will send a litter for you before Ra departs the horizon, sister. Tonight is very important. This desert god of the Apiru is disturbing Ma'at and we must divine what the mother would have us do. Perhaps there is impurity among the priesthood and this is our punishment. We must prepare.” She rose to her feet, and the attendant maidens rose with her. “Until the atmu, ” she said, and they left, Basha once more prostrating herself.

  Cheftu joined her for lunch, withdrawn but amusing. They played several games of senet, one of which Chloe actually won. As they were tidying up the pieces, Chloe asked, “If you were to be something else besides a healer, what would you be?” His face twisted in surprise, then he put on his court mask.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Does it matter?” She shrugged. “I guess from seeing Thutmosis and his love of pottery. One doesn't think of pharaohs caring about small things like that.”

  Cheftu looked at her, his gaze open for a moment. “I would be a scribe.”