Reflections in the Nile

by J. Suzanne Frank

  Thut had prepared three boats and assembled a group of courtiers and soldiers to fill out the numbers. Each of the golden barges was flying Thut's cartouche, embroidered on the red of the military. Chairs and tables sat clustered in groups on the deck and near a sheltered rest area, curtained from the sun's heat. Another skiff was outfitted for dinner, and the smells of baking bread and brewing beer carried on the breeze.

  The seven o'clock priestess was impressed with Cheftu. Chloe saw that immediately and was surprised by a jolt of—surely not jealousy. A lean young noble walked over to Chloe, and Cheftu excused himself. After retrieving a flagon of wine, he folded his long body at seven's feet and proceeded to flirt outrageously with her.

  Chloe focused on the man standing before her. He was in his mid-twenties, but the firm lines of his face had blurred with rapacious living. He took the throwing stick from her hand and gently swatted her with it. “RaEm, my dearest protégée. I miss you since you have taken to playing with Nesbek. Is that exclusive now? Or is your form of punishing me to let others taste your talents?” His voice was like a whiny child's, but his gaze spooked Chloe. Another one of RaEm's old lovers. Pakab. Again he hit her with the stick, this time not so gently. “Has Bastet got your tongue?”

  The next time he raised the stick, Chloe caught it on the way down. Pakab looked surprised, then a sneaky smile spread across his face, emphasizing his full, sensuous lips. His eyes glittered for just a moment. “Just so, priestess. It is best to play it straight in his,” he emphasized, “presence.” Pakab leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “It is so good to have you back in Goshen. Please forgive me, for I cannot wait for us to play again.” He tongued her inner ear and Chloe flinched, but Pakab was already walking away, his arm around one of the older “ladies” of the court.

  Chloe felt ReShera's gaze on her, and her blood chilled at the woman's look of reproach and horror. Chloe tried to smile, but ReShera turned away. The beautiful day suddenly palled. Cheftu occasionally looked her way, like a nursemaid, but was utterly focused on the elegant features and expressive hands of seven. Chloe didn't even bother recalling her name in Egyptian.

  Thutmosis was his usual bellicose self, his throwing stick in the air more than in his hand, the naked serving girls swarming around him like bees to lotus. He looked over at Chloe periodically but made no move to approach her.

  Chloe finally understood the phrase “alone in a crowded room.”

  RaEm had little talent with the throwing stick—that information was available readily enough—and Chloe didn't have the heart to try. All the faking, the constant charade, even the lack of underwear, was fully exhausting. The knowledge that RaEm could be wearing her skin and ruining her life … and now with the child … Chloe refused to pursue the thought. At some point she would have to escape or hide. As HatHor's priestess she was not allowed to have a child outside of the marriage laws. Of course, she was also supposed to be a virgin, but the law had been amended so that she had to be “pure” only during the time she served in the temple.

  Chloe looked at the other maidens, these beautiful, seemingly pristine women from the best families. Did any of them have her secret? She doubted there was an ancient Egyptian maternity home where she could be a Jane Doe. She gripped the side of the boat, watching as one of the many trained cats leapt into the marshes and retrieved a bird felled by Thut's stick.

  Clearing her mind, Chloe watched the succession of birds that dropped out of the sky—less as the day passed and the participants imbibed. Cheftu was having a grand old time, his head in the lap of seven and ten caressing his feet. Chloe felt invisible. Okay, jealous. And lonely … bone-jarringly, wrenchingly, lonely. When could she go home? Anything to see Cammy's rotten color sense, to hear Mom rant on about this acquisition and that technique and oh! your father's amazing whatever … anything Father did was amazing to Mom. To see Father fill his pipe …

  The blue green of the Nile blurred.

  Chloe felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

  Thutmosis stood behind her. “I hope you will dine with me this evening, Lady of Silver. It … we have gotten off to a bad start. I would like a chance to remedy any false impressions you may have.” Chloe was touched by what was obviously a taxing and humbling speech, delivered with all the charm of which Thut was capable.

  “I would be most honored, Prince,” she lied. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a while before the noise of a group of women retiring to change gave Chloe the chance for which she had been searching. Mingling with the delicate flowers of Egyptian society, Chloe went to the other skiff, where linen curtains were set up so the women could dress. She noted that the curtains only accentuated what went on behind them and saw that the men on Thut's boat seemed less inclined to hunt and more inclined to gawk. Probably the whole point.

  The seven HatHors gathered together, and Chloe noticed that outside of necessary information exchange, they did not actually speak to each other. In fact, the group seemed quite strained, the tension thick enough to strike with a throwing stick.

  By the time Chloe was dressed her mind was hopelessly muddled. She reached for her necklace, holding on to it fiercely. It was the one thing still recognizable in her life. Yet it was different. She looked down at it. The vision of the brown-eyed Chloe leapt before her. A brown-eyed Chloe with a silver chain ankh that also said RaEmhetepet. She dropped the ankh on its malachite-and-lapis-beaded chain against her breast. It looked like hers, but it was RaEm's. Her necklace, like her whole life, was gone. Replaced by an imperfect reflection of the reality.

  She joined the others on the party barge. The deck was arranged like a theater in the round, ladies seated together on one side, nobles on the other. In the center was a circular space for Thut's many entertainers. Lotus garlands were draped the length of the vessel, and all guests were handed a blue lily for their costumes. Like most of the women, Chloe wore hers in her wig, fastened so that the cup of the flower fell just across her forehead, bathing her in its fragrance.

  Baskets of fruit and flowers adorned small tables. Beautifully painted false columns rose above the company's heads, giving the illusion of a portico floating on the Nile. Chloe noticed bags of water tied in the air, suspended between the columns, and the “other” told her it was to ward off mosquitoes.

  Metal dishes reflected pools of light, the wind flitting shadows across the retinue and the still water. Far above them the stars hung, their reflections in the Nile doubly draping the night in brilliance.

  Slaves wearing wigs and strategically placed strings of beads wandered about, offering cones of scented wax for people's heads. In the course of the evening the cones would melt, dripping their fragrance into wigs and onto clothing, placating that most important of Egyptian senses, smell. Chloe thought it was disgusting—long greasy fingers that caressed her neck and slid farther down onto her sweaty skin—but since she was wearing a formal wig this evening, she paid little attention to the mess.

  Everything smelted: the waxy perfume, the bushels of flowers draping everything that was still, the sweat of the scurrying Apiru and aroused guests, the wine and beer, and above all, the stink of the Nile marsh. Chloe felt nauseated again.

  Each guest had a glass goblet Young boys, bodies shaved, their youthlocks braided with ribbons, passed through the company, filling them with date wine or beer. After about three sips of a very potent wine, Chloe felt her heavy wig gaining weight and her stomach wrenching in protest. Though she was dying of thirst, there was little else to choose from, so she contented herself with watering her drink.

  A hush fell over the crowd.

  Thut was announced, and Chloe crossed her breast in respect, as did the entire company. As Thut took his seat, a slave scurried over to Chloe, inviting her to join Horus-in-the-Nest She noted with surprise that the slave was not Egyptian, but of another, lighter-skinned race. He was just painted to look Egyptian. The entertainment was beginning. Chloe felt her body involuntarily begin to sway to the beat of the s
istrum and the wail of the double flute.

  She smiled warily at Thut as he leaned forward and tucked a lotus into her gown, between her breasts. Then dancers came in, whirling in flashes of scent and skin, torches glinting off their jeweled belts and collars. They were not Egyptian; Chloe was astonished to see a redhead, her long hair braided into thousands of tiny strands, leading the group. They whirled like dervishes, jumping over each other and leaping into the air. The “other” recognized them as Kefti. The dance grew slow. As the spinning became a seductive sway, Chloe noticed that conversation had all but halted and quite a few perfume cones were beginning to melt Next to her she heard Thut's heavy breathing as he watched every movement the redhead made.

  Chloe didn't see Cheftu anywhere.

  She tried not to care, engrossing herself in the intricacies of the dance and the sonorous plucking of the several harps. Once more the dancers increased their pace, and the group, including Chloe, clapped along.

  Finally the girls collapsed into graceful bows at Thut's feet, their breathing rough from the exertion of the dance. The assembly cheered them lightly, more so when the redhead was motioned forward and Thut handed her a ring from his own finger.

  She was a tiny thing, Chloe thought barely five feet, most of it covered in flame-colored braids. The girl looked up at Horus for a brief moment, and Chloe saw that her eyes were brown and heavily lashed—and that she hated Horus with every bone in her delicate body. The dancer dropped her glance quickly and bowed again, but not before two of Thut's nobles exchanged glances and put their hands on their daggers. Several of the girls were pulled onto nobles’ laps as they passed through the party. The redhead was untouched; the claim Horus made on her was unbreachable.

  Next came the wrestlers, an Egyptian favorite. They circled each other in the small space, their wide bodies clothed only in fishermen's pierced leather loincloths. Their backs were tattooed, not in Egyptian motifs, but in a delicate, curving tracery that created flowers, gardens, birds, and fish from ink and skin. They jumped at each other, encouraged by the wine-induced crowd, grappling like lovers. The party grew more boisterous, clanging their glasses on the tables. Chloe noticed that the heavily segregated group had become much more mixed. Even a priestess or two was seated next to a bejeweled noble.

  Everything came to a halt when the cupbearer Rekhmire presented the stuffed and roasted birds to Thutmosis. The wrestlers drew apart, bowed to Thut, and left. One by one the dishes were laid on the low table beside Thut. When no more plates could fit Thut bellowed, “Serve my faithful ones, Rekhmire!” The cupbearer bowed before the cheers of the intoxicated crowd and began passing around the crispy birds.

  “I have had yours especially prepared,” Thut said to Chloe as the cupbearer presented it. She swallowed hard. The “other” flooded her brain with information. For Thut to kill and have her served the bird was an accepted courtship ritual. They would eat it together, perhaps even feed each other the choicest bits. This was not the gesture of a sleazeball. He was taking the first step toward marriage.

  Chloe glanced around the room. Thut's wife, Isis, was not here; presumably she was watching his son, Turankh, who was the heir to the throne and Thut's pride and joy. “My lady? Does it please you?” She met Thut's muddy gaze, then dropped her glance to the crispy fowl. It looked yummy, if you liked blackened food. The smell of baked honey and figs rose from it, and she lifted a hand.

  Thut placed a hand on hers. “Wait for the taster, Lady of Silver.” He motioned to one of the slaves standing by, who crossed his chest and accepted the piece of Chloe's roasted duck. The taster chewed and swallowed as the company looked on, this spectacle much more exciting than the slowly swaying musicians. He bowed again and departed, but Thut held Chloe's hand firmly in his own. Smiling in the depths of his dark brown eyes, he passed her his cup. “Wait for a few more moments, lady,” he said, watching her drink.

  Another slave was directed to go through the same for Thut, and he had just torn a piece of the meat from the bone when a shout went up from the other side of the room. Rekhmire immediately ran forward. The slave who had eaten from Chloe's hand was collapsed on the deck, his hand to his stomach as he heaved dryly, his whole body shaking.

  Thut bellowed for a physician. The group watched the slave, yet no one moved to help him. Chloe saw the tears of pain race down his face as his body tried desperately to rid itself of the food. Sweat coated her body, icy trails running down her back despite the heat of the evening. That had been her food. The world receded until all she heard was Thut blustering about who had been responsible for the food preparation. How could he get sick so quickly? Was he allergic? Was he poisoned? the “other” asked.

  The slave sank into unconsciousness, his shadowed form shrinking into the darkness. The party was silent as Cheftu ran onto the deck and knelt over the body of the slave. Chloe walked forward shakily.

  The man lay facedown. Chloe crimped her nose against the odor of the contents of his stomach spattered with blood and mucus along the wooden deck. Thut stood, his lip curled in disgust. “I would know who tried to kill me!”

  “My prince,” Cheftu said, “he is unable to hear your questions.”

  “Rouse him, then!” Thut spat.

  Cheftu licked his lips, obviously irritated. “My prince, the man is ill. No one tried to kill you. He is just sick as one of the hazards of preparing food in the heat of Ra.”

  Thut's brow lowered. “Then take him back to Avaris and have him watched. I want to know the moment he awakens … and how this food affects him.” He clapped his hands and turned to his guests. “Lord Cheftu will see to this slave. Let us continue our feast!” Obediently they walked back to their chairs. The graceful musicians began to play, and the slaves unobtrusively started to clean.

  Chloe saw Cheftu boarding one of the smaller skiffs, directing the slaves to carry their companion. Cheftu's kilt glowed in the flickering torchlight, and Chloe realized with a shock that he was not wearing any of the jewelry and makeup an Egyptian would. Or a headcloth. His hair, which she had never seen before, was thick and black with just a glint of blue in the torchlight. He had looked so familiar … and so touchable.

  She quickly scanned the deck of the other ship, which was preparing to sail, when she saw the larger blob of white—a sheath—blend with the white of Cheftu's kilt.

  Chloe jerked her gaze away. Seven was gone; Chloe knew with a sinking feeling that the priestess was the reason Cheftu had been unadorned and absent Pasting a fake smile on her face, Chloe suddenly reversed her earlier decision and took the large blue glass cup the slave girl offered her. Thut was engrossed in conversation with his nobles, so Chloe downed her drink, determined to forget every aspect of the evening. Soon.

  Once again, she awoke hung over and uncertain as to how she had gotten to bed. I've got to stop doing this, she thought as she hid her head under the linen bedclothes to avoid the bright rays of Ra.

  Basha crept into her chamber, offering a tray of milk and fruit in a whisper. Chloe took a sip of the milk, then ran for the chamber pot, one hand clutching her head, the other her stomach. Someone pounded on the door, and her stomach curled into a tighter knot. Go away, she thought tears streaming down her face. Basha was gone quite a while, and when she came in, she avoided Chloe's gaze. With gentle hands she guided Chloe to the massage table and began rubbing a soothing mint lotion into her heated skin. She massaged Chloe's temples as Chloe thought about the past few nights. Was this RaEm's lifestyle? Party all night and sleep most of the day? She had to modify her behavior if—no, make that since —she was pregnant. Chloe closed her eyes as Basha's motions became drugging.

  “It is the beginning of the month, my lady,” Basha said. Her voice was wobbly. “Shall I call a seer for you?”

  Chloe searched through her memory, and the information she found was scary. Like most upper-class Egyptians, RaEm had her horoscope cast almost every day, and the way the sacred sticks fell determined her daily actions and decisions. Howeve
r, Chloe also saw that since she had been “out of favor” with the gods, not having her horoscope read for the past several months was perfectly acceptable. Assuming RaEm's haughtiest tone, Chloe responded, “Of course, you foolish girl. As if you need ask such a thing! Do it immediately!”

  Basha ran from the room, leaving a sticky mess in the center of Chloe's back. “I didn't mean immediately immediately,” Chloe said to the empty room.

  BASHA RAN FROM LADY RAEMHETEPET'S APARTMENTS, fleeing the lady's wrath. She was so hard to understand. Most of the time she was nice—demanding, since she was unwell so often, but appreciative. Quite unlike her normal behavior. Then there would be these outbursts, and she would be the same hated mistress who had beaten Basha and threatened her until she came under the protection of the Sisterhood.

  The girl stopped running and took refuge from Ra's heat under a tree. It was so sticky in Avaris, not at all like the clean, dry heat of Waset. No one was around, and Basha carefully removed the papyrus roll that had been addressed to Lady RaEm. No less man the Great House guard had delivered it. The herald was most insistent to hand it to the lady in person, and Basha had resorted to lies—RaEm was ill and contagious—to buy herself time. She needed to go to the hidden temple and give this to her mistress. She smiled to herself, imagining how pleased the great lady would be with her. She arched her back against the tree; how would she be rewarded?

  “Basha?”

  She jerked to attention, crumpling the papyrus in her hand, hiding it behind her back. Lord Cheftu! “My lord.” She knew her voice was cracking. He smiled and inquired after Lady RaEm, his pale eyes noting briefly the hand behind her back. He made her nervous, this big, reserved man. Her mistress said he was not to be trusted; he had failed the Great House.