“I cannot leave until I know RaEm is beyond my reach. I must continue to try to find her. Perhaps once she is in the desert they will not guard her so heavily.” He was grasping for the wind and knew it, but he dared not think beyond. “A member of the Sisterhood is here in Avaris. Perhaps one of us could imitate her….”
Meneptah shook his head. “I do not think members of the Sisterhood need to shave again at atmu. It would give us away.”
Cheftu's smile was fleeting. “Aye, of course.”
They were sitting in silence when Ehuru entered, his eyebrows raised to his wig. “A message for you, my lord.”
It was terse, written in Makab's clear hand. “The lady is on the boat Goddess of the Horizon. She is being transported there, now and will be there with only two Sekhmet guard-priestesses until midnight. After that, the high priestess will return and they will set sail immediately. I wish you and the lady a safe journey, however far you may go.” Wordlessly Cheftu passed it to Meneptah.
The Israelite read it and turned to him, brown eyes full of warning. “My lord, my friend! You know the significance of tonight! You must be inside one of our homes to be safe. You dare not risk it!”
Cheftu looked at him with a sad smile. “I dare do nothing less.”
CHLOE WAS JERKED TO HER FEET. Her head pounded, and the fury in the voice of the Kushite guard was palpable. The door between the cells opened, and Chloe slipped in a cool, sticky pool before she stepped outside. Shackles were cut off her ankles, and she was dragged up the sloping hallway. At knife point she climbed a ladder. Once inside the temple proper, she looked around. The guard shoved her toward the light at the end of the passageway, and Chloe almost cried with relief when she saw the sun. It was creeping downward, but for the first time in several days she felt warm, able to forget her losses and hungers. Except for Cheftu.
She ground her teeth.
Roughly she was pushed into a chariot, her hands tied around the guard's massive waist as he tore through the poorer sections of town, heading toward the waterfront. The scent of blood and roasting meat hung in the air, and Chloe thought briefly of all the times she had passed up a steak in favor of pasta or fish. The image of a medium-well-done T-bone, a piping hot baked potato with everything, a fresh green salad, and a tasty merlot filled her for just a second. Then the vision faded away, as unreal as a scene from a movie instead of the life she used to have.
The sun was low, the sky welded into stripes of copper and violet. They came to an abrupt halt before a solitary ship. Chloe knew this was her last chance to run. She tensed her legs, trying to gauge their strength as the guard untied her wrists. As soon as she felt the slack she reared back. Either she would be able to choke him or they would pull free and she could run. Free, she jumped from the chariot.
The safety of trees was a few steps away when the guard's weight crashed against her legs and she went down flat, the breath knocked out of her. He dragged her to her feet. Her legs trembled and she gasped for air. He called to the man on deck for assistance, and Chloe tried again, freedom only steps away. She heard a shout, and then darkness enveloped her.
CHEFTU TASTED BILE as he saw the Kushite knock Chloe out. She had fought bravely, and Cheftu was appalled at how badly she was worn. Even in the dying light he could see the blood on her ankles, bruises on her face, how thin and pale she was. Just a little while longer, he thought. Then you'll be mine again! This time I will protect you with my life.
The brute had gotten her on board and was now burning feathers, using the acrid smell to awaken her. Cheftu saw her shake her head, then hunch over. A figure clad in a hooded robe approached her, and Chloe shrank back from it. Cheftu craned to see more, but the falling darkness was too complete. He watched the full moon rise slowly, thinking of the people he had urged to follow the ritual example of the Israelites that evening. Chloe's screams brought him to his feet In the quiet of the evening he heard the slap of leather on flesh. Her flesh. Acid danced in his stomach. He would kill the Kushite and the hooded figure. He would kill them both.
The cries stopped, and the torchlight shone on the hooded figure. It was a woman, her voice vaguely familiar as she called to the Sekhmet guards on the boat. Then she and the Kushite were gone, the rattle of their chariot a fading sound.
The moon was rising, flooding the area with light. Cheftu listened intently for voices. He heard nothing, so, after slipping out of his sandals, he stepped into the shadows, creeping toward the boat, his sword in hand and dagger clenched between his teeth. In his blue mourning kilt he blended into the shadows, easily taking the first Sekhmet guard-priestess.
Her body sank quietly to the ground, his jeweled dagger sticking out from between her ribs. He pulled it out, gritting his teeth at the resultant gush of blood, and swallowed the vomitus in his throat. He wiped the blade on her kilt. Once more he merged into the gray shades of night.
The second guard was more difficult, and they had a silent struggle before Cheftu pushed home the blade, holding her body like a lover until she was still. This time he didn't bother to retrieve the knife. When at last he reached Chloe, tied to the mast, he released her wrists. The light showed the raised welts on her back. She had been beaten but was not bleeding. Her pulse was strong.
Covering her mouth with his hand, he wafted a charred feather under her nose. She jumped and filled her lungs to scream, but Cheftu covered her mouth with his own, absorbing the sound.
When she softened into his kiss, he pulled away. “You are well?”
She looked dazed. “Aye. How did you get here?”
“Later, beloved. We must be gone.” He looked up at the moon, rising and orange, a harvest moon. A harvest of souls, he thought grimly. “Tonight is the Passover. Can you walk?”
She got to her feet, unsteady but upright. He helped her down the ladder with more haste than grace. Chloe stood for a moment over the still figure of the guard, then looked at her feet. “She's my size,” she whispered and knelt, untying the woman's sandals. Cheftu turned to hurry her when he saw what she was doing. They took the shoes and ran into the protective shelter of the trees.
Cheftu grabbed his pack and medicine and hurriedly rubbed salve on Chloe's ankles as she threw off her filthy robe and stepped into the blue one he provided. He crushed her to him, allowing only for the present moment. Cheffu knelt over one sandal as she tied on the other. When she was dressed he handed her a basket and yanked her forward into the streets of the city.
THUT STOOD ON THE PARAPET, watching as the moon rose. Tonight would be the night of death. His elite guard was useless, despite their strong bodies and flashing swords. They would soon be drained as a sacrifice to the pride of Egypt's throne.
The moon reddened as it rose in the sky, painting the city in the colors of death. White for the bodies that would begin their journey to the afterworld tonight. Red for the blood of the children who would die, hardly having lived fully. Blue, blue for the khaibit shadows with fangs and talons in those dark streets and for the color all Egypt would wear for seventy days.
He remembered with a bitter joy that Senmut was also a firstborn son.
CHLOE AND CHEFTU RAN QUICKLY through the dark, silent streets. The night was ominous, the stillness a forbidding sound all its own. The moon hung low and full in the sky … its orb the color of blood. Chloe stopped for breath, holding a hand to her breast as she gasped, “No one is out? It is the middle of the week, yet these streets are deserted?”
“It is the Passover. Do you have older siblings?” His voice was thick and brusque.
Chloe thought for a moment. “Of course, Camille and Makab.” The realization of her words struck her. “Oh, dear God, Makab?”
“I have told him how to prepare. He should be safe.” If he listened, Cheftu added to himself.
“Do you?” she asked, her voice the echo of a whisper.
He was silent, their rapid footsteps loud. “I have a brother, Jean-Jacques.” He paused again. “However, I am the eldest born here.�
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His words were fuel to them, and they fled into the Apiru district.
“Cheftu, look!” she whispered, her voice throbbing with emotion.
He knew what they would see. Still he could not believe this was the time; it did not reconcile with what history had thus far reported. Rameses was the pharaoh of the Exodus. Rameses, who made the Children of Israel work on Pi-Ramessa, who made them bake bricks without straw. Apparently what Francois knew as history was wrong. “There is blood on the lintel and doorpost?”
“Aye.” Chloe turned away slowly and stared up at the moon, red and bloated. “Tonight the angel passes over, separating the believer and the unbeliever. Is that not what you said?” Her gaze was still fixed on the moon. “It seems to be growing, deepening in color.”
Cheftu felt her trembling beneath the thin cloak. “Aye. We must hurry. Meneptah will be waiting for us. He knew what I was doing tonight, and if we do not show up, he will be concerned.” He kissed her quickly on the forehead, and they set off down the street, their pace rapid but careful in the dark.
The narrow streets twisted and turned into midnight blue cul-de-sacs, darkened switchbacks, and total confusion. Suddenly Chloe stopped, her mouth dry. “Where are we, Cheftu? Why are there no lighted houses?” She turned to him, fear in her moonlit eyes. “I do not think we can find it in time. Cheftu,” she said, her voice warbling as she looked at the sky, “this mistake could cost…”
He laid a finger on her lips. “Do not think about it.” The moon was hidden from view by the crooked tenements. Cheftu saw the roof of an abandoned building several houses down. He grabbed Chloe's hand, and they ran toward it. They climbed up the broken stairs and looked up.
“It is getting late,” he said. “Soon Thutmosis will call for Moshe and tell him to leave. We must be with the Israelites. It is our only chance of getting safely away.” He looked down into the black street.
“Surely someone would give us the safety of their home for the night,” Chloe said.
Cheftu turned to her, the blue Egyptian robe, baring one rosy-tipped breast, his wedding bracelet on her arm, her remaining earring in the likeness of HatHor. “To them we are Egyptian.”
Chloe nodded sadly in acknowledgment. She looked up at the sky, and Cheftu watched her eyes glaze in horror. He whirled around and felt the blood leave his face.
Like phosphorescent spiderwebs the descending darkness spread, crisscrossing the moon and running down, slowly covering the sky and stars as far as the eye could see. “It is a net of death,” Chloe whispered.
He grabbed her hand and they struggled down the steps, fear making their feet uncertain. Heading away from the darkened Apiru section, they crossed the common market square and saw some old stalls, not more than lean-tos, but some form of protection.
Cheftu pushed her inside one, instructing her to stay far to the back.
“Nay! You are the one who is in danger! Let me do this!” After wasting precious moments in argument, Cheftu stepped inside.
Chloe ran to a pile of rubbish just outside the Apiru section. There were many bloodstained branches there, and she grabbed several. She ran back through the abandoned market, losing her sense of direction when she looked up and saw the moon almost covered in the web, its garish red illuminated by the net.
Agonizingly long minutes later she found the shed and tried vainly to brush some of the remaining blood onto the shed. It was dried. Chloe began to panic. Cheftu could die any minute.
“Chloe,” Cheftu said, “set them up against the frame.” Feverishly they worked, trying to keep the branches from falling, using Chloe's waist sash to tie the rope onto the frame. They ran inside, and Cheftu took both their cloaks, spiking them onto the pegs outside, forming a curtained doorway. They were blocked in as best they could manage. Shaking, they stood holding each other. Chloe smelled Cheftu's fear and heard his heart pounding. He could die tonight.
“Pray God that he overlooks our not following the instructions exactly,” Cheftu said. “We have had no lamb, no herbs, no unleavened bread. Pray that he is merciful.” They sat down, huddled together in the dark, and listened.
Chloe thought of the many doors she had seen with no blood and began to cry softly on Cheftu's silken chest. He smoothed her hair with an unsteady hand. “J'aime et j‘espère, Chloe.”
I love and I hope.
A nearby scream rent the night. They clutched each other closer. A mournful wail rose up several streets away. Soon the air was filled with sounds of grief, anguish and deepest fear. Chloe's tears stopped as she listened to the sounds around them.
“All this pain,” she whispered. “How can people worship such a cruel God? I never even really thought about God, I mean, in personal terms. During these past few weeks, when even Thut and his priests were covered with boils and were powerless, I started wondering.”
Cheftu lifted her chin, his amber gaze meeting hers in the darkness.
“The maliciousness of such a God to teach a lesson like this…” She trailed off.
Solemnly Cheftu looked at her. “God did not do this maliciously. He spoke through Moshe many times, but Thutmosis refused to listen. He was so afraid of Hatshepsut's ire, her scorn, and losing face before her that he kept changing his mind. He made deals with God and broke them, Chloe. Thutmosis himself was going against his better judgment. Furthermore,” he said his tone becoming more intense, “Hat was the one who decided to take the firstborn Israelites as hostage. God simply knew her heart and prepared Moshe for it. So Pharaoh herself brought on this specific plague, not God.”
He looked toward their curtained door, musing. “Just as Thut decided when a plague would cease, those many times before, so the Great House decided what the final tragedy would be, by simply parting her gilded lips.”
The cries around them grew worse and seemed to be getting louder. Chloe burrowed closer to Cheftu, praying fervently to the God who suddenly seemed the most powerful thing in the universe. The one who could take Cheftu from her in a breath. Tears coursed down her face as she clung to him, daring and fearing the angel who could take him away.
“We are living through Bible history,” Cheftu said in a voice thick with amazement. “The greatest miracle is still to come.” They sat in silence as the night around them grew still. A shriek painfully close set their hearts pounding again. The hair on Chloe's neck stood on end as the makeshift door fluttered violently in the suddenly shrieking wind. A pain shot through her body, like an interior probe. She stared at the doorway, glimpsing a fearsome specter. Cheftu's body tensed and Chloe hid her face against his chest in horror. Surely she had not seen accurately!
Yet Cheftu was still breathing.
The night quieted again, and they slept in each other's arms. When Cheftu awoke, his muscles were tired and stiff. He stood, then walked to the cloaked door and peeked out.
The sky was fading black, no sign of a moon at all, but he could see the rosy tint of dawn in the east. Chloe joined him, her taut body close and warm in the chill air. No one moved in the streets, yet a gentle peace seemed to have fallen.
He pulled down their cloaks, noticing the gouges in the cloth, and took Chloe's arm to lead her away. They walked into the winding street, each entry lacking bloodstains. They passed through, but at the neck of the street Cheftu turned and looked back.
On each of the unmarked doors was a faintly glowing mark, as if the luminescent claws of a huge rabid beast had scratched at it. Curious, he ran back through to their hut in the marketplace. No marks. He took a few steps into the streets of the Apiru. No marks.
“The Destroyer passed over,” he mumbled to himself, and filled with a new strength, he ran to meet Chloe and head to the warm, waiting house of friends.
ALREADY THE STREETS WERE FULL, and people packed their few possessions as Moshe distributed the wealth to them. In the last hour before dawn, before a gathering of praying Apiru, a weeping and broken Thutmosis had come bearing the body of his firstborn son. Thut had handed over his c
offers and the donations of many nobles and left to deliver his cold eight-year-old to the arms of Anubis.
Chloe saw D'vorah immediately, and they embraced. Chloe was recruited by Elishava to help load the donkeys and gather the children, and Cheftu joined Meneptah to group the rest of the healers and pool supplies.
Moshe had broken the huge throng into twelve smaller tribes, each represented by a color and standard. Within each tribe were twelve men whose duty it was to keep their tribe in close order and communication.
Groups of Israelites would join them as they moved into the desert: families from the nobles’ houses along the river; other families who lived on isolated estates; those scattered throughout villages from Zarub to Aiyat.
It was eerie, leaving in the cool dawn. Egyptians lined the roadway, dressed in blue, their hair undone, their faces smeared with ashes. A defeated people offered their gold and jewels to the strangers who moved through their land; strangers with a powerful, vengeful god; strangers who in four hundred years still spoke their own language, married their own relatives, and wore the one-shouldered garments of two dozen monarchies past.
Wailing rose from every street. Periodically an enraged mother was restrained by her family as they watched those who had been friends and neighbors leave, death in their wake.
The Israelites walked through the gates of the city, and the sun shone fully on them. Moshe called a brief halt, and the group milled around. Chloe felt the strongest sense of destiny. Cheftu looked over her shoulder with a grin as she pulled out a piece of papyrus, quickly sketching the faces that had always eluded her as an artist. The lines seemed to flow unbroken from her eye to her arm, moving effortlessly.
She drew the grandfather, leaning on his staff, the child with the geese, and her own beloved, the strong lines of his face and the fire in his eyes as he looked at her, over his shoulder. Trembling, she looked at the picture … that one Camille would eventually find.
What did this mean?
Reflections in the Nile Page 34