Reflections in the Nile

by J. Suzanne Frank

  She sat on the flea-ridden couch, listening to his steps retreat. “Oh, Cheftu!” she whispered before the tears came, drowning her halved heart.

  THE WATCHER STOOD IN THE DARKNESS of this street of sycamores. The beauty that had once belonged to it was gone. The trees had been eaten by the locusts, though several were striving to bring forth new leaves. The gardens that were hidden behind mud-brick walls were dried and dusty, the water having been used in the fields. Egypt was destroyed. Famine was certain this year and probably for years to come.

  The watcher ran a hand over his face, trying to blot out the picture of his young son, stricken, despite the amulets and entreaties to the gods his father served so well. He took a drink from the flagon at his side.

  It was wine. He would never have drunk wine while on duty before, but his job was pointless. As was his life. He thought of the grieving woman he lived with, her outbursts of manic energy, her despairing wails that lifted from the courtyard up to his room. He'd offered to make another child, and she had thrown a bottle at him. He touched the still-healing cut on his brow. Glowering, he took another drink.

  The sliver of a moon was setting; it was only an hour or so until morning. The wind sang through the bare branches, cooling his nervous sweat. The watcher saw the old man Ehuru take his light and go into the small quarters adjoining the main house. It had been like this for weeks. Ehuru shopped the sparse market stalls and prepared every day as if he expected the return of the hemu neter, Cheftu. The watcher rubbed his face, feeling the warmth of the wine lick at his senses. His eyes were almost closed.

  Then he heard a sound and was alert, his black stare searching the darkness. Down the street came an Apiru. He was wearing the brief kilt of a slave and had long hair and a skimpy beard. He walked like a young man, and his body was fit, but his beard and hair were gray, his skin dry like papyrus. The watcher clung to the shadows, observing with interest The slave carried two jugs of beer, and although the watcher did not recognize his face as that of a slave in this area, the weary, plodding steps were something he did recognize.

  No doubt one of the fine young lords had sent him out to fetch beer for guests to have with the Perfuming. The watcher was just turning, until he saw the man look into the light.

  Eyes like a cat. Gold.

  Thutmosis’ words seared into his mind. This was Cheftu! He was returning under the guise of an Apiru! Praise Amun! The watcher waited until Cheftu had passed and then ran on fleet feet to the palace, the wine diluted with his enthusiasm. Thank the gods he had not looked away!

  THE DISTURBANCE WAS SLIGHT, but Cheftu felt it. No doubt the many soldiers camped out around his home had also. Hefting the jars onto his shoulder, he looked around, as though he were reluctant to go back to his duties inside. His eyes focused on the tree shadow, and he saw a flask beneath it. So that was where the spy had hidden.

  Cheftu walked around the gates, back to the slave quarters of his own estate. He climbed over the crumbling fence, taking in the ruined gardens. It was worse than the destruction at Gebtu. Silently he crept across the dusty path and up to Ehuru's door. The sounds of the old man's snoring came back, loud and clear.

  Cheftu lowered the jugs and listened carefully. He had not seen the soldiers, but he was almost positive they were there. He stepped inside and crossed the small rooms quickly. Laying a hand on Ehuru's mouth, he called in a loud whisper for the man. Ehuru struggled briefly before he recognized the hand covering his mouth.

  “My lord!” the old man harumphed. “Why are you here? Soldiers ask for you daily!”

  Cheftu held up a hand for silence; then, barely breathing the words, he spoke of the last few months. The old man sat, absorbed, and listened to his lord tell of the actions of the desert god and of the soldiers. “I wanted to be certain you were taken care of. There is gold there.” He handed the old man a scroll. “Hidden beneath the altar in my parents’ mortuary temple is a large urn. It is filled with gold. Take that which you need, Ehuru. I have also taken some. When you have memorized this map, destroy it. I bid you the gods’ blessings.”

  He embraced the old man, not mentioning that the deed to the house was made out to him and that Makab's steward had his emancipation papers. The letter in the tomb would explain all. He kissed the worn, leathery cheeks. “You must begin to snore again, my friend,” he said with a smile as he crawled out the high window.

  Cheftu landed on the ground and rolled into the bedraggled bushes. For moments he lay, listening for the shout of soldiers and the sound of running feet. Nothing. Getting to his feet but still keeping to the shadows, he crept down the street, jogging lightly when he reached the main road. Dawn was just breaking. He ran to the waterfront and awakened the old man who'd rowed him across the Nile twice tonight. With a toothless smile the old man picked up one oar and Cheftu the other as they cast off into the chilly light of morning.

  One more stop.

  THUTMOSIS WALKED ALONG THE DOCK, watching the ships load. He was dressed like any other soldier, his eyes peeled for the former magus and his heartless priestess-wife. He knew they were in Waset. He'd not bothered pulling Ehuru out of his couch; Thut knew he would never say a word. At this point he had no desire to kill more Egyptians. But he knew Ehuru knew.

  He wished he knew where the priestess and magus were going. They had come back, probably for some more funds and a chance for… what?

  Thirteen ships were leaving for Noph today, six of those going on to Zarub and Avaris, one to the Great Green. The tales he had heard verified that Kallistae and Keftiu had been swallowed by the sea overnight. So even there would be no escape; they would have to return. Thut smiled to himself. He had stationed five soldiers at each ship. They were to check eye color and pull aside any who matched the description his watcher had given.

  CHEFTU AND CHLOE STOOD IN THE SHADOWS, watching the soldiers swarm on the docks. They were checking every man and woman. How many more days was Thut going to do this? He'd also assigned soldiers to those caravans that went west. Even the little skiffs that commuted from east to west banks were searched every trip. He had drawn a net tightly, and Cheftu had no idea how they could escape. Not honorably.

  The days were running out… it was more than a two-week trip to Noph in the best of conditions. Cheftu couldn't promise they would have them. He pulled Chloe away, and they began to walk back to their boarding house. The landlady was becoming suspicious, and Cheftu knew they would have to leave her soon… or start bribing her with jewelry, which bore his name and nome.

  “Go back to the room,” he whispered. “I am going to ask around the docks for someone who would do a short jaunt to Gesy or Nubt, the next towns on the river.”

  She raised her green eyes to him. “You are not going to do anything stupid, are you, Cheftu?”

  He smiled, his eyes hidden by the drape of his headcloth. “Assst, Chloe. Be safe and I will bring you a treat tonight.”

  “You do not have to bribe me, I am not a child. But if you are volunteering could you get me some more paint? I am out of red for my painting.”

  Cheftu stood silently for a moment, watching the soldiers over her shoulder. “Of course. Go now.”

  Chloe slipped away from the dock and stepped into a shaded street, the sun blazing overhead. Though taller than most everyone, she blended in with her brown skin, black hair, and rough white clothing. As she felt an iron grasp around her rib cage and over her mouth, she realized she must not have blended in enough. She struggled briefly before her oxygen supply faded and the black spots before her eyes engulfed her.

  THUT LOOKED UP FROM HIS NOON MEAL, his soldier's senses warning him of danger. Dismissing the fan boy, he reached for his dagger, then walked toward the balcony of his room.

  An Apiru slave knelt on it. The man raised his eyes, and Thut had to bite back the startled comment that rose in his throat. Cheftu's eyes glittered, and Thut saw he had a blade positioned over his chest—ready to plunge it in. “You challenge a lot to come here, Cheftu,”
Thut said. “Do not bother to kill yourself. I will see that it is done for you.”

  “If you do, my secrets will die with me.”

  “Which secrets, Cheftu? The ones about Alemelek? Or the languages in which you write? Or how you can disappear into a desert wasteland and reappear in Waset?”

  Cheftu watched him, body tensed like a cat. “Nay, Prince. Or should I call you ‘Pharaoh, living forever!’ now? I know what happened at the Red Sea. I also know with no body and no witness that Hatshepsut, living forever's position as pharaoh is solid as the Pyramids. It will be five Inundations before you can wear the double crown you have coveted for so long.”

  “It is my crown!” Thut hissed. “I have served Egypt, and even the desert God of the Israelites has seen fit to give it to me! I do not need anyone's approval. I will crown myself!”

  “To do that, you will need gold.”

  Thut's eyes narrowed. “Do you know of such gold?”

  “Aye. A pharaoh's coffers.”

  Thut's body stiffened. “I will not rob the dead.”

  Cheftu quirked an eyebrow. “Even the unburied dead?”

  “You saw what happened and did not have the decency to bury her?” Thut's voice rose incredulously. “What gods do you serve?”

  Cheftu's face froze. “I serve the one God.”

  His comment fell into an echoing wadi between the two men. Thut stared at him with black, wary eyes. Thut stepped toward him, and Cheftu pressed the blade tip into his skin. It was not cutting, but the pressure was there. “Do not move closer, Thutmosis. I will destroy myself rather than tell you my secrets before my desires are accomplished.”

  Thut stopped.

  Cheftu's hand was steady.

  “What do you want? I doubt a wily magus would step into my chambers unless there was another motive.”

  “I want RaEm back.”

  “Back?” Thut asked, surprised. “Are you saying she left you for some other fool? Really, Cheftu, how many times will you let this woman unman you?”

  Cheftu's jaw clenched, the muscles working, “Are you claiming you do not have her? That you did not take her hostage so I would reveal myself?”

  Thut straightened his shoulders. “I am a soldier. I do not take women hostage. I fight men, like a man. There is no honor in taking your woman. I had almost caught you anyway. Now, back to this gold—despite my not having RaEm, do not think you can leave here without telling me where it is.”

  Cheftu's eyes narrowed, his gaze intent. “Here is my bargain: In exchange for my witnessing to Hatshepsut's death, RaEm is to be allowed to travel to Noph and live there in’ safety and unknowing peace.”

  Thut stepped back, watching Cheftu, wondering about other things the man had said. “More.”

  “What?”

  “It will take more. I need gold and you know where it is.” Thut smiled coldly. “Give it to me and you can both go and live anywhere beyond the red and black lands, so long as I never hear from you again.”

  Cheftu swallowed. “Gold. Gold you want and gold you shall have, but not unless you help me find RaEm today and let us go free until after the twenty-third of Phamenoth. RaEm will be allowed to pass safely up the Nile, to Noph, and live there until after the twenty-third of Phamenoth. You will not stop us or hinder us in any way?”

  “I let you stay together in this time?”

  “Together.”

  “Then, after this date, you will be mine? Your magic, your power… your knowledge? The gold?”

  Cheftu watched him steadily. “Aye. It will all be yours, all that is mine to give.”

  Thut looked at the man, threatening to kill himself for what was apparently the love of a women. “I wonder if this tarnished priestess is worth it, Cheftu? To bring an erpa-ha of Egypt so low?”

  Cheftu ground his teeth. “Safety until after the twenty-third?”

  “Agreed.”

  “You swear by…?”

  “By Amun-Ra and the seven stages of the sacred priesthood of Amun!” Thut spat out angrily.

  Cheftu smiled coolly. “I vow that if you do not keep your promises, the one God will destroy you.” His voice was soft but deadly. “You have been allowed to go on with your life, but these are again things you should not change. Swear on your crown, Thut! That is what you hold most dear!”

  “I swear, curse you, I swear! I also swear that if you are lying to me, I will torture you and your slattern of a wife, for pleasure! I will paint a tomb of those scenes, and you will both live through them for eternity!” Thut's face burned with his rage, and his fists were clenched. “Now, get out, Cheftu, while I still think I need your information. But before you go, give me proof of Ha … her tomb. I want to see the gold! I want to be sure you are not lying!”

  Cheftu stood and walked within a cubit of Thut. “I have nothing to give you, but this I did see. There is a statue of a fallen prince, his cartouche that of Horus-in-the-Nest during the time of your grandfather. It is perfection: gold and precious jewels, an exacting likeness of the man.”

  Thut's face paled as he stepped back, stunned. “Hatshepsut and my father argued over that statue once. My aunt-mother had hidden it behind an altar, and my father had it moved. The statue was there.” His voice was monotonous, his eyes seeing his father, Thut II, and his reluctant consort, Hatshepsut as they fought over the statue of a handsome young prince, whose cartouche young Thutmosis could barely decipher. He blinked rapidly. “You tell the truth in this.” He stared off for a moment coming to grips with the reality. “Now, come sit and we can discuss like civilized men who could have your wife.” Thut took a chair. “I owe you a debt of honor. I want to repay it.”

  Cheftu was wary but confident that Thut would keep his word. He was also desperately anxious for aid. Gambling Hat's gold was the only thing he could think to do. Of course, he would kill himself before he showed Thut the location, for the scrolls could not be endangered. He would return to France, and they would stay safe in Egypt. If he did not return to France, Thut still would never get the location out of him. Lying was without honor, but Chloe's life was worth more than honor to him.

  “No one even knows we are alive,” Cheftu said. “Most of the people we knew are no longer living, either. RaEm had no gold, but a few witnesses on the street recalled a … a woman taken by another woman. A huge woman, with tattoos.” He looked at Thutmosis. “It sounds like a Sekhmet priestess, though I did not know they had a temple here in Waset.”

  Thut's expression was blank. He walked toward one of the few enameled boxes containing his clothes and jewelry. He rummaged through it impatiently and then turned, a gold necklace in his hand. “Cheftu, when I…” He sighed. “That priestess who was sacrificed during the plague of darkness, you were surprised to see her. My guards reported you said she was much younger than you had thought.”

  Cheftu pursed his lips. “Aye. She had been a sister-priestess to RaEm since birth. She was twenty-four Inundations, but … she looked younger.”

  “Haii,” Thut said, pacing. “Do you know the name ‘Basha’?”

  Cheftu rose to his feet. “Aye. She was RaEm's handmaiden most of her life. She was raised in the temple, but had an insignificant birth date, so could not serve as a priestess.” He didn't add that she was also the one who had likely poisoned RaEm. “She disappeared one night.”

  “I doubt she did,” Thut said, holding out his hand.

  Cheftu took the necklace, then handed it back. “Where did you find this?” he asked.

  “The Temple of HatHor in Avaris.”

  Cheftu's eyes automatically went back to the gold. “But it is …”

  “I know. This Basha was the wrong priestess, yet ReShera is gone.”

  “ReShera stood to inherit RaEm's position and power. She was born a few hours too early,” Cheftu mused. “She hated RaEm and thought she was poisoning the priestesshood. Not to mention RaEm's relationship with Phaemon.”

  Thut looked at him. “I could never get her to speak to me. How do you know
these things?”

  Cheftu looked away. “Another priestess talked. Not RaEm….” He stood, embarrassed.

  Thut's mouth curved in a sly grin. “When did you speak to another priestess? They are usually sequestered away with duties.”

  “The fowling party,” Cheftu said. “She was very, um, willing to share, under the right circumstances. I knew RaEm was in serious danger. I had to know from whom.” His gaze held Thut's. “Do you think ReShera has her?”

  Thut shrugged. “What of it? It is within her right as a fellow priestess.” He held up a hand at Cheftu's darkening anger. “I have made a promise to you and will keep it. We shall go see.”

  “ReShera follows Sekhmet, I think. Do you know where the temple is?”

  “I am Pharaoh. But do not forget the price, Cheftu. Your life, your knowledge, and the gold.”

  “Aye, My Majesty.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Chloe threw away the braided grass, and it landed in a pile with the other hundred pieces she had picked out of the darkness and laced together to keep her sanity. She had woken up in a dark, dank cell, and after a few hours of almost total fear, she had calmed down. It had taken hours to get the bindings off her wrists and ankles and another to untie the vicious knot holding on the gag. They had tied it into her hair! At least now she had freedom of movement. She touched her raw and bloody wrists. Her mouth still felt stretched from the gag. Chloe swallowed the last drop of spit she was able to muster, savoring the moisture against her dry tongue. Had it been days, or did it just feel that way?

  She was so thirsty. Her tongue felt as swollen and dry as the cloth she'd had in her mouth. She sat still in the darkness, wondering what would come, what was the purpose to being here. The “other” was almost gone, the thoughts and traditions so embedded in Chloe's own mind that she didn't need the constant consultation. Still, she could have used the company….