She was slim, as slim as the stick he held in his grasp, and almost as tall as he. Her little feet were shod with sandals whose straps were as thin
as thread, and blue jewels shone where each strap met between her toes. Her toes and fingernails were painted red, as was her large mouth, now parted in surprise. Her eyes seemed huge, ringed as they were in black kohl that swept to her temples, forming a triangle at the edge of each eye. Above the kohl and below her straight, winged eyebrows there was a dusting of blue. Her hair was cut severely, straight across the forehead, forming a fringe of blue black above her eyes. The same wealth of shining hair fell straight in a cap of black that swung between her ears and her shoulders. A band of thick gold encircled her head, and gold ringed her arms; but on her breast, cascading to her tight, flat navel, lay a thick-woven mat of linked electrum studded in seeming disorder with uncut turquoises that glittered at him tauntingly as she breathed. She wore only the short kilt of a boy, but it was fastened with a gold belt from which an ankh hung. He could see nothing of her breasts under the pectoral but a slight and tantalizing swell. Her chin was up; those great, black eyes blazed at him from the deep tan of her face; the aristocratic nostrils flared; the lips closed tight. He was completely dazzled. He had no eyes for the slave who glided swiftly to his mistress's side or for the young noble in leather who had followed close behind her, his winged helmet framing a gentle, quizzical face.
''Down on your face!" the vision spat in tones of surprised outrage, and Senmut's knees buckled. Still clutching the throwing-stick, he sank to the ground, but he was smiling. He could not mistake the voice, even though it had deepened a little and acquired that melody in the four years that had passed. It was she, his little benefactress, but how changed! Her power beat down upon his head.
'Teasant, my duck is at your feet and my throwing-stick in your hand. Only the noble may hold the throwing-stick. Let it go."
Slowly his cramped fingers opened, and the slave bent and whisked the stick away.
He felt it tapping his neck.
''And my duck," she went on, "what were you going to do with my duck?" The tone was soft now, a purr. "How long have you been skulking in the reeds, waiting your chance to run away with my duck? Shall I let him speak, Hapuseneb?"
"That is up to you, Prince," the young man replied gravely. "But since you ask me, then I should say, what is a peasant doing with the badge of the architect upon his arm and the shaved skull of the priest upon his head?"
There was a long silence, during which a water beetle, drunk with sun, rolled past Senmut's nose and fell with a plop into the marsh. Then in
a voice perfectly calm she said, "Stand up, priest. It is you, is it not? But of course it is! I know of no other mad priest masquerading as an architect and a peasant all at the same time."
He rose, brushing his knees. This time he did not avert his eyes but looked full into her face. She returned his smile in a sudden flash of white teeth, and with a swift gesture of affection she stepped to his side.
**We seem fated to meet in embarrassing circumstances," she laughed. ''Am I never to be rid of you? What are you doing so far from Thebes? There are eels aplenty for a peasant to catch. Were you eeling, priest?"
The tone was bantering, and as she spoke, the slave picked up the duck, its head dangling limply to the ground, its eyes glazed, and went back to his place.
Senmut could see her escort, standing with his arms folded across his broad chest. His own throwing-stick hung from a thong at his belt, and his yellow linen was held to his waist by a leather belt studded in gold. He was still smiling faintly, his steady eyes questioning, appraising the scantily clad, muddy youth.
*'I needed to walk," Senmut said at last, ''and after I had rested here and eaten, I fell asleep. Your duck, Prince, fell upon me as a bolt from heaven." Gingerly he fingered the scratches on his stomach.
"But what of your duties?" she asked him.
"I have none at the present time. Noble Ineni is gone, and I know not how to occupy my time."
She let out a sigh. "Of course. Ineni is busy on a project for my father. Well, would you care to join us at hunting, priest? I am sure that I can find much to fill your time." Impulsively she turned to the patient Hapuseneb. "This is the priest who did me a service," she said, "and behold, he trails after me like a puppy." The impish sparkle in her eyes spoke of a will still not subdued by womanhood and of the undiminished love of a joke.
Senmut solemnly bowed to the son of Lower Egypt's Vizier, overwhelmed for a moment by the company he was in. Hapuseneb inclined his head.
Only a year older than Senmut himself, he, like Menkh, had the unconscious arrogance of his position in his bearing and manner; but, unlike Menkh, he was thoughtful, a solid planner and already a man able to take his father's office and administer with authority. Hatshepsut had always trusted him, for he was a man of his word. They had often played and hunted together, as they had worked together in the schoolroom, vying with each other for the approval of Khaemwese, in competition at the bow, racing against each other in the chariots.
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''Greetings, priest," he said. 'Tou are indeed fortunate to have been able to render service to Egypt's Hope/'
Hatshepsut snorted. ''Egypt's Hope!" she chortled. "Egypt's Flower! Well, let us go back to the boat, for the day advances, and one duck is a sorry showing."
She turned quickly and disappeared into the reeds, Hapuseneb following. Senmut grabbed the sack that had held his little meal and hastened after them, his head in a whirl. In a few moments the reeds gave way to open water and a small skiff, its bright blue and white flags fluttering in the afternoon breeze. It was painted red and yellow, and its cabin was hung with gold damask curtains that billowed, giving Senmut a glimpse of cushions and a low table, on which sat a small flagon and a basket of fruit. Up on the bow a sailor perched, a pole in his hand; before him a little gold mast reared, its sail folded neatly and tied. Aft, a canopy had been run out, and a group of young men and women lounged carelessly, the girls in shimmering linen, thin and fine as a bee's wings, the same that graced Hatshepsut's supple waist. Above them the ostrich feather fans waved slowly, downy white and soft against the deep blue of the sky. A small ramp ran from the doorway of the cabin to the shore, and a soldier was stationed at the foot of it, waiting patiently.
Chatter and bursts of laughter floated to Senmut long before he broke through the tall river growth, and he wished suddenly to be somewhere else, somewhere safe, in Ineni's office, perhaps, or still asleep under the palm tree. Here he was out of his depth, a gasping fish. He had no wish to be gaped at and patronized by these lordly young beings, so superior in their jewels and fine dress, but it was too late to run away.
The guard sprang to attention, the conversation became a spasmodic bubble that abruptly burst, and Hatshepsut ran up the ramp to the lowered heads, Hapuseneb striding imperturbably after her. Senmut trailed last, acutely aware of his coarse peasant linen, his lack of a wig, his dirty knees, and his humble brown sack clutched under one arm. He felt the stare of the guard hot on his back, and then he was over the top and walking past the door of the cabin, into whose cool, dim depths he wished to run and hide. He steeled himself for the first hostile shaft let loose from the cold eyes that turned upon him. Behind him two servants hauled in the ramp, and Hatshepsut waved to the man with the pole. They slid easily into the current once more, and to his surprise Senmut felt Hapuseneb take his arm and draw him in under the shade of the canopy. Hatshepsut had flung herself down on the cushions and was drinking water furiously, smacking her lips, the offending throwing-stick clattering to the deck beside her. There was a silence. All eyes were on Senmut, as he had
feared, and he swallowed, glaring defiantly. Hapuseneb put a hand to his back.
"This is the priest—what is your name?" he whispered.
Senmut spoke out. ''I am Senmut, priest of Amun and architect under the great Ineni." He found that he had almost shouted the words, so that the
y filled the boat and echoed against the swiftly passing trees on the bank.
The company sat up. Hapuseneb nodded approvingly, and Hatshepsut patted the cushions beside her.
Unbelieving, he walked to her and sank, cross-legged, taking the cup she offered. As he drank, he felt the gust of a great sigh, as if the strings that held the people stiff were suddenly cut. Talk began again, and Senmut felt sweat trickle down his temples. By all the gods, he thought shakily, is this I sitting here, enveloped in the finest satin, next to the most favored and powerful woman in the country?
'That was good," Hapuseneb said approvingly. ''All respect a man who can speak for himself. Tell me, Senmut, how do you like working for Ineni? I always feared him as a boy. He had such a long arm, and when he visited my father, he would look at us as if we were scullions. 'Away!' he would call, and father would laugh."
Senmut turned to him gratefully, knowing that he spoke to put him at his ease, and he answered Hapuseneb as carefully as he could. The other's face was open, sympathetic, and all of a sudden Senmut sensed an ally. Why, he did not know. The young noble was certainly handsome, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes that invited every confidence. Senmut found himself babbling away like the river in flood, but at the same time a part of him sat back and watched with caution, saying, Tell nothing of consequence, for you sail in a fairy ship with immortal beings, and your words must be of things that do not matter. All at once he felt a touch on his shoulder. Turning, he found a brown, impish face grinning into his own.
"Menkh!" he cried with relief, and the young man slid down beside him, tucking in his feet.
"This is an odd place for a little we'eb priest," Menkh said, his smile broadening. "Wait until my august father hears! Is he to lose his favored pupil?"
"No, indeed! And truly, I am twice favored—for a little we'eb priest," Senmut responded happily.
And they glided on, the boat cutting the water silently as a gilded swan, the sun glittering on the widening wash. Hatshepsut left them, taking her stick to the side of the boat, where she knelt, sometimes trailing a brace-
leted hand in the limpid water, sometimes looking up to the sun.
Senmut found his gaze often straying to her wind-strewn hair, her pure, satisfying profile, as he talked. He was drawn to her. He felt the stirrings of passion, and he was ashamed and fascinated. She seemed remote, a Goddess. It was not right for him, he thought, to feel for her as he felt for any slave in the beershops. And, yet, it was not only that. Between them there was an unspoken fondness, an acknowledging of the hand of fate, the same hand that had put the seeds of ambition in his heart and kept them growing through the years of hard labor in the temple. He knew that as the son of a peasant, he had no right to be in such company. Yet he realized that the same hand of fate had placed him there on the Royal Barge.
He felt the eyes of the women on him in speculation, but he did not sense their admiration. He did not yet see what they saw: a tall young man with the grace of the legendary panther and a face that beckoned in sensual invitation. A man, moreover, with the stamp of a power all his own in his broad forehead and in his swift, capable hands. So they whispered and giggled, and Senmut, oblivious, listened to Hapuseneb and Menkh talk of things that he only dimly understood, answering diffidently but without evasion when they spoke to him.
Once Hatshepsut gave a shout, and they all left the cushions and crowded to the side of the boat. Senmut was enveloped for one delicious moment in a cloud of perfume and the touch of soft, bare female flesh as the women gathered behind him. They watched as a great crocodile waddled swiftly from the shelter of the reeds and slid with scarcely a splash into the water, floating past them, its horrible grinning snout inches from their hands.
As the gray form drew away, Menkh reached for his bow. ''Shall I slay it. Highness?" he asked.
But Hatshepsut shook her head. ''No. It is holy, a companion of the gods, and I believe it to be an omen. Let it live."
As she spoke, she glanced quickly at Senmut and quickly away again. But he had caught the puzzled, almost anxious look, and he stood with the others as the crocodile vanished from sight, his heart tripping within him. How she had changed! he thought to himself. Where was the endearing, infuriating child of the lake?
Toward late afternoon they started up a flock of white geese that rose screaming from the marshes, and she handed him her throwing-stick without a word. It was a challenge.
In an instant the days on his father's farm came back to him, the mock fights with Senmen, both huffing under the weight of wooden staves. This
noble's toy was light and cunningly balanced in his hand, and he raised it, aimed, and threw. It sped straight to its target, and the bird dropped like a stone. Sennuit heard the mutter of approval. Menkh clapped him on the back. Hapuseneb raised his eyebrows.
*Tou throw well for a priest, priest," Hatshepsut said, her eyes narrowed.
He turned to her more abruptly than he had intended, anger flaring in him. **My father is a peasant," he said. ''Peasants do not teach their sons to hunt with throwing-sticks."
''I know," she said simply, and his anger died.
The boat was poled to the shore, and the ramp run out, but neither of them moved. It was Menkh who ran to the fallen bird and presented it, bowing delightedly.
Hatshepsut stroked the white feathers. 'Ton may take it," she told Senmut. ''Have the cooks prepare it, and perhaps we shall eat it together."
He took it gingerly, wordlessly, but then she laughed, tossing her head, and they sailed back to Thebes standing side by side in the windy, golden evening.
When they disembarked, he felt the way he had as a child. He and his father would visit the village marketplace to barter the corn and the flax, the beans, the melons, and the vegetables. There was the happiness and the weariness that the unexpected brings, and a sadness that it was all over.
He stood at the top of the water steps, facing the yellow, blue, and red sun-splashed pillars, feeling lost. Menkh and Hapuseneb farewelled him good-naturedly and got into their own little skiflfs, their servants waiting to pole them home. The clustering attendants began to move up the avenue of sycamores in the direction of the palace. Already Ra was low in the sky, westering slowly, no longer white-hot but softly bronze, tinging all with gold. Senmut lifted his face and closed his eyes, suddenly and uncharacteristically loving the God who had given him this day.
"Would you like to meet my father?"
Her voice was close, and he turned to her in some confusion, imagining for a wild moment that she was inviting him to sail in the Heavenly Barque. Her skin was flushed the color of copper, on fire with the sun, and her hair glowed. She was so close that he could smell her perfume, the holy perfume, myrrh.
"You have been quiet today, priest," she went on. "Has it been an auspicious day for you?"
"I do not know," he said awkwardly, "but it has been a day to remember." He still clutched the goose, but he had lost his food sack somewhere.
''Give me the bird/' she said, ''and I shall have it broiled especially for you, and you and I and my father shall eat it together. Go and rest, and I will send for you. Or perhaps you would prefer to leave all as it is and go back to the architect's reed?"
He knew that she was speaking of something other than dinner with Pharaoh, but he shook his head. "No, Most Beautiful One," he said softly. "And thank you for this day."
"A day of beginnings? I am glad that you have enjoyed it."
He bowed, and she left him, her women gathering behind her like a cluster of irridescent bubbles, and he made his way slowly back to Ineni's office and his little room.
He was called for promptly at the hour of dinner, and he followed the slave through the deepening dusk. The gardens lay in warm, thoughtful darkness, but in the palace the lamps shone out and the halls were full of the smell of food and the brisk clapping of busy, sandaled feet. The slave left him at the double doors to the banqueting chamber, and the Chief Herald stood ready to open them and
announce him. Senmut began to stutter forth his name, but the man held up a hand, swung back the doors, and intoned, "Senmut, priest of Mighty Amun, architect," and Senmut found himself walking into the throng. The hall seemed vast to him, as big as the outer court of the temple itself, its ceiling stretching away into darkness even though hundreds of lamps shone brightly around the cavernous walls. People drifted in and out among the tall, fluted lotus columns that marched across the white tiled floor or stood in expectant groups, drinking wine and talking aimlessly. At the farther end there was no wall, only a forest of columns giving way to the encroaching night that spilled over from the garden. A slight wind blew in his face, mingling with the odor of perfume and oils. Because it was still spring, the tiny tables that were scattered haphazardly, waiting for the diners, were piled with blossoms from the trees—white sycamore, orange pomegranate, the fragrant yellow-green persea—and an ocean of blue and pink lotus flowers lay amid the cushions and cloaks.
A little slave girl, naked and timid, scarcely more than a child, approached him and, bowing, fastened upon his head a wax cone filled with perfume. Immediately another slave appeared, also bowing low.
"Be pleased to follow me. Noble Senmut," he said respectfully. Senmut, suddenly tempted to laugh at himself and the servant and the unearned title, padded after him in his very best leather sandals. They threaded their way through the crowd until they reached a small dais halfway between the door and the colonnade of the garden. The servant
indicated a group of four little gold tables, their surfaces full of flowers, their smooth legs buried under cushions. Close about the dais were other such tables, but the servant, seeing Senmut's hesitation, waved him up. 'Tou are to dine with Pharaoh tonight," he said, and when Senmut rather self-consciously mounted the two steps and stood irresolute, the man added, ''Would you like wine?"
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