Dreamers (6 page)

you alone so often these days?”

Tuya kicked a shard of broken pottery out of her way.

“Sagira is busy,” she muttered, not looking up. “She’s with

Ramla. She talks to that priestess for hours, and she’s made

it clear I am not supposed to overhear their conversations.”

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“A passing fancy, nothing more,” Taharka promised, stand-

ing the barrel upright. “Don’t you remember the time you and

Sagira swore you would eat nothing but pigeon? You drove

me crazy with your quirks and Lady Kahent nearly went out

of her mind with worry for Sagira’s health.”

Tuya laughed. “I had forgotten. But this is different,

Taharka. Sagira’s changed somehow. She’s not playing a

game. In fact I’ve never seen her so serious. Sometimes I think

she went to sleep and a stranger woke up in her body.”

“Tuya!” A hoarse voice bellowed through the kitchen, and

Tuya wiped her hands across her skirt as the master of the

slaves stalked into the room. As broad as he was tall, Tanu-

tamon was a man to be feared, especially when ill winds

blew through Donkor’s household. He never called for Tuya

unless the lady Kahent had commanded that she be whipped.

Despite the chilly dew forming on her skin, Tuya stepped

forward to meet him. She dipped her head toward him in sub-

mission. “What is it, master?”

Tanutamon gestured toward the door. “Come with me.”

What had she done? Tuya threw a questioning glance

toward Taharka, but he waved her through the doorway with

a hurried gesture that said
go, and don’t ask questions!

Tuya followed the master of the slaves through the winding

halls until they reached the gatekeeper’s lodge at the entrance

to the villa. The gatekeeper rose from his stool as Tanutamon

approached, then backed away.

Tuya held her breath, dreading whatever was to follow.

There was no whipping post in the lodge, so what new pun-

ishment was this?

In answer, Tanutamon pulled a length of chain and four

shackles from a corner of the gatehouse. “Your hands,” he

said, his voice strangely flat.

Bracing herself for an assault, Tuya lifted her trembling

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arms. Had Lady Kahent heard about the cup of wine she ac-

cidentally spilled in Taharka’s workroom? Had Sagira com-

plained about Tuya’s sad countenance?

Tanutamon’s rough hands caught hers. With a deft gesture,

he snapped the shackles on her wrists, then secured them by

running a length of chain through the loops.

“Am I to be whipped?” Tuya whispered, afraid to lift her

voice. “What has the mistress said, Tanutamon?”

The giant did not answer, but knelt to clasp the other pair

of shackles around her legs. The cold metal chilled her skin

and pressured the fragile bones in her ankles as he threaded

chain through the loops.

“Tanutamon,” she asked again, dismayed at the sound of

tears in her voice. “If I have done nothing wrong, what is this?

And if I have done something, tell me what it is so I may avoid

trouble in the future.”

“You have done nothing,” the master of the slaves an-

swered gruffly. “Your mistress wishes to sell you. It is her right

and her request.”

“Lady Kahent?”

“The young Lady Sagira.”

For a moment the words did not register in Tuya’s mind.

She had been a part of Donkor’s family since her childhood.

She and Sagira had bounced on Lady Kahent’s knee, eaten

their meals together, splashed in the same pool, shared gossip

and dreams. It should have been easier to stop the yearly in-

undation of the Nile than to separate her from this family! Yet

heavy shackles bound her wrists and ankles, and even now

Tanutamon was adjusting the length of chain so he could lead

her through the gate.

“Where are you taking me?” she cried, the world blurring

as tears distorted her vision. “What happens when a slave is

sold? I’m sorry, Tanutamon, but I know nothing of these things.”

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“You must trust me,” Tanutamon said, not looking at her.

“You are a good girl, Tuya, and if I were the master, I would

not allow this thing. But I will do as I am told, as will you.You

should be grateful that you have been pampered for so long.

I will do what I can for you. I have friends…in high places.”

She wanted to ask other questions, but terror rose like a

lump in her throat and blocked her speech. Hanging her head,

she shuffled forward as the gatekeeper opened the gate and

Tanutamon led her away from the marvelous house of

Donkor, kinsman of the king.

Chapter Five

Tuya shook like a frightened child as Tanutamon led her

through the dusty streets of Thebes. She felt nothing but the

chains that bound her and heard nothing but her own frantic

gulps of air and the pounding of her heart. When she awk-

wardly lifted her hands to steady her throbbing head, she

realized her cheeks were wet with tears.

How could Sagira have sent her away? The answer was

obvious—for some reason, Ramla had poisoned Sagira

against her beloved friend. But how could Sagira have allowed

herself to be misled? Tuya had always given Sagira the affec-

tion she craved, while Ramla was about as warm as a corpse.

But Ramla was fascinating and foreign, and Tuya had always

sought to be helpful rather than interesting…

Her tears quickened as a wave of sorrow swept over her.

Perhaps Ramla had nothing to do with Sagira’s change of

heart. Sagira was ready for marriage; hadn’t she said so?

Perhaps she thought of Tuya as a playmate, not a noble lady’s

handmaid. The slave had outgrown her usefulness, and was

being consigned to the trash heap like a discarded toy.

Tuya stumbled through the streets, grappling with her

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Dreamers

thoughts, and nearly ran into Tanutamon when he stopped out-

side a tall brick wall. A narrow gated entry guarded whatever

grand house lay inside, and Tuya wiped her nose with the back

of her hand. When a fresh wave of grief threatened to engulf

her, she bit her lip to substitute one pain for another.

“Tanutamon of Donkor’s house wishes to see Kratas, the

keeper of Pharaoh’s slaves,” Tanutamon announced. Pha-

raoh’s slaves! Tuya struggled to breathe as bands of apprehen-

sion tightened around her chest.

“Tanutamon—” she whispered, but the burly man cut her

off with a sharp glance. He waited until the gatekeeper stepped

away, then he turned and flashed into sudden fury.

“Keep quiet!” He blazed down at her. “Slaves should be

seen and not heard, or haven’t you learned that yet? You were

spoiled in Donkor’s house, and it is possible your beauty will

enable you to be pampered here as well. But if you speak or

protest or cry, you’ll be sold in a common auction to the

highest bidder—do you want that?”

Scared speechless, Tuya shook her head.

“Then say nothing and do nothing until you are told to

speak and do.”

“Tanutamon may enter.” After the gatekeeper unlocked the

gate, Tuya followed her master into a long corridor painted

with scenes from daily life in the king’s house. She recognized

the sharp, clear features of Amenhotep II and his royal con-

sort, Queen Merit-Amon, whose pictures also adorned a wall

in Donkor’s house.

A tall, regally dressed black man appeared from a doorway

in the corridor. “Welcome, my friend Tanutamon.” Tuya lifted

her eyes to look at the stranger. He was not Egyptian, but bore

the features of the people from the southern reaches of the

Nile. A small paunch hung over the waistband of his kilt, and

deep lines creased his dark face.

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49

“It is good to see you, Kratas,” Tanutamon said, bowing.

“May you remain in the favor of Amon-Re, king of the gods,

of Ptah, of Thoth, and of all the gods and goddesses who are

in Thebes.”

“The same to you, my friend,” Kratas answered. “And how

may I help you today?”

Tanutamon pivoted slightly and pointed at Tuya. “My

younger mistress has outgrown her childhood maid and

wishes to sell her.” He rolled his eyes, effectively sending the

disloyal message that he disagreed with his mistress’s judg-

ment. “Because I am obedient, I thought to take her to the

marketplace, but surely such a young woman should be

offered first to his majesty Pharaoh. Surely there is room in

his harem for a young beauty?”

Kratas’s eyes swept over Tuya’s slender figure. “She is…

unspoiled?”

“She has been carefully guarded. She is of age, at least

fifteen years, and has excellent manners. Donkor, as you

know, is a man of breeding and noble reputation. I can assure

you that any slave from his house will bring honor to the house

of Pharaoh.”

Kratas stepped toward Tuya and ran his hand over her arm.

She blushed, uncomfortable with his familiarity.

Kratas’s mouth tipped into a faint smile. “Pharaoh likes the

shy ones. Not for him a brazen prostitute.”

“So you will buy her?”

“For one hundred deben weight of silver, with an extra ten

for you,” Kratas said, snapping his fingers toward a boy who

waited in the shadows of a broad pillar.

Tanutamon smiled with warm spontaneity. “It is agreed.

You are most generous, Kratas.”

The boy ran to his master, a gilded chest in his hands, and

Kratas withdrew a handful of silver coins. “I am not being

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overly generous,” he said, emptying a handful of silver into

Tanutamon’s broad palm. “I am sure such a girl is worth

much more.”

Kratas paused outside the women’s room where he kept

recent additions to Pharaoh’s slaves. The new girl sat with

crossed arms while other women sponged her body and

washed her hair.

Tanutamon was right to bring the girl to Pharaoh’s house.

She possessed a sweet shyness that was refreshingly differ-

ent from the practiced, pouty beauties of Pharaoh’s harem.

Perhaps, in time, she would harden and grow into a stupid,

bovine woman, but Kratas was certain Pharaoh would find

this youthful flower to his liking. If not for the knife that had

made him a eunuch, Kratas would have bought her himself.

He leaned against the wall and rubbed his chin. The new

girl was taller than most, and held herself like a lady. She had

not shaved her head as did so many wig-loving slaves of rich

women, but kept her long hair, which framed her face and

elongated her neck. Her facial features were elegant, her nose

slender and the nostrils delicate. When she looked up, her eyes

shone like a stream of gold in the fading light; they were

deep, watchful eyes that missed little.

A chuckle of satisfaction escaped him. In one week, if the

girl proved willing, he could turn her into a queen to rival

Merit-Amon, or even the king’s favorite wife, Teo. With the

right garments, a proper wig, cosmetics and jewels…

Kratas clapped for his servant and frowned when the boy

did not appear. Most slaves were a defeated, worthless lot.

He’d give his right arm to purchase one that was dependable

and trustworthy, but he could more easily count the waves of

the Nile than find such a creature.

Chapter Six

Outside the throne room of Amenhotep II, Potiphar paced

and cleared his throat. His men, Pharaoh’s bodyguards, had

already taken their positions beside the throne dais. Usually

he stood in front of them, facing all who dared approach the

king, but in the night Potiphar had received word that Pharaoh

insisted on formally greeting him after the battle in the desert.

He shifted uneasily. The enemy had been defeated, but not

without cost to Egypt’s armies. At least a score of Egyptian

warriors had perished, and three had been captured by the

rebels. Potiphar wasn’t sure if this formal audience had been

arranged for public praise or punishment.

Behind Potiphar, a corps waited, their arms laden with an

assortment of swords, helmets, spears and cunningly worked

arrows. These represented the spoils of war Potiphar gathered

after the skirmish, but they were a paltry symbol of the battle’s

true success. Rebels had dared to rise and challenge Pharaoh’s

authority, and the king had again proven himself to be every

bit as cunning and fierce as his father. The rebellious outer

settlements should not rise again in this king’s lifetime.

“Potiphar, captain of the guard, Pharaoh calls for you!”

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Dreamers

As two slaves pulled open the great double doors, Potiphar

inhaled a deep breath and moved into the long, sunlit throne

room. Brilliant murals depicting the king’s military exploits

had been painted on the walls of the room, and in front of

these paintings, to Potiphar’s left and right, the king’s cour-

tiers and members of the royal family witnessed the day’s