Magic of the Nile (9 page)

Swallowing hard, Sahure admitted his mistake. “My proposal was badly done, I freely confess to you. I assumed—”

Holding up a beringed hand to stop him in mid sentence, Ashayet laughed but it was a sympathetic amusement, easy to bear. “I see, my worst fears realized. So in short, you didn’t plead your case? You didn’t consider the effect on her of moving to Thebes at all, did you? This life we live at Court would be a huge adjustment for a girl from rural Ibis Nome, even if she be high born, not to mention leaving behind her family and everything familiar.”

He realized what the queen was saying was true. He’d never thought through what Tyema would have had to do if she’d accepted his proposal, beyond the idea of her transferring to another temple of Sobek. The thought striking him like a blow, now he saw how he’d assumed she’d simply give up being a high priestess, stop running what was by all tokens a successful temple with extensive businesses, to become an ordinary celebrant in Thebes and keep house for him.
And I was so adamant and proud about my station in life and position, never giving hers full credit. I’m an idiot.
“She’s the daughter of a village scribe, ma’am, not high born, but she does serve as a high priestess.” He knew Ashayet herself would keep his confidence but others were in earshot, however politely they pretended not to be listening, so he didn’t tell her any more about Tyema.
 

Elegant brows drawn together in a frown, Ashayet toyed with the red ribbons on her white ostrich feather fan, which matched the trim of her elegant linen sheath. “I’m afraid I’ve no advice to offer, not knowing the lady in question.”

Rubbing the back of his neck to ease the tension he was feeling, Sahure admitted the queen further into his confidence. “I’d been thinking about taking some leave, going back to talk to her, but now with my urgent new orders, such a trip isn’t possible.”

Touching his arm lightly, Ashayet said, “Write her a letter before you go. I’ll ensure the Chief Scribe finds someone to carry it to the girl for you.”

Genuinely grateful for the suggestion and her offer to take on responsibility for getting the message to Tyema, he felt his spirits lighten for the first time since leaving Ibis Nome. “Very kind of you, your majesty. I’d be extremely appreciative.”

She nodded, stepping away from the pillar and gestured for her retainers to come forward. “I’d best be on my way,” she said to Sahure. “Pharaoh and I have an audience to conduct with newly arrived ambassadors from King Minos of Crete. I’ll see about the letter. May the gods go with you to the Southern Oasis and bring you safely back to us when your tasks are done.”

*****

It was literally the middle of the night. Sahure sat at the desk in his private quarters, one candle burning low. His stool was surrounded by crumpled papyrus, representing his many attempts to find the right way to plead his case with Tyema, to explain, to apologize. “I’m no hand with words,” he said out loud, reaching for the wineskin. “I’m no scribe with a smooth tongue. If poetry is what she wants, it’s better we parted in anger.” Idly, he kicked at one of the balled up papyrus sheets from an early attempt. He’d copied out some lines from a popular love poem but felt ridiculous addressing Tyema in those terms, with fancy words he’d never utter. He’d written facts, he’d written apologies, he’d written—well, attempts to communicate in all possible styles. And not one word of it felt adequate, hence the discarded sheets. “I need to talk to her.”
And she needs to talk to me,
by the seven hells
. Picking up the wine, he moved to the bed, easing his back against the wall. In awe at the way the room was spinning, he realized he was more than a little drunk. After capping the wine skin, although it took three tries, he closed his eyes, just for a moment.

Only to be shaken awake by his sergeant with the morning light streaming into the room.

“Sir, you’re due in General Marnamaret’s office right now,” the sergeant said.

Hand to his aching forehead, Sahure swore. “Set’s teeth, I must have dozed off.”

The sergeant eyed the wineskin lying on the bed but said nothing.

Holding his aching head, Sahure got out of bed and made haste to get into appropriate shape to discuss military matters with his commanding officer. He kicked one of the little balls of papyrus with his bare foot and swore again. It had seemed like such a good idea yesterday, when the queen proposed he write to Tyema, but it hadn’t worked out. “Throw these in the cooking fire while I shave and get my kilt on,” he told the sergeant.

“Waste of good papyrus, sir,” the other man said but he gathered up the fragments and dutifully carried them out of the room, to consign to the flames as ordered. By the time the sergeant reentered the bedroom, Sahure was in his uniform after hastily scraping his face with the razor. Adjusting his nemes head cloth, Sahure searched for his sword. The sergeant handed him his weapons and they were on their way to a day of planning for the column to move out of Thebes tomorrow.

Sahure was exhausted by the time he made his way to his quarters, late at night, but confident all the arrangements were in order for a dawn departure. He’d selected three of his most trusted companions in Pharaoh’s Guard to be his officers. The men he’d chosen were battle hardened and smart, pleased and grateful to have an opportunity for demonstrating their valor and devotion to Pharaoh, just as he’d been.
I couldn’t do better than having Menkheperr and the others at my back, no matter what the situation may be at the oasis.

Wearily, Sahure tossed his nemes onto the table and unbuckled the sword. Getting a small army ready to march in such a short time was a daunting amount of work, even with Pharaoh’s well oiled administrative structure.
 

A single sheet of papyrus lay on the desk, the only survivor from his tortured attempts to draft a letter to Tyema the night before. “By the seven hells,” he swore. Picking up the quill and dipping it into the ink, he wrote the standard greeting followed by a two sentence factual note in hieratic and signed it.
 

“She’ll know where I am, she’ll know what I’m doing, she’ll know I think of her,” he said as he rolled the papyrus up. “She’ll know matters between us aren’t over.” He sealed it, imprinting his cartouche on the congealing red wax with his ring. Resolving to have a courier deliver the scroll to Queen Ashayet in the morning, he went in search of dinner, with one more thing checked off in his mental tablet of tasks to do before the chariots rolled from Thebes at dawn.

***

“Are you unwell again this morning, my lady?” asked her maid, smoothing the coverlet over Tyema and adjusting the wooden headrest ever so slightly to be more comfortable.

“I caught cold last month and never recovered, I think.” Tyema couldn’t decide which was worse, the constant burning nausea in the pit of her stomach or the crushing weight of tiredness. Nausea won for the moment. Hand at her lips, she asked, “Did you bring me the crusts of dry bread as I requested?”

The maid exchanged glances with the other serving girl. “I did, my lady.”

Tyema pointed at the table close to the bed. “Leave the plate and you can go—I won’t need you this morning. Please tell the under priestess I asked her to sing the morning devotions again.”

Tyema waited until the girls had left, closing the door behind them, before she got out of bed, munching on one of the crusts like a beggar woman. She wandered to the open doors leading to the garden and the ruined temple. Shuffling into a pair of sandals and grabbing an embroidered blue robe to cover her filmy nightgown, she walked outside, hoping the fresh air would calm her stomach enough to keep the bread down.

She strolled over to the ruins of the ancient temple, making her way along the cracked flagstones in the path, then entering the now roofless outer sanctuary. The original statue of the god had been moved with great fanfare and many incantations and blessings, once the new temple had been finished, but she’d had another effigy carved and installed in the old sanctuary, and hung one of Sobek’s emerald tears around its neck, to create a private place of worship for herself.

Today she sought out the peace and quiet of that refuge, taking a moment to cleanse her hands and feet in the small pond outside the temple, before opening the door with a spell Sobek had given her. Lighting one of the torches piled outside the inner sanctum and setting it into the bronze holder just across the threshold, Tyema studied the representation of the god she served. Half human, half crocodile, Sobek stood larger than man-sized, leaning on his staff, golden crown and plumes reaching to the ceiling of the tiny enclosure. She’d seen him in this incarnation as a child and never forgotten her awe. The sculptor had done a good job of capturing the grandeur of the god. Going to her knees in front of the statue, she leaned her head on the cold pink-and-gray granite and said, “Why can’t I get over this? When will my heart stop aching for the sound of his voice? For the touch of his hand? I never should have gone to the village festival with him on the first evening we met.”

 
She sat back on her heels, hands covering her stomach, feeling a fresh wave of nausea. She couldn’t throw up here, in the sanctuary. Swallowing hard to force the bile in her throat to subside, after a moment Tyema said, “I can’t regret having taken the risk of getting to know him though. How could I, when now I know what it’s like to be truly loved? But what he asked of me on our final night together was impossible.” Even now she was tempted to write Sahure a letter, try to explain she hadn’t been rejecting him so much as she’d been fleeing the terrible malady she was cursed with, the invisible but real chains of her fearfulness.

“But it’s better he just be allowed to forget me, isn’t it? Not to be further embarrassed by what we shared? After all, I’ll never see him again. And where would I direct such a letter? He could be assigned anywhere in the Black Lands by now.”

There was no answer from the god but she hadn’t expected one. Her sister Merys had once described Sobek as a force of nature. He wasn’t a Great One who dealt much with human emotions, human problems. He tended the Nile itself, ensuring the waters ran properly, thereby benefitting all Egypt. It made sense he had little time for mundane issues, including the broken heart of one of his priestesses. Tyema sighed, rising to her feet.
What I want is to talk to Merys. But she hasn’t visited me in years.
Feeling the prickle of tears, she took the torch and left the sanctuary, the door closing behind her. A sudden breeze extinguished the flame. Blinking in surprise, Tyema set the brand aside for her next visit as a shadow fell on the broken pavement in front of her. When she glanced up, heart pounding, her half-sister was standing there, arms out.

“Oh, Merys!” Bursting into tears, Tyema rushed to hug her. “You’re really here.”

Patting her on the back, Merys made shushing sounds for a few moments, allowing Tyema to weep before coaxing her toward the shade trees. “Come, let’s sit on the bench over here and you can tell me what’s wrong, little sister.”

Tyema felt herself relaxing in her half-sister’s warm embrace. Merys had always fixed problems for her when she was a little girl. This current heartbreak was too much for even a beloved sister to mend, but having her to lean on and talk to made the misery recede a little. Hugging her sister close, Tyema said, “How did you know to come? I needed you so badly today.”

“Sobek told me. He heard your lamentation as he was going about his duties. You’re dear to his heart, sister, so he listens for your voice and his ears are sharp.” Arm around Tyema’s waist, Merys drew her into the garden and a seat on the bench underneath a towering palm, next to a cracked, dry fountain. As Tyema dried her eyes on the sleeve of her robe, Merys patted her hand. “I can’t stay long, you know the rules Isis set forth for my journeys from the Afterlife. Tell me, what besets you so?”

Tyema grimaced, tried to smile, felt her eyes filling with the hot tears again. “It’s a short tale—I fell in love.” Sniffling, she leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder and let the tears fall.

“And he didn’t love you?” Merys combed her fingers gently though Tyema’s hair, as she’d done many times during their grim childhood when her abusive mother had been alive.

Wiping away tears, Tyema shook her head, a flash of hot annoyance in her heart at the incorrect assumption Merys had made. She sat up and moved away ever so slightly. “On the contrary, he loved me so much he wanted to marry me.”

“Oh, I see.” Merys frowned. “Difficult but surely not impossible, if he’s from anywhere in this nome. Sobek wouldn’t put barriers between you and someone you loved. He only wants your happiness.”

“Sahure’s a noble, a warrior reporting directly to Pharaoh.” Tyema couldn’t keep herself from singing his praises, proud of the man she loved, sighing as she remembered how handsome he was in uniform. Then her shoulders slumped and she leaned against the filigree of the bench back. “He expected me to go to Thebes with him, to be his wife. You know I can’t,” she said.

Nodding, her older sister patted her hand. “Did you explain your challenges to him? If he truly loved you—”

Tyema shook her head. “I couldn’t tell him. He thinks I’m this strong, confident woman because I run the temple for Sobek and we both know outside these walls, I’m useless.”

“Not useless, dear one,” Merys protested immediately, rushing to defend her as always. “Shy perhaps, easily startled and upset—”

Tyema sighed, leaving the bench and pacing beside the fountain, unable to sit still with all the emotions pent up inside her. “There’s no use in dreaming. I refused him, he was angry and hurt, and he left for Thebes, where he belongs. I have to be able to move on, forget him. I
must.
I’m shirking my duties.” She stopped, clutching at her stomach as a fresh wave of nausea swept over her. “Perhaps it’s the depth of my grief, but I can’t seem to get over this illness.”