Reflections in the Nile (20 page)

A product of mostly conservative societies, Chloe viewed the sexual conduct of her own country with a mixture of revulsion and surprise. She was still a virgin, a tough decision at times, but one she did not regret.

Her decision dealt partly with opportunity. Most of the guys she went to school with had also been military brats, unwilling to commit to any relationship in a world where one could be yanked away with a phone call. The fear of pregnancy was very real. Unmarried motherhood was never an option; in the Middle East a girl would be killed by her male relatives for disgracing the family name. Likewise she wouldn't want to shame her parents. They expected the most from their daughters.

Most important, however, was Chloe's knowledge that she could not stand to share so intimately with someone and then lose him. Perhaps because of her lifestyle, sexual intimacy had never seemed worth the risk: to not only get naked, but to bare her heart and then be dumped. That part seemed inevitable, to judge from her friends and even by Cammy's short-lived marriage. To wake up alone and abandoned would kill Chloe inside, and she knew that. So she dated, had fun, and made friends of the men who wanted to take her to bed. Maybe it was cowardly. However, it was the only solution she saw.

Joseph had been her one serious boyfriend. He was an Italian American Jew she'd met on a study tour of Italy. He was Orthodox, studying the jeweler's art on the Ponte Vecchio before taking his place in the family business. Their relationship had been less sexual and more romantic. Picnics (of nonkosher foods), walks through the narrow streets, quiet dinners. Even poetry. The tension was there, but he was already engaged, so they both exercised self-control.

They'd known their relationship could go nowhere, but Chloe had been entranced. All her life she had heard negative things about Israel and the Jews, since Saudi Arabia and most of the other Arab countries in which she'd grown up were not among Israel's fans. Then there he was, larger than life, with a thirst for beauty and self-expression that rivaled her own. He'd been beautiful—Michelangelo's David in a black suit with a wide smile and gentle spirit.

So, either because of strength, weakness, or cowardice, she was a virgin.

However, RaEmhetepet was not. She had obviously violated the sacredness of her season of serving. She must have been pregnant before Chloe stepped into her skin. So some guy knew the whole story and was waiting for her to … to what? Chloe shook her head, the reasoning always returning to the same point. Banishment was the penalty for RaEm's transgressions and her lover's. Was that what was keeping him silent? Maybe there were too many possibilities to be certain? Again the face—the blood—the woman's hands—flashed through her mind.

She flinched at the sound of sandals in the corridor. Damn, am I nervous, she thought, hoping it wasn't the enraged prince regent. He'd sent her the palette; perhaps he'd forgiven her? Basha came in, balancing a large tray with fruit, beer, and pastry. At the sight, Chloe's stomach rebelled and she turned away.

Later, while lying on a table and being massaged with a lemon-scented oil, she felt a tiny movement deep within, as minuscule as the fluttering of a transparent hand and as significant as the opening of an otherworldly door. She dismissed the slave and sat up, staring at her naked brown belly in amazement.

It moved again. There was life inside her! Chloe covered her stomach protectively, a surge of unknown, fierce emotions coursing through her. “I will take care of you, my little stranger,” she whispered in English. “Somehow it will all be okay.” She caressed the hardness under her oiled skin; it felt like a tiny ball, lodged between and above her hipbones. “I will protect you,” she muttered in awe.

Later Chloe was seated before her dressing table when her visitor was announced. Basha prostrated herself on the floor, and Chloe watched in amazement as a petite woman with the bearing of a goddess stepped into the room. She was trailed by five other women, all dressed alike in white cloaks and silver collars.

Chloe stood, accepting the delicate hand extended to her, racking her brain for information. “Life, health, and prosperity,” she said before she clapped her hands and bade Basha get chairs and refreshments. She noted the look of surprise on several of the faces when it became apparent she could speak. Basha returned, instructing the Apiru slaves to position the tables and chairs, setting out wine and fruit.

The leader—Chloe still couldn't remember a name—hadn't stopped staring at Chloe, observing every nuance of her appearance. It made Chloe intensely nervous, considering her recent discovery.

“My sister is recovered. I am pleased, as is our mother HatHor,” the woman said in a low, melodious voice. “You shall return to serve the mother tonight, RaEmhetepet.”

Chloe smiled, trying to keep outwardly calm. How did she serve the “mother”? If it was tonight, how could she prepare? She drank deeply, stalling for time, her mind racing. One of the other maidens leaned forward and helped the leader—
what was her name?
—out of her cloak, and Chloe choked.

Dangling from her throat, on a delicate silver chain, was Chloe's silver ankh. Actually, not Chloe's, but one almost exactly like it.

The woman leaned forward, calling for water, and Chloe could see the inscription on her necklace. “Little sun,” a nickname for five o'clock in the evening. Chloe calmed herself and glanced around. Each woman was wearing the same necklace, but Chloe could not see all the names.

Holy Osiris, she thought. Then the knowledge came rushing in. She was one of the priestesses who prayed through the night, guiding the weakened Ra through his darkened course by praising and singing, invoking the aid of the goddess of love on his behalf. A defensive priestess.

From the time the moon was full until it was horned, she would spend those nights from eleven o'clock until midnight, dancing and singing before the silver statue of the goddess.

Some other nights they would all be summoned to make predictions and would drink the “goddess's milk” and look into the future. Tonight was such a night, and the others could not do it without her. Such was RaEmhetepet's destiny because of her birth date and her ancestry.

This knowledge filled her mind in seconds; suddenly she knew everyone in the room, most of whom she had trained. ReShera, five
P.M.
; Ruha-et, six o'clock; Herit-tchatcha-ah, seven o'clock; AnkhemNesrt, eight; RaAfu, nine; Gerchet, ten; and Chloe, as RaEmhetepet, was eleven. Petite ReShera was the next most powerful priestess and also a member of the sacred Sisterhood who policed the temples. She was also the missing Phaemon's twin sister, though Chloe remembered nothing of him.

Chloe's gaze flickered to the blue band ReShera wore around her waist. A mourning band. “I am sorry for your loss,” she said, indicating the belt. ReShera's eyes flamed with intense passion for just a moment, and the other priestesses held their collective breath. Basha dropped a goblet on the stone floor.

ReShera looked down. “The gods will deal with me and Phaemon, I am certain,” she murmured. Her gaze met Chloe's. “About tonight…”

“I look forward to speaking with the goddess,” Chloe said. “Although I am unfamiliar with her temple here.”

The priestess smiled and said, “It is a secret temple. I will send a litter for you before Ra departs the horizon, sister. Tonight is very important. This desert god of the Apiru is disturbing Ma'at and we must divine what the mother would have us do. Perhaps there is impurity among the priesthood and this is our punishment. We must prepare.” She rose to her feet, and the attendant maidens rose with her. “Until the
atmu,
” she said, and they left, Basha once more prostrating herself.

Cheftu joined her for lunch, withdrawn but amusing. They played several games of
senet,
one of which Chloe actually won. As they were tidying up the pieces, Chloe asked, “If you were to be something else besides a healer, what would you be?” His face twisted in surprise, then he put on his court mask.

“Why do you ask?”

“Does it matter?” She shrugged. “I guess from seeing Thutmosis and his love of pottery. One doesn't think of pharaohs caring about small things like that.”

Cheftu looked at her, his gaze open for a moment. “I would be a scribe.”

“Sitting in the marketplace, writing letters for the ignorant?”

“Nay.” He looked away, a sad smile on his lips. “I would be a scribe of the times. Tracking the reigns, the traditions, the wars, of Egypt.” His tone turned sardonic. “You, RaEm? Would you be the wife of a dozen men?”

Chloe stiffened. What a jerk! She'd tried for peace and look how he'd behaved!

“My lady, I apol—”

She cut him off. “Good afternoon, Cheftu. I must prepare for my duties of office tonight.” Her shoulders were stiff as she walked away … she had only two hours.

When the litter arrived, she was dressed. After two hot baths and an icy one, Basha had started sharpening a blade to shave Chloe's head. No way. Whether or not she was in RaEm's body, with RaEm's genes, Chloe wasn't going to run the risk of cutting her hair again. It had just started to be manageable, and she knew it would take forever to grow out. It wouldn't do to go back to her own time looking like a radiation victim. She'd have enough to explain as it was. And she
was
going back.

Basha was shocked, but she was also obedient and put away the shears and razor. She pulled out the pleated white tunic Chloe was to wear and a long, fringed shawl After slipping the tunic over her head, Basha tied the shawl, thoroughly covering Chloe's hips and thighs.

Now why can't I dress this way all the time? Chloe thought. It certainly was not underwear, but it covered just the same. The shawl was beautiful, its blue and white stripes shot with silver threads and tiny embroidered horns and ankhs.

Basha brought out the jewelry trunk, and Chloe, consulting her “other” memory, selected a silver circlet with horns, a disk, and a filigreed feather, and a malachite-and-silver bracelet. Basha then tied a headcloth of woven silver on Chloe's head, the folds falling over her shoulders and down her back. She put the circlet on top and bowed.

“My lady is ready?”

Chloe wondered at the lack of makeup, but when Basha draped her in a hooded cloak, she got the feeling it wouldn't matter. She heard the jingle of tiny bells in the hallway, and when the door opened she saw a similarly shrouded person waiting.

She noticed the other woman was not wearing sandals, and turning to Basha, saw she was once more prostrated. Who is this that Basha should behave this way? Chloe thought, then forgot her question as she was helped into the waiting litter and its curtains were drawn.

Once inside, a powerfully sweet odor assailed her, and Chloe had to breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging. They were carried up and down streets, until the light coming through the curtains had almost faded.

When they stopped, Chloe was the first to climb out, almost falling out when she realized she was stepping on another person. They were at the doors of a small temple, its ruined columns covered in ivies and vines—quite a bit different from the encroaching desert in every other temple location.

She walked through the hypostyle hall, for the temple was built according to the plan of Karnak. The paint had long ago faded from the halfway walls, and the jewels had been removed from the depictions of HatHor and her various myths.

The opposite wall told the story of HatHor going to Nubia, where she had assumed the shape of a wildcat and wrought absolute destruction until the god Thoth, in the guise of a baboon, cajoled her back to Egypt.

Chloe could read every word and had the smallest vision of a schoolroom where she had written out the story many, many times as punishment for … for what? Oh, joy, she thought. Another unanswered question.

They walked to the back of the temple, threading their way through a dense forest of HatHor-headed columns. They stepped into the goddess's chamber, and Chloe looked around. The walls had once been covered with silver, the “other” said, but most of it had been removed, leaving only a glint of the sacred metal here and there.

The barque where the silver statue should reside was empty, but there was a low table with the ritual offerings of grain and beer standing before the clearest depiction of HatHor. Goddess of music, dancing, laughter, drunkenness, and love, she also foretold the future of children, in the form of seven exquisitely beautiful women. Each of the maidens here was a physical counterpart to each of the seven HatHors. Egypt was the child whose future they would predict.

Oh, Camille, Chloe thought, you would not
believe
this!

They sat down at scattered tables, each place designated by a goblet and plate. Chloe saw her name, RaEmhetepet, etched on the silver and chose a nearby chair. Each of the maidens sat down, ending with ReShera next to her. In a motion they all pulled off their hoods and dropped their cloaks around them.

The six HatHors sat looking at her, and Chloe had to agree they were the most gorgeous women she had seen in Egypt, including Hatshepsut. No one was wearing makeup, which served to accentuate their beautifully sculpted features. Some were tall and willowy, others, like ReShera, petite and delicate. All were wearing the silver cloths and circlets. She alone wore the horns and disk and Feather of Truth. They were like an ancient sorority, Chloe thought, amused.

It seemed to be up to her to get started. As she glanced around, a child brought a silver dagger and laid it before her. Chloe raced through her mind, searching for some of RaEm's clues, but could locate nothing except some chants for an Apis fertility ritual.

She looked to ReShera, bewildered. “Sister?” she prompted.

With a gentle smile ReShera placed a hand on her wrist. “The mother understands, RaEm. I will take responsibility. May I have the sacred dagger?”

Relieved, Chloe handed it to her and watched as she walked to a far alcove. Slaves led forth a white cow hidden there. It must be drugged, Chloe thought, because it just stood there, watching the dagger with almost human eyes.