Reflections in the Nile (24 page)

Cheftu turned on his stony bed, ignoring the star-hung night and the sonorous snores of the hundreds of men around him. The time had come for him to make his decision. Why couldn't he? To go against the wishes of Pharaoh was something no true Egyptian would contemplate. To Cheftu, the poison placed in his hand by Hatshepsut, living forever! for RaEmhetepet was nothing short of murder.

He did not want to believe RaEm had betrayed the truths of the Sisterhood she purported to believe, yet the hard swelling of her body was the last confirmation necessary. If she survived the miscarriage and the incident remained unknown, RaEm's position might survive noticeably unscathed. He had thought that was Hat's wish.

Or she could die. He feared that was Senmut's wish. Was it now Hat's also?

Cheftu had been startled by the protective instinct RaEm demonstrated when they spoke of the unborn child. Even the most vicious creature Khonsu created had some admirable traits, he reminded himself. Since learning about his former betrothed's lifestyle, Cheftu had come to regard her as among the most predatory. Despite that, the memory of her soft mouth beneath his sparked lightning through his veins.

The woman was poison. He knew that. She infected his blood and would ruin him if he allowed her. Still, he could not kill her or the unsuspecting babe she carried. Instead he would give her something to imitate the drug yet not unsettle the unborn.

What about the hapless slave who had died in the night, after vomiting blood? His all-too-human cries still rang in Cheftu's ears. Had that been an attempt at assassinating the crown prince? Aye, the dancer had confessed, but what mortal after two days’ torture would deny anything? More important, she'd named no accomplices. It did not add up.

He knew that Hatshepsut would never, even in the direst circumstances, allow Horus-in-the-Nest to be hurt. She respected the blood of her father that ran in Thut's veins. No doubt he would already be on the throne if he had been her son. But he wasn't, and she could not let the power pass from her hands right now. However, she would never commission or approve his death.

Cheftu mentally reviewed her trusted ones. Would Hatshepsut's faithful bodyguard, Nehesi, do this without her permission? Nay. He would never go against his commander in chief's request Hapuseneb? Nay, because Thut III was the offspring of the god, and the high priest of Amun-Ra would never risk the god's eternal wrath or the disruption of Ma'at.

That brought the question to Senmut, Hatshepsut's beloved vizier. He had risen from a common peasant to be second in the land. Cheftu smiled into the night. Senmut had thirty titles alone, one of those an
erpa-ha,
a hereditary prince of Egypt. Did he hope to kill Horus and then take Hatshepsut to the temple and declare himself Senmut I, living forever?

Nay, Senmut would not go against the wishes of Pharaoh. If that was his intention, he would have done it years ago. Years before the miracle.

Cheftu remembered that day. He had been among the many from the palace school who had sneaked into the courtyard of the temple, aching to see Amun-Ra in all his golden glory. It was one of the many feasts in the Egyptian year, when the god traveled in his golden barque from Karnak, upriver to Luxor Temple, for a visit.

Hatshepsut had already begun her singular reign but had not openly thwarted Thut III. She had merely sent him to the temple to be instructed as a priest, appropriate for a boy who would rise to godhood. Cheftu, already inducted into many of the temple's mysteries, had been surprised when the barque on which Amun-Ra sat stopped before one of the many
sem-
priests on the temple steps. This one, however, was wearing the blue-and-white ribbons of royalty in his youthlock.

As a stupefied Egypt looked on, the god had inclined his head, his words lost in the roar of the people's applause. Young Thut III had fallen to his knees, and the surrounding priests had dropped onto their faces. Hatshepsut, living forever! and Hapuseneb had finally come out of the temple, and they had seen the last moments. Thut had stood up, raising his already meaty fists in the air, and yelled, “Amun-Ra declares me pharaoh!”

The populace fell to the ground in awe, shouts of “Thutmosis Makepre, living forever!” drowned in the dirt. Cheftu had dared to raise his head and look at the reigning sovereign. Hatshepsut was shaven headed for the occasion. In the shaft of scorching sun, she was the incarnation of Amun-Ra: full of awesome power.

Her skin was painted gold, and like the gold tissue of her kilt, it appeared to glitter with the power of the sun itself. She had raised both of her hands, projecting her low and lovely voice. “My father Amun-Ra has spoken. He has declared himself pleased with Horus-in-the-Nest. Thutmosis will succeed me when I fly to Horus and Osiris.” Her voice had risen with emotion as she spoke. The population, awed by the sight of the ripe and sensuous man-woman, their living god and the defender of Egypt, had shouted, “Hail,
Heru uatt
Hatshepsu Ma'atkepre, living forever!” until the cries echoed back and forth from the shrouded temple to the cliffs across the Nile, gaining in strength and fervor.

Cheftu too had cheered, overwhelmed at the mystery and power of this golden creature, caught up in the paganism of the moment and the contagious enthusiasm of the crowd. Thut had slipped out with the other
sem-
priests, and Cheftu knew Hapuseneb would ferret out who was responsible. They would be in the House of the Dead by nightfall—if they were even given the courtesy of an embalming and not thrown directly to Sobek.

He sighed as the vision of the bright golden day in Waset faded into darkness. Where were they all now? The boy had grown into a formidable man, truly the conqueror of Egypt—if his aunt would let him. Still Hat hung on, trying to interest her gentle daughter, Neferurra, in the succession. The whole court however, recognized that Neferurra wanted nothing but to stand by her cousin's side, clinging to his arm as consort.

Every minute of his thirty-one years pressed down on Cheftu. All the living those years had encompassed suddenly amassed in aches and pains. His soul cried out in lonely exhaustion. Why could he not be a simple physician? Or take over the family lands and ferment the finest wines in Egypt? Would he ever have a good and gentle woman to hold in his arms as they watched Ra fade on the horizon, exchanging glances over the rims of their cups? Children? A legacy of his blood to carry forth? He realized he was tired of the court's intrigue and the constant burning both ends of the torch while trying to hold on to the middle. He sighed wearily. At least his stomach was calm.

He missed Alemelek, the trust, the lack of fear. Their complete understanding.

There was no reason to rush back to the palace. Doubtless RaEm was locked in Nesbek's arms. He forced his mind away from the vision of her lovely brown limbs tangled with that scorpion. Would he never be free of her web? Just when he had come to terms with having loved a fantasy in his youth, he had met her again. Although she was not the same woman. Or was she?

Bleary-eyed, he forced himself to be still. In the distance he heard a muttered exchange as the guards changed duty. Then he slept.

C
HLOE DREW A DEEP, SETTLING BREATH
and stepped down from the litter. Nesbek's delta house was a large white block in a thicket of biological fecundity, and she could already hear coarse male laughter on the heavily perfumed air. She walked up the path and into the courtyard.

She saw nothing except bodies everywhere. Intermingled. Men with women with women with men with men. Holy shit!
It was a genuine, no-holds-barred orgy!
Bile rose in her throat as blood rushed to her face. What had she gotten into? Anxiety rose in her like fever, and sweat broke out on her back and upper lip.

Nesbek was sprawled on a low couch, one fawning male licking his toes, an overdone woman fondling him openly. Nesbek himself had his hands on a slave girl barely in her teens. He pushed them away when he saw Chloe, shouting for silence. His gold teeth glittered in the torchlight.

The writhing, undulating mass of humanity ceased momentarily in its headlong search for gratification.

“The Lady RaEmhetepet, my betrothed,” he shouted. “She shall share with us her amazing talents!” He turned a darkened glare her way, growling, “I trust you have exorcised that cold spirit? Do not shame me, RaEm. Hurt me.” Then he smiled.

Chloe gulped. For a split second she could hear those same words— “Hurt me”—in another voice, and she saw bloodied hands and a man's face. It flashed through her mind in a millisecond, but Nesbek's salacious grin obscured the vision.

Show time.

She tried to look away from the collection of body parts, most in someone else's possession. There was no place to focus, which was proving difficult anyway. She remembered what her speech teacher from high school said and imagined everyone in long underwear. She hadn't seen most of these people before, but the “other” recognized them. Hell, the real RaEm could name everyone in the room, although the prince was missing.

Chloe heard a thin, reedy note rise and knew even before the prodding of the “other” that it was her cue. Clenching her teeth, she dropped the cloak. The room grew expectantly silent. Chloe felt lusty glances race across her form. Her breasts were covered only to their silver-painted tips by a silver-and-turquoise collar. The beads around her hips were even more humiliating. Even though it was culturally permitted, she felt
nekkid
—sick and sleazy. Dear God, she thought, don't let Mimi watch this! She raised her arms and cautiously let in RaEm's mind.

An overwhelming surge of power flooded her being, and she realized with a start that dancing was the one thing RaEm truly gloried in doing. Her passion was so great that a little of the feeling had overflowed into her rational memory. Afraid she would end up a part of the orgy if she let RaEm have her way, Chloe took RaEm's guidance in small and tidy lumps. Consequently Chloe was less sensual and skilled than RaEm. Fortunately, so many of the guests were tripping on an ancient amphetamine that Chloe doubted they recognized her as a fraud.

As the tempo increased she spun, ducked, twirled, and gyrated. The room spun, ducked, and most definitely gyrated with her. In fact, it began to do some things she did not have the agility to follow. She ceased her whirling and landed in a semigraceful heap on the floor. The applause was weak. When she looked up, she saw the “audience” had directed its attention to the doors.

She was still panting from her dance when she saw what, or rather who, had gained the party's attention. Two Apiru slaves, bound and naked, were led toward her. Chloe closed her eyes briefly. She was having trouble seeing, and she had to concentrate on getting to her feet without further dislodging her already askew beadwear. Her head throbbed and there was a painful tightness in her chest. Her leg muscles were spasming. She leaned against a column, trying to regain some equilibrium. Then Nesbek met her at the raised stage and handed her a whip. He kissed her on the mouth, squeezing her breast, though Chloe felt it only distantly. “Do what you do so well. We have waited a long time for this,” he whispered before slapping her bottom with a beaded flail.

She stared, speechless, at the heavy leather thongs that flared into a multitude of ends. Chloe, afraid that she was now seeing double, tried to count the straps. When she reached ten for the second time, she gave up. Where the bloody hell was this place? What was she supposed to do?

Nesbek, drunk and supported between two naked and oiled young men, turned from the bound slaves to his guests. “Now, my honored lovers, let that which we have long awaited, begin. Inflame us, RaEm,” he said, backing away.

Chloe looked at the slaves, trying to sharpen their fuzzy images. A young man, probably fifteen or sixteen years old, and a girl about the same age, were tied to posts, spread-eagle. Neither of them spoke a word. They stood with bowed heads, backs to the crowd, accepting their fate. These kids should be worried about the prom, Chloe thought, though she knew in this time they were beyond marriageable age.

An arc of pain shot through her. Her mind went blank. Pain reached up from her back into her chest, and she flinched, causing the end of the whip to twitch. The Apiru girl recoiled in response, her fear bringing a pleased muttering from the crowd. Their anticipation surrounded Chloe like a putrid smog, a heightening of sexual tensions in the incense-scented room. Small animal sounds reached her ears; the “other” explained what they were. Chloe swallowed bile again.

A second cramp gripped her. Chloe stood still, grinding her teeth as her body became a playground of sharp and dull prods, pokes, and stabs. The Apiru girl was crying, and the boy whispered to her in their own language. A pep talk by the tone of it, Chloe thought muzzily. She gasped, fell to her knees, and dropped the whip as another spasm seized her. Behind her eyelids she saw flashes of red and black, the patterns dizzying in their continuous changing. She opened her eyes in a moment of lucidity.

The guests were grumbling, and Nesbek stared at her, his face ashen. “Do not shame me!” he mouthed with a look of such loathing that she felt it even through the ever-intensifying agony in her body. Cupping her belly, Chloe sank to the floor. Through strobelike flashes of iridescent red, splotches of chartreuse, and lines of black, she saw Nesbek standing over her, his arms widespread, holding back the crowd. Amid cries of “Leave her, she's ill!” and a tussle of bodies, she felt herself lifted. After a brief blackout
she
was tied between the posts, Nesbek's shouts of “Nay!” vibrating through her body. She couldn't see, couldn't hear, but the fury of the disappointed party was palpable.

The cramps drove her down, hunching over her knees, trying to control her anguish. She bit into her lip and tasted blood. Part of her mind realized the muffled shrieks she heard were her own. The sensations in her body were so intense, she didn't even feel the first kick or punch.

For what seemed like eternity she hung between new and growing tortures in her womb and those elsewhere on her body. Vainly she tried to speak, but the bestial murmuring of the advancing crowd drowned out her mutterings. Finally a painless and peaceful sensory night fell across her. Chloe felt nothing else.