Suzanne Robinson (4 page)

Behind her she heard Bastis curse. Anqet nodded to Hauron and ducked into the cabin. It took only a few minutes to don a fresh robe. Distractedly, Anqet snapped on hinged bracelets of gold and red jasper. There was a matching necklace, a pectoral in the shape of a falcon with outspread wings. Her fingers were cold as they arranged the crimson and gold pendant so that it rested between her breasts. As her hand touched the falcon, it pressed into the softness she had always taken for granted.

Damn him to fiendish torments. Damn him for making me feel unclean with his gaze.

“I don’t like it,” she said aloud. “This visit to the overseer of the fields.”

“Neither do I,” said Bastis as she combed Anqet’s hair.

The woman sank to her knees. “You remember my cousin Tamit who went to serve Lady Gasantra in Thebes?”

“What?”

Bastis grasped Anqet’s hands in her own. “My cousin Tamit. You must remember. She made a wig for one of your dolls before she left.”

Anqet shook her head, her nerves on edge. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to help you. Tamit lives in the household of Lady Gasantra in Thebes. Gasantra is a rich woman of the court. Thebes is a great city, a city where one can hide. If we must, we can go to Thebes, to Tamit. The Lady Gasantra lives near the palace, in the Street of the
Scarab. Hauron would never find us there. Will you remember?”

“Yes. But I don’t think he’ll approach me until he gets me to his house.”

Hauron’s deep voice boomed outside the door. Her uncle’s chariot and horses were brought ashore, and Anqet found herself Hauron’s passenger. She cast an apprehensive look over her shoulder at the array of merchants ships, barges, and small reed canoes docked along the village shore. Aboard the yacht, Bastis stood at attention, her hand lifted in salutation. The woman’s lips formed a word, but Anqet couldn’t hear her over the barks of a foreman directing his crew to unload a cargo of oil and wine.

Hauron stepped into the chariot, in back of her, and grasped the reins of the team of horses. With a jerk that threw Anqet into his chest, he set the team prancing through and out of the village. She could smell the beer, even though she faced away from the man.

Anqet watched patch after patch of stubbled fields go by. Here in the Delta, the Nile deposited its soil in a wide fan instead of a narrow strip along the river bank. They passed more fields and herds of oxen on their way to byres near the village.

The sun had burst into a red death over the horizon by the time they clattered up to the overseer’s house. Hauron left Anqet in the chariot while he went inside. He returned immediately with the overseer and helped Anqet to the ground. The overseer nodded to Hauron as he jumped into the chariot and drove off before Anqet had time to protest. She turned to Hauron. He had left her and was entering the house.

Anqet watched the receding vehicle. Perhaps the man was going to care for the horses and would bring them back later. She followed Hauron into the house.

The overseer’s residence was a two-story mud-brick rectangle much like other village houses. Hauron waited for her in the combination storage room and office that made up most of the first floor. Beckoning to her, he led the way to the second floor where food and drink waited in
a small living area. The whitewashed room was littered with reed mats and brilliantly colored cushions. Pottery lamps cast uncertain light, but it wasn’t so dark that she couldn’t see that there was no one else in the room.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

Hauron delayed answering her until he had poured them each a glass of beer. He downed his own before answering.

“The family will be staying in the village for a while.” He refilled his glass.

Anqet set her glass down without tasting the beer. “Will your overseer be long attending the horses?”

“I told him to come back in a few days.”

“A few—why?”

Hauron sighed and set his beer down on the floor. Instead of replying, he stalked toward her. Anqet backed away until she was near the stairs. Hauron saw her intent and halted his advance. Still he said nothing. He merely stared at her.

Anqet could almost feel his gaze on her body. His eyes traveled from her face, down her neck, to her bosom and hips, and back to her face.

“No,” she said. She raised her voice. She repeated the word with finality. “No.”

Hauron’s face was flushed now, his eyes hungry. “That’s what she said eighteen years ago.”

Anqet watched Hauron wipe a film of perspiration from his upper lip. Raising his hands, Hauron lifted his wig from his head and tossed it to the floor. His hair was streaked with gray like the black granite near the First Cataract.

“I’m sick of this obsession,” he said.

“Uncle, I wish to return to the yacht.”

It was as if she hadn’t spoken. She didn’t think he’d heard her at all.

“You won’t refuse me as she did. You’re so like her. You’re even more beautiful.”

Hauron’s hand shot out. He grasped Anqet’s wrist and pulled her to him. Anqet cried out and struggled to
free herself, but Hauron caught her in both arms and crushed her to him, fastening his lips over hers in a savage kiss. He tasted of sour beer. Her fingers curled into claws, and Anqet dug them into the bare skin of her uncle’s arms. He grunted and forced her arms down to her sides, pinning them there.

“Ah, Taia, you were always such a fierce little thing.”

Anqet went still. She stared up at Hauron. “I’m Anqet.”

Hauron pulled her closer to him until she could feel a hard pressure between her legs. He laughed raggedly. “I know who you are, but it pleases me to think of you as Taia. I live with her memory day after day, and since I saw you, drink no longer brings relief. It only allows the demon to settle more firmly in my loins.”

Hauron smiled at Anqet while she gawked at him in disbelief. “I loved Taia, but she preferred the gentle Rahotep to me.” Hauron tightened his arms around Anqet. “After all this time, I thought myself free of her, but over the last days I learned that the only reason I’ve been free of torture was because I never saw you.” Hauron put one hand across her buttocks and pressed Anqet into his erection. His eyes closed, and he sucked in his breath. “Feel the demon you set loose inside me. By the gods, I can think of nothing but pleasuring myself with you. My phallus has swollen to the size of a bull’s, and I can’t endure the pain any longer.”

Anqet writhed, fighting to escape this man and his ugly words, but Hauron caught her chin and drew her face close to his.

“Taia,” he said. “You’re going to help me get rid of the demon, and you’ll enjoy doing it. You’ll see. I’m much better than my dreamy oryx of a brother.”

“No!” Anqet screamed.

She clawed and bit and kicked at Hauron as he half dragged, half carried her toward a pile of cushions. He lifted her off her feet, tossed her on the soft mountain, and dove at her before she could regain her balance. Anqet saw his body coming at her and in a reflex action lifted her
feet and kicked straight at the man’s groin. When Hauron crumpled to the floor, Anqet darted away from him, grasped an ale jar from its stand, and crashed it over her uncle’s head. Amber liquid and shards of pottery sprayed her face and gown, and Hauron lay silent and still, blood oozing from the deep cut on the back of his head.

Anqet stood over him, panting and waiting. Gradually she realized that he wasn’t going to get up. Then the isolation and helplessness of her situation overcame her, and she doubled over in tears. In that room filled with the smell of beer and old food, she cried until she had no tears left. After a while, she drew an uneven breath, straightened her shoulders, and began to think. First she must get away. Hauron’s injury would keep him from pursuit for many hours. She wasn’t sure how long he would be unconscious, but he wouldn’t be able to travel for a while. He had arranged for this isolation. No one would come to help him for days. She would find a place to hide and then try to think of a way to help herself.

Having a plan was a great comfort. Sheltered and protected she may have been, but her parents had given her the skills to think for herself. She would use them. Swiftly Anqet explored the house for what she would need. She could hardly travel alone dressed in jewels and a fine gown. She found an oversized coarse sheath, a scarf to cover her shoulders, and a head cloth. She removed her jewels and sandals and thrust them in a sack along with some food and a bronze knife. Hauron was sleeping peacefully. Anqet hesitated before wrapping a clean cloth over his wound, then ripped a linen sheet and tied his hands and feet and gagged him. Dousing the lamps, Anqet pattered down the stairs and out of the house.

Many days later, Anqet stood in an alley near the palace district in the western section of the city of Thebes. Her journey had been a slow one, filled with agonizing delays. She had returned to the village where her uncle’s yacht lay, even though she could not contact Bastis. She had to travel south to Thebes, and the only way to do that
was by boat. Anqet sought out the company of a barber and his family on their way from Tanis to their home south of Thebes.

The barber had a modest craft, big enough to carry himself, his wife, and their eight children. She paid for her passage with her gown. Her jewelry was too valuable for such an exchange and would have caused unwelcome speculation about where she had obtained it. So she sailed with the barber and his brood, and they stopped frequently for the man to ply his trade in exchange for fresh food. Until she finally reached Thebes, with each day that dragged by, Anqet expected to see Hauron’s yacht oaring after her.

Thebes, City of a Hundred Gates, home of Pharaoh, home of the great god Amun-Ra. The capital stretched along the east and west banks of the Nile in hodgepodge splendor. On the east bank lay the temple of Amun-Ra in its own miniature city. Greatest of all the temples of Egypt, its columns were encased in gold and electrum. They stretched high into darkness and dwarfed the hundreds of bald priests who scurried beneath them. On the west bank lay Pharaoh’s palaces. Even further west lay the royal mortuary temples; the living and dead kin of the gods rested in close proximity.

Thebes was a city of temples. To Anqet, making her way on foot to the palace district, it seemed that every god in Egypt, and every prince and king since the beginning of the Two Lands, had a temple in this city. Each temple had its covey of fat, officious priests. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d been forced to scurry to the side of the road to make way for some high priest or priestess as the worthy lumbered by in a chariot surrounded by a contingent of fledgling priests, servants, and guards. She had taken refuge in this alley to avoid yet another encounter.

Anqet waited for the procession to pass. She had asked for directions to the Street of the Scarab. If she was correct, this alley would lead directly to her goal. She followed the dusty, shaded path between windowless buildings,
anxious to reach the house of Lady Gasantra before dark. She hadn’t eaten since leaving her barber companion and his family earlier in the afternoon, and her stomach rumbled noisily. She hoped Tamit would remember her. They hadn’t seen each other for several years.

The alley twisted back and forth several times, but Anqet at last saw the intersection with the Street of the Scarab. Intent upon reaching the end of her journey, she ran into the road, into the path of an oncoming chariot.

There was a shout, then the screams of outraged horses as the driver of the chariot hauled his animals back. Anqet ducked to the ground beneath pawing hooves. Swerving, the vehicle skidded and tipped. The horses reared and stamped, showering stones and dust over Anqet.

From behind the bronze-plated chariot came a stream of oaths. Someone pounced on Anqet from the vehicle, hauling her to her feet by her hair, and shaking her roughly.

“You little gutter-frog! I ought to whip you for dashing about like a demented antelope. You could have caused one of my horses to break a leg.”

Anqet’s head rattled on her shoulders. Surprised, she bore with this treatment for a few moments before stamping on a sandaled foot. There was a yelp. The shaking stopped, but now two strong hands gripped her wrists. Silence reigned while her attacker recovered from his pain, then a new string of obscenities rained upon her. The retort she thought up never passed her lips, for when she raised her eyes to those of the charioteer, she forgot her words.

Eyes of deep green, the color of the leaves of a water lily. Eyes weren’t supposed to be green. Eyes were brown, or black, and they didn’t blaze with the molten fury of the Lake of Fire in the
Book of the Dead.
Anqet stared into those pools of malachite until, at a call behind her, they shifted to look over her head.

“Count Seth! My lord, are you injured?”

“No, Dega. See to the horses while I deal with this, this…”

Anqet stared up at the count while he spoke to his servant. He was unlike any man she had ever seen. Tall, slender, with lean, catlike muscles, he had wide shoulders that were in perfect proportion to his flat torso and long legs. He wore a short soldier’s kilt belted around his hips. A bronze corselet stretched tight across his wide chest; leather bands protected his wrists and accentuated elegant, long-fingered hands that gripped Anqet in a numbing hold. Anqet gazed back at Count Seth and noted the strange auburn tint of the silky hair that fell almost to his shoulders. He was beautiful. Exotic and beautiful, and wildly furious.

Count Seth snarled at her. “You’re fortunate my team wasn’t hurt or I’d take their cost out on your hide.”

Anqet’s temper flared. She forgot that she was supposed to be a humble commoner. Her chin came up, her voice raised in command.

“Release me at once.”

Shock made Count Seth obey the order. No woman spoke to him thus. For the first time, he really looked at the girl before him. She faced him squarely and met his gaze, not with the humility or appreciation he was used to, but with the anger of an equal.

Bareka! What an uncommonly beautiful commoner. Where in the Two Lands had she gotten those fragile features? Her face was enchanting. High-arched brows curved over enormous black eyes that glittered with highlights of brown and inspected him as if he were a stray dog.