Day of the False King (32 page)

Semerket felt his scalp prickle; he had not
considered this possibility. “What else have you seen in your heavens,
Mother Mylitta?” he asked quietly.

“This I have seen. I’ve seen how you destroy
those who love you. I’ve seen how death dogs your every step. You’re a
catastrophe to those who attach themselves to you, for you bring such
pain to them that you can in a trice annihilate all their joy of
living.”

Semerket dropped his eyes, unable to
withstand her forthright gaze. Everything she said was true.

“Now you know why I could not let her go to
you, or even tell you she was here — not until I showed her myself what
the stars predicted for you.”

“And have you told her?”

“Tonight. Then she will decide for herself
what her future will be. Know that she has been offered a place here.
It’s the right we grant to all the women who ask our help. No man may
claim her from these premises without her own consent.”

He swallowed. “When will I know her
decision?”

“Wait outside the gate at midmorning,
tomorrow. You will have your answer then. But mind you, do not yell at
our gate, for it is the Day of the False King and we have our own
rituals to perform.”

SO HE SAT in the hot sun on
the Day of the False King, his feet dangling in the gagu’s moat. Hope
seared Semerket’s soul, yet despair also chilled him. What would she
decide, knowing that life with him meant having death for their
constant companion? But Mother Mylitta had done nothing other than
confirm what everyone in Egypt already instinctively knew — that
Semerket was a Follower of Set, a man of chaos and danger.

Screams erupted in the nearby courtyard, and
he quickly turned his head, his heart in his throat. But the crowd was
only watching the antics of gymnasts walking a tight rope; one of them
had pretended to fall, catching herself at the last moment.

Semerket breathed deeply to calm himself.

There were a myriad of smells in the air
that day — fish from the river sizzled on the food vendors’ griddles;
fresh-baked bread dipped in honey was given free to children (his gorge
rose, for after the crypts he doubted that he would ever willingly
taste honey again); waterfowl turned on spits, their skins crackling in
the flames’ heat, fat dripping down to sputter on the orange coals.

Yet he knew at once when her familiar scent
of citrus oil came over him, obliterating every other smell.

He turned.

“My love,” she said.

Then she was in his arms.

IN LATER YEARS,
Semerket would remember those short weeks that followed the Day of the
False King as the happiest of his life. He and Naia were honored guests
in the sanctuary of Bel-Marduk, where his one-time slave was crowned
king of Babylonia. They winced when High Magus Adad slapped Marduk
smartly across the face before setting the mitered crown on his head.
Tersely, Adad reminded both Marduk and the crowded room that kings in
Babylonia are mortal, and that kingship is a painful duty. Despite that
moment of shock, the ceremony proved so long and intricate that he and
Naia fidgeted with boredom. They leaned forward, rapt, however, when
Marduk stepped forward to grasp the outstretched golden hand of
Bel-Marduk’s idol. Semerket half-expected that lightning would strike,
or that the fonts of holy water would begin to boil, but nothing of the
sort happened. Yet, when he thought about it later, he realized that
something holy and mystical had indeed occurred, the quiet miracle of a
people taking back their nation after three hundred years of servitude
to foreigners. And, perhaps most miraculous of all, he had played a
part in it.

At the festivities that night, Nidaba sang a
special song of praise to Semerket. Sitting with Naia at the royal
dais, he was more embarrassed than flattered. Naia snickered behind her
hand as he flushed red, struggling to assume a dignified air as Nidaba
intoned the thanks of a grateful nation. Though her voice was thrilling
as ever, the ancient text Nidaba sang alluded to tales with which he
and Naia had little familiarity. The two of them slipped away from the
festivities as early as decency would allow.

More than the honors and gifts that Marduk
showered on them, it was their time alone in their hostel’s bed,
whispering the night away, that Semerket would remember always as their
happiest moments. And it was there, as she nestled in his arms, that
Naia revealed the remaining pieces of the mystery to him.

“When did you know I was alive?” she asked,
stroking the scar on his forehead.

“The moment I saw Princess Pinikir in that
terrible jar, wearing the scarf I gave you. I knew exactly what you’d
done, you stupid woman —”

“What
did you call me?”

“You changed clothes with her, didn’t you?
To save her life.”

“What if I did?” she admitted, unwilling but
still defiant.

“Stupid.”

“But, Semerket! I didn’t think they’d come
after a servant. She had a child at home waiting for her —”

“And you didn’t?”

“But I had no hope of ever returning to
him.” Naia’s eyes became moist. “Poor woman. I thought she might have a
chance of seeing him again if she was dressed like a servant. How could
I know that my poor robes actually made her a target?”

“As hers made you one.”

“Ah, but by then the mansion was in flames
and there was no one to see me go out the back door.”

He held her close. “And then you hid in the
river.”

“I?” she said, surprised. “No.”

“But you were dripping wet when you went
into the village, jabbering madly in Egyptian. Did you know that the
villagers thought you were a river nymph, speaking the language of
immortals?”

“Did they really?” she said, momentarily
charmed by the notion. “No, when the raiders set fire to the
plantation, I ran out the back way through the flames. The princess’s
mantle had caught fire, so I jumped into the well. The river was much
too far away, and they would surely have seen me in the light of the
flames. It took me all night to climb back up that rope.”

“Clever girl.”

“So now I’m clever!”

“I admit it. And beautiful, too.”

They kissed, for how long a time Semerket
did not know.

“So after you hid in the village, you went
to the gagu.”

“It was the only place I knew to go. Mother
Mylitta had offered us sanctuary earlier that night. Rami was dead — at
least I thought he was — and you certainly weren’t there to rescue me.
I didn’t know what else to do, other than go to her.”

A sudden horrid thought struck him. “When
you were at the gagu,” he asked, “what were your duties there?”

“They sent me out with the donkey trains
sometimes, to help deliver the gold they covered in bitumen. Why?”

He thought back to that moment when he had
arrived in Babylon, when he had seen the gagu’s women for the first
time. Semerket had almost called out to one of them because she had
reminded him of Naia.

Sweet Isis, he wondered — what if that woman
truly had been his wife all along?

Naia saw his brow furrow in self-reproach.
“Ketty, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Firmly he put
the thought aside. Everything had turned out well in the end and there
was no use in rebuking himself for things that might have been.

“Were you happy in the gagu?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“What changed your mind about staying there?”

“What do you mean, ‘changed my mind’? I
never intended to stay there in the first place. I am not the type to
spend my life among women. You should know me well enough by now to
realize that.” She pressed herself close to him.

“Even after Mother Mylitta told you about my
future? How dangerous it would be?”

“Even then.”

“What convinced you I was worth the risk?”

“Oh, really, as if she were telling me
anything I didn’t already know! These astrologers always predict the
obvious and then expect everybody to gasp in awe. Ketty, I’ve always
known you work in a dangerous profession. And I’ve always known you’re
worth the risk. As for the rest of it, the dangers ahead — if they
really exist — we’ll face them together, won’t we?”

“Kiss me,” he said.

“I just did.”

“Again.”

AT THE END of the festival,
guards escorted the two False Kings into a nearby temple. There, magi
and shamans read from prayer books, rattling their sistra and blowing
into shrill pipes.

“What are these fools doing now?” muttered
the Asp.

“I don’t know!” hissed Menef in misery. He
was bruised and stinking from the many pieces of offal and shards of
broken pottery hurled at him during the festival.

The two were unaware that their most
important function as False Kings would soon commence. The priests
began to cast spells, ensuring that all the sins committed by King
Marduk during the previous year were magically transferred to them.
They also did not know that at the end of every festival, the False
King was slain so that he could take the true king’s sins with him into
the underworld. In ancient days, when the country had been poor, a goat
was used for the ceremony. But as Babylon grew more prosperous and
sophisticated, men were given the honor instead.

It was the prerogative of the reigning king
to decide whether to be merciful when slaying a False King. Since Menef
had been a dignitary and the Asp a soldier, Marduk (after consulting
with Semerket) decided to administer a drug-laced wine to them. Shortly
thereafter, they fell into a coma.

It was not a deep sleep, however, for the
drug was not a powerful one. When they awoke, almost simultaneously,
they found themselves in a brick cell, stripped of all their royal
raiment. They had no idea where they were, and looked about in hazy
wonder.

A small window in a nearby door suddenly
snapped shut.

They heard a muffled order given from
outside the cell. Only when Menef heard the grinding sound of gears
moving into place above him did he know, finally, where he was. Then he
began to scream, just as Semerket had.

The Asp, however, did not waste his breath
with screaming. He reached out and seized the former Egyptian
ambassador by his shoulders, and threw him to where the insects were
streaming from their lairs. They immediately engulfed Menef, his body
becoming a roiling mass of double-jointed legs and jaws and fluttering
wings. Soon the ambassador was dead, yet still his body moved and
writhed.

If the Asp thought the insects would be
content with only Menef, he was mistaken. When the insects had reduced
the ambassador to a glistening pile of milky bones, they turned with
clicks and hisses toward the second False King, staring at him with
their flat, shiny eyes.

Then it was the Asp’s turn to scream.
Briefly.

SOME WEEKS LATER,
on a day that the magi declared the most auspicious, the priests moved
Bel-Marduk’s idol into his shrine of carved and gilded wood, to be
strapped atop a wagon drawn by a hundred oxen. The wagon itself had
twelve wooden wheels, inlaid with ivory, surmounted by two carved,
winged dragons. The wagon gleamed with a fresh coat of paint, and its
traceries of gold and inset gems gleamed in the hot sun. Silver bells
strung around the wagon rang riotously in the morning air, frightening
away any ill-intentioned demons that might be lurking. The ox-drivers
eased the huge wagon onto the road that led to the northwest; as it
moved slowly forward, it seemed indeed a coach fit for heaven’s
corridors.

Behind it was a secondary wagon, where
Semerket rode beside High Magus Adad. Semerket was clad in a plain
white linen tunic, wearing the scarred and bent badge of office that
Pharaoh had bestowed on him. Never again would he be without it; the
falcon jewel had saved his life, and he now regarded it with
superstitious awe.

As the secondary coach was pulled into
position behind the god’s equipage, the high magus leaned over to
Semerket, whispering into his ear, “I knew all along we’d be going to
Egypt together, you know. A sheep’s liver told me.”

Semerket merely smiled, saying nothing, and
turned to look at the god’s entourage that followed behind.

An array of carts, chariots, and drays
composed the rest of the god’s train. In them were Bel-Marduk’s lesser
magi and his singers, as well as a bevy of beautiful virgins to warm
his nights. A long line of Isin soldiers marched beside them,
protection for their journey into Egypt.

Also in the entourage, at its rear, was a
small cart bearing three coffins carved in the Egyptian manner. They
contained the newly mummified bodies of Senmut, Wia, and Aneku.
Semerket himself would ensure that a fine tomb would be fashioned for
them in Thebes’ City of the Dead. It was the least he could do for
them, he reasoned.

Behind that cart was the litter that carried
Rami. Though the boy declared himself well enough to sit beside
Semerket at the front of the queue, both Naia and his attending
physician, Kem-weset, forbade him to do so. Despite his sternness, the
old physician was all smiles that morning, for he had eagerly accepted
Semerket’s invitation to care for them along their tedious, dangerous
passage. Babylon was thus losing its greatest physician, and its
wineshops their most devout patron. Naia and Kem-weset rode close to
Rami’s litter on little white donkeys, fiercely guarding the lad like a
pair of eagles watching over their chick.

Cheering crowds of Dark Heads lined the
road, come to bid their god a safe journey. Prominent in the crowd were
the brothers Galzu and Kuri, Semerket’s former spies. The night before,
Semerket had given them a sack full of Pharaoh’s gold (for had they not
twice saved the life of Pharaoh’s envoy?), and they were now counted
among the richest men in Babylon. Arrayed in splendid robes and
feathered turbans, the brothers bowed elaborately as Semerket passed.
He nodded his head gravely to them, saluting them in the Egyptian
fashion.