Mara, Daughter of the Nile (33 page)

In Menfe, the baby had been born—a tiny man-child yelling lustily in the Egyptian night. Already the mother had tied a protective amulet about his wrist, and the father was hurrying to burn a pinch of incense for Nuit the Great Mother, in gratitude for the safe birth. As its fragrance drifted upward to the nose of the Starry One, she smiled serenely and allowed her lustrous eyes to move again to Thebes.

She could not find the scribe now; in the great villa under the sycamores she saw none but an old man in night clothes, standing alone by the gates with his bald head bowed in his hands. However, there was movement far away down the dark street—swift and reckless movement, and the clamor of hoofs. It was a chariot, driven full tilt by a young noble in a collar that rivaled Nuit’s own star-gemmed throat, and his
horses were black as her hair. She watched him with interest as he sped through one street and then another, and upon rounding the last corner beside the palace walls, pulled up short beside a clump of acacias she thought she remembered.

Aye, it was the same, for out of its dark shelter darted the river captain, who held a hurried conference with the nobleman, then set off at a lumbering trot around the curve of the palace wall. The other whipped up his horses and drove straight for the main gate. His voice, bold and demanding, floated faintly to Nuit’s faraway ear, and in a moment the palace gates swung open. At his barked order the sentry snapped to attention, raising his sword to salute as the chariot flashed past him and whirled down the East Avenue.

The Starry One had seldom encountered a more impetuous young man, and she found herself pleased by him. She wondered where he had sent the riverman, and to what purpose. After a brief search she discovered the captain some distance to the West, pounding heavily at a door of the long barracks which housed the pharaoh’s bodyguard. His answer was the flare of a lamp within, then the door swung open. Nuit blinked rapidly at the light, causing a thousand stars to twinkle. To her disappointment, the captain stepped into the lighted room where her night-seeing eyes could no longer follow him.

“General Khofra?” panted Nekonkh.

“I am he. What is it, man?”

“I bring the signal. Lord Sheftu’s orders—to be obeyed tonight, at once! He bids you rouse your soldiers. At the mark of four, exactly, they’re to march on the palace. Overpower the sentries first, and leave enough archers at the gates to hold off the regulars should they try to bring aid. Then—”

“Stay a moment!” burst out the general incredulously. “Tonight? The revolution’s to take place
tonight?
”

“At the mark of four, no later! Harken— Once in the palace, you’re to send a detachment to the king’s apartments, while you storm the throne room. Take plenty of men for that. We think the room’s full of regulars. You’ve just half an hour. Hasten!”

“You must be mad, my friend! I can’t do it that fast!”

“The gods willing, you
can!
” bellowed Nekonkh. “By Amon, you must! Lord Sheftu’s walked into the lion’s jaws, and he’ll die like a trapped rat if we don’t bring it off! He may anyway.” Nekonkh jammed his wig down more firmly onto his head and reached for the door latch.

“What of the other factions?” barked Khofra, who in spite of his protests was hurriedly buckling on his leather tunic. “The priesthood, the nobles who’ve sworn loyalty, the common folk. Have they been roused?”

“That’s where I’m going now, to rouse the nobles. I’ve comrades across the river doing the rest. By this time the queen’s high priest has fallen, if all’s gone well, and there’ll be a procession out of the temple at dawn, followed by the populace. They’ll do their parts, never fear. But without your seasoned troops—”

“They’re far from seasoned, Captain!” said the other grimly, seizing his helmet from a chair. “The thing’s impossible, but by every god in Egypt, I’ll do my best!”

“Luck go with you!” Nekonkh plunged out into the night again as Khofra vanished down the long hall of the barracks to rouse his soldiers.

Nuit did not see the captain emerge, for she was watching the young man in the shining collar. He had abandoned his chariot near the palace stables and set off at a run through a maze of gardens and courts. Ahead, in the direction he was running, lay the north wing of the Golden House, and the great hall where the woman Hatshepsut—she who arrogantly claimed descent from Nuit’s own glorious grandfather, Ra the Shining One—was accustomed to hold her
audiences. Something was happening in that hall, something ugly. But there was too much torchlight for Nuit’s dark-loving eyes to make out what it was. She felt a flicker of apprehension, quite unsuitable to a goddess, when she perceived that her bold young man was making straight for the anteroom that adjoined the hall. He passed into the mist of light that surrounded the portals, then to Nuit’s disappointment, he, like the captain, vanished through a torchlit door.

She shrugged her starry shoulders. These scurrying mortals had amused her, but now she would spend what remained of the hours of darkness in admiring her beauty in the mirror of the Nile. She began to do so, but soon the urgent calling of a woman in the Delta recalled to her mind her age-old duties, and she forgot Thebes as she ushered another new Egyptian into the world.

Mara swam up slowly out of her sea of dark oblivion. Someone was splashing cold water into her face, and shaking her roughly.

They will only beat me again, she thought, keeping her eyes shut. I’ll pretend …

But even as she planned it she gasped and cringed as the hand touched her raw shoulders.

“She’s but feigning now,” said Nahereh. “Up on your knees, you!”

But it was not his voice which forced her eyes wide open suddenly, jarred her whole mind alert. It was another voice, outside in the anteroom, and a stir among the soldiers who stood nearest the doors.

“Up on your knees, I said!” repeated Nahereh. Then, impatiently, “What is that? Who’s outside there?”

“A noble who demands admittance, Excellence,” mumbled one of the soldiers. “He seems most—”

“Let him in,” commanded Hatshepsut.

Mara raised herself to her knees, disregarding the pain the movement caused her. It couldn’t be—it mustn’t! But it
was. The tall doors swung open and an arrogant, gold-decked figure she had never thought to see again strolled through them and bowed with debonair grace toward the throne.

“Good evening, Radiant One! Excellencies, rejoice!” remarked Lord Sheftu.

He did not glance at Mara, nor did she at him, after her first agonized recognition. Her attention froze on Sahure, whose sudden intent frown showed that it was only a matter of moments until the jeweled collar and golden headcloth would no longer confuse him. Had Sheftu noticed him? He must have, and he must be all but reeling from the shock of it.
Ai
, why did he come! thought Mara. Whatever plan he’d had in mind, it was defeated before it began.

“You might rather say good morning,” the queen was remarking irritably. “Have we turned night into day, or is it your habit, Lord Sheftu, to visit the palace at this hour? I supposed this audience was secret.”

“Your Radiance, it is difficult to keep anything secret in the city of Thebes, when both servants and rivermen gossip like magpies—often with each other. I felt my place was by Your Majesty’s side. However—” the smooth voice took on a note of amusement—“I seem to have overestimated the emergency. Where are the criminals, Daughter of the Sun? Surely my lord Nahereh’s adroit and fearless coup netted more than one wretched slave girl!”

“A poor catch indeed, but all we have,” returned the queen, frowning at Nahereh, who had gone red with anger. “And the stubborn wench has told us naught!”

“Perhaps she knows naught,” suggested Sheftu carelessly. “But whether she be innocent or guilty, Your Majesty has been ill-advised in the manner of questioning her,” he added, with a glance at Senmut “The maid looks half-dead.”

“Should she defy pharaoh and go unpunished?” snarled Senmut.

“Nay. But on the other hand, of what value is her corpse?”

Mara listened breathlessly. By Amon! Already he had contrived to make the whole matter seem vaguely ridiculous, and the count and Lord Nahereh a pair of fools. Could it be possible that— Then she glanced at the juggler and her heart sank. His narrowed eyes were gleaming. He had realized the truth. But would he dare accuse so great a lord? He could prove nothing …

“If Your Majesty will allow me,” Sheftu was saying easily, “I might soothe the maid a little, tempt her with some small reward—”

“Nay, we’ve tried that. My majesty offered her both gold and freedom. She scorned them.”

“She
scorned
them?” Sheftu was not acting now, and there was a note in his voice that stirred Mara to a deep, unreasonable joy. As if he could not believe what he had heard, he repeated, “She refused a bribe?”

“Aye, she did, the wretch!”

There was a little silence, and when Sheftu spoke again his voice shook almost imperceptibly. “In that case, naught on earth can unseal her lips. Perhaps, after all, she knows nothing …”

“And perhaps she knows much!” It was a new voice—Sahure’s. It rang loud and derisive through the room. “But
you
know more—Sashai!”

Every head jerked toward the juggler, still crouched on his knees but now pointing a long, accusing finger at Lord Sheftu.

“How dare you speak without permission?” gasped the queen.

Sheftu went on at once, as if good breeding alone forbade him to notice an outrageous interruption. “And if she knows naught, Your Majesty—”

“Wait!” cried Count Senmut. “Let the juggler speak! Did he say ‘Sashai’?”

“I did, Lion of Courage and Wisdom!
That
is Sashai—he who stands before you in fine raiment and gold! He is the scribe of the Falcon—the same, the same!”

The queen rose to her feet. “What is this babble! Do you know of whom you speak, insolent fool? That is Lord Sheftu, son of Menkau the Friend of Kings, and my trusted courtier!”

“He is also Sashai, Your Magnificence! He is the same, I swear it!”

Sheftu’s amused voice broke in. “Who is this madman? He intrigues me.”

“Of course he’s mad!” cried the queen. “He offends my majesty! Take him away, Nahereh.”

“Your Radiance, wait!” Count Senmut stepped forward, and the harsh furrows of his smile deepened slowly in his face as he studied Sheftu. “Surely my lord would be even more intrigued if this juggler could prove his claims. That would be amusing, would it not? Speak, juggler! Have you proof?”

“I have, Lion of Wisdom!”

The queen stiffened. Nahereh pulled the juggler toward him, and Mara caught her breath in sharp and sudden fear.

“You can
prove
this accusation?” burst out Nahereh. “Speak, then, quickly!”

“Let his Highest Excellence the Architect look upon the left wrist of the great Lord Sheftu—”

Oh Amon, it’s over, it’s all over, he’s lost! thought Mara, and the fragile bubble of hope that had been growing in her burst, all in an instant.

“What will I find there?” asked Count Senmut, moving toward Sheftu stealthily, like a great cat.

“An amulet of strange design, Highest Excellence. I have not seen it this night, for his wrist is hidden from me, here where I kneel. Nevertheless I will describe it to you, for I know it well, aye, well, from the wrist of Sashai …”

“Describe it, then!” Senmut seized Sheftu’s wrist, and hiding it from the juggler with his own body stared down at it.

“It is a twist of flax thread strung with seven green beads, and knotted seven times. There is a flat bead of carnelian in the midst of the seven, inscribed on both sides. Is it not as I say, Excellence?”

Slowly the Architect’s eyes climbed up to rest on Sheftu’s immobile face. “It is as you say.” He flung Sheftu’s wrist down. “Here is your traitor, Radiant One—the incorruptible Sheftu!”

“Osiris!” whispered the queen, dropping back upon her throne. “It cannot be! It cannot be!”

For Mara, time itself seemed to halt. Then Sheftu sighed, shrugged and turned to Count Senmut.

“So it is over, comrade,” he said. “We had best admit everything, had we not? But it is sad, that in spite of all our precautions—”

“
We!
” Senmut was staring at him, suddenly ashen.

“Great Amon, what are you saying?” Hatshepsut fairly screamed. “Do you tell me that Count Senmut, too—”

The Architect whirled to her. “Majesty, it is a lie! He but seeks to drag me down with him! Radiant One—you do not believe—”

“Oh come,” put in Sheftu coolly. “The game’s over. We’ve been comrades, let us die like men.”

“Curse you! You’ll die like a rat, here and now—” Senmut sprang upon him savagely, a knife flashed upward, only to clash upon another that seemed to leap of itself into Sheftu’s fist. In an instant the room was pandemonium; Nahereh’s cloak fanned Mara as he rushed forward, Hatshepsut was on her feet, shrieking orders that brought soldiers flying from every corner of the room. Mara, torn between terror and wild elation, found herself standing erect, hurling defiance at all of them at the top of her voice. Then the knot of soldiers around the two men burst apart, Nahereh staggered back, and there was Sheftu, held fast by two soldiers, with
his fine robe torn but his eyes flashing. On the floor at his feet sprawled the body of Count Senmut.

“So!” breathed Hatshepsut. “One is gone—and the other shall follow!” Her voice rose with fury. “You stand condemned of treason and murder, my lord Sheftu! At sunrise you die.”

“And my secrets with me,” taunted Sheftu.

The queen’s features seemed to freeze; for the first time Mara saw a glint of real fear in her eyes. “What mean you? There are others?”

Sheftu laughed softly, and pharaoh rose as if the sound itself drew her to her feet. “Cease this mockery! What secrets?”

“Aye, what? And when is it to happen? And who will do it? Count your hours, Hatshepsut, for there are few left, and you will not enjoy them. Who can you point to now and say with confidence, ‘He is my friend’? Your court is full of traitors, and you know them not! But I know them.”