Reflections in the Nile (36 page)

Shouts from the next room roused Cheftu. He looked at Chloe, snuggled into the sheets like a cat, one hand curled beneath her face. He tucked linens in around her and went to the sitting room, closing the lightweight door behind him.

Ehuru was on his pallet, stirring. Two soldiers stood inside the room. A faint odor of illness still emanated from them, and neither was standing with the precision of the military. They crossed their chests, and one spoke:

“Horus-in-the-Nest requests your presence in the audience chamber, my lord. We will wait for you to wash and dress.”

Cheftu waved to the chairs and table. “Then please seat yourselves before you fall. I would call for refreshments, but the servants are all unwell.” The soldiers sat down, and Cheftu went into his bathing room, rinsed, and donned his robe. Without disturbing Chloe, he dressed for court, but in the blue of mourning for those who had died. After strapping on a leather belt and collar, he left the room, unable to shave himself or apply the necessary makeup. It felt strange to greet the world this way, a breach of proper etiquette, but this was a national emergency.

If Thut did not keep to his word, it would be a national disaster.

While following the guards through columned walkways unattended and unswept, Cheftu realized the palace was in shambles. They entered the audience chamber through one of the side passages. He was startled to see so many people present, but they were all sick. Open wounds from the previous plague were healing but still unsightly. No one was shaved, and very few had indulged in the elaborate toilette required for court.

Thut was dressed for battle, from his blue-and-white leather helmet to his leather shinguards. He sat on his stool, reading a missive. Cheftu bowed to him and began to move away, but Thut called to him. “It seems my aunt-mother has heard of my actions,” he said, voice accusatory. “News travels too quickly.” He glared at Cheftu for a few moments and then waved him away. “Even now the Israelites await my pleasure.”

Cheftu seated himself with the nobles, listening to tales of lost and wounded acquaintances, of how the plagues had affected everyone from Hapuseneb to Nesbek, down to the papyrus gleaners who lived in the marshes. Some men were angry and wanted retribution. Others wanted to kill the “questing Apiru sons of Set” Still others wanted the slaves to leave, with their flocks and families, and never, ever return to the red and black lands of Kemt.

The chamberlain, leaning against his staff at the end of the room, banged it on the floor and in a feeble voice declared the entrance of Moshe and Aharon.

The doors opened and they walked in, looking taller, stronger, and far more fit than every Egyptian in the room combined, Cheftu thought. They approached Thut, sketching bows in the air.

“You have requested this audience, slave?” Thut said. Apparently his pleading from the day before was not to be repeated.

Moshe did not seem surprised but spoke in ringing tones the words François had learned in one of the many lessons of Père André's catechism.

“You break your promise, Prince, therefore this is what Elohim, God of the Israelites, says: ‘How long will you refuse to humble yourself before me? Let my people go that they may worship me. If you refuse to let them go, I will bring locusts into your country tomorrow. They will cover the face of the ground so that it cannot be seen. They will devour what little you have left after the hail, including every tree that is growing in your fields. They will fill your houses and those of all your officials and all the Egyptians. It will be something never seen since the time of Menes-Aha, the unifier of Egypt, until this co-regency of Pharaoh Hatshepsut and Thutmosis the Third.”

The court was transfixed, staring after Moshe and Aharon as they left, the door slamming shut with finality. Almost as if a spell were broken, the group began to buzz.

Thut stomped one sandaled foot on the floor. “Silence! You sound like a gaggle of geese in the marshes!” He held up his hand. “This has arrived from Pharaoh Hatshepsut, living forever!” The group fell silent. “She is even now on her way down the Nile to assist us. She commands”—his voice echoed through the chamber—“that the Israelites be brought to heel.” His muddy gaze found Cheftu. “She is displeased with the way I have handled this situation. She wants the slaves to stay. She says that ‘Amun-Ra is more powerful and will vanquish or assimilate this barbarian desert deity.’ Those are her exact words.”

The nobles began clamoring, and Cheftu rose to his feet, as one of the few who could stand unassisted. “Prince,” he pleaded, “the hail was destructive. It erased our annual crops of flax and barley. The wheat and spelt were protected, still unbudded. This God has given us a way to survive. Let them go!”

Thut's face reflected his inner struggle: to do what was best for Egypt and suffer the ridicule of Hatshepsut or to choose Hat's favor and the hordes of locusts? Cheftu sat down. There was no question who would win. “Curse Thut, and curse his stubborn pride,” Cheftu muttered through gritted teeth.

Sennedjm, a wealthy lord and merchant in far-off Medina, stood. He was young and healthy with a reputation for being an honorable and just man. The group quieted. “Thutmosis, my friend” he said, “we have fought at each other's side, we have traded stories of our wives, and our children have played together.” He turned to the other men. “My son Senenbed, though only eight summers old, longs to be a general in Thut's army when Pharaoh ascends to Osiris.” The men in the group grinned, each of them thinking of the family that awaited their return. The young lord looked back to his friend the prince and raised his hands in supplication.

“Thutmosis, how long will you let this man catch us in his snare like a hunter? We have no protection, and his god has a very sharp sword, ready to divide our bones and marrow. Let the people go, so they may worship their god. Do you not yet realize that Egypt is ruined?” Sennedjm looked beseechingly at Thut, and the surrounding courtiers applauded him, both for his eloquence and for his nerve.

He sat in silence, and finally Thut motioned to the solitary slave in the chamber. “Bring the brothers,” he said. The atmosphere in the room changed as a peace with their actions floated among the nobles. Once again the Apiru entered, their reed sandals slapping on the stone floor.

Thut stopped them with his hand when they were midway down the hall. “Go and worship your ‘elohim,’” he bellowed. ‘Tell me who will be going.”

Cheftu pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes-tiredly. This disaster was not going to be averted. He didn't need to hear Moshe's answer and Thut's ever more enraged rejoinders to realize an even greater plague was coming.

He watched through a veil of depression as the two soldiers who could stand drew their swords and chased the Apiru from the room. Damn your eyes, Thutmosis III, he swore. Cheftu slipped undismissed from the audience chamber and went back to his apartments.

Someone was feeling better, he noted. The halls were swept and the smell of fresh baking bread rose in the hot, sunlit air. He entered his chamber and found Ehuru, eyes bright, sitting up and instructing two young Israelites on how to get food from the kitchens and where to take the linens for washing. Meneptah was seated at the table with Chloe, and they were eating from a tray of bruised fruit He crossed his breast with respect but also smiled widely at Cheftu.

Chloe, apparently alerted by his expression, hurried to his side. “What is it? What is the problem?”

Cheftu let himself be seated and took a sip of wine. Speaking in his heavily accented English, he said, “Do you know what is the Passover for the Jews?”

“Aye,” Chloe said, paling as she glanced at a confused Meneptah.

“It appears it will happen. The prince has not backed away. He is determined to destroy Egypt”

Chloe began to peel an orange. “What is next?”

“Locusts, tomorrow.” Cheftu accepted the portion she handed him and looked at Meneptah. “My friend,” he said in Egyptian, “you must listen carefully. Your prophet Moshe has foretold that locust swarms will come tomorrow and destroy the land. You must prepare for the journey into the desert.”

“The plagues have never affected us before,” Meneptah protested.

“God did not say you would be the exception this time,” Cheftu said. “You must protect yourselves. Marshal whomever you can and go to the fields and along the river. The garlic and onions are almost ripe, the trees are filled with fruit; pick everything. Before you go to your couches tonight, seal up all your food tightly. Leave out only bread and beer. Then, when the locusts leave, you will still have green nourishment. Go, my friend.”

Meneptah rose to his feet. “Will you and the lady RaEm be traveling with us?” He looked from one to the other.

Cheftu answered evenly, “We have not decided, but we still have time to decide.”

The Israelite walked to the garden door. Cheftu's call stopped him. “Do not come back to the palace unless and until I send for you. Egypt is angry, and you wear the clothing of your tribe. You are in danger.”

T
HEY SPENT THE AFTERNOON DOING
as Cheftu had recommended to the slaves: scrounging for onions, lettuces, fruit, and flavorful herbs along the riverbank. Ra was dying by fire that night, and the sky was shades of crimson and gold as Cheftu paddled their skiff around in the mosquito-laden evening.

When they returned to the palace, Cheftu ordered a dinner and bath for them, dismissing Ehuru to the servants’ dining hall. He poured Chloe a goblet of wine and held it to her lips. She sipped the heady fermented dates, tingling at the look in Cheftu's eyes. “The next days are going to be from Set,” he said. “Let us enjoy each other while we can.”

“Your wish is my command,” she said teasingly. A bandaged slave brought in a tray with bread and honey-roasted fowl, and Cheftu dismissed him with a smile. He drew Chloe close to him, resting her against his chest, cradled between his thighs.

Holding her in his arms, he tore pieces off the bird and fed her, watching her intently. She tried to serve him, but he gently placed her hands in her lap. “Allow me, beloved.” They said nothing, and Chloe feasted on the sensations of their bodies touching, firing her anticipation.

She took another of the honey-dripping pieces from Cheftu's fingertips, but as she did, she licked off the honey, shivering when he inhaled sharply. He continued to feed her, but some of his dexterity was gone; his hands shook.

Chloe licked the honey off his fingers again, chuckling at Cheftu's muffled moan. He reached forward and covered his fingers with the sticky substance, then reached inside her linen robe, caressing its warmth onto her skin. She gasped her head thrown back. “What flavor is this?” she asked breathless. Both hands now covered with the sticky sauce, he caressed her, from her shoulder down her flat abdomen, coating her thighs, and then, softly, creeping together to meet over her throbbing center. She looked at him. “Please,” she whispered.

“Patience, beloved” Gently he disentangled himself and went to the table for a drink of water. “We must make it last, Chloe. Hell comes tomorrow, and I do not know when we will be together again, fed and safe. We will need this memory between us, as sustenance.” He set down the goblet. “It is still only the beginning of the terrors.”

He turned Chloe was breathing deeply, the tracks of honey glistening designs on her brown skin. Kneeling beside her, he raised her chin with a finger and tasted her lips. They were sticky with honey and hungry. He taunted her with long kisses, twisting his fingers in her black hair. “Lie back, beloved,” he said and pressed her away. She lay, without comment, her robe around her waist arid her green eyes glowing.

He filled his mouth with the sweetness of warm honey, his hearing dimmed with desire. Her skin was soft and supple under the sticky coating, the muscles tightly knit together, undulating gently with his attentions. Her hands moved over him, pressing him to her body. Cheftu pushed himself up, but before he could move over her, she scooted away from him, close to the dinner tray. He swallowed hard as she untied her robe and laid both hands in the dish of honey.

She drew to her knees and pressed her hands on her body, slowly, slowly, moving them down, a look of sensual abandonment in her eyes. Her head fell back and her eyes closed and he heard her tiny gasps as the warm honey trickled over her sensitized skin.

His bream quickened as she caressed her breasts and moved across her belly between her legs. Unconsciously his fingers moved as if he could feel her. She turned back to the honey dish and poured the remainder over her hands and moved toward him. He untied his kilt and let the fabric and the underapron fall away, his eyes focused, entranced, on her cupped and dripping hands.

They met thigh to thigh, belly to belly, and Cheftu kissed her deeply, tracing the warm streaks on her skin. When her lips began to move down his chest, he ground his teeth. She took one of her cupped hands and poured the remaining honey across his torso, creating a slow waterfall across the plain of his chest and abdomen. He groaned as her other honey-coated hand gripped his stones and stroked upward drenching the hard length of him with honey.

Chloe followed the tracks of honey across his smooth chest, her teeth teasing his flat nipples. His hands gripped her derriere, pulling her to him. She withdrew with a sizzling smile and continued her kissing pilgrimage. Cheftu sank onto his haunches, his body now glistening with sweat in addition to honey. Then Chloe's mouth was on him, and he fell back on his forearms, staring blindly at the ceiling as he felt her tongue caress him, nipping, swirling. He was shaking with control, letting his naked goddess of love work her magic behind a veil of black hair and honeyed skin.

Desperate to not unman himself, he began to count the types of grapes in his vineyard, in Egyptian, French,
and
English. His long fingers scrabbled hopelessly against the floor as wave after wave of sensuality assaulted him. “Aurelia, Lenoir, Blanc du Bois, Champanel, Chardonnay, Chenin Blanc …” Her excited moans were not helping. They battered his body and emotions. “Fredonia, Concord …”