Suzanne Robinson (11 page)

“What you mean is, you’ve robbed a few tombs and want to get rid of the spoils before Pharaoh sends his agents throughout the Two Lands looking for purloined grave furnishings.”

Merab swallowed a bunch of coconut in one gulp. He waved at the count to silence him.

“Don’t you think Osiris knows what offense we commit against his land of the dead?” said Seth. “The god who rose after his death surely sees what you do.”

“I’m more concerned with making sure no mortal hears of it, my lord.” Merab poked his head around the comer of the storehouse. He rejoined Seth. “I need cargo vessels. In ten days they must be at Edfou.”

Anqet listened, horror making her stomach churn. She clutched the amulet of the buckle for protection. She repeated to herself a prayer in the words of power given to her by the magician:
Blood of Isis, and the strength of Isis, be mighty to act as powers to protect me, and to guard me from him that would do unto me any abomination.

They were grave robbers. She had heard of such people. In one of the villages near Nefer, an old man had been caught stealing food from graves, but he had been poor and without family to care for him. These men were different. They robbed out of greed. No. Count Seth was many things, but not greedy. He ravished eternal houses because it pleased him to do so. So much was plain from the mocking way he talked of the business.

As she came to this last conclusion, heaviness settled over Anqet. It was as if her twin spirits, her ba and her ka, grieved. Had she hoped this man might turn out to be something other than what he was? Tears stung her eyes. She dabbed at them angrily with a comer of her shift. Why was she so stupid—to hope that Seth’s body housed a soul equal in beauty to that pleasing exterior?

They were leaving. Merab lumbered off in the direction of the palace. Seth made his graceful way toward the rear gatehouse, humming the cattle herder’s tune. Anqet watched him go, but made no move to leave her rooftop.

What should she do? Should she tell someone of her
discovery? Whom would she tell? Who would believe her, a singer? Wisdom born of danger and hardship told Anqet that she would be dead before the truth of her story could be verified, She was in the palace, and the palace was Seth’s domain and Merab’s, not hers. Yet she could not let them continue to commit atrocities.

Anqet chewed her lip, deep in thought. She heard the scurryings of rats in the room below. Somewhere she heard the crash of broken pottery and a muffled curse.

If she could get word to Pharaoh—but no humble cup bearer such as herself spoke to Pharaoh. Even the king’s thanks had come to her by way of Count Seth. The Great Royal Wife was as unreachable. Anqet thought of the glamorous young lords who served the ruler of the Two Lands. Not one would listen, and many served under Seth, commander of the king’s chariots. Perhaps she should speak to a priest. There were many Divine Servants and Pure Ones in attendance at the palace. They served Pharaoh, especially when the king went to the temple of Amun-Ra to converse with the god. Surely one of them would listen and speak to his superior, the high priest. The high priest could certainly approach Pharaoh.

A course of action, that was what she needed. She needed proof of her accusations. If only she knew where these criminals hid some of their stolen riches. She should have listened to the two men more closely instead of cowering in fear. She remembered that some of Count Seth’s vessels were to travel downriver, picking up concealed shipments. What had been their parting words? Ah! The one called Merab had asked for another meeting. Tomorrow night they would meet behind this same building. Anqet would be in her perch above them and listen.

Aghast at her own daring, she slinked down the staircase. As her foot touched ground, Seth’s menacing words came to mind: “Do you know what happens to people who come upon the secrets of the great?”

She would be sure that she was well away from Thebes before the magnificent lord of the Falcon nome discovered that she knew his secrets.

Clad only in a loincloth, his body sweating in the afternoon sunlight, Seth gripped his dagger, crouched low, and circled Lord Dega so that the younger man’s face was to the sun. Seth was breathing hard, but Dega was breathing harder With deliberate cunning he let his eyes focus on the left side of Dega’s abdomen while he lunged and struck at his equerry’s throat. Dega leapt backward, but not quickly enough. Seth continued his assault and brought Dega to the ground under him. He grasped the warrior’s slippery dagger arm and brought his own weapon to rest on the exposed throat.

Dega went still, and the two men stared at each other, lungs gulping in the heated air. Drops of sweat beaded on Dega’s upper lip. An animal gleam came into Seth’s eyes, and he shifted his weight so that Dega’s body was pinned beneath him. He drew the blade lightly across Dega’s skin, and a thin red line appeared.

Seth crooned to his captive. “Among my mother’s people, when a chief dies, his closest liege men are put to death. Their throats are slit. They are disemboweled and stuffed with straw. They are set on their horses with their weapons inside the chief’s tomb,” Seth said.

Dega met his commander’s burning gaze without flinching.

“I can’t help it if your singer is a virgin.”

Seth’s lips drew back over his teeth in a snarl. He hurled the dagger across the practice yard and released Dega. The warrior got to his feet, gathered their weapons,
and followed Seth across the yard and into one of the palace barracks. They headed for the bathing rooms, but Seth was stopped by a group of three men. One, a young man with the bearing of a pharaoh and eyes with the welcome of a scimitar, stepped in Seth’s way, his hand playing with the hilt of a dagger in his belt.

“You can’t send me to Sile,” the officer said.

Seth raised his brows. “Oh? I thought I could. I am your commander.” The count appeared to think about the matter. “Yes. Yes, I’m almost certain that I can send you there, Prince Bakenkhonsu.” Seth smiled happily at the young man.

Bakenkhonsu turned as red as watermelon fruit. His hand closed over the dagger at his side. Before he could draw, Seth stepped close to him, planted a short punch in his stomach, and sent the dagger flying into Lord Dega’s waiting hand. The other two officers closed in to support Bakenkhonsu by the arms while he gasped and grunted in pain.

Seth lifted his opponent’s chin with one hand and spoke to him in a voice as hard as the stone of a sarcophagus.

“You mistreat the warriors under your command. You have allowed your chariot driver, who should be as your second self, to be injured because you thought it was more important to kill a worthless bandit than to protect him. You will go to the fortress of Sile and learn what it means to value your fellow warriors as comrades. You’ll learn to work with them and to be worthy of their loyalty and respect. You will learn these things, or the Bedouin will bury you alive in the desert with your head just above the ground, so that you can be eaten alive by scorpions, ants, and the demons of the wasteland.”

The count dropped his hand and stalked off to the bathing stalls with Dega close behind. As water was poured over their heads, Dega took a handful of soda and rubbed it into his chest and back to remove the grit and dried sweat.

“Bakenkhonsu is royal. He can make trouble for you,” Dega said through a stream of water.

Seth parted his drenched hair and looked at Dega. His friend was slender, almost fragile-looking in bone structure, with calm eyes, a wide, rounded face, and small nose. Dega’s appearance was deceptive. He had the strength and agility of a leopard. More than once he had bested the count in the practice yard. Seth grinned at his equerry.

“Bakenkhonsu is a royal ass. Pharaoh knows it and asked me to break him before he got himself killed.”

“He is like to do that anyway.”

“Pharaoh has spoken,” Seth said.

That ended any discussion. Dega handed an oil jar to his commander A slave dabbed at the younger man’s throat with a salve. Dega shoved the boy’s hand away impatiently and toweled himself dry. He started at the feel of oil trickling down his shoulder and turned to find the count pouring the scented stuff from the jar. Dega made a grab for the container, but Seth switched hands and emptied it on his other shoulder. Dega cursed in frustration and padded out of the chamber, leaving a trail of oil behind him.

“Do me a service,” he called from the robing chamber. “Bed that girl before you drive me to take refuge among the nomads.”

Seth swept into the room and stood looming, wet and angry, over Dega. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s been over a week since you almost ran her down,” Dega said. Since then, you’ve been as nervous as a student on his first visit to the taverns.” The slave rubbing his shoulders stepped back in alarm at the look in Seth’s eyes, but Dega merely eyed the count. “You’ve refused Gasantra’s advances, yet you won’t bed this new fancy of yours. Instead you devote yourself to Pharaoh and torment the rest of us with desert drills and naval exercises that we went through last month. And now you try to flay me in practice. Your lust for this girl will be my death.”

Seth waved the attendants out of the robing chamber. Walking around the bench where Dega sat, he began to rub the kinks out of his friend’s shoulders.

“My poor Dega, I’ve used the whip on you a lot lately.”

“Let’s go to the Blue Ibex tonight.” Dega winced as the count’s fingers dug into his muscles. “You can repay me with their best wine.”

“I have letters to write. My stepmother is complaining about her allowance again, and about Khet.”

Dega twisted around and looked up at the count. Seth was looking off into space, his hands still on Dega’s shoulders.

“Baba has returned from Nubia,” Dega said. “She’ll be there tonight. She asked for you. Ouch!”

“I don’t want Baba. I don’t want Gasantra. I want her.”

“So what delays you?” Dega rubbed his shoulder where Seth’s strong fingers had worked vigorously.

“She delays me, the little beast. First I couldn’t find her. Then she refused me. Then she turned out to be a virgin. Now she—she has put me in her debt. What are you laughing at?”

“You.” Dega tied a belt around his kilt and handed Seth his garment. “Someone finally refused you. I think you’re in a daze from the shock of it” Dega chuckled.

“How would you like duty on the First Cataract?” Seth asked. “You could entertain the water buffalo and baboons with your sense of humor.”

“I’m staying right here and watch the singer play with you.”

Seth pulled his belt tight around his waist and scowled at Dega. “Your entertainment won’t last much longer. This virgin’s game ends tonight.”

“And if she’s not playing a game?”

“There will still be no virgin among Pharaoh’s singers tomorrow. I can play the supplicant and gentle lover if I set my heart to it.”

That evening, Seth was in the outer chamber of his apartments in the royal palace preparing to fulfill his words. The sun died behind the western cliffs of the
necropolis. He stood on the balcony and gazed into the branches of an old sycamore that grew in front of it.

Behind him, the room had taken on a warm and aureate glow from the lamps lit by the servants. The walls of the room were decorated with scenes of himself and his brothers fowling in the papyrus thickets, hunting wild bulls, and sailing on the Nile. The greens of the papyrus marsh, and the deep, almost lapis-blue of the Nile’s water gave the whole chamber a feeling of vibrancy. Seth could almost hear the slap of water against the reed skiff and Khet’s excited whispers as they lay in wait for a flock of game birds. The memory made him long for a few weeks at home with Khet, away from the tedious decorum of the court. Perhaps after he finished with Merab, he’d go to Annu-Rest.

Seth glanced at the door He’d sent a maid to fetch Anqet, and it was taking the woman a long time to bring her. Walking back into the room, he stopped to touch one of the lotus flowers floating in a gold basin. Anqet’s skin was as soft as the lotus. His electrum wristband slid down to his hand when he touched the flower It was inlaid with a scarab of lapis lazuli and matched the blue stones in the collar that covered his shoulders. He had deliberately dressed in a soft robe of revealing white linen that hugged his hips. Gone was the armor, the protective leather and bronze of the soldier. He didn’t want to intimidate Anqet. He always seemed to be scaring the girl when all he really wanted was to make love to her.

The door opened, and Seth looked up from the lotus blossom to see Anqet walk in. She wore a simple, sleeveless gown that fit snugly around her body in a way that made him want to tear it off and run his hands over the curves it revealed and hid at the same time. Anqet wore none of the ornate jewelry flaunted by Gasantra and the other court beauties. Seth realized that no man would notice its lack.

When she saw him, her eyes widened, and she turned to go. He resisted the urge to pounce on her; he’d
done too much of that “Please don’t go.” He made his voice gentle and calm. “I won’t hurt you.”

Anqet muttered something he couldn’t hear and put her hand on the door He was beside her before she got it open, leading her back into the room. He fought the impulse to slip his arm around her shoulders. By the gods! She had only to come near him, and he throbbed almost uncontrollably. She smelled of jasmine and some fragrance that reminded him of fresh water and wildflowers. Curse it. He would not lose control. He would not.

Seth escorted Anqet to a chair and took her hand. She looked at him nervously when he sank to a stool at her feet, blocking her path to the door. Her hand was cold, and trembled. Had he frightened her that much? She was young.

“Anqet, I want to beg your forgiveness. I have treated you like an experienced singer or tavern girl, and you are not.” Seth smiled. “I know. I never gave you the chance to tell me you weren’t. I’m afraid when I saw you at Gasantra’s house, I assumed you were like the others you were with. I have had occasion to enjoy the talents of one of them. So you see, I was under a false impression. Can you forgive me?”