Suzanne Robinson (9 page)

Menana was the answer to her problem. He knew of her love for Nefer and wouldn’t stand in the way of her desire to keep her home. If she allied herself with him, she would be safe from commanding green eyes and licentious hands.

With her plan set, Anqet was saying good-bye to Tamit when Harkhuf descended upon Lady Gasantra’s household like a hawk upon a flock of pigeons. The old musician announced Pharaoh’s commands, and Pharaoh’s
word became reality. Anqet was now a member of the royal household; there was no other course open to her.

The singers’ quarters where Anqet now slept were in the same block of rooms as the personal maids’, in the rear of the palace. Segregated from the male retainers, the inhabitants could go for days without seeing a man, for they were servants attached to the large royal harem. Unused to such isolation, Anqet became bored with the routine of the female relatives and wives of Pharaoh within two days of her arrival.

From the time they rose until they retired, these women spent their time in personal grooming, eating, lounging, and gossiping. For diversion they would take chariots to other noble ladies’ houses where they would eat, lounge, and gossip again. Rumor and scandal were life breath to these women. Many were mothers of royal offspring by the old pharaoh and spent much time plotting their children’s advancement.

None had children by the new pharaoh as yet, not even the Great Royal Wife, Ankhsenamun, daughter of the heretic. Anqet knew that Pharaoh had no heir, but whispered conversations in the servants’ quarters made her aware that many of the harem vied to be the first to present the living god with a son. To their frustration, the divine father Ay hadn’t allowed Pharaoh to test his strength with women until last year, for fear of taxing the boy before his time.

The rumors about Pharaoh fascinated Anqet, yet they failed to concern her. She had never seen Pharaoh and probably never would. Her main goal was to leave the palace complex and find her way to the estate of Lord Menana without running afoul of Hauron. She had been away from home almost two fortnights, too long.

Her most exciting activity in the four days since Harkhuf had left her was singing for the Great Royal Wife. Ankhsenamun had heard Anqet sing once and commanded her presence again the following evening. Anqet was
doing so now, on a night heavy with still, warm air and incense, in a chamber that gave onto a pleasure garden

Anqet had just finished a song and was listening to a melody by one of her fellow singers when one of the women who waited on the queen ran into the room. She went to the pile of cushions where the queen lay and threw herself at her mistress’s feet Ankhsenamun narrowed her eyes, got up, and faced the door Everyone got up. Quiet filled the room.

Anqet heard the distinct sound of male footsteps, then butts of spears tapping the floor as sentries saluted along the hall. There was a murmur, the sound of deep laughter, and then a group of about twenty young men burst upon the silent chamber Immediately the Great Wife sank to the floor along with her women

Anqet dared a peek from her position on the floor. All she could see was a pair of broad-toed feet in gold sandals. At a command, everyone rose. With no further ceremony, the two groups blended into one. Music resumed. Anqet played her harp as dancers appeared. The queen sent for wine and poured it into a golden cup for her lord. Anqet noticed that although Pharaoh sat close to his wife, neither he nor his spouse spoke. Neither smiled.

“Singer.”

Count Seth leaned over Anqet, and she jumped and missed a note on her harp. He’d worn a wig, and she hadn’t noticed him. Curse him.

“You. It was you. It’s your fault I’m here.”

Seth grinned his evil grin and tossed a length of black wig over his shoulder “You needn’t thank me. I did it for my own convenience.”

“I don’t intend to thank you, my lord,” Anqet said through clenched teeth. “I’m a free woman. Your plottings are of no use. I don’t want you.”

The count laughed, dropped down beside her, and lowered his voice.

“You don’t want me? Ah, singer, you shouldn’t lie. It is an abomination to the gods. Besides, the patron goddess
of singers is Hathor, mistress of love. I intend to see that you fulfill your destiny as an acolyte of the divine Hathor.”

Before Anqet could reply the count melted into the crowd. She glared after him as he approached Pharaoh. The king reached out a hand. Seth took it and knelt beside the boy. Anqet’s hands went cold and numb on the strings of her harp, for the king listened to Seth’s whisper and then settled two distant and troubled eyes on her. On her! Anqet wanted to sink into the earth. She lowered her eyes. Hands clapped. She looked up to find the Great Wife signaling for her. Her knees about to give way, Anqet stood reluctantly. Frightened, her throat and mouth dry, Anqet could think of nothing to sing before the son of the gods.

Oh, she wanted to kick that aristocratic conniver who sat at Pharaoh’s feet and smiled at her like a hungry crocodile. Anqet lifted her chin and tossed an order over her shoulder. Music started and she began a triumph song:

As she sang, Anqet’s fear lessened its grip. After all, Pharaoh seemed somewhat human. True, he was the offspring of the gods, but he was the son of a man as well. Why, he even looked sad. Sad and a little frightened. As Anqet digested the novel idea that the king might feel grief and fear, she saw Count Seth excuse himself. Pharaoh let him go with reluctance and fastened his remote look once more on Anqet. The royal attention so flustered Anqet that she didn’t see Count Seth move off among the ladies and men of Pharaoh’s court in search of someone.

Seth struck a leisurely course that meandered over the entire room. He alighted here and there to share a jest with a friend, exchange lustful compliments with a woman. He dared not look at the beautiful singer. He must keep
his head clear and his passions in check. Seth finally settled beside a man who sat alone against a wall and popped chunks of coconut into his mouth.

The man was of middle height with a face like a granite slab. His nose was flat and wide, and his mouth too small for his face. He crunched and slurped, devouring handfuls of white fruit. Between crunches, the man spoke to Seth.

“I am indebted to you, Count. Your warning saved a valuable shipment of mine. However, I think I shall have to kill you for knowing about it at all.”

“Why kill a useful ally, Merab?”

“Because,” said Merab, “I still can’t trust you.”

Seth seated himself on a stool and let his eyes roam over the people in the room.

“You know me by reputation. You know I’m not a pious temple lover. How can I prove myself trustworthy?”

“Why would you want to prove it?” Merab asked.

“Revenge.” Seth cracked a humorless smile when he saw Merab’s confusion. “I want revenge on all the holy, self-satisfied puritans who sneer at me for my tainted blood. I want to see the looks on their faces when they find out the gods can’t protect them from defilement.” Seth ignored the sensual rhythm of a drum that came from the center of the room. He hissed the words. “There are a few whose names I want to add to your list, since you’re about this work anyway.”

Merab’s teeth clicked. He regarded Seth without surprise. “What surety?”

“Why, my life, to be certain. I’m not a child, Merab. I know what will happen to me if you are discovered, for whatever reason.”

Seth was on his feet as a dancer wove her way toward him. She kept her eyes on his face and jerked her shoulders so that her breasts bounced. Seth let out a war cry that was taken up by several men. The count swept the dancer with him toward his friends. Merab stayed where he was and watched Seth, Dega, and Prince Khai surround the woman’s gyrating body. When the dancer caught
Seth’s belt and leaned backward, bracing herself against his thighs, Merab slipped out of the room unnoticed.

As Anqet watched the erotic performance from a corner she thought of all the horrible ways a dancer could die. She could slip and break her neck. She could impale herself on the dagger of a certain libertine count. A shadow fell across her line of vision. She looked up into the dark eyes of Lord Sennefer. His clean jawline was disguised by the fall of a heavy wig as his head tilted down.

“You are the new singer. The Royal Wife has spoken words of praise for your voice. The beauty of your song is dimmed by the loveliness of your body.”

Sennefer moved in front of her, blocking the sight of his brother and Dega with the dancer between them.

“My name is Sennefer,” he continued. “You are Anqet.”

“Yes, my lord.” Anqet blushed at the now-familiar light in Sennefer’s eyes.

“You are young,” Sennefer said. He assumed a puzzled frown. “And you seem quite unlike most singers.” His hand indicated the brazen antics of her sisters. “Am I right? You are new to these games?”

He understood, and he knew that she didn’t belong here. How sensitive of him. Tears threatened to embarrass her.

“M-my lord,” she said. “I am a singer through hardship. Not a month since, I was in my home near Memphis. Indeed, I know little of the ways of singers or of the court.”

Two words came snarling at them: “Dear brother.” Seth was beside Sennefer, his arm around the older man’s shoulders. “How kind of you to get her to talk. You’ve gotten more out of her than I have, and in half the time.”

Sennefer disengaged himself from Seth and rubbed his arm where Seth’s hand had gripped it. “It’s plain to see she’s frightened.”

“And you came to offer comfort,” Seth said. “How generous. Now go away.”

“Why must you always assume I mean to offend you?”
Sennefer asked. He took Anqet’s hand. “Don’t let him scare you. His attention is easily distracted, and he is a good lad when he’s not trying to feed on everyone’s sensitivities.”

Sennefer left them. Anqet turned to Count Seth, ready to do battle, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the retreating back of his brother with the eyes of a lost child. Heavy lids came down almost before she was certain of what she’d seen. Seth whirled and caught her wrists. This was no lost child. Wrath ignited a green blaze in those eyes. His voice shook with suppressed anger.

“Whoever heard of a virgin singer?”

Surely it would do no harm to retrieve her harp. Anqet lay on her pallet in the room she shared with five other singers, unable to sleep. She had fled Count Seth’s wrath earlier that evening and still couldn’t understand its cause. Who was he to question her honor? Why did he care if she’d bedded a man before? Cursed philanderer. He stirred up her desires and insulted her at the same time. He’d made her forget her new harp in the queen’s chambers.

It was a small instrument, made to rest on her lap. Though far less costly than the one she’d used at Lady Gasantra’s, Anqet treasured it. Harkhuf had given it to her upon hearing her sing one of his compositions. She was loath to forfeit the old man’s tribute to her talent. She would sneak into the queen’s apartments and get the instrument.

Like the ba bird, spirit of a dead soul, she flitted down the corridors of the palace. The women’s quarters were guarded against intrusion from the outside, but not from within. Anqet gained the queen’s lounging chamber without incident. A life-size sculpture of Pharaoh and the Great Wife loomed dark and forbidding to her left as Anqet entered. Filmy hangings that screened the entrance to the garden stirred as she tiptoed past them. Moonlight
cast the musician’s corner into blackness. She crept toward it.

A moan Anqet stopped. There was the sound again—a low sob, chopped off almost before she could hear it. It came from the porch. On silent bare feet, she moved to the corner and edged her head around it to peep outside. She saw nothing but the eight blue-and-white columns that supported the roof of the portico and carefully molded walkways of packed earth that led to groves of palms and sycamores. A fish jumped in the pond to her right.

There was a sharp rush of indrawn breath. Anqet noticed a slick black stain marring the perfection of the column slightly to her left. She was across the porch and around the column before she had time to be afraid of what she might find

Leaning against the pillar, head down, was a man. He wore only a thin robe that hung about his shoulders like a cloak. His hands pressed tightly over a long cut from his lower ribs almost to his groin. His head came up as Anqet rounded the column. She couldn’t see his face, for he moved into the shadows deliberately. At the sight of his wound, Anqet went to him.

“You are hurt. Let me help.”

Without waiting for an answer, Anqet slipped her shoulder under his arm. At her touch, her patient gave a startled gasp and began to pull away, but Anqet was used to the proud and stubborn ways of injured men at Nefer. She hushed the man’s protests and forced him to walk with her, seating him in a chair where the moonlight fell on his wound. It was a clean cut, not shallow but not deep enough to threaten life. Jagged scratches decorated the smooth skin on either side of the wound.

Anqet tore a strip from the hem of her gown and made a pad. She laid it over the cut and had her patient hold it there

“I must get help,” she said.

“No.”

The word was barely audible, but the tone of command behind it made her stop.

“They mustn’t see me like this. No one must know.”

Suspicions formed rapidly in Anqet’s mind. She was a fool. This man was in the queen’s rooms! Anqet tensed, ready to sprint away, but he managed to grasp her arm and stand up, using her for support. As he moved, his face came into the moonlight.

“Pharaoh!”

“Hush.”

Anqet fell to her knees. “M-Majesty. Merciful Horus! Majesty—”

“Stop that. I don’t need your groveling and your worship now.”

Anqet clamped her mouth shut and managed to lift her eyes to the beautiful face of the king. His wideset eyes were large and pained. Compassion did much to still her awe.

“Shall I fetch guards, Majesty?” she asked.