The Shepherd Kings (55 page)

She looked down at him, at the awe he made no effort to
hide, and perhaps she was pleased. Or perhaps she merely found his face
pleasant to look at. Iphikleia had told him, much more than once, that he
should learn to accept that, if he could not understand it.

It still made him blush to be stared at, and women always
seemed to stare. He could not speak, either, without sinning greatly against
propriety. He must wait for her, and she was in no haste to end his discomfort.

At last she said, “Good morning, man of the Lower Kingdom.”

“Good morning, majesty,” he said after a pause to gather his
wits.

“It will be better when we leave this place,” she said, “and
return to the city. But that is not a thing that I have power over.”

“No, majesty?” Kemni asked—biting his tongue too late. It
was not that he meant to be impertinent. But whatever his gift of tongues, he
had no gift for the language of courtiers.

She knew that. Did she smile? If so, it was a faint and
shadowy thing, but it colored her voice as she said, “I suppose I might, if I
set myself to it. But some battles are not worth winning.”

“He’ll not linger much longer, lady,” Kemni said. “He knows
that. He is a dutiful king, though at the moment he may not seem so.”

“I do know that,” she said a little coldly, and he knew that
he had been presumptuous. Again. But she did not seem angry. “He has made you
his charioteer. Are you content with that?”

“I am the king’s charioteer. Could I be less than content?”

“Some might be,” she said. “It is an office without
precedent. Our world is rich in precedent—rife with it. How are we to live when
so much is new?”

“That is the fault of the Retenu,” Kemni said. “We had never
been invaded before, and never conquered. We have never had to win back a
kingdom. But we will do it—with their own weapons, and ours, and our allies’.
However we may.”

“Surely,” she said. There was a silence, which Kemni was not
bold enough to break. Then she said, “Keep him safe.”

That was not at all what he had expected. It left him
speechless.

She smiled. Yes, she smiled. “Poor child. Are we ever what
you expect?”

“I suppose not,” he said after a pause. “Lady.”

“Good,” she said. “Now you begin to be wise.”

Wisdom was desirable, but he thought perhaps he was too
young to cultivate it. He began to say so, but she spoke before him. “I would
like to speak with the Cretan woman. Will you fetch her for me?”

Kemni could well have pointed out that he was no slave, to
be sent on errands, or that she had ample servants of her own who might have
been given the duty. There was a reason, surely, why he had been set this task.
He bowed and did as she bade.

~~~

Ariana had a tent just outside the king’s encampment,
within the circle of the charioteers. It was a warrior’s tent and not a
queen’s, for she had come here as an advisor in war, not as a lady of the
palace. Her only concession to rank was the pair of maids who kept the tent and
saw to her person. They smiled brilliantly at Kemni when he came to the tent.
It was their fondest hope that, just once, he would forsake his Cretan
priestess for their welcoming arms.

Maybe someday he would. But not today. Ariana was within,
they assured him, and he was free to enter.

She was preparing for the day: dressed, her hair in a plait,
her face painted lightly, running through the roster of the chariot-wing with,
of all people, Ahmose himself. Kemni stopped short and nearly fled, but they
had both seen him.

Ariana’s smile was as brilliant as ever. “Kemni! We looked
for you, but you were nowhere to be found. My lord wants to know, can we double
the number of men, and have them ready to fight by harvest time?”

“This year or next?” Kemni asked: the first thing that came
into his head.

“This year,” Ahmose said.

Kemni frowned. “That’s not long at all.”

“But if each of those we’ve trained to fight were made a
charioteer, and the new men were taught to fight—could we do it?” Ariana asked
him.

“It would be difficult,” Kemni said.

“But possible?”

“If the men were the best to be had, and willing to work day
and night—yes. But have we enough horses? Enough chariots?”

Ariana nodded.

“Good,” said Ahmose. “Very good indeed. Have them ready just
before the harvest begins. We’ll harvest men, and take back the Lower Kingdom.”

Kemni bowed. Almost he had forgotten why he came here; and
it was delicate, with the king sitting beside Ariana. But he did the best he
could. “My lady, the Queen Nefertari . . .”

Ariana raised a brow. “Go,” the king said. “I’m well enough
here.”

He had dismissed them both. Kemni doubted that he had been
meant to follow Ariana back into Queen Nefertari’s presence, but he chose to do
it. It happened that, as they walked back through the camp, Iphikleia met them.
She did not say anything, simply took a place in the procession. Kemni was glad
of her; he suspected that Ariana was, also.

Ariana had not had audience with the Great Royal Wife since
her wedding in Thebes. They had managed to avoid one another with great ease,
since Ariana had hidden herself away in the Bull of Re, and Nefertari had kept
her place, as always, by the king’s side.

Queen received queen with rather more ceremony than Kemni
had had. There was a graceful dance, an exchange of pleasantries, compliments
and finely framed words that signified little. Kemni was lulled almost into a
drowse. He had to struggle to listen, to catch the subtle shift, the moment
when Nefertari began to come to the point.

They were speaking of the Bull of Re, how Ariana had rebuilt
part of the house and added greatly to the stables, and made the holding into a
haven for the king’s charioteers.

“That is a great work,” Nefertari said. “What you do will be
remembered.”

“Memory is a great thing here,” Ariana said. “Is it not?
Remembering the name. Remembering the life.”

Nefertari inclined her head.

“Where I was born,” Ariana said, “the name matters little. I
am the Ariana—that is my title and my office. What name I had when I was a
child, I set aside, and it was forgotten. When I grow old, I shall take another
name, another office. And when I die, I shall go to the breast of the earth my
mother. Who I was, what I did, will matter nothing then. The earth will hold my
bones. The air will bear my spirit.”

“Then who you are, what you are—your self—it matters
nothing?”

“What I do,” said Ariana. “That matters. That I did it, and
no one else—when the seasons have turned, and all who live now are gone to the
earth, who will care that I did it?”

“Your name is your immortality,” Nefertari said. “We must
give you one, so that you may live forever.”

“Whatever name you give me,” Ariana said, “I remain what I
am.”

“Yes,” said Nefertari.

Ariana smiled her quick smile. “If it will make you happy,
you may do it. It’s of little matter to me. I’ll go on, and do what I do, and
help you all to win this war.”

“Why will you do that?”

“Because,” said Ariana, “it’s what I was born for. When we
are young, you see, when first our women’s courses come to us, we go into the
womb of the Mother, into the deeps of the earth. There we dream what we will
be; what we will do in this turn of the seasons. I dreamed sun hotter than I
had ever known, and a falcon poised against it, and a river of life through the
dry land. I dreamed Egypt. The falcon came to me and folded his wings about me
and made me his own. And I knew that when it was time, I would come to Egypt.”

“Then you are blessed of the gods,” Nefertari said. She said
it slowly, as if she must consider all sides of it, all meanings of the words.

“Do you do such things?” Ariana asked. “Do you lay yourself
open to your gods, and ask that they show you what they intend for you?”

“No,” said Nefertari. “Not . . . in such a
way. The priests speak to the gods, and the king, who is a god, speaks for all
of Egypt. For others, there are prayers and dreams, and for some, the blessings
of priesthood, or service to the gods.”

“That is very practical,” Ariana said. “Do people ever
wonder what it would be like to talk to the gods? And to be answered?”

“The gods are far above us,” Nefertari said.

“Surely not above you,” said Ariana. “Are you not queen and
goddess?”

“I am that,” said Nefertari.

“Do the gods speak to you?”

“Sometimes,” Nefertari said slowly, “I dream dreams.”

Kemni, mute in shadow, woke suddenly and fully.

“Do you now?” Ariana said. “Do you indeed? Are they dreams
that others should know?”

“I never speak of them,” Nefertari said. “But . . .
they come to me often, and weigh on me sorely.”

“Dreams of war?”

“Dreams of war,” Nefertari said, “and dreams of peace.
Dreams of long ago, and dreams of what is yet to come. In my dreams the gods
walk. The priests say that they dwell beyond the horizon, but in my dreams the
world is full of them.”

“When you dream, you live in the gods’ country,” Ariana
said. She sounded as close to awe as Kemni had ever heard her. “Oh, you are
blessed! Are they beautiful? Are they terrible?”

“They are both,” Nefertari said. “They speak to one another,
but never to me. Once . . . I dreamed that one of them came down
to a duller world, this world of ours, and saw a woman of such surpassing
beauty that even he—even a god—stood mute in astonishment. He knew then what it
was to worship a thing, mortal woman though she was. Then he took on the face
and semblance of her husband, and went in to her, and set in her a spark of
divine fire. And that spark grew, and swelled her belly, and was born in blood
and pain as mortal children are born. And that child—that child had my face.”

Ariana nodded as if she had expected just such an ending.
“The gods come often to mortal women,” she said.

“Not ours,” said Nefertari. “They are not given to such
excesses. That a god—that Amon—should do such a thing—”

“Then it is a very great thing.”

“Or a very ill one.”

“No,” Ariana said. “It is never that. Does he speak? Does
any of them? What is it they ask of you?”

“They never speak to me. But I see the Two Crowns in their
hands, and my husband waiting, ready to be crowned.”

“That is an omen,” Ariana said.

“Or a great and wishful hope.” Nefertari shook her head
slightly. “If it should be of use, I will use it. But if not . . .
not.”

“Yet you told me,” Ariana said.

“Your world is full of gods. To you, it would seem neither
strange nor mad.”

“I would understand it.” Ariana nodded. “Is that all you ask
of me? Understanding?”

“I ask nothing of you,” said Nefertari, “but that you serve
the king faithfully, and obey him in all that he bids you do.”

“Of course I will do that,” Ariana said.

“That is well,” said Nefertari. “He is pleased with you.
Most pleased.”

“And you? Does that distress you?”

“No,” said Nefertari. “You are not as other women. Nor am I.
We are worthy of him.”

“You do me great honor,” Ariana said. She did not speak with
humility; it was truth, that was all. “And yet you still don’t entirely approve
of me.”

Nefertari’s lips thinned a fraction. “Do you require my
approval?”

“No,” Ariana said. “But I should like to know why.”

There was nothing to compel the Great Royal Wife to answer
her, and yet she did so. It was courtesy. And perhaps, Kemni thought, it was a
seal of alliance. “A queen in Egypt,” Nefertari said, “does not ride in a
chariot like a man, bare-breasted and bold-faced before the world. Are you
dreaming that you will ride to battle? That you will fight?”

“No,” Ariana said, but she said it slowly, as if with
reluctance. “I know better than to think that I will be allowed to ride into
battle. A king risks himself because he is the king. A queen is ill advised to
do so. When the war comes, I will keep to the tents and the baggage like a
proper woman. You need have no fear that I will run wild among the fighting
men.”

Nefertari nodded once. She was perhaps relieved. Or perhaps
she had expected this answer, but had desired to hear it from Ariana’s own
mouth. “That will do,” the queen said. “I am content.”

Perhaps that was true. Ariana took it as a dismissal, bowed
and withdrew quickly enough that if Nefertari had been inclined to call her
back, it would have been difficult to do gracefully.

Kemni was not at all averse to making an escape. His head
was aching, and his shoulders were tight.

Nefertari frightened him. He did not know why. Ahmose was
king and god, the living Horus, and yet Kemni was at ease in his presence.
Immortal though his spirit might be, in this life he was a man like many
another.

Nefertari, as she had said to Ariana, was not like other
women. Maybe it was true. Maybe a god—Amon himself, as she had dreamed—had
begotten her.

Seti the charioteer was troubled. He was the most
insouciant of men, with a light heart and a wry wit and eyes that had seen
everything there was to see. But when he came to Kemni, not long after they had
returned to the Bull of Re from that plain north of Thebes, he was unwontedly grim.

He found Kemni in the workroom of the charioteers’ house,
going over accounts and wishing himself very, very far away. Kemni had no
objection to scribes’ work, in fact read well and wrote not too badly, but
accounts made his head ache. Seti’s arrival was a godsend, a rescue from long
crabbed columns and endless figures.

Seti, the fool, saw the scribe for the charioteers and the
scribe for the Bull of Re, and retreated as rapidly as he had come. Kemni
abandoned his captors to their heaps of dusty papyrus, and set off in pursuit
of his second-in-command.