Reflections in the Nile (13 page)

WASET

T
HEY BOARDED THE SHIP IN THE EARLY MORNING,
the sun god Amun-Ra staining the sky with sherbet orange. Chloe heard the early morning chanting of the priests as probing fingers of light highlighted the white temple, casting its shadow across the water. She stood alone with her trunks.

Basha would not be going with her. Hatshepsut, living forever! had sent a note saying that Basha would meet her in Avaris; she had other duties to attend before she left Waset. Two guards stood beside Chloe, and although their swords were sheathed, she was certain that if she changed her mind, they would be drawn. She was being banished.

Her linen cloak barely kept out the morning chill, and she forced her teeth not to chatter as she stood observing Waset. The riverbank was already a hive of activity, with sailors and slaves loading the morning's shipping. She heard many languages, some of which she recognized as Babylonian, Kallistaen, Retenuian, and what she could swear was Greek. The narrow streets of the
rekkit
were filling slowly with women on their way to market, slaves hurrying to and fro for their masters, and children on their way to temple school. Almost like any other city, in any other time, in any other culture, Chloe thought. Despite the fact they worship statues and are half-naked most of the time, they really
are
like us.

Chloe had seen neither kilt nor collar of Cheftu this morning. She accepted the guard's assistance boarding the vessel. It was large: several tent cabins were assembled on deck, in addition to the block of rooms built in the center. Far above, fluttering in the morning breeze, was the standard of Pharaoh Hatshepsut, living forever!, a cartouche of her throne name stitched in blue on a white background.

Apparently Cheftu was not joining them, Chloe realized as they pulled away from the dock. As they lifted anchor, untying the heavy flax ropes that held the sails, she wondered if he were deliberately avoiding her, his banishment prize. The sailors ignored her, and she settled onto a stool, taking in the brilliant green palms, tamarisk, and sycamore that lined the shore and led up to noblemen's houses. She wondered which was Lord Cheftu's.

Then the wide paved road that ran along the Nile through Waset was gone and the shoreline became more agrarian. Fields stretched out in the distance, and whole families induced oxen or donkeys to turn the wheel of the shadoof and lift more water from the Nile. Chloe felt the warming sun on her back and crossed to the port side of the ship, where desert and deserted monuments filled her vision.

By lunch she had recognized no one on board. A servant gave her some roasted fowl and more of the teeth-jarring bread the ancient Egyptians ate. She was certain that a few more months of this bread would wear out her teeth. She ate her meal, throwing the bread and bones into the water, shivering when it churned with long, greenish brown shapes. Crocodiles.

The captain, Seti, approached her as the sun reached its zenith, urging her to seek shade. She let herself be led to a covered couch in one of the tent cabins set up on deck, where the heat and the constancy of the blue sky, green water, and red gold sand helped her nod off. Not to mention that she hadn't felt nauseated once. She jerked awake when they came to a stop. The sails had been lowered and Chloe could tell from looking at the sky that she had slept away most of the short winter day. She walked on deck.

They were at the water steps of an enormous estate, just to the north of Gebtu, the “other” said. Palms and fig trees shaded a terraced pathway that led up to a white house. Chloe saw figures coming down, carrying a traveling litter.

“My lady,” the captain said, “Lord Cheftu requests you stay in his home tonight.” He led her to the steps, an iron grip on her arm, indicating she had no choice. Two slaves gestured for her to climb into the litter. She alighted in a beautiful, cool garden, shielded from the setting sun by high limestone walls, pierced with patterns for breezes.

She was ushered into a high-ceilinged room with a blue painted couch and walls depicting underwater scenes of fish and a blue sky full of birds. It was exquisite. Oh, Camille, she thought if only you could see through my eyes! She walked into the adjoining bathing room with clerestory windows and a small balcony. The fragrance of crushed flowers wafted up to her, and she saw the bath was drawn, flowers floating in the clear water.

Nebjet, Cheftu's old nurse and now his housekeeper, and the body servant Irini helped her out of her garments and into the deep pool. Nebjet and Irini dried and oiled her, then they opened a variety of trunks and chests for her perusal. Chloe ignored the question of why Cheftu had a whole woman's wardrobe in his house, just as she ignored the beautiful body servant.
His
body servant. Just because he hadn't mentioned anyone didn't mean there wasn't anyone in his life. Why would he tell her, a woman he obviously hated?

“Does my lady care to wear a color tonight?” Chloe nodded her head vigorously. Although most Egyptians wore only natural white, she was beginning to want some color. Blue, she knew, was for mourning. Yellow was the color of Amun's priesthood. Red was the color for soldiers. She didnt know any other symbolic colors.

Irini pulled out a finely woven pale green cloth, and Chloe clapped her hands in approval. At first it seemed to be only a huge square, but the girl brought the bottom two ends together like a wrap skirt and then crossed the two top corners, pleating as she went, and crossed the pleated fabric over Chloe's breasts, ending with a knot secured beneath her right breast. This created two perfectly creased sleeves that reached from her clavicle to her forearms. Again Chloe wished for underwear, though the color made the linen a little more difficult to see through. It didn't feel very secure, but then she wouldn't be doing much, she thought. Just eating—her one form of exercise! Irini brought out a selection of sashes, and Chloe picked a green one with embroidered silver ankhs.

She touched the embossed silver ankh around her neck. In the past several weeks she had read it repeatedly … RaEmhetep. The “et” of her name denoted her femininity. Her memory of that day in 1994, on the banks of the Nile, was becoming more and more faded. She had difficulty remembering what that guy even looked like. Her necklace was now longer, a fact she couldn't explain. While hers had been on a medium-weight chain to withstand her reservist weekends and her active lifestyle, this was on a fine chain with alternating lapis and malachite beads. Strange.

Irini combed Chloe's hah into a sheet of dully shining onyx and braided a band of tiny silver bells into it. She covered Chloe's eyelids in heavy green paint and rimmed them with the requisite black kohl. Chloe rejected all of the collars, settling for a cloisonné falcon pendant and light silver ankh earrings. She stepped into the sandals that had been specially crafted to fit her feet and waited.

She wished she had a real mirror so she could see what she looked like dressed up like an ancient Cinderella.

“Is my lady ready to dine?” a manservant asked formally. Chloe followed him up dimly lit stairs and out through a chamber to the roof. The sun had just set. Vibrant pink and gold still stained the sky.

“RaEm, you look lovely tonight,” Cheftu said. She turned to him, seated beside a low table, his glowing eyes still visible in the fading light. She smiled in greeting and held her breath as he stood, solid and masculine, to escort her to the table. She felt the heat from his hand like a shock when he took her elbow and led her to one of the cushioned stools.

Chloe shook herself. On the one hand, this was almost make-believe; on the other, it was terribly and frighteningly real.

“Please take some wine,” he said, offering her a glass. “It is from my family's vineyards by Lake Teftefet in the Fayyum.” Chloe took a sip, and although sweet for her twentieth-century taste, it was still heady and delicious. She followed Cheftu's example, snacking on garbanzo-bean paste and vegetables as they admired the twilight.

Darkness fell quickly, and Ehuru lit the oil lamps, casting dancing shadows across the planes and angles of Cheftu's face. She tried to imagine him in a tuxedo, or Levi's and a T-shirt, and the images were most appealing.

It wasn't that Lord Cheftu looked like a Byzantine saint or a young Greek god. He was only an inch or two taller than she was, but he moved with the controlled energy of an athlete. His graceful strength, golden eyes, and cool distance reminded her of lions she had seen on safari with her parents. Hunting with her camera, she had watched the great cats observe the world around them before they lit onto prey, teeth and claws flashing. Of course, they were also the laziest animals she had ever seen. That didn't seem to apply to Cheftu.

His features were even, if a bit too blunt for her taste. His thick black brows, elongated by kohl, arched over his almond-shaped eyes and met at the bridge of his large, straight nose. His lips were full but always pressed tightly together, or occasionally stretched into a remote smile that revealed strong, white teeth—something, she was learning, that was unusual in Egypt. His eyes were ringed with black kohl, and Chloe had a feeling there was little they missed. He was an enigma, both scholar and spiritualist with the body of a statue. Bernini's
David
, with a fierce scowl as he throws the stones at Goliath, his perfection frozen in motion.

Although alien and disinterested, Cheftu touched a chord in her without even trying. He possessed a genuine masculinity that came from his actions, from his being. He didn't work out, he used his body legitimately: in riding, hunting, and archery. He didn't need a $2,000 Italian suit and a red Porsche to give him presence—it was tangible. He was rational and compassionate with everyone but her. Definitely not with her.

He was so real. Yet, she thought, looking at the amulet bound onto his upper arm, protecting him from demonic attack, never had there been a man more a part of his time. Cheftu was every inch Joe Ancient Egyptian.

He broke off his dissertation on grapes and vine dressing to stare at her. “My conversation bores you?” Chloe shook her head in embarrassment. Cheftu grinned, enjoying her plight, his teeth white in the torchlight. “Please suggest another topic. Would you care to discuss your upcoming nuptials? Perhaps your lovers? Why you are marrying Nesbek? Where Phaemon, your missing lover, is?”

Chloe stared at him, caught between anger at unjustified accusation and frustration at not being able to scream back. She bit the inside of her cheek. He stared at her with disdain until dinner arrived.

Nebjet placed broiled fish stuffed with almonds and dried figs before them with side dishes of pickled onions and leeks. The food was delicious, and Chloe ignored Cheftu while she ate. When she glanced up, she saw him staring in disgust at her appetite. Traveling through time had definitely increased it, and of course he'd been finished for a while.

Slipping behind his court facade, he was every inch the gracious host. Nevertheless, his mind was obviously elsewhere. Most of what he said was rehearsed, typical chatter with no intention of truly sharing. Chloe swallowed more wine as loneliness engulfed her.

Dessert was pastry filled with nuts, honey, and goat cheese. Chloe was dying for coffee and a cigarette but knew it was a completely futile wish. More desperate was her desire to talk—to somebody, anybody, about what had happened to her. The need to converse was so intense, she felt her eyes well up with tears. She slammed another glass of wine.

When they finished dessert Cheftu asked her if she would like to stroll around the grounds and garden, since they would be leaving early in the morning and she hadn't had a chance to see his estate. He guided her with one hand, a large torch in the other. His touch was impersonal, but it was human contact, and Chloe bit back the tears that threatened. Alcohol is a depressant, she reminded herself. Don't be so pathetically desperate for company. He's just doing his job. His pharaoh bloody living forever, assigned job.

She was amazed at the size of the estate. They walked from the house, which by even modern standards seemed large and comfortable, to the water's edge. It was all gardens. The flower garden was heavy with the fragrance of lotus, honeysuckle, and herbs. The vegetable garden was laid out with almost European precision, the many lettuces and types of onions in neatly marked rows. The vineyards, Cheftu explained, ran the length of the estate and were filled with a variety of grapes. He was experimenting with different mixes of grapes in wine. An ancient vintner. The moon was a sliver, the stars a shimmering canopy above them, as he took her to his medicinal garden. A small mud-brick hut stood in the center; Cheftu explained it was a storehouse and a laboratory.

The tension from dinner had faded, though Chloe was dying to ask him what his comments had meant. They walked in torchlit shadow for a few moments, Chloe reveling in the exercise and companionship, Cheftu silent.

“Lady RaEm,” he finally asked, “since we are going to be together for several months, please, could you explain?” Chloe waited for another clue as she kept pace with his long, unskirted stride. He stopped walking and turned to face her. His voice was steady but throbbed with an intensity he couldn't hide. His eyes were blackened out by the night. “Would you have me beg?” he asked abruptly.

Chloe stared at him, confused. What happened to the cheery tour guide of a few moments ago? She refused to shrink from his dark gaze, and they stared at each other silently. Cheftu's voice was now brittle. “I have papyrus with me; I would like to know. I think you owe me, our families and our guests, that.”

Chloe shrugged halfheartedly, swearing at RaEm for her incomplete memory. Cheftu's eyes glittered in the torchlight as his lips compressed into a straight line. She shrugged again, her face set in the international lines of not knowing what he was talking about. Apparently she convinced him.

“As you like, Lady RaEmhetepet—” He spat out her name. “I had hoped that in these many Inundations since we had seen each other last, we could at least be amicable, that once we dealt with past questions, we could have a reasonable physician-patient relationship, but I see that you have not changed, despite your new veneer. I will not question you again. I just fail to understand—” He broke off and turned away, stalking through the lovely gardens they had just shared. Chloe had to pick up her skirts and rush just to glimpse him. When they reached the patio, Cheftu bowed coldly and left her with a young slave.