Mara, Daughter of the Nile: Part VI

Setting down the salver of fruit and soft cheese, he hurried around the end of the tall couch where his lordship still lay, and picked up the snuffer which stood on the table beside the lamp.

There were many nights in a lifetime; it had taken Sheftu only one of them to discover that the gods of the tomb had exacted their tribute after all.

Irenamon turned disconsolately and padded toward the door.

Nekonkh hung over the gunwale, his arms propped wide, his shoulders burnished copper in the brilliant sunlight.

“Ast! Look at that!” he roared suddenly, striding over to kick it into a sprawling pile.

Sheftu leaned against the wall and let the noise and music and clatter of crockery beat against his ears, trying to pick out her quick laughter from the confusion, trying once again to fathom the strange quality of wistfulness which underlay all her swift-changing expressions, even the most sardonic, the most impudent.

The reek of fish and hemp and rotting wood rose strong about him; inside the warehouse, he could hear the loud scratching and scrabbling of a rat.

Presently the storm subsided a little, and after a moment she stirred and lifted her head.

“But we’ll not founder on that sand bar until we hit it. I must take you away, little one, you know that, don’t you?”

Guiding her gently into the niche, the captain walked up the alley in the direction Sheftu had taken.

The winds had tossed her craft enough, he thought belligerently, in her seventeen short years. It was time somebody steered a straight course for her.

Sick with apprehension, she darted on.

She could not wrench her eyes away from that unbelievable, sinuous figure with its twisted shoulder, its gestures of fluid grace.

“Sit you down. Your face is ashen. Shall I fetch water?”

As coherently as she could, she told the story—the ship, the black moment in the alley, her flight from Nekonkh, then from Reshed—and the terrible scene she had just witnessed.

Mara found herself laughing silently, clutching the vines in wild excitement. They all went free! She exulted.

Not gentle Inanni but Chadzar stood beside Mara, whip in hand—and no Lord Sheftu lounged with deceptive laziness in the background, ready to throw her a glance of encouragement, devise a way out.

Only the fresh welts across her shoulders were vividly real; they throbbed without ceasing, each stripe separately, like crisscrossed bands of fire.

He crossed the room quickly; the soldiers effaced themselves against the walls, and the Libyan gave Mara a shove which sent her sprawling on her face, unable to catch herself because of her bound wrists.

“She is the leader? You ask me," said the queen waspishly, “to believe that tale?"

Again the crack of the lash sounded in the room—four times, five times, six. Through a blur of pain Mara heard the relentless voice again. “Who is he?”

A young man, he is, somewhat homely of countenance, though this bedraggled lily here found him handsome enough, I daresay.

In palace and villa and hovel they slept, long of eye, with their amulets about their necks, each stiffly pillowed on his headrest of wood or carven ivory or gold.

As its fragrance drifted upward to the nose of the Starry One, she smiled serenely and allowed her lustrous eyes to move again to Thebes.

The Starry One had seldom encountered a more impetuous young man, and she found herself pleased by him.

“What of the other factions?" barked Khofra, who in spite of his protests was hurriedly buckling on his leather tunic. “The priesthood, the nobles who’ve sworn loyalty, the common folk. Have they been roused?”

They’ll do their parts, never fear. But without your seasoned troops—

“She’s but feigning now," said Nahereh.

The tall doors swung open and an arrogant, gold-decked figure she had never thought to see again strolled through them and bowed with debonair grace toward the throne.

Had Sheftu noticed him? He must have, and he must be all but reeling from the shock of it.

Your Radiance, it is difficult to keep anything secret in the city of Thebes, when both servants and rivermen gossip like magpies—often with each other.

Where are the criminals, Daughter of the Sun? Surely my lord Nahereh’s adroit and fearless coup netted more than one wretched slave girl!

Where are the criminals, Daughter of the Sun? Surely my lord Nahereh’s adroit and fearless coup netted more than one wretched slave girl!

“And perhaps she knows much!” It was a new voice—Sahure’s. It rang loud and derisive through the room. “But you know more—Sashai!”

That is Sashai—he who stands before you in fine raiment and gold!

At once he turned, strode quickly to Mara and took her in his arms. Mara, in a rapturous confusion at the unexpectedness of it, barely heard the queen’s outraged exclamation.

All Sheftu’s cool poise had shattered in an instant; he was fighting his captors like a madman—though his lips were shut tight.

Nahereh fell as Mara watched, and the gnarled old general who had struck him down whirled as the juggler crept past toward the inner door, seized him, flung him bodily into the arms of two archers—

“Blue-Eyed One, never again shall you cover your shoulders. I declare your scars to be medals of gallantry greater than any I could bestow, and it is my will that all the Black Land look upon them, and learn the nature of courage.”

"In the name of Ra the Shining One and of my father, whose royal will decreed it, I claim my heritage as pharaoh of the Two Lands and sole ruler of Egypt!"