Reflections in the Nile (37 page)

Chloe leaned over him. “Do you want to torture us both, Cheftu?” she whispered. “Why do you not let go?” He felt the welcome weight of her body on his, and the stickiness further fired his already inflamed brain.

“I did not want to lose control while—”

She smiled at him, tempting in her candor. “I want you to.
Tout est doux en amour.
”

His eyes bulged as white-hot lightning shot through his veins.
Haii-aii!
Indeed, in love all was sweet! He spoke hoarsely, urging her to release his passions. Instead she lay on him, her movements, lips, and hands almost driving him to a frenzy. When he reached for her she lifted up.

“Patience, beloved,” she whispered with a wicked smile. “You must have patience.”

He, Lord Cheftu, whose patience and control was, if not legendary, then at least well-known and respected. When he saw only red behind his closed eyelids and his arms felt as if they were forged metal, he felt her weight leave his chest and the soft fall of her hair on his belly. She engulfed him, and Cheftu shook like a tree in a khamsim, the gradual growing within him increasing until he felt himself explode, his fingers tangled in Chloe's hair.

When at last his
ka
returned to him, he felt Chloe snuggled against his side, the honey on her body cool and tacky. She leaned over him for a kiss.

“So what flavor was that?” he asked.

“Assst.
For you it was double-dip, chocolate-sprinkled, caramel walnut cookie dough splendor. I had vanilla.” Cheftu lay still, feeling his heartbeat return to normal. “Are you asleep?”

“Naaaaay,” he murmured.

He heard her smile. “Well, go to sleep. That is all you are good for now anyway.”

They awoke, cold and shivering, in the darkened room.

“Come, beloved,” Cheftu said his voice rough, and clinging together, they stumbled into their room and curled up on the couch, shivering and messy. Then Chloe gently drew Cheftu onto her body, asking with her mouth and limbs. As Cheftu climaxed he saw tears streak down her cheeks. “Why do you cry, beloved?” he whispered “I have not hurt you, have I?” He gathered her close, kissing her face and hair.

“Nay. It is just that when we are making love, your pleasure is mine. When you are vulnerable with me, it is a gift.” She wiped her eyes. “I guess it is hard to believe we are together. That somehow in this mix of time and space we found each other. I guess there is a God.”

“Aye. He brought us together. We will never part.”

“Never.”

Chloe sat up, wide awake. She was motionless, listening in the darkness for whatever had awakened her. Cheftu was still asleep, his legs tangled in with hers. It came again, a high mournful cry, and she relaxed when she realized it was the wind, whipping through the air cones on the corners and roof of the palace. They were there for ventilation, and the high winds sounded eerie as they whistled through the channels.

She lay back down, curving her body next to Cheftu's. His arm possessively pulled her close, holding her imprisoned against him, even in sleep. Chloe snuggled closer, feeling the hairs on his legs tickle her bare bottom and thighs. Sleepily Cheftu kissed her shoulder, and Chloe lay still, listening to the wind, perfectly content for the first time in her life.

Her feeling of contentedness was much diminished in the morning. She had dreamed of Camille, walking through the ancient Karnak Temple, searching for some clue to the whereabouts of her little sister. She had been crying and blaming herself, and Chloe had awakened feeling irritated that Cammy was taking the blame. If anyone is to be held accountable for my being in this predicament, she thought, it's me. If I ever return, I'll never go in someplace where I'm not allowed.

Even Cheftu's exploring morning hands and welcoming body set her teeth on edge. She jumped up from the couch, and Cheftu woke fully, sensing her different spirit from that of the passionate goddess of the night before.

She barked for slaves and went in for her bath. Cheftu lay, staring out the high windows. The sky was yellow—bright, but brittle. He drew on a kilt and walked into the garden. It was hard to tell what the time was; the sun was hidden. Far to the east he could see a shimmering saffron-colored cloud. Though he had never experienced a locust cloud, he was sure that it was approaching. He ran back inside, summoning slaves and making the final preparations that he could.

Cheftu stepped into the bath chamber and shouted, “Get bathed and dressed immediately, RaEm!”

When Chloe emerged, feeling slightly more at charity with the world, Cheftu was gone. The room had been changed. Already the lack of air was making it stuffy. The windows were sealed off with mud bricks, the air cones boarded up the same way. Smoke from torches on the walls made her eyes sting. Even the garden windows were closed, the delicate alabaster reinforced with mud bricks. “He certainly worked fast,” Chloe said aloud.

Ehuru appeared in the doorway. “Come, my lady,” he said. “Lord Cheftu awaits you in the garden.”

Chloe followed him down the long hallway to the colonnaded porch, where those nobles staying in the palace had gathered. Most of them the “other” memory recognized, but not the man standing with Cheftu in deep conversation. Chloe was surprised to see he was holding a baby, wrapped tightly but already sporting the youthlock of a young Egyptian. Cheftu watched her warily, and Chloe winked, sorry for her snappishness earlier.

“Beloved,” he said, addressing her, “this is Count Sennedjm of the Ibis nome.” To the count he said, “My wife, the Lady RaEmhetepet of the goddess HatHor.” Sennedjm smiled at her, his attention floating between the small talk they made and the three young boys scampering through the battered garden. The baby in his arms was sleeping soundly, and Chloe felt a catch in her throat as she looked at the chubby face with its arching black brows and pink pucker of a mouth.

The air was suddenly filled with static electricity, and Sennedjm broke off in the middle of a story to look to the east, where everyone else's scrutiny was fixed. Thut stood before them all, the papyrus scroll from Pharaoh still in his hands. The brittle yellow sky was obscured by a large metallic-looking cloud, so dense and so huge that it became like twilight. Chloe stood rock still, head craning back to see into it. Cheftu moved closer to her, his body tense, his expression somber. The wind picked up, blowing away the broken trees, causing kilts to fly into the air and wigs to fly off. And blowing the papyrus from Thut's hand.

The group hurried under the protection of the portico and continued to watch. The wind began to blow away bits of the cloud, and a loud buzzing replaced the roar of the storm. Thut alone stood in the garden, his golden collar and wig gone, his legs apart in a soldier's stance, holding out against the buffeting of the gale.

The cloud began to fall.
It was raining locusts!
Chloe screamed as they hit the ground, their bodies clinking with the impact. They were huge. Chloe had seen locusts before, had even eaten them on a dare. These, however, were enormous!

Locusts were part of the grasshopper family, she remembered built with the same powerful legs and colored green, gold and brown. Instead of the usual two-inch grasshopper, however, these suckers were three to five inches long and striped black and yellow. Already they were stripping the ground of its grass, in a low roar of chewing. Thousands had fallen and were marching, militarily, across the garden, devouring every living thing in sight.

It was like watching a color film fade to black and white.

Cheftu looked over to Chloe, his jaw set and his lips in a thin line. She saw pity and regret in his golden glare. People scattered back to their apartments, and even Thut retreated to the portico. More locusts fell every minute, marching over each other, charging to the greenery, climbing up walls to eat the remaining vines, covering the trees, tearing away the protective bark, and eating the fresh green leaves. Chloe felt sick.

Cheftu had moved to Thut's side. The prince was staring out at a brown, useless garden, and the locusts marched into another garden.

“My Majesty,” Cheftu began, and Thut jerked toward him. He didn't even know we were here, Chloe thought. “Should you not go inside, Prince?” Cheftu asked.

Thut's elongated brows drew together. “Nay. I will take my chariot and go to the fields. We must see the level of destruction in Egypt.” Cheftu bowed and turned, as Chloe heard Thut say under his breath, “Since we are responsible for it.”

Others had not prepared their quarters for the locusts, so Chloe and Cheftu spent most of the day going into different apartments, sealing off the windows and passages and then assigning slaves to kill the remaining locusts. They were especially hard to kill, their bodies seemingly encased in armor. Eventually they were destroyed, and the inhabitants were ordered not to unseal the spaces. The weather was not cooperating. It was unbearably hot and dry, and by nightfall everyone's nerves were on edge.

Word got round that Thut had spent the day in the locust rain, traveling through the delta to see the destruction. He sent couriers down the Nile to intercept Hatshepsut, living for ever!—everywhere, it seemed, there were locusts. When Thut got back he had gone silently to his apartments and dismissed all his retainers.

CHAPTER 12

W
hen the sun the rose the next morning, Cheftu was gone. Chloe dragged out of bed and walked into the receiving room. He was kneeling by the garden door, patching the drying mud bricks in the doorway. A high squeal came from outside. She put her hands to her ears. “What is that?”

“The locusts. They shriek in the sunlight.” He pointed to the table. “Put the wax in your ears.”

After kneading the greasy tallow between her fingers, Chloe filled her ears; the annoying locust ringing ceased, but she was still able to feel the vibrations from millions of locusts. She put on her sandals and stepped into the corridor. It was filled with migrating locusts. Gritting her teeth, she stepped down, crunching some of the locusts to mush, while others walked across the tops of her feet. By the time she reached the kitchens, food was the last thing she was interested in, but she wanted to see exactly what they were going to eat. A few slaves moved about in the outer courtyard, the honeycomb-shaped ovens belching smoke and the aroma of fresh bread.

The cook was surprised to see a noblewoman but seemed to appreciate the effort since she was so shortstaffed. Everyone was deaf with wax, so they communicated by sign language. Chloe was a little disconcerted to see one of the slaves shoveling in locusts to be used as fuel. She took several loaves of bread in her covered basket and a pitcher of milk. By the time she got back to the apartments, the top of the milk was full of locusts.

I wouldn't mind them so much, she thought, if they just wouldn't fly at me and spit on me. Walking across the garden was like something from Hitchcock film. All around was the sound and a million echoes of chewing, biting, tearing, and destroying. Her sheath was covered with bugs, and she had to hold back screams as they crawled up her legs beneath her skirt and inside her linen wrap.

When she reached the hallway, she shook off and stomped the locusts on her person, skimmed out the milk-covered, locusts, shook locusts out of her hair and dress, and stepped inside. Most of the morning was gone, and so were Cheftu and Ehuru. Chloe lit one of the smoking torches and seated herself, putting her feet upon the stool opposite and wrapping her skirt tightly around her legs. She tore off a hunk of bread and ate it, then poured some of the warm milk in a glass but couldn't drink any more after spitting out a spare locust leg.

The locusts were working against the soft mud brick, and Chloe saw in the torchlight that it wouldn't hold much longer. Despairing, she went into the bedroom—crunch, stomp, crunch—and retrieved her lousy excuse for a notebook.

Closing her eyes, she tried to picture the nightmare outside. The recently budded trees were bare below their bark, the walls were naked, and locusts clogged the pools. She recalled the resigned terror on the faces of those few people she had seen.

The light gutted in its holder, leaving Chloe in tomblike darkness. Swearing, she slipped on her sandals and stifled a scream as her foot touched one of the locusts, then moved slowly toward the torches. They were all used, their oil gone, leaving a dry, straw-textured club. She peered in the direction of the garden gate, trying to discern any light through the cracks, but she couldn't see any. Surely I didn't sketch away the whole day, she thought. However, it seemed more and more likely.

She shuffled toward the hallway door, gritting her teeth at the flutter and brush of wings and legs of the disturbed locusts. Upon reaching it, she yanked it open and stared into the dimly lit depths. She pulled a lump of wax from her ears. Blessed quiet! One torch glowed at the far end, and Chloe saw the starless night beyond. What I wouldn't give for a watch, she thought. Though I'd prefer a cigarette or even a decent pencil!

Turning away from her unproductive thinking, she looked up and down the corridor, but there was no sign of life anywhere, unless you counted the millions of bulging-eyed eating machines scattered the length and breadth of Egypt. She walked outside—crunch, grind, pop. Her gown was spattered with the spit of the locusts, the brown stains looking like blood in the feeble light. Shuddering, she drew her arms close and looked around.

The destruction was staggering. The topography was flat; every tree and bush that had stood was now level with the ground. Then Chloe heard the low buzzing roar of the creatures eating. She brushed them off her face and arms and looked back to the palace for signs of habitation. It was mostly dark, and Chloe wondered if the people had just gone to bed or gone to their town homes or country villas until this was over.

Mechanically picking the bugs off her body and clothing, she walked back to her rooms, taking the torch and the spare that was kept behind the holder. Once inside she threw away the milk, which had curdled in the stuffy heat, squashed more bugs, and settled down to more bread, some locust-skimmed water, and a night of drawing.