Reflections in the Nile (54 page)

She ran to him, kneeling between the carved leopards that decorated each corner of the couch. He was flushed, his skin on fire, but he'd been bathed and his bandage changed. She looked over her shoulder. The man was seated on the chair, facing away as he fanned himself in the afternoon heat. Chloe placed a kiss on Cheftu's brow and walked back to their host.

Her voice trembled with tears. “I thank you, priest, for all you have done for him. Is he going to recover fully?”

The old man turned his wily gaze on her. “Aye, priestess. Your care of him was quite skilled. A simple scar that should heal quickly, if there is no fever or rot. Now, go and clean up, then we shall eat. You must heal and return to Egypt. You have destinies to fulfill.”

Chloe froze in her tracks. “We're not in Egypt?”

“Nay, child. This is the Mirna Oasis in the Sinai. You are safe. Go.” He smiled again. Really big teeth.

A black slave touched her elbow and led her beyond another curtain into a bathing room. Already the low bath was filled, and Chloe saw a tray with wine, bread, and fruit. The slave indicated some towels and a trunk of linens and bowed himself out. Enthusiastically Chloe threw aside her rags and stepped into the bath, reveling in the scented sand bar provided and opening the various fragrance bottles that lined the adjoining table. She sank into the water, wedging her body, breasts to knees, in the tub. It was glorious to wash the dirt and sand and grime from her body and to smell clean again.

She shaved, plucked, and oiled her scrawny body, feeling vaguely human again. Rising, she dried off and then rummaged through the trunk for clothing. Seated on the edge of the bath, she saw another room, dark but full of scrolls and equipment. She stepped toward it and then admonished herself for intruding on her host's hospitality.

A short while later she emerged from the bath, groomed enough for an Egyptian dinner party. Her dress was beautiful, if outdated. Her hair floated free, clean and oiled as it hung from the crown of her head to her neck. She wore an ornamental silver lotus to hold it back from her face and had lined her eyes and extended her eyebrows with the kohl provided. None of the sandals had fit, and she had dared not loofah the protective calluses off her feet, but she had put on faience anklets. She felt, for the first time in weeks, as though she might survive.

The old priest was still seated in his chair, but Chloe noticed with a smile that his eyes were closed and the tent was filled with his sonorous snoring. She walked to Cheftu. He had stopped thrashing around and seemed to be a little cooler. Thank God!

It was a seamless night. Her startled awakening gasp was rewarded with a chuckle. “You slept like the dead, my child.” Chloe recognized the voice of the old priest. “Would you care to eat this night with me?”

Chloe got off the couch and stumbled toward the voice. A curtain had been drawn between the main room and the sleeping chamber.

“How is my patient?” the old man asked.

“Still feverish,” Chloe said, “but sleeping well.”

“That is good. The night is a healer of many illnesses. Please,” he said, indicating another chair, “be seated. Would you care for wine?”

“Nay.” Chloe grinned. “I fear I had too much already.”

He chuckled. “I see you are a woman with moderate tastes. That is well.”

Chloe accepted the cup of juice that the black slave brought and settled into the carved and gilded chair. “Please, forgive me for not asking earlier, but to whom do we owe our lives?”

“You do not owe me your lives. Only the gods are worthy of such sacrifice, but I would know what brings a noble couple to living like jackals in the desert? Forgive me for my manners!” he exclaimed. “I am called Imhotep.”

“I am …” She paused.

“RaEmhetepet,” he finished. “Though you are, in truth, not.”

Chloe stared at him. “How do you know?”

He chuckled again, the lines of his face deep cuts in the torchlight. “There is much I know beyond the pale of these five senses. Still,” he said, “there is much hidden in a veil of other- worldliness. I know that you and Cheftu are not who you seem to be, and for that reason have had to flee for your lives. I also know you have been privileged to see things that most mortals have not. The unknown God has blessed you.”

Chloe's mouth hung open during this impossible speech. “I … we… can we…” she spluttered.

He laughed, the sound filling the chamber, bouncing off the woven rugs and fabric-lined walls. “I can understand your confusion, though I confess I do not know how I know. When your heart awakes,” he said with a nod of his tattooed head toward the sleeping chamber, “we can sort how all of this came about. Now”—he leaned forward—“are you hungry? During dinner we shall discuss how I came to be here. I am certain we have two sides of the same throwing stick.”

He motioned for the black man and moved his hands in the air, forming signs. The slave bowed and exited. “Khaku is deaf and mute,” Imhotep said. “These signs are our conversation.”

They sat in silence, Chloe looking beyond the open tent flap to the darkening horizon, while Imhotep focused somewhere inside himself. Khaku came back in, his arms wide to support the tray resting on them. He set it on the small table between the two chairs, and the smell of roasted lamb drifted to Chloe's nose. Her mouth watered. She was handed a glass bowl, and Imhotep reached forward, pulling the meat off the bone and taking a handful of the oiled corn mixed with sultanas and pistachios. It was a feast. The lamb melted in Chloe's mouth. They ate in silence, pausing only to drink fresh water.

Khaku moved around, lighting more of the lamps until the room glowed with the sun's brightness. Finally Chloe and Imhotep sat back, satiated, and ate the candied orange peel that Khaku presented. It was chewy, like gum, and once again she wished for coffee. Imhotep looked at her fleetingly, a crease of confusion between his brows, men turned away. “Shall we play hounds and jackals?”

Chloe nodded. “Should we check on Cheftu?”

“Certainly, but I am sure he sleeps well. Khaku shall feed him,” Imhotep said as they rose and drew back the separating curtain.

Amazingly, Cheftu was resting, his skin much cooler. Khaku sat in the darkness, bathing his brow with cooling water, and Cheftu snored gently. Chloe realized Khaku must have been the one who had forced her to take broth and soaked her burned and peeling flesh in oil those days before she even woke.

Imhotep drew back the linen and touched the wound, leaning forward to smell if it was putrefying. The cauterizing had healed well, though there would always be a vicious scar. Chloe shuddered and brushed Cheftu's hair away from his face. He smiled faintly and murmured, falling back into deep sleep. Imhotep, satisfied with the progress of the wound, took Chloe's elbow and guided her into the other room. The remains of dinner were gone; now a game board rested on the small table.

Chloe seated herself, twisting the beads of her overdress so that they were not in the most uncomfortable position possible. They began to play. After even scores at the end of three games, Imhotep turned away from the game and looked at Chloe… not just a cursory glance, but as if he were trying to see her soul beyond the outside artifice of black hair and ringed eyes.

“Have you heard the name Imhotep before, my child?” he asked, smiling broadly, his teeth glinting in the light.

“Of course,” Chloe said. “He was a great philosopher, an adviser to Pharaoh Cheops.”

“Aye. He was also my several-times-removed grandfather.” He watched her carefully.

“Only several times? That would make you hundreds of years old.”

He laughed. “I do not look a day over two hundred, correct? I have very nice teeth for one so old, aye?”

She smiled, though slightly disturbed. If this old man were mad what help would he be? “That is impossible,” she said, ignoring the teeth comment.

“Is it? Is not traveling through the years of millions of lives also impossible? That is what you have done, though, is it not?”

She was silent. He knew a lot about her and didn't seem disturbed. Who was she to say that someone couldn't live, for hundred of years? The Bible talked about some man who lived to be eight hundred something. The Bible was turning out to be a lot more accurate than she'd originally given it credit for.

“Are you immortal?”

The expression on his face was truly appalled. “The gods forbid! I am not immortal, just long-lived. It is both gift and curse. Still, I have dynasties before I land on the Shores of Night.”

“So with all the time in the world, do you just travel around?” Chloe asked He spoke so calmly, as if this were the truth. Maybe she should play along.

He sighed. “Not by choice. I was last in the court of Thutmosis the First. A great pharaoh, founder of what is proving to be the highest point in Egyptian civilization so far. Such an improvement over the Hyksos.” He shuddered. “They had no appreciation for the delicacy of Egyptian religion or custom. Only their damned horses.” He shook his head at the memory.

“But I digress. I was a trusted physician in the court of Thutmosis the First. He was a great man, though a bit short-tempered. Always costive. Why he didn't eat more dates, I cannot understand.
Haii!
His favorite wife, Aset, became pregnant, and like most great men, he hoped it would be a son to carry on his name and lineage.

“He called upon me to cast a horoscope for the future of the child. The omens told me this child would be usurped by a prince of slaves.” He paused, looking down at the forgotten game board. “I was a weak man. I knew Pharaoh would be displeased with that reading, so I lied. I told him the prince would rise to be the greatest leader Egypt had ever known. Thutmosis believed me because I dared to say his son would do better than he would. The months passed. Aset grew rounder, and one night she gave birth. Egyptian physicians do not attend births; normally that is for the midwives. I went to the chamber anyway, and was barred admittance. Pharaoh was on one of his many campaigns.

“Aset's child was born dead.

“She had erected a great chamber to HatHor, and now it appeared as if she were betrayed by the great lady. To avoid any questions and to regroup, she took the fastest boat and sailed to the former capital of Avaris. The Hyksos palace was still there, and Aset decided it would be a safe place to recover and decide what to tell Pharaoh.” He paused again, looking at his wrinkled hands. “I followed her, on another boat. By the time I arrived, Aset was bouncing a healthy boy on her knee. Pharaoh arrived, and he proclaimed that Ramoses was a perfect child and would be Horus-in-the-Nest.”

Chloe leaned forward.

“I fear,” Imhotep said with a wry smile, displaying his teeth, “that I was overcome with guilt. I was to examine the child in the presence of Pharaoh, and it became obvious to me that the child was actually older than he should have been. The warning I had seen in the stars made me momentarily brave, and I denounced the queen, stating that the child was too developed and consequently could not have come from her body. I said she had given birth to a stillborn.

“I was not certain who this child was, but I guessed it was an Apiru baby, since their children were the ones in danger. Pharaoh was sick of the fomenting rebellion and had decreed that all male babies be killed before they were weaned. He saw the children as little rebellions waiting to happen, and after just ridding Egypt of the Hyksos, he had no desire for another, foreigner on the red and black throne.” Imhotep took a sip of water before he continued.

“I almost lost my head.” He chuckled faintly. “Pharaoh flew at me, in a violent rage. Of course his son would be superior. How dare I defame the queen? I was sent back to Waset immediately. For years I served in the temple at Karnak. Though I had little actual power, I spent my time in the god's presence and studied the sacred writings. I began to read the night sky, like a map of instructions and clues. I was never asked to cast another horoscope, and did not see the young prince until he came to be inducted.

“The rite took two years. He was a strapping boy—strong featured, well built, a son any man would want. His eyes were black as Aset's, and he had all of Thut's prowess with bow, knife, and horse. He was courageous, even tempered, and wise. Even I had begun to doubt what my memory told me was true.”

His gaze met hers, the reflected lights dancing in his black irises. “There are sacred services performed only on those of the royal house. Since Pharaoh is god on earth, he is the highest priest of all. He embodies more magic and power than any other being. In the fourth degree of priesthood, the initiate is in solitary confinement for a year and a half. In this time he practices the things he has learned, namely, the astrological, medical, architectural, and Osirian aspects of the previous degrees. He is forbidden certain foods, sexual release, and alcohol.

“Ramoses was placed in a tunnel underneath my part of the temple. The words I said those many years ago had become nothing but intriguing rumor, and Egypt loved her young prince, and prayed for him as he progressed through the seven stages of the priesthood. I would go by the room in which he was a prisoner, and oftentimes heard him speaking. It was a language unknown to me, which piqued my interest, since I spoke all the known languages of the countries with which Egypt traded.

“I began to inquire, and learned that Ramoses had been weaned by an Apiru, but more important, an Israelite. Through a network of channels, I managed to get one of their precious scrolls and taught myself their words. I began to listen to Ramoses as he worked during the day.

“He was praying to another god. Praying like a child, singing songs with great emotional and spiritual impact, but without understanding.” The old man took another drink, running his tongue over his lips. “The time came, and he was released from the Days of Wrath and moved into the Battle of the
Khaibits.
He passed through all the remaining levels of induction and was received with joy by his father at the age of fourteen.

“Though he was but a boy, Thut took him campaigning and encouraged him in all manner of education. I bided my time, wondering what price my cowardice would extract from Egypt Ramoses grew, married, but was unable to father children. Thut was embarrassed for him, so kept him out of the country, fighting wars. Ramoses spent a lot of time in the Sinai, and when he returned, he would visit Avaris. I was uncertain as to whether that was because he visited his old nurse—in great secrecy, mind you—or his dear cousin, the Vizier of the Ostrich Nome, Nefer-Nebeku.