Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (14 page)

The Captain started to reprimand me. “Where have you two been? You worried us.” He lifted me up into the back of the second cart. I pulled the old blanket over my head.

The soldier bowed. “Amun priests kidnapped her.”

I peeked my head out. “Soldier, take this silver.” I tossed him my pack.

“They will come back for your tithe. Pay them and cancel your debt.”

“Thank you,” said the soldier. “Hurry, Captain, leave.” The young man whacked the donkey on the rear and forced it to gallop away. My second driver took heed and followed. Just then the two Amun priests entered the courtyard, shoving the Sesh and searching for their runaway.

Every bone in my body ached. In the other cart, Meti’s shoulders slumped. She held her belly in the silhouette of the setting sun. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want to think. Onward we rolled. I stared out into the empty hush of the starry eve, thankful that it asked nothing of me.

The wind blew spirals of Khemit grit into the air. I could taste the sand in my teeth. The melodic beat of the donkey’s hooves did little to relax me. I sighed with relief to have left the dirty village behind. Suddenly, our cartwheel hit a bump in the road, and it jolted me to an upright position. I stirred to see past my driver. Startled, I covered my mouth so that no unwarranted words would escape my lips. Could it be? I must be dreaming.

I thought I saw Captain Horemheb’s arm around my mother’s shoulder. The sweet tinkle of her laugh wafted upon the mild night breeze and floated back to my ears. I cringed. Why did he need to protect her while we traveled the lonely road back to Thebes? The wind grew fierce. An unexpected ache stewed in my heart. Angry tears soiled my commoner clothes. How could she? He had taken a place within my heart, and my very own Meti cast a charm upon my Captain. Why would she dim the twinkling first light of my inexperienced girlish love?

It couldn’t be.

My eyes lied. No, she touched his face with an intimate hand. I couldn’t breathe. Thief. She stole his heart from me. Must she be the jewel within the crown of everyone’s affection? I could never shine as bright.

The heads of state, the council of twelve, her couriers, scribes and personal attendants all adored and adorned her with love as heavy as her golden collars. Why Captain Horemheb? I saw him first. My heart turned cold like the stone left back in the road. I wouldn’t forget. My skin stung from the pelting sand. Meti stood up and turned back to call me.

“Merit-Aten, cover yourself,” she yelled over the unforgiving storm. The winds worsened. She had to hold the sides of her cart to keep from falling. Terrible rumblings made my stomach tremble.

My driver turned and said, “You must hide. This storm brings danger. It could consume both of us.” I shuddered, remembering how a guard had all his skin ripped off from the harsh grit. They found his skeleton stripped clean exactly where he had stood post.

Meti strained to stop the last of the jugs from falling from her rattling cart. She tried to steady herself. The donkeys, now wild with fear, tossed the cart from side to side. The Captain struggled to steer his out-of-control cart and clutch her to him. She fell back into his powerful arms. Something had gone wrong. They veered off the path toward the Malkata Palace.

“We have changed course, Your Highness,” said my driver, who had pulled his linen wrapping over his nose and mouth. We clattered along. My stomach grew queasy from the unsteady motion. The gray donkey galloped over the stone road while I held on to the seat. The jugs of beer clattered and splashed their golden liquid.

Finally, we approached the gates at Luxor. “I command you to open in the name of the Per-Aat.” Two priests jumped to attention, but they did not open the gates. We must have looked quite a sight.

A line of old vegetable carts pulled by braying donkeys. A man in a royal guard’s uniform holding a woman writhing in pain. “I am Horemheb, Captain of the Guards, and Nefertiti needs use of the Per Akh birth house! Open your gates!”

Because of his tone and the forceful way he gave commands, they couldn’t help but obey. Those grand gates, built to keep all but a select few out, flew open to accept us. We clattered through the grand courtyard. Horemheb pulled back hard on the reins.

With flair, the man who must have performed great feats in the fury of battle climbed down from the cart with my Meti still in his arms. She appeared tiny against the bulge of his muscles. Her nails dug into the brown of his skin. He didn’t even flinch. He carried her toward the Per Akh Birth House at Luxor. Whispering soothing words, Horemheb calmed my laboring mother.

“Let us help,” offered the priests.

“Help Merit-Aten to the Per Akh,” he ordered. We ran across the streets paved with electrum. The golden moonlight streaked the silvery path. The guards and I tried to catch the bull that carried my Meti to safety.

“I will take her now,” said the Priestess of the Per Akh. “She is in good hands. Thank you for bringing her with great speed.”

“See that she is well taken care of,” said Horemheb. His voice rang with the sincerity of a man who had been softened by a woman in need. I noted the catch in his breath. He gazed upon Meti like he had discovered a rare rose in the desert.

“All is well,” she assured him.

He gave me a quick smile. His eyes moist, probably from the wind before he regained his bravado and said, “I was only doing my duty.” Then he straightened up, cast all traces of emotion aside like dirty laundry, and made a hasty departure.

Meti screamed and the two attendants pulled away her robes. “Merit-Aten, come forth, if you are here to watch your first birth, then you will participate,” ordered the Priestess as they guided Meti to the bricks and pushed her into squatting position as another contraction split her apart.

“Hold. Hold. Now, push,” said the Priestess with authority. “Merit- Aten, take that clean cloth and pat her brow to calm her.”

I wiped gently to remove the grime. Meti grunted hard as she labored to find a rhythm in her breath. This birth seemed primitive and violent. I could taste Meti’s fear.

There would be no time to prepare for this easting like she had done for mine and my sister’s births. Something bulged from between her legs. Is this a child? I watched horrified yet transfixed.

The akh ripped her apart as it pushed itself from her womb with urgency. My Meti wailed and grabbed at her belly, trying to soothe this pain. Seeing her helpless, I felt ashamed that jealousy had consumed me. If only I could relieve her.

The child had both fists against the side of its head, making it difficult to expel. After the next contraction the shoulders popped out. I rubbed Meti’s back and sang a sweet little song to try to take her attention away from this burden of her agony. The child fought her way into the world, causing great pain and difficulty, foretelling that was what Ankh-es-en-pat-Aten would do the rest of her life.

“M
erit-Aten, arise,” said Hep-Mut, stroking my face. “Today is the summer solstice and the beginning of the Opet Festival. Your first ceremony and the opening of the Aten Temple. This is the day we have waited for. Awaken, my sweet of light. The one dearest to my heart, daughter of my mind but not my body.” Those words comforted me like baked bread. Warm. Delicious. Soft.

Hep-Mut dressed me in a new linen sheath woven with golden threads. When she affixed the heavy jeweled earrings, I cried because the cruel weight pulled my newly pierced lobes. New golden sandals encrusted with carnelian, turquoise and lapis awaited me.

“Wings of Isis, hush, now. As royalty you have a duty. Do not whine like a baby. You are five, after all.”

We boarded the Grand barge where my parents awaited. I hoped the Amunites would welcome us as my Father believed. We would be safe if we had our own worship of Light.

“Good morning,” said Meti. “Today marks the second month the waters of the Nile have flooded the plains. You and I will attend Amunhotep the Elder’s Rejuvenation Ceremony.” Her attendant centered the golden uraeus crown featuring a cobra on the left and a vulture on the right on her head.

“My Beauties. My Loves. Let us greet this day with blessings to the Aten. I can feel it in my bones that all is complete at our Gem-Pa-Aten,” said Father. He looked stately in his Atef crown, a tall oval silvery-blue headdress. His starched kilt with golden threads was overlaid by a stiff triangular apron tied about his waist.

I ran into his arms. His pale skin had burnt from his duties at the red granite quarries in Nubia. Mother surely scolded him for being out in the sun during these hotter months. But as usual, my father’s excitement working with the Nubian stone masons appealed to him more than the shade of his tent. Besides, he loved the heat because he always felt chilled.

“Pleasant be the morning,” said Sit-Amun in a deep voice. She mingled with her entourage of Amun priests and royal guards gathered on the boat.

“Blessings for your Opet Festival,” answered Father.

Sit-Amun nodded with a slight tilt of her head. But after he passed, she glared at my Meti. The Chief Royal Consort looked exquisite in her carnelian red sheath which signified that she wouldn’t be abiding by the customary white sheath of the first day rituals. Her thick braided tripartite wig had been woven with strands of golden chains.

Meti squeezed my hand. A war brewed between them. I must keep Meti away from her. I couldn’t offer Sit-Amun any reason to throw us out. Grand Djedti Ti-Yee and Grand Djed Amunhotep reposed in their gilded chairs. The rolls of fat on his belly jiggled when he chortled at the harpist’s jokes. The harpist, Kiya, doted on my grandfather like a circling vulture. Her hands glistened with fine rings, which caught the light as she plucked the music from her harp. A boy with a beautiful face hid behind her skirts. I only caught a glimpse of him, because an obese Amun priest indulged the boy with sweet cakes and stroked his face.

“Nefertiti, do you feel well enough to attend this Festival after your recent birth? You should be at home nursing your newborn rather than out dallying,” said Sit-Amun, loud enough to draw judgment.

“Nonsense,” replied Meti. “Ankh-es-en-pa-Aten was well fed this morning, for I am bursting with milk.”

The pride of Khemit revolved around a mother’s ability to give birth and nurture her young. Having another female child signified that Meti was held in high esteem. She proved she could summon forth the feminine energies necessary for sacred rituals.

Sit-Amun pursed her lips. My mother’s sharp wit had turned like a horse and trampled Sit-Amun’s pride.

“Yes, we can all see your abundantly full breasts,” said Sit-Amun as she lifted her glass. Red raging swirls of fear and survival flowed from her spine like wine. I knew better than to trust the words that spilt from those red lips. An Amun priest put a protective arm about Sit-Amun.