Sunrise on the Mediterranean (42 page)

Manna and quail fell to the Hebrews in the desert. Then Moses incorrectly struck a rock, after they had traveled to another
spot, but still God gave them water. The Amalekites—the Amaleki, as they were called—had attacked, only to be defeated by
the tribes.

Shortly afterward Moses was reunited with his family, most especially his father-in-law. He was the one who suggested Moses
delegate authority. Then he returned home, and the tribes entered Sinai, to camp at the foothills of the mountain of God.

Accordingly, Cheftu’s group should have passed the springs of bitter water, Mara springs. Palms, seventy of them, should be
on the horizon, somewhere.

Unless they were lost.

Cheftu turned onto his stomach, feigning sleep. He slipped the stones from his waist sash and whispered to them, “Are we lost?”

“Y-o-u a-r-e i-n t-h-e c-o-u-r-t-y-a-r-d o-f Y-H-W-H.”

As the last letters clicked over, Cheftu knew he would wear shoes no longer.

He was walking on holy ground.

AKHETATEN

“W
E MUST MAKE
the pronouncement,” RaEm said softly. “Egypt needs to know who the next ruler will be. It is the way of Ma’at.”

Akhenaten pulled away, his sweaty skin detaching from hers. “Still you mention these outdated”—he looked over his shoulder—“outlawed
gods.”

“Ma’at is an ideal!” RaEm protested. “Not a deity.”

“Egypt is new, now,” he said darkly, looking away. Inwardly she sighed. Pharaoh was becoming more difficult by the day—and
his days were growing shorter. “Beloved,” she purred, her hand on his back, still red from her nails. “Times are uncertain.
This is a safe thing to do.”

“The Aten asks that we believe, even when things seem uncertain. There is to be no other way.”

“See it from another perspective,” she said, trying again. “If you announce that Tuti will be pharaoh next, it gives a sense
of continuity to the reign of Aten.”

He was silent a long while; she felt his breaths beneath her palm. “To announce Tuti pharaoh will be to deny my own seed,”
Pharaoh finally said. “The Aten wants a child of my own flesh to sit the throne. Not some little brother, not the son of Amenhotep
Osiris.”

“I am your brother, and I sit the throne,” she said.

Akhenaten shrugged. “You are my son-in-law—” His voice caught, and Pharaoh spent a moment weeping silently for his daughter.
“You sit beside me.”

Meryaten, the little brat, RaEm thought. There had to be another way out of this problem. She had told the high priest of
Amun-Ra that Tuti’s ascent would be announced; it must be done. Egypt must not die.

Her place on the throne, in history, must continue.

When in doubt seduce him, she thought. RaEm was leaning forward to reengage her lover when they heard footsteps running in
the corridor. Akhetaten had a near silent palace. Who would be running? Why?

Outside they heard a scuffle, then a rap on the door. RaEm looked about for a slave, but none were hovering. They were terrified
of her. Sighing, she drew on a wrapper and flung open the door.

The messenger immediately fell to his face, quaking. “What interrupts the rest of Pharaoh, living in the glorious light of
the Aten forever!?” she asked.

“Sightings, My Majesty! As requested.”

RaEm stiffened. She felt Akhenaten’s interest behind her.

“Report to the kitchens for refreshment,” she said, dismissing the man. The messenger scurried backward. RaEm motioned to
the guard, gave him her instructions, then closed the door.

“What sightings?” Akhenaten asked, suspiciously. “Do those cursed priests of the outlawed god sneak across the desert?”

The one way to get Pharaoh interested in the workings of his kingdom was to want to keep them secret, RaEm thought with a
sigh. “I asked the soldiers to keep a watch on those who passed by our copper mines in the Sinai. That is all.”

His dark eyes searched her face, then moved over her body. He looked at her again. “How many soldiers do we have in Sinai?”

“Several companies.”
Not near enough to defend our interests there.
“Most of them work the slaves.”

“How many slaves?”

RaEm shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Not enough, though.
“A few thousand, perhaps?”

“Why do we need copper?”

She had to fight to keep her expression from revealing how stupid she occasionally thought he was. Did he imagine that the
country just ran itself? That Egypt needed nothing from other peoples? That all services and products were produced in Egypt?

Mayhap in Hatshepsut’s or even Rameses’ time—which was yet to pass, she had come to realize—but not now. “We must crown Tuti,”
she said, returning to the original conversation.

“He’s a child, not old enough to be with a woman. Besides,” he said petulantly, “Akhenespa’aten should be my wife!”

“She is also your daughter, and the only woman who bears the king-right, still living.”

“
Aii
, Meryaten,” he said beneath his breath. For a moment he was silent, then he rose up, his thick thighs streaked with the seed
he would never let her body take. “I will get her with a king.”

RaEm blinked as she tried to understand his words, to comprehend what he was saying.

Pharaoh lifted his kilt from the floor. “If you tell me that a king must be crowned, then I will take Akhenespa’aten to my
couch until she is pregnant.”

Tears immediately rimmed RaEm’s eyes. “You are leaving me?” she asked, her voice thready.

“You tell me this must be done for Ma’at,” he said. “I tell you that Ma’at is a dead god, that Ma’at has grown into being
an understanding of candor. However, I concede your point that Egypt must realize this dynasty will continue. Since you”—he
snickered—“failed in this duty, it is up to me. The next generation of Egyptians will have known nothing save the warming
love of Aten. They must have a king of my blood to lead them.”

RaEm’s hands were fisted so tightly that she felt the half-moons now carved into her palms. The bite of hurt was the only
thing keeping her upright. “I love you,” she whispered, words she had never said and meant. Words that had previously been
uttered solely for manipulation and power.

She had no power now. “Please … please don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” The thought that she was begging was repulsive, but
the idea of life without him was worse.

Akhenaten’s look was cool, his rich voice flat. “Go to your copper mines. When you return, Akhenespa’aten will be expecting.
I will take you again, then, should I desire it.”

RaEm felt the blow, just as surely as she’d felt his hand on her flanks and buttocks, time and again. “As you wish, My Majesty,”
she whispered.

He crossed to her, his kilt rumpled, his belly sagging. Lines were etched in his face, carved on both sides of his womanly,
mobile mouth. His shoulders sloped, his arms were thin, but she loved him. Every line of his body, she knew. Every way to
tease him, tantalize him, but it hadn’t been enough. I’m doing this for Egypt—she wanted to shout it, to have her actions
vindicated by the gods, to be explained to her lover. He bent to her, kissed her. “I also care for you,” he said. “Hurry back
to me.”

Then Pharaoh was gone.

RaEm stared at the closed door, then called for slaves to bring her wine and the messenger. Wine first.

“Majesty?” she heard a moment later from the doorway. Immediately she picked up the symbols of kingship, trading them for
her cup of wine. She inclined her head, as there was no scribe or chamberlain to transmit her messages.

“A spy from the copper mines in Sinai, My Majesty. Here to see you,” a slave said.

It was beneath her to speak to this man, but she had no choice. “Bid him enter.”

The slave backed from her presence. A moment later another man entered the room. He was darkly tanned, young, with a glitter
in his eye that said he could be used. He prostrated himself, awaited her word.

“Rise,” RaEm said softly.

He did, sharp dark eyes looking out from either side of a beak of a nose. He’d just come from the barber, and he had nicks
on his neck and chin. His kilt was fresh, if out of style. No jewelry, just a plain copper blade at his waist.

“Speak.”

“My Majesty, I was among those sent to inquire about gold.”

“There is a new vein?”

“Vein? Nay, nay, My Majesty. There is a ship sailing from Midian.”

Was the man addled? “Ships often do.”

“This ship sails from the mount of Horeb.”

“What is that? How do you know this?”

He glanced down. “My people were Apiru, My Majesty. Gold lies in Midian.”

“A vein? An untapped source?” Who ruled Midian? Could they be bought or vanquished? “Speak!”

“
Aii
… an untapped source, My Majesty.”

“Speak!” she barked.

“The Apiru buried much Egyptian gold in the mountains, My Majesty. The ship that sails is from Jebus in Canaan.” He must have
sensed these names meant nothing to her. “The Apiru returned to their homeland, Canaan, during the reign of Thutmosis Osiris
the Great. Now they seek their gold, to take it also.”

“Where in Midian?” Where was Midian? “Can we beat them there? Better yet, can we let them get it, then take it from them?”

He scratched his nose, then shrugged. “Aye, My Majesty. They have already dug it up. If a contingent of troops sails”—he ticked
off numbers on his fingers—“within three days, we should be able to strip them of it before they return to Jebus.”

“Make it so,” RaEm said, quoting Sky TV. She’d liked Jean-Luc Picard, he was shaven headed like an Egyptian. He’d ruled the
entire starship
Enterprise.
A reasonable and a powerful man.

That was the sole point of agreement between RaEm and Chloe’s sister, Camille.

“Make ready the way. I will come with you,” she said. I will take Tuti, and we will both come with you, RaEm thought. We’ll
leave Akhetaten, this city of rejection, and win the heart of the army by traveling with you.

He bowed, then backed from the room.

Thank you, HatHor, she breathed. For this I will build you a temple of gold. Just let me feed my people first. Don’t let me
be alone.

M
IDIAN IT HAD BEEN SILENT
with the slaves for days. They all walked in a reverential quiet through the slippery, sucking sand. Cheftu took up the rear
now, to prevent stragglers. All were able-bodied, but none tried to flee. Beneath the cavernous sky even slavery seemed a
comfort, a place to go, a way to belong.

They halted at once, forming a wall of men. Cheftu pushed through the group, noting that they had been climbing a small brown
hill, unnoticed amid the sand. He rounded a curve, then looked up.

The mountain rose like a bulkhead from the desert floor. Twin peaks, charred black, were silhouetted against the blue sky.
No people, no animals, just the mountain. Did they have any right to invade the space of God?

The guides motioned them down the hill. The guides themselves would not go, they would not step over into the valley of the
Amaleki or onto the Mountain of God. Cheftu took the asses, with their remaining provisions, thanked the guides, then started
down the hill to Har Horeb—Moses’ mountain.

As they crossed the plain, a few scraggly bushes and trees rising from the dry earth, the mountain grew larger. By dusk they
were at its foot. It had been forty years since the last group of tribesmen had been here. Still, a few signs of their stay
were clear. The encampments were visible, with rocky cairns designating how the tribes were to be positioned. The slaves,
many of them tribesmen, set to recreating the camps. Cheftu walked the base of the mountain, looking around. Postings, sloppily
etched in stone, declared that to touch the mountain was to die, while every twenty cubits or so was a smaller cairn, a boundary
marker.

Cheftu felt the blood leave his face when he saw the altar to the golden calf. There, carved in the side, was a crude rendering
of the goddess HatHor being worshiped. Where would the gold be? he wondered. But a shout kept him from looking. The first
division was arriving. Apparently Cheftu’s guides had directed them straight across the desert, not using the same path the
tribesmen and Moses had used.