Mara, Daughter of the Nile (13 page)

An excellent dinner occupied both her thoughts and energies for a time. She was just beginning on her third pastry when Mara, who had finished some time ago, suggested an after-dinner stroll.

“It is pleasant to walk abroad in the cool of the evening. And there is a garden with a great pool of lotus which we must surely visit. I saw it from the roof pavilion this morning.”

“Indeed?” murmured Inanni. She found she did not want the pastry after all. “Of course I—have no objection, Mara. But—will there be many Egyptians there?”

“In Egypt one must expect Egyptians, my princess,” said Mara with a smile. “But from the roof I saw no one but a gardener, tending the flower beds. I hardly think it will be crowded.”

“But if it is a large garden …?”

Mara leaned forward on her elbows. “My princess, it is important that you show yourself. It must not be said that the king’s intended hides like a timid hare in her own apartments.”

“No, no, of course not, it would not do, I see that. Let us go at once. I am ready. Dashtar! Jezra!”

I will not be afraid of these Egyptians, Inanni thought. I must not be. Ah, but if only there were not so many of them, all looking at me out of their painted eyes!

Moistening her lips and trying to ignore the tremors of nervousness in the pit of her stomach, she gathered her long robes about her and, with Dashtar and Jezra in reluctant attendance, followed Mara down the hall to the outside stair.

At the bottom they found themselves in the first of a series of walled courts and gardens, through which they passed without encountering anyone more frightening than a few slaves or hurrying servants. Inanni began to relax. She peered curiously at the storerooms and shedlike workshops, catching glimpses of basket makers and glass blowers still at work, of hundreds of stacked wine jars, mountains of baled linen, the neat rows of a kitchen garden. There were vineyards, date groves, curving flower beds in which scarlet sage and larkspur glowed against dark tamarisk trees. As they entered a broad paved area surrounded by weaver’s stalls, Inanni gave a start of joy and stopped.

“Mara! Look at that woman yonder,” she whispered. “She who cards wool. Why, it is just so that we do it in Syria! I believe she is Syrian herself, I do indeed … Look you, Dashtar, is not that woman from our country?”

Mara said vaguely, “Indeed, she may be. Come, let us go on.”

“No, no, wait, I know she is Syrian! Ah, Jezra, do you remember old Ninurta, who taught us to handle the carder when we were children together?”

“Aye, mistress. And this woman resembles her a little, as I trust in Ishtar! The same broad brow, and the little downy moustache on the upper lip!”

“How happy we were then,” sighed Inanni.

Mara was fidgeting, saying something about the lotus
garden, but Inanni was lost in her homesick dreams. The woman with the carder looked up and smiled, and it was as if a small patch of Canaan opened up suddenly in this alien land, with old Ninurta holding out a hand in welcome.

“I must talk to her!” breathed the princess. She started forward, but Mara caught her elbow.

“Nay, Highness! We must not tarry here!”

“But why not? There are other days to see the lotus garden. Indeed, Mara, I would rather sit awhile with this woman from my homeland than visit a hundred gardens! How kindly she looks at me … Perhaps she will let me ply the carder for a while, and we will talk about Canaan—”

“Nay, wait!” Mara seemed almost alarmed. She recovered herself quickly, drawing Inanni aside. “I fear you forget yourself, Highness. Does a princess speak to a common weaver woman? Indeed, in Egypt this is not done!”

“But—she is—she seems most respectable …”

“She is beneath you! I know not what the son of pharaoh would say if you so demeaned yourself.”

Inanni flushed. Ah, I must learn to be Egyptian, she thought. The king will be ashamed of me. She bent her shawled head and moved on in silence across the court.

“It is of course possible,” said Mara after a moment, “that you speak to that woman—in another way—in your own apartments, perhaps. Yes, it would be quite proper for your highness to send for her …”

Then why may I not speak to her here? thought Inanni. Mara’s tone seemed strangely unconvincing, even distraught. Inanni stole a backward glance across the courtyard at the Syrian woman’s broad, kindly face and nimble fingers, away from which she was being led—aye, almost hurried—at a pace hardly suitable to an evening’s stroll. What was the matter with Mara? Even now her smile was nervous, as if she were having to force herself to behave normally.

Could it be that
she
was in a hurry, and had feared to be delayed in the Court of the Weavers?

It was a surprising idea, but though Inanni did not see how it could be so, the more she thought of it the more certain it seemed. They passed through the gate, and stepped onto a wide pavement bordered by stone rams, the far end of which was blocked by high, bronze doors and an armed sentry.

“What place is this?” inquired Inanni.

“I believe it is one of the entrances to the palace grounds.” Mara stopped, her face quickening with interest. “Aye, it is! Yonder doors pierce the Great Walls themselves, and on the other side is Thebes.
Ai
, Princess, I would love to walk abroad in that city! A place of marvels, it must be—”

“Mara, come! That sentry is—is ogling you!” whispered Inanni, tugging at Mara’s sleeve in embarrassment.

Mara’s eyes shifted to the sentry, measuring him so coolly that the princess hurried on, scandalized, across the pavement. Mara shrugged and followed. “
Ai
, he is not so handsome as he thinks he is,” she commented. “Come, through this wicket now. I think this is the hedge which borders our lotus garden.”

Inanni was glad to dodge in anywhere away from the sentry’s bold grin. But as they pushed through the last gate he vanished from her mind. Her first impression of the lotus garden was of vast sweeping lawns and the sparkle of water; her second, of a throng of people. She shrank back in dismay, but Mara had already started down a path strewn with powdered lapis lazuli, and there was nothing to do but follow. The place was almost a park, spacious and well watered, dotted with clumps of palms and acacias under which nobles and their ladies lounged. Beside them were low tables laden with beribboned wine jugs and bowls of fruit; behind them slaves waved great plumy fans. Dominating all was the long lotus-shaped sunken pool in the
center of the garden, blue as heaven with countless lilies. Their perfume filled the air.

“Is it not beautiful, Highness? Is it not all I said, and more?”

Inanni mumbled assent, hoping she did not appear as gawky and countrified as she felt. The whole court of pharaoh must be gathered here to take the air! Two gossamer-clad ladies sauntered by, their fashionable, blue-wigged heads like heavy flowers on their fragile necks, cones of slowly melting perfume ointment resting atop their curls. The fragrance of myrrh drifted by with them. A coal-black Nubian in a slave’s
shenti
crossed the path, carrying a wine jug and a bouquet of golden cups.

“Lift up thy head, Rose of Canaan!” came Mara’s low voice. “Do not mind a few stares. Remember, it is not every day these lesser folk may gape at one destined to be the bride of royalty.”

Mara’s words were reassuring, as always, but her manner was preoccupied. She was scanning every part of the garden, a faint frown between her slanted eyebrows, the very lily on her forehead quivering with tenseness. Again, and stronger, the notion returned to Inanni that her interpreter had business of her own in this place. Was she meeting someone? Perhaps a sweetheart? Why, she could have told me, thought the princess. I would have understood, with all my heart!

Mara turned just then, touching Inanni’s arm to guide her into a branching path. Her hand was like ice. Perhaps not a sweetheart! worried the princess. Perhaps someone she fears …

They were making their way to a stone bench under a big acacia tree near the pool’s edge. It was in plain sight of the rest of the garden, but some distance from the nearest group of courtiers, to Inanni’s relief. She sank down gratefully upon the bench and allowed Jezra to pour her a cup of wine from the flower-wreathed jug nearby. It had been no short
walk, and when one possessed a fine, statuesque figure with plenty of curves, one got out of breath easily. It was good to rest.

“Shall I pluck you a lily, my princess?” Mara murmured. Without waiting for permission she moved down the grassy slope and stooped to the froth of blue flowers in the water. Rising, a blossom in her hand, she stood a moment to sweep the garden with yet another searching glance. Inanni found even herself peering this way and that, frowning into clumps of trees, though what or whom she sought she did not know.

At that moment a light step sounded on the path behind her. She turned quickly. A tall figure was approaching through the shadows under a clump of palms. On the slope, Mara stopped short, then with a visible effort continued her unhurried walk back to the bench. She was breathing quickly as she bent over Inanni and offered the lily’s fragrance to her nose.

“Here is thy lotus, Princess. Drink of its perfume and forget tomorrow, our sages tell us …”

A smooth voice, speaking Egyptian, interrupted her. She straightened, then stepped aside. Inanni found herself looking into the long, impenetrable eyes of a richly dressed young nobleman.

Is this he, then, whom Mara expected? she thought. But he is speaking to me. “Who is he, Mara? What does he say?”

“Highness, may I present His Excellency, Lord Sheftu. He wishes to know if Your Highness finds our country pleasing.”

He must be the one, nevertheless, thought Inanni, else Mara would not clasp her hands so tightly. “Tell him it is very beautiful, though far different from my homeland.”

Mara spoke, and the young lord listened courteously. He was the same, Inanni realized all at once, who had stepped up to the queen’s throne this morning to receive some order. How attractive he was, to be sure—except for his beardless
jaw, shaved clean as a baby’s after the strange Egyptian custom. Inanni narrowed her eyes, trying to picture him with a luxuriant Syrian beard. The results were exhilarating. Ah, if this were Mara’s young man she had reason to breathe quickly! But of course he could not be, after all, since he was a great lord and Mara only a hired interpreter … It was very confusing.

“My lord wishes to inquire if you enjoyed your audience with the king,” Mara was saying.

“Oh, yes, indeed. His Highness was very kind.”

As Mara turned back to the young Egyptian, Inanni noticed that her tenseness was now pronounced, almost as if she were bracing herself for something she dreaded. Was she in love with this Sheftu, or in mortal fear of him? Inanni could not decide. Evidently what she was trying to tell him was of the gravest consequence, but he would not let her finish, and his voice was stern in spite of his mask of casual interest. Can they really think I believe she is only translating my one little remark? thought Inanni, almost amused.

Of course she might not have suspected, had she not guessed Mara was coming here to meet someone. It did take more time to say a thing in Egyptian, as Mara had explained this afternoon. Think how many words the king had used to make statements that were quite short and simple in Babylonian. A strange man, the king, scowling through his courtesies … But that had been quite different. Mara and this Lord Sheftu were actually talking of their own affairs.

The young Egyptian made a remark, turning graciously to Inanni as he did so. She had opened her mouth to say that she had no objection to their conversing privately, that they need not pretend, when another thought struck her like a blow.

Suppose it had
not
been different, this afternoon? Suppose there were not such dissimilarities in the language?
Suppose—suppose Mara and the king had been pretending too?

“Lord Sheftu inquires,” repeated Mara, “if you find the wine to your taste. Will you not answer, Highness?”

“It is very good,” said Inanni mechanically. Impossible! she was thinking. There could be no reason … But she felt almost numb. This Sheftu was not interested in the wine, he was watching Mara out of the corner of his eye. Just so had it been at the audience—the king’s manner bespeaking one thing and his words another. Before Baal, it was so! They were all deceiving her, thinking her too stupid to understand. Aye, and she had been stupid! She had believed, because Mara told her to believe, because she wanted to believe!

“My lord inquires whether you enjoyed your journey, Highness.”

“What? Yes—no—”

It doesn’t matter what I say, she thought. They’re not listening to me, only to each other. I am of no importance. And the king—ah, Mara, why did you deceive me?

That was the part she could scarcely credit yet, that Mara would lie to her so callously. But she must have. It explained everything strange about that audience—the king’s scowls and his honeyed words, even his restless pacing. Aye, it was true. Therefore all she had been told was untrue. Thutmose was not kind, he was scornful and arrogant, as his first terrible scrutiny had indicated. He was not pleased with his intended, he despised her.

I want to go home, thought Inanni, closing her eyes. Oh, gentle Ishtar, let me go home to my own land!

Somehow she got through her part of the brief conversation, never knowing what she said. Before long the young man bowed and went away. For some time Inanni sat in silence, slowly, very slowly, accepting the truth.

Mara, in the act of offering a platter of sweetmeats, bent over her in concern. “My princess! Are you ill?”

“No.”

“But you are tired. Come, we will go back to the palace. It has been a long day.”

Could she be pretending still? thought Inanni as she gathered her shawl about her. No, her voice is warm and sweet. Then why did she do this to me? Perhaps only to be kind, that I might not know my bridegroom scorns me. Bridegroom. Alas, he will never marry me.

They walked slowly up the rise to the main path. The light had faded; a few pale stars showed overhead and the courtiers were drifting out of the garden. The fragrance of lotus came to Inanni’s nostrils and the peace of the evening touched her with a gentle hand.