Mara, Daughter of the Nile (34 page)

He is gambling for time, thought Mara. On what frail hope she could not imagine, he was taking one last chance, playing on the queen’s one weakness—her fear for her throne. And he was doing it as skillfully as a harpist plucks his strings. Hatshepsut was standing rigid, with panic in her eyes.

“What traitors?” she cried.

“Their names die with me.”

“And their plans as well! Son of the Devourer, what can they do without their leader?”

“My death will be as nothing to them. It will be as a stone thrown into the Nile in the time of inundation! Do the waters stop for a stone? The plans are made, Hatshepsut, and the hour is near. You will know your enemies when they strike.”

For an instant Hatshepsut’s face was sickening to gaze upon. Then slowly she straightened, and something of her
cold beauty returned as she forced herself under control. She sat down slowly, stiffly, and grasped the arms of her throne.

“Lord Sheftu,” she said, “let us approach this in a different manner. Why go to your death when you might serve me in Count Senmut’s place—when you might own the choice lands that were his, tax free—when you might be the most powerful man in Egypt? All this I could give you, or more—whatever you asked! Surely there is some treasure you crave?”

Sheftu hesitated and a gleam of triumph appeared in Hatshepsut’s eyes. At last he said, “Aye, there is, Majesty.”

The queen let out her breath slowly and relaxed, leaning back with a faint smile twisting her lips. “Soldiers! Release his lordship,” she commanded.

The men loosed their hands and stepped back. Sheftu stood free. At once he turned, strode quickly to Mara and took her in his arms. Mara, in a rapturous confusion at the unexpectedness of it, barely heard the queen’s outraged exclamation. But she felt with all her heart the gentleness with which Sheftu held her, taking care not to touch her bloodstained shoulders, and she heard his murmur in her ear.

“Oh, Mara, my beloved Mara, I would I could save thee, but they come not, and it will soon be too late …”

“Who comes?” she whispered.

But the queen’s mocking laughter cut in. “
This
is your treasure, Lord Sheftu?”

“Aye. The greatest treasure in Egypt—a maid whose loyalty cannot be bought. Whatever bargain we make, Daughter of the Sun, must include her freedom.”

Mara did not see what signal the queen made to the soldiers; but suddenly she and Sheftu were jerked apart and held fast, and Hatshepsut was on her feet, her voice lashing at them.

“We will make no bargain! Nahereh! Bring forth your
Libyan and instruct him to beat this maid to death before his lordship’s eyes. Unless—did you wish to speak, Lord Sheftu?”

Mara flashed him a terrified glance and saw that Hatshepsut had found her weapon at last. All Sheftu’s cool poise had shattered in an instant; he was fighting his captors like a madman—though his lips were shut tight.

“Begin, Libyan,” ordered Hatshepsut.

The lash curled through Chadzar’s fingers like a lazy black serpent, then struck. The pain was nauseating; through it Mara heard Sheftu’s furious voice, and though she could not understand what he said, she screamed out, “Don’t speak! Don’t speak! It will not last long—”

It would not last long at all, she thought dimly as the lash came down again. Already the blackness was closing in. She had had too much. After the next blow she would feel nothing …

But the next blow never fell. For an instant she could not distinguish the strange new sound she was hearing from the roaring in her own ears. Then she realized this new roar came from outside; men were running, shouting. And suddenly Hatshepsut was crying out orders in a strange, hoarse voice, and Mara felt herself dumped like a discarded burden as the soldiers leaped over her and ran … The big doors burst open.

Mara struggled painfully to rise, staring about her at the wildest confusion. Soldiers were everywhere, pouring into the room in endless streams, clashing in hand-to-hand combat with those ranged around Hatshepsut, who stood screaming orders before her throne. Nahereh fell as Mara watched, and the gnarled old general who had struck him down whirled as the juggler crept past toward the inner door, seized him, flung him bodily into the arms of two archers—

A shadow fell across her. “Mara! Oh, Amon, no hand but mine shall slay that misbegotten Libyan!” Sheftu scooped her up, cursing incoherently, carried her to the far side of
the room and thrust her into a pair of strong and sheltering arms she recognized with wonder as Nekonkh’s. As Sheftu whirled away again, she heard the captain’s comforting growl in her ear. “Now, little one, all’s well at last, everything’s out of our hands, our task is done. Rest, little Blue Eyes.” He flung his cloak about her, and with a deep sigh of gratitude Mara buried her face in the rough folds of his tunic, and shut her ears to the noise of conflict, and shut her eyes …

When she opened them, she knew not how much later, all was strangely quiet. She twisted about in Nekonkh’s arms, which instantly loosened, and for a moment had the peculiar sensation that she was back with Inanni, in Hatshepsut’s formal court. Once more the big room glittered with the jeweled collars of courtiers. But now the walls behind them were lined thick with soldiers—those wearing the scarlet helmets of pharaoh’s bodyguard. The courtiers, headed by Sheftu, stood in two ranks down the length of the room. At one end of the open aisle thus formed was the dais, the great throne, and Hatshepsut standing motionless and stiffly erect, with her black hair falling in a cloud about her cold and beautiful face, and the cobra on her brow.

At the other end, approaching her with the stride of a conqueror, came the long-fettered king.

Thutmose stopped before the throne and spoke. “Come down.”

There was a pause, during which not a head moved, not a finger stirred. Then slowly, haughtily, Hatshepsut descended the steps of the dais and stood before him. He reached out and jerked the coronet of Egypt from her head. Then, still without turning his eyes from hers, he beckoned someone in the crowd. A servant stepped forward, bearing a tray on which rested a golden cup full of some dark liquid.

For just a moment Hatshepsut’s gaze wavered, as she looked at the cup. Then it returned unflinchingly to Thutmose.

“You show little mercy, half brother,” she said bitterly.

“I show much! I grant you leave to die by your own hand, rather than another’s. Take the cup and drink.”

Hatshepsut was silent, and the mask of youth fell suddenly from her face. “So be it! I will drink, and forget. But you will not forget, nor will these others, though you chisel my
cartouche
from every monument in the Double Kingdom! My works stand, Son of the Lesser Wife, and they will eclipse yours, and your sons’, and those of all pharaohs after me, so long as the land of Egypt is watered by the Nile! You cannot kill the name of Hatshepsut the Glorious! Now, give me the cup. But I am pharaoh and I will not drink it here, in the presence of my enemies! Stand aside, that I may pass.”

With a sweep of her fragile, flowing robes Hatshepsut turned and bore the golden cup to her private chambers. Thutmose followed her. The door closed quietly behind them.

A sound like a sigh passed through the crowd in the throne room, but no one stirred from his place, though Sheftu turned to seek Mara’s eyes across the space that separated them. It seemed a long time before the inner door opened again, and Thutmose stepped forth—alone. At sight of the royal cobra on his brow, the entire company fell to their knees.

But the king walked straight to Sheftu, raised him, and grasped his shoulders in both hands. There was a low conversation unheard by any save themselves, then both turned toward Mara, and Sheftu quickly crossed the space of bloodstained floor and took her hand.

“Beloved—come with me, unless your hurt is too great …”

Conscious of a hundred eyes upon her, Mara followed him painfully but with pounding heart down the double line of kneeling courtiers to the king.

“So,” said Thutmose in the gentlest tone she had ever
heard him use. “It is the little interpreter who has saved Egypt and me this night.” He was silent a moment, then lifted his hand to touch his lips and forehead in the salute of respect “Blue-Eyed One, never again shall you cover your shoulders. I declare your scars to be medals of gallantry greater than any I could bestow, and it is my will that all the Black Land look upon them, and learn the nature of courage.” Gravely he lifted a massive gold chain from his own neck and placed it around Mara’s. “
Count
Sheftu,” he added, raising his voice so that it carried to all parts of the room, “I advance your status to Nearest Friend and Advisor of Pharaoh. Your place is at my right hand as long as I rule Egypt. But I charge you now, leave me and find the most skilled physician in Thebes to treat this maid’s wounds. Farewell, and the gods go with you.”

He turned away from them, and as they moved once more down the long room, they heard his confident and vigorous step advancing toward the throne. A moment later his voice rang out.

“In the name of Ra the Shining One and of my father, whose royal will decreed it, I claim my heritage as pharaoh of the Two Lands and sole ruler of Egypt!”

OUTSIDE, the night was soft, the air dark and cool and fragrant. Mara walked with Sheftu past the archers guarding the entrance, across the stone drive and through the gate of the lotus garden. There Sheftu stopped at once, and took her with infinite care into his arms. He kissed her lingeringly, in silence, then tilted her chin and looked down into her face.

“Sheftu,” she whispered, “it’s all over.”

“Nay, little one. It’s just beginning. Many things are beginning.”

With one arm still about her waist, he led her on across the dewy grass, and with every step Mara’s heart grew lighter until even the pain in her torn shoulders seemed a thing of the past.

“Where are we going?” she asked presently. “To find the physician?”

“My lovely Mara, the physician about to be lifted above his station in life will come to
you
—and relate to his grandchildren how he did so.”

Mara laughed softly, delightedly. “And he must be the best in Thebes—you heard pharaoh’s order. Then I suppose we are going to my room with the butterflies, which I never thought to see again … Aye, of course! I must wake my princess and tell her! You will send her home, Sheftu, as you promised? Without her help I could never have—”

“Hush. We’ll tell her tomorrow, and she may sail as far as she likes. But we are not going to her now, little one—you’re going home with me. For the rest of your life.”

“Sheftu! Is it true? I can scarce believe it.” Mara stopped walking and looked at him wonderingly. “You’re a count now. And I a free maid.”

“A free maid—and about to become a countess.” Sheftu grinned down at her. “I trust,” he added, “that you will remember to keep your sandals on.”

“And if I choose not to?” she retorted.

He laughed softly, taking her face between his hands. “Then you shall go barefoot. Who shall dare cross the will of the countess—except the count?” He dropped a kiss on her lips, then his smile faded, and his arms went around her as if never to let her go. “Oh Mara, Mara … Nay, I’m hurting you. We must go on, beloved.”

A countess, thought Mara dreamily as they moved across the grass, into the Avenue of Rams, and on toward the palace stables. I shall be a countess and possess anything I like, and eat roasted waterfowl every day, and wear rings on my fingers and have lotuses, always a fresh one, for my hair—all just as I boasted to Teta. Except it will be better than that—oh, much better—for I shall be with Sheftu …

They had reached the stables, and Sheftu was rapping out orders that produced hasty activity among the grooms. Soon a wide door opened and four Nubians hurried out, bearing a canopied litter far grander than those Mara had made way for so often in the streets of Menfe.

“I am glad,” she murmured, “that it is not a chariot!”

She was beginning to feel like a countess already as she stepped into the litter and eased her sore shoulders back against its luxurious cushions.
Ai
, surely I was destined for this at birth! she thought, trailing her fingers along the rich carving of the arm rest and crossing her ankles in exquisite imitation of Zasha’s lady. If Teta could see me now!
Why, I will soon forget I was ever a slave in my life, and no one else will know. I shall wear royal linen and perhaps a blue wig.

She extended a gracious hand to Sheftu as he sank down beside her, and to her delight he bent over it gallantly.

“And now, Count Sheftu,” she inquired, “could you describe me as a guttersnipe?”

“To be sure,” he said pleasantly.

She sat bolt upright. “Sheftu!”

He was laughing under his breath as he lifted her hand again to his lips. “A countess-guttersnipe,” he amended. “Far more interesting, Lotus-Eyed One, than a lady born—See now, you were too impulsive. You have hurt your shoulders.”

He eased her back against the cushions, one arm about her. The chair lifted, moved at a swift but gentle jog down the long avenue, through the tall main gate, and into streets beginning to gray with the first light of morning. For a time Mara was content with silence and blissful comfort. But a thought was stirring in the back of her mind which she could not put away.

“Sheftu,” she said, “when I am your countess, may I have anything I want?”

“Anything, little one.” He glanced at her, then added, “Within reason.”

Mara grinned, savoring again the flavor of their old dueling at the Falcon. “I only want you to buy me a slave.”

“A slave?”

“Aye. One called Teta—who was left one day in Menfe with a basket of unironed
shentis
she did not deserve.”

“You shall have her, Blue-Eyed One. But my villa is full of slaves. What do you want of another?”

“I want to free her.”

Sheftu smiled, took her hand and settled back beside her. “So be it. That is a small matter, to free a slave. Have we
not freed a king?” A moment later he dropped her hand to point. “Look, Mara! Ahead there. Those are our gates.”