Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (13 page)

“Merit-Aten. Child, where did you wander?” Hep-Mut called. She watched over me like the Eye of Horus since I burnt down the red tent. Startled, I clasped my hand over my prize, unwilling for anyone to claim it. I found it. It came to my hand. I folded it into my sheath as we headed back to Meti’s room.

Meti sniffed her sweet bouquet. “We must fill the carts at the Royal kitchens. It is such a blessing that Per Aat Ti-Yee allowed the bakers and brewers to work all night.”

I giggled. “The blessing is that the Pharaoh does not know.”

Meti smirked. “He would not be pleased. Nor would the Amun Priesthood be amenable even if we explained that feeding the hungry would be a gift from our hearts. Granted, the soldiers are financial burdens. It does seem foolish to pay thousands of uniformed men to escort the Amun officials to temple. Let us hope this plan will not harm us.”

I felt sure this would help us achieve some peace within our country.

If we could make a few Sesh happy, that would be a start.

“The deities will look down upon me and see that I, with pure heart, served my country. They could deny me nothing.” Meti threw the old shawl over her head. But I knew instinctively it would not be the Deities who denied her.

T
he kitchens bustled that evening. By nightfall nearly three hundred loaves and jugs of beer awaited. Attendants loaded the bounty upon the donkey carts. Meti and I wore the costumes of the villagers so as not to call attention to ourselves. She pulled her cape protectively around her swollen belly. I helped her up on the cart knowing that in a fortnight I would have a new brother or sister.

Captain Horemheb swaggered in. “My Per Aat, should you really be working tonight? You are so near easting a child, perhaps you should stay home and rest.”

“Nonsense. The soldiers depend on us. If we do not feed them then who will?” She picked up the reigns readying her donkeys.

The Captain turned to me, his eyes wide with surprise. “Well, if it is not my little charge in need of me once again.” His brown eyes twinkled.

“I commanded that you serve me.” I said it with indifference, yet my heart pounded.

Meti collared the donkey. “You met my daughter?”

He winked. “Yes, this little one fed my legions once before. I am indebted to her.” My face flushed as he lifted me into the second cart. In the first village, the broken soldiers clustered in the corner, approached with apprehension smudged upon their faces. They mistook us for villagers and commiserated about their cut wages, which made it impossible to feed their families or care for their sick parents. We presented the loaves and jugs heavy with thick ale and threw out silver debens.

“Who would offer simple soldiers such a gift?” asked an older man.

“May we bring those who served by our side?” pleaded a blind man. “My brother has a hard time making his way,” said another with missing teeth. “Yes,” said Meti in a voice that soothed those ravaged souls. “There is enough for all, but be silent, for the Hanuti would not be pleased by your full bellies.” “Ah, the Hanuti,” said a soldier who spit on the dirt. “Curse them for growing fat and rich while we suffer and die in the shadow of Amun.”

* * *

F
or months we dedicated ourselves to this service. No matter how far we traveled, the destitute told the same story. Angry. Resentful. Forlorn. Amun left these men by the wayside to rot. They accepted their pittance with outstretched hands and gratitude. Tonight we sated them, but what about tomorrow?

The season changed before I realized Meti had grown fat. Her belly protruded. She now looked like the women in the palace who gratified themselves with rich food as a way to display their abundant wealth.

One early evening I tugged her sleeve. “I need to release my water.” Horemheb signaled. “Soldier, guide this child to your home.”

“I would be honored, Captain,” replied the young man with a regimented salute. He directed me through the clamoring crowds.

Once we cleared the way, we walked the quiet stone street toward a dirty cluster of mudbrick houses. With timidity, I entered this commoner’s household he shared with his aging parents. His mother attended the stone oven while kneading dough with her foot. His father repaired a table in the dirt-floored reception room amidst the chickens, goats and a donkey. Around the corner, in an alcove, I stood over the clay jar. The stench of urine heated by the blazing day made me vomit. I was accustomed to plumbing and a stone toilet. This entire house could fit into my bed chamber.

A loud knock at the door startled me. I overhead an exchange of angry voices. The guard carried on a discourse in an obedient way. I peeked around the corner. Amun priests.

“We have noted that your family has not attended the temple services this month. May we inquire why?” A rotund priest read from a papyrus scroll.

The elder cleared his throat. “My wife is not well. Forgive us, I hired a physician. His fees exceeded my income from my furniture repair shop. We have nothing to offer Amun.” The elder man dropped to his knees and beat his chest.

“This will not do at all,” replied the fleshy priest.

The other priest with the sharp nose of a jackal sniffed out the feeble prey. “No, you are behind in your tithe. What are you prepared to offer in return?”

I peeked around the corner and caught the eye of the scheming priest.

“Your daughter looks of age. She could be given to the virgins of Amun. Her features are pleasant. She may be chosen as Amun’s personal consort for the Opet Festival.”

The aged man turned with great surprise. Confusion washed over his face. My presence vexed him. “But, she is not…”

“Lest we remind you, your standing in this community is by our grace. We allow you to run this business. So all profits you receive are by our blessing. If you wish to remain in fair standing then I suggest you offer something to please Amun.” The dog-faced man assessed the scant possessions.

The father trembled and clasped his hands together. “Anything, please, I beg you, please do not blight my reputation. My son will inherit this meager business. His family depends upon the income.”

“We could always erase the name of your wife and eliminate her entry into the Duat. Or since she is sick and of no use, we could bury her alive while you listen to her tortured screams. Every last breath of her body will be snatched from her as the pressure of the sand abolishes her ability to breathe,” replied the fat priest. His eyes glistened with the pleasure of his unthinkable torture.

“In the name of Amun, please, I beg you no! She is the mother of my children. I beg you, do not order this. I shall find a way to pay you.” The man crumpled at the feet of his condemners.

My face grew feverish. I couldn’t fathom the priest’s threats. Someone had to do something. General Horemheb could stop this abomination. “Hand over your daughter,” ordered the fat priest. “We will bring her to the Temple Virgins to offer her body to the Amun priests. You will be honored by having her be in service. We will then consider the possible annulment of your debt.”

The father shook and turned white as Khemitian cotton.

“You no longer have a choice,” said the jackal-nosed priest who snatched me by the arm and dragged me out the door. As he shoved me along, I felt like a little prize lamb. The Sesh who witnessed my abduction cast their eyes away. Out of the corner of my vision, the soldier who escorted me to his house trailed behind. His eyes were wild and his teeth clenched.

“The Priests will be pleased with this fine little catch,” said the heavy priest who elbowed his partner in the ribs.

“Should we call their debt even?” asked the other.

“No. This akh is just a promise that they will keep their commitment to pay their past tithes.” Peasants scattered, as he dragged me through the marketplace. Drivers halted their donkey carts so we could pass. Women with baskets or water jugs upon their heads spilled their wares as they craned their heads. I tried to mouth the word 'Help,' but they turned away. I was just another sacrifice. Nothing new. This same treatment probably happened within their own home. Losing a daughter. A son. A debt paid.

A
head, a shriveled old woman dressed in black herded a flock of white geese across the road. The big birds honked and waddled faster than their orange webbed feet could go. I called out to the leader.
Help. Come help me
, I thought.

The goose cocked its head.
What could I do for you?

These men will cut off my head and roast me tonight on a spit. And then they will do the same to all of you.

It looked me up and down.
We cannot have that. Come on, flock.

The leader honked out orders. The gaggle raced toward us, wings batting the air, pecking at the Amun priests. The leader snapped at the crotch of the one who held me. He loosened his grasp and screamed. I fled and disappeared into the vendors.

Weaving my way through baskets full of aromatic spices, racks of tooled sandals and bright woven goods, I lost them. But I became disoriented in the chaos of the marketplace. Oh, where was North? How would I ever find my way back to Meti? Then the soldier skidded around the corner.

“This way,” he said and we headed North. We ran until I gasped for air and got a stitch in my side. “Just around the corner. You can make it.” Together we arrived back at the donkey carts just in time. I waved my arms. “Hide me from the Amunites.”