THE GOD'S WIFE (19 page)

“Normally, I’d be honored to head a battalion to the border,” he said, keeping his voice low, even though they were next to a lonely papyrus field far from the main roads. “But this sounds like a ploy to get me out of the way while Meryt plays politics.”

“Or to get you killed.”

“I hope you have more faith in my fighting skills than that,” he said with a flat look in his eyes. “This is not a major war, just a face-off over imaginary lines.” He held up his hand to shield his face from the sun, which still shone with brilliance, glancing off the water in the papyrus pools.

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in you,” Neferet said, trying to squeeze the right words from her mind. “I think this whole scheme is just a convenient way for Meryt to work on whatever she has plotted with Zayem.”

“So, father is staunchly against me going?”

“That’s what the Vizier said,” She tilted her head and remembered a half-finished conversation from the Heb Sed dinner. “What was the news you were going to tell me a few nights ago?”

Kamose clenched his jaw and balled a fist.

“Most of it you already know by now. My informants found Zayem, sheltered by your mother. They say she’s going to make her move soon to proclaim him your future husband.”

“That can’t happen without my consent, and father would overrule her.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“He looked wonderful at Heb Sed.”

“Now he looks like a beaten mule. They must be fighting. What kind of sway she has over him is a mystery to me.”

Neferet remembered her last visit alone with her father when he spoke with free words and feelings. Hardly beaten down then. What had happened?

“He told me theirs is a marriage of convenience.”

The two lovers stood within reach of each other, staring into each other’s eyes. They dared not embrace, and Neferet’s patience neared the breaking point. It had been months since their one night of intimacy, but intrigue and plots continued to keep them apart. So, they relied on secret notes, rushed meetings and stolen glances at state dinners. How much longer could this last before they both went mad?

“We must see father – together,” Kamose said. “The sooner we do, the sooner Meryt’s plans will fail. You did say he felt happy for us.”

“Oh, yes, he was overjoyed. I would have thought he would have proclaimed our union by now.”

Kamose gazed into the distance. “He has a lot on his mind. Two lovers can’t be of that much importance.”

Neferet held herself back from falling into his arms and laying her head on the falcon pectoral he wore around his neck. The heat baked her skull, and she could think of nothing to say in this unbearable, bug-infested place that was forsaken by the gods. The meeting places they chose were never hospitable.

“Tomorrow,” Kamose said. “We’ll go to him and announce our intent to marry. We’ll ask him for his blessing and a royal pronouncement — Zayem and Meryt be damned.”

Neferet reached out one hand across the inches of space that separated them and touched her fingertips to his. She nodded her assent. They stood for many minutes, barely maintaining contact and trying to read each other’s eyes. A tiny spark, a life force jumped from finger to finger. They stood transfixed, unable to end the moment. The noise of a farmer moving bulls up the road nearby drew them out of their mutual daydream. They dropped their heads and parted, agreeing to meet at the palace when Ra first appeared in the East.

#

Neferet, fresh from her bath, was fussing with cosmetics in the early morning hours, irritated that she couldn’t make out the colors in the dim light. She knew the hematite was green, so she painted her lids with that, careful not to smudge the black kohl that lined her eyes. Deena pinned her hair close and then placed a Hat-hor wig on her head, with two thick strands trailing forward over her shoulders.

“That will do,” Neferet said, standing and looking for her scepter. As she cast a gaze around the room, a palace messenger appeared at the front entrance, followed by an apologetic servant.

Neferet stood rigid as he followed her summons into the room.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to wake you, my lady,” he said, prostrating himself.

She urged him to stand up straight and asked him his business. His voice faltered a bit, but he managed to tell her that the royal family demanded her presence at the palace throne room. His eyes were round with excitement, and she gathered that he had been charged to bring her over to the palace chambers without delay.

“I was on my way anyhow,” she said, tipping the boy a golden deben. He glanced at the money in his hand and bowed as he made his way backward out the door, bumping into walls as he went. Deena laughed at his awkward exit.

Neferet turned in disgust. Too late. She and Kamose were a day too late to get to their father. Now she’d have to see if the Vizier had taken her counsel. She closed her eyes, remembering that face in her dreams, the face of confidence. The Other. Something would guide her though this disturbing turn of events. She had to believe in that otherworldly guide.

#

When she arrived at the audience chamber, Pharaoh sat on his ceremonial throne like an old man, hunched and uncomfortable. His face was ashen and he looked at least ten years older than he did at Heb Sed, which had been only a few days ago. He held the crook and the flail halfheartedly over his chest, as if he wavered on the kind of pronouncements he might make.
A beaten dog. And it’s all her fault.
Her mother smiled like a lion statue of Sekhmet, the vengeful goddess. The more Neferet looked at her father, the more she saw illness. He trembled a bit, as if chilled to the bone in the air cooled by the morning desert wind. His gaze wandered unfocused. In the silent chamber, she thought she heard him wheezing.

Neferet caught a view of Kamose standing at attention on his father’s left side, and they exchanged narrowed glances. The Vizier stood at ease on the right side of the throne as if nothing was unusual. Meryt and all the other courtiers stared unblinking when Neferet appeared before them.

The Pharaoh held up a hand and spoke in a choked voice.

“My daughter, we are at war with the Hyksos. They are threatening our borders, and I’m sending Kamose to quell the disturbance. He will lead a garrison.”

Kamose looked at her with impassive eyes. The Vizier gave her a suggestion of a shrug. Her heart squeezed.
What comes next?

Her mother held up her hand and addressed the room.

“As for you, my daughter, it is time you realized the future of Kemet rides on your shoulders. It is time you chose a mate.”

What exquisite timing, Neferet thought. No wonder father looks so browbeaten. They must have been arguing about Kamose all night.

“I have no interest in marriage,” Neferet lied. “I am the God’s Wife of Amun.”

Her mother let out a barking laugh. “And I was married to your father when I held your role. Do you think it makes any difference to Amun?”

Neferet held her ground. “I believe this matter can wait until I am ready.”

“You’re sixteen. It’s high time you got on with your life. You should be producing sons in line for the throne.”

“It can wait, Meryt.” Pharaoh interrupted with un-characteristic sharpness. “It’s not like she must choose tomorrow. Let her go where her heart takes her.” His eyes softened as he looked at Neferet, and she thought she saw regret in his gaze. “Go with your choice and don’t let outside influences sway you.”

He closed his eyes and his head wavered. The speech seemed to take his remaining strength. He listed to the side and then slumped like a day-old infant to the sidearm of his throne and nearly pitched over the edge. Panic set loose as the courtiers, Kamose and the Grand Vizier rushed to aid their king.

In a moment or two, he settled back into his throne again, revived by some wine and a bite of fruit.

“Pharaoh asked that we cut the proceedings short in light of his illness,” the Grand Vizier announced to the hall.

With that, Meryt stood and announced business completed. Kamose would go to the front. Neferet shot an angry glare at her mother. Courtiers kept her back. Kamose held his father by the shoulders, trying to keep him upright. Out of the corner of her eye, Neferet saw Zayem peeking from behind a wall hanging.

He’s back all right, and there’s no way to do anything about it here.

She bowed to her father, lifted her scepter and shot a steely gaze at the Vizier.
He failed on all counts. Whose side is he on, anyway?
He produced a weak smile.

When she turned to leave, swishing out the door in a flurry of embroidered garments, lapis lazuli and turquoise jewelry, she heard her mother screaming orders to Kamose and to her underlings. Her father was curiously silent.

“It’s the eight-twenty bus from Cedar Rapids. I already told her what you look like.” Rebecca yelled into her cell phone over all the noise backstage. The show would start in half an hour, and Jonas had promised to pick up her sister Amy at the Greyhound bus station. True to form, the Kirk family opted to stay in Iowa, ignoring reports of Rebecca’s triumph in the press, but intrepid Amy navigated the big trek to Chicago on her own.

“You have her picture, right?” Rebecca said as she nodded to a costume assistant who held up tonight’s dresses for inspection. She gestured to the girl to hang them in her spot in the dressing room. Nothing like multitasking. She turned her attention back to Jonas, who was telling her he had everything under control. He and Amy would not be able to arrive in time for tonight’s show, but he’d take Amy out for dinner and entertain her until Rebecca returned home.

“Tell her we have fantastic seats for tomorrow’s show. They only give out the best house seats for family members. She’ll love it. Thanks for doing this. Love you.” She clicked the phone closed and slipped it into her handbag. She had twenty minutes now to apply makeup and get dressed. Thank goodness, she already did her warm-ups.

“Hey, babe, toast of the town,” one of the lighting designers said. He winked at her, and Rebecca felt herself turning pink. Ever since the reviews came out, people had been treating her like royalty, and she wasn’t used to it. Old friends from high school called her from Iowa, having read the wire story on “Aïda” in the local newspaper.
“Local girl stars in Chicago sellout.”
People stopped her on the street, probably because Riverside Dance Company bought huge ads on the city buses with over-size pictures of Rebecca in an evocative pose. She even received a free iced coffee drink from the guy at her local Starbucks.

You wanted to be a star. Well, here it is.

Rebecca stroked on the heavy kohl to her eyes, careful not to make a time-consuming mistake. She wondered how the ancients dealt with the application of this goo every day.

“Not like eyeliner, is it?” Raven, who was engaged in the same process, called. “At least, the men have to do this, too.”

Rebecca laughed and peered at her results from various angles in the mirror. She leaned over toward Raven.

“Amy’s coming. Tonight.”

“She’s the only one from your family?” Raven practically had a family reunion at the theater because so many of her aunts, uncles, cousins and her whole houseful of juvenile delinquent brothers had shown up. How Raven interested that rough crowd in dance remained a question for the ages. Rebecca nodded at Raven’s question about Amy with a slight gulp. Raven chucked Rebecca under the chin. “Amy’s a good girl. We’ll show her a good time.”

Then she disappeared, whisked into the costumer’s room for last-minute alterations. Rebecca dressed and tried to get herself into the mood. She played a Nubian woman, trapped by Egyptian forces eager to present her to their Pharaoh as a prize. Then her mind wandered, and she thought of her family and how freakish she felt around them. In a bizarre way, she needed to cultivate this sensation of foreignness. She heard Amy’s voice in her mind.

“I’m coming. I’m coming on the Greyhound by myself, and they can’t stop me, because I’m eighteen. I’m using my own money. I can’t wait to see you, ‘Bec.”

Rebecca stretched out on the floor and thought of her little sister stepping off the bus with Jonas standing by as tour guide, chauffeur and raconteur. She smiled thinking of the warm welcome, then plunged back into her mind to prepare to become “Aïda.”

#

Staring past the lights into the vast, faceless crowd, an external force lifted Rebecca. She reached for the rafters, grabbing for the stars — the imperishable stars, as the Egyptians would say. The buzzing returned to the back of her brain, but as she pulled every ounce of emotion in of her body, she stood in no danger of losing consciousness. Instead, she gave all of herself, perpetually streaming energy to a force — the Other — that called to her from beyond the heavens. She willed her confidence, her abilities, her soul to this being that stood just outside her world.

Up, up, to the tops of the curtains she flew in the pas de deuxs. The audience gasped as one being. Somewhere, the Other accepted Rebecca’s gift. In return, she never felt so foreign, never so a part of herself. She became a princess, adrift in Egypt, and couldn’t be anyone anywhere else.

#

Applause still rang in her ears as she tried to retrieve her voice messages on her cell phone. Two attempts to get through proved fruitless. Static buzzed in her receiver. “Having trouble?” a voice behind her said. Raven slouched against a wall, still draped in a linen sheath and sporting the heavy eye makeup. She looked in no hurry to leave the theater. “There’s a thunderstorm out there, you know.”

They both went silent and listened. Sure enough, rain thundered down on the big, flat roof of the theater, like percussive hits on a tin drum. A split-second electric flash blazed outside the hallway window and a low booming retort rumbled through the entire building. Rebecca looked at Raven and bit on her knuckles for a second.
Amy’s out there.
Then she picked up the cell phone again.

“I’ve got to find Amy. I need to know if Jonas found her,” she explained. Her friend nodded, and Rebecca tried voice mail again. A scratchy voice came on the line, interrupted by stuttering noises.