THE GOD'S WIFE (5 page)

“I don’t think I believe in past lives.” Actually, Rebecca didn’t know what to think about that person who looked through her own eyes at night. A past self? Well, it didn’t jibe with her Protestant upbringing. Too much at the fringes of reality for her.

“That’s good, because neither do I. The less New Age claptrap, the better.” She picked up her menu. “As long as this goes on my expense account, let’s live it up. These spinach things tasted like turds.”

Rebecca laughed in spite of herself. They ordered the planked salmon and each had a glass of Chablis.

“Now, let’s hear about those dreams. I’m sure we can incorporate them somehow.”

#

The cat wound around Neferet’s ankles as she posed at her vanity table, putting kohl on the rims of her eyes. She needed to feed little Mau-mau, the living incarnation of the goddess Bastet. The much-pampered animal had been searching through the grain stores of the Pharaoh for mice, but she must have come up short if she begged for food now. Neferet reached into a carved wooden box and pulled out some dried and salted meat. She put it on the floor and Mau-mau ran to pounce on it with her sharp teeth. The cat shook the food vehemently and then delivered a bite of death to this replacement mouse. Then she dragged her prize under her mistress’ chair. Neferet scratched the pet behind the ears as the feline nibbled on her fine treat.

Neferet breathed deep into her lungs, knowing that in a mere month she had grown to accept this life as an honored priestess. The fussing of the servants she tolerated with less frustration. She began to look forward to the daily baths and ritual massage of fragrant oils. She practiced her dance movements at set hours before the sun made the chambers too violently hot. And the visits to Amun, well, some were less fearsome than others. The idol had stopped coming to life long ago. She was only required to drink the sacred drink,
didi,
on special occasions, so she was able to keep her wits about her.

She peered into the mirror and remembered a slight buzzing in her head and the overpowering sensation of an unseen person accompanying her on these visits. She couldn’t explain it and certainly didn’t think it was a visit from a god. But there was the closeness of someone sympathetic looking over her shoulder, mimicking her dances, breathing the incense and saying her prayers. She would have been frightened had it not given her comfort. Anyone, even a specter, accompanying her into the austere Holy of Holies was a welcome relief. At least she wasn’t alone with the idol.

It was nearly time for the evening offering to Amun, and she waited until the hour when the high priests would bring in the food and re-arrange the statue’s clothing.

She closed her eyes and reflected on how childish these ministrations seemed in the beginning. With time, she began to learn from the hood-eyed chief priest Nebhotep that the Amun idol became a living — but not flesh-and-blood — entity due to the precise spells and incantations that had been handed down for millennia. The changing of the clothes and the uneaten food (devoured later by the priests) was ceremonial, an indication the people recognized the reality of Amun’s presence among them. Amun withdrew the living energy from the food, the priests said.

“Amun is with us, but even he is but a fragment of the One. The One who is millions,” Nebhotep once said, his old eyes shielded from the sun. “All the gods are like the colors that dance off a highly polished jewel, beautiful aspects of the light — the greatest god.”

Nebhotep spoke of a knowledge complex and ancient.

“In the beginning was the primordial ooze, and all gods emanated from the One. Some rose in favor and others, like Set, were reviled. Today, it is Amun’s turn for glory. But never forget that he is joined with Re, Eset and Horem-heb and all the others. The One and the Many.”

“Whom we will see when we die?” she asked, her eyes downcast in reverence.

“Don’t be a fool, Neferet. We see them every day in everything we do. Even your cat is but an aspect of the highest one. You must behave as the wife of the most high and not a slave who longs for glory in the afterlife.”

Neferet bowed and returned to her own scrolls, pondering on her role as the adored lover of the all-being god. Her mind swam with conflicting ideas. As one of the few women in the kingdom educated to read and write, she usually devoured her daily reading with the joy of privilege. Today, she had been too distracted to keep her mind on the devotional prayers.

Now, she set her diadem on her braids as her servant called out the hour. The time arrived to dance her love for her immortal spouse.

#

The close air pressed her skin and dust flew in a small eddy behind the effigy of Amun. Neferet’s skin prickled at something wrong within the tight confines of the sanctuary. Her nose picked up a peculiar scent, familiar but sinister. Just as she bowed to Amun before beginning her dance, a hand shot out and seized her at the wrist. Her senses jolted, and she struggled to pull away. Could the idol come to life again? This hadn’t happened for weeks. Why now?

However, when she looked through the gloom, she fastened on a pair of close-set eyes that she despised. Hiding behind the statue was Zayem, and he held her fast. How he had gotten into this sacred space was impossible to imagine.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “The musicians will see you.”

“I’ve been here before, and they’ve never guessed.”

“You what? It’s absolutely forbidden …”

“Lots of things are forbidden by our long list of rules, but I do as I please. Haven’t I always?”

Neferet scowled at this interloper, this filth of a human being. She couldn’t imagine how to continue with her duties with him interrupting her ritual. She wrestled her arm away, bruising it against her thick bracelets, and stared with fury in her eyes. She wondered for one frenzied moment if he was there during the time the statue had become flesh and blood. Had she done those depraved things with him and not Amun? Had he posed as Amun? Her stomach went sick at the thought of it.

“What do you want?”

“Only to watch your ministrations.”

“It is forbidden. I cannot.”

“You can’t just leave. There will be talk. The priests will ask why you didn’t satisfy Amun.”

“
You
will spread the gossip, you worm. You are lower than Set.”

“Ah, but even Set has his worshippers. I will sit here and watch.”

Neferet bit her lip and decided to dance a bit. What could be the harm in that? But she would truncate the ritual lovemaking. Amun would understand. He enjoyed god-hood, after all. So, with little animation, she began to gyrate her body, and Zayem leaned back upon his elbows as if he enjoyed the view.

When she finished, with the slightest kiss to the idol’s diorite lips, she gathered up some figs to eat.

“So, you
do
eat the god’s dinner.”

“Shut up. You know the priests’ role. Don’t be an idiot.”

He grabbed for the bread, but she slapped his hand away with an angry swat. Her heart heaved in her chest, and she finally spoke loud enough for outsiders to hear.

“Sacrilege. Only a priest may touch the god’s food.”

Zayem stared at her with saucy superiority before backing out of the holy chamber, now empty of musicians.

“You’ll be sorry you did that. Mother will be displeased.” He pouted like a child before his face resettled into its customary, unsavory grin.

“Get out!”

She pointed a long finger down the hallway and kept her arm steady. For the first time, Neferet transformed into a fierce guardian, equal to the lion goddess Sekhmet herself. She knew what it meant to guard her beloved. She stood fully ready to tear Zayem’s head off if he took another step toward Amun.

Zayem spun about and sauntered down the corridor. She could just spare herself the effort of spitting after his footsteps.

#

A platoon of soldiers guarded the gate to the Pharaoh’s palace. They paced each inch of the royal walls, but at one glimpse of Neferet, the God’s Wife, the sentries stood back. They opened the gates and ushered her inside.

She headed not for the harem, nor for her father’s quarters, but turned down the tile-inlaid corridors toward the prince Kamose’s private abode. No one blinked an eye, for the God’s Wife enjoyed complete freedom, even more so than her mother Meryt, the tyrant of the household. Neferet called for Kamose’s servant, who ran to get his master. Within seconds, she stood before her half-brother, who had broken off his evening meal. He brushed a few crumbs from his linen garments.

“I’ve got to talk to you now.” She was pacing, her head filled with fury and nowhere to put her racing energy.

“Sister, what has gotten you into such a frenzy. Your hair …” He reached up and straightened her plaits and repositioned the diadem, which must have slipped askew in laughable fashion.

“It’s such an outrage I don’t know where to begin,” she spat out, stomping and slapping the floor with her jewel-encrusted sandals. “He desecrated … he violated … the living god …” She choked on her anger, and her voice failed. She couldn’t continue and threw her arms up into the air.

Kamose reached out and touched her with gentle hands. He stroked her bare shoulders and kissed her burning forehead. She began to feel the muscles in her back unclench, and the words flowed with less rage.

“Zayem. He broke into the Holy of Holies as I was about to begin the ritual …”

Kamose stared with disbelief in his brown eyes. She knew he hated his half-brother almost as much as she did, but this misdeed was worse than even Kamose could imagine. His eyes showed it as they widened.

“Neferet, are you saying he entered the sacred chamber while you performed your sacred duties?”

“And wouldn’t leave. He said he wanted to watch. I had no choice but to continue because he made a threat to start rumors among the priests that I had neglected my office.”

“Which would get to Meryt eventually.”

Neferet found a chair and sat down for the first time in hours. Her nearly numb feet prickled with sensation as she rubbed them. Then she slumped backward, feeling the warm cedar wood press against her sore back and its soft scent calm her nerves. She gazed into Kamose’s eyes.

“What could his motive be? Why disrupt a holy service? He seemed genuinely joyful to upset me.”

Kamose sat on the braided rug near the chair, placing his hands in his lap. She could smell his dinner in the back room, getting cold. He might be feasting on lamb.

“He wants to topple the prescribed order of things.” Kamose looked dark as he mulled over the deeper meaning of his words. “I have spies who can report to me.”

“Oh, please, do ask them. I feel so …” she fought for words. “I feel raped. He penetrated the deepest secret of my life. That is, he almost did.” She smiled with a sly twist to her lips. “I left out a bit of the ritual.”

“The best bits, I hope,” Kamose said, returning the amused expression. But his face fell again as he considered what faced them.

“Something tells me Meryt is behind this,” he said. “And that’s never good. Zayem’s her favorite son. She’ll do anything for him.”

“I fear her every minute.”

Kamose set his mouth in a firm line.

“I will send my best spy, to catch the court gossip. We should know in a few days what Zayem is up to.” He stood and held out his hands to her. His tanned arms bore the strong muscles of a warrior, and his chest was broad and well-defined underneath the pectoral pendant of a golden ankh. “Why not stay, eat, spend the night.”

She backed further into her chair, rigid.

“Oh, you know, I can’t do that,” Neferet said. Royal brothers and sisters, unlike the common people, regularly had marriages between them. In fact, it was encouraged. The blood of the Pharaonic line must be kept pure. Even love affairs were allowed, and no one even winked when they were mentioned. In fact, Neferet had dreamed of marrying capable and intelligent Kamose many times in her younger, carefree life. But now the duties as God’s Wife interfered. This sort of affair, did the rules allow it? Surely not. Meryt alluded to as much when she offered the office to Neferet.

“You don’t believe that folklore of being true only to the god, do you? To a statue?” Kamose dropped his hands and widened his smile. Neferet regarded him with affection. Such a lovely smile, with even white teeth. Not like Zayem with his crooked mouth.

“It’s ceremonial, Neferet,” he continued. “Didn’t the priests tell you that your life is your own? On Ra’s magnificence, being the God’s Wife makes you one of the most enviable marriage prospects in Kemet.”

He had told her this before, but still, she shook her head. Kamose continued, dropping his hands to his side and taking a softer tone.

“An old man, guided by codes and ceremonies, can hardly be a confidante for a young woman’s sex life, now can he?” He let out a hearty laugh. “He probably doesn’t even know what sits in his lap anymore.”

This finally cajoled a snicker from Neferet.

“You are the freest woman in the kingdom, and I wish you to share my bed.” Kamose’s eyes had a trace of longing in them, something she had never seen before. He held out his arms again, and a gasp escaped her lips. Leaving conflicting thoughts behind, she leapt up to huddle against his bronzed chest. He leaned down to kiss her, with gentle, giving lips.

“It will all seem better in the morning. We will work it out. Zayem cannot ruin your happiness.”

She nearly let out a tear as she clutched fiercely to this man she had adored her entire life.

A line of scarlet peeked over the edge of the Nile, turning the interior of Kamose’s bedroom into a den of red furnishings. Neferet looked over at him, dozing on the goose-feather-stuffed mattress that he had moved over to sidle up to hers. The headrest he gave her, also cushioned with feathers, was softer than the one she had at her own apartments. These were placed over ebony platforms with carved animal-shaped legs. The pillows covered curved wooden headrests.

Over on his side, Kamose slept naked, his lean legs nearly touching hers. She marveled at the taut structure of his body. She discovered a whole new person last night. Because unmarried women lived apart in their own quarters, she hadn’t had much contact with him since they were twelve. When they were children, they’d chase ducks or run away from scorpions together. He had a knack for getting into trouble and talking his way out of punishment with ease. Risk-taking, curious Kamose relished his role as an exuberant, unspoiled royal child. She never knew Kamose, the man, with his broad shoulders, pleasing fingers and sweet words.

She tingled with the memory of the night before, then pulled herself out of bed with reluctance. Neferet reached to the floor and wrapped her linen sheath dress, using the copper mirror on a table to adjust the strap. She grabbed her gold crown circlet, which lay on the floor along with her discarded wig. The wig received a few rough shakes to dislodge any bugs that might have taken shelter there for the night. They were everywhere, and you couldn’t take chances. The sandals Neferet carried; to wear them would only slow her down. She bent over and gave her sleeping lover a kiss on the cheek. He smiled in a private dream. Then she whisked out the door and fled the palace with only one sentry catching sight of her. He saluted.

Back at her own quarters, she dropped the ceremonial accessories on the floor and rushed to the vanity table and bent over, combing out her own hair, which had been pinned close to her scalp to make room for the wig. She looked at her tresses, which had become stick-straight thanks to the pins. It had a bit of swing to it and pleased her. She combed the bangs straight, then stood up. No wig today.

Her servant stood at the door with a tray of food. Neferet half expected a series of questions from the woman, but she acted as if her mistress hadn’t deviated a tad from her usual routine. Neferet shook her head, indicating she didn’t want the offered breakfast.

“I must find Nebhotep, the chief priest. I want to know where he is,” she said. It was a command, not a question.

“He is instructing a group of new priests and having breakfast with them in the middle hall,” the servant said, with a bow. Her eyes gave away no trace of emotion.

“Thank you. I will eat my meal there.” She whisked a cloak over her shoulders, for there was still a slight night chill in the air. Then she hustled to the dining hall.

Every three months, the current class of middle-level priests would be excused to go home to their farms or shops, and a new group would report to the temple. Nebhotep needed to lead some of them through the basic rules of priesthood. Some had served before, but a few were green as the shoots in the farmer’s fields.

They dined on gruel made from local grains, and Nebhotep chewed with deliberate care. It was impossible to keep the omnipresent sand from mixing into the milled product, and he, like most old men, suffered from worn-down teeth. He looked up when he saw her coming and motioned her forward. A few of the young priests sat back in alarm, ready to bow with head to the floor in the presence of the God’s Wife.

“Take your ease, servants of Amun,” she said. She leaned over to whisper in Nebhotep’s ear. She smelled his familiar and welcoming scent of skin and ceremonial unguent. She informed him she needed to confer with him alone, and he nodded. He instructed the men to continue eating and eased himself to standing position — his stiff knees straightening with care — and shuffled off with her into the courtyard.

Birds called overhead, as the priest and God’s Wife worked their way to the stone benches in the sunlight. After sitting a short time, for Nebhotep needed time to adjust to light changes, Neferet pulled back her shoulders and addressed him.

“I need to ask you something that may embarrass you or even shock you.” She still wondered why no one mentioned her absence from the temple last night and was readying herself for a lecture. She may have scandalized half the temple staff already.

Rather than scolding, he made an impatient motion with his hand as if she should get on with things. She let out a long breath.

“Nebhotep, it’s Amun. On the first few nights I went to please him, he came alive.”

“Of course, child. He is the living Amun.”

“No, you don’t understand. He literally became flesh and blood. His lips were soft, and he looked at me with real eyes.”

“Soft?”

“Absolutely. He was a real man. Everywhere.” She turned her eyes down in embarrassment.

“That’s not possible. The drug
didi
. It must have affected your senses.”

“No, Nebhotep. He moved. He grabbed me. He made love to me, against my will. Roughly.”

“Real love, as in …” he coughed before he continued the sentence. They both knew how to finish the phrase, but neither could say it. Rape in a temple was unimaginable.

“Is that what is supposed to happen?”

Nebhotep shook his aged head and closed his eyes in apparent confusion. He pulled his faded robes close around him, as if he felt a cold draft. Finally, the dried lips spoke.

“Meryt told me you were instructed in the proper love-making ritual.”

“No, she didn’t. I mean, only in an abstract way. Nothing about the … umm ...” Neferet paused in embarrassment. “Nothing about the mechanics. She told me about the dance and the offerings. Then she said I was to be true to Amun only. That was it.”

“True to the Amun, yes, but only in heart. Your body is your own. The idol does not ...” The buildup of shock overtook his old body, and he looked heavenward, “In the sight of Ra and all the gods of the universe, what has happened here?” He fell silent. An ibis flew in from the Nile, carrying a fish in its beak. Neferet took this as a sign of truth, as Tehuti the wise often takes the form of the noble bird.

“I will arrange for one of the female priestesses to talk with you about this most bizarre event,” he continued. “It never should have happened.” His ancient mouth worked open and closed as if he had something important to say, but he uttered nothing more.

They stood, and Nebhotep clapped his hands to draw the priestess. A young woman moved down the path with a dutiful sense of speed. He whispered to her, and the slender woman scurried down the pathway skirting the garden, gathering flowers before returning to Neferet and offering a bouquet. Nebhotep bowed as best he could manage and departed. Neferet relaxed and inhaled the scent of jasmine and lotus when the priestess’s voice woke her from her reverie.

“Neferet, God’s Hand, Wife of the Blessed Amun,” the woman said, as she made movements to prostrate herself.

“No. Up. Please sit beside me.”

Her name was Kali, she said, and she had served the previous God’s Wife and even worked as an instructor in the brief time Meryt herself was an Adoratrice. She listened with concern to Neferet’s story, stopping only to put her hand to her mouth in alarm. Neferet left out the recent story of Zayem in the sanctuary, believing his indecent indiscretion was best kept under wraps for now.

After the long story, Kali spoke.

“God’s Wife, I wish you had discussed this sooner.”

“Neferet. Please call me Neferet.”

Kali’s eyes softened, and she continued.

“Not only were
you
violated in the vilest of ways, but also Amun was defamed. This is a crime worthy of death to the perpetrator.”

“So, the idol should not come alive.”

“Of course not. There are things we say that are symbolic only. Yes, it is the living Amun, but nothing turns him to flesh.” Kali’s eyes took on a gleam that hinted at dark thoughts. If Neferet were to put in a wager, she would bet Kali was ready to order the impostor’s death herself, if such a thing were possible.

Kali went on to describe the pseudo-sexual duties of the Adoratrice of Amun, which were far less physical than anything Neferet had encountered with Kamose last night. A kiss here, a touch there — all as certain prayers were said. Neferet felt her skin redden with shame.

“I’ve been a fool, Kali.”

“It is not true, oh, God’s Wife, I mean ... Neferet. You simply were not trained correctly. For this, I blame myself. I offer myself for correction.” Since a punishment usually meant a whipping, Neferet waved her hand in dismissal. She wondered how cruel a mistress Meryt had been. However, if Meryt had been too strict, Neferet was just bad, lacking enough confidence to get the facts straight about her own job. Why hadn’t she demanded more information? She looked about, feeling lost.
I need to feel power, and I still am a confused child. Where do I learn how to act with authority?

“Do you think the same person who abused me was the one who killed my predecessor?” Neferet asked.

Kali let her chin drop, as if in shame.

“Had we known this information before, we would have hunted this man down.”

“Kali. Would he be the same man? The murderer?”

“It seems most likely. And I fear you are in a perilous position.”

#

The table stood at center stage, adorned with an abundance of spring flowers ranging from tulips to freesia, and the young women handing out glasses of champagne bore smiles that seemed to Rebecca as chilly as the beverages they served. She stood at the other side of the hospitality tent with Raven; the refreshment table could have been on the other side of the earth — and she wished it were.

This gala scene was all part of the Rebecca’s hated Stroll the Waterfront fundraiser, which the dance company gave every year at the Ravinia Music Theater in the northern suburbs. Every year, she saw plenty of rich old guys in monkey suits with irritating leers donate big bucks to be able to meet and cut a rug with the nubile Waterfront Street dancers. It meant money in the pot for the board of directors and a libidinous dream come true for the guys with the deep pockets, Rebecca thought.

“They just set us up here as bait,” she complained to Raven as they began a slow march to the festivities. Raven, wearing a wreath of lilacs in her black hair and sporting a doll-like dress far too ingenuous for her, just snorted.

“Well, you know what I mean. The middle-aged Lotharios wouldn’t have a prayer of dancing with a Tanya or an Alicia in any other context.”

Raven flipped her hair behind her bare, tanned shoulders and gave Rebecca an evil grin.

“But you met Jonas here last year. Was he an aging Romeo?”

Rebecca almost stopped in her steps but continued to walk, eyes facing the grassy ground. Yes, Jonas had appeared at the event last year as unexpected as a man who leapt into the family room out of a television set. He was out of place but welcome. Rebecca remembered thinking he was too young, too good-looking, too earnest and well-mannered to be part of that pack of donors. Indeed, he wasn’t a contributor himself but the guest of his employer, a medical society that had given a large share of corporate funds to the dance company. At the right time, he cut into a dance Rebecca tolerated with a man with a sweaty, comb-over hairstyle. Jonas swept her into a waltz that seemed to last the entire evening.

That night, Jonas took the lead with ease, something Rebecca admired. So many men, flummoxed by the fact that she was a professional dancer, would falter or sometimes let her lead. Jonas had no such reservations. His steps were strong and graceful, and they spun around the room as if their dance had been choreographed. They spoke in the language of the flirtatious, commenting on the chintzy decorations in the tent and the unusual color of Rebecca’s celadon-green dress. She asked him what he did for a living, and his eyes sparkled.

“Do you want to know what I do for a job or what I do with my time?” he asked, half teasing.

She figured there would be nothing a doctor could pinpoint. She couldn’t even describe the symptoms adequately, so how was she supposed to give a full medical history to some blank-faced medic? If there were words to describe her condition, they’d be something like void, total blackness, nothing. However, in the back of her mind, she felt a tiny sensation she connected to someone else. She told this to no one. Then she realized with a start that she spoke of it to Sharif.
Why? Who is he to me?
She had to get in contact with him somehow, and this pointless doctor visit blocked the way. What convinced Jonas to waste her time like this? She raged inwardly, jailed in the examination room with nurses guarding the exit.

She grabbed her purse and rooted around for some candy, something to keep her perked up in this sterile, beige room. Inside the purse, her fingers touched a piece of paper that she pulled it out. Printed upon it were the words “Sharif Cadmus, Ph.D., Egyptology” and an Alexandria, Egypt, address and telephone number. A local number and the words “Until Tuesday” were written on the bottom in her hand. She had no recollection of this note but knew without a doubt that the only way to solve last night’s mystery, maybe the only way to save her job, centered on calling that number. Her hands went ice cold and she shoved the number back into her purse as the door opened and the doctor reappeared.

#

Out on the street, she wheeled on Jonas, shaking a prescription for tranquilizers at his startled face.

“Are you happy now? I have a clean bill of health. I could climb Mt. Everest as far as that guy thinks. I’m just a little ‘anxious.’” She gave a bitter laugh. “Listen, I don’t want to lose that role in ‘Aïda’ and you are making this difficult for me.”

“Rebecca, please calm down. We’re all just worried about you. I’m not going to tell the dance company.”

“More likely you’re just worried I’ll make a scene,” Rebecca yelled, as two middle-aged women clutched their purses and hurried past.

Jonas rubbed his head and turned around as if looking for support from an unseen crowd.