THE GOD'S WIFE (6 page)

“You can’t go on like this,” he said, turning back with a pleading look in his eyes.

“Well, maybe I can. Maybe I can do just fine without people meddling with my life and dragging me off to doctors I don’t want to see. I’ve got something I have to do today.”
I need to find Sharif. Sharif. Sharif.
She looked around, frantic to get away, then spun around and tramped off in the direction of an idling cab. Jonas sprang after her and folded his arms around her. She broke free, and he grabbed again, this time with more force.

“You can’t just run away,” Jonas said in an exasperated tone. “You passed out last night in front of several people. You need rest, and I’m going to take you home.”

She knew Jonas wouldn’t understand, but he had to stop interfering like this. Control freak. That’s what he was. Now all she could see in her mind was Sharif ’s face.
“Until Tuesday.” What does that mean? I’ve got to uncover this mystery now.

“Stop messing with my life,” she yelled at a startled Jonas as she jerked her body free and moved a few feet forward. “I have to find something out. It’s important. I don’t care if you don’t understand.”

Jonas made a lunge for her, but his arms caught the breeze. Rebecca ran and grabbed the cab’s door handle.

“Don’t even think of trying to stop me,” she said. She jumped into the cab before he could reach her.

“Rebecca,” he called through the open door. “You gotta let me help you.”

She shook her head so hard that it hurt, then slammed the door shut. “Twelve Water Street,” she instructed the cabbie. The vehicle accelerated, and she watched Jonas’ form grow smaller through the rear window. In her frustration, she felt little for him. That both surprised and excited her. This wasn’t a break up, just a tiff, and she’d never left the shelter of Jonas’ arms before.

She saw Jonas out on the street reach out with a single hand, as if trying to catch the air she once breathed. She didn’t care. Her entire mind and body was focused on the dark, lanky man from Alexandria.

#

She clutched her cell phone in the coffee shop next to the Waterfront studio — a dive Jonas never frequented. She could count on being uninterrupted. With quivering fingers she dialed the number. A voice answered in a tongue she guessed to be Arabic.

“Sharif ?”

“Yes.” He switched languages with ease.

“It’s Rebecca.” She heard him breathing and didn’t know how to continue.
What do I want?

“Yes, Rebecca.” The voice, reminding her of something rich and elegant. Espresso coffee or dark chocolate. The spell began to wind around her. Her breathing began to speed up.

“I need to know what happened last night.”

“Then I want to see you.” He sounded careful with his words, not wasting a syllable.

“How about the theater? They are rehearsing today, so it’ll be open. Do you know where it is?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding a touch surprised. “In an hour?”

“An hour,” she said and snapped her phone shut with no idea of what came next.

Neferet threw aside the linen window coverings that blocked out the world from her splendid living space. She watched with pleasure as Ra began his daily arc over the earth. She’d learned since she was a little girl that the sun god faced terrible enemies every night while she slept. So, the beginning of each new day marked a victory, a relief. Ra reigned victorious again.

However, this little moment of joy didn’t last long as she thought back on her efforts of the last few weeks to catch Zayem. She demanded the Medjay — the Pharaoh’s police force — arrest him on sight. She wanted to accuse him face to face in the Hall of Ma’at, the general court where justices dispensed their verdicts with swiftness. Even Meryt’s son could not dodge the ritual pronouncement of guilt by Ma’at’s appointed judges. As for his punishment, the ruling for desecrating a temple would mean he’d pay a mere fine, but for rape, if she could prove it, the verdict could be death through various grisly means that she didn’t want to think about. Rapists and murderers were often impaled alive or sent out into the Red Lands to starve and die like an animal. However, she knew they would never condemn a prince to such a fate. Probably, he’d be banished to live with the uncultured people out in the countries where they spoke ugly languages and lived on whatever food they could hunt down. That in itself would be enough to satisfy her. She’d never have to see Zayem again.

She shook her head. During several long weeks of searching, all she had accomplished was a great deal of running around conferring with informants and not getting any answers. Kamose’s spies found nothing incriminating. Old Nebhotep wouldn’t talk about the case anymore. She guessed he was mortified that such perversity could have taken place at his temple. Kali was around for moral support and for proper instruction — this time — of how to adore the stone idol of Amun.

Since the day that Zayem violated the sanctuary, everything returned to normal, with the icon standing like the inert object that it was. Neferet needed only to dress him in new, embroidered clothes, offer food and dance before him. There were no more acts that made her feel shame. She went about her duties with serene detachment now. She suffered no more nightmares about evil images leering at her and certainly no more flushes of regret when she left the Amun idol each night in the Holy of Holies.

Still, Neferet stirred with impatience during this restoration of peace. Zayem must pay for his crime. She had confided about the rape to Kamose, who was nearly violent in his reaction — tossing a rare cedar chair across his chambers and vowing to murder his half-brother.

“Are you sure it was him who did
that
to you?” Kamose cried, his eyes full of fury. “I’ll wring his scrawny little goose neck until his eyes pop out.”

“No proof. No proof,” Neferet said, wringing her hands. “That’s what we must find. Evidence to connect him to that night. Otherwise, they’ll just say I was dreaming because of the
didi.
”

“I’ll get you proof. We’ll comb the palace looking for someone who knows Zayem’s every movement.” Kamose slammed his fist into a shield propped next to the wall and glared. “Nothing less than death is fit for him.”

“We need to build a case.” Neferet calmed him down, stroking his hard, lean shoulder muscles. “We mustn’t behave as he would. We need to catch him the next time he tries to violate …”

“Violate you!” Kamose snapped. He then clamped his mouth closed and listened with wild eyes as she told him of her plan to catch Zayem in the act. She had musicians and temple guards all at the ready for every one of her visitations to Amun’s sanctuary. Should Zayem show up, Kamose’s men would appear at Neferet’s command and seize the villain.

Yet, week after week, the plan was set into motion, and Zayem never appeared. Soon, all the players tired of the scheme and gave up the search.

Today, though, they might drive the snake from his hole. Kemet had just won a war. Just a battle, really. Had it been all-out war, Kamose and Zayem both would have been called to lead the troops along with her father, the Pharaoh. The event today was more like a celebration of minor plunder. Pharaoh’s men had discovered Hittites trying to steal gold and carry it over rivers to their godforsaken land in the dry and fruitless northeast. Today, the conquering Kemetians would parade their captives through town. Then the greedy Hittites would be imprisoned and shackled as slaves. Neferet did not question the fate of the captives, for she understood the law of the land.
Ma’at must be served.
She hardened her stare as she watched the sun come up over the east side of the Nile.

Immediately after the solar orb rose, trumpets filled the air, followed by the blowing of a ram’s horn. At this signal of a celebration, all of Wast would be ready for a feast for the eyes. Neferet checked her kohl eyeliner in her burnished copper mirror and fussed over her appearance. Jittery nerves forced her to readjust her necklaces and arm-bands. The idea of standing before all of Kemet’s population, reviewing the parade of the captives, made her think of Zayem’s leering eyes. When she went to do her ritual duties tonight, would Zayem finally try his hand at violating the sanctuary again? He gloried in destroying the most celebrated of events, and this victory party would be tailored to his liking. She lifted her ceremonial scepter, topped with a carved and gilded egg-shaped totem that signified the personal symbol of the God’s Wife. It gave her a little bolt of courage.

She reminded herself that if Zayem attempted anything this night, he’d be a sorry man. Kamose, with his warrior friends at the ready, would see to that. Everyone returned to alert status.

She whisked out of her quarters to join the other priests and priestesses in front of the temple of Karnak. When Nebhotep counted them all there, they began their slow march to the reviewing stand where the royal family awaited. Instead of walking near the people, as she did during the last festival, she stayed in the middle of the throng of priests. No one could get to her without causing a melee. Still, her palms sweated and she had trouble keeping a good grip on her wand of office.

Far in the distance, she could make out the reviewing stand — a large stage erected near the main roadway. There stood her father and mother, along with all the royal offspring. The Grand Vizier, the court and serving staff huddled in the back. Bodyguards flanked the platform. It looked like the safest place to be at the moment.

As they paraded, the priests tossed magical amulets into the waiting hands of the crowd. Nothing like a few trinkets to keep the mob at bay. The Karnak retinue came ever closer to the reviewing stand. When Neferet reached the platform, the Grand Vizier stood in front, about to read the proclamation of victory. She skipped up the stairs and found her place, uncomfortably near Meryt and far from the comforting gaze of Kamose.

The Vizier declaimed from his royal document, announcing the endless list of precious objects purloined by the evil Hittites. It would seem that every ring and every coin in Kemet was included in this itinerary. Neferet stifled a yawn. It didn’t help that the Vizier had a voice like a goat’s bray. Neferet found her mind wandering.

“My son tells me of strange events in the temple,” Meryt hissed as the speaker kept droning. The slumping Neferet jumped to attention and looked sideways at her mother, who kept a false smile on her face for the crowd. Neferet feared to look the woman straight in the eyes.

“What sort of happenings?” Neferet asked, gripping her staff as if it were a lifeline.

“Bizarre things,” Meryt said. “And you have been negligent.”

What in the world did Zayem tell her? Certainly, now wasn’t the time to get every fact out into the open. Before Neferet had a chance to answer, the Vizier ended his announcement, and the grand army began its procession from the river to the prisons.

Kemet’s finer warriors led the field, including a few strong men Neferet had giggled over during her youthful play with Nareem. The bronzed soldiers strode by in their military regalia, armbands accentuating their well-developed biceps, their backs and shoulders bare to further show off the results of their rigorous training. Some wore medallions from the Pharaoh, bearing magical pendants to keep an enemy’s spear away. The most valiant soldiers sported necklaces with large golden flies, an odd tribute to valor, but still gorgeous in every detail. As they passed by in precise unison steps, Neferet noticed the bedraggled wraiths who brought up the rear. Wearing rags and bound at their hands, the Hittite prisoners shuffled by, herded along by soldiers with whips. The vanquished men rarely cried out, but once or twice, a phrase of their harsh, guttural language rose from the street.

Neferet found herself gazing at a woman in the middle of the throng of captives. She alone strode upright and proud, dressed in a fine blue dress, while all around her the men quailed and cowered. Neferet inspected the comely woman up and down, wondering how she became entangled with this lot of thieves. The questions in her eyes were answered by one of the soldiers who goaded the prisoners along.

“This woman,” he cried out to the Pharaoh’s company, “is a princess of the Hittite land. She is our special gift to His Holiness.”

The woman never raised her eyes to the Pharaoh, but she made a great show of spitting on the ground. The crowd hushed for one long intake of breath. However, no one harmed the woman for her act of insolence. The Pharaoh waved the princess along with a jaded expression of irritation. He was not interested in her for his harem of many spouses, even if she was a prized enemy aristocrat. However, Neferet followed her with her eyes. She found herself wondering why she cared for this foreigner’s fate.

Then the buzzing began again. That tingling sensation of someone inside her skin, peering through her eyes. This presence cared for, maybe even identified with, the prisoner.
Why should I involve myself with a woman of no culture?
However, she continued to ponder this suffering woman long after she became a speck in the distance. A wave of sympathy rolled over Neferet. The Hittite noblewoman was alone, barefoot, unable to speak the language in a country she’d never seen before. Her life had been one of abundance and indulgence, yet now she shared the road with gutter rats and thieves. Neferet imagined looking up at Kamose and appealing to him for help. Kamose, so gentle of heart and strong in passion. He’d spare that woman, the lost daughter of nobility. It would be a bold act to benefit both of them. To celebrate, he and Neferet would begin to dance, inching together with undeniable attraction, and then he would be lifting her higher, far up into the sky until she could nearly hold the stars in her hand …

Startled, she looked up again — and felt the hot burn of Meryt’s eyes on her face. Caught daydreaming again. No matter. She did not turn or flinch but remained resolute for her people, as the revered God’s Wife of Amun. She’d continue doing her job. She remembered her office also involved exposing Zayem, so she knew she better get into the practice of standing up to her mother. Queen or no queen, Meryt had become her social inferior. Neferet raised her chin and smiled, pleased with the handsome soldiers and their tribute. The princess she tried to forget, but the image of that shackled woman haunted the back of her thoughts.

#

That evening, Neferet left the Holy of Holies with relief fighting dismay. Zayem hadn’t disturbed the tribute to Amun, which was a wonderful thing for the smooth operation of the temple. However, once more, Zayem evaded her trap, and for this, she poked along the temple in a sullen mood, kicking a lost amulet that had landed on the temple floor.

“You can go home,” she whispered to Kamose’s toughs. Like panthers stalking away in tall grass, the warriors departed. She stood in the deserted hallway for a second, pondering her next move, wondering what she would say to Meryt at the family festivities beginning in a short amount of time. At a public dinner, she didn’t dare tell her mother of Zayem’s scandalous behavior.

In a fog, she began gliding down the center aisle toward the middle chapel, not looking behind or around the myriad tall columns that flanked her sides. A short distance down the aisle, something caught her ankle and brought her to a dead stop. Confused, she tried to yank her leg away, but the grip was tight. She looked down at the ornate temple tiles and saw a hideous smile aimed up in her direction. Zayem had been on the floor, hiding behind a papyrus column.

“You bastard,” she said, trying not to make too much noise for fear of breaking the tranquility of the holy house she served. “How dare you attempt this again?”

“Oh, I have not transgressed this time, my sweet little Neferet,” Zayem said, trying to drag her toward him. “I have not entered the holy sanctuary of Amun.” She maintained her ground and began kicking at his hand with her other foot. He responded by leaping into the air from the ground and seizing her around the waist. She was no match for him, so she went limp in his grasp. She had no intention of making this easy for him. Kamose had taught her an old warrior’s trick — a dead weight is much harder to lift than an animated one.

Zayem laughed like a baboon and dropped her to the floor.

“I suppose you want to know what to say to my mother tonight,” he said, his bulbous eyes overjoyed by the way he demeaned her. “Well, I’ll tell you, my little one, my little God’s Wife.” He pressed his foul lips to her ear. A smell of week-old sweat enveloped her. She fought hard not to gag.

“You will never tell her what happened here during the Opet ceremony. You will lie for me and never reveal what you
imagine
had happened.”

Neferet squirmed away from his grasp. Different situations demanded a time for decorum and a time for action, and she needed to do something now. She surprised herself by standing up and yelling with every bit of her might.

“Thief ! Barbarous thief in the temple!” Her heart thudded as she skittered across the floor, avoiding Zayem’s grasp and hoping to attract as much attention as possible. “Thief ! Villain!” By now all the priests had gone, but maybe one of Kamose’s men was still within earshot.