THE GOD'S WIFE (8 page)

To her left sat a little man with a Moe Howard haircut, reading her screen with scrunched-up eyes. He wore a tweed jacket that looked as if it had been picked up from the Salvation Army. A musty elbow nudged her in the side. He smelled of old cigarettes and soot.

“Blackouts? Yeah, blackouts. I had those. Or I did.”

Rebecca didn’t reply but attempted to avoid any eye contact with this drifter.

“You know how it goes. You got a little whiskey and then someone orders a round. Next thing you know, you’re drinking in your room. Man, I’ve had whole weekends I couldn’t remember,” he continued, unaware that Rebecca was edging her chair away from him. “Sometimes, I didn’t even know what town I was in. Is it like that for you?”

Rebecca kept her eyes on the screen and said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “I don’t drink.”

“Sure you don’t. None of us did,” he started laughing so loudly that people began to look up and stare. The man started patting pockets until he drew out a card. “Well here’s a group of people — I’m sure you’ve heard of them — who helped me out. Got me off the bottle-a-day habit. They’ll help you, too.”

He slipped the business-sized card onto her carrel, picked up a few of his books and left. When Rebecca felt he vanished, she picked up the card. It was an Alcoholics Anonymous prayer. On the back of it was a listing of meetings in the downtown area.

If only drinking were my problem, she thought. At least then I’d know what’s wrong with me.

Grateful for no more interruptions, she found low blood sugar or hypoglycemia on the medical website. This was described as a possible cause of blackouts. Excited to be closer to an answer, she sent the pages to the printer, then stepped up to the desk to pay the librarian the requisite two quarters for the printouts.

Low blood sugar. I’m not eating right, that’s it! Actually, like most dancers, she hardly ate at all. It seemed a likely diagnosis. She searched the stacks and found a few books on hypoglycemia, checked them out and then dodged outside straight into a subway station. She read the entire way back to her home stop on Sheridan Road.

Jonas stood waiting in her apartment vestibule when she turned the key to the outer front door. She met his blue eyes with embarrassment.

“What does it take to be alone around here?”

“You did a pretty good job of avoiding me all afternoon.”

“There was something I had to do. Personal.” She tried to push her shoulders into his torso, squeezing enough room for escape, but he only caught her in his strong arms. He held her and she began to feel like a foolish child. He gazed at the books she clutched.

“Babe, hypoglycemia is not only rare, but it hardly ever causes blackouts.”

“But it can.” Rebecca tried to hide the titles, even though he had already read them.

“Okay, we’ll follow the diet together then and see if it helps you. I’ll be the control eater in the experiment. But I’ve got to ask you,” he took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to meet his soft eyes. “Who is this Arab man you’ve been meeting? Someone called Lenore called me and said secretive meetings are going on.”

So that’s how Lenore is going to engineer my downfall, she thought. She’s going to cut off all my friends, everyone I’m close to.

Rebecca leaned against Jonas and felt the last vestiges of her anger drift away. It’s Jonas I love, not Sharif. Love didn’t come easy in Rebecca’s life, and here she had been turning away the best thing she had ever found. The warmth of his body began to soothe her nerves.

“You know better than to listen to that Lenore,” she said into his t-shirt. She grabbed fistfuls of the cotton material as if she were trying to keep from drowning. Drowning in a downfall of tears. She looked up at him with wet eyes, a stray drop ran down her check, stinging her sunburned skin.

“Let’s go eat,” she said. Jonas responded by kissing her with all the intimacy she desired.

The victory feast was as lavish as any state dinner Neferet attended, but on this occasion, she ascended the seat of honor on the raised stage next to her parents, the royal couple. This marked the first time at a sumptuous, regal dinner when she felt like anything more than a part of the Pharaoh’s brood or a dressed-up acolyte for the priests. Sitting there, eating spiced duck and game bird next to the ruling couple, her position as second-highest female, perhaps second citizen (give or take the role of the Grand Vizier) in Kemet was a striking reality. She gazed at her wooden staff, which took on more significance every time she held it. The higher and more proudly she bore the standard, the more awe she derived from the crowd. This could become pleasant.

If only she could relax into the role and lose that shy, inner sixteen-year-old who spent her life being bossed around by others. Being a princess didn’t live up to its reputation. It meant marching to impossible ideals while being shuttled from one lesson to another. Now she set the standard. That didn’t hold the satisfaction she might have imagined.

A little to her right sat Meryt, rigidly upright at the table, flinging fine, gnawed bones into the pottery vessel at the front of the table. She neither looked at Neferet nor acknowledged her presence. Neferet pondered the evil things her mother had been whispering during the parade and began to see the situation in a new light. Below them, near the common rabble, sat Zayem, gulping wine with abandon. He was the creator of all the rumors that the God’s Wife was not doing her job, so why not call him out tonight? Her torso swelled with each new breath, and she sat taller in her chair. She caught a slight glimpse of Kamose, who perched on the platform at his father’s right. He shone as the royal son, the man Zayem never would be.

The servants busied themselves, bringing out the sweets — dates in a rich dairy froth. As they rattled the plates and whisked away the remains of dinner, Neferet began to compose words in her mind. She pushed the dates around the plate, unable to eat as she worked on her post-dinner comments.

As she sat lost in thought, the drum and flute players completed their tune. The assemblage fell silent. Neferet, puzzled, looked up to see Pharaoh Heratkhy standing at the head table, holding his wine glass aloft and praising the troops who rescued the Egyptian booty. All in the room cheered, and the soldiers accepted their praise with silent grace, bending their heads low over their plates.

Then another hush fell as a dining hall door opened and a soldier pushed the Hittite princess into the vast room. Her hands were bound and her strange attire — boxy and bag-like, yet embroidered with golden threads — looked dirty and torn.

“For your harem,” the soldier, who had forced her into the room, said. She whirled around to look at the Pharaoh and began to protest in her rough language. She didn’t understand much, but she knew who the king was and she tried to make herself understood. King Heratkhy gestured with his hand and told the soldier he had enough concubines. This girl could go free. Meryt pulled herself even more rigid in her chair, but Neferet couldn’t figure if her mother approved of Pharaoh’s decision or not. Her father never visited the concubines and was joined to only one other wife, who was Kamose’s mother. The slain former God’s Wife, Maya, was the daughter of another Pharaoh’s wife who died in childbirth. Unlike many monarchs of the past, Neferet’s father didn’t seethe with libido. He stayed with the two wives he had left and that suited him.

“Surely not, Your Holiness, with all gracious respect,” the soldier protested. “We captured her at great danger to the troops. She is the daughter of the Hittite king, and he will bargain almost anything to get her back.”

The Pharaoh looked at her with her dirty long hair and arrogant manner and began to laugh.

“Are you so sure the king won’t bargain for us to keep her instead?”

Laughter roared up from the crowd. The poor woman, not knowing she was the butt of a joke, ran around in circles, continuing to shout her unintelligible words. Pharaoh called up the captain of the corps and spoke in his ear. The captain, one of the few men in the kingdom who could translate this hideous language, addressed a few phrases to the girl. She answered without delay and at some length, hardly taking time for a breath between words.

“She says she’d rather work in our kitchens than go back to her father,” the translator said. “It seems he has an unwanted marriage arranged for her.”

At that moment, Neferet felt Zayem’s eyes upon her. She refused to meet his gaze and, instead, raised her voice.

“If she would like to attend me and learn our language, I’d be grateful for more help at the temple.”

Her father smiled, and the translator did his work again. The captive gave Neferet a cautious glance before nodding a curt assent. Neferet stepped down off the stage and, with a ceremonial knife, sliced the woman’s bonds, signifying that she was a free woman. The entire room exploded in a cheer, and the girl was led away.

Now was the moment.

Neferet returned to her place at the table but did not sit. Instead, she grabbed her heavy staff and stood at attention.

“Father,” she said, bowing her head, “If I may speak …”

“The God’s Wife of Amun may speak whatever is on her mind at any time,” the Pharaoh said and eased down in his chair with an admiring smile on his face. It seemed Meryt was becoming petrified as she stared straight ahead into space. The Grand Vizier, a gaunt man with dust-colored hair, opened and closed his thin-lipped mouth but ended up saying nothing. Some of the courtiers crossed their arms and leaned back against the walls to enjoy this breach of protocol.

“I beg forgiveness that I must speak of sacrilege in the temple,” Neferet announced. The audience went silent, some revelers gazing slack-jawed at the newly empowered princess. “The sanctuary, which is locked to all but chief priest Nebhotep and me, suffered a break-in two weeks ago, and Amun is displeased.”

The crowd still remained silent, but Neferet saw some people shudder. Getting a god angry was serious business in Kemet. Who knew what would befall the people? A drought? Sickness of the cattle? Dust storms?

“We have been investigating,” Neferet continued, raising her voice to return attention to herself. “We have searched the temple for any secret way the intruder could have violated the Holy of Holies. We have found no gaps, no hidden doorways. Nor have we found anyone to suspect.”

At this lie, she glared defiantly at Zayem, who stared in apparent fascination at his plate of dates.

“So, we ask you to be on the lookout for anyone who enters the temple without official business. Ask your friends, ask the children if anyone has been tunneling under or climbing the temple walls.

“Tonight, I shall perform a spell of protection at the holy sanctuary, and it will remained sealed until my next visitation. Know that the gods will grant us this magic to keep Amun safe.”

The crowd was open-eyed. No one had mentioned a magical spell publicly in a long time — although the lesser priests worked spells for money all over the kingdom. But those were little bits of magic. A charm for an easy birth. A healing chant over an ailing sheep. An exhortation that the thief of a vat of wine would be caught in due time. What Neferet suggested, however, was high magic, and the crowd was impressed with their new Adoratrice.

She took her scepter and pounded it with authority on the stage. It made an inspiring boom, and some in the crowd cowered back, afraid of its power.

“I say this as Amun’s blessed wife. Your reward will be great if you catch the villain.”

With that, she sat down, and the crowd broke into loud chatter. Nothing like an offer of money to get the audience’s attention. Meryt continued to stare forward, unmoving, and ignored whatever Pharaoh whispered in her ear.
What was the matter with her?
She never once looked at Neferet but stood with her husband in the ritual ending of a state dinner.

They soon would begin to leave the tables and mill around, so Neferet slipped down the seldom-used back stairs, only to feel a familiar strong hand gripping her forearm.

“Now why did you dare to do that?” Kamose, who pulled her into a discreet corner, whispered. “Meryt always speaks after the Pharaoh. You just usurped her with a wave of that thing” — he gestured at the wand — “of yours.”

“I’m the second most powerful in the land, and it was my right to speak,” Neferet said, pulling herself with dignity from Kamose’s grip. “Besides, I had to quell that rumor that I’m indolent. The one Zayem’s been spreading all over Wast.”

Kamose’s features became pensive.

“There is that,” he said. “And you know your dear mother had something to do with the slander.”

“She was hissing at me on the reviewing stand. Something had to be done.”

They both giggled when they thought of Meryt’s comeuppance, smothering their laughs so they wouldn’t be discovered in the little cubbyhole in the back of the dining room. Neferet’s speech now forced Zayem into inactivity, Neferet realized he wouldn’t dare make a move without the entire city on the lookout. Kamose’s spies were guaranteed to be everywhere — that he assured her.

“Excellent move.” He moved closer. “My love.”

She backed away. She still had to admit she was uncomfortable with the erotic license the royals enjoyed. Anywhere else, this brother-sister love would not be tolerated. She didn’t feel sophisticated enough to just toss this off as another perquisite of power. Still, broad-chested Kamose made her defenses weak, and she wanted to grab him right where they stood.

“I must attend to my duties,” she said, gathering her skirt. “It’s time.”

He smiled that winning blaze of white teeth that had won him friends and allies throughout the kingdom. It was a smile that would make men follow him into war. How could she resist that?

“Meet me tonight,” he said. “I love to see you in this powerful mood. I’ll make sure the guards are blind to you.”

She stiffened. “The God’s Wife may go anywhere she pleases.”

“Of course, she can. My place, tonight.”

She nodded her head in agreement, grabbed her scepter and was off in a rustle of linen.

#

Neferet, after pleasing Amun as she did every night, stood outside the Holy of Holies with Nebhotep and four of the priests. A new sort of incense burned, filling the air with a light jasmine scent. Upon her head she wore the golden twin feathers of Ma’at. They topped the vulture crown of Eset, known as Isis by the greater world. She raised her pole, and Nebhotep began the spell:

“I am Atum Khepri, who came into being upon the lap of his mother, the goddess of the night sky, who gave jackals to those who are in the abyss and hunting dogs to those in the tribunal.”

Neferet continued, “I have gathered this magic in every place where it was … more speedily than a hound, more swiftly than a shadow.”

As she spoke, she and the priests sprinkled natron salt around the base of the walls of the sanctuary. She continued.

“Collect this magic from wherever it may be … Now there is given me this magic ... more speedily than a hound, more swiftly than a shadow.” The priests all chanted the final words together so it became a mystical murmur, “more swiftly than a shadow.”

The priests continued their recitation, and the cadence rose and fell in waves of sound. The language was lilting and hypnotic. The incense burned stronger and began to spark. The flames created shadows that danced like specters against the walls. Magic was at work.

At that last intonation of the word “shadow,” Neferet took the natron salt and mixed it with water. Then she and Nebhotep traced the paste around the areas where the wall met the floor, on the roof and around the edges of the door. The sealing finished, Nebhotep turned and spoke with arms spread wide. He spoke in singsong fashion, and his voice cracked.

“Get back. Retreat. Get back, you dangerous one. Do not come against me or my lord Amun, the god of mysterious places. No enemy that lives by magic will take this spell away.”

The chant ended, and the priests all turned and bowed at the small chapel. One by one, they left until Neferet stood alone. With the natron paste, she traced the graceful eye of Heru with its kohl-lined rims and one single tear on the front door. It radiated a powerful repellant of the evil eye. It would watch for her when she must be absent, an eye into the unseen world. Sandals removed, she slipped out in silence, but the magic lingered, sparkling in the dusty air.

#

The stars lit the way to the palace that night, and Neferet ran along the footpaths to the door farthest from her parent’s quarters. She slipped past the guard, who gave her the barest nod of the head, and headed down the corridor toward Kamose’s apartments. She knew the magic she had worked would hold Amun’s sacred shrine. But she held conflicted feelings about flushing Zayem into the open. He wouldn’t dare attack the shrine now, but what would his next plan be?

When she tiptoed halfway down the hallway, deep in thought, she heard a loud clash of voices and breaking pottery. Someone yelled and called for the guards, who materialized out of every dark recess of the empty-looking hallway. They stormed into Kamose’s rooms, and Neferet scurried a few steps behind, alarmed about her lover’s safety.

When she slipped into his main living quarters, Kamose gesticulated with broad sweeps of his muscular arms. Guards were racing out into the night, jumping down to the ground below the palace windows. Chairs and plants lay like debris, tossed about the room. Neferet could see through the doorway to the bedroom. The chaos was far worse in there.

“Two of them! Lunging at me! One with a knife and the other with a club,” Kamose told the captain of the guard. He used his hands to indicate the height of the attackers and the captain nodded at each phrase.

“My men are already after them, my prince. Do not fear.” He called some orders to soldiers, who flew off into separate directions.

Kamose caught sight of Neferet, took her hand with surprising gentleness and led her to the doorway. “It’s best you stay away. Someone made an attempt on my life here tonight. I’m afraid they could be after you, too.”