Eye of the Moon (11 page)

   
9
   
ESCAPE

W
e journeyed upstream, driven by the steady wind that blew at our back and a fear that never left us. We were constantly alert and watchful. The thought that at any moment we might suddenly come across Wosret and his soldiers in some lonely bend of river kept us vigilant and uneasy.

Our journey took us past clusters of villages hidden among tufts of palm trees. The mud-and-palm-thatched houses were almost invisible in their
surroundings with their walls the exact color of the ground on which they stood. In the fields men hoed in preparation for the floods, and along the banks, women washed tunics and spread them over the reeds to dry.

The river was wide. The broad expanse made our boat seem small and gave us the chance to give other boats a wide berth. We sat low in the water and kept close to the reeds. Crocodiles slithered and plunged from the banks with a splash when we came upon them unexpectedly. But for the most part they lay still as stone, their mouths open and their throats exposed to the sun.

Bubbles on the water and a flick of ears gave us warning of hippopotamuses lurking beneath the surface. When they came up with snorting, angry grunts, we gave them space and sailed quickly past.

Occasionally there were men with plaited fishing nets and spears in small reed boats like ours who waved from a distance but paid little attention to us. The larger boats were too intent on carrying their grain and oil and cloth to the temples along the river to take note of us.

Food was no problem. The reeds were teeming
with every type of waterfowl—duck, wild geese, heron, crakes, and waders that had nests hidden among the papyrus stems. Tuthmosis was good with a throw-stick and spear. Here and there we pulled ashore in smaller villages and traded the mullet and catfish we caught for dates and honey and barley bread.

Once, we came to a village of linen dyers where the river ran red with their dye. Sometimes there were markets where linen and wool weavers and craftsmen made cloths, pottery jugs, bowls, leather sandals, and copper pots. Some merchants offered cones of salt, dried fish, sesame oil, ox hides, cosmetics, combs of ivory and tortoiseshell, rolls of papyrus paper, and fly whisks made from giraffe tails.

Sometimes market attendants walked about between stalls with baboons on leashes trained to catch thieves. The baboons barked and bared their teeth and made me uneasy and nervous about being found out.

For the most part we avoided busy places where there was more chance of our identities' being discovered by Wosret's spies. We stopped in quieter villages to cook fish and share meals of chickpeas and lentils stewed with garlic and onion over a fire while
children played late into the night under the stars.

In the boat Tuthmosis wore only his wrap and refused to dress disguised as a girl. But when there were others about, he put on his girl's wig and drew a cloth around his face to keep his eyes in shadow so their color was hidden. We kept to our story—we were sisters sailing south to discover another life. For the most part Tuthmosis remained silent. I spoke for both of us. We drew no attention to ourselves, and in our rough clothes and crudely woven boat, it wasn't difficult to convince people we were peasants.

By carefully listening to gossip we tracked the route of Wosret. He was traveling ahead of us but was no favorite of the people.

“
Dazzling Aten
passed along the river here.”

“The highest of high priests came at dusk. His soldiers moved through our village, eating our food, drinking our barley beer, and threatening anyone who opposed them.”

“I heard the commotion from the fields. They held my wife and children captive, searching through the rooms of our house, ransacking our belongings.”

“What were they searching for?”

“An Egyptian prince, they say. But they wouldn't
name him. Some say it might even be Tuthmosis.”

“But he's dead.”

“So they say. But so sudden a death seems odd.”

“Did they find him?”

“They found nothing!”

“Have they returned this way?”

“Not that I know. But they could've passed at night while we slept and returned to Thebes.”

We heard no further stories, nor did we catch sight of the royal barge the farther south we sailed, and so we believed that this is what had happened. Finally we began to feel free of fear.

Tuthmosis eyed me as we sat in our boat among the reeds one day. “You're accurate with your throw-stick. You hunt like a boy!”

I smiled. In the base of the boat lay two waterfowl. Secretly I was pleased with my stealth. I had come upon a pair of shy green herons with the female on her nest and the male fussing next to her. Before they could fly up, I'd aimed the throw-stick and stunned both birds with one throw. Silence and stealth. Days spent on the river with Katep had taught me this.

I shrugged. “It takes a good stick. My brother,
Katep, carved mine from the rib of a hippopotamus. It's easy to handle. Perfectly balanced. Deadly accurate. See—he made carvings on it of a jackal and snake to invoke their power and help me throw accurately.”

Tuthmosis laughed as he ran his fingers over the carvings. “It's not the jackal and the snake that are accurate, it's
you
!”

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks and turned my face so he wouldn't see. I fumbled with untying the sail, my hands made clumsy by his compliment.

Tuthmosis was in a playful mood. As soon as he stepped ashore, he began gathering poppies and cornflowers.

“What are you doing?”

“Wait and see.” He sat with the flowers in his lap, first cutting a long length of papyrus stem and tying the end pieces together to make a circle. Then, using thin strands of the papyrus head, he tied and wove leaves and flowers onto the ring. His hands worked easily, deftly twisting olive leaves and white willow and the heads of wild celery and sage with blue cornflowers and red poppies.

“Where does a prince learn to make flower collars?” I teased.

He smiled. “From the palace serving girls. They sat in the gardens weaving collars for one another.” He made some final adjustments and carefully placed it over my head and arranged it across my shoulders.

Then he snapped his fingers. “I forgot! There must be perfume as well.” He snatched up two blue lotus lilies from the river's edge and stuck them into the collar. “There!” He stood back, smiling. “A temple goddess.”

To hide my embarrassment, I pulled a water lily from the necklace and placed it behind his ear. “You must wear one as well!”

Tuthmosis stood there looking more like a prince than ever before—even without a crown and fine robes. He was handsome without seeming to know it. And his eyes were truly blue. As blue as the lotus flowers he'd picked.

He built a small fire with reed and driftwood while I plucked the two waterfowl and split them open. I scraped out the gall and innards, wrapped them in lotus leaves, laid them in the embers. We ate in silence, listening to the frogs and picking the meat off the bones. Then I lay looking up at the stars with the strong perfume of the lilies about my neck wafting over me.

Tuthmosis held his head cupped in his hands and looked up as well. “I slept like this in the desert when I was a child.”

I smiled into the darkness. “Princes don't sleep on the ground. They sleep on gold beds in palaces.”

“Believe me, I slept on the ground. I went hunting with my father. His days were free of military skirmishes. Syria, Palestine, and Babylon were already his dominions. He had plenty of time for hunting.”

“And . . . ?”

“We raced in two-horse chariots over the flood-plains, a charioteer at the reins, the wheels of the cart careering across the sand, my father wearing the blue gold-studded Khepresh warrior crown, targeting antelope and ibex. As we gained on them, my father would draw his bow and add to his tally. Fierce lions and leopards, too. He hunted them all.”

Tuthmosis seemed to grow fierce with his words. “You saw the skins on the floor of my mother's chamber. In ten years my father felled more than a hundred lions! He wore the skins as cloaks to show his greatness. So all would know his strength and courage!”

I turned on my side and rested my head on my
elbow to look at him. “And you? Were you courageous?”

“My father never gave me the chance to test my skills. I stood at his side while he shot the arrows. When we returned and the pace was slow, he allowed the charioteer to hand me the reins. But I never seemed able to prove myself to my father.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything he did, whether it was hunting lions or building monuments, was
always
to demonstrate how powerful he was. The lavish banquets, the gigantic statues guarding his mortuary temple, the sprawling palace, the Temple of Luxor inscribed with his name, were all intended to overawe.”

Tuthmosis sat up abruptly and raked some life into the fire. Suddenly there was a bitter tone to his voice.

“My brother, sisters, and I grew up not wanting for anything. Our playthings were made of gold inlaid with precious stone. We had giraffe and cheetahs for playmates. Monkeys were trained to fetch fruit for us from the highest branches of our orchards. Slaves stood by to attend to our every need.”

He broke a stick with a sharp snap and laid it
across the flames. “My father was generous, but in exchange he wanted absolute power.”

I glanced across at him. In the firelight his eyes sparked. But he sat silently as if searching for the right words.

“Yes . . . ?” I urged.

He shrugged. “His power sapped me. Nothing I did, whether it was driving a chariot well or showing I was an expert marksman, ever made him proud of me. In his eyes, I was nothing. Especially after the accident.”

I stole another sideways glance. He stared past me into the fire as if he'd forgotten I was there.

“On a hunting expedition, I fell from the chariot when the wheel hit a loose stone. My leg caught in the spokes as it rolled over me. They thought my leg might have to be amputated. The bone was broken. The flesh wouldn't heal. But I eventually recovered. I've walked with a limp since.”

He turned and searched my face as if looking for some answer there. Then he shrugged. “My father wanted perfection. He chose my younger brother, his namesake Amenhotep, as his favorite then.”

The next morning we set out early, hugging the bank of the river. I found myself humming softly as we sailed. There had been days without news of or sight of the
Dazzling Aten.
I felt light and easy. Free of the threat of Wosret. My mind was far away when a sudden glimmer caught my eye.

A mirage rose above the reeds in a bend in the river up ahead. A tall, hazy shape shimmered in the heat, as if overlaid with gold gauze. A shape with a mast and a high golden prow.

It came downstream directly toward us in the glittering morning light with its red sails slack, driven forward by the fast current and the strength of its oarsmen.