King and Goddess (37 page)

He heeded neither faction. It would be done in the time he
had allotted. Therefore it was done.

He had learned that from the king: to expect the impossible,
to consider no alternative but that it be done, and thus to see it
accomplished. Anything less encouraged people—courtiers and servants in
particular—to grow slack.

They called him a hard man and worse, but on the day that he
had set for the departure, the whole of the embassy was ready and waiting when
he came out to his ship. It was a sea-expedition, this, north down the river of
Egypt and across through the channel that had been dug by one of the old kings,
that was most passable when the river ran at the flood. It ended in the
eastward sea, on which his ships would sail southward into the land of myrrh,
where the incense-trees grew.

The king and her ministers bade farewell to him at the quay
of Thebes. Where another king might have put on his full panoply, so much gold
that he could barely move, she chose the starkness of simplicity: white gown,
pectoral like gilded vulture-wings embracing the disk of the sun, the Two
Crowns. He in kilt and cloth headdress and heavy golden collar looked well
beside her, and he knew it as well as she.

Amid all the people who had come crowding to see the ships
sail into the incense-country, they two could be alone if they chose. No one
could hear them through the roar of the throng, but they heard one another
clearly enough, her voice pitched clear and his drum-deep.

They did not say much, at that. There was nothing that
needed saying; not between them who had been friends from childhood.

Still they dallied, while Nehsi’s mariners readied the ship,
and the last of the embassy straggled aboard, and the people of Thebes shouted
and cheered. Then there were only the two of them, and her flock of ministers
growing perceptibly bored. Nehsi was aware of his captain behind him, standing
quietly but being conspicuous about it.

“The wind is freshening,” Nehsi said, “and blowing for once
from the south. Best we go.”

“Yes,” said the king. But she did not move, and neither did
he.

He swallowed. His throat was tight. He had not been apart
from her for any great while since they were children. He had lived as close to
her as her shadow. Even when in late years he had traveled about the Two
Kingdoms, acting in her name, he was never truly parted from her: she was
Egypt, and while he was in Egypt his soul was never far from her.

Now he was leaving Egypt. He would not see her for months,
seasons—a year, perhaps, or more.

He should have thought of that when he accepted this
embassy. It would not have stopped him, but he would have had time to prepare.
He might not have needed to stand here, as purely lost as he had not been since
he was weaned, and with the same preposterous desire to open his mouth and
howl.

Which of them moved first, he did not know. The embrace was
swift, breathless, bruising-tight. Anyone who still believed that they were
lovers would be gratified, surely.

Her scribes and historians no doubt would write lengthy
speeches for both of them, full of beautiful words and elaborate phrases. In
the plain and living world, she said simply, “Stay safe. Come back to me. May
the gods keep you.”

“May the gods watch over you,” he said. He bowed low, for
the edification of those who watched, and rose, and turned on his heel. He did
not look back. He felt her eyes on him, distinct as the touch of her hand, but
he kept his own fixed on his ship. The moment his feet were firm on the deck,
the captain sang out to the oarsmen.

They backed swiftly from the quay, came about, turned prow
to the north. The rest of the ships followed, precise and orderly before the
king’s face, catching the wind in their sails, riding the river toward the land
of Punt.

~~~

Nehsi could retreat to his cabin and snivel because he had
left his beloved king behind; or he could stand on the deck in the shade of the
canopy, with the wind blowing back the lappets of his headdress, and let the
people of Thebes see what a bold brave explorer he was. The morning was
splendid, cool and clear, and the ship ran well, making good speed down the
river. He dared not look back to see if the king still waited by the shore,
gazing after him; if he did that, he would lose his famous composure. He kept
his face turned to the north, and let it bathe in wind and sun.

Once they were underway, the crew settled into a kind of
ease. They were good men; had been together on this ship for seasons now,
sailing the trade-routes in the king’s service. They were proud that she had
chosen them for this voyage. He saw no sullen faces, no men slacking their work
or refusing to move at their captain’s command.

He nodded, approving. They would do well.

Of the embassy he was less certain. The scribes were of his
own choosing, with Senenmut’s help—the king’s scribe had never been one to let
jealousy interfere with his competence. Nehsi did not think that they would
fail him. One of them, the youngest, earnest and shakily brave, was sitting in
a corner of the deck, papyrus on knees, scribbling busily: recording the
departure, Nehsi supposed, and embellishing it for posterity.

The servants, too, he trusted: they were his own. The guards
were men of his old company in the palace, under a captain he had trained
himself. The nobler members of the embassy had firm instructions to obey Nehsi
in all things; they might even do it, in fear of the king and, more to the
point, the king’s large and formidable ambassador.

Well, then, he thought as he surveyed his domain. It all
seemed in excellent order, every man in his place. He had nothing to fret over.

Unless he chose to trouble himself with the one member of
the embassy who was not of his choosing, the one whom the king had given him on
the advice of the House of Life. It was a strange choice for those firm
followers of tradition, but it was, they declared, the best in the
circumstances.

The interpreter on whom he must rely in the land of Punt was
of that blood and nation, perhaps even kin to its king, though Nehsi had no
certain knowledge of that. It was a woman, which did not dismay him who served
the king’s majesty of Egypt. Her father had been an Egyptian of the minor
nobility, her mother a woman of Punt whom that lordling had met on an
expedition there, become enamored of, and brought home to be his wife.

She looked Egyptian enough aside from the deeper reddish
duskiness of her skin. The people of Punt were not like Nubians; they were
closer to Egyptians, and most probably were kin.

She was not displeasing to look at. In fact she was a
beauty. Nor did her youth dismay him: she was a woman grown, if a very young
one, and learned, could read and write the language of Egypt. She was
altogether an admirable creature.

With one singular exception. She had, from the moment she
met him, said not one word to him. To others she spoke easily enough, if never
volubly. She had proved to the satisfaction of the scribes, one or two of whom
had a smattering of the language of Punt, that she spoke that tongue well and
fluently; and the ship’s captain, whose name was Sinuhe, agreed. But to Nehsi
she said nothing.

When she was brought to him only the day before, and
presented as the interpreter whom he had been awaiting, she had looked him hard
and steadily in the face, then bowed to the exact degree that was proper for a
woman of lesser rank before a prince of Egypt. The scribe from the House of
Life who brought her there, who happened to be her uncle, did all the talking.
Her name was Bastet, which was not terribly common in this age of the world:
fathers were usually more careful of naming their daughters after goddesses.

Whether she had grown to fit the name or the name had grown
to fit her, it was apt. She had a cat’s smooth grace and watchful silence, and,
he suspected, not a little of its ferocity.

While her uncle chattered on about her father and her mother
and her upbringing and her erudition, all of which he proclaimed to be most
excellent, she knelt in front of Nehsi with her little cat-face lowered and her
hands resting on her knees, saying not one word. Nor did she speak thereafter,
even when he spoke to her, calling her by name. Her uncle, who though an
incessant babbler did not seem to be a fool, said, “Don’t mind her, I beg you,
great prince. She’s shy, but she gets over it. She’ll be as voluble as you
could ask for, once she stands in front of the King of Punt.”

“One would hope so,” Nehsi said. He tried again to startle a
word out of her. “You! Girl. Did a lizard run away with your tongue?”

She kept her head bowed, her body quiet. She said nothing.

“She does this sometimes,” her uncle said. “You mustn’t mind
her, my lord. She’s been a little spoiled. Not sheltered, mind you, lord—she’s
been raised as free almost as a boy, though with the delicacy proper to a girl.
She does know proper manners; she just chooses, sometimes, not to show them.”

Indeed. Once her uncle had been escorted out and the
girl—Bastet; of all names to give a child—turned over to the servants to feed
and look after until the ships should sail, she proved herself friendly enough
to her fellows. All but Nehsi.

Maybe she simply did not like Nubians. Or maybe she was
afraid of him—though she looked a bold brash creature, from all that he could
see. He frightened children sometimes, as big as he was, and dark, and not
inclined to smile unless he had good reason.

Whatever caused her to do it, Bastet the interpreter sailed
on his ship but had as little as possible to do with him. That would have to
change. When they came to Punt, she would be interpreting for the people of
that land to the commander of this expedition. It would be embarrassing if she
declined to speak out of fear or dislike.

He could hope that she would warm to him, or at least bring
herself to speak a word or two. To that end, the first night of the voyage,
when they had moored in good harborage a gratifying distance downriver from
Thebes, Nehsi summoned her to take the evening meal with him in his cabin high
up on the ship’s deck.

He was rather surprised that she obeyed the summons. It
would have been like what he had observed, for her to refuse. When she came,
she was dressed handsomely but not elaborately, with good sense for what a
woman should bring to wear on a long voyage: good plain linen, a collar of
faience beads, a gleam of gold rings in her ears, and a wig of good quality,
well made. She had scented herself with oil of roses: a rare choice, and
appealing.

She brought with her a companion, one who shocked Nehsi into
speechlessness.

“Papa,” said his daughter Tama, whom he had left safe, he
thought, in the strong arms of her nurse. “Bastet said I had to stop hiding in
the linen-chest. She said you’d whip me till I bleed. You won’t do that, will
you, Papa? I’ll scream.”

“What in the name of Set and Sobek—” Nehsi drew a breath
that was sharp enough to cut. “What were you doing in the linen-chest?”

“Coming with you,” Tama answered. “Nurse said I had to take
a good look at you, so I could remember. You aren’t going to come back, she
said. You’re going to die. I don’t want you to die.”

“I am not going to die,” Nehsi said through gritted teeth.
That idiot of a nurse, however, when he got his hands on her . . .

Tama shook her head at him. “Nurse said you are. You’re
going to Punt. Punt is far away. It’s not even Egypt.”

“I am not going to fall off the edge of the world,” Nehsi
said. “I promise you. Have I ever broken a promise?”

“No,” said Tama.

“Well then,” Nehsi said.

She thought about that. To do it, she climbed into his lap
and wrapped arms about him, as far as she could reach, and rested warm and
faintly milk-scented against his breast. He looked down at the top of her head
in heart-deep love and profound exasperation.

“Gods,” he said. “I have to find a boat to send her back. A
servant whom I can trust, to make sure that she doesn’t slip away and follow. A
guard or six to keep her safe.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” said Bastet. At last: words from her,
and perfectly matter-of-fact, too. “I’ll look after her. How much trouble can
she be?”

Nehsi startled himself, and probably the girl as well, with
a snort of laughter. “You see her here, and you can ask that? She had to have
planned this for days, and like a general of armies, too, to know just which
chest was going in my ship, and just when to hide in it and not be detected.
How did you find her?”

“I was hungry,” Tama said in his lap. “I came out to get
something to eat. Bastet was watching. She knew I was in there, she said.”

Nehsi turned his hard stare on Bastet. “How did you know
that?”

He was sure that she was going to go silent on him again,
but for a miracle she answered. “I knew where I would be if you were my father
and I were determined to keep you from dying in a foreign country.”

“But how did you—”

“I knew,” said Bastet in a tone as flat as it was final.

Nehsi opened his mouth to press her further, but desisted.
Those whom the gods spoke to, who knew things that others did not know, were
not always inclined to explain themselves to common mortals.

Of course she might have seen the imp climbing into the
chest, and omitted to mention it.

He would not pursue that, he decided. Not for the moment.
The servants were waiting for them, shifting from foot to foot in the way they
had when dinner was growing cold. His cook was already beside himself; and when
Merenptah was upset, all the servants suffered.

Nehsi allowed the meal to be served on the deck of his ship,
each dish brought steaming from the kitchen-boat moored alongside, passed over
the sides by servants with deft hands and an unwavering eye. Tama partook as
the others did, with exemplary manners. Under any other circumstances she would
have made her father proud.