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Chapter 6 of Egyptian fantasy novel Ra's Warrior
Chapter 6
Khufu’s foot tapped on the floor. He tried to concentrate on pressing matters of state, but his mind kept drifting to the smell of her hair or the shiny softness of her skin. Generals cluttered around the throne, trampling his new lion skin rug. Bronze armor clanked and clattered. Officials from various city-states vied to win the pharaoh’s favor by offering the services of their finest weapon makers, while others donated massive amounts of supplies and gold to help finance the impending battle. The room was a whirlwind of curiosity. Questions flew from every chaotic corner. Everyone asked everything all at once. Khufu selected his answers scrupulously to avoid questions best left unasked. All of it enhanced his king-sized headache.
Khufu leaned in close to Hemynu so as to be heard over the sea of voices, “Each guard who found the warrior is to receive land with a spacious dwelling built upon it.”
“Yes, my lord,” Hemynu replied.
By the sound of his voice, Khufu knew his friend bridled in his lingering dismay after last night’s incident. “Very well, then. Let us quell the crowd for I am weary of this.” Khufu pounded his gold-tipped ebony was staff on the metal floor plate reserved exclusively for halting conversations during such irksome gatherings; he stood. “My people please. It is time to prepare for the task ahead; it is as immense as the Nile’s source. Debates shall consume many nights. Only by holding steadfast and equipping the warrior with the necessary skills shall Khemet gain its freedom forever. All shall wither faster than flowers during draught if we are unsuccessful. How many of you want your ba, the essence of your very spirit’s existence, to suffer the ultimate death?” With a sweeping motion, Khufu pointed to various people in the crowd.
Silence curtained uncertain mouths. Then hushed conversations rippled across the lake of people crammed into the expansive throne room.
Khufu cleared his throat. “What say you?”
A beastly man, who proudly displayed the battle-scars on his exposed body by decorating them with henna paint, rumbled to the front. The crowd parted for General Gua, Most Favored of the Great House. His proud shoulders spanned a width twice the size of normal men. Even the massive curved kopeshe sheathed in hippo-leather outweighed most men in the room; its polished brilliance was deceptively sharp. Bronze armor chinked. The bronze-studded leather belt strapped to his waist sported more weapons placed at strategic locations. Gold medals, honors from the Pharaoh and his father, hung cluttered around a thick neck.
He bowed to Khufu, stood, thumped his chest thrice, and said, “Most beloved Son of the Gods, Master of the Great House, Ruler of the Black Lands, we shall follow you into the cavernous depths of the Tuat to save Khemet. No region of the underworld shall be safe for Apep or his foul minions.” General Gua turned to the crowd. “Nekhtet!” he yelled and then thumped his monolithic chest again.
The room erupted in shrill cries of victory and praise.
“Excellent.” Khufu pounded his staff again. “On the morrow we shall make haste. Tonight we feast! Gather in the hall three hours from now. Hemynu and I have further business to discuss. Remove you all others from my presence.”
A hesitant glance suggested Hemynu wanted nothing to do with the impending conversation.
Heat abated as people spilled from the room; the ostrich feather fans swayed softly, creating a comfortable breeze. Despite the efforts to eliminate spies, they always seemed to worm their way into the company of important people so Khufu purposely chose deaf woman as fan-bearers in rooms where privacy was crucial. The door creaked shut as last person shuffled out.
“You have something you wish to say, Hemynu?” Khufu readjusted himself on the throne. The small of his back throbbed from being in one position for too long.
Hemynu kneeled.
“Hemynu, stand. Speak your mind, my friend, and fear not any retribution.”
“My Lord, I am concerned. Your infatuation with Andrea is dangerous. I am wary of her, and do not wish you offended should she reject you. This is my concern not only as Vizier, but as your friend. It is inappropriate to display affections towards the warrior. The public may perceive your interest in her as a sign of weakness.”
Khufu’s lips curved downward. “Why do you bore me with such topics, Hemynu? We should be preparing for tonight’s gathering instead of discussing my personal business.”
“You are my dearest friend. I want you to be happy. If she fills the void within you then so be it, but please use caution.”
“I shall, my friend. Now let us ready ourselves. Tonight’s feast shall formally announce her arrival.” Hemynu reached out to help steady the king as he struggled to stand; the weight of the bull’s tail attached to Khufu’s waist hindered him.
The doors groaned open for them. Kitchen odors teased the olfactory nerves as they filled the palace’s lower level. Fresh floral arrangements decorated the corners, adding extra sweetness to the already honeyed air. Guests were rare so when the occasion arose it was a large effort to prepare the palace. Servants scurried back and forth preparing rooms, tending the needs of guests, and generally being disheveled by the mayhem of too much to do.
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Chests, packed with everything an Egyptian noble woman could use in two lifetimes, were neatly arranged against the long wall bordered with a lotus and lily design. A new vanity had drawers overflowing with perfumes, wax hair cones, body oils, and a variety of exotic cosmetics. The boxes set on the long table cascaded with jewels. Servants were just a knock away.
Andrea rapped on the door. The bolt unlatched with a thwack. The guard, an Akkadian with olive skin and a mass that would make any modern wrestler jealous, opened the door. A look of annoyance passed over his crude features. His stature dwarfed her, but at the same time gave her a sense of security.
“Is there any color other than white?” she asked maintaining a semblance of having some authority.
He grunted like a fish out of water. In a scratchy voice, he said yes, and then he closed the door. His enthusiasm lacking reply gave her no indication of compliance so she began to rummage through what was available. Most were halter dress which left the breasts exposed. Not feeling comfortable with the Egyptians wanton designs, she threw those aside. The remainders were basic and unimaginative. “None of these will do.” She plopped down on the bed and tucked the edge of the towel between her breasts. At least the towel had coverage; it came to her knees.
This time, the bolt slid open silently. An army of servants carrying bolts of clothe entered and lined up. The last one, a young, athletic woman with astonishing beauty, walked toward Andrea. A yellow strap covered her chest like a tube top and the pleats of her skirt were attached to a silver belt that hung low around the hips. Lapis lazuli beads, a sky blue stone with veins of green, framed her robust face. Short bangs rocked gently from her fluid gait. Honey-colored eyes imparted her passionate spirit. Andrea could almost see an aura of white radiating from the woman.
“I am Neitamun, Seamstress of the Great House. How may I be of service?” Her harmonious voice swirled around her words.
“I prefer less revealing clothing. If I draw you a picture of what I would like, can you sew it for me?”
“If the design is simple, it shall take little time to complete. Choose a fabric of your pleasing.” Neitamun waved for the servants, who walked past one by one. Andrea pointed to a blue tinged fabric slightly thicker than the gauzy clothes sent to her room last night.
Neitamun took the fabric, excused the servants, and placed it on the clean end of the large table. Boxes Andrea had yet to pillage through were stacked on the other end. She opened a hidden drawer and placed various objects on the table: sheets of papyrus paper, writing sticks, small vases with various colors of ink, spools of thread, and snake tooth needles. Then she extended her hand to Andrea. “Proceed,” she said.
Andrea excelled at sketching; she quickly drew out a design and handed it over. Neitamun extracted a blade from its silver sheath. It had an ornately engraved ivory hilt with a short, strange looking iridescent blue blade. It cut through the fabric like a razor, leaving no frayed edges. Crackling knuckles loosened. She watched as the woman picked up the needle, threaded it in one quick stroke, and began working. As if guided by magic, nimble fingers worked at sewing machine speeds weaving in, out, through, under, and around. To Andrea’s surprise, the creation was finished in an hour.
With a smile, Andrea tried it on. Neitamun clipped intricate clasps over the shoulder pleats and wrapped a beadwork belt around Andrea’s waist. It was loose-fitting with a shallow v-shaped neckline and larger pleats flattered her waist. The length came midway between her knees and ankles and on the side, slits came up just below the hips. This dress left more to the imagination than the others. There was a highly polished bronze mirror near the bathroom. A clear reflection, as good as any modern mirror, smiled back. She turned to each side.
“Could you make me more?”
“It shall be my honor,” Neitamun said, bowing. “I am able to visit once a day if you require.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you. What time should I expect you?”
“After the noon day’s meal.”
“I will see you tomorrow.”
“Ankh udja seneb, Andrea.” Neitamun cleaned up, smiled broadly, and then exited the room.
Alone again, Andrea went to the foot of the bed and opened the dark colored chest butted against it. Sparkles filled her green spheres as sunlight danced off the jewels contained within. A turquoise and malachite-beaded necklace with multiple strands would lay nicely below the choker with the ankh and it complimented her eyes. She found matching bracelets and anklet, a gold diadem for her hair, two gold asp-headed armbands, and a turquoise beaded belt with a small gold medallion. There was even a pair of leather sandals with long blue faience beads alternated by gold beads sewed to the straps.
Andrea sank into the zebra fur cushioned vanity seat with carved wood backrest. Still debating about the diadem, she set it aside. Drawers slid open effortlessly. Picking up the applicator stick, she wet it, and dipped it into the black powder. Her lines were smaller than they should have been, but she rimmed her lids with it, pulled out a thin line just shy of midway to her ear, and gave it a slight upward curl. Then she drew a long line on the folded section of her eyelid, making the line almost the same length of the one from her lids, and ended it with another, more dramatic upward curl. She omitted the lines which traditionally went under the eyelids. With a new applicator, she added some pale yellow between the black lines on her upper lid and some green on the lower and then blended it with her fingertips to soften the lines. Different shades of red ochre gum resin could easily be used as both blush and lipstick.
The diadem was a risky choice, but the servant did say to pick what she liked. Ankhs made of various stones made it an elegant, yet simple, ornamental headband. It fit comfortably over her brows, and her medium length bangs hung slightly over the malachite inlaid top border. Her hair had nice wave to it because she braided before going to bed. “Ouch,” she said, the bone comb pulled at a knot. Andrea picked up the handheld mirror and made sure the makeup looked as natural as possible. Staring into it, she watched the mirror’s reflection shift. Elise stared back at her with soulful eyes while Adel, who was behind her sister, talked on the phone. The image suddenly returned to normal, prompting Andrea to go to the window.
Time slipped away and the sun hung low on the horizon. She was oblivious to his entry. She couldn’t feel his admiring eyes note how the pale blue accented her lightly tanned flesh in dramatic fashion or how her long hair fell from the diadem to kiss her lower back. Arms spanned as primal yearnings temporarily expelled common sense. Resuming a more appropriate demeanor, he grazed her arm.
Andrea jumped and turned her head. “You startled me,” she said, a hand over her thumping chest. “Why are you formally dressed?”
“Unintentional, I assure you. Forgive me.” Khufu’s deep voice eased her nerves, but then jarred them again when he said, “We have festivities to attend. State officials are gathering for a banquet in your honor. It is most urgent the Kingdom knows you have arrived.”
“I don’t want to be the center of attention.” Her shoulders slumped, shimmering as they caught the last rays of sunlight.
“This must be done, Andrea. My people have awaited your arrival long enough. It is an honor. The Gods shall teach you to defeat Apep but it is your heart which shall be victorious. You have strong magic inside; it has resided in you since birth. Trust in yourself and you shall succeed. Your ka glows magnificent like Ra’s heavenly light.” Khufu’s hands were diligent in their quest to loosen the taut muscles of her shoulders. “You need utter not a word if it displeases you. The guests shall direct all questions to Hemynu. His duty is to speak for us both. All you need do is smile, enjoy yourself, and sit beside me. It is enough for them merely to see you.”
A faint smile crossed her lips. Andrea didn’t take notice of it until now, but he was quite stunning in his ceremonial apparel. The snug fitting shendyt, unusually accented with a woven border, went midway to his knees; the curvature of its lappets, or pleats, conformed to his lower torso. Miniature gold ankhs dangled from the hem of the shendyt’s centered decorative front flap. His belt was comprised of alternating silver, gold, and bronze medallions, each etched with a spell and strung together with beaded straps. The short-sleeved shirt, sporting the same border along the sleeves, was tucked in. Fur lined the soles of his braided papyrus sandals, jewels were sewn onto the straps, and centered above his toes was an ivory djed pillar, the Backbone of Wesir. The blood red, high backed crown of Lower Egypt cupped the white conical crown of Upper Egypt protectively. He had omitted the crook and flail as well as the bull’s tail commonly associated with pharaohs. Andrea cringed at the atrocious black wig and false beard; it diminished his masculinity.
Khufu’s hand glided down her arm; he pulled her palm into the crook of his elbow. “Stay to my left, servants shall seat us when appropriate. I promise you will enjoy this evening. By the by, you look mesmerizing.” Her cheeks burst with radiance.
The broad-collar hurled Khufu forward while the counterbalance tugged in the opposite direction, making for an unsteady walk. Once darkened halls now shimmered from the massive candelabras placed every few feet. Keeping track of all the twists and turns was near impossible, but she tried none-the-less because there were so many scenic walls to study. The smell of fresh cut flowers mixed with scented oils made her sneeze. Khufu stopped, saying a brief prayer to keep the sneeze related demons at bay.
A man, slightly taller than Khufu, bowed to them at the dining hall’s antechamber. He introduced himself as the real Hemynu. Dressed in full regalia, he was as impressive as her royal escort. His sharply angled chin and round face did not fit the formal personality he currently displayed.
“This way,” he said opening the door. The antechamber had many chairs, bouquets in every corner, and an archway covered with a tiger skin which probably led to the dining room.
Andrea clung to Khufu as they waited. And for some strange reason, his touch had a calming affect. A low drone on the other side of the curtain gave hint as to how many people were gathered. Fur tremored to life when someone drew aside the curtain. She inhaled deeply; Khufu patted her hand and conveyed them into the main room.
Everyone glared at her. Whispers circulated and it quickly became a roar. Andrea felt like an exotic animal in a zoo habitat. Hemynu, who stood to their right, cleared his throat.
“Nobles, Ministers, Councilors, and Priest of the Order, I present His Majesty, King Khufu and the Warrior of Light.”
Another roar erupted, continuing until one man, wearing a white robe with a green sash and a conical hat, stood. “How is she the warrior we seek?” he asked, sarcasm bounding in his deep voice.
“The Ankh of Light rests around her neck. Hathor has confirmed her identity. Do you doubt the gods, Lector-Priest?”
“I doubt not the Gods or my King but a woman is unexpected. Forgive my ignorance,” he replied, tilting his head slightly.
“This revelation stunned me as well.” Hemynu glanced skeptically in her direction. “The Circle has been summoned for the time is nearing. But tonight, we celebrate! We honor the Gods and their chosen Warrior. The battles of tomorrow may be many but we shall be victorious. Nekhtet!” His voice built into a crescendo for the victory cry.
A cacophony of cheers consumed the room. Hemynu clapped his hand thrice. Khufu and Andrea were seated first. Numerous servants entered with plates of food and vessels of libations. The succulent smell of roasted meat delighted her nose; aromatic spices teased her. Servants piled food high on Khufu’s plate and then hers. She waited, licking her lips and then sucking them inward. Nodding his head, Khufu indicated his readiness to eat. For a moment, Andrea studied their robust etiquette. Although they ate with their fingers, they were refined. Happy to see familiar food, she picked up the roast duck leg, tore off a strip, and slipped it into her mouth. It melted on her tongue and she closed her eyes, enjoying its spicy boldness.
She sniffed the honey wine in her porcelain chalice, inhaling the intoxicating aroma. Drunkenness was a sign of weakness in this culture so she was careful not to drink too fast. She tried the flat round bread, which tasted just like her wine with a hint of cinnamon. She picked up a bowl of porridge and smelled it. It looked about as appetizing as it smelled so she pushed it aside. However, the chic-pea soup had a delightful aroma and she slurped it up.
Musicians soon promenaded into the hall. A loud gong started the revelry. Harps and lyres soloed and then clappers and pounding drums joined in for the chorus. Scantily clad dancers swayed in perfect time. Veils swirled to the beat of jingling charms. At times the dance was erratic, but the beat transitioned smoothly. Warriors, both men and women, sang of her arrival and the impending victory over the Destroyer by acting out the Smiting of Apep ritual. A woman, wearing a yellow wig, chanted over a wax figure of the demon. After binding it with rope, she hacked it into pieces, wrapped it in a black clothe, and held it high above her head. As the bridge climaxed, the impersonator threw the figure into the blazing fire pit. The dancers cheered while the wax melted. Andrea doubted their enthusiasm; she couldn’t fool herself, it wasn’t going to be that easy. Once the song changed, the dancers performed aerobatics and were soon joined by a group of stick-fighting women.
Seeing Neitamun caught Andrea off-guard, but the seamstress’s exceptional skills impressed her and Andrea watched with enthusiasm. With the stick held high above her head, a line of assailants attacked her one at a time. The first was a swift victory. Neitamun swung the stick upwards and back and when it came around full circle the first attacker was clocked in the ear. Neitamun defended herself like a seasoned pro, thrusting, lunging, ducking, and striking faster than a coiled asp. Five opponents attacked simultaneously, and every one suffered from her flurry of attacks. One managed to land a blow which caught Neitamun in the left side. Feigning pain, Neitamun fell left, but swiftly brought up the persea wood stick with bronze studded leather hand-grip and clocked the woman’s right side. The attacker crumpled. Neitamun balanced on one hand, brought the other stick up swift, and thrust her legs out. She clocked one in the chin at almost the same time she swept her leg behind another two. Throwing aside their weapons, they conceded. They huffed as they lay defeated.
Andrea shouted, “Åhai!” The entire room went silent. People stopped to gawk. She slapped her hand over her mouth and looked sideways at Khufu who was grinning from ear to ear.
Neitamun, sheets of sweat dripping into her eyes, bowed toward them, smiled, and then helped up her opponents.
The festivities wore on until finally, Khufu leaned over and asked her is she was ready to leave. Relief flushed over her and she nodded, not wanting to speak aloud again. They stood with hands interlaced. Hemynu announced their departure. All eyes turned, and a sturdy but aging general raised his glass. “To My King, may your endeavors bring many years of peace to our land. Ankh udja seneb! To Ra’s Warrior, nekhtet!” Every cup lifted in agreement and cheers once again erupted. Khufu thrust her arm into the air causing all the guests to stand and thump their chests.
“Your Majesty thanks you, General Gua,” Hemynu replied.
Their chairs scrapped the floor as servants moved them. The couple exited the way they entered. Khufu, obviously pleased with the evening’s outcome, smiled broadly. He discarded the broad-collar, handing it to a nearby servant. “View the heavens with me, Andrea?”
“I would love to, Your Majesty.” With any luck the night air would cool down the alcoholic heat pumping through her. Thankfully, the world swayed but didn’t vortex out of control.
An unfamiliar excitement filled her when Khufu whisked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, his supple fingers touching just the right spot. She tilted her head and raised her shoulder with an involuntary gasp; her toes curled. I’m just drunk, she thought, unable to admit that it might be more than a simple matter of too much alcohol.
They took a different route getting to the garden. Periodic candles cast eerie shadows between those spaces where light was almost too dim for her to see. Andrea thought she saw a third shadow, but when she glanced back the hall was empty. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Upon reaching the colonnade hall, alcohol-heated blood fused with the raging shiver sweeping through her. Suppressing the urge to scream, she gripped Khufu’s hand until his knuckles turned white, and leaned into him. “We’re being watched,” she whispered.
“It is most probably Hemynu. He follows me on occasion.”
“No. It feels more like,” she paused while trying to remember something important, “the stranger.”
“What stranger?” Khufu visually searched his surroundings.
“I can’t exactly recall, but I vaguely remember an odd sort of man telling me to stay away from the ankh before I woke up here.”
“Apep,” he yelled, “how dare you invade my sanctuary?”
“Oh. Do you think it he?”
“Has the feeling subsided?” He hurried them out into the brightly lit interior.
“No.”
“Guards!”
Eight burly men rounded the corner. “My Lord!” The tallest one said with a husky puffing noise when he bowed.
“Apep is in the palace. You two,” he pointed, “gather the palace guard. I want ten men posted at every entrance. No one comes in or goes out without permission. And find Hemynu! The rest of you, come with us to the garden.”
Five men followed the king and warrior as they continued. Entering the colonnade foyer, two guard stayed with them while the others, swords unsheathed, fanned out through the staggered forest-like pillars. Reaching the outside entrance, the guards, who were not allowed to walk upon the sacred ground, stopped. The other guards soon joined them.
Khufu and Andrea walked midways out and reclined on straw mats. As Andrea settled onto the ground and gazed heavenward, the feeling of being watched abated. “He’s gone now. How do I know though?”
“Your senses shall intensify as the time approaches. And once you are properly trained you can differentiate between when he is being watchful and when he is ready to attack. Let your instincts be your guide.”
“And if I don’t win?”
“It is not an option,” he said point-blank.
She rolled onto her side and pursed her lips. “I’m concerned about my family. Is there a way to them I am well?”
“It is a question for which I have no answer.”
Andrea sighed heavily and rolled back over. Orion, the Hunter, hovered slightly above the horizon; other constellations drifted across the sea of space. In modern Cairo, city lights hid their glory, but in this twisted version of history the stars, even ones she had never seen before, twinkled bright. It was a neck-breaking view of beauty.
Her love for this ancient culture kept her from questioning her sanity. It was like a dream state in the waking moments of a Twilight Zone reality. The only exception was that Rod Sterling wasn’t narrating. Theories she learned in school would turn out to be true or dismissed a pure speculation. Wonders lost in time were hers alone to discover. Even if she managed to get home one day, nobody would believe her, but she’d be happy just knowing the truth.
“It’s been a long day. I should be getting to bed.”
Like a child eyeing candy through a window, he watched her stretch. Just as he helped her up, Hemynu approached.
“You have summoned me?”
“Find the High Priest of Ra and inform him of Apep’s unexpected visit. We must prevent another incident. Be safe, my friend. He may still be lurking about.”
Andrea released his hand and walked into the hallway while the men talked. Wicked shadows having dissipated, she studied the paintings on the pillars as they danced under the light of the large braziers.
“I shall escort you when you are ready,” Khufu said, returning to her side. They strolled upstairs and parted at her door.
Remembering that her shoulder bag had been left, she searched for it, finding it stuffed underneath the bed with her clothes. Turning to a blank page, she dipped the peacock quill into the red ochre ink and wrote down the day’s events in what was now a diary. Hopefully, one day, her experiences would be tools for others.
A chill came with the evening breeze and she snuggled beneath the lion skin blanketing her bed before drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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