Mara, Daughter of the Nile (3 page)

Suddenly he caught sight of the girl again. This time she was quite near him, strolling with apparent aimlessness among the stalls. She stopped to watch a potter at work,
and Sheftu studied her curiously, unable to fit her into any of the usual categories. Her face was mobile, alert and vivid, broad across the cheekbones, smudged with dirt—a gamin’s face. But it was set with eyes as blue as the noon sky—a rare sight in Egypt. She was far too ragged to be the daughter of even the poorest merchant, yet she must have some education, for she had spoken Babylonian; and her slim, wild grace had nothing whatever in common with the stunted brutishness of serfs or porters. What was she?

She wandered a few steps farther, and Sheftu’s eyes followed her. Had he not been watching closely he would never have seen the swift glance she threw into a side street, where a baker’s apprentice was hurrying along balancing his great flat basket of breadstuffs on his head, waving a palm branch over them to keep off the crows.

Tongue in cheek, Sheftu continued to watch. He was not surprised when the girl stepped innocently into the street at the precise moment that the baker’s apprentice darted around the corner of the stall. There was a shout, the inevitable sharp collision, and bread, basket, palm leaf scattered in all directions.

Instantly the girl was all remorse. She was everywhere at once, snatching up the loaves and dusting them, soothing the apprentice with smiles and sympathy that caused his frown to give way to a flattered smirk. Only Sheftu, shaking with silent merriment, observed the good half-dozen honey cakes that found their way into her sash instead of the basket. His enjoyment increased as she began to nibble one absently under the baker’s very nose, chattering to him meanwhile; it passed all bounds when she actually took another from her sash, offered it prettily to the bedazzled youth, and strolled off down the street leaving him blushing and gaping happily after her.

By Amon! thought Sheftu, nearly choking with laughter. There is as witty a piece of deviltry as I’ve ever seen! What a girl this is!

Suddenly he stiffened, and the girl vanished from his mind as if she had never been. There, across the market place, lowering his earthen jar into the public well, was a Nubian in a red headcloth.

Sheftu waited tensely as the jar went down once, twice, and after a pause, a third time. It was the signal. With a long sigh of relief he stepped at last out of his shadowy corner. The Nubian shouldered his water jar and departed; Sheftu, mingling inconspicuously with the crowd, followed in the same general direction, keeping the red headcloth always in sight.

Once out of the market place, the black man moved swiftly through a maze of alleys and side streets, Sheftu following at a discreet distance. Presently the guide vanished abruptly into a doorway.

There was a porter coming toward Sheftu down the street; behind he could hear other footsteps, and quarreling voices. Continuing his same unhurried stride he passed the doorway without a glance, strolling on until the porter had disappeared around a corner, and the quarrelers were abreast of him. He glanced at them casually as they passed, and was surprised to see the same girl whose antics had amused him in the square. She was being dragged along roughly by a scowling man with a cruel face, who wore gold arm bands and appeared to be a person of some consequence. It was he who was doing most of the talking. He muttered imprecations under his breath, exploding now and then into angry curses and giving another jerk on the girl’s arm. She responded sometimes with a protest or a whispered Babylonian phrase, but for the most part accepted the abuse passively—or so Sheftu thought until she flashed a look in his direction and he saw her eyes, blazing like blue jewels in her tanned face. There was no submission there, and not a trace of fear, only fury. But Sheftu realized with a sudden shock that she was a slave. She must be; otherwise, angry as she was, she would openly rebel against this man,
who was evidently her master. Now the contradictions in her appearance were no longer baffling. Probably she had been well born, stolen as a child from her family, sold and resold until there was no one left who could possibly know who she once had been.

As the two disappeared into a side street Sheftu turned back toward the doorway, feeling spiritless and depressed. It was a crass and ugly world where such a girl could be kept a slave.

So occupied was he with this notion that only habit caused him to conceal his face from the other figure who appeared at that moment on the street—a man swathed to the ears in a woolen cloak, though it was warm noonday. This man strode along in the direction the girl and her master had taken, and like them, turned the corner.

It was Destiny that passed, but Sheftu could not know that. He knew only that the street was now empty, and he walked swiftly toward the doorway through which the Nubian had disappeared.

Two streets away, the girl and her master were nearing home.

“Goat! Barbarian!
Swineherd!
” raged Mara under her breath, in Babylonian. She far preferred to rage in Egyptian, since its heavy gutturals lent themselves perfectly to invective. But she was too wise to indulge her preference at the moment. With her arm in her master’s harsh grasp, and his other hand reaching for his stick, she confined herself to a tongue he did not know. Even so, it was satisfying, since she knew it infuriated Zasha to be reminded that his slave was better educated than himself.

“Son of three pigs! Know-nothing!” she spat at him.

“Cease that babble!” he roared. They had reached the front courtyard of his house and he gave her a fling that sent her staggering across the paving to land painfully upon the broad stone steps.

“Crocodile!” she added.

“Stop it, I say!” Zasha had his stick out of his belt now. “
Hai!
Unhappy day that I bought you, miserable one! Sister of the serpent you are, always sneaking away from your work to go mischief-making in the square! What have you stolen today? Well? What?”

“Bread,” Mara answered him. “Feed your slaves like humans instead of dogs and they’ll not steal.”

“Silence!” bellowed Zasha. He strode across the court and the stick whistled across her bare shoulders. “Hold that tongue of yours, girl, or I’ll have it out! Now, what else? Bread and what else?”

“Naught else!”

The stick whistled again. “The truth!” Zasha demanded.

“It is the truth! I took only a loaf or two from a fat baker who had more than he needed.”

“Pah, you lie!” Zasha raised the stick again, and she decided to cringe, knowing that as long as she defied him he would continue to beat her. When she shrank against the column he grinned. “What, do you fear me then?”

Mara said nothing. Immediately the stick came down with savage force. “
Hai!
You
shall
fear me, though I wear my arm out teaching you!” All at once he drew back, gulping. “Turn away your eyes, you
kheft
-maiden! Look away, I say!”

His free hand groped for the amulet he wore at his throat, and a mocking smile deepened the corners of Mara’s mouth. She knew what the amulet was—an
ouzait
, a little enameled model of the Sacred Eye of Horus. He had got it from a magician soon after he had bought her from her former master. Zasha was afraid of her blue eyes.

“What, do you fear me?” she could not help taunting.

She leaned forward, fastened her eyes upon him and widened them deliberately. When he stumbled back another pace she laughed aloud—then he was upon her again, his blows falling as fast as his curses, his voice shaking with
rage, while she wrapped her arms about her head and endured the punishment.

Both were too absorbed to notice the stranger, still wrapped from head to toe in his woolen cloak, who had that moment entered the courtyard. He stopped just inside the gate, watched the scene impassively a moment, then strode forward and dropped a heavy hand upon Zasha’s shoulder, whirling him halfway around.

“Let be,” he ordered. “Put away your stick.”

Zasha gasped and blinked. “By Amon!” he puffed. “Who are you to walk into my own courtyard and tell me—”

“Be quiet, fool. I’m buying this slave of you. How much do you want?”

The jewel trader gaped. Then he straightened, massaging his hands craftily. “She’s a valuable property,” he grunted. “I’ve said naught about selling. What makes you think I’d part with a girl like this? Look at her—young, strong, quick as a cat. She’s no common drudge, but can read and write, and she speaks Babylonian as well as our own tongue. Moreover she eats little and is docile as a— Stand up, you!” he hissed angrily at Mara. “Smile!”

Mara stayed where she was, merely regarding him scornfully. The stranger’s laugh was brief and not altogether amused. “Yes, I see how docile she is! Come, cease this chatter, fellow. Name your price or you’ll have to take what you get.”

“Not so fast,” retorted Zasha. “Who are you? I’ll not sell until I know with whom I’m doing business. I’ll not sell at all unless I get my price.”

The stranger growled impatiently, brushed past the bridling jewel merchant and leaning down, seized Mara’s wrist and pulled her to her feet. “You’ll sell, right enough! I’m here to buy a clever slave and this is the one I want. Name your price or I’ll simply take her.”

“In whose name?” shouted Zasha.

“In the queen’s name.” The stranger reached inside his
cloak and brought out a purse, which he flung contemptuously at Zasha’s feet. Then he led Mara out of the courtyard without another word, leaving the merchant white faced and staring behind him.

The whole thing had happened so fast that Mara felt giddy. In astonished silence she followed her new owner through the crooked streets, stealing curious glances at what she could see of his face. But he was an eye, a jutting nose, and a length of white wool, nothing more. She shrugged and gave it up. No doubt he would show himself in time. Meanwhile—she felt a glorious lightness grow within her at the thought—meanwhile, she was rid of Zasha! Of all the masters she had had, he was the worst. Perhaps this new one would feed her.

Her hand went to her sash, where a few of the honey cakes were still tucked away safe. She frowned. She had meant to give one to Teta, poor soul, who would now have to iron those hateful
shentis
still lying neglected in their basket. It was too bad. She had never resented Teta’s scolding, knowing that most of her ill temper stemmed from hunger.

No matter, Mara thought, and her face cleared. Teta is gone from your life as others have come and gone, and their fate is no concern of yours. Look after yourself, my girl! Nobody else will.

After some minutes of walking they came to an inn surrounded by a high mud-brick wall. The man turned through the gate, ignored the lower-floor entrance and led the way up a flight of stairs set against the outside of the building. When they reached the room at the top he secured the door and turned to face Mara, throwing off his cloak at last.

She had to make an effort to conceal her surprise. He was dressed in the finest linen, with arm bands of chased gold and a broad jeweled collar of remarkable beauty. A man of great wealth! But his face filled her with misgivings. It was cold and stony as the Sphinx itself.

“Your name, girl?”

“Mara. Daughter of Nobody and his wife Nothing.”

His granite face showed no flicker of expression, but his voice grew icy. “Take care! Wit becomes impudence in a slave’s mouth.” He sat down in the room’s one chair and regarded her impassively. “I watched you in the market place. You are both daring and unscrupulous, and you think fast. I have been looking for a person with those particular characteristics. Also I noticed you speak Babylonian. I presume your command of the language goes somewhat beyond mere invective?”

“I speak the tongue well,” murmured the girl. This conversation astonished her even more than the suddenness of her sale. She could not imagine its purpose.

“Good. Now look you. I have bought you for no ordinary purpose, as you may be guessing. I have a very special duty for you. But—” he leaned forward to emphasize his words, “it is so dangerous a duty that I will give you free choice whether or not you will attempt it. If your choice be ‘nay,’ you have only to say so, and I will sell you at once to some other master. I’ve no need for more household slaves.”

“And if my choice be aye?”

“It may bring you sudden death, or worse. But you will find the danger has its compensations. So long as you obey my orders you will be quite free from the usual slave’s life, and if you carry them out successfully, I will free you altogether.”

Mara gripped the edge of the table that separated them. There was no hesitation in her mind, but it took a moment to control the wild excitement that filled her. “Aye! My choice is aye!” she whispered.

“Think well. You may be choosing destruction.”

“No matter! I would rather be dead than a slave!”

He gave a faint smile. “So I thought. Now listen closely. One reason I picked you is that you have the appearance of a girl of the upper classes—or you would have if your hair
were clipped and dressed and your rags exchanged for decent clothing. If these things were done, do you think you could live up to your fine garments?”

“Why, yes, I suppose I could act the part of a human being.”

He chose to ignore the sarcasm. “So be it. As you heard, I bought you in the queen’s name. You will serve the queen as well as myself, though no one will know this. No one will realize you are a purchased slave at all, for you will masquerade as a free maiden, the daughter of a priest of Abydos, now dead.
If anyone should find out differently, you will die at once
. Do you understand thus far?”

Mara tingled with fresh astonishment. His eyes were cold, his mouth implacable. He meant exactly what he said. “I understand,” she said slowly. “What service am I to do?”

“A princess of Canaan, one Inanni, is on her way to Thebes at this moment to become the wife of the young pretender Thutmose. She has her own train of servants and waiting women, but she will need an interpreter.” The man leaned forward, jabbing his finger at Mara. “You are to be that interpreter. You will go at once to the city of Abydos, where the princess is spending a week in the usual ceremonies of purification. You will seek out an Egyptian called Saankh-Wen, who is in charge of the ships, and give him this.”