Shadow of the Sun (The Shadow Saga) (18 page)

A hush drew over the crowd. Sharp whispers circulated like a sandstorm. Would they accept Sit-Amun as the next Per-Aat? Did the Hanuti finally break my family’s stronghold over Khemit’s rule? A dreadful blow had been dealt to our cause, staged by a woman who had no motivation to rule other than to gain power. As the barge sailed away, I begged to go home.

“No, you will stay.”

What were we waiting for? My energy sagged. I shaded my eyes as a glorious barge sailed toward us. A crew of dozens rowed in practiced unison, pulling the barque to shore like a fisherman reeling in his prize. As it docked, the soldiers in military uniform all thrust their halberds and lances in a salute.

A bull of a man marched forward, “My Ladies, your vessel has arrived. Allow us to serve the Aten, for we pledge our allegiance to your cause.” Horemheb extended his hand, but Meti had other plans.

“Merit-Aten, we cannot present ourselves dressed in these ritual clothes. Come,” she commanded. I followed her toward a distant plain tent.

Inside, Hep-Mut popped out of a basket and said, “Did you think that I would not join you on this most auspicious day?” I ran to her arms, so joyful that the attendant of my heart was here. She opened the trunk and pulled out matching gowns of imported material. The delicate weave shimmered like raw gold. Meti’s breasts had become heavy with milk for Akhn-es-en-pa-Aten, which leaked from her brown nipples. She covered her breasts and whimpered from the pain of the swollen tissue.

An attendant tied a thick jeweled collar about her neck. Meti removed the wig from her head and her attendant powdered her skull so as not to sweat. She removed a tall, royal blue war crown from a box. It duplicated the one my father wore to signify him as the head of the military. She placed this symbolic cap upon her head. Everyone gasped.

Never before had a woman chosen to wear this cap, which signified authority and dominance over the armed forces. It would cause as much chatter as Sit-Amun’s costume.

“Are you going to wear the Kheperesh crown,” I asked in disbelief, “in front of everyone?”

“I am. Now, we must steel our inner will forces for this indeed shall cause a reaction. Be it positive or negative, I care not. The Amun priesthood deserted the soldiers. I shall carry the battle cry. But instead of wars, they shall be my battalion of peace.”

I cocked my head. “Will they fight for peace?”

“Nay, my little one. No one can fight for peace, for that would be a paradox of life. When one fights against or for anything, something will always oppose you. My battalion will be for peace. Your father will teach these castaway soldiers how to use their hands, rather than their swords, to earn their living.”

Even Captain Horemheb sucked in his breath. He watched her rise like the sun, glittering in golden hues up to the gang-plank.

I tugged her sleeve. “Where are we going, Meti?”

“We travel with Amun, Mut and Khonsu toward Denderah, to the Hathor Temple, because Hathor wishes to join with Amun for the Ritual of Love.”

“What will Mut and the Khonsu boy do while Amun is with Hathor?” I asked, hoping to speak to them alone.

She giggled and a slight blush rose on her cheeks. “They will celebrate.”

How could Hathor demand this Ritual of Love from another woman’s consort? These golden people acted so odd. If I could make this little golden boy come alive, he would understand the loneliness of royalty.

Maybe he too needed a friend.

“Will Father join us?”

“No, he had to do the Ceremony To Aten of the Noon Day Sun.”

The Sesh sank to their knees. Their eyes beheld the beauty of my mother. I smiled until I burst from the pride of being her little akh, her first-born daughter, her shadow. Special steps were created on board, which led to a high, covered platform. We took our places and set sail. Great fits of clapping and hollering ensued. Legions of men who had fought for my family for generations mingled with peasants along the shoreline.

“Hail to Nefertiti, May She Rule in Justice!”

All along the Nile, soldiers shouted. Their families paid tribute to the woman they claimed saved them from starvation. News spread. Nefertiti had arrived. All who had received her generosity could now pay back their gratitude.

“Feed us. Nourish us,” pleaded the soldiers lining the waterway.

Meti ripped the left side of her gown exposing her breast, now full of milk. She would forever be remembered. She Who is the Nurturer of Per Aat Ti-Yee and Pharaoh Amunhotep, and most of all, the Sesh. They loved her. Amunites and Atenists alike. The sight of an ample breast made the men swoon. They pledged their eternal love. She had earned it. She would be the next Per Aat, chosen by the people. And what the Sesh demanded, I hoped the Hanuti had no choice but to give to them.

H
er feathered Vulture ceremonial robes weighed her down. This embroidered imported material did not suit Khemit’s heat. Sit-Amun was soaked with perspiration. Lifting that damn snake all day in the hot sun made her arms and shoulders ache. The sunburn made her face swell and lips chap.

Sit-Amun yanked open her wine cabinet back at the Malkata Palace. With a shaky hand she poured a full goblet. In the privacy of her chambers she ripped off her blue tripartite wig, thankful to be free of the silver tipped tubes that clinked against her ears. She broke a nail and swore.

Why, these costumes alone cost her two times the monthly stipend she received for playing the part of the Royal Consort. And what good did it do? If she had another poor season of grapes like last year, she’d be ruined. At last year’s harvest when the grapes turned from green to purple, her crop was besieged by birds. Then right before picking, an unexpected rain mildewed the remaining harvest. It meant no wine last winter. Not that it mattered. At this rate she wouldn’t see another harvest if she couldn’t afford to pay the workers. Or her gambling debts.

As she fumbled through her ebony desk drawer for a nail file, Sit- Amun pushed aside a stack of papyri. A flash of red caught her eye, so she plucked that one out. A drawing of her prized steer with its neck slit sent shivers up her spine. Underneath the picture was a warning that her herd of cattle had trampled the fences of her neighbor’s fields and eaten all the new sprouts of alfalfa. Her coffers were depleted. She could neither afford the burden of the grand demesne in the country, nor the upkeep of land and livestock gifted by Pharaoh Amunhotep.

This ceremony had meant everything to her. Finally, she received the acknowledgement and respect she deserved. The Hanuti favored her over those Semites to become the next Per Aat and for Mery-Ptah to be the Pharaoh. This was her way out of her financial mess. Except that whore, Nefertiti, outdid her. All that money and time for nothing. Now how could she pay off her debts?

That familiar throb in her head made her dizzy. Just for a moment, on board the barge, she had felt beautiful and loved. She’d never before felt a crowd worshiping her, overflowing with their adoration. As if gazing upon her face could fill their bellies, or heal their broken bodies bent from labor in the fields. Now it was gone.

For a flick of a mongoose tail, she too had believed it. She stared at her elaborately decorated chamber with the furniture dipped in gold leaf, rich imported fabrics upon her lounge, and thick alabaster vases full of fresh cut papyrus and daisies. It was all a lie.

She punched her fist through the whitewashed stucco adorned with vibrant images of ancient Deities. The plaster fell to the ground, revealing the mudbrick beneath. The Nile River could wash all this away tomorrow. Forgotten. Tears stung her eyes. She too would be a minuscule dot upon Pharonic history. Being forgotten terrified her. She never stood a chance, really. Her much older brother, the Pharaoh, determined her destiny when he claimed that she chose him as her consort.

“Pfft. I was still in swaddling clothes,” she said and gritted her teeth. That pulsing in her head made her suck in her breath. “And those Royals are going to do the same thing to Nefertiti’s first born as was done to me. That cow Ti-Yee will determine that child’s path the same way she determined mine. They will parade her out for these meaningless pompous rituals to entertain the masses.” That thought made her headache worse.

Sit-Amun dreaded being out of control just as much as she hated being controlled. She would do anything to stop herself—if only they hadn’t done this to me. But she always gave in to her own little ritual because she needed that sense of power over another, especially after someone had just usurped hers.

Sit-Amun slid out the false panel in her desk. Her eager gaze fell on the set of beautiful bronze knives sharpened until they gleamed—nestled in their handcrafted leather pouches, as she removed her favorite. She pressed the slender one with upturned blade against her thigh and almost swooned with the first cut. The rush of excitement made the tiny hairs stand up on her arms. Strangely, this act gave her peace and security. Finally, she could feel something other than fear.

She strode to the hidden closet. With great composure, she pressed against it and released the lock. Just one more time, and then she’d swear she’d never do this again.

“Come to me, my darling. Let me take away your pain.”

She pulled the whimpering child out by the leather collar and leash she had placed around his neck. The boy’s eyes appeared rheumy; chewing his lip, shivering in fear, hunching his back, he looked like a wild animal. Sit-Amun patted the linen draped table and pulled the child up by his collar where she secured it. “Drink this, darling. It tastes delicious.” She handed him the wine cup.

The boy did as told, thankful she gave him something to quench his thirst. The boy felt the effects of the mandragora and looked woozy. Sit-Amun ran her hands up his smooth brown leg and gently undid his piss-soaked loin cloth. Her breathing became labored and she couldn’t contain the headiness she felt. When her hand found the soft ball sack, she moaned in expectant ecstasy.

“I want to enjoy your pain. You will endure it,” she said. As she lifted her knife, she caught her reflection in the polished metal and smiled. In a few moments, the shame of this horrific act would be unbearable.
I swear this is the last time.