Mara, Daughter of the Nile

  “To Thutmose?”

  “Precisely.” Again the low laugh. “Hatshepsut’s gold buys her own downfall.”

  Behind the cabin wall, Mara had to choke down her delight. Oh, lucky chance that had drawn her here to listen! This information would be worth a fabulous amount to that new master of hers! How his granite face would come alive when she mentioned the name of Lord Sheftu—when she told him how the queen’s gold was being used! She could almost see the thin smile that would curl those thinner lips. . . .

  But suddenly she found herself picturing Sheftu’s face instead, and the way the little golden river reflections danced across it, and how his arms had felt about her.

  Don’t play the fool! she warned herself. Nobody matters, nothing matters except freedom and gold! Think you this Sheftu would thank you for holding your tongue? Pah! He’d slice it off quick enough, if he thought it could harm him! Look out for yourself, and let him do likewise!

  She pressed closer to the wall.

  “. . . one of your allies,” Nekonkh was urging. “Surely you have need of a ship and a captain you could trust. I’d pledge my life—”

  “We must all do that. Our lives, our fortunes, our brains—they’re all forfeit if ever we hold back for safety’s sake. There’s no safety anywhere in the Black Land while Hatshepsut rules it! She’s like a dagger pointed at Egypt’s heart. We must knock it away whatever the cost in lives and gold.”

  “I understand, I agree! I wish to be one of you!”

  “You are one of us, Captain,” returned Sheftu smoothly. “Had I not been sure of you, you would never have reached Menfe.”

  “I—I see,” muttered the other.

  On the other side of the wall, Mara shivered a little, remembering the coldness of Sheftu’s eyes yesterday. The man was a fanatic, and therefore dangerous as a cobra. She felt sympathy for Nekonkh.

  “So be it,” Nekonkh was saying gruffly. “And the Devourer take me if I ever fail you! What are my orders?”

  “There may be some very soon. For the present, I would know your plans for the next few weeks. Name me the voyages you will make.”

  There was an odd little silence. Mara frowned and leaned closer—then Nekonkh’s voice came again. It was louder, but it sounded a little strained.

  “Once in Thebes I’ll lay over for five days, while a new cargo is making ready. Then I must deliver the shipment to Heliopolis, taking on timber there which I will bring back to Abydos for the reconstruction of the—”

  A tiny sound close behind Mara made her whirl around. In an instant she was on her feet, shrinking back against the cabin wall. Not three feet from her, lounging casually against a bale, stood Lord Sheftu.

  He smiled, and a little chill ran up between her shoulder blades. “Are you not tired of straining your ears?” he inquired mildly. “Join us inside, you will be able to hear much better.”

  And to die much faster! thought Mara.

  Without answering, she leaped for the open space between two bales. But quick as she was, he was quicker. Without seeming to disturb his lazy pose, his hand shot out, and fingers like iron bands closed over her wrist.

  “I repeat, join us inside. We crave your company.”

  “Indeed!” Mara spoke through her teeth, trying in vain to twist away from him. “I’ll wager you do, at that. Let me go!”

  “You’d gain naught by that. We’re on a ship, you know. Just where could you run to?”

  “Over the side!”

  He gave a short laugh. “Have you forgotten the crocodiles?”

  “Better them, than you!”

  Sheftu’s eyebrows rose in mock dismay. “Is my company so repellent? I thought you were enjoying my conversation. Otherwise I’d not have let you overhear so much.”

  “Let me? You knew I was listening?”

  “Of course. You arrived here at about the moment our good captain was telling me his suspicions. Now I think of it, he’s still chatting away to empty air in there. Suppose we go tell him he can stop now.”

  Sheftu grinned and started out through the bales, Mara’s wrist still firm in his grasp. There was nothing to do but follow, as she found after a final struggle. She looked down in despair and real wonder at the hand which held hers. It was lean and shapely—the hand of an aristocrat. Yet it had the sinews of a porter’s.

  Aaaah, unlucky day that I laid eyes on this Sheftu! she mourned. May misfortune take the kheft that led me to this ship, of all ships in Menfe’s harbor. . . .

  They were free of the stacked bales now, walking the few paces of open deck. Mara gazed hungrily at the sunlight and the green river, the blue, blue sky. Never had they seemed so beautiful. She thought of pharaoh’s golden palace, the freedom and luxury which might soon have been hers, the unread scrolls in Zasha’s Room of Books; and the dim sweet memory of that other room. Soon even memories would be lost to her.

  He is not really cruel, she thought. He will do it quickly.

  They stepped inside the cabin door, and the sun was dimmed. There in the shadows sat Nekonkh, still muttering obediently of cargoes and voyages. He leaped to his feet as they entered.

  “So! The eavesdropper!” he growled.

  “Nay, our guest! How can you be so inhospitable, Captain? Give the maid a stool, she seems pale.”

  Grimly Nekonkh obeyed, and Mara sank down on the leather cushion, swallowing hard. She had never experienced this sort of ruthlessness—the sort that came sheathed in exquisite charm.

  Sheftu settled one hip comfortably on the plank table and began to swing his leg. “This is better,” he approved. “I dislike an atmosphere of deceit. It is far better to be frank with one another, don’t you agree, Captain?”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Nekonkh uncertainly.

  Sheftu spun around to him. “Never call me lord. I am a scribe, Captain. My life might hang on your remembering that—and yours certainly does! Do you understand?”

  The sheath had slipped for a moment. Mara gripped the sides of her stool, and moisture broke out on her forehead. She wished heartily he would kill her and be done with it.

  “Aye, I understand,” muttered Nekonkh.

  “Good. As I was about to say, we will have no secrets among the three of us. You both know who I am, and what master I serve.” Sheftu turned again to Mara, smiling. “And I know—as perhaps you do not, Captain—who this Blue-Eyed One is, and what master she serves.”

  The words were almost casual, but had the ship suddenly stood on end, Mara could not have been more shocked. She was on her feet without knowing she had moved. “Master? I have no master! You’re talking nonsense.”

  “What a liar you are,” he said.

  Half frantic, Mara went over in her mind every detail of her sudden purchase, the walk through the streets with her new master, the conversation behind carefully secured doors. No one could possibly have overheard, or guess without overhearing. Was this Sheftu a sorcerer?

  “You’re bluffing!” she spat at him. “You know naught of me before the day I boarded this ship. How could you?”

  “Why, it took no particular effort. The knowledge was fairly thrust upon me. I know, I assure you.”

  “Prove it!”

  His smile hardened. “My dear Mara—I don’t have to prove it.”

  Aye, he spoke truth. She was trapped and he’d never dare let her leave this ship alive. Moreover, she was convinced he did know everything. Somewhere, somehow, he had found her out. Her master’s cold warning sounded again in her ears: If anyone should find out, you will die at once.

  “So be it,” she said bitterly. “But you need not soil your lordly hands with my death. Others will save you the trouble.”

  “Nay, I do not hire cutthroats, it is not my way. Though I’ve no stomach for this day’s task, believe me! What a pity, to close forever those lotus-blue eyes. . . . Sit thee down, mai
d. Thy face is as white as thy dress.”

  She sank down again, barely able to mutter a sarcastic retort. “I thank you for your concern! It comes a little late.”

  “Nay, perhaps not.” He clasped his hands comfortably about his knee. “You find yourself in an unenviable situation, Blue-Eyed One. But I must point out that you were warned. I spoke truth yesterday when I said I’d not decided what I wanted of you. Now I have no choice; I must silence you—or use you. I prefer the latter. But since I don’t trust you as far as tomorrow, I must have some weapon to hold over your pretty head. Come, now. You’d best do as I say. There’s an ugly punishment for a runaway.”

  Runaway! thought Mara despairingly. If that were all!

  If that were all . . . was that all he knew?

  Nekonkh was speaking, his voice more gentle than usual. “So that’s what she is! I wondered a little at her rags, and that gold chain! No doubt she stole it from her master. Why didn’t I guess?”

  “Why?” Sheftu laughed shortly. “Look at her, Captain—there’s the reason. Has she anything of the slave about her save those rags? If I’d not actually seen her dragged home to a beating by the stupid oaf who owns her . . . Look you, Mara. I’ll not send you back to him—on one condition.”

  “What condition?” she whispered. Her mind was racing. If he thought her merely a runaway—but what of that conversation she had overheard? Would he dare release her with such information? He seemed to be ignoring it altogether. What, in Amon’s name, could he have in mind? Why didn’t he speak?

  “What condition?” she repeated.

  “That you serve me, instead of Zasha.” Sheftu got up and began to pace the tiny room. “But not as a slave, Mara. As an ally. I need someone like you, who is unknown, beyond suspicion—and clever. It is a dangerous task, but you have no choice, as I think I’ve made clear.”

  Mara listened in silence, hardly able to believe what he was saying. For the second time in one week she was being threatened with her life, being maneuvered with almost identical phrases into the position of spy and intriguer—and by two who were deadly enemies, fighting in opposing camps, for opposing causes!

  It was incredible, but it was true. And suddenly it struck Mara that it was also hilarious.

  She stood up so abruptly that the folding stool she had been sitting on overturned and collapsed. She hastened to right it, struggling meanwhile to gain control of herself. She must not laugh, she must not! But she was hard put to it to hide her elation, the sudden return of all her old brash confidence. Sheftu knew nothing that could hurt her; whereas she had him as neatly checkmated as if this were a giant’s game of draughts. True, he had found out she was a slave. What matter? He did not know her master. And before he found out—long before that—he would be in chains.

  He may be clever, she thought. Well, so am I! He may be a great lord and a ruthless one, but he has yet to find out how ruthless a guttersnipe can be!

  She faced him submissively. “I agree to the condition. You’re right, I have no choice.”

  “I’m glad you see that. Our prince needs your courage and your wits. Come, put them to work with mine on this matter. I want you to carry a message to His Highness. To do that you must be introduced somehow into the palace, and I prefer that you stay there if we can possibly arrange it. There will be other messages.”

  Nekonkh, who had remained in the background, an uneasy spectator to the little drama, stirred finally. “Have you thought of the Canaanite princess, whose ships are now at Abydos? Could not this little one be disguised—”

  “As a barbarian?” Sheftu laughed and gestured toward Mara. “This maiden? Every line of her spells Egypt! No, Captain, I thought of it and discarded the idea. It would be perfect, but—”

  “Why as a barbarian?” murmured Mara demurely. “I speak Babylonian. Will not the princess need an interpreter?”

  “An interpreter!” Sheftu halted his pacing.

  Nekonkh objected. “They will have arranged for that already.”

  “Aye, one is to go aboard at Abydos. But we will change their arrangements! This one is far better—for us—and I believe it can be done. Blue-Eyed One, already you are invaluable! But we need to find you clothing, some woman to dress your hair—”

  Mara summoned all her audacity. “Leave that to me. Look you—there is a sandal maker in Abydos, an old man I once befriended. I was bound for his house, because I knew he would hide me, perhaps give me a few deben to buy bread and lodging in Thebes. He hates Zasha. I think he would arrange this other, too, perhaps for a price—”

  “Aye, for a price.” Sheftu’s smile twisted a little. “Men will do anything—for a price. Tell me more of this one. Does he know how to keep his tongue in leash?”

  “Would I have been willing to trust him myself, if he did not? He has no family, few friends—he’s a crusty sort, but he always liked me, and he bears a grudge against Zasha, who cheated him once in trading—”

  “Zasha travels to Abydos to buy his sandals?”

  Mara came alert sharply. So Sheftu was not swallowing all this without tasting, as she had thought he was. She had best beware that lazy smile. . . . “Zasha once lived in Abydos,” she answered. “His wife is the daughter of a priest there.”

  “Then you, too, lived in the Sacred City. In what street was Zasha’s villa located?”

  “The same that runs past the Temple of Osiris,” said Mara, knowing there must be such a temple, and praying that the street which passed it might also cross the district of finer homes. Evidently it did, for Sheftu made no comment, beyond asking her the old man’s name. She invented one hastily, and he nodded as if satisfied, resuming his perch on the table.

  “So be it. Buy the garments of him, and buy him, too. You must not be in his debt. Here!” His hand went into his girdle, and came out again holding a heavy ring fashioned of electrum, a costly mixture of gold and silver. It was encrusted with tiny garnets and lapis lazuli in a design of lotus flowers. Mara drew a long breath as she took it. Zasha the jewel trader had never handled anything like this.

  “Give him that,” said Sheftu, “for his help and his silence. But tell him nothing save that you have fled from Zasha.”

  “I understand.” Mara slipped the ring into her own sash, where it nestled against the queen’s tiny scarab. Again she struggled with inward mirth.

  “The next problem is installing you as interpreter,” Sheftu went on. “That is more difficult. I dare not be seen. Who captains the princess’ ship, Nekonkh? Is he Egyptian?”

  “Aye. One Saankh-Wen. A thick-witted fellow, but—”

  “Can he be bought?”

  “Doubtless.” Nekonkh rubbed his chin. “But would he talk later? He’s a garrulous sort, especially in his cups.”

  Mara was growing impatient, anxious to have done with it. Once the details were settled, she would be far safer from Sheftu’s probing mind. As to Saankh-Wen, no problem existed, though she dare not tell them so. Come, use your head! she thought. You must manage this part too. . . .

  “Even in his cups,” she said, “would a man talk of his own misdeeds? Perhaps a soft glance and a glib tongue would be of more use here than bribery. If a man is bribed, and feels guilty later, he can blame those who bribed him. But if he is led to substitute one interpreter for another because blandishments sound sweet to his ear—whom can he blame later but himself? He would scarce boast of his own foolishness, would he?”

  “And all men are fools,” added Sheftu blandly.

  Not you, my friend! thought Mara. Aloud, she said with a shrug, “This one might be. The captain says he’s thick witted.”

  “Aye,” growled Nekonkh uneasily. “But the idea seems chancy. . . .”

  “Perhaps not.” Sheftu was studying Mara with amusement. “This maid understands the arts of blandishment, Captain. I witnessed a little encounter of hers with a baker’s boy, back
in Menfe, that gave me real pleasure. I believe we can risk it. If it fails, there will still be time to try something else. We’ll not leave Abydos until she gives the signal.”

  “Then all’s settled?” inquired Mara.

  “Aye. Except for the message you are to give the king. Tell him I have—” Sheftu hesitated, and changed the sentence. “Tell him the war hawk is coming.”

  “The war hawk is coming? But what does it mean?”

  Sheftu smiled. “It is the king I wish to enlighten, Blue-Eyed One, not you.” He got up from the table. “We’ll arrange our signals tomorrow. But now we must separate, or the crew will be marveling at all this tongue wagging.” He started for the door, but paused before Mara, still smiling faintly. “Lest you be wondering, it will not be feasible to slip away from me in Abydos, to sell my ring, or to do anything at all save what we have planned. Make no mistake about that. If my prince is endangered, I care not what color eyes I close forever.”

  He moved past her and out of the cabin. Shaken a little in spite of herself, Mara rose to follow, but Nekonkh stopped her with a touch on her arm. She turned to find him gazing down at her with a troubled frown.

  “He’s a hard master, that one,” he whispered, jerking his head toward Sheftu’s retreating figure. “I sweated for you, when he sat there swinging his leg and juggling your life about in his two hands. But you should not have eavesdropped!”

  “I’m not afraid of him. He’ll do me no harm as long as I’m useful to him. But, Captain—how he must hate the queen and love his prince.”

  “Aye . . . but I think he loves Egypt even more. To my notion that’s what makes him throw away his gold and his life like this, and use men as if they were tools. That’s why he holds a bludgeon over the head of even a friendless maid like you, little one, and turns your wits to his own purpose, and takes chances that could end in murder. . . .” Nekonkh shook his head. “Aye, he’s reckless, and perhaps mad. But—Amon help me—I think I’d follow him to the River of the Dead and back!”