do? Chloe had no way to exercise, wasn't allowed to pass beyond the
tenemos
walls, was sick of the smell of myrrh, and was bored to distraction.
Still
she could not speak.
When Hatshepsut's royal summons came, she was reclining in the shade of a sycamore, reading some even more ancient poetry, munching from a bowl of figs and dates. She felt exhausted and couldn't imagine why. She certainly hadn't exerted any energy.
Basha rushed ahead of the courier, her brown face alight with excitement. “The Great House calls you, my lady!”
Chloe stood. Pharaoh wanted to see her? After receiving the summons scarab from the guard who would wait to escort her back, she and Basha hurried through the gardens and hallways. What to wear?
CHAPTER 4
GOSHEN
T he audience chamber in Avaris was filled: red-and-white-clad soldiers, Retenu in long gold-shot robes, Kallistaens and Kefti with their many-layered garments and elaborately curled hair, and Kushites in exotic furs and feathers. It was easier to deal with foreigners at this far northern outpost than to bring them to Waset on the Nile. Everywhere Apiru slaves darted back and forth with drinks, food, and fans as they sought to keep the visitors comfortable.
At the far end stood Thutmosis III, Horus-in-the-Nest, Rising Ra, Child of the Dawn, impatience inscribed on his florid face and affirmed in the tap of his golden sandals on the polished stone floor. Faintly the sounds of flowing water and other conversations drifted in from the rooms surrounding the chamber.
He scowled.
The palace and audience chamber were not separated, as in a civilized land. No, his darling viper aunt-mother had seen to it that even the smallest courtesies were denied him. Here he was, in the mud and marsh of Goshen, forced to oversee disputes among commoners and foreigners. His blood surged at the gall of his aunt-mother, Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Gritting his teeth, he sat down on the stool—
stool,
not chair—and motioned to the chamberlain.
As Thut's titles were intoned, the painted doors opened and a band of Apiru entered, a motley selection from among the many enslaved races that kept Egypt building and beautiful. He knew from their distinctive one-shouldered garments that this particular party was composed of Israelites. Thut glanced to the wall where his “appointed” counselors and seers stood at the ready.
He turned back to observe the petitioners. There were about ten. They always traveled in packs, like scavengers, he thought. The man at the front of the group was tall, head and shoulders above most men in Egypt, bespeaking a diet rich in meat: not the usual Apiru fare. He wore the shirt and kilt of an Egyptian but covered it with an Israelite cloak, and he had a filthy Israelite beard, once black, now streaked with white. His heavy brows were straight gashes over deep-set dark eyes, whose depths spoke of great love and great loss. The soldiers behind them pushed the Apiru to their knees, for no one gave full obeisance except to the Great House. The soldiers looked to Thut solemnly.
Thut shifted his scrutiny to the man on the leader's right side. He was a faded reflection of the taller man, with the same face shape and features but lacking his power and vitality. Although unshaven and bedraggled like his companion, he had at least fixed his warm brown gaze appropriately on the ground. Thut motioned absently for a scribe to begin the audience.
“Who calls on the mighty Horus-in-the-Nest?”
The assistant replied in a pleasant baritone, “We are but two of Pharaoh's, living forever! servants, residing here in the two lands since before the time of your illustrious grandfather, Thutmosis the First, may he fly with Osiris! Life! Health! Prosperity! We seek the pleasure of Horus-in-the-Nest.”
The scribe translated for Thut, who, though he knew the language of the Apiru, feigned ignorance, a wise choice at times. “Your Majesty,” the scribe whispered, “this man is one of the leaders of the
tenemos
walls, was sick of the smell of myrrh, and was bored to distraction.
Still
she could not speak.
When Hatshepsut's royal summons came, she was reclining in the shade of a sycamore, reading some even more ancient poetry, munching from a bowl of figs and dates. She felt exhausted and couldn't imagine why. She certainly hadn't exerted any energy.
Basha rushed ahead of the courier, her brown face alight with excitement. “The Great House calls you, my lady!”
Chloe stood. Pharaoh wanted to see her? After receiving the summons scarab from the guard who would wait to escort her back, she and Basha hurried through the gardens and hallways. What to wear?
CHAPTER 4
GOSHEN
T he audience chamber in Avaris was filled: red-and-white-clad soldiers, Retenu in long gold-shot robes, Kallistaens and Kefti with their many-layered garments and elaborately curled hair, and Kushites in exotic furs and feathers. It was easier to deal with foreigners at this far northern outpost than to bring them to Waset on the Nile. Everywhere Apiru slaves darted back and forth with drinks, food, and fans as they sought to keep the visitors comfortable.
At the far end stood Thutmosis III, Horus-in-the-Nest, Rising Ra, Child of the Dawn, impatience inscribed on his florid face and affirmed in the tap of his golden sandals on the polished stone floor. Faintly the sounds of flowing water and other conversations drifted in from the rooms surrounding the chamber.
He scowled.
The palace and audience chamber were not separated, as in a civilized land. No, his darling viper aunt-mother had seen to it that even the smallest courtesies were denied him. Here he was, in the mud and marsh of Goshen, forced to oversee disputes among commoners and foreigners. His blood surged at the gall of his aunt-mother, Pharaoh Hatshepsut. Gritting his teeth, he sat down on the stool—
stool,
not chair—and motioned to the chamberlain.
As Thut's titles were intoned, the painted doors opened and a band of Apiru entered, a motley selection from among the many enslaved races that kept Egypt building and beautiful. He knew from their distinctive one-shouldered garments that this particular party was composed of Israelites. Thut glanced to the wall where his “appointed” counselors and seers stood at the ready.
He turned back to observe the petitioners. There were about ten. They always traveled in packs, like scavengers, he thought. The man at the front of the group was tall, head and shoulders above most men in Egypt, bespeaking a diet rich in meat: not the usual Apiru fare. He wore the shirt and kilt of an Egyptian but covered it with an Israelite cloak, and he had a filthy Israelite beard, once black, now streaked with white. His heavy brows were straight gashes over deep-set dark eyes, whose depths spoke of great love and great loss. The soldiers behind them pushed the Apiru to their knees, for no one gave full obeisance except to the Great House. The soldiers looked to Thut solemnly.
Thut shifted his scrutiny to the man on the leader's right side. He was a faded reflection of the taller man, with the same face shape and features but lacking his power and vitality. Although unshaven and bedraggled like his companion, he had at least fixed his warm brown gaze appropriately on the ground. Thut motioned absently for a scribe to begin the audience.
“Who calls on the mighty Horus-in-the-Nest?”
The assistant replied in a pleasant baritone, “We are but two of Pharaoh's, living forever! servants, residing here in the two lands since before the time of your illustrious grandfather, Thutmosis the First, may he fly with Osiris! Life! Health! Prosperity! We seek the pleasure of Horus-in-the-Nest.”
The scribe translated for Thut, who, though he knew the language of the Apiru, feigned ignorance, a wise choice at times. “Your Majesty,” the scribe whispered, “this man is one of the leaders of the
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