Author's note:
Things are starting to get exciting! :-) Well, at least I excited myself over this story very much. I hope the parallel timelines do not throw you off though.
A big thank you for your encouraging reviews and emails, you guys are the best.
Chapter 5
Now it was told the king of Egypt that the people had fled, and the heart of Pharaoh and his servants was turned against the people; and they said, "Why have we done this, that we have let Israel go from serving us?" So he made ready his chariot and took his people with him. Also, he took six hundred choice chariots, and all the chariots of Egypt with captains over every one of them. And the LORD hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he pursued the children of Israel; and the children of Israel went out with boldness.
-Exodus 14: 5-8
The 19th Dynasty of Egypt, ca.1279 B.C
The steps of Sahure were heavy and uneven as he dragged the semi-conscious Nefertiri to the throne room. His face was triumphant and contemptuous, as he unhanded the queen roughly in the presence of an already agitated Ramses.
My Lord, he bowed low and retreated, giving the appearance of one who valued deference and loyalty, sweeping his arm in an arc of mere flourish.
There is unrest in the land of Egypt, Sahure. I cannot sleep tonight. Ramses' hands were clasped behind his back, as he stood motionless, tense on the balcony of the throne room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes, in no hurry to face his Viceroy. They all could wait, he thought, surely they understood what the ten plagues had meant to Egypt and how much strain it was placing on him.
The unusual sounds behind him made him turn around. His Viceroy had thrown someone onto the ground; the otherworldly sheen of the throne room seemed to dim beneath the all too human picture of a woman in a white nightgown stained a dull red.
Viceroy? He demanded an explanation.
I bring her to you. See for yourself, or see her for the traitor that she is!
Ramses walked forward, and stopped when he caught sight of his bleeding queen, a wretched sight, curled on his floor.
How is it that the Opulence of Egypt is reduced to a heap of tears and blood, he asked with great shock, are you well afflicted with the same ailment that now plagues Egypt?
She could not move; her strength was now spent and all that she could do was simply to breathe, lids half-closed from the exertion and the great hurt that still trembled within her body. She could not stop the grief that threatened to overwhelm her nor the pain that wrestled with the same grief to black her out.
Ramses stared at her almost unpityingly; made no move to help her up; she needed a healer fast, but not before she heard what he had to say to her.
He turned and paced then, feeling the undying love he had previously proclaimed for Nefertiri dissipating with the contraction in his chest. He whirled then, brow furrowed with anger as the realisation dawned on him, when he realised the extent of his folly.
You carry the child of your Medjai lover, do you not? His tortured breath exhaled through gritted teeth as he walked over to her and tilted her chin up savagely, now taking satisfaction that she was indeed awake. Do you mean to make a fool out of me - I knew about your lover, Nefertiri but I chose to close my eyes to it, but now that you lie before me with his child, or what is left of it!
Your Highness, please, was all that she could plead from him, her breathing becoming more laboured as he spoke on, ignoring her distress.
I gave you my throne too, Nefertiri. Did I not? Was is not just the day before that I pleaded and begged to be let into your chamber?
Ramses' anger might have been frightening, but it was devastating to face alone.
I offered you to come share my riches; I bestowed on you privileges that you did not appreciate and took advantage of; I had hoped that you might return to me one day, and you have; you return to me carrying someone else's flesh and blood - do you mean to taunt me with your resolve never to reign as my queen? To tell me that you are spoken for already, in the cruellest possible manner?
She had never seen that stone-cold look on Ramses before. Weakly, she wondered if that was the face that all warriors applied in their battles, when they shouted in attack, or when they screamed in defeat. Her father, Seti I had worn it as he rode through the gates of the Theban city, leading his grand armies out to war, to conquer; he had also worn it when he returned in defeat.
There was no containing what a man might do when he was under the crazed spell of rage.
Nefertiri knew then, that she was afraid of him -The fearsome Ramses whose wrath was now turned on her; there did not seem to be a more formidable sight than an enraged man whose wife had humiliated him.
Your persistence in disobeying me, my queen, is starting to annoy me. That the passion I felt -translated into the rage I now feel was never able to find its alleviation in those curves of yours! Youth, beauty, virility are all my possessions, or have you never acknowledged that?
Words were weapons -Ramses was all too familiar with that - the memory of performing the Hittite torture ritual was fresh as the young shoots of the papyrus that grew along the Nile -and out poured words upon Nefertiri's crown, zealously, swelling with prejudice, vanity, rage and disappointment.
Now you are before me, bleeding and helpless and I find myself, in an ironic twist of fate; once I begged you to let me into your life, your bed, to become a man for you; now, Nefertiri, are you begging for me to spare your life?
He had kept his lips compressed far too long; his mouth tightened, his face seemed to shrink from his rage and his hands trembled with the rare displays of true emotion she had ever seen.
Ramses was a man, not a god, Nefertiri knew; it never seemed so blatantly noticeable until now - she thought of the ancient proverb - what is squeezed forth from a man in the worst of times is his true nature, wondering if Djosyn belonged to those who had nothing but dryness in him.
She had no explanation, she knew, but did not - could not regret her nights spent with Djosyn, who showered her with more concern and care than Ramses had ever done. The end seemed near - if she did not die from bleeding, Ramses would show no mercy to her and execute her in the punishment of common criminals.
But a life with Ramses was not what she craved for any longer. His mercy was better rejected and the punishment accepted.
Nefertiri waited; it was not long in coming.
Ramses seemed to change then, before her very eyes; his presence magnified a hundredfold as he straightened his back and threw back his head in defiance; the trembling of his body stopped and he seemed to compose himself, a cavernous difference from the man he allowed her to glimpse mere moments ago.
Viceroy Sahure, see to it that she is beheaded, he said softly.
Her head slumped in onto the floor, knowing she was powerless to stop any decree of Ramses; she was now a stranger to him.
Djosyn, I wish you would come, that was her only silent plea.
Sahure inclined his head in acknowledgement and placed his sword to Nefertiri's neck -by experience he knew that his blade was far too blunt and small to take her head off in a single stroke; he would be slashing at her neck until tendons snapped and her throat burst-a slow painful death that was only meant for the worst of criminals.
He grabbed her hair and held it atop her head, slicing the mane of brown locks in a grand gesture and threw them to the side of the chamber, branding her a humiliated queen, leaving jagged strands that fell unevenly by the side of her bloodied right cheek.
Readying his blade, savouring its weight in his hands never more during executions, he lifted it once more and turned in the direction of a sudden sound that emanated from the rear end of the throne room. It was a heavily panting messenger who fell at Ramses feet.
Your Highness, his words muffled by his prostration, not daring to catch Ramses' reaction, Your firstborn too, has been taken away from you.
The meaning was clearer than the dawn that was awakening upon them, and in shock Sahure's blade dropped limply from his hand.
Ramses stood over Nefertiri, expressionless.
Do you mean to mock me, Nefertiri? Now the breath from my firstborn Yuya is gone, he said harshly, and all Egypt wails because their fates mirror mine.
What miracle of the gods was this that he had discovered the death of his firstborn when she was about to face her own? Nefertiri lay face down, tears of relief forming painfully at the corners of her eyes.
Leave her. Follow me. She will be picked up by whoever deems her fit.
Ramses strode out of the throne room, the messenger running ahead, Sahure turning his head regretfully toward Nefertiri for the last time before hurrying after the Pharaoh.
Djosyn could not control himself, shaking, exhaling erratically as he watched Nefertiri tortured in her already wounded state. Her shrillest cry of agony would have been less frightening than her obstinate silence in the presence of Ramses.
You love the inhuman, you who call yourself Ramses the Great, the champion of men, he thought resentfully.
He was restrained solely by Aretas' hand, its pressure both a comfort and a warning. But it did not prepare him for the sword of Sahure that was placed at her neck and then moved upwards to slice that mane that had caressed him during nights of gratification.
It was the end, he had thought then, but for the miracle of the gods Ramses and Sahure had left Nefertiri to attend to his firstborn.
She was silent when he ran to her, tears were still held in check in those wide eyes of hers, a testament to her refusal to let Ramses see her weakness.
Do not lift her, Enheduana-Rai said sharply then, startling both men. You may involuntarily hurt her, even though you do not mean to. Let me have a look at her, but we must hurry, before Pharaoh's men return.
Nefertiri felt surprisingly gentle fingers lift her nightgown to probe her thighs and stomach; initial tinge of embarrassment flitted away when she felt cotton sheets placed against her. Warm hands, unmindful of the blood that she had painted on herself were placed on her forehead, soothing her ruptured spirit and she felt herself sink into oblivion.
Thank your gods, she has stopped bleeding, Enheduana-Rai announced grimly. We must go, bring her to her chambers.
Djosyn was afraid, very frightened of causing her further hurt, berating himself for the conversation they had only a few hours ago, where he left her side to join the other warrior-scribes. He knelt over her, scrutinising the pallor of her skin and felt the now familiar curl of rage that cloaked him.
It is not the time for anger, Djosyn. Enheduana-Rai's voice came softly from his side and he realised that she was also kneeling over the injured queen, her eyes urging him to carry his lover away.
He nodded and with nerves of steel, lifted her as gently as he could, and strode to her chamber, laying her on her bed, angry once more at his own helplessness.
Will you leave us now, Medjai?, the strange looking woman seemed to beseech them. Will you trust me to return the queen to you alive?
Listen, Aretas spoke to her for the first time since the trauma began its run on Egypt, I do not know who you are, you are a concubine of the King, or why you are suddenly embroiled in the affairs that are better left in the quiet and the secret. You now offer to restore Nefertiri. But if the queen does not live, neither will you.
Enheduana-Rai stiffened.
I hear you Medjai, very clearly. You will know by the next moon if she is to live or not.
The doors were shut behind them a trifle loudly, as if Enheduana-Rai found a pleasure for keeping them out. The queen was in bad shape, she knew, as she began the burdensome task of bodily restoration.
Outside, the atmosphere of gloom was pervasive both in Egypt and on the face of a warrior who personally attested to it.
I did not expect this, he finally said. Aretas, you know that is all I can say, although there is so much more I wish
Then do not say anymore, if Aretas was stunned the extent of Djosyn's relationship with the chief queen, he did not show it.
You do not trust that woman. Djosyn's reply was a statement, not a question.
You are right, my friend. I do not; have you not seen the queen and her in a duel, Aretas pointed out.
She is Nefertiri's hope, Aretas, Djosyn looked Aretas in the eye seriously, If she is not one we can trust, there is no one else.
We wait then, Aretas agreed reluctantly after a pause.
Do you think of me any less then, my friend? Is this a mistake that I ought never to have made? Your thoughts and estimation are most important to me.
Aretas did not answer again for a while; a man had to measure his words carefully when one dealt with the emotionally volatile. How was he to comfort a man who has paid dearly for his actions, who had acted the same way he would have too? Who then, was he to discount that man was never insusceptible to fickle emotions and the tides of passion that rose and fell with the sun? How could he then, re-create the complexity of a man, or anyone, who stood as his friend and fellow warrior-scribe and offer it on a clearly demarcated platter back to him?
Djosyn was looking sightlessly ahead; the forbidden desire for a queen was now being repaid in full.
I do not know, Djosyn; what I say now to you may find its way back against me another time, if not now, in some other lifetime to come perhaps. I cannot speak of human weakness so easily, Aretas said, not without difficulty. But what you now have may you call them your own and keep your own too. As for now, we wait. I will tarry with you; the other matters are of secondary importance.
I thank you, Aretas, he did not think anymore was needed.
But soon the economy of the Egyptian royalty took precedence over the worry etched on their faces. It was the same thought that ran through minds as they sat in silent but restless vigil.
What now, was awaiting Egypt?
