Chapter 6
Did you call me, or did I wake?
Did you touch me, why am I terrified?
Did not some god pass by, for my limbs are numb with fear?
The heavens roared and the earth roared again, daylight failed and darkness fell, lightning flashed, fire blazed out, the clouds lowered, they rained down death.
-The Epic of Gilgamesh
It was surely a trick of the mind that the chaos of the Passover had begun only last night. The lightening of the sky reminded her that they were only few hours past the horror that had blanketed Egypt.
Then the brightness departed, the fire went out, and all was turned to ashes fallen about us, she recalled the epic of Gilgamesh that was recited to her when she was a child.
Egypt was grey and gloomy; it was as if Ra himself had run from the Hebrew God, and withheld his blessings on the Nile until he saw fit to regain his courage to show his face to his people.
The Hebrews were leaving, taking along with them half of Egypt's riches. Ramses had finally bowed in defeat, Enheduana-Rai saw numbly. The outflow of bullion and treasure would threaten their reserves; with the lack of wealth, Egypt would lose her standing as a northern power and so would the people face a catastrophic return of uncertainty.
She stepped away from the queen's balcony, fatigue written on her forehead, exhaustion lining her eyes. Nefertiri's broken body was a daunting task for any healer. The child was then, a product of destiny's cruel laughter.
I am sorry that you could not save your child, she had whispered to the agitated queen as Nefertiri drifted in and out of consciousness. But I will try my best to return life back into your veins. Do not fight it; there will be many more children if you fight and live.
No, there was only this child, and he was not meant to live, the queen had replied with closed eyes, surprising Enheduana-Rai with her strength. She had heard about the queen's legendary grace and determination, but only saw it for herself now.
The child had died when the women screamed, Enheduana-Rai. He was already dead when I fell down the steps. My body thought to discharge his remains then, the queen had fallen unconscious once more.
Think, now, my Queen! Think of the man whom you had the child with, is he not worth living for? Her urges were frantic; her patient needed to live.
Nefertiri's weak pulse had grown stronger, to her relief. She prayed that no one would disturb them for the next few days, as Egypt rebuilt itself.
She opened the chamber doors, their swinging motion revealing bit by bit the profile of the ever watchful warriors. They stood when they saw her, Djosyn's usually upright body hunched with the agony that had clawed at him during his vigil.
The queen is resting. She is pale, having lost much blood. It looks like she will live, but I cannot tell for certain until the next moon. I will check back on her from time to time, she told Djosyn, and avoiding the forceful gaze of Aretas, she left the warriors and disappeared down an empty corridor.
She is now yours. Attend to her, Aretas nodded in the direction of the bed on which Nefertiri rested.
Djosyn walked in wordlessly, giving no heed that he was walking into the queen's chamber in daylight, no longer as a bodyguard who saw to her sustenance or her safety, but as a man who badly needed reassurance that the woman who meant much to him shared his same sentiments and was alive to hear him whisper whose words.
Her face was turned away from the sheets of blood that still littered the cold stone floor after Enheduana-Rai's ministrations; the servants were busy tending to the preparation of Yuya's journey to the afterlife, to attend to her. There was a dull throb and an emptiness in her middle, which she did not think would unsettle her necessarily; how was it that she was made more aware of what she had lost than when something was in her possession?
She did not have her child, and she was not sure if she still had Djosyn. He could not possibly hate her for losing the child, did he? Her child, she thought sombrely, were to take after his father, should he have lived -fair of hair, clear, light eyes -No, it would bring her indescribable rage and grief if Djosyn had left her abruptly because she had lost a part of them.
How queer it is, that I now draw comfort and strength from this one who had displayed such hostile emotions towards me, Nefertiri mused, remembering the urgent but musical low voice that had insisted that she held on the cord that brought her back to a reality that was composed of dimensions, a place of torture and pain but also of rapture and deep joy. Her thoughts turned to the younger woman who seemed to be so many things at once -healer, swordswoman, concubine; she was deeply ashamed to have shallowly assumed the worst of her. Yet the added angle to Enheduana-Rai made her all the more appealing and shrouded her entire form a greater mystery. Who was she?
She did not realise that she had muttered that thought aloud, and the resonance by which her question echoed back to her made her turn around.
Who were you thinking of?, Djosyn stood at her bedside, his face a myriad of emotions that she found breathtaking, and in that second she knew he was also a man who suffered complex emotions, and not a personal guard whom she had succumbed to.
The healer, she said finally. Enheduana-Rai, I was thinking of her and all her perplexing actions that fail to allow me to call her someone I know. She slips through my thoughts.
Nefertiri looked up at him, eyes shielded by hooded emotions.
Djosyn stiffened as well, wondering if there was any barrier that she had erected between them, when in truth she watched him for the very same reaction, wanting to proposition herself as defensive, for she had perceived that he might now look at her aversely.
But all that Nefertiri saw was a regret that spoke the loudest of the emotions on his face, melting the slightest doubts that she carried. He touched her face softly, running his fingers through her short and uneven hair, reminding her steadfastly that her beauty was no less diminished by her externalities.
The child mattered not as much to me as your life, Nefertiri, he told her then. There will be others.
And that drew from her a strangled sob. Pain, that the child was of less importance and elation that she meant everything to him, more than the child.
Finally, she seized him by the arm, holding tight, expressing nothing else but a feeble cry, foundering in the deep abyss, whence love emerges pale in the all too menacing shadow of death. He turned quickly to her then, offering all that he had in his body, stroking her back in infinite circles. Enfolded in their close embrace, no words could prolong the silence that spoke of the return to an existence that was going to be nothing short of hell.
She could only offer him her broken self - which was all that he wanted - a trembling mouth filled with tormented love, remorse and regret, and so lost was he in contemplating her and their vanished child that he was only vaguely aware of her tears that had run down the defined muscles of his arm.
There will be no more children, as she had told Enheduana-Rai, but she now failed to tell him the same thing as they stayed together for as long as she needed. Why had she known that with a great conviction was still lost to her? It was a revelation that oddly did not bring much pain; maybe her body was already so numbed from it that she did not think anymore would have made any difference then.
In the bright light, her noble face was in disarray; her waxen skin was now vibrant where the scorching tears had dried in their rivulets.
The city over the mountains that cracked in the violent midnight air was now of secondary importance to him. Those who were living were now dead, those who died were even more deeply buried in their graves and those who lived -he thought, those who live could only expect to die.
Chants now echoed hollowly around the palace walls as Egypt remembered its dead - it was an unmistakably dismal sound; prayers said by priests on behalf of those who died by the breath of the Angel of Death, prayers that were said in hope the souls would reach the Afterlife. The complex ritual of mourning for the thousands who were Egypt's next generation had begun.
