The Quest - Smith Wilbur - Страница 33
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However, in this place he felt he had the protection of Hathor, one of the most powerful goddesses in the pantheon. As patroness of all women, surely she would shield Lostris in her sanctuary.
He prepared himself mentally by reciting aloud three times the rites of approach to a deity, then opened his Inner Eye and waited quietly in the shadowy silences. Gradually the silence was broken by his own pulse beating in his ears, the harbinger of a spiritual presence drawing near to him. It grew stronger and he waited for the sensation of cold to envelop him, prepared to break off the contact at the first touch of frost in the air. The sanctuary remained quiet and pleasantly warm. His sense of security and peace increased and he drifted towards sleep. He closed his eyes and beheld a vision of limpid water, then heard a sweet, childlike voice call his name: 'Taita, I am coming to you!' He saw something flash in the depths of the water, and thought a silver fish was rising to the surface. Then he saw that he had been mistaken: it was the slim white body of a child swimming towards him. A head broke the surface, and he saw that she was a girl of about twelve. Her long sodden hair streamed down over her face and tiny breasts in a golden veil.
'I heard you call.' The laughter was a happy sound, and he laughed in sympathy. The child swam towards him, reached a white sandbank just below the surface and stood up. She was a girl: although her hips had not yet taken on feminine curves, and the outline of her ribs was all that adorned her torso, there was a tiny hairless crease between her thighs.
'Who are you?' he asked. With a toss of her head she threw back her hair to reveal her face. His heart swelled until it hampered his breathing.
It was Lostris.
'Fie on you that you do not know me, for I am Fenn,' she said. The name meant Moon Fish.
'I knew you all along,' Taita told her. 'You are exactly as you were when first I met you. I could never forget your eyes. They were then and still are the greenest and prettiest in all Egypt.'
'You lie, Taita. You did not recognize me.' She stuck out a pointed pink tongue.
'I taught you not to do that.'
'Then you did not teach me very well.'
'Fenn was your baby name,' he reminded her. 'When you showed your first red moon, the priests changed it to your woman's name.'
'Daughter of the Waters.' She grimaced at him. “I never liked it.
“Lostris” sounds so silly and stuffy. I much prefer “Fenn”.'
'Then Fenn you shall be,' he told her.
“I will be waiting for you,' she promised. 'I came with a gift for you, but now I must go back. They are calling me.' She dived gracefully, deep under the surface, her arms along her flanks, kicking with her slim legs to drive herself deeper. Her hair billowed behind her like a golden flag.
'Come back!' he called after her. 'You must tell me where you will wait for me.' But she was gone, and only a faint echo of laughter floated back to him.
When he woke he knew it was late for the temple lamps were guttering. He felt refreshed and exhilarated. He became aware that he was clutching something in his right hand. He opened his fist carefully and saw that he held a handful of white powder. He wondered if this was Fenn's gift. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it cautiously.
'Lime!' he exclaimed. Every village along the river had a primitive kiln in which the peasants burned lumps of limestone to this powder.
They painted the walls of their huts and granaries with it: the white coating reflected the sun's rays, and kept the interiors cooler. He was about to throw it away, but restrained himself. 'The gift of a goddess should be treated with respect.' He smiled at his folly. He folded and knotted the handful of lime into the hem of his tunic and went out.
Meren was waiting for him at the doors to the sanctuary. 'Your men have prepared the river water for you, but they have waited long for you to come to them. They are tired from the journey and need to sleep.'
There was a gentle rebuke in Meren's tone. He took care of his own men. 'I hope that you do not plan to stay up all night over your stinking water-pots. I will come to fetch you before midnight, for I will not allow it.'
Taita ignored the threat and asked, 'Does Shofar have to hand the potions 1 prepared to treat the waters?'
Meren laughed. 'As he remarked, they stink worse than the red waters.' He led Taita to where the four pots bubbled and steamed. His helpers, who had been squatting around the fires, scrambled to their feet,
thrust long poles through the handles of the pots and lifted them off the flames. Taita waited for the water to cool sufficiently, then went along the row of pots adding his potions to them. Shofar stirred each one with a wooden paddle. As he was about to treat the final pot Taita paused.
'The gift of Fenn,' he murmured, and untied the knot in the hem of his tunic. He poured the lime into the last pot. For good measure he made a pass with the golden Periapt of Lostris over the mixture, and intoned a word of power: 'Ncube!'
The four helpers exchanged an awed glance.
'Leave the pots to cool until morning,' Taita ordered, 'and go to your rest. You have done well. I thank you.'
The minute Taita stretched out on his sleeping mat he fell into a deathlike slumber, untroubled by dreams or even Meren's snores. At dawn when they awoke Shofar was at the door with a huge grin on his face. 'Come swiftly, mighty Magus. We have something for your comfort.'
They hurried to the pots beside the cold ashes of last night's fires.
Habari and the other captains stood to attention at the head of their troopers, all drawn up in review order. They beat their sword scabbards against their shields and cheered as though Taita were a victorious general taking possession of the battleground. 'Quiet!' Taita groused.
'You will split my skull.' But they cheered him all the louder.
The first three pots were filled with a nauseating black stew, but the water in the fourth was clear. He scooped out a handful and tasted it gingerly. It was not sweet, but redolent with the earthy flavour that had sustained them all since childhood: the familiar taste of Nile mud.
From then on, at each overnight camp, they boiled and limed the pots of river water, and in the mornings, before they set out, they filled the waterskins. No longer weakened by thirst, the horses recovered and the pace of the march quickened. Nine days later they reached Assoun.
Ahead lay the first of the six great cataracts. They were formidable obstacles for boats, but horses could take the caravan road round them.
In the town of Assoun, Meren rested the horses and men for three days, and replenished their grain bags at the royal granary. He allowed the troopers to fortify themselves against the rigours of the next long leg of the journey by recourse to the joy-houses along the waterfront.
Conscious of his new rank and responsibility, he himself greeted the blandishments and bold-eyed invitations of the local beauties with feigned indifference.
The pool below the first cataract had shrivelled to a puddle so Taita had no need of a boatman to row him to the tiny rock island on which
stood the great temple of Isis. Its walls were chiselled with gigantic images of the goddess, her husband, Osiris, and Horus, her son. Wind smoke carried Taita across to it, her hoofs ringing on the rocky riverbed.
All of the priests were assembled to greet him, and he spent the next three days with them.
They had little news for him of conditions in Nubia to the south. In the good times when the flood of the Nile had been reliable, strong and true there had been a large fleet of trading vessels plying the river up to Qebui, at the confluence of the two Niles. They returned with ivory, the dried meat and skins of wild animals, baulks of timber, bars of copper, and gold nuggets from the mines along the Atbara river, the principal tributary of the Nile. Now that the flood had failed and the waters that remained in the pools along the way had turned to blood, few travellers braved the dangerous road through the deserts on foot or horseback.
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