City of Waset, Autumn. Reign of Ramesses II, Year 5

"In the beginning, there was no land, the whole world was nothing but water. From outside the heavens, the Great God Re-Atum spoke the secret word, forming the foundation of the world. Deep below the surface of the primordial waters, a small hill awakened, and began to rise.

"After an eon, the hill grew into a mountain and breached the surface of the waters, a solitary pyramid. Re-Atum entered the heavens and rested upon it, thinking of all he wished to create. When he was ready, he spoke a secret word. The mountain's foundation lifted from the four corners of the world, rising through the waters, becoming valleys, plains, deserts and cliffs, the waters draining into the depths between them.

"But the land was barren, so Re-Atum covered it with grasses, flowers and trees. Pleased with his work, he spoke another secret word and brought forth the birds, to fill the sky with color and song, and from within the waters of the river, the creatures who breathe the wet air sprang to life.

"He spoke the final secret word and brought forth the gazelles, and lions, and all the living things who breathe the dry air. He looked upon his creation and was filled with joy. From this sacred mountain top-the first pyramid-Re-Atum brought forth life from nothing.

"His heart was so overcome with joy, he wept. His tears fell to the earth, mixing with the dust. Out of the mixture beautiful men and women rose to their feet. But these men and women had not been created with a secret word, so they were flawed. Re-Atum could not see them, and they could not see him or understand the wisdom of his creatures.

"Because the men and women were flawed, they became hungry and cold. They longed for the flesh and skins of the wise animals, so they slaughtered them.

"When Re-Atum discovered what had been done to his companions, he fell to his knees and tore his garments to shreds. Who would dare destroy what he had created? Filled with wrath, he spoke the secret word to bring to life a daughter to avenge him. From the ground, the lion-headed goddess Sekhmet rose up, growling.

"She ran, roaring, after the men and women, hungry for their blood. Astonished to see a woman with the head of a lion, they fell down before her, worshiping her. Sekhmet read their thoughts and understood what her father could not. She decided to spare them, and teach them the way of the Creator, so they might atone.

"Though the men and women were blind to the wisdom of Sekhmet's teachings, they were willing to obey. As they studied her teachings, and their hearts opened, it became their greatest hope to be able to commune with Re-Atum as they could with Sekhmet, sharing in the wisdom of the other creatures.

"For one thousand years, under Sekhmet's guidance, they labored to build a vast temple to honor Re-Atum. When all was ready, they raised an obelisk in the temple's center court, marking the place where they had first awakened, its golden cover reflecting the brilliance of Re-Atum's light. They waited, hoping, and praying for Re-Atum to notice their monument to him, but because their hearts were still impure, he could not see them. Then, one terrible day, still heartbroken from the loss of his companions, Re-Atum stepped onto his barque and rose up into the heavens, leaving them behind, unseen and unheard.

"In a sacred court, far to the north of Waset, at Iunu, there stands an ancient weathered obelisk still capped with gold. No one knows how old the obelisk is, but the sages say it must be hundreds of thousands of years old. It is said this obelisk may be the very one raised by the first men and women to atone for their crimes. If this is so, then Iunu is the place where Re-Atum himself once cried with happiness, bringing us to life, flawed though we are.

"Since he left and ascended to the heavens, the ancient texts have taught our true purpose is to purify our hearts, so when the Creator sails in his sky barque, he will be able to see us. On that day he will descend from the heavens, and walk among us, granting us the wisdom of his first creations. Together we shall walk through scented gardens, side by side with the gods and goddesses, and speak of wondrous things. Egypt will be filled with peace, wisdom, and understanding, once more becoming the beloved home of Re-Atum."

❃

Meresamun's voice faded away. Utter silence descended on the banquet hall. She bowed, her golden hairband glittering in the torchlight, and backed away from the royal platform.

"Priestess of Sekhmet," Pharaoh Ramesses called from his throne, imperious. "You will wait."

Meresamun stopped, uncertain.

Ramesses rose and descended the steps of the platform. He circled the priestess, appraising her. Taking hold of her chin--the golden armbands on his forearm and biceps gleaming in the torchlight--he tilted her face up so he could see her. She kept her eyes lowered. On each of her eyelids someone had painted the eye of Horus, the effect pleased him well.

"Look at me."

The smallest shake of her head. "Your Majesty. It is forbidden."

"I command it."

Hesitant, her eyes met his. He caught his breath. Blue, the color of lapis lazuli. How rare. The scent of her washed over him--lilies, his favorite. He looked over the hall at his guests, watching, excited, whispering, hoping he would do something outrageous. He would not let them down.

"Priestess of Sekhmet," he said, raising his voice so all could hear, "in your telling, you have given the creation story beauty and life, moving our heart as it has never been moved before. We cannot let such a telling go unrewarded. Therefore, you shall have anything you wish." He heard the gasps, rippling outwards. They would talk about this for the next week. He hoped she asked for something extravagant so he could show his wealth. She trembled in his grip, terrified. He leaned closer. "Whatever you ask, it will be yours. Do not be afraid."

"Great Pharaoh, Blessed of Re," she whispered, so low he had to strain to hear, "if it pleases you, I would have my freedom."

"The temple sent a slave to tell our creation story?" he asked, incredulous.

Those closest to the royal platform heard him, their murmurs, fearful, spread through the hall.

"I . . . " she faltered, quaking.

He half-turned, taken aback, catching his wife, Nefertari glancing at her sister, Imtes, smug, savoring his sudden humiliation. He bristled. How dare she.

"We have promised what you wish," he called out, catching his wife's eye, his heart cold, "and so you shall have it. It is done. Meresamun, Priestess of Sekhmet, you are free. The papyrus naming you a full citizen of Egypt will be sent to the temple tomorrow."

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the hall. Shouts of approval filled his ears; fists pounded against tables. Laughter. He ignored his guests, watching Nefertari as the color drained from her face. She looked away, disgusted. Good.

He turned back to the priestess, swaying, overcome, and took her arm. "You must stay for the banquet, as our guest." He escorted her to his oldest, most trusted friend, seated close by. "Lord Ahmen-om-onet, Meresamun, Priestess of Sekhmet will join you at your table. Make sure she has as much of whatever she wishes."

Ahmen's eyes lit up. In his haste to rearrange his table, he knocked over a cup of wine. Ramesses turned away, amused. Never in his life had he seen Ahmen lose his composure. His mood improving, Ramesses returned to his seat and raised his gold-embroidered napkin into the air, holding it high. A hush fell. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, waiting, expectant. He let it go. It fluttered to his feet. Horns blared. His guests roared, cheering and clapping, welcoming the start of the feast.

From the shadows of the pillared hall, servants emerged carrying golden platters laden with sweet and savory breads, and from the perimeter, the soothing chords of harpists eased in between the conversations and laughter.

Ramesses leaned back, pleased, looking over his guests, wearing their finest, mingling, toasting, and greeting one another. Henufkhet, his steward, approached, offering a selection of delicate breads. Ramesses chose a piece and took the first bite of the feast, granting his subjects permission to join him. They cheered and raised their cups to him.

Idle, he sipped his wine, watching Meresamun as she looked around, filled with wonder, staring at the women's finery, holding a drooping piece of bread to her lips. He felt a familiar stirring within, a longing. She was extraordinary, untouched, delicious. He knew he wanted her for himself, to take her to his bed, where he could watch her beautiful mouth moving as she told him more stories. He stopped himself. She belonged to Sekhmet. Not even he, a pharaoh could trespass there. The hall's great doors opened; he turned his attention to it, grateful for the distraction.

The outline of a tall, powerful man appeared in the corridor, sending a ripple of excitement through the crowd as Egypt's commander, Sethi, entered, resplendent in his finest kilt, wearing golden armbands embossed with the Eye of Horus. Ignoring their husbands, the women preened, trying to catch the eye of the enigmatic hero of Egypt.

Sethi was never late. Ramesses knew there would be a reason, and a good one. He lifted his hand, permitting Sethi to join. His commander bowed low, his fist against his chest, the rings on his fingers gleaming. He retreated to the back of the hall, taking an empty table. Before long he was surrounded by admirers, male and female, vying for his attention.

Ramesses watched, uneasy, as his commander made polite conversation, turning his cup round and round in his hands, his wine untouched. Ramesses recognized that behavior. Something was wrong. He sent Henufkhet to him.

He waited, as his steward worked his way through the vibrant, noisy crowd and delivered the message. Tomorrow, after the lion hunt. My private office.

Sethi looked up and nodded, his dark eyes sharp with warning. Ramesses dithered. Perhaps he should meet him now. No. If he left, the feast would end. His subjects had waited weeks for this celebration.

He settled back in his seat. There was always something demanding his attention. He had to stop and enjoy himself sometime. He would have this night and celebrate his successful campaign in Amurru. Tomorrow, as planned, he would go on the lion hunt. Then, he would face his responsibilities. Whatever Sethi knew, it could wait a day.

The second course of fish arrived. Ramesses looked over the trays, deciding which piece he would take when he glimpsed Ahmen leaning toward Meresamun to tip a morsel of almond bread into her mouth. Ramesses narrowed his eyes. Was Ahmen flirting? Ahmen's fingers touched Meresamun's lips, intimate. She licked them, by accident. She pulled away, blushing and covered her mouth, shy. Jealous, Ramesses watched his friend--once more exuding his usual charm and elegance--pour Meresamun more wine.

Ahmen held out the cup, his fingers lingering on hers as he passed it to her. Ramesses scoffed. Ahmen was flirting, the scoundrel. Meresamun pointed at the embroidered hieroglyphs on Ahmen's kilt, tracing their outlines, following the length of his thigh, her actions innocent and seductive all at once. Ahmen's eyes darkened, aroused. Spikes of envy pierced Ramesses. He sent the fish away, no longer hungry. He was the one who had freed her. He finished his wine, and waited, impatient, for Henufkhet to pour another.

The feast progressed. Ramesses continued to drink. Trying to ignore Ahmen and Meresamun, he occupied himself searching for a woman to share his table, and later, his bed. There were several tempting candidates. One met his eyes, brazen, daring. She ran her fingers over her bare breasts, her nipples covered with little disks of gold. He almost sent for her, but then Meresamun laughed, and his gaze snapped back to her, hungry. She was the one he wanted. No one else would do.

He felt the judgmental eyes of his vizier, Paser, watching him, alone at his table, sober and boring, as always. Ramesses raised his cup, unsteady, in a toast, the wine sloshing over his hand. Paser raised his cup in return, his face impassive. He knew Paser disapproved of his whoring, especially in front of Nefertari, but that grievance was old. Paser had brought it up, once, years ago, to his detriment. He had learned never to mention it again.

Ramesses drank, on and on, sinking deeper into the comforting arms of the wine. Meresamun was clapping, delighted as Ahmen acted out an animated tale. Ramesses scoffed, certain Ahmen was telling the only humorous anecdote he knew; the one about the donkey and the oarsman. Ramesses emptied his cup and held it out for Henufkhet to refill. Meresamun was still clapping and laughing. Ramesses continued drinking, bitter. The story wasn't that funny.

The night wore on. Ramesses realized he was drunk. It felt good. He felt good. He turned and looked at his wife. Her table overflowed with platters, all of her food untouched. She sat, quiet, her hands in her lap, watching the guests. She looked tired. Imtes offered her some wine, Nefertari shook her head, waving it away.

A glimmer of understanding flickered. Remorseless, he stamped it out, denying it the chance to ignite. Hers was the lesser suffering. Nefertari's lot was to envy other women, while he was being forced to envy a god--there could be no comparison.

His appetite returned in time for the last course, the sweet. He ate, ravenous. Dancers filtered through the guests, making their way to the open space before the thrones. They took up their positions. The harps quietened. The guests lowered their voices. Someone belched, so loud, it echoed. Giggles erupted. Drunken shushes. Quiet fell. Hidden within the smoky plumes of the burning incense, the sensual sounds of an arghul pipe rose up. The dancers began to move.

Ramesses leaned back, his cup cradled in his hands, following the seductive poses of the men and women, his gaze straying to Meresamun watching them, her lips full, slightly parted, aroused. The dance sped up, and the dancers' moves progressed to a fantastic display of acrobatics, accompanied by the beat of a dozen drums. An intense crescendo brought the dance to an explosive ending as the acrobats somersaulted high in the air. One of them landed on the royal platform, right in front of Nefertari. The dancers stood still for a heartbeat, like statues, then came to life, bolting away. They took up baskets of flower petals and scattered them through the crowd as they ran back into the pillared shadows. The hall erupted in thunderous applause. Laughter and shouts of approval filled the hall.

Ramesses drained the last of his wine, his gaze gravitating back to Meresamun, laughing, her eyes bright as Ahmen plucked rose petals from her hair.

His head throbbing, Ramesses rose and lowered his hand to Nefertari. She joined him, subdued. He staggered, her hand tightened on his, holding him steady.

He ignored her and glanced back at Ahmen's table. It was already deserted. A lone flower petal slipped free of the table and drifted to the floor. The sight depressed him. He turned, his gaze raking over the throng making their drunken way toward the vestibule. There they were--hurrying to the front of the press--Ahmen's hand resting on the hollow of Meresamun's back, guiding her.

Her body was so full. How could he have forgotten that? Ramesses closed his eyes, imagining removing her gown, carrying her naked to his bed--

"My lord?"

Annoyed, he yanked Nefertari to him. She stumbled against him. He shoved her back, rough. "First of all queens," he sneered, contemptuous, as she struggled to gain her balance, "the pharaoh cannot help but envy Sekhmet tonight."

Nefertari blinked at his blatant humiliation. "It is dangerous to attract the anger of the gods," she said, rallying, though her voice trembled, "especially for the pharaoh."

He ignored her rebuke. He was the king, no one could tell him what to do. He looked her over. She would suffice. "Come to my apartment. Do not keep me waiting."

She left, her head bowed. He knew she knew what he intended, to use her in place of the woman he wanted, but he didn't care. He could have sent for any one of his women. She should be grateful.

The image of Meresamun, naked, slid back into his thoughts. He licked his lips. He had her in his arms now, his body covering hers. He entered her, making love to her, imagining the feel of her full, seductive lips pressed against his. His member stirred, awakening, despite the wine.

He closed his eyes, and forced the images away. He was insane, he had to forget her. She was forbidden, even to him. Drunk, he cursed the gods, and went to fuck his wife.