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Authors: Valerie Douglas
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the representation of Goddess on her pedestal as reminder. Isis saw everything. If she did not, her son Horus did.
The Goddess looked down on them benignly.
Would he dare?
Beneath that gaze even Kamenwati hesitated, it seemed.
“Would you gainsay the Goddess, my lord Kamenwati?” Banafrit asked, her voice carefully calm and reasoned.
Even he wouldn’t dare risk the Goddess’s wrath…would he?
Kamenwati looked at the priestess.
“She is mine,” Kamenwati spat.
Rage boiled and burned in him. How dare she deny him what was rightfully his? Either she or the Goddess? If he could but reveal the truth of his nature, if he dared it...? Now, though, was not the time. He was close, too close, to his goals. He dared not risk them over a mere slave. Yet that slave had defied him, escaped him. It infuriated him. All his plans for her…all the power he could have raised from her… All the power he’d anticipated raising from her in her time below stairs…
She’d have suffered for a very long time.
Banafrit met Kamenwati’s harsh gaze evenly. “She isn’t yours any longer, she belongs to Isis now.”
To him she said nothing of prophecy. By silent agreement, that was a thing of the Gods and the priests and priestesses who served them. As Grand Vizier, Kamenwati should have been informed of Horus’s prophecy on the day of Narmer’s naming as Heir to the old King, of the words given to Kahotep, Horus’s high priest, on that auspicious day. This, though, was Kamenwati, and he hadn’t been present that day, having not yet been named Vizier. None of them dared give him such power.
If he learned of it…
All the priests and priestesses knew he lusted after power. Knew there were whispers he sought to be more than Grand Vizier, that he longed to be King himself. What would he do if he knew of the threat to Egypt? How would he use that knowledge? They feared it and, seeing the man before her with his true face, rightly so.
It was on Kamenwati’s lips to say, to demand, “How dare you take from me that which is mine?”
But he wouldn’t, not to the High Priestess and not beneath the eyes of the Goddess herself.
He looked from Banafrit to the Goddess, his eyes narrowed in thwarted fury.
“You may have her,” he said, “but she is mine. I bought her. I own her. She will be mine in the end.”
With that, he stormed out.
It was a great relief for Banafrit to feel him go.
Chapter Eight
As Irisi had each morning in the months since she’d come to the temple, she prepared herself for her service to the Goddess. She washed in a mixture of water, oil, natron, and herbs so her body was clean and smelled sweet, giving a care to her hair. Within the temple, she wore it loose and long. Some of the other priestesses liked to play with it, braiding it, or combing it to Irisi’s embarrassment. She knew the color attracted them, but still…
Outside the temple walls, though, she wore a wig, the hair dark and straight, bluntly cut at the shoulders, so only her eyes gave her away as foreign.
It felt good to feel the cool scented water sheet over her skin. As she stepped out of the bath she rubbed scented oils and emollients into her skin, to moisten and soften it against the heat and dryness of the day ahead.
If ever there had been a time in her life that could be called idyllic, the last few months had been it.
She joined the others in preparing the Goddess for the day, as others laid out the food and offerings that would be set before the Goddess in Her honor.
Carefully, amidst the usual laughter and teasing, Irisi painted the Goddess’s face, laying the color on lightly, enhancing the carved stone features as Miu settled the wig over the goddess’s head and Saini draped Her robes around her. In the background, Kemisi read from the scrolls of the Book of Life that gave honor to the Goddess.
Watching, Banafrit smiled.
It was as it should be, the temple filled with laughter and joy.
“Irisi,” she
The Goddess looked down on them benignly.
Would he dare?
Beneath that gaze even Kamenwati hesitated, it seemed.
“Would you gainsay the Goddess, my lord Kamenwati?” Banafrit asked, her voice carefully calm and reasoned.
Even he wouldn’t dare risk the Goddess’s wrath…would he?
Kamenwati looked at the priestess.
“She is mine,” Kamenwati spat.
Rage boiled and burned in him. How dare she deny him what was rightfully his? Either she or the Goddess? If he could but reveal the truth of his nature, if he dared it...? Now, though, was not the time. He was close, too close, to his goals. He dared not risk them over a mere slave. Yet that slave had defied him, escaped him. It infuriated him. All his plans for her…all the power he could have raised from her… All the power he’d anticipated raising from her in her time below stairs…
She’d have suffered for a very long time.
Banafrit met Kamenwati’s harsh gaze evenly. “She isn’t yours any longer, she belongs to Isis now.”
To him she said nothing of prophecy. By silent agreement, that was a thing of the Gods and the priests and priestesses who served them. As Grand Vizier, Kamenwati should have been informed of Horus’s prophecy on the day of Narmer’s naming as Heir to the old King, of the words given to Kahotep, Horus’s high priest, on that auspicious day. This, though, was Kamenwati, and he hadn’t been present that day, having not yet been named Vizier. None of them dared give him such power.
If he learned of it…
All the priests and priestesses knew he lusted after power. Knew there were whispers he sought to be more than Grand Vizier, that he longed to be King himself. What would he do if he knew of the threat to Egypt? How would he use that knowledge? They feared it and, seeing the man before her with his true face, rightly so.
It was on Kamenwati’s lips to say, to demand, “How dare you take from me that which is mine?”
But he wouldn’t, not to the High Priestess and not beneath the eyes of the Goddess herself.
He looked from Banafrit to the Goddess, his eyes narrowed in thwarted fury.
“You may have her,” he said, “but she is mine. I bought her. I own her. She will be mine in the end.”
With that, he stormed out.
It was a great relief for Banafrit to feel him go.
Chapter Eight
As Irisi had each morning in the months since she’d come to the temple, she prepared herself for her service to the Goddess. She washed in a mixture of water, oil, natron, and herbs so her body was clean and smelled sweet, giving a care to her hair. Within the temple, she wore it loose and long. Some of the other priestesses liked to play with it, braiding it, or combing it to Irisi’s embarrassment. She knew the color attracted them, but still…
Outside the temple walls, though, she wore a wig, the hair dark and straight, bluntly cut at the shoulders, so only her eyes gave her away as foreign.
It felt good to feel the cool scented water sheet over her skin. As she stepped out of the bath she rubbed scented oils and emollients into her skin, to moisten and soften it against the heat and dryness of the day ahead.
If ever there had been a time in her life that could be called idyllic, the last few months had been it.
She joined the others in preparing the Goddess for the day, as others laid out the food and offerings that would be set before the Goddess in Her honor.
Carefully, amidst the usual laughter and teasing, Irisi painted the Goddess’s face, laying the color on lightly, enhancing the carved stone features as Miu settled the wig over the goddess’s head and Saini draped Her robes around her. In the background, Kemisi read from the scrolls of the Book of Life that gave honor to the Goddess.
Watching, Banafrit smiled.
It was as it should be, the temple filled with laughter and joy.
“Irisi,” she
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