Wilhelmina’s brow creased with concern.
“Of course,” Haven continued quickly, “it goes without saying that we must decide between ourselves what we want him to know.”
“Then we must think very carefully what to tell him,” agreed Wilhelmina. She reached for the little pewter pot. “More coffee, Lady Fayth?”
The young lady made no move to hold out her cup. “I suspect he knows you are a ley traveller, and I have no doubt he intends you harm.”
Wilhelmina returned her gaze steadily. “He will have to catch me first.”
“It would be unwise to make light of the threat. Lord Burleigh is fully capable of carrying out his nefarious designs, as we both know only too well.” Lady Fayth gave her a solemn nod. “In regards to the dinner tomorrow night-you dare not for a moment even contemplate actually going.”
“But if I refuse,” countered Mina, “won’t that make him even more determined and suspicious?”
“Perhaps.” Haven pursed her perfect lips in thought; she glanced out the window at a man carrying a wicker basket. “Why not go away for a few days? Leave the city, go somewhere-anywhere. Stay out of his way completely.”
“Run away, you mean.”
“Why not? Only for a few days, mind. His lordship will soon grow tired of waiting and leave Prague. We would have departed long since if not for Kit.”
Wilhelmina thought for a moment. “I could go away,” she agreed. “I have been wanting to go back to-”
“Do not tell me,” warned Haven. “It will be better for both of us if I do not know. Only make some excuse and depart as soon as possible. Leave at once.”
Wilhelmina regarded her co-conspirator for a moment in silence, unable to tell if she was keeping something back.
“Please,” urged Lady Fayth. Reaching across the table, she clutched Wilhelmina’s hand and squeezed it for emphasis. “Please go.”
“Very well.” Mina rose and pushed back her chair. “If you will excuse me, I think I have some packing to do.”
PART TWO
CHAPTER 8
Chaos is loosed upon the Black Land, my brother,” declared Anen, Second Prophet of Amun, with a solemn shake of his head. “Pharaoh pursues a dangerous course. He takes counsel only from his Habiru advisors and listens not to the voice of his own people. He taxes the land heavily to pay for the building of his new city in the desert.” He paused and added, “There is even talk of closing Amun’s many temples.”
Arthur Flinders-Petrie shook his head in sympathy. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“It is believed by many that unless he is stopped, Akhenaten will bring all the country to ruin.”
Benedict, reclining at table next to his father, cleared his throat. He leaned close and whispered, “What is he saying?”
“Excuse me a moment, Anen.” Arthur put his head near his son, and replied, “He is telling me that there is trouble in Egypt just now-the new pharaoh is pursuing a reckless course.”
“The new pharaoh-Amenhotep, you mean.”
Arthur nodded. “He has taken the name Akhenaten and is building a new city in the desert to honour his god. The people are unhappy.”
“Perhaps we should leave,” suggested Benedict. “If there’s going to be trouble… ”
“You may be right.” Arthur turned once more to his friend. “It was my hope that my son could abide here awhile to study your language with the priests in the temple school-as I did all those years ago. But it seems that the Flinders-Petrie visit has come at an awkward time. Perhaps it would be best if we made other plans. You will not want us underfoot.”
“Never think that,” said Anen, taking a handful of dates onto his gold plate. “As always, your visit gladdens my heart. To see you and your son once more is a potent medicine to this old man. The troubles of which I speak are but wisps of smoke on the winds of time.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “But true friendship is carved in stone. It endures forever.”
“It does indeed, my friend,” agreed Arthur. He dipped a scrap of bread into the olive oil and then into the salt, put it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “I treasure our friendship.”
Anen raised a finger, and a temple slave stepped silently to the table with the wine jug. Benedict swallowed the dregs and held up his cup for more. While the two older men talked, he contented himself with taking in the wealth of exotic sights around him. They had been in Egypt less than two days, and already he felt himself forgetting any other life but the one he saw around him-a life that seemed to flow as easily and effortlessly as the great green river Nile on which the High Priest’s palace was built.
Benedict fingered the blue lapis scarab he had been given as a token of Anen’s esteem and gazed around the intimate banquet hall-the smaller of the palace’s festive chambers-marvelling at the richly painted walls, the elegant statues and carvings, the stately columns and regal sphinxes, the tall, dark-skinned servants in their embroidered white robes, the exotic scent of sandalwood on the air, the sumptuous banquet spread on the low table before him. All of it-from the endless marble corridors to the gold chains round the priest’s neck-seemed fantastical, and far beyond what he had imagined from his father’s stories. Yet here he was, reclining at table in the presence of Egyptian nobility. The way Benedict understood it, Anen as Second Prophet ranked a step below High Priest but was nonetheless accorded all the benefits of royalty because of his blood ties to the royal family.
As a child of six, Benedict had visited Egypt; his father had brought him to meet Anen. But other than being very ill the day of the journey and very hot the rest of the time, he could remember almost nothing about it. This time, however, he was determined to soak up as much of the experience as he possibly could-all the more since the current troubles meant their visit might be curtailed.
He listened to the sibilant susurration of his elders’ speech and wondered how he would ever learn it. That was why they had come: to allow Benedict to further his education by learning the language- much as they had done a couple years ago when he spent time in China with his mother’s sister and her family. Then again, if the troubles his father and Anen were just then discussing were to deepen or spread, he would not have to worry about it, since they would not be staying.
“… the Habiru are hard workers and keep to themselves. Pharaoh has given them land in the Gesen, and they live there most peaceably. We have no difficulty with them. No”-he shook his smooth shaved head-“no, the difficulty is that Akhenaten has taken up their curious doctrine that their god, a formless spirit called El, is the only god worthy of honour and worship by anyone.
“Why? Why should this be?” Anen demanded. “It makes no sense. We do not say that only Amun must be worshipped, or only Horus, or only Anubis. There is room for all. You may venerate Sekmet or Ra if you like, while I am free to revere Ptah or Hathor or Isis as it suits me. There is room in Egypt for everyone, and each is free to follow the decrees of his own heart.”
The priest smiled sadly. “But it is not so with the Habiru. Their god El makes many demands, and one of these is that there must be no other gods worshipped by those who call on his name. This, I think, is because the Habiru do not recognise that all the gods are but expressions of the One, the Absolute God.”
“I have heard this said,” remarked Arthur. Like the English gentleman he was, Arthur did not argue with his various hosts about religion; whatever world or epoch he visited, he kept his own views to himself. It was one of the rules he lived by as a ley traveller.
“But these Habiru must make even simple things-like sacrifice and offering-very difficult,” Anen continued. “I do not understand it. Unfortunately, Pharaoh has become infatuated with the precepts of the Habiru and has turned his back on the gods of his own people. He shuns certain foods and will not cut his hair-all to appease this new god that he has named Aten.” The priest’s lips twisted with disapproval. “But this is merely El under a different name. This is where the difficulty lies.”