Tahar felt his legs buckle as ferocious cheers rose up from the crowd.
‘This man shall pay for the Libu’s sins against Khemet,’ continued the King, pointing a bejewelled finger menacingly at Tahar.
A sandal flew out of the crowd, hitting Tahar in the face. Another punched into his ribs. A leather belt slapped him across his back. The guards kept Tahar on his feet—gripping him like a prize. He closed his eyes, keeping the image of her at the forefront of his mind as he tried to ignore the pain. How beautiful she was—his Hathor.
The King’s guests sneered and shouted.
‘Die, Libu vermin!’
‘Kill the Libu thief!’
It was as if the Khemetian highborns believed Tahar alone to be the cause of all their hardship. And as their cries grew louder Tahar realised that they might have been the cries of his own Libu tribesmen the night of the raid. And King Khufu might have been Chief Bandir, fomenting the crowd’s anger and playing upon the people’s prejudices until their only solace was the promise of violence.
Indeed, Tahar had given the King just what he wanted—the chance to sacrifice a human being. Not since the time of Narmer had the Khemetians performed the appalling spectacle. Now, it seemed, it would be part of the King’s heroic act.
There were no winners in this perpetual game of power, Tahar thought bitterly, only endless victims. And he, apparently, was to be the next. He had finally found her, the woman he loved, and now he was going to lose her again—along with his own life.
He heard the loud clang of metal upon the ground.
‘No!’ he heard her yell.
He opened his eyes to discover a large copper goblet caught upside down in her hand. It appeared that she had plucked the metal projectile out of the air, preventing it from landing on his head.
‘Holy King,’ she shouted breathlessly, ‘if you sacrifice this man, then you must sacrifice me as well!’ She smashed the goblet upon the ground.
The crowd hushed and the attention of a thousand eyes turned to Hathor’s dauntless face.
The King scowled. ‘Hathor,’ he explained, ‘this man has harmed Khemet. He shall be sacrificed to the Great Osiris, God of the Dead and Judge of Spirits. This is justice. Osiris will look upon this man’s death and smile.’
‘Then, Your Majesty,’ Hathor continued, ‘I should die too—for I, too, have sinned against Khemet,’ she said.
The King stared at her in confusion. ‘Hathor, you are not in your right mind.’
‘Do not do this, Hathor,’ Tahar begged softly.
But there was no stopping her. She was as wonderful and fearless as the desert wind.
‘My King, I have never been more sane. If you want justice, you must sacrifice us both—him for the grain tent raid and me for...for labouring upon the Great Pyramid of Stone.’
The King’s eyes became tiny slits. ‘You are Hathor, Goddess of Life. You could not possibly have laboured upon my tomb of death and rebirth.’
Kiya raised her voice above the horrified gasps. ‘I disguised myself as a man. I helped pull the carts up the tunnel,’ she explained. ‘I am not a goddess, Your Highness. I am not Hathor Incarnate. I am... I am just a woman.’
The King glanced at Tahar, his eyes glimmering with rage. The cobra upon his head appeared to grow larger, and Tahar thought he could see the red flicker of its tongue.
‘If you worked in the tunnel, then tell me the number of chambers—I challenge you!’ the King shouted.
Hathor bowed her head. ‘There are three, My King—one large, one small, and one beneath the earth.’
The King’s large round face grew as red as the setting sun. ‘Woman, you are a traitor, an imposter. You have dishonoured me and my noble house. You have offended the Gods.’
The King’s eyes flitted about the great hall. It was as if he were hoping to mollify the humiliation he now suffered before his guests.
‘By Horus’s tongue,’ he said suddenly, ‘for how long did you work upon my tomb?’
Kiya paused.
Civilisations came and went. Rivers flowed through the desert. Ancient seas teemed with creatures strange and wonderful. The world was greater and older than anyone knew, and nobody saw the wonder of it. Nobody except him. He had opened her eyes to possibilities beyond the realm of the Gods. He was her spark of light in a dark, suffocating world, and she did not want to live in it without him.
‘Two full cycles of the sun, Your Majesty,’ she lied, and she knew that it was just the answer the King needed.
‘Two years?’ the King repeated. ‘You laboured on my tomb for two full years?’
‘Aye, My Lord.’
‘Then you are the reason for the drought!’ The King stood. ‘You are not Hathor the Beautiful—you are Hathor the Imposter!’ Khufu raved. ‘I thought Osiris had sent you to be my wife, but now I understand that he sent you to be sacrificed. For Khemet!’
Stunned, Khufu’s guests glanced worriedly among themselves, as if searching for the correct response. Had their splendid monarch just commanded an act of sacrifice? For the good of Khemet?
‘Neferdula!’ the King shouted. ‘Relieve this imposter of her royal finery.’
Slowly, Neferdula emerged from the crowd. Her smudged eyes betrayed the tears she had been shedding in the shadows. When she reached Kiya, she bowed slightly.
‘You are still Hathor to me,’ she whispered as she lifted off the heavy turquoise necklace. She pulled each of Kiya’s serpent bracelets from her arms, her hands trembling. ‘I am so sorry.’
‘And the wig,’ the King added.
Amidst quiet sobs, Neferdula stroked Kiya’s beautiful black wig, then pulled it quickly from her head. Kiya felt both relief and shame, and she slumped her shoulders in exhaustion.
‘Guards, take them both,’ commanded the King.
The dozen King’s Guardsmen who had been standing placidly around the hall’s perimeter marched forward, surrounding Kiya and Tahar. Kiya felt four different hands on her arms, pulling her in different directions. The men turned and began to drag Kiya and Tahar through the parting crowd, towards the workers’ entrance to the hall.
‘Hathor the Imposter and this Libu worm will be sacrificed upon the tomb they have desecrated,’ said the King. ‘We shall spill their treacherous blood upon the Great Pyramid of Stone—a gift to my father in the sky.’
The King opened his arms for all the crowd to see.
‘And then we shall finally have an end to our drought.’