'It was another manifestation of the dark powers of the Lie,' Demeter muttered. 'I believe that Eos flaunts her invincibility. She is trying to cow us, to drive us to despair.'
'We must linger no longer on the road, but hurry to Thebes,' Taita said.
'Above all, we must never relax our vigilance. We can expect her to unleash her next onslaught upon us at any time of day or night.' Demeter studied Taita's face seriously. 'You must forgive me if I repeat myself, but until you come to know the witch's wiles and artifices as I do, it is difficult to understand how devious they are. She is able to plant in your mind the most convincing images. She can return your earliest infant memories to you, even the images of your father and mother so vividly that you cannot doubt them.'
'In my case that will present her with some difficulty.' Taita smiled wryly. 'For I never knew either parent.'
A lthough the camel drivers had stepped up the pace, Taita was yuA still consumed with impatience. The following night he left the JL JL caravan again and rode ahead, hoping to reach the escarpment of the delta and look down into his beloved Egypt after all his years of absence. His eagerness seemed infectious for Windsmoke kept up an easy canter, her flying hoofs eating the leagues until at last Taita reined her in on the rim of the escarpment. Below, the moon lit the cultivated lands with silvery radiance, and highlighted the palm groves that outlined the course of the Nile. He searched for the faintest gleam of silver waters but at this distance the riverbed was dark and sombre.
Taita dismounted and stood at the mare's head, stroking her neck and staring raptly down upon the city, the moon-white walls of the temples and palaces of Karnak. He picked out the towering walls of the Palace of Memnon on the far bank but resisted the temptation to continue down the slope, across the alluvial plain and through one of the hundred gates of Thebes.
His duty was to stay close to Demeter, not leave him to race ahead.
He squatted on his haunches at the mare's head, and allowed himself to anticipate his homecoming and reunion with those he held so dear.
Pharaoh and his queen, Mintaka, held Taita in the deep affection usually reserved for a senior family member. In return he cherished an abiding love for both of them, undiminished since their childhood.
Nefer's father, Pharaoh Tamose, had been murdered when Nefer was but a child, too young to succeed to the throne of Upper and Lower Egypt so a regent had been appointed. Taita had been tutor to Tamose, so it followed that his son would be placed in Taita's care until he reached manhood. Taita had seen to his formal education, had trained him as a warrior and horseman, then instructed him in the conduct of war and the direction of armies. He had taught him the duties of royalty, the lore of statecraft and diplomacy. He had made him a man. During those years a bond was forged between them, and remained unbroken.
A draught wafted up the escarpment, cool enough to make him shiver.
In these hot months it was unseasonable. Instantly he was on his guard.
A sudden drop in temperature often presaged an occult manifestation.
Demeter's warnings still echoed in his mind.
He sat still and searched the ether. He could discern nothing sinister.
Then he turned his attention to Windsmoke, who was almost as sensitive to the supernatural as he was, but she seemed relaxed and quiet. Satisfied,
he rose to his feet and gathered her reins to mount her and ride back to the caravan. By now Meren would probably be calling a halt to the night march and setting up camp. Taita wanted to spend a little time in conversation with Demeter before sleep overcame him. He had not yet fully tapped the old man's treasury of wisdom and experience.
Just then Windsmoke whickered softly and pricked her ears, but she was not seriously alarmed. Taita saw that she was gazing down the slope and turned. At first he saw nothing, but he trusted the mare and he listened to the silence of the night. At last, he glimpsed a shadowy movement near the bottom of the slope. It vanished and he thought he might have been mistaken, but the mare was still alert. He waited and watched. Then he saw movement again, closer at hand and more distinct.
The dim shape of another horse and rider emerged from the darkness, following the path up the escarpment towards where he stood. The strange horse was also grey, but even paler than Windsmoke. His memory stirred: he never forgot a good horse. Even in the starlight, this one seemed familiar. He tried to think when and where he had last seen it, but the memory was so remote that he realized it must have been long ago, yet the grey paced like a four-year-old. Sharply he switched his attention to the rider upon its back - a slight figure, not a man but a boy, perhaps. Whoever he might be, he sat the grey with elan. There was something familiar about him, too, but, like his mount, the boy seemed too young for Taita's memory of him to be so faded. Could it be that this was the child of somebody he knew well? One of the princes of Egypt?
he puzzled.
Queen Mintaka had presented Pharaoh Nefer Seti with many fine boys. All bore a strong resemblance to either their father or their mother.
There was nothing ordinary about this child, and Taita could not doubt that he was of royal blood. Horse and rider drew nearer. Taita was struck by several other features. He saw that the rider wore a short chiton that left the legs bare, and they were slim, unmistakably feminine. This was a girl. Her head was covered, but as she drew closer he could make out the outline of her features beneath her head shawl.
'I know her. I know her well!' he whispered to himself. A pulse in his ears beat faster. The girl lifted a hand towards him in salutation, then thrust forward with her hips to urge the grey on. It swung into a canter, but its hoofs struck no sound from the stony path. It came up the slope towards him in eerie silence.
Too late, Taita realized that he had been lulled by a familiar appearance.
He blinked rapidly to open his Inner Eye.
'They throw no aura!' he gasped, and had to place his hand on the mare's shoulder to steady himself. Neither the grey horse nor its rider was a natural creature: they came from a different dimension. Despite Demeter's warnings, he had been caught off-guard again. Swiftly he reached for the Periapt that hung at his throat, and held it in front of his face. The rider reined in and regarded him from the shadow of the shawl that covered her face. She was so close now that he could make out the glint of eyes, the soft curve of a young cheek. His memories rushed back.
Small wonder that he remembered the grey horse so well. It had been his own gift to her, chosen with care and love. He had paid for it fifty talents of silver and considered he had the best of the bargain. She had named it Gull, and it had ever been her favourite. She rode it with the grace and style Taita remembered from all those decades ago. So profound was his shock that he was unable to think clearly. He stood like a pillar of granite, holding the Periapt as a shield.
Slowly the horsewoman lifted a shapely white hand and threw back the fringe of the shawl. Taita felt the fabric of his soul ripped through as he looked upon that lovely face, each detail perfectly rendered.
It is not her. He tried to steel himself. This is another apparition from out of the void, like the giant serpent, and perhaps as deadly.
When he had discussed with Demeter his dream of the girl on the golden dolphin, the other man had been in no doubt whatsoever: 'Your dream was one of the ruses of the witch,' he had warned. 'You must not trust any image that feeds upon your hopes and longing. When you cast back your mind to a joyous memory, such as an old love, you open the door to Eos. She will find a way through it to reach you.'
Taita had shaken his head. 'No, Demeter, how could even Eos have conjured up such intimate detail from so long ago? Lostris's voice, the set of her eyes, the quirk of her lips when she smiled. How could Eos have copied them? Lostris has been in her sarcophagus these seventy years past. There can be no living traces of her for Eos to draw upon.'