Scroll of Saqqara(70)
“Thank you, Harmin,” she replied steadily, and suddenly flashed him a bright grin. “I will hide no more from you. I care nothing about the rest of Egypt.” He laughed and began to wolf down the cold beef, spearing it on a tiny silver-hafted dagger, occasionally holding bites to her mouth, and she, all at once ravenous, could not eat quickly enough.
They tied up at the southern docks on the outskirts of the foreign quarter, and instead of walking back through Peru-nefer to the central city, Harmin turned her south. Sheritra felt a tremor of concern. She had never plunged into this teeming life before, let alone on foot, and she was glad of Amek and his man’s comforting bulk ahead and behind. But Harmin, tactfully guiding her with a touch on her elbow now and then and an encouraging smile, did not allow her to be jostled, and soon her fear evaporated.
As they ambled the donkey-choked, noisy streets she began to blossom under the cloak of anonymity and was soon exclaiming over the cascade of various nationalities flowing around her. Hurrians, Canaanites, Syrians, Semites, Dwellers of the Great Green exploded myriad bewildering languages in her ears. The bazaar stalls groaned under cloth of every grade and richness, gaudy jewellery, miniatures of the gods of every nation in every type of wood and stone and household items by the hundreds.
She and Harmin wandered through it all, fingering, laughing, bargaining for fun, until Sheritra suddenly became aware that the human traffic had thinned and the street they were on could now be seen, a short stretch of dazzling whiteness ending in a mud wall and an open gate.
“What is that?” she asked curiously Harmin brushed a smear of dust from her temple.
“It is a shrine to the Canaanite goddess Astarte. Would you like to go in?”
Sheritra stared. “Is it permitted?”
Harmin smiled. “Of course. This is a shrine, not a temple. We may watch the worshippers without having to pray ourselves. I believe Astarte has a mighty temple in Pi-Ramses with many priests and priestesses, but here she has a small staff and the shrine’s routine is fairly simple.” As he was explaining to her, Harmin was ushering her forward. Together they entered through the open gate, finding themselves in an intimate outer court, unpaved and divided from the even tinier inner court by a waist-high mud wall.
Both courts were crowded with people praying or chanting, but as Sheritra approached the heart of the shrine the cheerful bustle died away. In the respectful space surrounding the statue of the goddess a lone priestess was dancing, finger-cymbals clicking, hair ornaments jangling. She was naked and moved sinuously with eyes closed, thighs flexed, spine arched. Just beyond her was Astarte. Curious, Sheritra looked her over, both attracted and repelled by the full, upthrust breasts, the flaunting curve of the stone belly, the strong spread of the immodest legs that seemed to invite any who dared to stand within them. Sheritra glanced at Harmin, expecting his gaze to be on the dancer, but he was watching her. “Astarte gives the pleasure of orgiastic sex,” he told her. “But she is also the goddess of all forms of pure love.”
“One would never know it to look at her!” Sheritra responded tartly. “She reminds me of the whores infesting the Peru-nefer district. Our own Hathor is also goddess of love, but with more politeness and somehow more humanity.”
“I agree,” Harmin answered. “Astarte really has no place in Egypt. She serves cruder, more barbaric races, which is why her shrines cluster in the foreigners’ quarters of the cities. Still, she is probably older than Hathor.”
“Grandfather has much sympathy for the foreign gods,” Sheritra told him as they left the sacred premises. “Because he has red hair and it runs in our family and we come from the home of the god Set, Ramses has made him his chief protector. He is Egyptian, of course, but Grandfather also worships his Canaanite counterpart, Baal, and regularly goes into the foreigner’ temples. To me it is wrong.”
“To me also,” Harmin agreed quietly. “I share your views and those of your father, that Egypt is slowly being debased by the free introduction of so many strangers, both gods and men. Soon Set himself will be confused with Baal, Hathor with Astarte. Then let Egypt beware, for her fall will be near.”
Impulsively Sheritra stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. Behind her Amek coughed discreetly. “Thank you for one of the most lovely days I have ever had,” she said fervently.
By the time Harmin emerged from the beer-shop with a flagon and four cups, Sheritra had found a small patch of tired grass under the shadow of a wall. Amek and the soldier bowed their thanks and drank quickly, standing up, but Harmin joined Sheritra where she had flung herself down, and for a long while they sipped and talked. The beer was strong and very dark, unlike the paler brew that appeared on her father’s table each day, and her head was soon swimming, but the sensation was most agreeable.