Mara, Daughter of the Nile by Eloise Jarvis McGraw Read Free Book Online

place. Yes, it was that. Her cheeks were sloping and shadowed, thin with years of hunger; her chin was obstinate and her mouth had a sardonic curve, as though it had learned well to lie. It was a skeptical face, a clever and unscrupulous one. But there was an elusive quality of wistfulness about it that fascinated Sheftu.
    He found himself wishing that this Mara, this waif, this runaway, did not have to pass so soon out of his life. Next instant he turned away from her impatiently, wondering if he had lost his mind. The life he had chosen as the king’s henchman had no room in it for bright-eyed maidens. Nor did the life he was born to—that of Lord Sheftu, son of the late wealthy noble Menkau—have any place in it for a common slave girl, save to iron his snow-white
shentis
.
    And despite the amulet on his wrist, he doubted whether either life would permit him to cheat for long the crocodiles who were his destiny. He walked these days with death at his elbow.
    Frowning, he studied once more the unsolved problem of finding a messenger to send to the king. It was a knotty one. Since the discovery and swift murder of the old palace servant he had used before, the queen’s innumerable spies would be wary of everyone who came within hailing distance of Thutmose. No one would be above suspicion.
    Except, he mused, someone from the outside, unknown to king and queen alike and therefore apparently a partisan of neither …
    He chewed his lip, playing with the notion. A foreigner? It was an unlikely idea, but he was desperate. What foreigner, then? He thought suddenly of the Canaanite princess. It was possible—but only just. He knew nothing of her, except that her welcome from Thutmose, who would never dream of marrying her, would be chilly indeed. Such a snub would hardly arouse in her undying loyalty toward the king! She might even turn vindictive and bring all hisfollowers’ careful plans tumbling down about their ears. No, thought Sheftu, not the Canaanite princess.
    “Your thoughts are not pleasing to you, friend Sheftu?”
    He turned quickly. Mara had been watching him, and he was certain at once that no slightest change in his expression had escaped her. She was no fool, this girl.
    He smiled and began talking easily of the voyage, of where they would tie up for the night, of the wonders yet to be seen tomorrow. But at the back of his mind an idea was beginning to take form—an idea so startling that he did not even stop to examine it at present. Time enough for that when he was alone to think it out clearly, to test and try it, to make quite sure it was not mad.
     
    For seven days the
Silver Beetle
beat her way southward, her sails fat with the breeze off the Great Green—the Mediterranean. On either side of her gently dipping prow the long land of Egypt slipped by like an unwinding scroll, revealing fields and marshes, mud-walled villages, fishermen straining at their nets. Often the high chanting of priests drifted out from shore as a procession filed into some painted temple; the water’s soft hiss blended with the occasional scream of a kite far overhead. Green bee-eaters flashed over greener meadows, farmers worked beside the creaking water wheels and little boys ran shouting along the banks. And always there was the sense of gliding motion, the song of wind in the rigging, the bright, clean air.
    Mara wished the voyage would never end. Each morning she woke fresh to the miracle of her freedom; each night she lay in the moonlight speculating about the new life awaiting her in Thebes. Between times there was food in plenty—good food—and long, lazy hours of companionship with the young man she knew only as Sheftu.
    They were much together, for there was small chance to avoid each other in the narrow confines of the ship, even had they wanted to. They strolled the scrubbed deck,watched the crew at work, or lounged side by side on the stacked hides, each busy with his own thoughts. What Sheftu’s were Mara