The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  Taking a deep breath, he took the first step. He was tempted to take the stairs two at a time to remove himself from all onlookers and into the seclusion of Sefu's home quarters with greater speed. Also driving him was the knowledge that it was not like Sefu to not be out here helping his wife sell her creations. Nor was it like him to summon Nassor so hastily or before nightfall. He calmed himself to take the stairs one step at a time—he did not wish to draw attention to himself from the customers in the store or passersby on the street. The stairs at length opened into the living quarters of the family, but the room was empty. Moving farther into the area, his eyes darted about the room, looking over the simple furnishings and utensils for any clue as to where he would find the master of the house. As Egyptian houses were quite open, the only place not within his visual range was the bedchambers, and he did not wish to invade the privacy of that area.

  “Sefu?” he called out. “Sefu, I have come.”

  No response. If Sefu wasn't able to hear him on the main living level, then he must be on the roof. He found his way back to the stairs and could find no reason not to take them in twos.

  As he reached the roof, the sun once again bore down on him, and he was hit by a breeze which had been blocked earlier by the many buildings lining the streets. It didn't take long to find Sefu, though. The roof was unhindered by structures or furniture save some cooking appliances and rolled up sleeping mats.

  Sefu was on the opposite edge of the roof, looking down on the street that Nassor had just come from. He was silent and still, watching over the people below as if he were a guardian angel, ready to swoop down and rescue them from some unseen danger.

  “I have come, Sefu, as you requested.” Nassor broke into his vigil.

  “Do you not wish to come over and enjoy the view?” his friend asked, turning to him, beckoning him to come stand next to him.

  “I do not wish to be seen here!” Nassor countered. “Do you not think it too dangerous for us to be spotted together like this?”

  “I don't think anyone looks up at the roofs to spy on their countrymen, Nassor. And if the people know, so what? It is we who are fighting for them. Let them know.”

  This was all quite strange to Nassor because it was usually Sefu who was the picture of discretion. But Sefu still stood there, gesturing for Nassor to take the spot next to him. In the end, he acquiesced, coming up alongside his friend and gazing down on the people below. Sefu seemed to be right—as much as Nassor's eyes moved over the people there, he did not spot one looking up at the rooftops. Everyone was too caught up in where they were going, what they were doing, and never on what may be going on around them.

  “They have no idea the dangers that are around them,” Sefu said.

  Nassor nodded his head in agreement.

  They stood for a handful of moments in silence.

  “Why have you summoned me?” Nassor asked after some time.

  “It has begun,” Sefu said simply as he shifted to face Nassor.

  Nassor was silent again; he had known this day was coming, but he wished he could have put it off longer. Now that it was upon them, he wasn't sure he was prepared. But he had made a commitment. And he believed the ends would justify the means.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked.

  “You know what you must do,” Sefu said, his voice firm.

  “It is time to gather the others.”

  Sefu nodded. He put a hand on Nassor's shoulder. “Never forget. What we do, we do for Egypt.”

  Two

  Meeting Destiny Head-On

  Unpacking was well underway, but Ismene had to sit by while Alonah directed the flurry of activity generated by the female servants. They seemed quite eager to please Ismene with their diligence and efficiency. Alonah had but to make the slightest indication for clothes or perfumes or other things to be moved out of their trunks, dusted, and set in place. It was a bit unsettling for Ismene to be a bystander, but she knew this was what the ladies-in-waiting expected. She did not want to dishonor Alonah's position by stepping in and declaring Alonah so unfamiliar with her mistress that she could not discern how to set up her living space.

  Ismene tired of being still and made her way over to the desk. She could no longer sit by and do nothing, but found herself at a loss as to what she could or should do. Her parents would be expecting word of her safe arrival. As much as she dreaded that task, it was something to do. It was but a brief search to find papyrus and writing elements. Then, with hesitation, she began the unpleasant chore of the obligatory letter.

  What to write? I am well? We arrived safely? It was all so trite, but she knew her mother would enjoy hearing those pleasantries and relish telling her friends about the house her daughter now lived in. So, Ismene would do her mother the favor of writing about it. Well, as much as she had seen. As best she could determine, the rooms were arranged around an inner courtyard. The house had high ceilings with pillars, tiled floors, walls that were beautifully decorated with paintings and hieroglyphics, and she had spotted a staircase. There must be an upper story. She wrote about the two pools she had seen, the one with fish and the one which was adorned by trees, and the gardens that she had yet to explore.

  Ismene had only made it halfway into the note when there was a knock at her door. Alonah didn't give the other servants the chance to take the call upon themselves, but rather moved through the bedchamber to the door without pause.

  “I have come to collect the Lady Ismene,” Ismene heard Neterka's now familiar voice explain his intrusion to Alonah. “The general has returned and requests an audience with the lady.”

  Ismene glanced up from her writing just as Alonah escorted him into her bedchamber. Alonah came around next to Ismene's desk to stand in front of her and bowed.

  “Milady, the general is home and wishes to speak with you.”

  Her breath had caught in her throat when she'd heard Neterka's request at the door, and she hadn't found her voice quite yet to answer Alonah. This was the moment she had dreaded for so many weeks.

  Compose yourself! an inner voice of clarity came through the emotions. She laid her writing tool to the side, rose to her feet, calling upon all of the training her mother had instilled in her as a lady of politics, and nodded to Neterka. “I am ready.”

  Ismene moved toward Neterka, who was looking over her appearance with a critical eye. Was he hoping to catch any flaws that may be noticed by his master and thus displease him? She was quite different from Egyptian women. Her hair was raven all the same, but it fell in curled ringlets pulled back and unadorned by gold. An Egyptian woman of her position would need time to position her best wig and administer makeup before such a meeting. The features of her face were softer than the angled faces of Egyptian women and her skin was an ivory cream, not tanned by the warm sun in the daylight. Her clothes were another issue altogether.

  Though sure she was not an Egyptian beauty, she hoped she was not unpleasant to look upon. And, she reasoned, the general was Grecian born. With any luck, she would be acceptable to his eyes. Either way, she did not seem to exhibit any imperfections to Neterka. Smiling, he motioned for her to proceed toward the door.

  Alonah had been performing the same examination of Ismene and halted her as she stepped toward Neterka. Pinching some color into Ismene's drained cheeks, Alonah's hands worked some magic before allowing her to proceed.

  “Thank you,” Ismene whispered. She did not want her future husband to see her paled by the prospect of their first meeting.

  Alonah's face broke out in a slight smile as she moved to follow Ismene.

  “It is not necessary for your maidservant to accompany us,” Neterka said.

  Ismene fought down the wave of discomfort that rushed through her. Making every attempt to hide her immediate rise of emotion, she turned to her side. “Alonah, please stay and continue with the unpacking. I would like for some of my books to be available upon my return.”

  Alonah nodded and took a step back.r />
  Moving again to follow Neterka, she stepped through the door and into the massive corridor beyond, leaving behind any semblance of familiarity. It was more difficult than she had imagined to face what lay before her without the comfort she had come to find in Alonah. Her thoughts were running rampant, threatening to overtake her calm demeanor. She needed to get a grip on these emotions before she was presented to the general.

  Ismene's mother had spent quite some time preparing her for this first meeting. She could remember those “training sessions” rather well. At this moment, she was thankful for them as they calmed her and helped her focus. She could almost hear her mother's voice now, “He will be your husband, but he is also your master and is near royalty in station. You must bow. Do not give him any reason to suspect you do not submit fully to him. This is the role of a woman, Ismene. We are to be keepers of the home, bearers of the legacy, and subservient in all things. Conduct yourself as such.”

  With the little amount of contact she was expecting to have with the man, Ismene had decided that she would not have a problem being acquiescent to him in everything. Her guide halted and Ismene all but stumbled into him. It seemed so abrupt in her mesmerized state, but the near miss jerked her from her reflections soon enough. They had stopped at a room that was, as best she could discern, off the courtyard. Neterka nodded to a servant at the door to let his master know that his requested guest had arrived, but the servant shook his head and spoke to Neterka in their tongue. They conversed for a handful of seconds before he turned back to her.

  “Fenuku offers most sincere apologies from General Merenre. He was called out for a moment by a most urgent message that demanded immediate response. The general will only be a little longer, and he wishes for you to wait here for him. Please understand, the general is a rather busy man...especially during times of conflict.”

  Ismene wasn't sure how to interpret that last sentence. She gathered that he was busy and perhaps there was conflict in Egypt somewhere. It was of little consequence to her at the moment except that she was waiting yet again. Fenuku opened the door to allow them to enter. Neterka led her into the rather spacious lounge connected to another room which was not illuminated enough for her to discern. Assuming that it was the general's bedchambers, she reasoned that this must be a more private receiving room of sorts.

  Neterka indicated for her to sit on any of the lounge pieces within. “This is where I must leave you. I cannot stay any longer.”

  Panic gripped her. Couldn't stay? She was to be left alone with him? Was it to be now? Was that why he had summoned her? The wedding ceremony who knows how many days yet, still he would...?

  “Do not fear, lady,” Neterka's voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She glanced up at him, still disturbed by her thoughts and surprised that her trepidation was written on her face.

  “You will find that the general is not a harsh man.”

  That was all he was able to offer before turning and leaving her alone in the room with her worries and speculations. So, now she was alone and anxious and afraid. What was she going to do? This was unexpected. Her mother never warned her about the possibility of this turn of events. There wasn't a lecture to recall from her memory on this subject. And so she remained there for several seconds, standing where Neterka left her, mind reeling, pulse racing. Ismene began to feel light-headed and forced herself to sit, close her eyes, and take some deep breaths. She needed to find something to focus on in order to stay calm. Whatever was going to happen would unfold for her, and she would have to deal with it as it came. All of her worrying would not affect anything except her heart rate between now and then.

  Ismene opened her eyes, attempting to clear her mind of unsettling thoughts. She made her eyes move about the room to take in her surroundings in more detail. The room proved to be quite interesting indeed—both the decor and furniture layout. It was obvious that someone had taken great care to blend Grecian and Egyptian influences, specifically in the artwork. There were statues that alluded to some of her favorite pieces back home and murals surrounded by hieroglyphics that were foreign to her. Everything was put together in such a way that was quite appealing. A few well-placed plants and this room would be perfect.

  Standing, she walked over to the largest mural, studying it with an appreciation of the hand that had created it with tools that were for certain not as sophisticated as the ones Grecian artisans enjoyed. Her hand drifted up to trace one of the more complex, intriguing hieroglyphs with her fingertips.

  In that moment, whilst she was entranced in her musings, the door opened. She spun around in time to catch but a glimpse of the tall, regal man as he entered the room. So caught off guard, she did the only thing she'd thought far enough in advance to know to do—she dropped to her knees and bowed in submission.

  He closed the space between them faster than she'd thought possible.

  “Are you...?” he started, his voice betraying his alarm. Then his voice became softer. “No, milady.” He knelt next to her. “Don't bow to me.” His voice was a strong baritone, both firm and gentle at the same time.

  “But you are my husband, my master,” she said, not even willing to lift her eyes from the spot on the floor she had found to focus on. Her apprehension had gotten the better of her.

  “No, I do not deserve this,” he insisted. “Please, don't.”

  Her mother had not warned her about this either. She had imagined that her mother's lectures would be quite comprehensive due to number and duration, but she was once again lacking in instruction. What could she do, but obey? So, she moved to stand. He was directly in front of her, himself rising to his feet.

  Ismene had intended to avert her eyes out of respect, but found herself unable to tear her gaze away from him. The thing that struck her first was his age. He was no more than ten years her senior. How unusual for a man of his military rank. She had expected someone much older and more established. Merenre was tall, tanned from long days spent out in the sun, and muscled from the hours of intense physical activity required of a military man. This was all quite evident in his Egyptian garb that covered less than Grecian robes would have. And his eyes. His eyes were quite captivating, especially in contrast to his browned skin. They were as blue as the sea near her home in Greece. They reminded her of those pools of water that she would dive into, allowing the cool water to wash away her worries. Unbidden, an image of Thelopolis appeared in her mind and she averted her eyes at last, backing away from him.

  “I apologize for making you wait not once, but twice today. It was my plan to have been here to greet you upon your arrival. And I would have preferred to not have detained you yet again just now. Often times my personal life must accommodate my station. I wish it could have been avoided.”

  She nodded, comforted by the familiarity of her native tongue spoken fluently in this strange place. “It did not trouble me,” she lied.

  He moved around the lounge piece toward what seemed to be laid out as a conversation area with three lounges forming a large U shape.

  “I trust that your trip was well?”

  “Yes, General, it was. Thank you.” Still uncertain, she watched him as if she were a caged cat, ready to leap at any threat of harm or promise of escape.

  He indicated the seat she had earlier vacated on the lounge next to the one he intended to sit on. Ismene took the seat, her eyes on him as he sat a comfortable distance from her. A servant entered the room just then with kopte sesamis and wine. Merenre spoke to the servant girl in Egyptian after she had filled their cups. She nodded, bowed to Ismene, and backed out of the room.

  “For you, milady,” he said, handing her one of the goblets.

  It took her a handful of seconds to reach for the cup so shocked was she that he would lower himself to serve her. But she held her composure as if it happened to her every day. She had never seen her father or any man, except for servants, ever serve a woman. Taking a sip of wine, she was thankful for the opportunity to break
eye contact. When she peered toward him again, he offered her a smile, warm, harmless.

  “Usually, the best way to do this is to start with names,” he said, leaning forward.

  She felt her lips spread into a smile despite her trepidation.

  “I am Alistair. And, as you already well know, I am a general of Ptolemy II's army.”

  “Alistair,” she tested the familiar Grecian name for avenger on her lips. It was a strong name and she decided that it suited him quite well. But she had never heard him referred to in this way; both her parents and everyone she had encountered in Egypt called him Merenre.

  “Neterka called you ‘Meranrah,’” she tried the unfamiliar word.

  “Merenre?” he offered.

  She nodded, her face warming at her gross mispronunciation.

  “’Merenre’ is my Egyptian name. It means ‘always honor the king's royal power.’ Ptolemy's intent is to rule Egypt as one of them, to separate himself from the Roman Empire and become one with this culture. That is why he, like his father, took the title of 'Pharaoh.' Likewise, it was his desire that I take on an Egyptian name. ‘Merenre’ was chosen for me so that is what the people call me. Only my closest servants and aids have ever even heard the name given to me at birth.”

  “Merehnree,” she tried again.

  His smile widened. “It can be a difficult language, but you will get it in time.”

  They were in silence again. Surprising herself, she broke it. “I am Ismene Gina.”

  “That is a lovely name, Ismene, and it suits you well.”

  “Thank you.”

  The servant girl returned with a plate of fruit. Alistair spoke but a few words to her and she nodded, bowing, and left again.

  “Egypt has an amazing capacity to produce fruit despite how dry it is compared to home. The land may not be as lush as Greece, but there is a good variety of fruit upon your desire of it.”