“I didn't truly have that option, Alistair. I couldn't return home an unwanted bride,” she explained
“So you married me against your will.”
“That's not what I meant. I appreciated that you gave me that option. But you were a stranger to me when we married. What can you expect with an arranged marriage?”
“That's all this is to you? An arranged marriage?”
“No. Well, it was when we were first married. Our marriage is so much more now. I am so glad I married you. You can't imagine how glad.”
“Then why all the secrecy and sneaking around with Thelopolis?”
“There was no sneaking around!” She was exasperated with this and she wasn't feeling well. The emotional night was catching up with her.
“Then what did I see the other night? It wasn't a handshake.”
“That was...that was...” Ismene doubled over as she was overcome with nausea. Her body was twisted in as much turmoil as her heart over the things he was saying to her.
His face changed in that instant, concern covering his features. It was brief, though, before he managed to return into a stature of offense.
“Are you well?” he said, his voice steady lest he betray his fleeting moments of tenderness.
“Yes,” she tossed back just as firmly and stood up. What she didn't want was his pity. She would be strong...she would. The world began to move around her, and her head swirled. Losing hold of her balance, the sensation of falling was the last thing she knew before all was dark.
* * *
“Ismene!” He was only just able to catch her as she fell toward the floor. He shook her gently, dropping his iron exterior. “Ismene!”
He felt along her neck for the pulse of life to assure him that she was not in imminent danger. His fingers did find the soft, gentle rushing movement. Lifting her in his arms, he rushed into the inner courtyard, seeking anyone who could assist him. He cursed the early hour of the morning. At this hour, any servants in the house steered clear of the bedchambers lest they wake the master and mistress of the house. It seemed like forever before he came across a servant girl carrying linens.
“Send for a doctor!” he called to her, not caring that he all but yelled at the young girl as he shoved past her in the hallway on his way Ismene's room. He didn't even wait to see her nod and run to fulfill that charge.
* * *
Pacing, Alonah wondered if or when she should go to her mistress. Or should she wait until Ismene returned? Would her mistress need a shoulder and a listening ear? Or space? She knew that her mistress had waited up for Alistair, that they had fought, that Ismene had not slept, and that she went to speak with him again this morning.
Alonah wished it was in the scope of her job that she be allowed to ask what was going on. Alas, that was not permitted. So she was left guessing what had disturbed her mistress so. How she hoped Ismene would talk about it. She was certain it would help Ismene feel better.
Just then there was a pounding on the door. She didn't have time to think on it before Alistair was there, having kicked the door open, with her mistress in his arms. Ismene's body was limp, almost lifeless, and Alistair held her to himself with tenderness. Maybe that meant that they were past whatever had gone awry. But her first duty was to Ismene's current condition.
“She fainted,” he explained, moving toward the bed. He was beside himself.
Alonah scrambled ahead of Alistair to ready the bed for Ismene. She made it there only a millisecond before him. He rested Ismene on the bed and backed away. Then he didn't seem to know what to do with himself. Alonah paid him little mind; her attention was on Ismene in that moment, shifting pillows and her limbs. Reaching out, she felt Ismene's face—it was cold and clammy. Unsure what to do for her mistress, she did the only thing she could—tried to keep her comfortable.
Only then did she turn to look upon the master of the house. She had never seen the great general lose his composure, but there he was, pacing, shaking his head, burying his face in his hands. Every few minutes, he would sit, then after a few moments, he would get up and pace some more. He didn't seem to notice that Alonah was there; he was too overwhelmed with what was going on with Ismene. They remained much like that until the doctor came.
* * *
It seemed to take forever for the doctor to arrive, but once he did, he dismissed Alistair out of the bedchambers so that he could examine Ismene. His time with Ismene dragged on, and with each minute Alistair became more nervous at the prospect of what was going on with her. A few maidservants moved in and out of the inner chambers, which did nothing to ease his tortured mind. A million scenarios ran through his brain and none of them were pleasant.
Alistair's thoughts were broken as the doctor opened the door to Ismene's chamber. Before he was out of the room, Alistair was almost on top of him.
“She is ready to be seen now. But only for a few moments,” he warned. “She needs her rest.”
“Did she ask for me?” There was a glimmer of hope in him. Maybe this would be enough to soothe his wounded pride.
“I think it best to keep the visits short,” the doctor reiterated the instruction before taking his leave.
Alistair nodded, supposing that was answer enough. She must be upset with him. Maybe she didn't want to see him at all. Part of him wanted to turn and leave, but he decided that he would not run like a schoolboy. He would see her whether she wanted him to or not. After all, he was the master of this house.
Alistair stepped into the room, now darkened as the curtains were pulled over the windows. Alonah was settling Ismene in the bed, and a few other maidens were cleaning up after the doctor, carrying off Ismene's clothes, lighting candles. Ismene had been dressed in a nightshift. As much as Alistair’s heart melted at the sight of her, knowing she was truly all right allowed him to fall back into the emotions that had fueled the fire of his anger earlier. He didn't know what to say, what to do.
“Thank you, Alonah,” Ismene said, her voice too quiet. “Ladies, a moment, please.”
The girls all bowed to their mistress and to Alistair as they exited.
Part of him wanted to pick up where they had left off, but he also wanted to speak of his relief for her returned health and take his leave. He was unsure where they stood.
There were several moments of silence after the handmaidens had departed before she started, “Did you speak with the doctor?”
“Only for a few moments. He insisted that you get plenty of rest.”
Her face was difficult to read. As much as he despised the way they had faced off earlier, he wasn't sure he liked this—them regarding each other as strangers almost. He felt that she needed to make the first move. It was she who had wounded him, after all.
She nodded. “He didn't say anything further?”
“He suggested I come in to see you.”
She nodded again. Her face was drawn. It seemed as if she had something to say, but she hesitated.
“I am...relieved you are well,” he said after some moments of silence. Why was he behaving this way? One of them had to break this stalemate! It should be him, but he felt justified in thinking it should be her.
It was clear that she was deep in thought. How long should he wait for her to say something? Should he just leave her be?
“I should leave you to your rest,” he said, moving to leave. He could no longer bear to look at her and not pull her into an embrace. But there were doubts, serious doubts still about Thelopolis and her feelings for him. The thought that she never loved him, that he was her second choice, still stabbed at his heart. So his protective shell was still up. As much as he wanted to speak tender things to her, there was still that part of him that wanted her to hurt the way that he did.
“Alistair, don't go,” she spoke up.
He paused, his back still to her. “It doesn't seem as if we have anything to say to each other,” he said, his voice tight.
“I have something to say,” came from her in a rath
er harsh tone.
Her tone only put him back on the defense. “Well, say it.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I'm pregnant.”
He spun and stared at her. The words weren't registering with him in his current state of mind. Those huge brown eyes peered up at him—those eyes that had seemed so vulnerable, so innocent. Had it been a charade all along? He would not, could not pretend. Not even for those eyes that he had so loved falling into. Angry, hurt, jealous, torn, emotionally hardened, he was unable to stop his response. “And who is the father?”
She glared up at him, shock showing on her face just as if he had slapped her. And the hurt...he could read her hurt so well in those deep brown eyes. There were tears welling up in response. He regretted it in that instant, regretted letting his hurt and wounded pride push him to say something he hadn't meant.
Ismene seemed to struggle to respond as a tear slid down her face, but she managed to form two words. “Please leave.” Her voice was hard, even.
Alistair knew then. He could have ripped out his tongue and eyes for his stupid mistake born from selfish, pitiful jealousy. He should have known, did know all along.
“Ismene, I...” he started, unsure himself what he was about to say.
She cut him off. “Please LEAVE!”
There was a fury in her voice that he had never known. Relenting, he removed himself from her bedchambers. He was thankful no servants were in the hallway just outside at that moment as he sagged against the door, racked with a thousand emotions. Her sobbing behind him was audible through the door. There was a war within him—to go to her and beg forgiveness or to give her space, knowing she was getting a taste of the hurt she had inflicted on him?
He would always look back on this moment as one of most cowardly in his life. Hearing Alonah approaching the outer chambers, he regained his composure and walked off.
Eleven
The Fallout
Ismene refused to be seen for the next three weeks, in which she kept to her rooms for the most part. Alistair made a few attempts to see her, but she turned him away each time. Alonah was forever fearful for her mistress's health, which rather annoyed Ismene. A gloom seemed to have settled over Ismene. Nothing made her happy. There were days that she did not get out of her bed at all. But other days, she would visit the marketplace. She had taken up visits to the great library as well.
True to his word, the Jewish scholar would sit and talk to her of his God. Ismene liked sitting and hearing the history of the Israelites and what their people had been through. It was an amazing history of survival if it were, in fact, all true. There was a part of their history that took place here in Egypt that told of them being enslaved by a pharaoh and forced to build bricks without straw, and of all sorts of atrocities that were committed against them.
She wished she could ask Alistair about these things. Although she doubted he would know the truth himself. As she listened to the stories, she imagined it could be true. If a pharaoh so desired to enslave a people living under his rule, he would be capable of doing so. But why would God allow His people to endure such hardships? Many times she left her sessions with the scribe while pondering such heavy questions.
Mostly she left thinking of how powerful this man's God must be. The tales of what He could do were truly amazing. She marveled at how personally He seemed to care for those who followed Him, like Abraham. Abraham talked with God...they had conversations! Could a god as mighty as this one care so for individuals? It seemed impossible. But she was left with this—she must decide if she believed this history or not. She knew she could not pick and choose what to give credence to. It was all true or it wasn't true at all.
Today was one such day in which she had finished her session with the scribe. Alonah had stayed home, so Ismene took advantage of the time to wander around the beautiful building and let her thoughts dwell on this God and the things He had done in the stories the scribe had told her that day. How nice would it be to have a god who hears as Jehovah did when Hagar was all alone in the desert? Oh, how she needed to be heard, to be seen right now. She felt as if she were invisible. Surrounded by a darkness that seemed to go on forever...could He pull her out of this darkness?
Ismene found a quiet spot in one of the library rooms to sit and think on what she had heard. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice the dark figure approaching her until he was almost on top of her.
Once she did catch sight of the aggressor coming upon her, she opened her mouth to scream, but the man threw back his hood and placed a finger on his lips and hers to silence her. It was Thelopolis! She jumped up and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. They were alone. Still, thinking better of the close proximity of their bodies, she backed away a few steps.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I watch you often at the library,” he confessed in a quiet voice. “I can't stay away, Ismene. I tried, I truly did,” he said in earnest.
“You must try harder, Thelopolis. We cannot see each other.”
He took a deep breath. “What if I understand and accept that we cannot be to one another what we once were or what I had hoped we could be again? Can we not then be friends? We were once good friends.”
She stepped closer and seethed, “What you speak of is quite dangerous.”
“Can you tell me, in all honesty, that you have not missed our friendship?” He also took a step forward.
“No,” she conceded.
He walked around her. “Do you remember the day you told me you were to marry another? You wanted me to tell you that we were going to be all right. That power is in your hands. Can you tell my heart to continue beating if I can never see you again?”
She closed her eyes. “You do not know what you ask.” Why was it so hard to say no to him? Had she not put this behind her? Her hands fell to her abdomen—her child. She had to make things right for her child.
Perhaps Thelopolis believed what he was saying, that they could have a platonic relationship, but she knew otherwise. Ismene knew that he cared for her and that he just wanted her in his life. She did wish she could give him that, but her choice was clear here: a hope for reconciliation with Alistair or a relationship with Thelopolis. But she couldn't hold up much longer to his persuasion; he knew her too well and could see straight through her.
Ismene looked at him, stopping him in his tracks. “I can't, I'm sorry.”
She pulled her arms to herself and rushed from the room. He called after her, but she didn't look back until she was outside being loaded in her chariot.
* * *
In the days that followed, Ismene became rather ill. At first she assumed it was morning sickness, but she became sicker as the days wore on. As time passed, she was unable to move between her bed and the chamber bucket. She had to be lifted back into bed. Her body retched and seized with pain as she lay curled up on the sheets.
Alonah begged her to call for a physician. This could not be normal, she insisted. Worrying after her baby, Ismene had the doctor summoned. That's when Alonah discovered a new symptom.
“Milady, you are burning up!” Alonah said. “Please, lie down.”
Ismene was not about to argue with her. “I may need your help.”
Alonah was able, with much effort and help from Fenuku, one of the home's manservants who had helped them throughout the day, move Ismene as needed, to get her to her bed where she collapsed once again into a heap.
“Milady!” Alonah cried out, shaking her.
She was still.
“Ismene!” Alonah moved her to prop her up on pillows while calling for help. Mesi and Safiya rushed into the room.
“The Lady Ismene is unwell. Get some cold water, Mesi. Safiya, help me check her. Fenuku, notify Neterka.”
They did what they could to cool down her fevered body. Fenuku excused himself as they began stripping her of her nightdress to lay cold cloths over her body. Safiya brought in two young girls with large fa
ns to help cool off their mistress, while the three women attempted to settle her in the bed and continued to apply fresh cold cloths until the doctor arrived.
* * *
Alistair sat deep in thought over his papers when he heard a knock at his door.
“Yes?” he called. He stacked up the confidential papyruses before admitting Neterka. Alistair was no longer trusting anyone in his house after these recent incidents, not even Neterka.
“Sir, I thought I would let you know that a doctor was sent for. The Lady Ismene is unwell,” he spoke in a calm voice.
“Unwell? What has happened?” Alistair was already on his feet.
“I do not know. The doctor arrived just minutes ago.”
Alistair was out the door, headed for Ismene's bedchambers. Her room seemed too far away in the state he was in. Upon entering the hallway outside of her chambers, he found that the door was shut for the doctor to do his work. He had no choice but to wait while the doctor finished. Trying to be calm, he leaned against the wall outside of the door. But he found that he just couldn't make himself be still. He was too worried...and too confused.
Ismene had refused to see him countless times, but he had required regular reports from Alonah and she had been doing fine. The report yesterday was that her morning sickness carried throughout the day, but that was not too uncommon. What had happened between yesterday and today? He felt as if he were going to crawl out of his skin. He found himself pacing.
Several minutes went by before he heard movement at the door.
“How is she?” He nearly caused the doctor to stumble over him the way he rushed up to the man.
“The Lady Ismene has taken ill, but she will recover.” The doctor went about straightening his garb after his near miss. “It may be some time yet, so she will need lots of rest, and plenty of cleansing teas to get the poison out of her system.”
The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt) Page 18