by Diana Ballew
Yet she’d felt the longing in him, the need, which she was certain emanated from a place in him beyond any thought of manipulation. For just a moment, he’d been only a man — the god and his power had ceased to have meaning as she touched a raw place in his spirit that needed love and caring. In her deepest heart she knew this to be true.
A bell chimed somewhere within the outer palace, reminding Alia she had promised to meet with Eshe. Quickly, she went to her pallet and found a scarf and shawl. After leaving a message with Ineni’s assistant promising she’d return to Neferure after her visit with Eshe’s mother, she headed to the kitchen to help finish the cleaning.
“Ah, I thought you’d changed your mind, Alia,” Eshe said as Alia entered the kitchens.
“I apologize for being so late returning ... Pharaoh needed—”
Eshe waved away her excuses with a grin. “I am also late with my tasks tonight, but Pharaoh’s needs must come before all else. Just go over and clean out that big clay pot near the fire. The tools you need are on the bench alongside. That is the last task, then we can go to my mother.”
Alia set about cleaning the pot. Whatever had been cooked in it, the remnants now remained stuck in a thick burnt line around the inner rim. Using her fingernails, she picked at the edges, and, as her mother had taught her, she used the back of a blunt knife to dislodge the larger chunks of the tar-like substance. Then, with a coarse piece of linen and a handful of fine wet sand, she set about scrubbing off the remainder. It took more than twenty minutes, and even then Eshe found a couple of spots not to her liking.
Once they’d finished with the pot, Eshe restoked the fire and made certain all the pantries and storage jars were properly sealed. Satisfied all was well, she ushered Alia through a large doorway flanked by a sleepy guard at the rear of the kitchen area then down a short passage and through another door, which led out onto an alleyway where merchants and grocers delivered their produce for the royal household. Eshe told the guard of their mission as she passed.
“Come,” Eshe ordered Alia, who lagged behind wide-eyed as she studied her surroundings. The alley opened out onto a market, all but deserted at the late hour. Screens covered the small stalls, and Alia realized that her freedom meant that she could now walk among the vendors and see their wares if she chose. No doubt they would be amazing and exotic. The almost-full moon reflected off the walls and stalls, casting stark shadows, but at the same time making their way easy to navigate.
“Nearly there,” Eshe said as she beckoned Alia around a corner.
A long row of ramshackle dwellings stretched down the street as far as Alia could see. At the third opening, Eshe ducked inside, then poked her head out and motioned for Alia to join her.
Inside, an extremely old woman sat with her eyes closed, propped on a low cot by a tiny window. Her weathered face was heavily lined, her hair white, and despite the balmy heat of the night, a mound of blankets covered her lower torso.
The one room living space smelled of incense, salt, and urea.
Noticing first Alia’s sniff and then her barely disguised frown, Eshe explained that her mother was very old and lived alone, and therefore had no one to empty her toilet pot until Eshe returned in the evenings. Eshe proceeded to pick up the pot and, as she passed the cot, she tapped the old lady’s shoulder. “A guest is here, Mama.”
The old woman straightened but didn’t open her eyes.
“Come closer, girl,” the old woman said, curling gnarled fingers in Alia’s direction. “My eyes do not see but my mind knows you. Closer,” she beckoned, “... I need to touch something of you. Hold my hand.”
Alia moved tentatively across the small room until she stood beside the cot. As the old woman took her hand, she tugged downward. “Sit.”
Alia sat. The old woman’s hand felt rough and cold; her jagged nails cut sharply when she tightened her grip.
Long minutes passed with not a word spoken, then the old woman began to rock from side to side and hum in low tones. Alia wondered if the woman was in a trance or perhaps having a seizure of some kind. She’d heard talk of seers doing such things when the gods took hold of them.
A moment later, the old lady fell silent and opened her sightless eyes. Alia had to suppress her shock when the vacant, silvery orbs seemed to stare right through her, but she couldn’t quite still the shiver that crept up her back.
“So, young one, I see much for you in a very short time, and yet ... some of the vision is so far off — I cannot imagine when,” she said, then nodded to herself and drew in a sharp wheeze, “... beware the woman with the vulture’s eyes ... she wishes to feel your death on her hands and simply awaits the sun-god’s passage — in this life and another ...” Suddenly she shook her head from side to side and muttered as if speaking to someone Alia could not see. “This life and many others ... she chases you ...”
Swallowing hard, Alia’s mouth tried to form questions, but they instantly flew out in her brain — it was impossible to make any sense of it at all.
“You have been troubled by dreams from this future time ... pay no heed to them, Isis protects that which is hers ... now is the time ... now—” she stopped speaking and seemed to fold in on herself as if in great pain, her head dropping forward onto her frail chest. But the grip on Alia’s hand remained so tight, she knew the old lady was still with her.
Alia waited, wanting to speak, yet afraid to disturb the old lady in case she interrupted whatever vision she saw.
Suddenly, the old lady gulped in a great breath of air and sat bolt upright. Tears began to course down her cheeks, and Alia felt an almost overwhelming desire to cry along with her.
“What is it? What do you see?” she begged, as the woman shuddered beside her.
Dropping Alia’s hand, the old lady wrung both of hers together.
“Great evil follows you like a curse ... it follows and follows through world upon world ... the only escape is to be saved by your one true love — like Isis and Osiris — the mate of your soul ... he will try again and again but will fail many times before he can rescue you from the clutches of the pursuing darkness.”
The old woman shuddered again and fell silent, and Alia instinctively knew she would say no more.
Confusion crowded Alia. The seer had confirmed the sense of danger that had lurked in the back of Alia’s mind since she’d entered the palace. She’d thought it stemmed from feelings of loneliness and the chief concubine’s cruelty. Now she knew a much greater danger lurked. But who or what pursued her? Surely not Enlil — he’d already have begun his journey home and forgotten her by now. And even if he still planned to attack Pharaoh, he knew she would not aid him — she had made her choice. What had the old woman said about a curse? Was she cursed? Neither her mother nor father had mentioned anything about a curse before the battle. And now they were all gone she would never know.
In the name of Astarte, I wish someone could tell me of these things.
Eshe bustled in a short while later to interrupt Alia’s musings. “Did my mother help you, girl?”
Alia stood. “I’m not sure. In truth, I’ll have to think on all she said.” She turned and looked down at the old woman, concern filling her chest. “Is your mother all right? She went very quiet and barely seems to breathe now.”
Studying her mother for a few seconds, Eshe nodded. “She’ll be tired for quite a while, but she always recovers her strength. Do you need my help to get back to the palace or can you find your way?”
Alia moved to the door, knowing she’d been dismissed. “I can find my own way. How can I repay you and your mother?”
“No need. Just keep out of trouble and heed my mother’s words.”
“I will. Thank you — thank you both.”
Alia ducked through the opening and made her way back down the street. When she came to the marketplace, she realized how easily she could make her escape, perhaps avoid the danger that loomed and return to her homeland. Few people were abroad during the hours
of darkness, and it would be almost too easy, if she were inclined.
But she wasn’t — and not because she had nothing to go home to. She wanted to stay — needed to stay. Right or wrong, she’d pledged herself to a king. And though he seemed surrounded by people and commanded much reverence, Alia knew he was also lonely and in need of a friend ... if not love. She didn’t delude herself with the thought that Pharaoh was the one true love of whom Eshe’s mother had spoken. He was, after all, a god. And after this life, his place would be among the stars with Osiris, or so the priests said. Born a princess, her place might be closer to the great ones than some, but she was mortal and her soul’s other half could never be a god.
The path between the market and the kitchens narrowed, and as she turned into the doorway, a chill suddenly surged up her spine. She stopped in the shadow of the portal, listening intently. A muted sound, barely a whisper, floated toward her from somewhere behind the closest stall. Was it a footstep … or, perhaps, a small creature ferreting about for food?
“Yes, that’s it,” she whispered to herself in the stillness of the night. “A rat, or a cat, looking for food or a mate.” The old woman’s words had frightened her, and now she’d made herself more afraid by jumping at shadows.
Satisfied that she’d answered her own fears, she nodded to the guard, then stepped into the passage that led to the kitchen and made her way along the short hall until it met the corridor that would take her to the queen’s rooms. Still, she couldn’t help glancing back every now and then; the sense of unease now seemed to follow every step of the way.
Heb’s toothless grin broadened as the girl hurried ahead like a scared monkey. He enjoyed seeing the sudden flash of fear in her eyes — it made him feel strong, and it would please his mistress to know the girl shook at the slightest sound. Her visit to the seer would serve them well, and he would be paid extra for delivering the old woman’s words to the foreigner sleeping in Sitiah’s rooms.
Rubbing his hands together as soon as the guard turned away, Heb slipped inside the kitchen just as Alia had and crept in the opposite direction, savoring the knowledge that his family would eat very well for the next few moons.
The young man lay panting in the shadows, hidden from the doorway by the draping gauze curtain that extended across half the chamber. He grimaced as he inhaled, Sitiah’s musky smell permeated his skin, and the stench of her blood almost made him retch. Her courses had begun at the climax of their encounter — otherwise he’d have put her away from him as soon as he’d realized. He didn’t know the customs of these people, but in his own country, women did not engage in sex during that time. With a scowl, he reached over and found a cloth to cleanse himself.
Enlil had many debts to repay when he returned, the young man vowed. Leaving him alone so long with this witch was one that would cost his friend dearly.
“So,” she fawned over him as she handed him a goblet of sweet wine, “how long will Enlil take to gather his men? I have a dozen right here who will fight for us, no questions asked.”
Arad shrugged off her caress and stood. “He’ll return as soon as it’s prudent. The men are scattered in small groups to avoid drawing attention to themselves. When he sends word, I’ll join him to plan the final assault. Just have your men ready to do what’s necessary.” He glanced up as a servant moved into the light with a tray bearing scented water and a new tunic for him to wear. Arad didn’t quite like the sneering look of the small man, but Sitiah assured him that all her people could be trusted, so he kept his own counsel.
Still, he glared at the servant, just for effect.
The servant immediately scuttled away.
Arad smiled to himself, closing his greenish-gray eyes with satisfaction — he so enjoyed making the powerless squirm.
He set about bathing away Sitiah’s stench. She was grasping and self-serving, usually such unattractive traits in a woman, except in this case it served both his and Enlil’s purposes to use her greed and hatred. And greedy she was. She obviously knew nothing of their true plan and believed Pharaoh would be hers once Alia and Neferure were disposed of. He wasn’t about to disabuse her of those ideas. The promise that she’d become great wife made her agreeable to almost anything.
The woman had a voracious appetite for sex, but he found her naive attempts at manipulation amusing. The ploys she thought she used were, in fact, turned upon her. Sitiah liked to be subdued, even beaten, to encourage her excitement. Not really Arad’s taste, but who was he to argue if it pleased her? It kept her pliable and accepting of their plans. If it wasn’t for the diversion she provided, and that of several of her more willing and nubile young servants, he’d have gone quite crazy with boredom while he awaited Enlil’s return.
He just wished his sister hadn’t been so stupid. If she’d shown loyalty, they could have used her to seduce and murder Pharaoh — they’d be victorious by now, and he wouldn’t have to put up with the caresses of the woman who was, even now, trying to encourage a response with her seeking fingers.
He flung her hands away and stalked back to the table where the servant had set the bathing water and again washed his torso with the dampened cloth before donning the loose tunic. “Our people do not engage while a woman bleeds,” he said, and threw the cloth at her, “clean yourself!”
She pouted but didn’t disagree. “As you wish. It only lasts one or two nights ... and by then, we will surely have thought of something new to amuse us.” She raised an arched brow and eyed one of the servants kneeling by the door. The girl she’d sent to place fear in Alia’s heart. The dark-skinned one. Nany? Was that her name? She didn’t remember and didn’t much care. The girl was small and young, and had been kept away from the rest of the household most of the time.
Perhaps she’d enjoy watching the young lord have sport with the girl? She’d send someone to the market for a new, good quality flail, Sitiah mused. A sound whipping always made the younger girls more eager to please.
Yes, she thought. An interesting prospect.
Then another thought struck Sitiah. Ever thinking of devious ways to achieve her desires, she stood and walked over to the serving girl by the door. “You — Nany, is it?”
Nany’s shoulders trembled, but she took great care to keep her eyes on her feet as she answered. “Yes, my lady. How may I serve?”
“Did you deliver my message to Alia?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Sitiah tapped her foot impatiently. “And how did you find Alia? Was she pleasant? Did she speak ill of me?”
Nany’s eyes darted fearfully up to her mistress before she resumed her inspection of the floor. “No, Mistress, she did not speak ill. She was very pleasant and friendly. She did not seem to understand your message, Mistress.”
“Hmmm,” Sitiah’s foot tapping increased in tempo. “Does she appear happy in the queen’s suite?”
“Oh, yes, Mistress. Very happy.”
Sitiah’s hard eyes narrowed. “Tell me, Nany. Would you like to visit Alia again — you don’t have many friends, do you?”
“Yes, my lady, I would like that very much.”
A feral grin spread across Sitiah’s face as she imagined what kind of weapon Nany’s friendship with Alia could become.
“Then, tomorrow, Nany, I will give you leave to go and visit with Alia after helping with my bath.”
Nany’s eyes glazed over, and a sheen of tears quivered just below her lids as she looked up at her mistress. Not once since she’d entered Sitiah’s house had she been shown a single scrap of kindness. Her one meeting with Alia was the first and only time she hadn’t felt completely alone; to be permitted to again see her new friend would be a great boon.
In gratitude, Nany fell forward and kissed each of Sitiah’s feet, in turn. “Thank you, Mistress.”
She kept her face to the floor long after Sitiah had walked away, trying to quell the urge to sob with happiness.
Neferure glanced up and smiled when Alia entered the chamber. The queen’
s plain face held a gentle appeal, which, to Alia’s mind, made her far more attractive than if she had blazed with beauty. She was subtly painted in the current style of the women of Egypt — her skin was oiled and her eyes kohled. And, as Alia had discovered since living in these quarters, the queen always wore simple and elegant clothing, most often white. All the queen’s household staff were similarly attired. She seemed to disdain the overt displays of ostentation that the chief concubine appeared to consider her royal duty.
Whatever jewelry Neferure wore accentuated her costume without overpowering it, and her hair was always dressed simply with fine braids or lapis beadwork. What surprised Alia was that Neferure’s hair wasn’t her own — but a series of beautifully crafted wigs. Ineni told her the queen, like many Egyptians, had habitually shaved away her hair since childhood.
Removing much of the hair from one’s body was a custom the Egyptians had used since early times to prevent lice and such — although most people she’d met, apart from the priests and the royal children, still kept their own tresses.
Alia hadn’t declined when the slaves of the chief concubine’s household asked her to join their mutual depilation sessions, which occurred before breakfast every new moon. It made the necessary cleansing and oiling of the body so much easier, Alia found, and she enjoyed the sleek cool feel of her hairless skin, especially when the day reached its hottest.
“Please pardon my lateness, Mistress, I went on an errand outside the palace,” Alia said with a deep bow.
“Do not trouble yourself, Alia, Ineni told me of your mission. Come, sit by me.” The queen motioned for Alia to sit on a chair that was set beside hers but slightly lower than her own. “Was Eshe’s mother able to explain your dreams for you?”
“Oh, Mistress, I am unsure what it all means. She said the dreams come from a long time in the future, but that I must beware now as there is grave danger — the same danger that will follow me into the future.”