by Diana Ballew
Once dismissed, Kheper and Khay escorted Tetisheri to the women’s suite. Khay would be confined to the barracks, but in a cleaner cell until they departed. Kheper had assured Rekhmire that he would take responsibility for Khay until that time, and Khay had given his word that he would abide by Kheper’s commands. Rekhmire voiced his disapproval, but Pharaoh had given them leave to do as Kheper suggested.
“I will see you at dawn, Teti,” Khay said. He still felt very confused by all that had occurred in the audience hall. To think Pharaoh could be his sire, and Kheper his half-brother, was an idea he would have considered unfathomable only a day ago.
“I am so happy they have freed you, Khay.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Everything will be all right now, I know it.”
Khay didn’t know if he could afford such confidence. Iset had stuck to her story as far as he knew. She was the daughter of Pharaoh’s great wife. In terms of precedence, he had little doubt that her version would hold sway, true or false.
“I hope you are right, Teti, but do not expect it to be so. I will take each day, one at a time … as should you.” With those words he looked across at Kheper, saying silently that his dreams of marrying Teti may yet be for naught. What if Sara was not the woman Pharaoh spoke of? Neither Kheper or Teti seemed to have considered that, but he had. They stared at one another with stars glittering in their eyes. He could not say for certain, of course, but he suspected Kheper had bedded his sister. And though, as her brother and protector, he should demand recompense for Teti, he could not in good conscience interfere when his own fate hung in the balance. The journey to Abydos might be only a temporary reprieve, for all of them. If Sara was simply Sara and not this Alia that Pharaoh so treasured … then he would surely be executed and Teti would again become the sister of a murderer, a woman Pharaoh would not countenance as great wife for the likely heir to Egypt.
“Anen? Please … are you there?”
The air had turned chilly in the past hour as Iset paced alongside the wall in the garden. Every few minutes, after making certain that no soldiers watched, she whispered her plea to her lover. She didn’t know what she would do if Pharaoh dragged her off to Abydos before she could tell Anen.
At first she had been angry at her father’s edict, but after more thought, she realized it would be the perfect opportunity to slip away and join Anen. She’d already stolen one of her servants’ cloaks for her disguise. Now she just needed to convince Anen.
A rustling above caught her attention, and as she spun to greet her lover, her hopes plummeted.
“You wish to speak with Anen, Princess?” The older, gruff man, who had all but assaulted her many nights ago, asked with a disrespectful smirk.
“Yes, I do,” she replied indignantly. “And I will only speak to him.”
The man rubbed his whiskered chin and tut-tutted. “Well, you’re out of luck, Princess. Anen does not come running every time one of his whores calls.”
“How dare you!” She would have screeched the words, but she knew everything would be lost if Rekhmire discovered her secrets, so she kept her anger in check and her voice low. “You speak to a princess of Egypt. I have news of great import for Anen, and I will give that news to no other.” She crossed her arms and favored him with her haughtiest glare.
“I do not think that is possible, Princess.” He spat the title at her as if it meant nothing to him.
“I do not care what you consider possible. If Anen does not hear my news you will regret it greatly. It is of the utmost importance, and I will not share it with anyone but him. I shall wait here all night if necessary, but be warned, after dawn it will be too late. Now go and tell him that!”
The man shrugged. “As you wish, Princess, though I suspect the only thing you will meet this night will be a chill.” With that he turned and threw himself against the wall. For a squat man he was remarkably agile, disappearing as quickly as a wraith.
Iset drew her shawl about her back and settled down on the grass to wait. Surely Anen would realize how important it was that he come to her?
It seemed like hours had passed, but in truth the moon had moved little when she heard a scrape against the wall. Bounding up, she rushed forward.
“This had better be worth risking my life for, Iset,” Anen said without even bothering to greet her.
“My love,” she whispered, sidling up to wrap her arms about his waist and deliberately ignoring the tiny voice in the back of her head that warned her she played with fire. “I would not have asked you here unless it was very important.”
At first, he stiffened, but when she placed her open mouth upon his neck, his arms slowly snaked around her and dragged her against his hard body.
“I have missed you so,” she murmured, making tiny, kitten-like licks along the pulse below his ear. With a growl, he wrenched up her skirts and forced her back against the wall, penetrating her in one swift movement that left her breathless and quivering.
“You are difficult to resist, Iset.”
She pouted. He never spoke actual words of love to her, but she knew in her heart that he did. She lost herself in him as he began to thrust roughly into her, but was shocked when a bare moment later he stiffened, then slid out of her, long before her own body had begun to ripen toward her climax.
“Now, what news is so important that I must cross the city in the middle of the night to attend you, Iset?” he demanded in a low voice as he adjusted his clothing.
“Why are you being so cold to me, Anen?” she said, squirming as his seed trickled down her leg. She dug a linen square from her bodice and mopped at it, for the first time feeling embarrassed before him. The remoteness of his manner was beginning to frighten her.
“I am no different, Iset. I have little time — what is your news?”
With a scrub of her face she decided he was probably just in a bad mood.
“I think you will be pleased to hear this, my love.” She smiled a reassuring smile, hoping to win him over as she had always done in the past. “Pharaoh and a contingent of the royal family, myself included, will be traveling to Abydos on the morrow. It would be the perfect opportunity for me to slip away and join you!” She grabbed his hand and hugged it to her chest.
“Why do you go to Abydos?”
She gave a nonchalant shrug. “It seems that Teti and her brother might just be my brother and sister … Pharaoh wants to go and see their mother to learn the truth.”
Anen dropped her hand and took a pace away. When he looked up, he wore a perplexed frown. “But what of the trial … and the Nubians? I saw that they have sent another prince. Have they pledged you to him in Nu-Tete’s place?”
“Rekhmire has not said so. The Nubian is very young, perhaps twelve- or thirteen-years old. Too young …” she faltered. Who knew what machinations had been taking place? Rekhmire seemed to delight in making her life a living hell. “All I know is that the trial is delayed until we return from Abydos.”
“Hmmm. This might play right into our hands. If the court is on the road, it will be much more vulnerable …”
“Vulnerable?” Iset pinned him with her gaze. “What does that mean?”
Embracing her, he laughed. “Why, for me to abduct you for my own, of course!”
He lifted her into his arms and spun her around until she was almost dizzy. He did love her. He did want to be with her. And she had just presented him with the ideal way to make that happen.
When he put her down he looked deeply into her eyes. “Be ready, Iset. Look for me at a place between the river and Abydos.” Above them, the moon dipped below the temple, signaling the darkest hours of the night. “Go quickly. I must gather some men and formulate a plan.” He kissed her. Hard. “Thank you, Iset, you know not how great a gift you have given me.”
Inside, her heart began to glow. He did love her!
“You were gone so long I’d begun to wonder if she had stuck a blade between your ribs, my friend.” His comrade slapped Anen’s back as t
hey made their way along the alleyways to the merchants' quarter.
“No. She’s as juicy as ever.” He grinned in the way that only a well-sated man can. “And the sweetest part of all? The news was indeed valuable.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Most valuable. Pharaoh and half his family will be taking a barge north to Abydos. I know the road between the river and that city well, and there are several auspicious places to stage an ambush. It is the opportunity we have awaited. We could lie in wait for their return journey and destroy them all. I am not certain which members of the royal household will go north, but I am willing to wager that Pharaoh will leave Saussatar, and perhaps Mose, behind. We have had dealings with Saussatar in the past, and he will bend easily to our plans once Pharaoh and his family are all but destroyed. The tomb builders will thank us! This means freedom for all the northern lands — and great riches for us.”
“And the girl?”
“Who — Iset?”
“Yes, will you keep her as your prize?”
He considered a moment, then shook his head. “I tire of her. But you are welcome to her if you wish to keep her alive?”
The man gave a wry laugh. “Too old for my tastes, my friend. If the youngest sister goes along … then I might consider rescuing her from the tragedy that will befall them. I expect she is still pure and just beginning to ripen. I have found they make the sweetest of fruits.”
With a nod of satisfaction, Anen stepped up his pace. “We had better move swiftly, my friend. We have only a few hours until dawn. We need to dispatch some men to follow the entourage and make certain that Iset’s information is correct. I am guessing they might stay several days in Abydos at most … so we won’t have much time to lay our traps."
“Khay of Abydos, Majesty,” Rekhmire announced as he swept the curtain aside for Khay to enter the small sanctuary aboard the barge.
“Enter.”
Khay’s breath shuddered slightly as he faced the man/god who could be his father. He held himself rigid, bracing against the slight rocking motion of the barge as it slowly rounded a sharp bend in the river. They had traveled five itrw, about a third of the journey they would take by river before marching westward to Abydos.
Pharaoh sat on his high chair examining a papyrus by the light of an oil lamp. “Sit,” he commanded, without lifting his gaze from the scroll before him.
Squatting upon a coiled mat below the great chair, Khay’s eyes roamed about the opulent room. Behind Pharaoh’s chair a panel, painted in rich colors, showed a scene from his famed capture of Kadesh, some twelve years earlier, a victory that confirmed Pharaoh as one of the mightiest warriors Kmt had ever known.
He still couldn’t believe that this man, a living god, might be his sire.
As he studied the panel, he became acutely aware that Pharaoh was not reading at all, but watching him instead.
“You are very like myself in my youth,” Pharaoh stated, dropping the scroll to the small table to his side.
“So it is said, Majesty.”
“Tell me more of your mother.”
“What do you wish to know, Majesty?”
Pharaoh gave a slight shrug. “Everything you can tell me … is she well?”
“Sara was in fine health when we departed Abydos, over two moons ago.”
“Why did you leave her behind?”
Khay crossed his legs beneath him, realizing his short interview with Pharaoh would likely take much longer than expected.
“We did not know where we would sleep or even if we would find food, so Teti and I decided that Sara would be better off in a familiar place. The brewer promised to care for her. As we have told you, Sara cannot speak. We don’t know how much she knows … some say she is feebleminded, but when commanded, she will complete any task given her. The brewer’s wife went to the afterlife before the last harvest, so Sara earns her keep in his house.”
Pharaoh sighed and prayed to all the gods that once she saw him, she would regain her senses — if indeed the woman of whom they spoke was Alia. Until he knew for certain, talk meant nothing.
“Explain your role in the death of the Nubian.”
Khay’s stomach clenched painfully.
“Well?” Pharaoh leaned forward, his power a palpable thing that thrummed in the space between them. “Iset tells me that you seduced her in the garden, and when Nu-Tete came to her rescue, you took her dagger and plunged it into the Nubian’s throat.”
It was just as he had feared. Iset had used him. She had exited this same room shortly before the vizier had ushered him forward. Her tear-filled eyes silently beseeched his help as she swept past. He had once cared deeply for her — he didn’t know if he could now betray her. And he knew nobody would believe his word against that of a royal princess, least of all the Pharaoh who’d no doubt loved his daughter all her life. His fate had been sealed the day Kheper stopped them on the road to Thebes.
Lifting his chin, Khay remained silent.
“Do you not wish to contradict Iset’s story?”
“I cannot, Majesty,” Khay replied with a sigh. Iset had been desperate. She claimed, more than once, that she feared for her life if she wed the Nubian. What would he have done in her place?
Pharaoh stood, a puzzled expression passing over his face. “Will you not defend yourself?”
“I cannot, Majesty,” he repeated.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Pharaoh furrowed his brow. “Cannot or will not? I doubt events played out as simply as my royal daughter attests.”
“It all happened so fast,” Khay admitted. “But I cannot deny that I allowed my lust to overwhelm me. The Nubian saw what was happening. Now he is dead.”
“That does not quite explain, and I suspect you still keep many secrets. Be warned that Thoth will weigh your heart when you enter the afterlife, and if you have lied to your king, it will not go well. Protecting others will earn you no favors.”
Khay had to quell the desire to flinch. Did he already know the truth, or was Pharaoh merely hoping to trick him?
“The Nubians will demand restitution.” Pharaoh continued in a low voice that had taken on a harder edge. “If you will not refute the charge, you must be punished. Pharaoh’s justice must be done. If we learn on the morrow that you are, indeed, a prince of Egypt, it will matter little.”
“I understand, Majesty.”
Pharaoh closed his eyes, sadness filling his painted features. “Do you?”
Khay couldn’t respond.
“So be it. Your reprieve lasts until we return to Thebes. Think on what you have said. If you wish to add to or change your story, simply inform Rekhmire and request an audience. If you remain silent …”
With lowered eyes, Khay stood.
“Go then,” Pharaoh commanded with a flick of his wrist. “But hear this … bravery and honor do not spring from an untruth. If the Nubian did not perish at your hand, your sacrifice will be for naught.”
Swallowing, Khay nodded. “I understand, Majesty.”
Iset drew him aside as they rested by the road about an hour’s march from Abydos. Rekhmire had dispatched a contingent of soldiers to run ahead and notify the mayor that Pharaoh would enter the city gates before Re reached his zenith.
Rekhmire now busied himself organizing the procession, positioning guards and ordering the watering of the team of horses that drew the gilded chariots that would bear the royal family into the city.
“What did you tell Pharaoh?” she pleaded, her face full of panic.
“Do not fret, Iset. Your secret is safe, I said nothing.” He took a long draft of the warm beer that a priest had handed him. It threatened to choke him, but he gulped the liquid down.
“You said nothing?” Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Khay … I wish it had been different.” She glanced about furtively before she leaned closer to his ear. “In other circumstances …” She didn’t finish, Rekhmire appeared from behind a wagon and glared at them both.
“I have to wonder why
you would approach the man who you claim raped you, Princess.” With raised eyebrows he cast her a probing look.
She didn’t even try to defend herself; instead, she stomped off in the direction of the other women.
“Do you have anything to say, Khay?” Rekhmire asked.
With a shake of his head, Khay turned away. Whatever she had done, Khay could not bring himself to condemn Iset to death.
Chapter 19
Menkhepere held himself stiffly as he stepped down from the chariot. His chest felt constricted, as if the air were thick with sand from a desert storm. After all these years he almost feared the short walk to the brewer’s house. Alia had been at the center of his private dreams for so long that he no longer trusted the truth of his memories.
Unlike his previous sojourns in the ancient city, no herald had been sent to prepare the populace for his arrival. Now the local dignitaries fell over each other in their attempts to apologize for their lack of preparedness.
He left Rekhmire to it; Menkhepere’s sole focus was upon the small door at the end of the narrow street. Breathing deeply to slow his heart, he looked at Khay, then motioned for him to lead the way. The crowd that had gathered parted to form a corridor extending some twenty feet to the tiny dwelling.
Khay and Tetisheri held hands as they walked the short distance to where their mother now lived. Menkhepere kept pace behind, followed by his heir, Rekhmire, and the town’s mayor, who was busily asking the vizier why Pharaoh would seek an audience with the lowly brewer.
The heat of the sun suddenly quenched as he ducked his head beneath the lintel. It took a moment for his aging eyes to adjust to the darkness within the windowless room. The overwhelming smell of rotting fruit assaulted his nostrils, but he barely noticed.
His eyes were drawn to Khay’s back as he crouched before a tiny woman who seemed to stare straight through him. She was stirring a vat of liquid, the motion a constant and exact rhythm that would easily hypnotize.