by Diana Ballew
He’d found her! His whole body seemed to spasm with awareness.
“Sara?” Khay said, taking her other hand. “Sara — it is Khay.” He drew his sister to kneel beside him. “Teti is here too. We’ve come to see you.”
As Menkhepere watched, he felt his heart contract painfully. They had warned him. But still the reality struck him like a knife in his chest. His beautiful Alia rendered a mere shell. Had the gods truly stolen her mind? The idea sent a shudder through his gut — only his long years of training prevented him from groaning out loud.
Khay glanced up. “She is the same as always …”
Menkhepere swallowed hard and gathered himself before he could speak. “Bring her out into the light,” he commanded as he backed out and waited, wishing with all his heart that it wasn’t true.
When she emerged he bit down on his own tongue in an effort not to gasp. Though her hair shone and the color of her eyes still took his breath, her shoulders and face were criss-crossed with fine white lines — he’d seen such scarring many times, the telltale signs of a savage whipping. Though it didn’t mar her underlying beauty, he ached to think what pain she’d endured.
She did not look at him; instead, she stared off into the distance, her gaze fixed upon an unseen target somewhere upon the horizon.
Reaching out a shaky hand, he gently turned her face toward his. Her eyes remained unfocused but she acquiesced. “Alia?”
Other than a blink, she showed no sign of recognition of his voice, or her name, although her hands were suddenly busy, her fingers twisting the fine silver ring that circled her thumb. His ring.
Swallowing again, he darted a glance across to Rekhmire, who merely frowned back at him as if unable to fathom what he saw.
“Alia?” he tried again. Again she blinked, and her fingers twisted almost feverishly.
“How does she normally respond to her name?” he asked Tetisheri.
Taking her mother’s hand, she said, “She doesn’t. I have never seen her react in any way.”
“Sara?” he said. This time she didn’t move a muscle, her eyelids did not so much as flicker, and her hands stilled.
“I am here, Alia.” She blinked, not once but twice, and again she went for the ring. A spurt of elation raced through his breast. It was but a small thing but he knew, somewhere buried deep inside, his Alia still existed; that she recognized his voice. Perhaps all she needed was time and the familiar surroundings of the royal court to regain her senses.
Drawing her against him, he bent his head and whispered so low only she could hear. “I have come for you, my Alia. It has been a long time, I know, but I will make up for all we have missed.”
She stood limp in his embrace, showing no sign she’d even heard his promise.
Lifting his head, he sought out Rekhmire among the throng that surrounded them. “Accept the hospitality of the mayor. We shall stay in Abydos tonight and tomorrow. After I make tribute to Osiris, we return to the barge. Alia will have the care of the best physicians and healer priests. And if they can do nothing to wake her from this terrible magic that binds her, then she shall live out her days by my side in the luxury she deserves.”
Turning to Khay and Tetisheri, he added, “I welcome you both as children of the royal house of Egypt. The blood of princes and kings flows in your veins. You will be accorded all the titles and epithets as is your inheritance.” Before leading Alia away, he stared long and hard at his newfound son. In the center of his soul he believed that Khay was not wholly responsible for the Nubian’s death … he would have Rekhmire apply more pressure on both him and Iset. Sooner or later the truth would emerge.
It felt as if his heart was slowly shattering. All evening he watched his once-beautiful love and in that time, she’d barely moved. Tetisheri had taken Alia to make her ablutions and change her shift before returning for the evening meal. Alia ate when food was placed before her, but beyond that she merely sat and continued to stare at nothing as if she lived in a world of isolation. Was that why she’d settled in Abydos? Had Osiris drawn her close until her body followed her mind to the underworld?
“What do you think, Rekhmire?” he asked as his vizier took his place at the table.
“About Alia? I fear her mind was broken long ago. I had the chief handmaiden inspect her body during her bath … it seems the scars on her face are the least severe. Her brother and Enlil must have done unspeakable things to her. We have powerful healers among the priesthood of Isis … perhaps …?”
Menkhepere nodded sagely. Alia’s recovery would become his priority. As soon as they returned to Thebes, he would announce Kheper’s co-regency and pass the reins of stewardship over to his son.
“I will make tribute to each of the gods in turn and beg them to lend their strength to her healing. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He took up his wine and drank deeply.
Rekhmire didn’t comment. Although he felt discomfort at his lord’s fixation, he was more concerned with the situation with Iset and Khay.
“Lord, might I speak to you on another matter?”
“Of course.”
“I caught Iset talking to Khay earlier. I am beginning to suspect that they are hiding the truth.”
“I agree … but unless one changes their story, there is little we can do. I have warned Khay that he threatens his afterlife. I am hoping that he will use the time until we reach Thebes to reconsider his testimony.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
He let out a long weary breath and let his eyes drift back to Alia’s still form. “He would not be the first to martyr himself for love.”
“Do you believe that is why he chooses not to speak?”
“I don’t know, Rekhmire, but it seems the most likely explanation. If our suspicions are correct. Of course, he might be guilty, in which case he shall reap his just reward.”
“Do we still travel to the temple at dawn?” the vizier asked, as he stood.
“Yes. The sooner we get Alia to the healers, the sooner she will be restored to me.”
“Then I bid you sleep well, Majesty. The mayor has made his house ready for us, and I will go and inspect his preparations. I have stationed a ring of soldiers around the perimeter, and the local garrison is guarding the road. Khons shows his full face this eve, which makes it doubly difficult for assassins to approach.”
“You worry too much, Rekhmire. I believe it unlikely rebels would attack during this journey — we have left them too little time to plan an assault. Go to your bed and rest easy.”
Chapter 20
Re had begun to bake the earth by the time the procession departed the city. At first the brewer had been displeased to learn his housekeeper had been wrested from service without warning, but the gold granted him brought a broad smile to the man’s face. He produced several jugs of his best beer to ease their journey once he understood the importance of the woman he had cared for these past months.
They traveled slowly with a band of soldiers in the lead. The chariots followed at a walk, and the carts and another contingent of soldiers brought up the rear. The road seemed quiet and as the sun rose higher, Pharaoh sought a stand of trees by a small oasis and called a halt. The solstice and inundation were yet weeks away, but the horizon shimmered. While he was eager to return home, he was ever mindful that the early summer heat could fell even the strongest of men and their horses. They had made good time, traversing more than half the distance to the river. By Rekhmire’s best reckoning, the entourage would still make the barge by nightfall if they stopped here.
“We rest until mid-afternoon,” Menkhepere declared as he stepped down from the chariot. He turned and drew Alia down beside him before escorting her into the shade of the trees. Servants sprang forward with cups of water from the nearby oasis, and attending priests began sampling a variety of fruits to serve for a light repast.
“Majesty,” Besenmut interrupted as Menhkepere selected an apple from the bowl before him. “The scouts have spotted a group of
men heading this way.”
“Send two guards to learn who they are and why they travel this road. I expect they are just locals from the city returning from a day’s fishing at the river.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Lifting his gaze to the road minutes later, Menkhepere noted the large dust cloud generated by the travelers. The wind was light and men on foot did not usually make such a disturbance in the air. Only those on horseback would stir the desert so, and few but the military rode horses in Egypt.
“Rekhmire!” He stood and tossed the remains of the apple to the ground.
The vizier trotted over; he too had seen them and appeared understandably concerned.
“Have the soldiers Besenmut sent out returned?”
“Not as yet, Majesty. I shall call the guards together.”
Menkhepere leapt to his chariot just as the three men came at him from the left. The riders were still some way off, but others had obviously been lying in wait. A tall man with gray eyes burst from behind the bushes and tossed his spear. It whirred as it passed. Rekhmire yelped as the spear caught his foot and felled him.
“Rekhmire!”
Turning his chariot, Menkhepere used the horses to charge down the man as he made for Rekhmire with a long dagger. Kheper sprang forward as another man came at him from the opposite direction, slicing the man’s throat with a single slash of his khopesh. He took Rekhmire’s arm and all but dragged him aside.
In moments the riders were upon them, but Besenmut and his elite guard closed ranks around their Pharaoh. Joining the fight, their faces were set with determination as they drew their swords. Cries rang out as blades clashed. Spears and arrows flew past, close to the women. Too close.
Menkhepere swung down and grabbed first Alia, then Tetisheri, bringing them into the chariot so he could drive them to safety. Iset was nowhere to be seen, so he guessed she had already sought refuge from the fighting. An assassin jumped at the chariot and reached for Alia, who seemed oblivious to the chaos surrounding her.
The surge of rage that rose in Menkhepere’s chest almost blinded him in its ferocity. His anger fired his blood, and he felt it explode through his body as it did in his youth when he went into battle against his enemies.
“No man will steal her from me again!” he bellowed as he unsheathed his dagger and drove it into the man’s neck, severing the artery. Tetisheri’s scream seemed to come from far away. She clung to her mother as the man’s blood spurted over them in a wide arc. It had been a long time since he had personally fought in battle, but in this he would gladly have gone to join the stars if it saved his Alia. The coppery smell of blood flowed around him, mixing with the potent scents of dust and sweat and fear, and for the first time in many years he felt truly alive.
“Go, my beauties!” Menkhepere commanded, flicking the reins as the hot blood trailed down his arms, coating both him and the white horse’s rump. The chariot lurched forward, trampling the man as he fell to the ground, and within seconds they were beyond the oasis. He turned the horses and looked back at the scene. He did not dare leave the women for fear they’d be set upon. His warriors were trained in battle, and he had no doubt they would win out.
To his left, another struggle caught his eye. Behind a wagon a man stood arguing with his daughter, Iset. Dressed in traditional garb from the northern territories, it was more than apparent he did not fear recognition.
Menkhepere tuned out the battle behind him and focused on their heated words.
“But Anen, you promised me!” Iset screeched as she dragged at the man’s arm.
He shook her off as if she were naught but an insect.
“You stupid girl! Did you really think I loved you? I am the heir to the kingdom of Kadesh. I have three wives and many children already … why would I choose a scrawny daughter of the usurper king who is doomed to die this day?”
She grappled with him, clutching at his clothing. “But I did everything you asked! I even killed for you!”
The man pushed her to her knees and loomed over her. “Yes, you have done well, whore. With the Nubian prince dead, Egypt lost the goldmines Pharaoh so desperately needed. Your people will starve if they do not have grain soon, and then we shall overrun your heathen country!”
Iset slid to the ground, sobbing hysterically. “But I love you!”
The man didn’t reply except to lash out with his foot, catching her on the temple.
Menkhepere had heard enough. Ignoring Tetisheri’s frantic sobs, he gathered his bow from the side of the chariot, nocked a gilt-tipped arrow, and loosed it all in one fluid movement. The arrow sang as it flew.
A heartbeat later, the man gave a startled cry as the arrow found its mark in the center of his chest. He looked up, wide-eyed, to see who’d shot him. When recognition dawned he raised his fist and shook it, even as the life drained out of him. His legs buckled, and he pitched forward into the dust.
Trotting the horses, Menkhepere went to his daughter. Tetisheri climbed down to help examine her. Though bruised and unconscious, Iset would undoubtedly survive.
The melee beyond the trees had begun to wind down. He could hear Besenmut barking orders as his men rounded up the few rebels who remained alive. Under the trees, Kheper occupied himself bandaging Rekhmire’s bloody foot.
Lifting Iset into his arms, he bade Tetisheri to bring Alia back into the shade of the trees.
“Majesty. I do not know who these men are, or why they attacked. None will speak,” Besenmut said with a fierce frown. Blood spattered his black face, but he had barely raised a sweat in the fighting.
“I do.” He placed Iset against a tree and straightened. “Their leader is … was … a prince of Kadesh. It appears he seduced Iset and convinced her to murder Nu-Tete to prevent Egypt from gaining Nubia’s goldmines.”
Khay, who’d fought alongside Kheper and Besenmut, groaned.
“As I said, young man, martyring yourself would achieve nothing. Thoth knows all. Your secret is uncovered.”
Epilogue
Great Audience Hall, Thebes
The hall was quiet save the occasional shuffling of feet upon the stones as Tetisheri took her place alongside Kheper. The priests, soldiers, and nobles all stood rigid in anticipation as Pharaoh’s five names were recited before the crowd. The day of judgment had come. After hearing evidence from Khay and the guards who first encountered the scene, Pharaoh had returned to his suite to commune with Thoth and render his verdict.
Iset, pale-faced and unmoving, refused to take food or speak in her defense since waking to find her father had killed her lover. Tetisheri had coaxed and pleaded, but her half-sister had chosen silence.
“I fear for Iset,” she whispered to Kheper. “Unless she speaks, her cause is lost.”
“I know. I tried again to convince her to throw herself upon our father’s mercy, but she simply ignores us all. I think she was so sotted with love for that rebel, she cannot see the truth. And she blames Pharaoh that her lover is dead.”
Tetisheri sighed. It was now up to Pharaoh.
The priestess representing the goddess Ma’at stood behind Pharaoh’s high chair alongside the ibis-headed, Thoth.
To one side of the dais, the Nubians appeared satisfied. Tetisheri understood that a new treaty had been struck in which Nebet, her youngest half-sister, would soon marry the new prince regent. Nebet glowed with happiness as she and Kashta had formed a close friendship while her family was away in Abydos, and she spoke of her excitement that she would soon journey to Napata as the future queen.
Now, as Tetisheri's royal father emerged from the anteroom to take his place on the dais, she read the sadness in her newfound father’s eyes.
Kheper grasped her hand, and his warmth flooded her. She couldn’t quite believe that she would soon become first wife to the future Pharaoh of Egypt. The priests had already named the most auspicious day to hold their feast, which would occur as part of the festival celebrating Kheper’s co-regency.
But her
happiness was marred by the uncertainty she felt as she looked upon her sister and former mistress. Yes, Iset had been spoiled and wilful at times, but underneath her heart was pure and driven by what she thought was love. She’d been the victim of an expert manipulator. Kheper’s investigations uncovered Anen’s identity to be a boy Pharaoh’d released after the first war with the Retennu princes all those years ago. He had grown to become the rebel leader who had plagued Pharaoh’s armies for several years. Anen had incited rebellion in many of the territories, including Nuges and Syria, and he had been responsible for the deaths of four magistrates and at least one regional governor. The man was reputed to have had great charisma, and women attested to the fairness of his face. While this did not excuse Iset’s actions, it did explain how she could succumb so easily to the man’s charms.
A hush blanketed the hall as Pharaoh crossed his crook and flail before his chest. Tetisheri’s grip tightened on Kheper’s hand as she mentally beseeched Isis to intervene and save Iset from a miserable death.
“Pharaoh decrees thus:” her father stated in a strong voice. “Nubia has sought and received restitution for the murder of the king’s son, Nu-Tete. As a mark of respect, the embalmers have prepared his body using all the sacred rituals of Egypt. When the rituals are complete, he will be returned to his people.
“Nebet, princess of Egypt, will accompany the prince regent, Kashta, to the Nubian territories as wife. This marks the beginning of a new friendship between Egypt and Nubia.”
Tetisheri glanced over and caught her half-sister’s glowing smile. In this, at least, there could be celebration.
Pharaoh paused and glanced at his eldest daughter.
“The fate of Iset is as follows: She will be banished from the land of Egypt, never to return. All her rights and inheritances as royal daughter are removed, and she will be deprived of a proper burial.”