by Chanta Rand
Pharaoh’s Desire
By
Chanta Jefferson Rand
Acknowledgements
I know I got on a lot of people’s nerves while I was writing this book. And I know I wasn’t the easiest person to deal with when I was trying to meet deadlines. I’m sorry for all the times I told folks not to call me (because I was busy writing) and I apologize for all the headaches I caused and all the shoulders I cried on in my quest toward becoming published. But it was all worth it—and don’t think I wouldn’t do it all again!
I’d like to thank all of my family and friends for their love and support. A special thanks goes to the following individuals: My husband, Kerry (for listening to all of my complaining, my crazy plot ideas, and my endless discussions on Egypt and Nubia); my parents, Ann & Larry Jefferson (for instilling a love of reading in me from an early age, and making me take Typing as an elective in high school—instead of Home Ec like all of my other friends!); my mother-in-law, Jannette Rand (for her friendship and encouragement—and for joining me on a wild adventure to Cairo, Egypt); Jaci Kenney (for being an awesome critique partner); Linda Broday (for all of her invaluable advice); Bill Bolen (for giving me the gentle kick I needed to start writing again); and Carole Ritter at Romance Writers of America (for helping me learn about eContracts).
To the readers who purchased this book, I hope you have as much fun reading about Amonmose and Kama as I had writing about them. Ciao for now!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Pharaoh’s Desire by Chanta Jefferson Rand
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Pharaoh’s Desire
By
Chanta Jefferson Rand
Chapter One
Lower Nubia, Aswan—1600 B.C.
It was the dead of night. While everyone else slept soundly, Kama’s stomach awakened her with its soft growling. No matter how much she ate, her belly never seemed satisfied. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes before peering at her cousin, Satati, who was snoring softly on the straw-filled bed beside her. At last, the poor girl was finally getting some sleep. They’d both endured the daylong boat ride from Kerma to Aswan, the home of Satati’s betrothed, Zetran. Satati’s father, Akahmen, had piled her bride-vessel high with stacks of fresh fruit and succulent honeycomb, large crates of smoked fish and meat, baskets of bread loaves, sweet-smelling perfume cones, spices, cosmetics, jewelry, and ornately carved bronze mirrors. He’d spared no expense in pledging his daughter to her betrothed.
Arranged marriages were commonplace, but Kama thought the entire concept cold and calculating. The only benefit she saw was to the greedy father of the groom, who often demanded far too steep a dowry in exchange for a bride. But, shy and quiet Satati did not share Kama’s gloomy outlook on marriage. She was content to become a wife and lead a boring life of domestication. Kama had no such aspirations. Since birth, she had been wild spirited and outspoken. Her mother often joked that even her newborn cry was louder than most babes’. And now, at age twenty, she was a headstrong and opinionated young lady—although some men might not consider her so young.
Not that she cared much for the opinions of men. Indeed, the more she learned about them, the more convinced she was of their uselessness. Uncle Akahmen was one of the few males she could tolerate. He’d been husband to her mother’s sister before she died. Since then, Kama and her mother had shared his home, along with Satati. Now with Satati getting married on the morrow, Kama wondered how long it would be before Akahmen finally insisted that she, too, be wed.
Thus far, she had successfully resisted all attempts. Each time some hopeful suitor approached, Kama always found some monumental fault. Akahmen usually bit his tongue, but she could tell that he was becoming increasingly frustrated with her. She knew it was only a matter of time before he found a husband for her. It had been the same for Kama’s own mother and her ancestors before her. Everything in life was planned and arranged. Just like wars and harvests.
In the morning, the marriage contracts would be signed, followed by a wedding feast of roasted duck, sun-dried fish, curried goat, boiled cabbage, cucumbers served in oil and vinegar, and warm bread and beer. Kama’s mouth watered just thinking about it.
She lay down and tried to forget her hunger. The soft chirping of the crickets usually relaxed her, but tonight, there was only silence. She held her breath and listened carefully. In the distance, she heard a shrill cry that made chills run up her spine. It was like a battle call piercing the dark air. Moments later, she smelled smoke. Fire!
Kama sprang out of bed. “Satati, get up!” she screamed in her cousin’s ear, and pulled the sleepy girl to her feet, shaking her. “The house is on fire. We must get out!”
Satati’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “…Must find Father… Zetran,” she rasped, her voice anchored by the heavy weight of sleep.
Even as Kama shouted her agreement, a line of golden-hot flames began dancing up the side of one wall, leaving a cloud of black smoke in its wake. The two women choked, gasping and coughing in the foul air as they ran through the corridors of Zetran’s home. Everything was aflame, burning brightly and throwing off a fierce heat. Brittle fragments of the mud brick walls began breaking off and flying in all directions. A large piece hit Satati on the head, and she fell, crumbling to the ground. Her flailing arm sent a tall oil lamp toppling, and the scented oil inside quickly caught fire. The flames quickly snaked a path from the oil to Satati. Instantly, the girl’s clothing was engulfed in the blaze. Her piercing scream penetrated the loud crackle of the flames.
“Satati!” Kama yelled. All common sense deserted her as she grabbed frantically at her cousin’s body, trying to beat the fire out with her own hands. She succeeded only in burning her fingers and palms. “No! No!” she cried, feeling hot tears streaming down her face. She was forced back by the roaring fire and watch helplessly as Satati’s body flailed violently before being consumed by the hot flames.
Kama staggered away, blinded by her tears and suffocating from the heat. Satati was lost to her; she must at least find her uncle. She choked back her sobs and ran through the main house, loudly calling Akahmen’s name. She brushed wildly at the dense smoke that attacked her eyes. Unable to see or hear, she instinctively dropped to her knees and crawled along the floor. Immediately, she smelled the pungent odor of red onions and she knew she wa
s in the kitchen.
Beneath the thick clouds of smoke, she was able to see better. Once her vision adjusted, she gasped in shock. She could barely make out the outline of Zetran’s charred body. She knew he too, was dead.
Screaming in horror, she bolted upright and ran. She stumbled aimlessly, falling over the smoldering items the fire had ravaged. Pockets of bright red flames threw off a scorching heat that singed the very air she breathed. She hurried toward made for the last room, coughing and nearly doubled over. Her heart tightened in her chest. Akahmen was not there.
She turned around, staggering, and tripped over something, hitting the floor hard. She peered at the bundle at her feet, willing her eyes to focus despite the smoke. Akahmen! She pulled his body against hers, cradling his head, but it was no use. He was limp in her arms. The raging fire drowned out the sound of her grief-filled sobs. She laid him on his back and crossed his arms over his chest. There was no time to perform the ceremonial prayer. If she didn’t escape now, she would surely be trapped inside.
She half-ran, falling and stumbling over debris. When she fell against the wall by the side of a door, the wall gave way, freely opening into a dark, earthen tunnel. A small, flaming wooden beam fell against her shoulder, burning her, and she cried out, but kept her pace. The cool interior of the tunnel was a welcome relief, and almost immediately, she felt beads of sweat cooling against the heated skin on her back. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her blistered hand and was too numb to even feel the pain. She fought to keep the images of Satati, Akahmen, and Zetran from her mind. The time for grieving was later.
As she neared the end of the tunnel, she heard loud shouts. She stood frozen, wondering if the sounds were from friend or foe. It was not uncommon for warring tribes to resort to violence like this. She hid in the shadows, quiet as a gazelle, trying to listen to the voices. Her heartbeat thundered loudly in her ears, like frenzied fists pounding on a drum. She waited until the muted sounds died away and spurred herself into action. She planned to race toward Akahmen’s boat that was still docked on the riverbank. She hoped his servants would still be there, keeping vigil.
She glanced around and, seeing nothing, fled from the tunnel. A fire-scorched landscape greeted her. Houses, monuments, and fields had been set aflame, and whatever had not been ravaged by the inferno was left scarred and blackened.
As she ran, an amulet of the goddess Pakhet swung wildly from her neck on a leather cord. Pakhet was the patron of inner strength. Kama wrapped her burned fingers around its familiar shape, the head of a lioness attached to a woman’s body, and said a silent prayer for the goddess to watch over her. She would escape this fire or die trying.
She made it as far as the outskirts of the city when she heard shouts behind her. Kama glanced back and saw a swarm of Egyptian soldiers. Exhausted ,she was quickly overtaken by the group. They immediately surrounded her, forming a wide circle and trapping her in the middle. They closed in tighter until she had nowhere to run.
A tall, thin man stormed through the ring of human bodies, brandishing his sword in the air. He had a cruel face that only a mother would cherish. Apparently, he was the leader of this pack of vultures.
“What do we have here?” he spat contemptuously. He gave her a lustful glare that left no doubt as to his intentions. “I have no love for Nubians,” he sneered, “yet I will have the pleasure of sampling what lies beneath your dress. Do you willfully submit or must I force you?”
She was shocked at his vulgarity. How could the gods breathe life into this brute? He gave her a menacing stare, but she swallowed her fear and held her ground. She would give no man the satisfaction of humbling her.
“Speak when you are spoken to, woman!” he demanded. “Or have you no tongue?”
Anger like hot tar bubbled inside her, threatening to spill over. She lifted her chin and gave him the full measure of her fury. “Animals like you do not deserve my words,” she said scathingly.
He eyed her with loathing and then shouted to the assembled soldiers. “Men, I think this creature is nothing more than a common whore! Look at her clothing. She is a dirty, filthy, Nubian whore.” He licked his lips. “And she’s ours for the taking!”
Kama gasped aloud. “I am no harlot! I’m dirty from the smoke and fire.” She gave them all venomous glares. If they thought they’d found some helpless victim, she would soon prove them wrong. “I am chaste, and if you dare to find out,” she challenged, “it will be the last thing you do before dying.”
In response, the man raised his sword high above his head and brought it down swiftly in front of her. The shiny metal of his weapon sliced through the thin fabric of her dress, cutting it in two halves and baring her flesh. A loud roar of excitement echoed in the night air. The soldiers jeered and yelled as they advanced forward, each determined to take the first spoils of the night.
The tall, thin man called out, “She is mine first!”
Kama hurriedly pulled the two pieces of her garment together with one hand and picked up a rock with the other. She hurled the stone as hard as she could, easily hitting one of the soldiers in the face. He howled in response. Her heart raced in alarm. They might take her, but not before she inflicted some damage of her own!
From atop his horse, Pharaoh Amonmose stared down at the fires ravishing the city of Aswan. He watched long enough to see the leaping flames slowly transform into angry red embers glowing eerily against the dark horizon. His long cloak fluttered in the warm night breeze as he felt the blood racing through his veins. Tonight, he and his men had raided three towns and taken them all by surprise. They were covered from head to toe with black smoke and dirt, but none of them seemed to care. They were focused on one thing—conquering their Nubian neighbors.
Egypt seemed to attract enemies like flies to a pile of dung, but the Nubians were perhaps their most deadly foes. Egypt had the misfortune of sharing a southern border with Aswan, which was located in Lower Nubia. The proximity of the two kingdoms invited constant warring. His royal council had informed him that fierce Nubian warriors had been mercilessly attacking small towns on the outskirts of Thebes. Two days ago, Egyptian temples had been desecrated, and in one town, the wife of a government official had been abducted.
Amonmose had ridden into battle tonight determined to have his vengeance against the Nubians. Yet, strangely, his army had not been met with any opposition. Thus far, he’d seen none of the Nubian resistance his royal advisors had told him existed.
In the distance, he heard a deep rumble of shouting. He’d heard that particular sound before. It was the way the soldiers celebrated when they’d found precious booty. He quickly turned his mount around and sped in the direction of the noise.
When Amonmose arrived at the edge of the village, he saw a battalion of his soldiers huddled in a thick circle. Whatever prize they’d found had so totally enraptured them that they were unaware of his approach. As he neared the melee, he saw one of the soldiers fall back and crumple to the ground. The man’s loud yelp of pain could be heard above the din of the noise. The ring of soldiers parted slightly as two of the men stooped down to help their fallen comrade, giving Amonmose a glimpse inside A woman! She was hopelessly surrounded, and the men were closing in on her. In a desperate attempt to thwart their advance, she was hurling rocks. Her last effort had landed a soldier on his backside. The woman was fighting for her life, and he was impressed by her bravery.
“Enough!” His deep voice prompted deafening silence. The soldiers respectfully parted to allow him entrance into the circle, and Amonmose addressed his chief commander. “Nadesh, what goes on here?”
“We found a survivor, Sire,” Nadesh answered. “A Nubian traitor or probably a whore.”
“I am neither!” the woman hissed.
Amonmose turned his attention to her. Up close, she was breathtaking, despite the dirt and soot. She had a graceful form and hair the color of ebony. She held a shredded white dress like a shield in front of her. It did little to conceal the
ample curves of her body. With her narrow waist and wide hips, she looked like one of the exotic dancers that often entertained at the palace. Her skin was the darkest of browns and smooth as the slopes of the Sahara Desert. He could see her slim legs outlined beneath the thin fabric of her torn garment.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Kama Nubemheb,” she answered boldly. “I hail from Kerma.”
Her full bosom was heaving up and down. She was obviously exhausted by the heroic effort she’d made to fight off her attackers.
“You are named after the Egyptian goddess of love,” he said. At that moment, their gazes locked, and he stared into her onyx-colored eyes. Her look told him she was surprised by his observation. In the midst of battle, most men were consumed with looting and killing, not matters of minor theology.
“Yes,” she said warily. “Nubians worship many of the same gods as you. My mother named me after the Egyptian goddess of love. But that is not an invitation. I have no wish to service you or your filthy soldiers.”
Amonmose smiled to himself. She did not seem like a harlot. In fact, from her outraged behavior, she acted as if she were royalty. His gaze roamed over the long, thin braids surrounding her face. She stood wary, ready to spring at any moment. She was like a crocodile. Silent and calm, but deadly when provoked. Her eyes were dark as a midnight sky, shiny as the stars in the heavens, and glowing with the anger of a raging fire. It was entrancing.
Her body language silently rebuked him, with shockingly openly hostility. She was almost as fierce as a man, arrogant and haughty. But her looks were striking, and her body was lush.