Pharaoh's Desire

by Chanta Rand

  “Lady Kama, I have a message from Pharaoh Amonmose.”

  Kama’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

  “He has taken leave for an important mission and he will return soon.”

  That must have been what Amonmose was telling her last night when she was half asleep. “Do you know where he has gone?” she asked.

  “He did not disclose his whereabouts to me,” Shu answered. “He only asked me to deliver the message.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Early this morning, before the first rays of dawn.”

  Kama tried to hide her disappointment, but somehow Shu must have read her mind.

  “Do not worry,” Shu said gently. “I shall protect you. You are always safe with me.”

  Kama looked at Shu, and for the first time, she really noticed him. He was tall and thickset, with a bald head, as was the fashion. He was not nearly as handsome as Amonmose, but she did not expect him to be.

  Shu’s dark skin was unblemished except for two strange branding marks on his left and right forearms. She had never thought to ask about them, about anything. She’d always seen him as reminder of her capture. But he had kind eyes, she saw now. And he was always there for her, always keeping vigil over her.

  “Shu, how did you get those marks on your arms?” she inquired.

  The gentle giant looked down at his brands with a mixture of pride and regret. “That is a long story, Lady Kama.”

  Kama smiled. “Well, I have all day to listen. I am going to get dressed, and then you can tell me all about it while we’re out.”

  “Out?”

  “Yes.” Kama smiled cheerfully. “I think today is a fine day to visit the market, and I would be happy for you to escort me rather than be my shadow.”

  Shu nodded with a faintly pleased expression. “Very well. Your wish is my command.”

  Mutema carried a large basket of barely on her hip. Her day was just beginning, and the work would last long into the night, but she had no complaints. Distraction was a blessing, and labor brought her the manageable pain of aching muscles.

  In the past few months, she’d developed a resilience she did not know she had. When news of the fire and her family’s death reached her, she cried day and night, bitter at the gods for taking her loved ones. She’d lost her daughter and the love of her life. She’d lost her heart from her chest..

  She had not planned for life without Kama. No mother would expect to outlive her child. She’d tried so hard to protect her; she’d failed miserably. And now Kama would never know the joys of motherhood; the love of a good man; the confidence that comes with middle age; or the wisdom that accompanies old age.

  With no bodies recovered, Mutema had even been denied the privilege of having a proper funeral procession. With no body to reside in, their Ka would be lost. Mutema prayed their souls would not be wandering the Underworld.

  Now, she was alone in the world. She had nothing, save this house—for now. It was the house that Akahmen owned, and since he had no living heirs, the state would take it; now, it was only a matter of time before she was ousted. In a few short months, Mutema had grown thin, and her once glorious, dark mane of hair had turned into limp, white strands. Years doubled their appearance on her body. She spent her days making beer to sell and grieving over the death of her family.

  Mutema emptied her basket of barley into a large wooden vat and then began the arduous task of making a cooked malt. She mixed the barley with emmer wheat and water and then heated the mixture until it simmered. She worked slowly and methodically, stirring until the two grains were thoroughly blended. The whirling colors of gold and green melt into a muted brown. When she was satisfied with the resulting texture, she added her special recipe of yeast and uncooked malt. To distinguish her beer from other brewers, she flavored it with honey and various fruits. She sniffed deeply, breathing in the heady aroma. It was often said that wine was the ambrosia of the gods. That could be, but beer was the nectar that fueled the common man.

  As she worked in her small kitchen, she heard someone calling her name.

  “Mutema, are you there?”

  The voice belonged to one of her neighbors. “I am in the kitchen,” she replied.

  Seconds later, her neighbor, a plump older woman, appeared. She was out of breath and flushed. “Mutema, there are three men waiting outside for you.”

  “Oh pity. This batch of beer will not be ready for days. I do not think I have enough from the last batch to sell. I wonder how much they require.”

  Her neighbor placed a hand on her arm to halt her. “I do not think it is beer they want. They look like soldiers.”

  Mutema looked confused for a moment, and then her shoulders sagged. The magistrate had finally sent someone to remove her from the property. She breathed deeply and steeled herself for the inevitable. “I shall see to them. I may need to rely on your kindness for somewhere to lay my head tonight,” she added.

  “Of course.” Her neighbor gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You are always welcome in my home.”

  Mutema gathered her courage. She had survived the loss of her only child and endured the trauma of losing the only man she’d ever loved. She’d escaped poverty and an abusive husband. What more could the gods do to her? They had taken everything but the very air she breathed. In this absence, from this place of emptiness, she found there was nothing left in the world for her to fear.

  She emerged from the cool interior of her house into the bright sunlight to find three soldiers on horseback waiting outside. Instead of wearing the traditional Nubian loincloths, they wore short white tunics knotted at the waist—the apparel of the Egyptians. But from constant interaction, many Nubians had adopted that style of dress. Mutema still preferred the handsome animal skins and rich textile patterns Nubia was known for.

  One of the soldiers nudged his horse forward. “You are Mutema Nubemheb?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, she merely nodded.

  “Your presence is requested,” he told her matter-of-factly. “You may ride with me.” He extended his large, callused hand.

  The soldier’s horse snorted loudly and stamped one of its hooves impatiently. Mutema gasped and scurried back. She’d never ridden a horse before. In fact, the only horses she’d seen had been securely attached to chariots, and from a distance they appeared a great deal smaller than this one. Almost everyone traveled by donkey or on foot, unless they were nobility and had the good fortune of owning a litter.

  There was a time when Mutema might have accepted the challenge of riding a horse. It would have been an adventure. But those times were long gone, and even though her spirit was still strong, her bones were not.

  “I shall walk,” she said, turning her nose up.

  The soldiers offered no objection, and she willingly followed them as they kept a deliberately slow pace. She had no idea where they were taking her, and she did not ask. From the stony looks on their faces, they probably would not have told her anyway.

  The midday sun had barely peaked when the soldiers led Mutema into an encampment outside the city. Dozens of soldiers were engaged in various tasks around a half dozen tents. Mutema watched their movements warily as she followed the mounted soldiers. They came to a stop in front of the last white tent. One of the soldiers pulled the large flap of the tent aside and disappeared within.

  He reappeared moments later and held the flap open for her. “You may enter now.” He waited as she passed through and then rejoined his companions.

  Mutema did not understand. She’d assumed she would be brought to court, but she knew the moment she left her home, the soldiers were taking her elsewhere. She’d made no protest as she followed them through the city and to the edge of the forest where their tents were hidden. But she now worried for her safety.

  She entered the dimly lit tent and stood hesitantly, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. From the outside, the tent appeared to be quickly assembled, but the furnishing
s inside bespoke a certain elegance. There were beautifully handcrafted rugs on the ground; a small table supporting a gold bowl heavily laden with fruit; a silver wine decanter with matching goblets; and a pallet of exotic animal skins atop a makeshift bed in the corner. The unmistakable odor of myrrh incense permeated the air. She knew one thing for certain. The occupant of this tent was accustomed to the finer things in life.

  Amonmose sat in the comfort of his tent, enjoying a rare moment of relief from the oppressive heat. He longed for a cool bath in his massive tub, but the nature of his mission did not lend itself to luxurious accommodations. Days ago, he’d left the palace early, while the first colors of dawn peeked through the tapestry of the morning sky. He took a secret entourage with him, which included Baal, thirty soldiers, and two tracking guides. They’d been riding hard, virtually nonstop ever since.

  He sent a messenger back to inform his advisors of his whereabouts, but he’d told no one of his purpose, not even his beloved Kama. When he’d left her almost a week ago, she had been slumbering so deeply she had not stirred when he left.

  He’d briefly considered making love to her one last time, but the sound of her slow, contented breathing convinced him otherwise. He drank in his fill of her image alone, her flawless skin and curvaceous body half-buried in the sheets. The memory would have to be enough to sustain him until he got back. She would be confused by his absence and hurt that he had not said goodbye, but it was a risk worth taking.

  In the few months he’d known Kama, they’d shared more than just carnal desires. She’d told him of her life from before, and this was how he’d learned where to find her mother, Mutema. As soon as the woman entered his tent, he saw her sharp eyes survey her surroundings. She was small, with a cloud of long, white cloaking her shoulders. Upon first glance, he thought her to be an old woman, but then he saw her young face and the same noble bearing that Kama possessed. Her dramatically high cheekbones were accented with red ochre. And black kohl liberally lined the rims of her sparkling, dark eyes. She was exquisite in every way, standing defiantly beside the entrance of the tent. Is this what his beautiful Kama would look like when she got older?

  Mutema was dressed in traditional Nubian garments, a long, leather sheath that extended to her ankles, with elaborate beadwork bordering the edges. The necklace she wore was fashioned from dyed cowrie shells, and it draped around her neck no less than six times, with the longest strand dangling above her waist.

  “Mutema, how is it that you have stark white hair, yet your face is so youthful?” Amonmose asked.

  A shadow crossed her strong features. “Because I have been dealt a great tragedy, suffered a loss no mother should know. All that I had is dead, and each day is a struggle.”

  The Pharaoh’s heart tightened in his chest. He was the reason for her misfortune; his orders had brought tragedy upon her house. But there was no changing the past or erasing the pains of loss. He could, however, certainly control the future. He’d brought foreign dignitaries to their knees, forced nations to surrender to his mighty army, and doubled the size of his kingdom’s coffers. If he was capable of doing all of this, surely he could make one woman happy.

  “I am sorry for the hardship you have endured,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “My suffering has been compounded by your attempts to cast me from the home I have known for years.”

  Amonmose frowned. “I’ve no desire to do such a thing.”

  Her face clouded with confusion, and she pieced her words together slowly. “You dress as a nobleman…yet, the gold pectoral you wear is encrusted with the most brilliant turquoise I’ve ever seen. A magistrate would not possess such jewelry.”

  He was traveling in disguise, dressed like a member of the nobility to avoid drawing attention to himself. Kerma was powerful in its own right, so he was not leaving anything to chance. He camped outside the gates of the main city and sent his scouts to make inquiries in the city. If Amonmose or any of his men were caught here, it was certain death. “I am not a magistrate and I have not called you here to force you from your home.”

  “You stand like a man with the world at his command. Who are you?” she demanded.

  If the situation were not so serious, he might have laughed. Mutema spoke in a confident and direct manner, much like her daughter. “I am a man of great importance,” he told her.

  She eyed him warily. “You obviously know my name, and your soldiers knew where I lived. So, if you are not here to evict me, what business have you with me?”

  “I have traveled a great distance to find you and give you an important piece of news.”

  She motioned to the objects in his tent. “You are someone of considerable wealth. Our worlds are far apart. What news could you have that would interest me?”

  “Our worlds are not so far apart as you might think. In fact, we have something in common. I know your daughter, Kama. And I am here to tell you that she is alive and well.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mutema’s eyes narrowed. “You bring me here to spout cruelty? My troubles are abysmal, yet you dare to jest. What kind of creature are you?”

  Amonmose had expected joy, gratitude . “I assure you, there is no intention of humor or malice on my part,” he said. “I speak the truth.”

  Mutema digested this information slowly. “I was told…my child perished in a fire,” she said. “I have resigned myself to this. And now, you come bearing rumors that she is alive?”

  “It is no rumor. I can tell you for certain that she is not dead.”

  Mutema’s heart skipped erratically as she battled to contain her emotions. Kama…alive? Could it be true? “How can you attest to such a fact?” she asked.

  Amonmose motioned for her to sit down on one of the stools, and he sat across from her. “I know she is alive because I am the one who rescued her from the fire.”

  Mutema sagged with relief. The seed of hope that had taken root now sprouted wildly inside her. Kama was alive. Her sweet child was alive! She put her head in her hands and wept quietly. “I never…I thought…” she wiped her tears and clasped his hands. “Thank you for bringing this news. May the gods bless you!”

  “But”— he paused, giving her the feeling that she would not like what next came from his lips. “I am also the one who started the fire.”

  She squeezed his fingers, as if that could steel her against the shock. Then, she slowly pulled away. “I heard of a great and powerful army that swept through the night and turned the village into a blazing inferno,” she said. “If that fire had not occurred on that particular night, my family would be alive today.” She drew back from him further as her understanding dawned. “You are…”

  “I am Pharaoh Amonmose Tehutimes, ruler of Egypt.”

  Anguish tore at her heart. “You are the man responsible for my family’s death. And now, you are telling me that Kama is alive?”

  “I realize how great your pain is—”

  “No!” she hissed. “You cannot! You cannot know a mother’s pain. You cannot know the feeling of confronting the very monster who is the cause of my misery.” Her eyes glistened with tears and she leaned toward him, her voice shaking with hurt and rage. “I want to claw your eyes out. I want to bury a dagger in your chest.”

  Amonmose took a deep breath. “Mutema, I do not blame you for the way you feel. You say I don’t understand your pain – but I do. I too, have lost family. I did what I did for Egypt. I was protecting my citizens.”

  Mutema stared at him a long time, then stood up and walked away, putting distance between them. “I forget myself. You are Pharaoh of Egypt; the closest thing to a god.” She glanced around, fear creeping into her heart. “You could have me killed for my disrespect. We’re at the edge of the city, and no one can hear me scream.”

  “I mean you no harm, Mutema. I am not a monster. I came only to tell you that Kama has been in my palace at Thebes. She has adjusted quite well, and all of her needs are being provided for. She is safe there, a
nd no harm will come to her while I am away.”

  She nodded slowly, still in disbelief at this news.

  “I see so much of her likeness in you,” he added.

  Mutema sat back down, smoothing out her clothes. “My hair was once dark and thick like Kama’s,” she explained. “But it turned white when I learned of her death. She was my only child. She was beauty and strength and vivaciousness. She was everything to me, and my world was darkness when I learned I would never lay eyes on her again.

  “Her uncle was a good man, a pious man, devoted to his gods and his family. He took us in and gave unselfishly of his time and his home.” She shook her head sadly and then made sure to catch his gaze. “His daughter, Satati, was a mere child, planning to be married the very next day. And even though I did not agree with the marriage, I knew Akahmen did what was best for our family. I argued with him the day he journeyed to Aswan, but I’d promised myself that when he returned, we would put our differences aside and forgive each other. We always did.”

  A lone tear rolled slowly down her cheek. She felt weary from this discourse. It was all so unreal. “And then, this tragedy. A tragedy you caused. I never had the chance to tell Akahmen that I forgave him. He went to his death believing I was angry with him. You, Pharaoh of Egypt, took away all that I loved.”

  Amonmose was silent for a moment, a sympathetic pain squeezing in his chest. “I am sorry for the pain and profound sorrow I have caused you. I take full responsibility for the fire. I ordered it on the recommendation of my advisors, who assured me there was an uprising. These things are done in war. But, if I had the chance to do it again, I may have done things differently.”

  He would never have met Kama if he had done things differently. Someone, it seemed, must always suffer. Amonmose took Mutema’s slender hand in his own. “I cannot change what happened. Satati and Akahmen are dead, but Kama is still alive, and I have come to bring you back to Thebes.”

  She looked at him with moist eyes. “Why?”