Beyond them, the dark-green and gold Pharaony dahabeyeh floated on the water.
‘It’s an elegant yacht, yet a houseboat too,’ breathed Aida in admiration as Phares took her on board for a tour.
‘It’s been converted from its original state. Once it would have needed to be towed by a steam launch if the winds were unfavourable, but now it has a steam engine of its own.’ Phares grinned, clearly pleased with her response. He greeted the small crew, standing at the ready in their white galaleeb. ‘They’re part Nubian, part Arab. Fine sailors.’
The eight cabins were exceptionally spacious and opulent, fitted with everything luxurious modern civilisation required. The woodwork was white and the brass shone, the portholes placed so passengers could admire the passing landscape from their beds, which had brass bedsteads no different than some of the ones at home, Aida noticed with surprise. Each bed was spread with an eiderdown because although the days were hot, at night the temperature dropped drastically.
The main salon was on the upper deck, along with a dining room and smoking room. The decks were extremely spacious, spread with carpets and generously fitted with a few deckchairs and rattan chairs with comfy cushions, a table with a glass top and umbrella.
The magnificent houseboat’s interior had murals illustrating Ra’s sun boat at different stages of its daily journey to the sun, and the ceiling of the main sitting room featured the sacred ship cradled by the protective arms of the giant figure of Nut, goddess of protection. Ra was depicted at the prow, crowned by the sun disk, and in the company of the Ennead of Heliopolis, nine solar deities who featured in the creation myth.
Phares paused as Aida tilted her head back to gaze at the mural.
‘It’s wonderful, isn’t it?’
‘The whole of the myth is portrayed on these walls and ceilings.’
‘The Boat of a Million Years,’ she murmured. It was one of her favourite bedtime stories, which her father loved to tell. In it, Ra and his companion gods sailed through the sky, giving light and heat to the world, but the part of the story she liked most, which always gave her the shivers, was when they boarded another barge, Sektet, for the dangerous journey through the night, sailing to the terrifying realm of the Duat in the underworld. Here, they had to battle an evil serpent, Apep, and in defeating him, they kept the universe in order, with right triumphing over wrong.
‘The Ancient Egyptians had a delightful and imaginative concept of the universe,’ Phares told Aida later on as they sat watching the sunset, sipping champagne on deck in the pleasantly cool hours of the evening. ‘They saw their world as confined in something resembling a large box, with a narrow, oblong floor with Egypt as its centre. The Nile, arising from the endless ocean in the south, flowed towards endless Mediterranean in the north. The sky seemed to them somewhat like an iron ceiling sprinkled with suspended stars. The people who lived within this protected, fertile area were remej, ordinary folk. All others were dune wanderers, people of the desert.’
To hear Phares explain the mythology of their land with such devotion brought back memories of learning those same stories and ancient beliefs at her father’s lap. Aida felt moved, because all at once she felt as if she was home, with family she had known and loved all her life. Not for the first time did she recall how close he had been to Ayoub, how as a boy he had so enjoyed the company of her father. Now it was almost as if it was Ayoub’s voice she was hearing, yet this was her husband, Phares; it felt so right, and her eyes misted over with grateful tears.
For the next few days, the river stretched endlessly away before them, smooth as glass. The sky was always cloudless, the days warm, the evenings exquisite. Every reach or bend of the river presented objects of delight and historical interest. Aida had started a diary and she spent much time observing and painting with words the vivid images she was seeing and the emotions they aroused in her.
Each morning, they sat on deck, Aida writing letters and her diary; Phares reading medical journals. Now and then, they raised their heads to watch the sunny riverside scenes sliding by at walking pace amid the palm groves, sandbanks, and patches of fuzzy-headed doora, maize, and cotton fields: a boy plodding along the bank between the papyrus and the stones, leading a camel laden with cotton; girls coming to the water’s edge carrying great empty jars on their heads, waiting to fill them when the boat had gone by. Pigeon towers of mud villages peeped through clumps of lebbek trees; a solitary fellah, felt skullcap on his head and only a slip of scanty tunic fastened about his loins, working the long pole of a shaduf, stooping and rising again and again, with the regularity of a pendulum. This scene was no different to the paintings Aida had seen in the tombs of Thebes: the man so closely resembled an Ancient Egyptian that she found herself wondering fancifully how he had escaped being mummified four or five thousand years ago.
After lunch, replete with food and sunshine, Aida and Phares retired to their cabin for a siesta, where they alternated between lazily exploring each other’s bodies and sleeping, reviving themselves for the evening hours. And the nights … oh, such nights! The stars shone with a lustrous brilliancy that was so intense. Aida’s senses were overwhelmed by the perfect little world that encompassed them … the boat, with her broad sails and her long wake whitening in the moonlight, glided smoothly as her Arab crew, lying on deck, chanted their peculiar and plaintive songs. Sometimes the scream of a startled pelican or the gurgle of some huge fish as it wallowed in the water might disturb the silence for a moment, but it only made the calm that followed more profound.
Aida and Phares often sat up late into the night, quietly absorbing the sounds of the moonlit river before returning to the privacy of their cabin to explore further the delights of each other. Their hunger for one another was insatiable, and each tried to emulate the other in trying new ways and positions to maximise their mutual pleasure.
One night, Phares produced a book, the Kama Sutra. ‘It’s the bible of sex positions,’ he told Aida, his intense dark irises dancing with wickedness. ‘Inspiring, don’t you think?’ he added as he flipped the pages.
‘Completely wanton,’ she answered, though an illicit thrill chased a quivering path up her spine.
‘Just like you, chérie,’ he teased with a lazy amusement, pulling her against him and kissing the side of her neck. ‘Were you a courtesan in another life?’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ she dimpled.
He leaned back to look at her, trailing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. ‘On the contrary … You are never so beautiful as when you’re enjoying giving yourself to me. The Kama Sutra is very wise when it comes to the power of a woman’s sexual pleasure. Unlike men, those of your sex are mysterious, like a seashell, delicate and deep. When making love, they open up to show their beloved their core. Then they close their shell up again, away from other prying eyes. It makes the man feel special … proud and honoured.’
‘Then why do so many men in our circle take mistresses after they are married? It seems to be the norm. Most women seem to accept it – in fact, some even welcome it.’
‘That’s because neither the man nor the woman in our stilted society understands the principle of lovemaking. When a wife becomes the mistress of her husband, and not a mere procreation machine, it is the most wonderful thing. Love is something you give, not take. So many Coptic couples tend to forget that. Our men are selfish, and our women have not been taught the art of seduction. The Coptic Church has much to answer for.’ His fingers traced the outline of her jaw. ‘I think nothing can be more beautiful than a wanton sharing of pleasure behind closed doors in the privacy of a husband and wife’s bedroom.’
His touch on her skin was distracting her, making her pulse dance. ‘Where on earth did you get all these ideas? I would have never thought you so broadminded.’
Phares gave a throaty laugh. ‘This broadmindedness, as you call it, has strings attached.’
Aida’s gaze was riveted to her husband.
His e
yes raked over her as his fingers trailed down to the neckline of her cotton dress. ‘I am a very possessive and jealous lover, chérie. If you ever gave me reason to doubt your faithfulness, I would never touch you again.’
Her breathing deepened. ‘I will never give you cause to doubt my love or fidelity.’
Phares’s hand went lower, his thumb lazily circling one nipple, which instantly hardened against the thin fabric of her dress. ‘You are a very provocative woman, chérie. Men will pursue you,’ he murmured huskily, staring down at her.
Aida gasped at his touch and countered breathily, ‘What about you? You’re not the celibate type. You have such a fierce sex drive.’
He laid a finger on her lips to keep her quiet, and bent over to whisper against her mouth, ‘I love you. I want you. Now and always …’ Then he silenced her in the most effective way possible by bringing his mouth down hard on hers.
Struggling to draw herself away a little, she gazed deep into his eyes. ‘You won’t tire of me?’
His hand slid down her body and slipped beneath her skirt, his dextrous fingers finding her feminine core, drawing a deep moan of need from his wife. ‘Will you get tired of this, chérie?’
‘No,’ she breathed as waves of desire began to storm inside her.
His fingers worked backwards and forwards between her slick heat. ‘Why would I ever feel the need to stray when I have you with me, feeling you throbbing and swelling under my touch, your warmth flooding my fingertips? As long as you lust for me, your cries of pleasure in my arms will come between me and any other woman.’
In an instant, he pulled his shirt over his head and intoxicated with excitement, Aida’s eyes feasted on his naked torso, his muscles like bronzed marble. ‘Take off your dress,’ he growled. ‘It’s time you experienced just how inspiring the Kama Sutra can be.’
His hungry gaze travelled the length of Aida’s body as her dress fell in a pool around her feet, and he quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothes.
Phares proceeded to sit on the bed with his legs crossed. Aida could see that he was totally aroused and that a muscle in his cheek was clenching and unclenching spasmodically. ‘Come,’ he said in a low, husky voice, leaning forwards as he extended his hand and pulled her towards him. ‘Sit on my lap and wrap your legs around my waist.’
The aching emptiness low in her pelvis intensified as Aida stared at him, drinking in his magnificent arousal. ‘You’re beautiful,’ she whispered.
She would gladly have taken a snapshot of him in this position; he was completely perfect: a classic pharaonic statue of flesh and blood.
‘Take me inside you,’ he ordered softly.
She gave a shocked gasp as she slid on to him. He felt so good, so hard, sinking into her with a depth that they hadn’t experienced previously, and instinctively, she wrapped her legs even tighter around his waist, hugging him to her with her arms and her thighs.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, his hand at the small of her back, pushing into her further so he was buried to the hilt. They began to rock backwards and forward in unison.
‘Yes, chérie … wrap me up in your moist cocoon. You’re so soft, so deliciously wet for me.’ Phares thrust hard and deep inside her, and she was groaning, digging her nails into him, bucking convulsively as he took her to a level of pleasure so fierce it made their previous encounters seem almost tame. ‘You want this, don’t you? It feels good, eh?’
He lowered his head, and his mouth caught one taut pink peak and then the other. Aida’s breathing came in rasps as she quivered, craving those magician’s hands on her breasts. Attuned to her needs, Phares cupped them in his palms, hard and swollen, squeezing the aching flesh, and she jerked as his tongue swirled around each jutting crest in turn, gasping as he nibbled and sucked at them, sending lightning arcing through her all the way down to her womb.
And now he took her hand and placed it between their bodies, just at the point where he had entered her. ‘Touch me here, and let me touch you,’ he groaned as his fingers reached from underneath and started to tease her throbbing bud.
‘Phares … oh, Phares!’ Words poured from her lips, words that in other conditions would have made her blush, they were so crude; all thought of preserving some propriety lost in the need for further erotic sensations. But she didn’t care; she was shaking in every cell of her body, only aware of the amazing sensation of him filling her, of him stroking the crux of her need with measured, rhythmic strokes that made everything burn and tingle, tighten and clench inside her.
Phares placed his hot lips against her ear, nuzzled the side of her neck, drawing on her flesh, branding her with a small mark before nibbling at the lobe. ‘You want more? I can feel it. You’re getting hotter, and wetter … I can feel you throbbing under my fingers, begging for release.’
‘Yes, more …’ she groaned, rocking backwards and forwards, moving up and down frantically on top of him.
Phares responded intuitively, stroking her bottom, cupping the round, full cheeks, spreading them wider on top of him so his rigid shaft could delve deeper into her moist core, and she opened further in response to his caressing fingers.
‘Yes, oh yes!’ Aida panted as her hand joined the caressing. This spinning madness was just too much. She was dizzy, the tension in her body coiled like a spring; she was getting wetter and wetter. She passed her tongue over her lips, savouring the stimulating sensations mushrooming in her centre. Was she touching him or herself? She couldn’t tell anymore. All she knew was they were one … their bodies were one, their souls were one … She didn’t want this thrilling pleasure flooding her every nerve to stop.
And now he was taking her lips in his mouth in no gentle exploratory kiss, his agile tongue darting in and out, enacting what his hard manhood was doing within her while his fingers still fondled her moist, aching core. Aida burned from the inside out, certain she was about to ignite as he continued with his persistent rhythmic thrusts. It was as if her body was soaring high into space, waves of ecstasy washing over her, stronger and stronger. She was panting, desperate for completion.
‘Please,’ she sobbed.
‘Soon, very soon, chérie,’ he whispered in her ear as lifting himself up and holding her against him, he turned and laid her on the bed.
Phares’s mouth returned to Aida’s with a violence that made her gasp. Still, she gave herself up to his kiss with such ardour that a great shudder ran through him and he tightened his arms around her savagely, tipping her head back with the force of an overwhelming surge of passion that left them both helpless against its drive.
Aida was ready for his onslaught when, shoving her legs apart, he slammed inside her, pumping harder and faster, issuing the primitive male demand for her submission which she welcomed with every nerve, every sinew, every breath in her body. She pushed him as hard as he was pushing her. He was claiming her, possessing her, and that was what she wanted … what she craved.
Arching did not seem enough. Clinging was not enough either. Aida wanted to feel more of him inside her and parting her legs wider to give him further access, she lifted herself up on her elbows to meet his merciless thrusts.
Her body wept with pleasure, scalding tears of honey that made Phares groan. ‘Yes, Aida … yes, chérie, open up for me … love me, Aida … never stop!’ His thrusts were getting wilder as he pressed her down into the bed, setting a frantic rhythm of plunges, blotting out all thoughts except the pain and the ecstasy his body was administering.
And now Phares’s body had become rigid. Aida knew that he was trying to control his climax. Hers was coming too, the waves growing stronger and stronger … she was almost there. Her internal muscles tightened like a fist around his flesh.
She heard him let out a fierce growl, then he erupted inside her with a groan that sounded like that of a wild animal, the hot liquid of his seed flooding her, and it was this last push that rushed Aida over the edge. She met him, exploding into tiny shards of fractured light, gasping and writhing on t
he bed in the throes of a climax that went on and on, softening finally into a series of delicious aftershocks as she floated down from the stars to which he had taken her.
They collapsed together and lay spent, panting, still trembling and moaning, replete with pleasure.
Aida purred as Phares’s arm encircled her. The power of this magic between them was beyond measure.
‘Still doubt the hold you have on me, chérie?’
‘No,’ she said, her voice shaky. She stroked his flushed face, feeling the heat in his skin, still excited by the evidence he had shown her of how he felt.
For a moment she lay there, her breathing calming gradually. ‘Phares, when I think of how it nearly went wrong, how we might never have got together again …’
He laughed softly. ‘Shuush, chérie. All that is in the past now. Ehna welad el naharda, we are today’s children.’
* * *
Aida and Phares spent the next few days visiting the monuments between Cairo and Assiut. First, they stopped at the Middle Kingdom necropolis of Beni Hassan, where a group of rock-cut tombs had been carved into the high limestone cliffs on the eastern banks of the river. Aida had been particularly delighted to find that it was on their itinerary because her father’s next big excavation project would have taken them there. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness, though, as they walked through the subterranean burial chambers and gazed at the colourful paintings of everyday life, hunting and warfare adorning the walls of the tombs.
How she missed Ayoub!
Phares seemed to intuit her sorrow and encircled her shoulders with his arm, drawing her closer to him. She looked up at him with a grateful smile and vowed that, for his sake, she would try not to dwell on what might have been – it was the here and now that mattered.
Song of the Nile Page 54
