Ismene didn't understand the words, but Naeemah had already told her what would transpire step by step and was, at that moment, translating behind her.
“Welcome, friends, guests. I am honored by your presence here at this most joyous occasion. I wish to celebrate with you the formalization of my betrothal to the Lady Ismene of Greece. I stand before you with her father's acceptance of my offering of mahr and with his consent. It is my wish now to give the Lady Ismene this ring—a gift from the pharaohs to the old and new worlds to represent the immortality of this bond we will make.”
Alistair then moved toward Ismene, eyes only on her. They each took the steps necessary to close the gap between them. He said one thing more in Egyptian, but Ismene was now too far away from Naeemah to hear her translation.
Alistair reached for her, taking her hand gently in his. Then he spoke in hushed tones to her in their native tongue.
“I ask your permission, to have you, Ismene, as my wife?” he whispered for her ears alone.
Her eyes locked with his, surprised. This was the traditional Greek request of a father for his daughter's hand in marriage, but he had altered it for her.
He had her hand and the ring poised to slip into place, but he paused, waiting for her response.
“The gods are smiling! I give it.”
His eyes glistened as he slipped the ring on her third finger. Before releasing her hand, he squeezed it with gentleness, “The gods are smiling!”
Alistair then turned and beckoned Neterka to come forward and bring him the shabka. In that moment, Ismene reeled in the knowledge that she was truly engaged. And not just by some strange ceremony adhered to by some foreign customs, but by her own people's custom. It was all the more real to her, whether she wanted it to be or not.
Moving back toward her, he identified for her and the congregation that it was the shabka offering. Then he revealed the most breathtaking, elegant piece of jewelry she had ever seen. It was an Egyptian collar with a gorgeous, skilled layout of beads and gems on an intricate pattern of gold holding them in place.
Ismene felt Naeemah's hands on her neck, removing the simple necklace she now wore so that Alistair could place the shabka around her neck. Then his hands were against her skin, clasping the necklace, his face so close to hers. As difficult as it was to meet his eyes, Ismene found herself unable to look away; her eyes were fixed on his. This was the closest they had ever been. She could sense that he was holding his breath and she, too, found herself quite affected by this closeness, fighting the urge to shake her head to clear it.
The moment lasted forever in her mind, yet was over too soon when he broke contact and moved away. She regretted the absence of his hands, but he soon took hold of her hand and, turning back toward the crowd, spoke again, one word. They cheered and applauded in response. Then, from somewhere behind them, she heard music and the crowd shifted as many broke into dancing.
* * *
Not everyone cheered or made merry at this most honored celebration. In the darkest corner of the banquet hall, a man fought to contain a snarl that threatened to scramble his features. He knew that he must wait and bide his time—now was not the moment and this was not the place. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.
* * *
Ismene was drawn in to the merriment of the people around her. All of the party guests were dancing and singing with a tune that lightened her heart. Glancing around the room, she took notice of the people present. No servants had been invited to join in the festivities, save Neterka, who was serving as Alistair's second hand, and Alonah, who was hers. She was unsure how Naeemah was classified, but she, too, stayed for the celebration. What a gift she had been. Even now, she was by Ismene's side, pointing out things of interest for her.
As Ismene's gaze wandered about the room, her eyes came to rest on Alistair. There he stood, across the room, talking with some of the heads of state. These men, who were rather valued in the kingdom, did not take time out to speak with her, but they were all too happy to monopolize Alistair's time. Seeming to sense Ismene's gaze, Alistair lifted his head from the conversation that was no doubt of great importance and turned to look in her direction. A slow smile spread across his face when his eyes met hers. She offered him a shy smile in return. Then, much to her surprise, he excused himself from the company of those all-important men and made his way over to where she stood.
Naeemah allowed her comment to trail off as she stepped back from Ismene, who paid her little mind. She was concentrating on Alistair's approaching form with great trepidation. Her heart raced. How was she to respond to such a gesture? Why would he abandon such powerful people to seek her out?
At last approaching her, Alistair stretched out his hand toward her. “It is a shame that the most beautiful woman at the party is on the sidelines, gazing at the scenery. You must dance. And I would ask if I might have that honor?”
Her breath caught in her throat and her face felt warm at his compliment.
“Come, milady. Everyone wishes us to make merry together,” he said, his voice warm and light. But it deepened as he said, “As do I.”
She hesitated. Not because she didn't want to dance, but rather she was attempting to still her breathing.
Alistair took one step closer to her, raising an eyebrow in question. It was a rather attractive expression on him.
Unable to refuse, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to lead her toward the mass of swaying Egyptians.
Part of her had been afraid that she would feel lost and overwhelmed in a crowd of people so foreign to her. But with Alistair holding her hand and guiding her movements, her anxiety was the last thing on her mind. She was caught up in the shared joy of those around her. They seemed all too thrilled that she would join them as they celebrated her. And for the first time, she could imagine calling this place home and claiming these people as her own. Taken aback, the thought scared her. But why? Shouldn't she want for this to be a good transition? Didn't she want to feel a part of the people she would be spending the rest of her life with? Why did she feel so guilty then? Like a traitor? Still, she wanted to hold back a piece of herself from these people, from this man.
The evening wore on until the earliest hours of the morning. That was when Ismene made her way to her bedchambers. She was relieved that her bed was here in the palace due to the hour in which they retired. This evening had been full of fun and strange new emotions. What was it that she had felt when Alistair stood so close to her, touching her neck to put the shabka on her? She touched the necklace even then as she remembered the tingling sensations in her skin responding to his touch. Was it mere physical attraction? Or more than that?
Alonah waltzed into the bedchambers, still dancing. Ismene stifled a laugh at the display. Her handmaiden was perhaps a little too lighthearted from a bit too much wine. But she was still able to help Ismene go through her evening routine of washing off the face paint, dressing for bed, and applying oils to her skin. It was all just a bit sillier than usual. That was fine with Ismene. In the end, she could not stop herself from sharing a laugh with Alonah, and it served to grant her a reprieve from these new emotions for a little while.
It wasn't long, however, before it was time for Alonah to leave for her own quarters and Ismene was left to crawl into bed and face the still, quiet night. As Alonah blew out the last candle and closed the door, Ismene's thoughts were again on Alistair and the days to come.
This would be her last night here in her garden sanctuary. Pharaoh had insisted that he be allowed to throw the bachelor party for Alistair, so they would swap places. Alistair would come to the palace and Ismene would move back into Alistair's grand estate. Starting tomorrow night, the eve of her wedding, she would call the noble mansion her home. That thought overwhelmed her, but not as much as what it would entail. She would be, not only at home with Alistair, but would also be his wife. His wife. Her face warmed as the full implication of that filled her. A great fear flooded her mind and body. What
was she going to do?
* * *
The hour was quite late...or rather, quite early when Alonah walked to her quarters. She sensed that she was, indeed, a little inebriated. It had been a fun party. There had been dancing! And one of the Egyptian soldiers had asked her to dance—twice. He had a handsome face with strong angles and kind, dark eyes. Alonah had blushed when he'd first locked eyes with her as she had found him to be rather good-looking. So caught up in her memories of the earlier encounter, she didn't even realize that she was swaying as if to the music she had just been dancing to.
All of a sudden, two men were on either side of her, steadying her.
“Whoa there, milady, are you all right?” the man on the right said as he gripped her arms. His hands were firm.
She caught herself and attempted to pull her arms free. “Yes, I'm quite fine, thank you. Just caught up in the music, I suppose.”
“Oh, we know about getting caught up, don't we?” the man on the left asked, his face was close to hers, uncomfortably close. His voice was husky and she could smell that he'd had too much to drink as well.
“And rhythm.” The other laughed.
She struggled to free her arms, but they were being held in viselike grips. “Please let me go,” she pleaded. “You are hurting me!”
“Do you suppose it's true what they say about Greek women?” the man on the right stated, moving a hand to wrap around her waist.
Pulling in futility again, she attempted to jerk away from his hand. “Please stop!” Her voice was firm, but she knew it quivered. She was becoming afraid.
“And what's that?” a voice boomed from behind them.
They all twisted their heads around to see who had come. It was the man she had danced with!
“Jabari,” one of the men slurred. “Care to join us?”
“You're drunk, Fenyang, and not thinking straight. I suggest you release the lady before you give someone reason to think you are exhibiting conduct unbefitting a military man.” Jabari moved closer to them, inserting himself between Alonah and Fenyang, who had loosened his grip on her.
Jabari then placed a hand on the other man's hands. “Sebak, go sleep off the wine.”
The man's words seemed to be penetrating the alcohol haze around their brains. The man dropped his hands too. Jabari then moved Alonah away from the men, his movements slow, keeping himself between them and her.
Fenyang and Sebak stood still for a handful of seconds as if trying to decide what to do next.
Jabari placed a hand on his sword. “Go on to the barracks, men.”
They seemed a little unsure if that's what they wanted to do, but in the end they sauntered off in that direction.
The handsome soldier then shifted his attention back to Alonah. “Are you all right, milady?”
She nodded, her face warming at his address. “I am but a servant girl,” she said, averting her gaze as she rubbed her arms, trying to hide. “So, please, it's just ‘Alonah.’”
He glanced down at her arms where the men had held her so tightly. Alonah groaned; there must be red marks. She would have bruises in the morning for sure. But if that was all she had remaining from this late-night encounter, she was lucky. Jabari had come upon them at the right moment. Things could have gotten much worse.
Jabari's eyes sought hers once more. “You are as beautiful as a queen tonight, Alonah. So I will address you as I wish, milady. May I escort you to your quarters?”
Her heart thundered in her chest. She feared he would be able to hear it!
“Please,” was all she managed to get out.
He offered her his arm to lean on. She took it gratefully.
* * *
A frown was etched into Alistair's features. The sight before him caused his whole body to tense up. It was a sight that had greeted his staff early that morning. Neterka had been the only one brave enough to bring him out there to see it.
“Get it off,” he said, each word enunciated and pushed out of his mouth with force. There were plenty of servants gathered around, but he spoke to no one in particular.
On the inner wall of their great garden two symbols, two words, were splayed across the wall in what could only be blood. The thick, red, viscous liquid had dried as it ran, in stripes reaching to the ground.
A din of whispered conversation among the servants could be heard, but only just. No one wanted to speak out for fear of enraging the general further. Many of the servants were unable to read Greek and had no idea what important message was scarred into their master's most prized sanctuary. As if the vandalism alone wasn't enough to evoke a great anger in him, the message itself had pushed him closer to the edge of violence. They had never seen their kind master in such a state.
“What is everybody...” Ismene's voice interrupted their musings. No one, not even Alistair, had even noticed that she had arrived at the grand estate, least of all made it all the way out to the gardens. Her voice, which started light and happy, trailed off as she noticed the source of everyone's fixation.
There were many audible gasps as the servants, like Alistair, turned and saw Ismene's paled face, her mouth moving as if trying to form words, though none came forth.
Alistair rushed over to her, “Ismene, don't look...it's...” he said, trying to turn her away, to go back in direction she had just come.
It was only then that he realized—the message—it was for her. Ismene and Alonah came to the gardens each day to check on her tiger lilies. This wall faced the entrance into the gardens closest to her bedchambers, the entrance she came through every day. How did anyone outside of his house and Pharaoh's know that? His heart sank. There was a leak in one of these houses.
Ismene stood her ground, refusing to let Alistair turn her away. She was shaking.
“Who...what...I don't understand,” she managed after several seconds. As she glanced up at him, he could see tears in her dark eyes as she repeated the terrible words that were written there. “Go home?”
His heart ached for her.
“Who wants me to go home?” she asked, voice breaking, clearly injured by the implications.
He pulled her into his firm embrace.
She began to cry.
“Shh, shh.” He soothed her, rubbing her shoulders. “It's all right. It doesn't mean anything.”
He knew it wasn't all right. She was in a foreign land, a place she was still having great difficulty adjusting to—a place where she was surrounded by people she didn't know and who were so different from her. She was still adapting to these new people, a new culture, a new way of doing things, a new government...a new way of life. This must have been her worst fear confirmed. Not only did she not know these people, not only were they foreign in many ways, they did not want her here.
He kissed the top of her head. “Don't give it any thought, Ismene. Remember last night. Remember how the people cheered for you. They loved you!”
Her crying stilled for a moment.
“This is the work of one person who is dissatisfied with me and is doing this to get back at me. This is not about you. I promise,” he lied. He was quite certain this was at least the truth in part. But he feared that it may be the work of the Alexandrian mob and it may well be aimed at her.
Ismene allowed him to comfort her a little longer, but before he was ready to let go, she started to pull away. With reluctance, he released his hold on her. He then tugged on her arm more firmly until she was facing the direction she had just come, her back to the wall and the horrible message.
“Alonah, please take the Lady Ismene to her bedchambers. I'll have some refreshments brought for her.” He made sure that there was no room for argument in his voice.
Alonah took Ismene's arm and led her back inside, away from the small crowd and the offensive markings.
Alistair watched them go. Once they were inside and a safe distance away, he spun back toward the small crowd of servants.
“Get. It. Off.” His voice sharp and his words heated; th
e words penetrated the air, thick with apprehension, before he stormed off.
Four
A Moment of Remembrance
All was still and silent in this part of the grand estate. There was no one in sight. Ismene stepped into the shadows, clutching her small box close to herself as she crept down the hallway, moving farther from the sounds of merrymaking and deeper into the quiet darkness in the closed-off recesses of the great house. She had escaped her own bridal party. With any luck, Alonah had been the only one who noticed her slip out.
Even though she was the guest of honor, the women had been so caught up in the merriment of the occasion and the party itself, as it had carried on for a few hours now. Ismene doubted she would be missed for some time. Alonah would answer any questions about her whereabouts with a carefully worded white lie. Her reasons for withdrawing from the party were her own. It was doubtful any of these Egyptian women would understand. She was to be married in the morning and there was something she needed to do.
Moving through the inner courtyard toward her destination, Ismene gazed down at the small box she had borne with her across the desert and into this foreign land. These were some of the most precious things in her life. So much so that much of her loathed what she was about to do. It was but a small comfort that she was keeping a long-held tradition of her people. This would be a chance to feel connected to her homeland and people. But at what cost?
Ismene slipped through the vestibule and out of the house. The wind whipped her in the face. It was a warm breeze that greeted her as she crossed the yard. She fought to keep from being distracted by the stars overhead, instead forcing her attention toward the small private chapel in front of her. Testing the door, she found that it opened without effort. Taking a deep breath to brace herself, she entered the small space.
The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt) Page 6
