The one-room chapel was lit by a lone candle in the center of the south wall on a simple wooden stand. There was another candle waiting on a small table in the center of the room. Kneeling down in front of the altar, she set her small box in front of her, but she did not release it. These were things she had kept safe for so many years, for this most specific night. Just as so many other Grecian girls had as they grew up. She remembered coming to this box before, opening it to look upon these things with hopeful anticipation for this day with a little girl's heart full of dreams. Her eyes began to water at the memories of that little girl's fantasies of love and marriage. How young, how ignorant she had been.
Shifting her attention away from the objects, she took the candle from the table and lit it from the eternal flame that now no longer solely lit the room. She brought the candle to light the space around the altar and bowed her head in reverence. Ismene had not believed in any gods or higher deities since she was a child, but this ceremony held meaning for her nonetheless. After several moments of stillness, head bowed so she could center and calm herself while still showing reverence, she lifted her head and moved the box toward herself once again.
Ismene reached into the box and lifted out the first item—her toga praetexta, her childhood toga. It was white in the innocence of her childhood, ceremonially clean and pure. She laid it on the altar, smoothing over it with her hand, releasing it from her possession. It amazed her how well kept the piece of clothing had been—first by her mother and then by herself. There was not a blemish on it. Her eyes then skimmed the special toys of her youth that were chosen for this ceremony. Each brought back memories of Greece and of time spent with her family. Once again, her thoughts were filled with memories of the time she had shared with her brothers, stories told by her parents and teachers, and days spent in the sun with no cares or worries in the world.
One by one, she placed them on the altar until only one remained. She lifted it from the box with great care—it was a Pegasus. Ismene remembered the day her mother gave her this statuette of the winged horse of old and how fascinated she had been. Running her hand over the smooth wood, her father's voice floated over her mind, telling her the legend of the magnificent animal once again. She and Thelopolis had been on more searches for the mythical creature than she could count.
Bringing the wooden replica to her chest, she held it to her. Tears brimmed her eyes at the memories. This had been her favorite toy, and she was not surprised that there was so much sentiment attached to it. The things that she had treasured the most about her childhood were wrapped up in this one object. Thoughts of Thelopolis also filled her mind, and, with them, an ache in her heart seemed to throb. It was harder than she had ever imagined it would be to lay aside her childhood and face a future with a man that she had known but two-week's time. Ismene clung to the winged horse and let the emotions pour over her for just a moment, unaware that she had an audience.
* * *
Alistair slipped through the entryway without making a sound. Leaving his horse tied outside of the grand entrance lest he risk announcing himself, he stepped onto the grounds of the house that would no longer be his alone. He'd excused himself from a celebration given in his honor at Pharaoh’s house, insisting to Ptolemy that there were papers in his office he needed to pass on to his second-in-command before the wedding ceremony.
In all truthfulness, he had been relieved to be able to escape for a minute to clear his mind. So much had happened in his life these last two weeks and it had changed him more than he would have ever expected. Tomorrow would be both the culmination of all the goings-on of these last weeks and the beginning of a whole new life.
When he had first set out to fulfill Ptolemy's wishes that he marry, he had thought it would be as simple as acquiring a new housemate and that his life would continue with little to no alteration. Yet from the moment he had met Ismene, he had known his early assumptions were wrong. Even so, he had still tried to deny that she was having such an effect on him, but just thinking about tomorrow and all that it would bring overwhelmed him. It wasn't just the way things would change that brought a wave of anxiety, he knew, it was also the idea of what she would be to him...she would be his. That thought brought with it a stirring in his heart that he had never known.
Approaching the house, he determined that he would get in and out without notice. It was not his intention or desire to disturb the bridal party. Even now, he could hear the party in the distant corner of the house. Alistair hoped it was everything Ismene could want, and that she was able to make acquaintances with the women who would be her neighbors and, perhaps, her friends.
Stepping closer to the entrance of the house proper, he spotted a light coming from the private sanctuary. This was not odd. The chapel was lit by an eternal flame. But it did not escape his keen notice that the light was brighter than usual, and that was odd. The servants did not use the sanctuary. It was for his use, though he did not use it, and for his guests, whom he expected to all be at the festivities. The military man in him took over, his curiosity got the better of him, and he moved over to the small building to peer through the cracked door. The scene before him caused him to catch his breath.
There she was—Ismene—her form silhouetted by the eternal flame and her features lighted by the candle on the altar. She sat in the midst of a tradition he was quite aware of, but was surprised to see being performed. A Greek bride-to-be would put on the altar the things of her childhood the night before the wedding to symbolize the putting aside of the past in recognition and preparation of the future. It had not occurred to him that she would go through with this ceremony.
Ismene must have saved these things for many years for this, the night before her wedding, hoping and praying for the day this ceremony would come to pass. She had bothered to bring them all the way here to give them up for a man she would have known only a couple of weeks. His heart was moved as he thought about how she was going through this most sacred ceremony alone.
In Greece, she would enjoy the support and company of friends and family. A bride such as she would have been praised for the honor she bestowed on her husband-to-be and it would be an important rite of passage, every bit as much so as the wedding ceremony itself. But here she was, alone. Ismene hadn't made a show about this, hadn't told any of the servants of the house that they may accompany her. Alonah wasn't even here with her. This was a ceremony she was performing for her own sake, so that she would be prepared for her life with him. He knew this symbolic ceremony was more than a tradition to her; it was necessary. She was willing to give up her past for him, for her life with him.
As Alistair looked on, Ismene was holding on to an object he couldn't quite discern. She was hugging it to her chest. Looking at her face in the candlelight, he saw tears in her eyes. The memories flooding her mind, and the realization that what she held was in the past and that she could not return there, were obvious in the pain on her face. It was all he could do to keep from going to her and gathering her in his arms. This was something she had wanted to do alone and without notice. He would let her have that. He watched her movements, transfixed, as she pulled the wooden toy away from herself, ran her hand over its smooth surface once more before laying it on the altar. Tears continued to fall down her face, and she made no move to wipe them away.
Alistair watched from his place of silent vigil as Ismene reached into the box one last time and pulled out her bulla, her symbolic knife of protection. Eyes closed, she spoke the words that would seal the ceremony. The ritual was complete: first she had put aside her childhood innocence, then her past, and now she would place her life in the hands of her husband-to-be. She was passing into his protection. As she spoke the last of the ceremonial words, she laid the bulla on the altar.
Taking in a slow, deep breath, Alistair was moved with the enormous responsibility he was taking on. He hadn't realized until this moment that another human being was placing her continued existence in his care. In that momen
t, he also knew that he would never let anything bring harm to her. The rite was complete, and she paused.
All of a sudden, he was aware that he was invading a private moment for her and felt that he should have left long before. With much effort, he shifted his eyes away and, after taking a few more deep breaths to steady his thumping heart, made his way from the sanctuary doorway toward the main house. There was the matter he had to attend to and now another task for him to complete.
* * *
Ismene opened her eyes. Someone was watching her. She whirled around. There was no one there. Of course not! No one but Alonah knew where she was, and her maidservant wouldn't have betrayed her secret. It must be all of the memories, perhaps they created the sense of others surrounding her. Unbidden, another thought crossed her mind. I wish Thelopolis could be here.
Shaking her head at that, she let out a long sigh. It was time to let that go, to let him go. Reaching into a fold in her drape, she pulled out the letters Thelopolis had written her. From the first tingling of puppy love to the deeper emotion they now shared, these letters had been so dear to her. These were the things that were closest to her heart—even more so than the Pegasus. Now was the time to give them up. She had to give up the hope of a future with Thelopolis. Her heart belonged with him, it always would, but her future was here with Alistair. She must release to whatever higher power there was her relationship with Thelopolis. Forevermore, it would be in the past. They could never be more than childhood playmates and onetime friends. Ismene was committing her mind and her will to Alistair.
Placing a final kiss for Thelopolis on the letters that she had pored over countless nights, she let the paper linger near her face, feeling the roughness of the parchment. Every word, every pen stroke was etched into her heart, but they would no longer be hers. She placed them on top of the bulla, next to the Pegasus, pausing only for a moment before removing her hand. Then she stood up, gazing at the precious things one final time before she blew out the single flame that lit the altar and left them behind forever.
The household servants would come by in the early morning and would do away with these things. She didn't want to think about that, though. It was enough to know that they no longer belonged to her. Stepping out into the darkness of the evening, she made her way back toward the house and to her bridal party. Ismene was determined to put a smile on her face and finish out this evening with as much grace as she could muster.
* * *
True to form, the investigator had made himself a nuisance around the house, especially these last few days as everyone was preparing for the wedding and welcoming the lady of the house back in. Pulling aside servants at will and, as Alistair saw it, harassing them did not serve to further those goals, rather it hindered them. But on this of all nights, Neterka had notified Alistair that the investigator wanted to speak with him. This was absurd. Pharaoh had insisted on two things to him: one—that he, himself, was not suspect, and two—that he was to cooperate with the investigation. So, he would abide by Pharaoh's command and submit himself to questioning, but he had sent word to Pharaoh that he was being “interviewed,” as the investigator preferred to say it. Was this necessary? And on the eve of his wedding no less? No sooner had he arrived at his home from his night at Pharaoh's palace, when Neterka was escorting him to his bedchambers, explaining that the investigator needed to speak with him.
Alistair's thoughts were cut short as Chigaru, special investigator of the secret police, walked into the receiving room as if he were in his own home. This was perhaps the most irritating thing about him—the way he waltzed about Alistair's house as if it were his.
“I see you continue to make yourself comfortable in my home,” Alistair said in a gruff voice. He sat on one of the lounges.
“Is that the proper attitude to hold during this important investigation?” It was a snide remark. Chigaru took a seat across from Alistair.
“I have obeyed Pharaoh's orders to the letter. I have commanded my servants to answer questions whenever you pose them. And I have neither barred you from accessing any area nor have I blocked you from doing your duty.”
“But your attitude could influence my investigation.” Chigaru leaned forward as he said this, with a look of confidence that suggested he was holding all the cards and, in fact, enjoyed holding people under his thumb.
“As I have stated, I have followed Pharaoh's orders to the letter. That doesn't mean I have to be subservient to your paltry hunger for power. If my gestures were not clear enough, then let me put them into words. I find your manner reprehensible and pathetic. If your mission is to intimidate me and have me grovel, then you have sorely failed. If you have actual questions that serve the security of Egypt, then ask them and be done with your ‘investigation.’” Alistair was tired of this game Chigaru was playing with him.
Chigaru seemed a little unsure, but continued. “Pharaoh has granted me broad powers to find this traitor, and such resistance is not appreciated.” He was espousing a boilerplate statement and Alistair knew it, but his delivery was somewhat timid in comparison to his earlier assertions.
“I'm sure you have said that to many in the past. My loyalty to Pharaoh is not in question. He told me this himself, so if you check your orders, you will find that to be true. Ask your questions.” Alistair had gained the upper hand, and he could see it in Chigaru's eyes as the man leaned back with a slightly trembling lip, which stilled soon enough. Chigaru may not be getting anything of value from Alistair, but he was able to mask his dissatisfaction about the turn this interview had taken.
Alistair could see that Chigaru was struggling to keep the conversation going. “Can you confirm the dates when each member of your staff joined your household?”
“Neterka can provide those dates. He is most efficient at managing my home's affairs,” Alistair spoke as if bored with the man.
“I see. Has any of them ever expressed discontent with the policies of Pharaoh?” Chigaru licked his lips; his questions were coming out faster.
“Never. They are the most loyal people I have ever had under my care.” For his part, Alistair's responses remained even and steady.
“How well do you know the servants that the Lady Ismene brought?”
Alistair started to rise out of his seat when this question was posed. His nostrils flared and he felt heat in his face. In all likelihood, his anger was apparent to everyone in the room. “The lady is not a part of this. We shall not discuss her or her servants.”
“My General.” Chigaru's face broke out in a smug smile at Alistair's reaction. “Surely everyone in this household must be considered? In fact, I doubt you even know the answer to my question, since she has been here less than a month.”
Alistair remained silent as he attempted to contain the emotion welling up within himself.
For lack of response from Alistair, Chigaru continued. “You know, that almost sounds like an emotional response from someone who does not want to know the answer.” At this point, he was looking down, as if he were writing part of a report and speaking off the top of his head.
Alistair felt as if he were going to tear off this man's head and could visualize himself doing it, but his military instincts kicked in. “You are simply trying to goad me into fury. It is your hope that I will become upset and lose myself. But you forget yourself. I happen to know we are looking for a connection to the Alexadrian mob. The lady is Greek and would have no possible connections to the mob. How could she carry any sympathy for their movement?” Alistair eased back into his chair and, realizing the focal point of Chigaru's interviewing tactics, rested in his seat.
He knew then that Chigaru was winging it. He in no way had any substantive questions for Alistair. His attack at the Lady Ismene exposed his inability to uncover a shred of information from any of the staff.
“Are there any more questions?” Alistair asked; it was his turn to give Chigaru a smug look. He crossed his arms and all but sneered at the man who had turned his hom
e upside down.
“Not at this time, but if I have more, I will be in contact.” Chigaru wrapped up his interview with Alistair as fast as possible, trying to save what face he could by leaving with the boasting sense of strength that he had arrived with. Only it didn't work; Alistair could see right through it.
Five
A New Dawn
Streams of dawn peeked in through the window. Ismene stirred as the light grazed her face in the early morning hours. Alonah had parted the curtains so that the sunlight could awaken her ever so gently. But Ismene did not welcome the interruption after her sleepless night of tossing and turning. Now that she was awake, her mind once again filled with the struggles that had kept her from sleep the night before. She was dreading what lay ahead of her. She had put aside all things of the past last night; she had only what was to come. So she forced her mind to turn toward the preparations for this day.
After some moments of lying in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, Ismene sat up, pulling her legs over the side and stepping to the window to gaze into the garden in the distance. The gardens would become a place of sanctuary for her. She did feel a sense of peace there among the strange but beautiful buds and blossoms. When everything settled down, she would ask Alistair if she might have a hand in tending more of the garden.
Creak. The sound of her bedchamber door opening distracted Ismene from her musings. She turned toward the intrusion. Alonah led a parade of servants carrying pitchers full of water to her tub. They were followed by others who carried rich perfumes and scents.
Ismene had known that she would be cleansed this morning before her wedding. What was the Egyptian custom like? The Grecian ritual of cleansing involved waters from the Kallirroe Spring. Every bride bathed in these waters on the day of their wedding. Sighing, Ismene felt her heart drop in her chest. Perhaps there was a spring of such significance in Egypt.
The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt) Page 7
