The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  Not being so engaged in the purchasing process, Ismene's mind began to wander. Only a handful of days had passed since she had shared Alistair's bed. They'd had little contact since then and neither had broached that rather delicate subject in the least. It had been an amazing experience for her, but she couldn't explain her actions the morning after. She still was unable to sort through her feelings and, to be honest, was avoiding him. It had been all too easy with the nature of his job.

  Ismene was jolted out of her thoughts as someone rammed into her, almost knocking her over. Alonah responded quickly, grabbing for her arm to steady her.

  “Milady, are you all right?”

  Ismene nodded, trying to catch her breath. Whoever it was had just about knocked the wind out of her and had succeeded in upending her basket. Several of her fruits now littered the ground. She turned in the direction of the bump, but it was no use. There were too many people to discern which, if any, of them had been the culprit. It was an accident, she decided, and let the matter go. Alonah was still trying to make certain that Ismene was all right.

  “I am fine, I assure you,” Ismene insisted.

  It was then that Alonah also noticed their wares on the ground. “Oh!”

  Both Ismene and Alonah squatted to grab up the fruit before it got trampled. They were fortunate that only a handful had escaped the basket. Ismene found a piece of paper amongst the fallen pieces. Who had dropped this? Paper wasn't all that easy to come by and was not something people wasted.

  Was anyone looking for this paper? Ismene confirmed that no one was and decided to open it. She unfolded the papyrus and was surprised to find the words within written in Greek. The message scrawled on the paper, however, caused her heart to jump into her throat:

  This is our home

  You should return to yours

  This is your last warning

  “Milady!” Alonah's shocked voice sounded over her shoulder.

  Ismene again scanned the crowd, trying to find some sinister face sneering at her, taking some sick pleasure in her obvious discomfort. Of course, there was no one to be found that matched that description. No one was watching her or even glancing in her direction. Everyone was busy with their own errands, caught up in their own worlds. There was no way to determine if any of them had left the note and impossible to track the guilty person. But the person could still be lingering, enjoying seeing her twitch. She did not want to give them that satisfaction. At least she could spare herself that.

  “We must leave at once,” she said to Alonah.

  Alonah nodded and paid the vendor for the fruit before following her mistress toward where they had left their chariot and manservant. It was not a long walk back to that rendezvous point, but it carried them several yards. Over the moderate distance, Ismene found herself wanting to glance back for onlookers or for someone following her, but she resisted the temptation. The chance of her catching a glimpse of the culprit was slim to none; the likelihood that the guilty party would make sport of her was better. So she forced herself to keep her eyes forward.

  They were back at their chariot in what must have been record time. Ismene made every attempt to be pleasant to the various servants in her employ; however, she was quite short with the manservant at the chariot on this occasion. She communicated that they were prepared to leave and expected to depart forthwith, expressing that he should ready the horse as quickly as possible. It was not a request.

  * * *

  The trip back to the safety of the house was long. Even more so as it was made in complete silence. Neither Alonah nor Ismene knew what to say. Somehow, it seemed as if it hadn't happened as long as they didn't speak of it. But neither could think of anything else to talk about. They rode in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

  When they arrived at the house, Alonah busied herself with her lady's needs, seeing to it that Ismene was settled and resting comfortably in her bedchambers on her favorite lounge. Once Alonah had begun her fussing over her mistress, Ismene broke her silence, insisting over and over that she was fine and did not need any special attentions, but Alonah would not hear it.

  “Please rest, milady. I will go and fetch the general.”

  “No!” Ismene sat bolt upright, nearly causing herself to fall off the settee.

  “We must show him this letter,” Alonah said.

  “We shouldn't,” Ismene reasoned. “It will only cause him to worry. And what can be done? We have no knowledge of who left it. What good can come from telling him?”

  Alonah thought about that for a moment and could not come up with a good answer for her mistress. Nothing good would come from telling him. He wasn't going to pack them all up and ship them back to Greece. He wasn't going to repudiate Ismene and send her back alone. It would only be a source of worry for him. Still, she thought he needed to know.

  “I understand why you want to tell him, Alonah, I do. And I have thought about it the entire ride home. I think this note is more an attempt to scare us all than an actual threat. I do not wish this deviant to succeed. Let us keep it between us...for now. We can save the note and share it with the general if it seems we should.”

  Alonah, once again, could not find fault with her mistress's reasoning.

  “All right,” she conceded, “as long as we will share the note should something else happen.” Though the plan seemed sound, something about it still nagged at Alonah.

  * * *

  After drilling his men for an intense bout of training exercises, Alistair called his troops to attention. He walked down the ranks and gave them close scrutiny. Not one soldier flinched a muscle. The look of devotion to their general was strong. Alistair then dismissed them, ordering them to report the next day at dawn.

  While overseeing his troops during general training was a common task he was often involved in, it wasn't his only one. He often conferred with Pharaoh to stay up to date on war policy and to be sure he was training his men for the right operations. There were some questions about their fast-approaching campaign against Antiochus I, the Seleucid king of Syria who currently had his eye on Palestine, one of Pharaoh's holdings—one that he had made clear was in Egypt's best interests to keep.

  After giving final orders to his platoon commanders, he mounted his horse and headed to the palace to consult with Pharaoh. After arriving at the palace and dismounting, he entered the audience chamber with all due haste and bowed before Pharaoh.

  “Oh, General, I was hoping you would stop by. There are some last-minute details about our campaign we must go over.” As Alistair rose in response to Ptolemy's statement, he took note of the details Pharaoh told him. He would be sure to pass those on to his unit commanders in the morning. Ptolemy must have sensed his uneasiness, because he asked him a strange question.

  “Is there something you wish to say?”

  “Has the investigator found anything?” Alistair, of course, knew the answer. At least as far as his house was concerned, the man had come up empty.

  Ptolemy's eyes leveled on Alistair suspiciously for a moment, then he seemed to remember who it was he was talking to. With hesitation, he offered, “Nothing of significance. Why?”

  Alistair's question had a double implication. No doubt, the investigator had caused havoc, interrupting the whole household at the most inopportune times. It was almost as if he picked these moments to catch people off guard, to pose intrusive questions and insinuations. Alistair's question to Pharaoh carried a slight hint of scorn for having to put up with this man digging through his affairs, but Alistair also wanted to know if anything had been uncovered regarding the attacks.

  “There is another issue. We have been, shall I say, ‘visited.’”

  “Visited?” Ptolemy responded with a perplexed look on his face.

  Alistair described for Ptolemy what had occurred at his home those days before.

  “Do you think it's a random prank or that the mob might be behind this?” Alistair asked. Almost without hesitation, he saw a sen
se of recognition in Ptolemy's face. He leaned back, almost as if this were expected.

  “The Alexandrian mob is made up of those Egyptian men who oppose Greco-Roman rule. This faction exists to take Egypt back into Egyptian hands. They act by subversion and scare tactics.” Pharaoh spoke these words in a matter-of-fact way, as if he had mentioned this many times before. Indeed, he needed not retell all of this to Alistair. It was all information he knew.

  “It seems they have set their eyes on you, my General.”

  Pharaoh was confirming Alistair's suspicions. Fear and anger were fighting for dominance within him.

  Pharaoh nodded. “The mob would not dare strike the palace, but they would seek to inflict injury on the heart of my rule.”

  “Why me? Why her?” he clamored in a quick, emotional response. As soon as he had blurted this out, he said in a calmer voice, “Of course they would attack your highest commanders.”

  “Indeed. You are a great threat to them. The Egyptian army is devoted to you.” That had been evident by the incredible progress the army had made since Alistair took command under Ptolemy.

  “Have any other members of your council been attacked?” Expecting the answer to be yes, since these would be the people closest to Ptolemy, Alistair was surprised when he heard Ptolemy's response.

  “No. You are the first of whom I have heard any sort of attack from my inner circle.”

  This didn't provide the comfort he had sought. Alistair hoped that he could tell Ismene that they weren't alone, and that many similar, harmless pranks were being played on other government officials.

  “I'm afraid there is little we will be able to do. The mob has been quite irritating in the past, and they are almost impossible to track down. But they have appeared to be like a small mosquito for the most part—incredibly annoying, but of no real threat.” Ptolemy's words further hampered Alistair, though he dared not show it.

  “Very well, my liege. If there are no other orders for me...” He bowed before Pharaoh, and was dismissed.

  Leaving the palace, he felt as if he had less encouragement than when he had arrived. His dejected gaze fell on the closing of the day, resting on the sun as it met the sand as he rode home.

  * * *

  Ismene heard Alistair in the hall. He's home late tonight. She glanced up from her book as he peered around the corner into her bedchambers. It was a bit odd for him to come to her room. Looking up at him, she offered him a genuine smile, inviting him in.

  “I'm glad you're home,” she offered. “Are you hungry? I'll get something.” She was already headed for the door.

  “No.” He stopped her. “Please, sit. I'm fine.” He took her hand. “I just want to sit here with you for a while.” Making his way over to the chair next to the one she had just vacated, he sat down, but she did not.

  Instead she watched him, having noticed that his features were drawn with the weariness of the day's events. With a boldness she didn't know she possessed, she moved behind him to rub the tension of whatever had transpired that day out of his muscles. He tensed initially under her touch. She sensed that he was surprised and unsure, but he eased as her hands worked. Then she felt the muscles relaxing.

  “You are so tense, Alistair. Are you all right?” She didn't make it a practice to ask after his affairs. Most of the things involving his work she would not understand, and a lot of it he would be obligated to not share even with her. It had also been a part of her “let's keep our lives separate” plan, but right now it seemed the most natural thing to say.

  “We all underwent some vigorous training today.”

  “Is that uncommon?”

  “Every now and then we go through bouts of this type of training,” he explained. “It's more intensive than our usual routines.”

  “I see.” His body was relaxing and her task was complete. She began to draw her hands away.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft.

  She went to move back, but he took her hand and spun her so he could look into her face.

  “There is something I must tell you.” He tugged on her arm and brought her around to sit next to him. That's when she knew that something was wrong. She saw the weary look in his eyes, and she realized it was more than his physical weariness that put it there.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he spoke the words she didn't want to hear. “I have to go away for a while.”

  He was watching her reaction. Did her features betray the concern she was trying, with great difficulty, to hide?

  “We've been called into battle and we must go,” he continued, explaining.

  “Battle?” Her breath caught.

  “I won't lie to you, Ismene, and I won't insult you with half-truths. There is always a chance of defeat or capture or...” He left the sentence hanging. He didn't need to finish. “I think our chances of success in battle are good, but I want only to be honest with you.”

  Her heart was full of worry; it settled in the pit of her stomach.

  “Ismene, this is something I've never had to tell someone. I've always gone and come with no one to concern myself with.” His eyes held hers.

  All of a sudden, she needed to be doing something with her hands. She pulled her eyes away from his and looked down at her book. Closing it, she tried to be interested in the texture of the scroll. He waited for her to process it, waited for her to speak.

  “When will you go?” she asked after some time, eyes still on the book covering.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Her head jerked up. “Tomorrow? So soon?”

  “When Pharaoh makes a decision, we proceed at once. And I agree with his desire for immediacy on this matter. The only reason we didn't go today is that the men will need to be rested for what is to come.”

  Ismene was overwhelmed with her concern for him, but it was more than that. It was something she was getting tired of fighting, but was still afraid to expose.

  “What can I do to help you prepare?” She met his eyes, pushing her worries aside. They would do him no good.

  There was surprise in his eyes. Surprise to her reaction? And something else. Appreciation? Yes, there it was. A certain respect for her ability to face what must be done. “There are no preparations left to be made for the journey. Everything is ready.”

  She glanced away, saddened somehow that she was useless to him.

  “You could read to me. It would help calm my mind.”

  She peered at him with a quirked eyebrow for a handful of seconds. Then, resigning herself to his request, she said, “Of course, what would you like for me to read?”

  “Read to me of Greece.” He leaned back in the lounge chair, glancing at the book she had been reading and smiled. “About Pegasus?”

  Her face warmed as she realized he had been looking at her book and noted her interest in something that was a tale for children. When she looked back up at him, there was a question in her eyes, but he gestured that he did, in fact, want her to read from that book.

  Ismene settled herself and opened the scroll. “Pegasus is a creature that has made its place among the mythical creatures of old...” She repeated the words she knew almost by heart from her father's stories. Even as an adult, these stories still captivated her—a winged horse! Her imagination carried her away to the skies where Pegasus soared above all the troubles of the world and escaped all manner of tribulation, including war.

  A strange sound caused her to glance up from the pages at her husband, only to find him sleeping. How long had she been reading? She looked back down at the book—only a few passages in, not long. He was just that tired.

  Setting her scroll down, she moved over to her bed to grab a blanket for him. She returned to where he continued to slumber and laid the blanket over him, adjusting it in hopes of making him as comfortable as possible. It was impossible to tear herself away for some time. So she sat and watched the rise and fall of his chest, watched his face at rest, at peace. Her heart was stirred again with the mixture of emotions
she still had not been able to sort through and found herself fearful to surrender to them.

  An impulsive idea entered her head and she found cause to give herself over to it. She leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. He stirred in sleep, but did not wake. Their faces so close and, knowing that after tonight she may never see him again, she found the courage to place a kiss on his lips. It had been her intention to kiss him gently and retire to bed, but her kiss caused him to awaken, and he responded, returned her kiss, his hands moving to caress her face.

  Pulling back just far enough to look at him, she searched his eyes. There was great affection there and great care. She knew that she cared for him, too. It did hurt her to think that something might happen to him. He sat up and tentatively kissed her again, pulling her into his strong embrace. Her head was swimming. She reveled in the feeling of being secure in his arms. When the kiss broke, she pulled away and stood up. There was a question, and a hurt, in his eyes. Taking his hand without speaking, she bade him get to his feet before pulling him toward her bed. There was no need for words.

  * * *

  When Ismene awoke, she was alone. Alistair had slipped out without waking her. As she rolled that thought around in her mind for a few moments, she was unsure how that made her feel. While she had not wanted to have to see him off this morning, she did want to say good-bye. When she thought about the awkward state between them ever since the morning after their wedding night—the last time they were...together—she realized that his decision had been best.