Alistair released her to stand up. Ismene stood with him, throwing her arms around him, standing on her tiptoes and pulling him to her for a deep farewell kiss. He returned the kiss with his whole heart.
* * *
Neterka had not quite figured out what to do with the extra time he had in his day now that the mistress of the house insisted on helping and, in some cases, taking over duties that used to be under his control. It was hard for him to not feel perturbed at the Lady Ismene. He was confused at his own feelings. These were things that shouldn't fall under his purview with a mistress in the house, but they had been part of his day-to-day routine as the house had had no mistress for so long. He should feel nothing but relief that he no longer had anything but his ascribed duties to perform. This was not the case.
On the other hand, he did care for the Lady Ismene. She was kind, caring, and had a desire to do right by Alistair and the staff. They were fortunate to have such a benevolent mistress. She had taken to her duties quite well. It had been clear to him that she had never done anything like this before. Her mother had not properly trained her. Maybe this was not part of Greek culture to train the younger women in the house. Maybe as a daughter of privilege she had been busy with other things. He knew she had been educated. And he discovered that she was a fast learner. That had made his job easy and quick. And soon over, he brooded.
For now, Neterka spent this new free time in his room, where he found himself gazing over the objects that had once belonged to the source of his confused emotional state. It was an evening so long ago when General Merenre had come to him and asked him to save these things from the private chapel. For what purpose, he did not know. It was some kind of Greek ceremony. So Neterka had held on to these things in his quarters. He had, perhaps inappropriately, placed the statue of the horse with wings on a stand in his room. It intrigued him and was, by his definition, very Greek. The statuette seemed so silly to him, something that only the Greeks would come up with. Egyptian figures were strong, heroic, bold. Not what he would call fanciful.
For the first time since he had brought these things into his room, whether out of boldness or boredom, he decided to riffle through the contents of the container. He felt terrible about this, but he had been looking at this box for weeks now and wondering why Merenre had him collect these things in the first place. Perhaps it was so that he would look through and do some checking on Ismene. If so, he had already been negligent in doing his due diligence. Neterka decided it was better to check things out. If nothing was amiss, then he would keep it to himself. If there was something out of place, then he would chance the general's ire for his own sake.
There were pieces of clothing—nothing there. A knife—strange, but nothing too much out of place about that, he figured. Then he rediscovered the letters. He remembered noticing these before and thinking them quite odd. Once again, he had a crisis of conscience. Ismene had placed all of these things in the private chapel and had left them expecting, rightfully so, that they would be disposed of. She would have never imagined that someone would now be in possession of them, wondering if they should be opened and read. Should he read them? There was nothing in Ismene's character that would lead him to suspect her of any malfeasance. Yet, was it his place to make that call? Or was it suspicious enough that she had secret communication that she desired to be disposed of?
Neterka decided that it would be best to read the letters and determine the best course of action afterward. With that in mind, he opened the first letter. As he skimmed the contents, he knew it was going to be a trial—they were in Greek. His lessons in reading Greek were not as far along as his language lessons. What he could pick up made his eyes widen. These were love letters! They were extremely private. He closed the letter at once, and he was no more sure if he should share these with Merenre than he was before.
* * *
Ismene stood still as a statue, gazing out across the unforgiving barrenness of the desert. Her eyes were focused, unwavering, on the horizon. Many hours had passed while she maintained her constant vigil, her eyes ever-watchful for Alistair. She sat in his outer bedchambers, that window giving her the best view out of the house in the direction of Pharaoh's palace. Alistair was late in returning home. Her mind, of course, dwelt on the last time his return had been delayed and what he had said to her that night.
“When Pharaoh makes a decision, we go...”
Had they been called away into battle? So abruptly that they were unable to send word? Perhaps there was an attack that had led to defeat? Such thoughts plagued her mind and made her restless. All she knew for certain was that her heart ached for him to be home and it scared her to think that she would be lost without him. That's just how she felt at that moment—lost and helpless.
A noise from behind her startled her from her daze. Her head jerked to the direction of the disturbance and her eyes met Neterka's. There was both concern and understanding written on his face.
“Pardon my interruption, milady,” he started.
She nodded. “Of course. Has there been word?” She knew from his expression that there hadn't, but she asked for good measure.
He shook his head.
She turned back to face the window, glaring out into the night and willing his figure to appear over that farthest hill. However, nothing materialized, least of all Alistair. It was no use. Wishing him to be there would not conjure him up.
“Milady, you must rest,” Neterka insisted.
She did not respond or even turn to face him. Stubbornness had never been one of her more prominent character traits, but on this night, it was the one that showed through.
“This is not the first time the general's arrival has been delayed without word.” Neterka tried to reason with her. “We have come to accept it and expect that we will receive word if something has happened to him. Pharaoh’s house would have sent a messenger if they had been attacked or sent to battle. They would not leave us to wonder.”
She nodded, turning back to look at him. “I know that you are right...”
He offered her a small smile, relieved that she was listening to reason. Raising his arm, he waved his candle to light her way to her room.
“But I cannot shake this restlessness. I prefer to await his return right here,” she said, leaving no room for argument. There was going to be no convincing her otherwise. Rational or not, this was her decision. It made no sense, in her opinion, to retire to her suite to sit up and worry after her husband when she could do the same here, but know that much sooner when he was returning.
Neterka's expression was hard to decipher. Disappointment? A sad understanding? Either way, he had no choice but to concede.
“Thank you for your concern,” she added.
He was ready to protest, but thought better of it and nodded instead. “If you need anything, I will be listening for you.”
She nodded and returned to her vigil at the window, eagerly gazing at the hilltop in the direction of Pharaoh's palace. Neterka excused himself and moved back out of the room.
* * *
Slipping through the front door, Alistair was careful not to make too much noise. He was well practiced at these late-night returns. Now that he was home, his mind returned to what it had been dwelling on all evening—his regret at not being home to spend the evening with Ismene. Alistair missed her smile and her comforting presence, but duty called. As much as he wanted to, he would not even entertain the possibility of waking her for his own selfish reasons.
As soon as he was in the house, Neterka was in front of him, startling Alistair. It had been a while since Neterka had greeted him on one of his late-night returns. Over their time as master and valet, it had taken many scoldings on his part to convince Neterka that there was no need for him to wait up for Alistair or wait on him when he did get home. Alistair assured Neterka that he was capable of finding food for himself. He knew that his faithful servant still always waited up for him, but at least Neterka had stopped insisting
that he serve Alistair at such an awful hour.
At this unexpected welcome, Alistair's question was written all over his face before he spoke it. “Has something happened?” His thoughts were immediately on Ismene.
“No, General, everything is fine,” Neterka replied, trying to assure his master that there were no dire circumstances.
Alistair allowed Neterka to take his cloak.
“I am pleased you are well and home,” Neterka said.
“Thank you.” Alistair did not appreciate the pleasantries, so he got to the point. “You know that I am not pleased to see you up and about.” They began making their way down the hall.
“Do you require food?” Neterka continued to attempt to wait on Alistair.
“No, thank you.” Alistair was becoming irritated with Neterka's manner. Why was he still up? Had they not had this discussion multiple times? “Pharaoh’s house sent food for the soldiers, but I would like to know what has kept you up. Not me, I hope.” There was an edge to his voice.
Neterka nodded. Now that they had arrived at Alistair's private receiving room, he seemed prepared to share why he had been waiting up. “I have not been the only one awaiting you.”
Opening the door to Alistair's outer bedchambers, Neterka indicated that Alistair should enter. He didn't have to. Through the open doorway, Alistair could see the light cast from a candle within and the scene that greeted him warmed his heart. Ismene had pulled a chair over to the window to sit and watch for his return. Her body leaned toward the window in her watchful vigil, but her form was still and quiet. Exhaustion had overcome her.
“How long has she been like this?”
“I insisted that she retire for sleep, assuring her that had something happened to you, we would have received word. Still, she insisted on watching for you. Since your lateness was notable, she has been here...perhaps four hours or so. She passed to sleep only within the hour.”
“Thank you for your diligence, Neterka.” Alistair regretted his earlier annoyance with him. He was only doing as Alistair would have wished—waiting up to keep an eye on the mistress of the house.
“Of course, General. Do you require any other assistance?”
“No, please retire yourself for the night.” Alistair hoped that his voice and eyes communicated his apologies.
Neterka nodded and moved to leave.
Alistair watched his wife's fitful sleep and felt guilty. Chiding himself, he realized that he was still conducting his life as if it were his own. She was not one of his servants who would have to learn to abide by some arbitrary rules he set up; she was his wife and her concern for him touched him. He remembered another night quite some time ago when he had arrived home late to find her waiting up for him. That night his news had disturbed her and the month that followed, not knowing what was happening to him, had affected her. A couple of months ago, he would have expected her to not worry after him, but things were different now. He scolded himself for his thoughtlessness.
Alistair continued to watch Ismene in the candlelight. He had thought that it was not possible to love her any more than he already did, yet here he was, his love for her swelling within him even now.
He crept to where she sat and touched her face. After a moment, he leaned in to kiss the woman who overwhelmed him with her devotion. She stirred and returned his kiss, leaning into his embrace as if by instinct. The moment was all too brief before she pulled back. Her deep eyes gazed up at him and he saw the worry there.
“I feared I'd never see you again,” she said, choking back tears.
“Ismene, I…” he started, but he couldn't find the words to excuse himself.
“Why did you not send word?” Anger born from loving concern was present in her voice. “I thought of all the things that could have happened to you. They all had the same terrible ending.”
“Ismene, my love, I am so sorry. I was wrong. It never occurred to me that you would be so concerned at my lateness. It was thoughtless and stupid.”
“Yes it was. I was so worried and distressed that, had I not lost my hold on consciousness, I was forming a plan to go in search for you myself.”
Alistair's eyes widened at the thought of her going out alone at this dark hour. He realized then the full measure of her concern. His eyes searched hers in silence. He was unable to voice the rush of emotion in him—relief that she had not gone out and regret for her distress. The only response he had was to take her into his embrace and hold her firmly. She held on to him as well.
“I am so sorry, my love,” he whispered into her ear. “So sorry.”
She nodded against his chest. “It is so hard to wait for you here. If Pharaoh calls for battle, you must go.”
There was no answer for her, no reassurances he could give. She was right. His duties called for him to be subservient to the Pharaoh in such a way. If his men went to battle, so did he. It had always been that way and it had never been a question in his mind. To lead his men, he had to be the first one to sacrifice, the first one to give, but he had never had to give up so much, risk so much as this last ride into war.
Loving her meant hurting for her as well. He had never known such empathy before. He ached for her. This was a challenge he had underestimated in his decision to marry. Then again, he had never dreamed he would have fallen so completely in love with his wife.
“Come with me?” he pulled back to look at her.
She nodded.
* * *
Alistair stood, taking her hand in his and leading her out into the dark hallway. They walked in silence through the maze-like corridors until they reached the garden outside.
He stopped just outside of the house and turned to her. “Wait here.”
She was only alone for a few minutes before he returned with a ladder. He leaned it against the wall and urged her to go up ahead of him.
Coming up behind her, he helped her up the ladder as he went. It wasn’t long before they reached the top. She stepped onto the roof of their house. She had never been up here before. A quick scan told her that the rest of the household frequented this spot. There were mats in one corner made of straw, pitchers in another, and leafy branches in bundles in several places. As big as the house was, the roof didn’t look so big, but it was staggered.
Alistair walked up behind her. “The roofs of Egyptian houses are used as open bedchambers during hot nights,” he explained. “These mats and branches provide soft beds for the household servants as they choose.”
She gazed out over the garden and closed her eyes as a gentle breeze sweeping over the tan earth reached her and lifted her hair from her shoulders. In that moment, she felt the peaceful stillness of the vast desert around her.
Alistair was watching her thoughtfully. Shifting toward him, she opened her eyes; they were bright and ever so deep in the moonlight. She was even more breathtaking in this light.
“There’s more,” he managed when he found his voice.
She raised an eyebrow and reached for his hand, curiosity and excitement in her eyes. He led her across the area set up for the house servants to a small ledge. Jumping down with ease, he held his arms up to swing her down. Obliging, she relished the feeling of any chance to be close to him.
As she gazed over the roof, she tried to map out the house in her mind. The spaces were not easy to correlate, but there wasn't much time for her to dwell on these things as Alistair soon drew her attention to where he was leading her. They moved toward a far corner of the roof. A portion was raised quite a bit higher, set apart from the rest of the building. It was a strange structure and she was amazed that she had not noticed it before from the outside of the house. When they reached it, he paused for a moment.
Turning toward her, he placed both hands on her arms. “Please wait here.”
She nodded, then watched his silhouetted figure as it moved around the large structure and disappeared behind it.
It was only then she realized how tired she was. The day had dragged on for too
long and the last few hours had been emotionally draining. In order to keep her mind active, she busied herself studying the layout of the building. If the gardens were back there, the servants’ rooftop area must be above the dining chamber. That gave way to the great hallway and major guest arena. That would mean that the ledge they had dropped down from must be the division between the dining and sitting room areas. She was able to identify the kitchen and servant quarters before she heard movement. Spinning around, she saw Alistair approaching her.
Ismene was all too ready for Alistair when he reached for her. He led her behind the structure. As she moved around it, she saw that it only appeared to be on the corner of the building. It was just far enough away from the outer wall that it would not be visible to those on the ground. There was a ladder woven from rope hanging down from the roof of the structure. Only it did not look as weathered as the straw mats. Alistair must have had a hiding place for it.
“Can you make the climb or would you rather I pull you up?” he asked, his voice soft.
“I can climb it.”
She took the farthest rung she could reach and started to pull herself up, using the loopholes for her feet. Alistair came up behind her. His arms were on either side of her and he was almost holding her as they climbed, supporting her as they went. Could it be that his nearness still distracted her this much? The feel of his arms around her and his breath on her hair made her head spin.
They reached the top faster than she expected. He helped her onto the top of the structure, onto her knees with her legs underneath her. Pulling himself up, he pulled her to her feet. She was not prepared for the scene before her. It was difficult to decide what was more surprising—the view from this point or the setting prepared for her. Before her on the roof was a large pallet topped by silken cloth and an array of pillows. The pallet was surrounded by burning incense and candles. A beautiful scene indeed.
The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt) Page 15
