The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  She put off the issue. The night was coming to a close and she would have ample time to speak with him about it once they were alone. Then she would be able to share with him what had occurred this evening with Thelopolis and tell him everything. But she was nervous to proceed with such a sensitive subject if things were already amiss between them.

  It wasn't long before Pharaoh was giving his farewells, signaling to the whole party that it was time for the festivities to come to a close. Ismene was relieved. She didn't know how much longer she could stand this cat-and-mouse game she and her husband were engaged in.

  For the last time, Ismene once again attempted to seek out her elusive husband. She didn't have to go far—he found her. All but knocking her over, she was so startled with how quickly he came up behind her. Perhaps she was most surprised that he came up to her at all.

  “I regret that I must stay for a while longer. Pharaoh needs to speak with me.”

  “Perhaps I can wait for you...” she started.

  “I would rather you be on your way home,” he interrupted. “I do not know how long I will be and do not wish to keep you out late.” His tone was not harsh, but it did not leave room for discussion.

  “Oh,” she said, stunned into silence. “Well, when you do get home,” she said as she smiled and whispered playfully, “don't hesitate to come to my bedchambers.” She wanted to talk, but more than that, she wanted to keep things lighthearted in the event he was just distracted by whatever was weighing on his mind.

  “Don't wait up,” was his only response. And then he was gone.

  No farewell, no kiss, nothing. She felt as if she'd been slapped in the face. It was obvious he intended for her to make her way home alone. That would be something new...and scary with all that had been going on of late. Still, she made her way toward the door, but hadn't made it too far before Captain Ptah came up behind her.

  “Lady Ismene,” he called after her.

  “Yes?” She spun around to see who was calling for her.

  “General Merenre requested that I see to your safe return home.”

  “Thank you,” she said, managing a slight smile. At least he was concerned for her safety. Perhaps he was just distracted with the affairs of the state. Maybe something had come up while she was out in the gardens and it had taken his mind captive. That's what she kept telling herself as the chariot brought her closer to home.

  Once they were at the entry to the grand estate, she thanked the captain for escorting her home. Her mind was still solidly on Alistair and his behavior that evening. She was only half aware of her actions as she went through her night routine: undressing, nightshift, hair down, face washed, and oils. Before she knew it, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, all preparations complete.

  This night she had allowed Alonah to do everything. All that was left was for her to go to bed, but her mind was spinning with her confusion over the evening. Not to mention she was still reeling from Thelopolis's sudden appearance. How she wanted to tell Alistair and get rid of her guilty conscience! Yes, she was all too ready to beg his forgiveness for what she had allowed to happen, albeit briefly, but betrayal it was.

  Ismene reached up to move her hair out of her face and felt wetness on her cheeks. Only then did she realized that she was crying. That was all that was needed for the floodgates to open. She lay down and cried. She cried over the awkwardness with Alistair when she needed him most, over her betrayal, over her lost first love, over hurting Thelopolis—all of it. How long she lay there, tears flowing, she didn't know. At some point, she slipped into a restless sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, Ismene awoke to find herself alone in her bedchambers. A little surprised, she hurried to dress so that she might call on Alistair in his bedchambers. She didn't bother with face paint and pulled her hair back and pinned it. After donning one of her simple, but appropriate clean, fine linen wraps, she made her way through the house. Nearing Alistair's rooms, she bumped into Neterka.

  “I seek an audience with the general,” she explained.

  “Milady, I apologize, but the general has already left for the day.”

  “Already left?”

  This concerned Ismene. How could he have already left? He didn't come to her last night and then he left without speaking with her this morning? And there was his strange behavior at the party last night. She was worried about what might be going on in his mind. But there was nothing she could do about it right now, not until he got home that night.

  Ismene spent the day in solitude, thinking on the mystery that was before her and of all that had occurred the night before. She kept to her rooms for the most part and did not receive anyone.

  Neterka took care of the household duties himself that day, just like it had been before. Ismene regretted that this was the case, but she could not bring herself to get back out of her room for her chores. There was no motivation in her. By afternoon, Alonah was able to convince her to take a stroll through the gardens, and that the tiger lilies, just transplanted a few days ago, needed to be checked on by her, if nothing else. Not even the gardens could lighten her spirits from the momentary depression she found herself in.

  * * *

  Alistair crept into his home. He was very tired. The day had stretched out long before him with his troops, but he had lengthened it for himself as well to delay his homecoming. The house was quiet and dark. His plan had worked. Making his way down the hall to his rooms, he took off his armbands as he went. Then he walked straight through his outer chambers and into his bedchamber, setting down the armbands and taking off the bands on his legs.

  “You are out late,” he heard a voice say from the chambers he had just passed through. His heart dropped at the sound of the voice that, in normal circumstances, would cause it to leap for joy.

  Alistair dropped his shin bands and walked back out to the receiving room.

  “I did not expect anyone to be awake at this hour,” he said, his voice flat, even.

  “I gathered as much. But I think we need to have a conversation.”

  “All right,” he said, sitting down. “I'm listening.”

  “Why didn't you come to me last night?”

  “It was late and I was tired. Rather much like tonight. Is that all?” He started to rise, sounding bored.

  “No. Is something wrong, Alistair?” She hadn't meant to allow her exasperation to come across in her voice, but it had.

  “Ismene,” he said, his voice was clipped. “I don't have the time or the patience to answer a lot of questions. And I didn't want to get into this, but apparently you won't be satisfied until we do, so I'll get right to it. I'm not so happy to find that my wife is involved with another man.”

  She recoiled as if he had backhanded her. “What?”

  “Don't insult me with denials, dearest.” The word was spoken in sarcasm. “I saw you with him last night.” For a moment, Alistair couldn't believe his behavior, but he ignored that small voice which told him to stop, to think about what he was doing—he was hurting too much.

  “Oh, Alistair, I was hoping to speak with you about that. It's not what you think! That was a friend of mine from back in Greece. He came to Egypt thinking I was unhappy and tried to comfort me and offer to help me if I was miserable. I told him I was quite happy with you and we said our good-byes.”

  Listen to her, the voice said, but Alistair couldn't hear it above his anger and wounded heart.

  “I don't kiss my friends farewell like that,” he challenged her.

  “Perhaps I let myself get carried away, but only for a moment, I promise. That was all there was to it, my love. It was nothing.”

  “And the love notes? Are they nothing too?” he asked.

  “The love notes?” She was puzzled by this.

  Alistair went into his inner bedchambers to gather the notes and returned to throw them down on the table in front of her.

  “Where did you get these?” Her voice took on a dark quality.
r />   “Does it matter? They say plenty to me, Ismene!”

  “You read them?” she said, incredulous.

  “You are continuing to see a man you had a relationship with since before we were married, which you never disclosed, and you are concerned about whether or not I read the notes?” He couldn't believe the audacity of her reaction.

  As she glared at him, he could see naked anger in her eyes, but he could also see the betrayal and the hurt that she felt from the violation of her privacy. He didn't care. As his wife, she didn't have a right to this kind of privacy. She had wronged him.

  “This isn't what you think,” she insisted, her eyes watering.

  “No? Then tell me how it is, Ismene.”

  “It's...it's...” She couldn't finish her sentence.

  “That's what I thought,” he said curtly, taking up her letters.

  “You don't understand,” she pleaded, now crying. It was obvious that she was dealing with overwhelming emotions.

  He didn't care. “Well, I'm waiting for you to explain it.”

  Alistair watched as she waged a battle to get control over her emotions. At long last, she seemed to give up. She leapt up, running from the room.

  “Exactly,” he harrumphed to himself.

  * * *

  Everything in Ismene's world was whirling. She refused to let him see her cry anymore. How did he get those letters? How could he have read them? He had read those private words between her and Thelopolis. She felt angry, hurt, embarrassed, and betrayed by the man she had trusted with her whole heart.

  How could he not have trusted her? How could he not have seen those letters for what they were? How could he have jumped to such conclusions about whatever he saw last night and not let her explain? Was he not the man she had thought he was? No, she couldn't entertain those thoughts. Surely he was just reeling from hurt and a feeling of betrayal himself. They were both so clouded by emotion. Too clouded.

  Running into her room, she threw herself onto her bed and allowed the sobs to rack her body. How would this ever be made right? She wished she could have been strong enough to stay, to explain. Why had she run? Because she had been too angry and, in the moment, too proud to let him see her break down like this. But if she trusted him to see the truth, to see her, then she should have trusted him with her breakdown.

  She had been a coward, an overemotional coward. Now it was worse. Looking over her shoulder, she longed for him to stroll through the door and gather her in his arms and tell her that everything was all right, that they would work it all out. But that was not to be. Her door remained quiet and she was the sole occupant of her room.

  * * *

  Sefu knocked on Nassor's door. The night air was cool and he pulled his cloak around himself a little tighter while he waited. It was some time before his associate answered the door, wearing a robe and rubbing his eyes. It was clear Sefu had gotten him out of bed. Yawning, Nassor opened the door wider to admit Sefu into his home.

  “To what do I owe this late-night visit?” Nassor asked, leading the way to the main living space of his home.

  “He paid me a late night visit. We need to ramp up the progression of his plan,” Sefu said, taking a seat. Sefu was referring to the man behind this job that their faction had been hired to do.

  “What?” One didn't have to be a mind reader to see that Nassor was a little uncomfortable with the way things were going as it was.

  “He is not pleased with the way the general is taking the message, so we need to send a stronger message. The next step will be bigger. Poison.” He regretted telling Nassor this and could anticipate his reaction.

  “Poison? But you said we weren't going to kill anyone.” Nassor protested.

  “Don't worry yourself.” Sefu pulled a small package out of his pocket. He unrolled it and exposed some green root to Nassor. “It's not that kind of poison. This is a special kind of root,” he explained, rubbing his fingers over it. “She will become rather sick, but it won't kill her.”

  “I don't know, Sefu. That sounds like a bit much.”

  “Exactly. What are we always saying? That we need to make bigger moves, that sitting around and hoping things will change is not the answer. They never will. And now, Pharaoh,” he spit out the word, “is inviting more of these Greek scum into our home. We cannot let these things go unchallenged. Think, Nassor, this may be the last step we need to get our point across.”

  Nassor peered at the root, then back at his friend. Sefu knew that he was quite uncomfortable with this kind of thing. He had made it clear that it had been his hope they wouldn't have to hurt anyone. And while they weren't being called upon to kill anyone, this took him into territory he wasn't sure he was ready to go into. But Sefu's message was the same it had always been and Nassor had signed up to support that.

  Sefu was able to read the thoughts displayed on his features. “Don't give up on me now, friend, I know the end is near. Just pass the root along to your contact inside the house and your part will be done. It's not as if you will be giving her the tea yourself.”

  He knew Sefu was speaking the truth, but he also knew that in essence he was giving her the tea if he was a link in the chain. His guilt was not absolved just because he didn't actually hand the poison to her, but he was already in this far and he had committed himself to see this through. And he needed to hang in there. It may be that, down the line, if he stayed with this, he could keep them from harming her if this didn't work.

  After several seconds, he nodded. “I will pass it along.”

  Sefu clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a broad smile. “Your countrymen owe you a debt.”

  The more this continued, the more he doubted Sefu's claim that this was for Egypt. The deeper they got, the more it seemed they were serving the personal agenda of whomever Sefu was taking orders from and that it rather loosely served their own purposes. Maybe Tarik was right about radical factions—they ended up doing more harm than good and their leadership ended up serving personal agendas instead of their ideals.

  Maybe Nassor should have remained with the Alexandrian mob and not joined this faction, but he had believed in Sefu and his words. He believed that more needed to be done. But now he worried that they were giving up too much of their humanity to accomplish their ends.

  * * *

  Alistair rose early and dressed with all due haste. He hoped he would be able to get out of the house before anyone else was up and about. By “anyone,” he meant to avoid Ismene. Their conversation the previous evening had not ended well and he was not ready for an encore. His sleep had been restless. That small voice had gotten louder when he wasn't defending his position. But he had drawn a line in the sand and he decided that he would not back down. Part of him regretted that he was hurting her, but another part of him wanted her to experience the pain that he felt. Moving into his outer bedchambers, he went to ring for Neterka.

  “You're up early,” he heard behind him.

  He spun around to see the outline of his wife in the small bits of early morning light that seeped into the room through the drapes.

  “We have maneuvers early this morning,” he lied. In truth, he had vague plans to ride around the countryside. Anything to get him out of the house and away from her.

  “Ah. I was...hoping we could finish our conversation from last night.” She shifted uncomfortably, hesitating so as to keep her emotions in check.

  “I didn't know there was more to say.”

  Neterka entered the room and Ismene moved over to look out of a window so that he wouldn't see her cried-out face. He had a breakfast of meat, bread, and fruit for Alistair.

  “Milady!” He was startled to see her there. “I did not know you were here. Shall I bring you some breakfast?”

  Alistair and Ismene spoke at the same time.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “No, thank you,” Ismene reiterated. “I'm not hungry.”

  “As you wish,” Neterka said, bowing and
taking his leave.

  Alistair took a seat next to his food. “It feels a little awkward to eat in front of you if you are not going to eat,” he said, his voice harsh.

  “Please.” She shifted to face him. “I assure you, I am simply not hungry.”

  As she turned, standing next to the window, with more light on her face, he could see the effects of both crying all night and the lack of sleep. It tugged at his heart, but he was too hardened by the events of the last thirty-six hours to be softened so easily.

  They remained in silence for a few minutes. Alistair started his breakfast and Ismene stood looking out the window, arms crossed over her chest, unsure how to start.

  * * *

  “How could you read those personal letters?” she started at last, her words spoken in a soft tone. Whether it was from the sleepless night of the crying or something else, she didn't know, but she was rather queasy this morning. Her stomach was doing flip-flops. In fact, her whole body seemed topsy-turvy.

  “Believe me, at the time, I did not relish reading them. The person who brought them to me insisted that I would want to know what was in them. I knew the letters were personal and I did not want to read them. I felt guilty, but now I see it was better I knew. How could you not tell me about such an important relationship?”

  “Did you tell me of all of your relationships?” she challenged.

  “It's not the same.” His voice was raised. “Any relationship I had was in the past. Can you honestly tell me this relationship with Thelopolis was over?”

  She could not, so she remained silent. Putting her hand to her head, she began to feel light-headed.

  “That's what I thought. And even knowing this, you agreed to be my wife without sharing this piece of information with me, even though I gave you every opportunity to opt out.”