The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  “Are you sure you want her back, Merenre?” He spoke Alistair’s Egyptian name with disdain. “After she has prostituted herself to me and my men in return for better treatment?”

  “No, Alistair,” Ismene protested before Meleager pressed the blade more firmly against the side of her neck, cutting her off again. Tears of anger and shame at his implication slipped down her face.

  Alistair’s eyes were cold. The anger was not for his Ismene, but for this treatment of his beloved.

  “Let her go, Meleager.” It was no longer a question.

  The prince's eyes were no longer on Alistair. He was looking at Ismene, his face so close to hers. He ran his free hand down her face and throat. She trembled.

  “What’s the matter, milady?” Her title was said as an insult.

  She didn’t answer, just closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

  He boldly kissed her cheek where one tear was making its trail.

  “Meleager,” Alistair dared, not able to keep himself from stepping forward.

  The prince glared at him and jerked her head back, preparing to cut the jugular.

  Ismene cried out.

  Meleager turned back toward her, running a finger down the length of her neck. “Does that scare you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Alistair could feel a tear running down his face, having escaped his guarded features.

  Prince Meleager moved the knife down, tracing a line down her body’s outline. “What if I cut here?” He stopped with his knife pressed to her swelled abdomen.

  “No!” She couldn't stop herself from crying out.

  “Come now,” he said, his voice low and taunting. “You didn't say please.”

  Another tear slid down Ismene’s face. “Please.”

  “Please? Please what?” he mocked her.

  “Please let her go.” Alistair couldn't remain silent any longer. “I’m the one you want, not her.”

  “Wrong,” the prince shot back. “You’re the one I want to hurt.”

  Alistair racked his brain. They were at an impasse. Someone had to make a move. More than anything, he wanted Meleager's hands, and the knife, off of Ismene. “If you think you are every bit as capable as I, I challenge you to a duel. Prove it to me.”

  “I warn you, General.” Meleager all but laughed. “I have been trained in swords by the best in all of Egypt. Are you sure you're willing to risk it all to attempt to prove something to me that we both know has been exaggerated from the start?”

  “We'll let the swords do the talking.”

  Meleager tossed Ismene to the side. She crumpled to the ground. Alistair took a step forward to check on her, but Meleager drew his sword and pointed it at Alistair, stopping him in his tracks. Alistair responded by drawing his own sword and standing at guard. The two locked eyes, waiting to see who would strike first. Hearing Ismene whimper, Alistair darted his eyes in her direction.

  At once, he felt Meleager's sword flying toward him. Without even thinking, he thrust his blade upwards and blocked the strike while at the same time falling to one knee. Then he took a short swing and knocked the prince's sword back, giving him the precious seconds to get back on both feet. They both started circling.

  “That is what happens when you don't pay attention to your opponent.” Meleager was gloating, and loving it. Alistair cursed himself. This isn't some half-drunk corporal. This is indeed a sword master! The tension was growing. After a few steps, Alistair slowed, feigning weakness and grunted.

  “I heard you were ambushed by the mob. So sorry to hear that.” While the prince jabbed, he took a timid step, and Alistair leapt in with a center thrust. Meleager was barely able to parry the attack and duck out of the way.

  Sensing the prince being off-balance, Alistair continued his offense and swung his blade in several small circles. Meleager was startled, and the sudden shock in his eyes hinted to Alistair that he feared being hit.

  “It seems you have had some training as well,” the prince tried to speak with a confident tone of voice as he bounced between the balls of his feet.

  And you are a talker! Those sorts of warriors were quite annoying, but Alistair didn't let this upset him. It seemed the prince drew strength from self-spoken taunts. If Alistair could distract him with a few swings...

  Just as Meleager bounced onto his right foot, he made a daring sweep with his blade to the left. This caught Alistair by surprise, because he expected such a swing from the right, where Meleager's weight would best serve him. Alistair gripped his sword with both hands, pulling it upwards to block the stroke, and swinging back in anticipation of another pass from the prince. But because the prince had attacked from his weak side, there was no follow-on stroke. Instead, Alistair was swinging at air, and before he realized it, the prince had moved around to his flank side.

  Alistair was just able to parry the first strike that came on his weak flank when he suddenly felt a cut on his left leg from a second strike. The pain from this light gash streaked through his body. His lack of fear in combat diminished. Up until now, the soldiers he had fought seemed to be real amateurs. He felt like he was being schooled by the prince, and the fear was starting to show in his eyes. A grin spread on Meleager's face.

  “Don't assume your attacker will always come from the strong side, my General.”

  If only Alistair had anticipated that last swing, he could have taken the advantage it granted. In a sense of panic, he took a couple of steps back, trying to resist the distraction from the searing pain in his left leg. In this moment of retreat, the prince seized the opportunity to move in and swing a high blow with lethal force. Instead of blocking it, Alistair twisted down and to the left, partly due to panic, but partly out of some hidden instinct. Meleager's blade nicked Alistair's right arm, and generated another wave of pain, exacerbated as the sweat on Alistair's body embraced this fresh wound.

  Alistair was being beaten back, and was starting to feel weak. The pain was growing, converging, and starting to tell him that he would die. Then the calm still voice of his master instructor from long ago rang in his head, “Pain is good. It means you're alive, but never let it dominate you or you shall soon be dead.”

  Pain. Pain was filling his body, but that voice also told him that pain would soon be visited upon Ismene if he failed. With renewed vigor, he started to circle again as Meleager jeered at him.

  “General, I fear the Egyptian army may soon need a new commander.”

  As Alistair circled, he stumbled on purpose, trying to give no signal to Meleager of his determination but instead to keep up the ruse of his weakness.

  Alistair weakly raised his sword to swing from the side. Meleager saw this as his opportunity for a kill strike, and parried the feeble attack. In smooth stride, he swung his own blade around in full circle, expecting to land a blow on Alistair's head. In the brief moment of his pride, he had looked up where his sword was, and as it came down, the general was gone! Anticipating the prince's counterstrike, Alistair had deftly moved to the prince's strong side. He took a short strike and hit the prince's hand.

  Meleager, realizing that the general wasn't as weak as he appeared, was shocked as his right hand was hit by a blow. By sheer luck, he managed to hold on to his blade. Fumbling to react, he shoved his shoulder into Alistair, knocking him off-balance. He took those few seconds to back up and pivot to face the general.

  The two swung at each other at the same time and were locked together. Each was trying to push the other with every ounce of strength left. Alistair noticed that the trickle of blood that had been running down his shoulder had covered his hand and was making the handle of his sword slick.

  Ismene had found strength from somewhere deep inside and used the cave wall to pull herself up.

  Meleager, sensing that Alistair's strength was failing, shouted out, “And now it is time to die!”

  “No!” Ismene screamed.

  Alistair felt the calm embrace of his master instructor fill his soul as
he twisted his body, allowing the blood in his hand to provide the means to pivot to the ground while his sword slipped free. This caused Meleager's body to fall to the ground next to Alistair. Not being able to break his fall, the impact of the prince's full weight knocked the wind out of him. Before he could react, Alistair grabbed his blade and thrust it into the prince's back. He staggered back and gave out a huge sigh.

  As the traitorous prince's lungs filled with blood, he somehow managed to roll over to his back. Blood was in his mouth and he coughed a few times.

  “I...I...” was all that came out, before his eyes glazed over.

  Ismene fell to the ground in tears. Alistair limped over to her, dropping his sword. He knelt in front of her and pulled her into his embrace.

  “There, there, my love. It’s all right, he can’t hurt us now.”

  She nodded against him. Gripping the front of his tunic, she pulled him ever closer, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline.

  Alistair, exhausted, adjusted them so he could lean against the cave wall for support and used his uninjured arm to cradle her. The pain in his limbs, in his whole body, seemed far away as he relished the feeling of having her in his arms. Safe.

  That's when he heard voices in the tunnel, too many to be the small forces Meleager had pulled together. He heaved a deep sigh knowing it was his men. His relief, however, was short-lived.

  Ismene's whole body tightened and she called out in pain.

  “What is it, my love?”

  “The baby! Something is...ahhh!” she cried out again.

  His men were close; he could hear it.

  “Hold on, Ismene.” He was frustrated with his ineptitude. All he could do was sit there, helpless to do anything but hold her.

  Captain Ptah, with a couple of men from his unit, rounded the corner just then.

  “General!” Turning his head, he saw Meleager's body. His face betrayed his disgust at recognizing the mastermind behind this whole plot.

  “Captain,” Alistair pulled his attention away from Meleager's body. “The Lady Ismene is in need of a doctor.”

  Alistair did not wish to be parted from her again, but he knew that in order to get her to a doctor forthwith, this was just what must happen.

  The captain nodded. “Chenzira, get the lady to a doctor at once.”

  Chenzira came forward to gather her in his arms.

  “No!” Ismene said through her pain. “I want to stay with you!”

  “I know, love,” Alistair said. “I want that too, but we need to get you to a doctor. I'm worried about you and the baby.”

  “What about you? You need a doctor.”

  “I need patching, love. Any number of my men can do an adequate job of that.”

  Ismene nodded. She then allowed Chenzira to lift her from her husband's lap and carry her off down the dark corridor from which the soldiers had just come.

  Now that Ismene wasn't relying on him for stability, Alistair collapsed against the wall. Ptah knelt by Alistair to examine his wounds.

  “Captain, is there any vinegar water?” Alistair asked.

  Ptah shook his head. “I'm sorry, General, we did not have time to gather proper supplies. But I don't think we can move you with wounds this deep. You will bleed out. We'll have to tend these and sew them.”

  Alistair nodded his understanding. Ptah was telling him that there was nothing for pain and there would be nothing to dull the pain of the stitching. But he did not fear the pain. His only concern was for the safety of his wife and child.

  * * *

  Alonah was stirred from sleep as a soldier, led by Rabiah, carried Ismene into the bedchambers.

  “Milady!” she gasped, sitting up, tears of joy brimming her eyes. She had begun to fear that she would never see her mistress again. Alonah moved to get out of bed, limping.

  Rabiah was leading him toward the bed, but Alonah could see Ismene's lips moving.

  “She's trying to say something.” Alonah attempted to stop the party.

  They halted and Alonah was able to catch up, grimacing with the pain of every step.

  “Milady, it's Alonah. What is it?”

  “Alistair,” she said, her voice weak as she was fighting unconsciousness.

  “She is asking after the general.” Alonah looked between the maidservant and the soldier.

  “I haven't heard anything from the captain or the general,” the soldier said.

  “Alistair,” Ismene insisted, barely able to annunciate the word.

  “She's delirious, I think,” Rabiah said.

  “No, I think she's trying to communicate something.” Alonah thought for a minute. “I think she's requesting we lay her down in the general's bedchambers.”

  “Should we violate the general's private chambers without his permission?” Rabiah seemed worried about being chastised for wrong actions.

  “We should do as our mistress requests,” Alonah said, her voice a little harsh, leaving no room for discussion. “Follow me,” she said to the soldier.

  Alonah, though slow on her feet, led the way as they moved back out of Ismene's chambers. They were only able to move at Alonah's pace, but at long last they did arrive at Alistair's rooms. The soldier settled Ismene on the bed and Rabiah went about seeing to her comfort.

  Alonah indicated that the soldier should follow her to the outer chambers.

  “What can you tell me of the lady's condition?” Alonah's eyes met those of the soldier's.

  “Captain Ptah's unit found the lady and the general in some caves some miles outside of the city where the lady had been taken. Lady Ismene was in need of a doctor. I was charged with getting her there. He said that her body was injured and under much stress. It had caused the child to try to come early. The doctor was able to stop the progress of the labor with these herbs.” He pulled a pouch out and handed it to Alonah. “If she has the pain again, you are to make these herbs into a tea and have her drink it.”

  Alonah nodded her understanding. “I thank you for returning her to us.”

  “My charge to oversee the continued well-being of the Lady Ismene will continue until my captain or the general releases me. I will take up a post outside of the bedchambers. The doctor insisted she be allowed to rest.” The soldier was all seriousness.

  “Yes, of course.” Alonah did not wish to get in his way.

  The soldier moved to his post outside of the outer chamber's door and Alonah went to oversee Ismene's care.

  * * *

  Alistair was relieved to see the outline of his house on the horizon. After his ordeal, all he wanted was to see that Ismene and the child were well. It would only be a matter of minutes before they were at the house and he would find out what had happened to his beloved.

  Would it be possible to gather her in his arms to sleep? While that might be uncertain, he did know that he would not be parted from her again for a long time to come. He would discuss with Pharaoh a leave of absence to be with his wife after this terrible trial they had come through.

  The chariot stopped at the entrance to the house and Ptah assisted Alistair down. He did not wish to depend on his captain, but he did not wish to tear his stitches either. So he allowed himself to be helped, and he took his steps slow and steady while moving into the house. They were greeted by Fenuku. Alistair felt a pang of loss that it was not Neterka, but that was something he would have to get used to.

  “Has the Lady Ismene returned?” Alistair was desperate to hear of her condition.

  “Yes, General, all is well. She is resting in your chambers.”

  “My chambers?” That was a pleasant surprise. It also touched him. She must have wanted to be close to him, even in his absence.

  Everyone matched Alistair's pace as he moved through the house toward his suite. Knowing that Ismene was mere steps away, it was easy to forget the pain. He was tempted to rush, but forced himself to continue his slow steps, being mindful of the stitches in his leg.

  They met Chenzira at the door.


  “How is the Lady Ismene?” Alistair wanted to forego the soldier who had done his due diligence, but he would acknowledge the man's faithfulness.

  “Resting comfortably, General.” Chenzira stood at attention as he spoke.

  Alistair was thankful that he got the short version. There would be time later for the details.

  “Thank you for your service, Chenzira. I shall see to it that you are given a commendation.” A knowing look passed between Alistair and Ptah.

  “You are dismissed,” Ptah said, as Alistair moved into the outer chambers.

  Moving farther into his receiving room, he could hear Ptah speaking to Fenuku in the hall. “Do you have some herbs for pain? The general could use a tea if you do,” Ptah said.

  “I will see to it,” Fenuku said.

  Alistair waited a moment to see if Ptah would follow him into the bedchambers, but he seemed to think better of it. This was fine with him; his mind was elsewhere.

  Slipping into his inner bedchambers, Alistair could barely breathe. It was not his intention to wake Ismene, but he wanted to check on her, to see that she was safe. She was indeed where Fenuku had said, resting peacefully. Surely she had insisted on being put in his bed. That made him happy. He couldn’t imagine her being across the house, recovering in her suite while he was in his.

  Ismene stirred and opened her eyes, smiling as she took in her surroundings. She tenderly touched the place where he would have been lying and sighed. Only then did she seem to notice him standing over her.

  “Alistair,” she said in a whisper.

  He came forward. “I’m here.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her hand in one of his, leaning over her. She tugged on his hand, indicating that she wished for him to lie down next to her. Alistair obeyed, curling up beside her and gathering her with his good arm. They lay there for some time, resting in the comfort found in each other’s arms—the comfort each had longed for.

  “Please, always stay here with me.” Ismene placed a hand on his chest.

  “Not even a hundred armies could pull me away.”