"Milady!" She rushed forward. "No, milady, let me help you!" She grabbed for pillows to prop Karin up to take the strain off of her aching muscles.
Karin wanted to protest, but she couldn't deny how grateful her body was for the relief in effort. "Thank you, Mary," she croaked.
"I have your tea, milady." Mary grasped the cup and held it over to Karin's mouth for her to sip.
Karin reached up to take the cup from her. "I thank you for your help, but I am strong enough."
"Of course." Mary relinquished the cup but insisted on patting down Karin's face and arms with the cool cloth. She was such a creature of habit, Karin mused. This must have been part of Mary's routine as well while Karin lay unconscious. Now that Karin was awake, it was wholly unnecessary, but her handmaiden only followed instructions given.
"Could you open the drapes, Mary? I would so like to see the sunlight."
Mary nodded and moved across the room.
"How long have I been in here like this?" Her voice grew stronger. The warmth of the tea helped.
"Seven days, milady."
"Seven days?" Her teacup rattled. Mary rushed over to help steady it in her hands.
"Yes, you were quite sick for some time," Mary continued, turning away from Karin to continue her work around the room. She told Karin the story as if she were telling it for the hundredth time, "You were in a bad way when they brought you in, and no one could figure what had happened. When your father called for the doctor, he said it was poison."
"Poison?" Karin brushed a hand across her forehead. Could it be true?
Epilogue
Alistair paced outside of the birthing pavilion. Hearing Ismene's cries, he knew them to be the normal cries of labor. He would just have to wait it out. There was nothing he could do to ease her pain or remove it. Taking this moment to reflect, he thought back over the course of their marriage and all they had been through. The trials of their early marriage seemed but a distant memory, almost surreal, some three years later. So much had come to pass because of those events.
Most of the members of the radical faction of the Alexandrian mob were arrested that day so long ago. They were rounded up in the caves by the soldiers that arrived to rescue him and Ismene. Did they get the entire faction? There was no way to know. The members they did arrest never talked, but they did imprison Sefu and Akil—two men they knew to be directly responsible in the plot to kidnap and attempt to murder his wife.
A contingency of soldiers had also been sent to the estate where Alistair had faced off with the mob. Alas, it was abandoned and they had not been able to track down anyone associated with that group. Not even Neterka. He had disappeared, leaving behind everything. The only thing the soldiers could bring back to Alistair was a blue robe. Neterka's room had been raided a week after the incident and Alistair knew it must have been someone connected to the mob. But nothing ever came of that.
Fenuku had seamlessly replaced Neterka with Ismene's help. He had proven to be a competent and loyal valet. Alistair, however, had been changed by the event. No longer did he trust even his personal manservant with the kinds of information he had before. No, he had seen the folly of his ways. It was difficult for him to no longer have someone to use as a sounding board, but that was necessary for the security of Egypt.
Alistair was shaken from his thoughts as Alonah exited the birthing pavilion. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed the screams of his wife subside to be replaced by the cries of their child. How had he missed that? Now that he recognized it, he knew it to be one of the most beautiful sounds in the entire world.
“She is asking for you, General.” Alonah smiled, then she squatted. “And you too, young man.”
* * *
Ismene glanced over at her handsome husband and their amazing son, Teremun, as they entered the room and came over to the bed where she reclined. Teremun had his mother's olive complexion and curly black hair but his father's bright blue eyes. He was a beautiful child. He bounded into the room and over to his mother, eager to meet his new sister.
“What are we going to call her, Mommy?” he asked as his father helped him up onto the bed so he could see his sister better.
“Well, she is precious to Mommy. Just like you. So why don't we name her 'precious.' Do you know the Egyptian word for ‘precious’?” Ismene reached out to stroke her son's curls.
“Aziza!”
“That's my smart boy,” Alistair said.
“But my name doesn't mean precious, Mommy,” Teremun said.
“That's right, what does your name mean?” Ismene's eyes followed the bouncing movements of her son.
“That Daddy loves me!”
“That's right, ‘beloved by his father,’” Ismene replied.
“Is she gonna have two names like me?” The young boy seemed rather concerned about his sister having proper names.
“I think she should. Let's think of a Greek name too. How about ‘beautiful’?” Alistair spoke up.
“Adara!” Teremun said excitedly.
“Aziza Adara,” Alistair said. “Precious and beautiful. Just like her mother.” Alistair planted a kiss on her lips. “You are amazing, darling.” He settled himself in a seated position at the head of the bed next to his wife.
Teremun jumped down off the bed and bounded around the room, examining the murals and statues around the birthing chambers.
Rabiah and Alonah returned, Rabiah with additional blankets for wrapping the baby, and Alonah with a cool drink for Ismene. For her part, Ismene surrendered her precious bundle over to her handmaiden, Rabiah.
Since Alonah had left her service to make her home with Jabari, Rabiah had proved to be almost as attentive and caring a servant and friend. But no one could quite replace Alonah. Lucky for Ismene, no one had to. Alistair had insisted Jabari allow him to offer assistance setting up a home for them as thanks for Jabari's role in bringing Ismene home. Their home was a fifteen-minute chariot ride away. Ismene was able to visit her friend as often as she wished.
Alonah had been sitting on the bed to offer Ismene the cool drink, but she stood, placing her hands on the small of her back and letting out a deep breath.
“It won't be long for you now.” Ismene put a hand on Alonah's protruding stomach.
Alonah smiled. “I only hope Jehovah smiles down on me as He has you.”
Crying out to Jehovah in the midst of her ordeal had been only the beginning of a long journey of faith for Ismene. She had become quite the eager pupil of the scholars and scroll-keepers at the library of Alexandria. The more she delved into the wondrous mystery of Scripture, with the foundation of her experience to build on, the more she came to believe.
Soon after, Alistair and then Alonah came to see the truth as she had. Alistair had even decided to give Teremun the second name of “Esaias,” which was Greek for “God saves,” as he began to believe that Jehovah had brought them through their ordeal and saved their lives.
Rabiah brought Aziza back over to Ismene, having swaddled her and calmed her. “She is going to have your eyes, milady.”
Ismene took her daughter back and gazed into her eyes. She could see that, while her eyes were indeed a newborn blue, they were quite dark already. Certainly, they would get darker.
“Would you like to hold your daughter?” Ismene held Aziza out in Alistair's direction.
“Of course.” He gathered her into his arms.
Having been startled to wakefulness, she began to cry. The practiced father started gently bouncing his new baby girl, holding her close to his body. It worked to calm her to sleep again.
He looked over at his wife and smiled. She couldn't miss the glisten in his eye.
“Thank you,” he said, “for the two most precious children in the whole world.”
She smiled back. “Thank you for the most amazing life.”
Ismene sighed. Her life was amazing. It seemed as if it were a lifetime ago that she was being forcibly relocated to Egypt to marry this man wh
o was a stranger to her, scared, skeptical, and disheartened. And now, this was home. This life was home. The love of this man was home.
About the Author
Sara R. Turnquist resides with her family in Middle TN and though she has enjoyed her career as a Zoo Educator, Sara’s great love of the written word has always drawn her to write. An avid reader, she has been, for many years, what she terms a “closet writer”. Her travels and love of history have served to inspire her to write Historical Fiction. Sara’s debut novel, The Lady Bornekova, was greatly influenced by her time spent in the Czech Republic.
Sara loves to hear from her readers!
@saraturn
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The General's Wife (Ancient Egypt) Page 27
