Enslaved by the Desert Trader

by Greta Gilbert

  Behind that bush was another bush. Beyond that the open desert.

  She kept walking.

  She was almost out of earshot when she ran into a large boulder. A large, breathing boulder, with ripples of stony flesh.

  ‘They will notice your absence soon,’ Tahar whispered. He was placing the horse’s reins in her hands. ‘I will distract them for as long as I can. The River is only a day’s journey to the east of here. Do you see that star?’

  It was him. Him, him, him. He had come for her. He was not going to sell her—no matter what the price. He was going to save her after all.

  ‘Hathor, do you see the star?’ he repeated.

  He was pointing to a large bright star above the eastern horizon.

  ‘If you follow it faithfully by morning you will see a single tall peak. From the top of that peak you will see the River...and the Isle of Abu.’

  She stared at him, unable to speak.

  ‘You will also see if they have followed you. If they have not, you may stop running.’

  ‘You are not coming with me?’

  ‘I must stay and try to prevent them from following you.’

  He is not coming with me. ‘But how will you stop them?’

  Tahar pointed to the golden necklaces around his neck and smiled. ‘Do not worry—I have a plan. One of my tribesmen is here and will help me. Already he is riding south, creating a false trail.’ Tahar sobered. ‘There is a blade in the saddle, and plenty of grain—your grain.’

  My grain. She could not believe it. He was returning her grain to her. There was still enough to see her through the season.

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘Go now, Hathor. You must fly. Go to the Isle of Abu. You will be safe there.’

  With an ease that exposed his strength, Tahar lifted her and set her atop Meemoo. He let his hands linger on her waist for a moment, then shook his head.

  ‘What about your boat? The deal you made with the Chief—?’

  ‘I made no deal. And I no longer wish for a boat.’

  Kiya could not believe it. Her dream was coming true—she was being set free—so why did it feel as if her hopes were dying?

  ‘If you no longer wish for a boat, then what do you wish for, Tahar?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘I wish for you to be free from the clutches of such an evil man. I wish for you to have a better life. You have made my life better than you will ever know.’

  The moon had not yet risen, but through the darkness Kiya thought she could see a sheen in Tahar’s eyes.

  ‘Now, go—there is no time to lose,’ he said, and he smacked Meemoo on the flank.

  And just like that she was free.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The air was changing. It felt thicker, weightier. Even as she ascended the steep slopes of the mountain Kiya could sense her proximity to the Great River. She should have been ecstatic. To all Khemetians, the Great River was home. It was where they grew crops and raised families, where they washed and played and hunted and fished. The River was everything, and it flowed through Khemetians’ hearts, filling their spirits with joy.

  So why did Kiya feel nothing but sorrow?

  She had ridden all through the night, just as he’d instructed. She had kept her senses alert, never resting, allowing the memory of Chief Bandir’s twisted grin to spur her onward.

  When she arrived at the base of the mountain the Sun God’s light was already spilling onto the eastern horizon. Kiya tethered Meemoo to a small tree and began her trek up its steep, rocky slope.

  She was grateful for her sandals now. The sandals he made for me. Khemetians did not wear shoes because they were unnecessary. She had always meant to explain that to him. The bottomland mud upon which Khemetian farmers trod was soft and cool, and even in Khemetian villages and cities the sand was pulverous and yielding.

  The earth of the desert was different. It was rocky and much less forgiving. Without Tahar’s well-made sandals now, the sharp granite talus that comprised the slopes of the desert mountain would have surely shredded her soles.

  Why had she never thanked him for the sandals?

  She stopped and took a draught from the water bag she carried. He had packed it for her in the saddlebag, along with a clutch of ripe dates.

  She could not believe he had managed to find dates in the palms growing where they had camped. She had hidden among the leaves of those very palms and had not seen them. But, then again, Tahar was always discovering food where there seemed to be none. It was one of his many talents.

  Another of his talents was observation. If he were watching her now she wondered if he would observe the stains of tears upon her cheeks. Would he notice how she neared the summit of the peak but still did not look up? She bit into a date, though its sweetness was lost upon her tongue. Would he notice her spitting the lovely fruit onto the ground?

  She stopped in her tracks. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to be happy. She had got her wish: he had set her free. And he had faced great challenges to do it.

  The first challenge had been temptation. The Chief had made him an offer he hadn’t been able to refuse: two gold necklaces—enough to procure a large boat indeed. And yet Tahar had only pretended to agree to it. By then he had already been preparing for his second challenge: engineering Kiya’s escape.

  How he had managed to ready the horse without being noticed was incredible to her. Nor did she comprehend how he had known where to find her in the dark desert surrounding the camp. But find her he had. It seemed he had placed himself directly in her path. He could have simply run away with her then. But, no—he wanted to increase her chances by drawing any would-be pursuers away from her path.

  That was the third challenge he faced right now. And it had begun the moment Chief Bandir noticed that his most recently acquired possession—Kiya herself—was gone. Tahar had declined to tell her his plan for diversion but she had guessed it, and it was as clever as a leopard’s tail.

  Tahar had already sent his tribesman towards Nubia to create a trail that headed south. Kiya’s own trail headed east, towards the Great River, so her pursuers would have to decide between the trails. But there would be a third trail—Tahar’s. That trail would head west, deeper into the desert. It would be similar to the other trails in all ways but one: Tahar’s trail would be marked by two gold necklaces.

  Which trail were the Chief and his minions most likely to follow then?

  The answer seemed clear to Kiya, and in a dozen more strides she would find out for sure if she was correct. If the Chief’s men were doing as she expected she would not see them at all, for they would be headed westward in pursuit of Tahar.

  Luckily Tahar would be half a day’s ride into the desert before the Chief and his men set out upon Tahar’s trail. He would lure them farther and farther westward, giving Kiya more time to reach the safety of the boundary of Upper Khemet. She imagined him spurring Meemoo onward as he raced ahead of the militant thieves...

  It was in that instant that Kiya realised her error. I have Meemoo.

  Kiya’s legs became weak. They refused to take her the last dozen strides she needed to reach the summit.

  He is without Meemoo.

  While she had galloped away to freedom Tahar had travelled on foot, with an entire mounted army behind him in pursuit. They were probably overtaking him right now.

  Kiya pictured Chief Bandir’s evil grin. When he finally caught the man who had freed his bride he would surely show no mercy.

  Kiya felt ill. In setting her free, Tahar had sealed his own fate.

  She bounded up the last stretch of slope and stepped out upon the small flat table of rock that defined the summit. She took a breath and focused her eyes westward, towards the desert. She scanned the vast flat plain and saw not
a single soul. She could just make out the outline of the low escarpment where they had made their camp. Nobody was coming for her. They had apparently gone west—in pursuit of Tahar.

  If they have not followed you, you may stop running, he had said.

  She closed her eyes and let the tears come. By saving herself she had condemned him. The man who had saved her life a dozen times. The man who had shown her wonders beyond her wildest dreams. The man whose very smile had made her whole body quake.

  She collapsed upon the ground. The whole of the universe seemed to have turned upside down. Somewhere in the distance Tahar was either running from his death or meeting it.

  It was hours before she was able to lift her head. Ra’s heavenly body floated high above the horizon and her skin burned beneath his rays. What had happened to Tahar? Perhaps she would never know. But she would not give up hope that somewhere, somehow, he was alive.

  Kiya could hear Meemoo’s plaintive neighs at the base of the mountain, urging her to return. Before beginning her descent, she gazed eastward, and a majestic view spread out before her. In the distance the Great River wound across the plain in giant serpentine bends. Glittering in the sunlight, its blue-green waters appeared to flow for ever—Kiya could not discern where the River began or ended. It seemed as long as time itself.

  When she was young she had swum in the River almost every day. The other street children had feared its waters, for crocodiles hunted in them, toppling fishermen’s boats and taking laundrymen’s limbs at will. But Kiya had tempted fate, swimming until she almost grew gills and her feet became fins that could outswim any foe.

  There had been other children who often swum in the Great River’s waters, as Kiya had, but they had done it without risk. They were the King’s bastards. They had lived with their mothers—the King’s concubines—in the royal harem on the far side of the palace. The harem’s removed location was far enough away from palace activities to be forgotten, and its location offered its residents easy access to the artificial lagoon that had been created for the King’s fishermen.

  The lagoon was called the King’s Shallows, and it was protected from crocodiles. A fence of tightly coiled papyrus guarded the narrow underwater entrance, allowing the Great River’s perch, tilapia and catfish to swim in but keeping its crocodiles out.

  It was a fishermen’s paradise and a child’s playground, and many of the King’s concubines chose to bring their children there, despite their access to the well-tended pools of the inner palace. It was a realm of white sands and shimmering fish and palms that danced wildly in the breeze. It was a place free of rules, where children could be children, regardless of their lineage. And its ample beach was surrounded by a high wall, affording the royal women and children a privacy that was almost complete.

  Almost. A hole in the wall had allowed Kiya to spy on them—something she had done for hours on end. The young children had splashed in the shallows, their chubby hands groping for the silvery fish. The older children would range more widely, finding shells and digging up creatures along the banks. They would present their newfound prizes to their mothers, who had lounged like contented hippos upon the shore, with nothing to worry about but what they might eat for lunch.

  Kiya’s envy had grown. She had yearned to be like those children, to enjoy a life of abundance and levity—a life free of crocodiles. It was the life she had been born to, the life she had always searched for but had never seemed to find.

  And now she realised she did not want it—not if it did not include a certain stubborn trader with liquid blue eyes and hair the colour of wheat. She refused to believe him dead. As long as the Great River flowed, as long as Great God Khnum presided beneath the Isle of Abu, she would not give up hope to see her desert trader again.

  And there it was before her now—the fabled Isle of Abu. She had imagined it as a tall, floating cavern through which the river waters spewed, but it was only a long, narrow swath of land that split the River lengthwise, like a frozen teardrop.

  Tahar had been right. The Great River did not begin at the Isle of Abu. If only she could speak to him now—how satisfied he would be to hear her say those words, and how glad she would be to finally say them: Tahar, you were right.

  She would never doubt him again. What had he told her to do? Go to Abu. She would be safe on Abu. Fine. She would do that. She had plenty of grain, a sharp dagger, and the strongest, most wonderful horse that had ever lived. Tahar had furnished her with everything she needed to survive.

  She would go to the Isle of Abu and wait. He had told her that she made his life better. If that was true then he would come for her. Surely he would. If Tahar yet lived he would seek her out upon the Isle of Abu.

  She would wait for him and he would come.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  King Khufu had never seen a creature so daring or so beautiful.

  She had been swimming between the island and the riverbank for nearly half the day. He’d watched her from behind one of the large boulders that littered the island’s shoreline. First she had swum the distance alone, her long limbs stroking comfortably against the current. Then she had begun to carry loads. A bag of grain upon her head. Then another. A saddlebag. A clutch of dates.

  She’d worked quickly and efficiently, scanning the surface for crocodiles, though it appeared she had little fear of them. Before long she had all of her treasures safely transferred to the island but one.

  The King had never seen such a large donkey. Or perhaps it was something sent from the Gods.

  She’d tugged at the beast’s reins, but he had refused to venture into the water. Finally the clever woman had crossed back to the island and filled a bowl of grain. She had returned to the shore, given the beast one taste, then held the bowl above her head, just beyond his reach. The beast had not even known he was swimming, and when he’d reached the island he’d got his reward.

  She, too, had got hers—rest. She had collapsed upon the shore, exhausted.

  Now, no longer in danger of crocodiles, she moved slowly, savouring her accomplishment. She inspected the purple headdress she had twisted about her body, now completely wet. The garment clung to her curves like a second skin.

  King Khufu felt a long-forgotten stirring deep in his stomach. He had come to the Isle of Abu in search of a god. Instead, it seemed that he had found a goddess. He stole closer, hiding himself behind a large boulder at the water’s edge.

  The late-afternoon sunlight sketched her soft curves and he studied them, as if beholding a gloriously carved relief. Slowly she removed her wrap and stood naked upon the shore. Khufu had to catch his breath. She entered the water to her knees, then dunked the garment and wrung it out. She spread the large cloth upon the rocks to dry. Completely disrobed, she returned to the water and began to give herself a bath.

  Her face was dirty—stained with perspiration and dust, as if she had endured a long journey. Now, every splash of water seemed to reveal a new layer of loveliness. Her breasts were round and ripe—her nipples becoming perfect peaks at the touch of the droplets. She bent over and dipped her short black hair, then lifted it in a spray of sparkling water. Her movements were so fluid and graceful it looked as if she were performing a holy dance.

  Khufu could not believe what he was seeing. Two days before, when his entourage had first arrived at Abu, he had spat upon the ground in vexation. A month’s journey for this small piece of rock? There was no cavern, no temple, nowhere to seek communion with Khnum, the God who was supposed to be at his command.

  He had begun to feel foolish. He had left the capital city without its King during a time of drought. Horus spoke to me, he had told Imhoter. And so the God had. He had told Khufu to come to Abu, but why?

  Now he understood why. It was her. She was the answer. Horus had sent him the epitome of beauty and grace to rescue him and all of Khemet from desp
air. She seemed to have been born of the Great River itself. She was harmony, she was loveliness, she was beauty incarnate, she was...

  ‘Hathor...’ he uttered.

  The woman turned. ‘Yes?’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  She fought the two guards mightily, but was powerless against them. They dragged her to the other side of the island, where five large sailing boats floated offshore.

  ‘Meemoo!’ she yelled, but a callused hand pressed against her mouth.

  She was placed upon a papyrus raft and was piloted to the prow of the largest boat in the fleet. The men lifted her aboard and ushered her past seven massive oars and through an entrance to a long cabin that sat atop the wooden deck.

  There was no seeing in the cabin at first. The rich smell of incense assaulted her senses, and she could hear the soft musical clinking of chimes. As her eyes adjusted to the low light she beheld a space like none she had ever seen. Thick, luxurious carpets and massive cushions covered the floors, and the walls were decorated with richly coloured tapestries. There were small low tables stationed throughout the room. Upon them sat glazed earthen pitchers, and platters overflowing with fruits, nuts and breads. Above it all several high, thin windows let in rays of sunlight that bounced off the gilded furnishings.

  For a moment Kiya thought she had died and been transported to the heavenly quarters of some benevolent god. Then she felt the squeeze of the guards’ grips upon her arms. She strained against them, fighting to free her arms as they escorted her across the room. The guards motioned to a stack of cushions and bade Kiya sit, but she refused.

  What was this floating temple of opulence? What richly decorated prison lay before her eyes?

  In the corner of the room, a tall, ornately dressed bald man watched her from the shadows. ‘It is useless to fight,’ said the man. ‘You must resign yourself to your fate.’