Enslaved by the Desert Trader

by Greta Gilbert

  ‘Does not the tunnel begin on the other side of this room?’ asked Tahar. ‘I noticed an opening when we entered.’

  ‘The tunnel you saw is a decoy. It was designed to stop looters.’

  ‘Let me guess: it leads to the subterranean chamber.’

  She could sense him grinning in the dark. ‘Yes! How do you know?’

  ‘The Chief came here the day of the raid in search of slaves. He became enraged when he entered the underground chamber and found not a single soul.’

  ‘Ha!’ cried Kiya. ‘They were certainly hiding behind this rock,’ she said, thrusting the large square boulder forward until she felt the cool, familiar air of the inner tunnel caress her face.

  Tahar followed her through the opening and helped her return the rock to its place. ‘Yet another of my dreams is about to come true,’ he said.

  They spoke little as they ascended the tunnel. She had so much to tell him—about her discovery on Abu, her trip down the Great River, her experience at the royal palace. But nothing seemed worth saying. Instead, small words of guidance came to her lips.

  ‘In two steps we shall make the turn,’ she told him. ‘Here is an uneven patch. Watch your footfalls.’

  It felt strange to hear the high chime of her voice inside the tunnel. She had been Mute Boy for so long, daring not even a grunt as she helped pull the carts up the long, square spirals. Now her words echoed harshly against the walls, as if intruding on the tomb’s sacred silence.

  She stopped at an intersection. ‘Do you feel a difference in the air here?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye, it is slightly cooler than elsewhere,’ said Tahar. ‘And there seems to be more of it.’

  ‘Our path intersects here with the path to the second burial chamber, where the King’s ushebti statue will be housed,’ she explained. ‘They built the path when I was still a girl. It is said that when Khufu was having this part of the tomb built, he allowed only a half-gang of workers to labour here—all of them slaves. The men completed the second and third chambers, then he took them far beyond the Big Green and freed them.’

  ‘He showed mercy,’ said Tahar.

  ‘At Imhoter’s insistence, I’m sure. I think Khufu wished for their secrets to disappear with them,’ mused Kiya.

  ‘You mean their knowledge of the additional two chambers?’

  ‘That is what I believe—though it is impossible to prove the chambers’ existence. They have been sealed inside the rock.’

  ‘That is unfortunate,’ said Tahar. ‘I would have loved to have seen them for myself.’

  ‘One day, many thousands of years from now, perhaps our descendants will find those hidden chambers and all the world will marvel at the riches that surely lie therein,’ said Kiya.

  They walked on in silence. She had used the phrase ‘our descendants’ in a general sense. But as it had echoed through the tunnel it had seemed that she spoke of their future children. She felt her cheeks flush, and was grateful Tahar could not see them.

  She should have been uttering prayers of contrition, for surely her presence here was offending the Gods. Still, she could not help but wonder if the Gods really cared that much about her, or even the tomb which she ascended so brazenly.

  ‘Watch your step again here,’ she told Tahar, and she felt his hand reach for hers.

  She took it and guided him slowly forward. She felt his thumb graze the raised mounds at the base of her fingers and paused, remembering when he had last touched her that way.

  ‘I think you can proceed on your own now,’ she said, releasing him. She could not allow herself to think of him like that—not until she knew for certain that it was she, in fact, whom he truly wanted. Indeed, she wondered what he could possibly say to alleviate the growing doubt she had begun to feel in her heart.

  When they arrived at the top of the Pyramid night was falling. She walked out onto the square, cart-sized platform and looked south to Memphis. She saw no signs of the outcome of the attack—no line of vanquished raiders, no throng of escaping citizens. Nothing.

  Tahar joined her, squinting to discern the city so far away. He placed his arms upon the limestone wall that surrounded the platform and leaned outward, as if a few more inches might improve his chances of seeing who had won and who had lost. Finally he stopped trying. It was too dark: they would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Kiya breathed deeply, taking in the magnificent view. She could see a great distance even as the cloak of night fell upon the land. There was the Great River, to the east. Beside it she could see the low buildings of the workers’ village and the inlet that had been dug to receive the Pyramid’s large stones. To the south was the City—she could just make out the white walls of the royal palace. The Red Land stretched endlessly to their west.

  Kiya thought she could see the beginning of the glow where the Moon God would soon rise in his splendid fullness. And somewhere beyond to the north lay the Big Green. It was a view made for the Gods.

  She looked down the sheer, angled slopes below her, their polished limestone glowing white even in the low light. Dizzy, she stepped backwards and closed her eyes. Few had been allowed to set foot upon this sacred space, and certainly not any of the workers. In time, none would be allowed here. When the King began his journey to the afterlife the holy benben would be placed upon this space. The dazzling golden cap would draw Ra’s light, creating a pathway to eternity for the King.

  The King who was, Kiya remembered, just a man.

  ‘Are you well?’ asked Tahar.

  ‘Aye, just a little dizzy. We are so far from the ground.’ She stepped forward, peering once again over the ledge. ‘Look there. I see a fire.’ She pointed south, to the outskirts of Memphis. A tiny speck of light wavered against the horizon, barely visible.

  Tahar stood at her side, squinting. ‘Ah, I see it.’

  ‘Do you think Bandir succeeded?’

  ‘Nay,’ said Tahar. ‘Bandir is far too impulsive and Imhoter far too clever.’

  ‘But it is not Imhoter whom Bandir seeks to unseat, it is the King,’ said Kiya.

  ‘I suspect that Imhoter is the reason there is a King at all.’

  ‘I suspect that you are right,’ Kiya said, smiling sadly. She prayed that Imhoter had prevailed. She imagined him escorting the last of the Libu and Nubian villains through the city gates.

  ‘Now go away and don’t come back,’ he would tell them kindly.

  If only Imhoter’s gentle hand were steering the ship of Khemet and not the stone fist of Khufu, who would surely torture any captured invaders and then enslave them. Kiya shivered to think how close she had come to spending the rest of her life at King Khufu’s side, at the helm of that evil ship.

  Instinctively, she leaned her head against Tahar’s arm. She heard him sigh. His fingers sought to entwine with hers and she felt her heart beat faster.

  Stop, Kiya. She could not let him do this. She could not allow him to envelop her in his whirlwind of passion and make her once again forget her purpose. Would he have sold her or wouldn’t he? She needed to know the answer.

  If the answer was yes, then she would not blame him. He was part of the same world she was. He would have done what he had to do to survive, just as she had.

  But if the answer was yes she knew that she could never give him her heart.

  She pulled her hand away from his and walked to the northwest corner of the platform. She blinked up at the sky. The great milky river above had begun to reveal itself. Kiya breathed in the cool night air.

  ‘If each of us becomes a star when we die,’ she said, ‘then one day the night will no longer be the night, for the dark sky will be full of light.’

  Tahar turned to her. ‘What a strange idea. But our bodies do not burst into flame when we die,’ he reasoned. ‘Instead they return to the earth, and soon ev
en our bones disappear.’

  Kiya turned away. She loved his lessons in observation—but she was not interested in one now. She wanted to know what was in his heart. He’d paused, and she felt his eyes upon her.

  ‘But if we do become stars after we die, then you are right,’ he admitted. ‘We shall light up the night.’

  ‘If we are destined to die, then I wish to die knowing the truth,’ Kiya said finally. She had opened the door; she could not stop now. ‘And you can die knowing you did not conceal it from me.’

  Tahar stepped across the platform and joined her. ‘And so I will give you the truth.’ He reached out his hand and offered it to her. ‘But you must hold my hand while I tell it, or I may just fall over the edge.’

  Obligingly Kiya took his hand, and Tahar began. ‘I have anguished over your questions,’ he said, ‘but not for the reasons you might suspect. I have thought about them because it pained me most profoundly to hear them, and it told me that I have failed.’

  Kiya felt her hand grow moist inside his.

  ‘I have failed because before I met you I had grown desperate—so desperate that I considered bartering the life of another for my own gain. I was no better than the chieftains and kings who play with people’s lives like cones and reels in a game of senet.’

  Tahar pulled her hand closer to his face, and enveloped it in both of his hands.

  ‘You changed that. You reminded me that you were human and that I was, too. How could I wish to be accepted by others and yet not accept you? How could I wish for peace between Redlanders and Blacklanders and still intend to sell you like a sack of grain? Forgive me for taking so long to understand, dear woman. Nay, I did not intend to trade you. I extended our journey because I could not bear the idea of parting from you. Nubia was a ruse, a lie. It was the most distant destination I could contrive. I could not admit it to myself at first, but slowly I came to realise that I would never have sold you—not to Bandir nor to anyone else. I never wished to part with you. The only reason I did was because you showed me that your life is your own, as mine is my own. You made me understand the value of freedom. You made me a better man.’

  He pressed her hand to his lips.

  Kiya kept her eyes closed and let his words sink into her heart. They were the words she had yearned to hear, for they confirmed what she had always known: Tahar was a noble man, a good man. In a world gone mad, he was sane. He did not need to use others to achieve his ends. He saw the beauty and the wonder of the world and it was...enough.

  ‘But there is another reason I have failed,’ he continued. ‘I have never told you that I spend every waking moment thinking about you. Even when I am asleep I see you in my dreams. You have assaulted my body and invaded my heart. I no longer wish to be anywhere but by your side. I no longer wish to go anywhere unless you are with me. I no longer wish to find my homeland because I have already found it. It is you. You are my homeland. As long as I am with you I am happy. I am at peace. I am home. I... I love you. I do not even know your name, but I love you.’

  Kiya opened her eyes. He was on his knees before her, as if he were praying before a sacred altar. Kiya bent and met him there, her spirit overflowing with love. ‘Kiya,’ she said. ‘That is my name. Just Kiya.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Kiya. That is a beautiful name.’

  ‘I believe that is the first time I’ve ever said it aloud.’

  ‘Nay, not the first time.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘In the cave—you said it the morning you awoke.’

  ‘Then why did you not call me by my name?’

  ‘I knew you would deny it, and then probably say something about your imaginary family in Abydos.’

  She could not see his face, but she knew he smirked.

  ‘It takes a jackal to know a jackal,’ he added.

  He put her hand to his lips and kissed it, a long, tender kiss.

  Stay away from men, Kiya, her mother had warned. They only mean to possess you, to enslave you. If only she could explain to her mother how good this man was to her, how kind.

  They sat in silence. What else to say? There was nothing—unless she were to tell him that she had tried valiantly to banish him from her mind, but to no avail. There he had remained, all those weeks while she had prepared for her betrothal to the King. He had hovered at the edge of her awareness, hacking away at her resolve, destroying all her well-laid plans. There was nothing to say unless to tell him that he had won, that she was still his captive, for he had long ago taken possession of her heart.

  ‘Tahar?’

  ‘What is it, Kiya?’

  ‘I love you, too.’

  Forgive me, Mother, but I do. She stared out at the lone fire in the distance. It danced and flickered, a tiny uprising against the increasing darkness.

  Let us stay here for ever. It did not matter that Memphis might have fallen, nor that the Great River would not rise. It did not matter that tomorrow, when they rolled the large rock aside once again, they might indeed meet their end. All that mattered was this night.

  She found the place where his arm had been cut. She wished she could tend it, as he had done her own injuries that day in the cave. She stood on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips softly against the wound. She looked up and there were those eyes, fierce and luminous even in the darkness. They searched hers, probing for the answer to one last unuttered question.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Yes, her eyes told him in silent answer.

  He encircled her in his arms. He pressed his lips upon the back of her neck and kissed away her doubts. Then she felt the sensation of soft bites upon her shoulders. What was he doing? Whatever it was, she wanted him to do it more. She arched her head back and stared at the sky. There it was again, that great, milky river. It seemed so close, and as Tahar nibbled on her neck it began to flow.

  Kiya rocked forward into Tahar’s body. He absorbed her weight with a low moan and held her for a long while. Gently he turned her around, to face away from him, then kissed the side of her neck.

  ‘I thought about you every second,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I died when I lost you, and when I saw you on the royal terrace that day...your wedding day...’ His voice was thick, his breath warm and musky. ‘None of it matters now. All that matters is this night.’

  Kiya leaned back into his embrace. If his hands had not been holding her by her waist, she was certain she would simply have floated away into the night. His soft lips continued to explore the back of her neck, and his hands set out on a path across her body. They forged a trail down her lower back, lingering upon her buttocks, where they trekked lightly up and down the soft rise. The kisses upon her neck grew deeper, and she felt a growing heat between her legs.

  His hands set out again, on a trail to her waist and northward, to her breasts. They found the soft rises of her nipples and remained, grazing across them and causing them to tingle and tighten. Meanwhile his kiss became a gentle suck, as if he were extracting poison.

  ‘Oh, Tahar,’ she murmured, and she pushed back against him, lifting her arm behind her and running her hand through his hair. It was as if she were a harp and he was plucking her strings, making her whole body hum.

  He pushed himself upward between the cleft of her buttocks, just as he had done that day in the oasis pool. She had imagined that moment a thousand times since then, and every time the memory made her skin itch with desire. Now that he was behind her again it was as if that itch were being scratched. He slid up and down the long fissure of her buttocks and she felt his alarming girth. Anxiety and yearning did a frenetic dance inside her mind, while her body rose up with a fearsome wanting.

  They had been separated by circumstances, walls, and the whims of a desperate king. A thin silk dress was all that separated them now. He sucked her breast with greater intens
ity and her whole body began to ache with yearning. She wanted—needed—to turn around, to move her hands upon him as they moved upon her. She twisted, trying to face him, but his hands returned to her waist, keeping her facing away from him.

  ‘No, no, my little cobra,’ he whispered playfully, his tongue plunging into her ear.

  He wanted to drive her mad. He wanted to wind her desire so tightly that she begged him for release. But his aims were too ambitious, for already he had become engorged to the point of pain. He had never wanted a woman as he wanted her. It was as if he were being drawn into her by some invisible force that was stronger than any army, more powerful than any king.

  He feared to face her...feared what he might do given the opportunity to kiss her succulent red lips. This is her first time, he reminded himself, though her movements suggested that she would not be shy. Had she thought about the oasis, as he had? Had she, too, gone over and over those moments of passion in her mind, keeping that intense desire alive in her body like the embers of a nomad’s fire?

  His hands dived beneath her tunic and he cradled her breasts, possessing them, feeling their lovely weight. How many times had he pictured doing this? Surely as many times as there were stars in the sky. Her skin was so soft and supple beneath his touch. He wanted to feel it—all of it—against his body.

  He bent down and grasped the bottom of her dress. She gave no resistance as he lifted it up over her head, revealing her naked backside. He prayed she would not turn around, because he knew that to look at her face under the starlight would make him lose control. He needed to make this special for her. He needed to go slowly.

  He unwound his makeshift loincloth and cast it aside. Naked and throbbing with lust, he positioned himself behind her once again. Her bare body melted against his and he claimed it with his hands. They tumbled over all her delicious curves and ridges. It was as if he’d unwrapped a new layer of her, and he wished to explore every last inch.