“Here, my lord, let me examine the patient.” The Egyptian physician pushed his way through the group of men and bent to examine the jagged slash in Nima’s shoulder.
Tiy laid a hand on Kamin’s shoulder. “Perhaps if you bring her over to the long table by the side wall, the doctor can perform his treatment more effectively. I know you don’t want to be parted from her, but we have to finish mopping up the resistance in the fortress. She’ll be safe here under physician Djal’s care, and I need you elsewhere.”
After the nomarch swept the surface clean of candles and containers, Kamin did as suggested, tenderly placing Nima on the low table against the side wall. The doctor immediately cleansed the ugly wound, after which he spread a sweet-smelling herbal paste on it. Kamin paced along the line of soldiers, staring into each man’s eyes for a moment before moving on to the next warrior. “This woman is my life. Her bravery is the only reason we found this fortress. Swear to me you’ll guard her as fiercely as I would—”
The burly sergeant, his Pharaoh’s Own Regiment badge gleaming, saluted and spoke for all of them. “No harm will come to her while any of us draw breath, sir.”
Nodding in agreement, the other men in the squad formed a half circle around Nima and the doctor, facing outward into the room, swords drawn and ready, shields raised to form a barricade against attack.
“I want her out of this hellhole as soon as she can be safely moved,” Kamin said, looking to see what progress the doctor was making.
“I’ll personally oversee the lady’s transfer to a tent in our encampment,” the sergeant answered. Stepping closer to Kamin, the grizzled soldier lowered his voice. “She’s one of us now, sir, given what she did for Egypt, and you know we protect our own.”
Putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder for a moment, Kamin nodded his thanks. “You give my mind some ease.”
“Come, my friend.” Tiy gestured with his sword. “Work remains to be done here.”
Kamin ran his hands through his hair, glancing hungrily at Nima one more time before wheeling to glare at the altar. “Aye, and this cursed black stone is one question. We can’t allow the altar to remain as a magnet for evil or a shrine for any other adherents of Qemtusheb, once our army has withdrawn.”
Tiy walked toward the blood-soaked stone, Kamin a few paces behind. “I could leave a detachment stationed out here to watch over it, but I don’t much like the idea. I don’t have men to spare right now, and the site is so isolated.”
A falcon swooped in to sit on the terrace railing, Kamin and the nomarch swinging around to face it. Gliding from the rail, the bird morphed into a man in midair, standing tall and fierce as his golden sandals hit the floor. Arriving without sword or shield this time, the god still wore the towering red and white crown and a warrior’s uniform and breastplate. Horus’s eyes remained the moon and sun, casting light and color in his godly guise.
Kamin went to one knee, his friend the nomarch following suit. “Lord Horus.”
“So, warrior,” the god said to Kamin, smiling a little. “Did I keep our bargain to your satisfaction? The woman lives. I battered my wings against the barriers of evil at the end to distract them while you broke down the door.”
“I am ever grateful, my lord,” Kamin answered. “I only pray she survives the priest’s dying blow.”
Horus stared beyond them, seeking out the spot where Nima lay unconscious. “Your woman has the heart of a warrior. I’ve taken her under my wing; she’ll survive today’s events. “ He raised one hand. “Hear my decree and promise—I’ll attend the judgment of your heart and hers in the Afterlife and speak as your witness when that day comes. Your hearts beat as one now and neither shall be left to mourn the other when your allotted days in the Black Lands are complete.”
Kamin struggled to find the words to express his gratitude for this unprecedented honor. “You bestow a rare blessing, Great One.”
But the god apparently had a new concern. Frowning, Horus contemplated the altar. “Once your army has departed, I’ll deal with the destruction of this bloodstained stone. I’ll call upon Anubis and the goddess Nephthys, and together we’ll blast this abomination into the lake of fire, close the door Qemtusheb’s priests partially opened. Let no man or woman remain behind, or they too will die.”
The nomarch nodded. “As you command, Great One. Thank you for ridding my province of this evil talisman.”
Horus made a dismissive gesture. “Go now, finish the human business of conquering this fortress. Depart at first light tomorrow morning. I’ll stand guard over the altar stone tonight to ensure no minions of evil penetrate the Red or Black Lands before we can lay waste to the entire area.”
Kamin and Tiy bowed to acknowledge the god’s command. In a heartbeat, Horus disappeared from the terrace, becoming a massive falcon who flew to drift in lazy circles on the thermal currents rising from the valley floor outside the fortress.
“Are we the only ones aware of the Great One, then?” Kamin asked, glancing at the squad of soldiers to the side of the room.
“Horus must have willed it so. Interesting company you kept in the desert, my friend,” Tiy said to Kamin as they hastened from the altar room to supervise the final surrender of the garrison. “Perhaps one man in a million receives a promise from the gods to stand witness to his worthiness for entrance to the Afterlife, unless he be a Pharoah." Tiy shot a quick sideways glance at him. “You know, you’re the last man in our company of comrades I’d have picked to marry a dancer. Your Nima must be rare indeed. I’m eager to become better acquainted with her.”
“Just don’t ask her to dance for you.” Kamin drew his sword as they quickened their pace to join an ongoing skirmish at the far wall. “I’ve learned I’m an extremely jealous man.”
***
Nima awoke on a clean bed, covered by a soft linen sheet in a small tent by herself. Her shoulder was bandaged but throbbed and hurt, which stopped her from shifting too much under the sheet. She wore a plain beige linen nightgown, and a fringed blue and green shawl lay across her chest.
“Ah, excellent, you’re finally awake.” A strange man stood in the entrance to the tent, black lacqured box of instruments and nostrums dangling by an ivory handle from one hand. A doctor, thank the gods. Perhaps he can give me something to blunt the pain in my shoulder. With deep relief, she glimpsed Egyptian soldiers standing guard beyond him before the tent flap fell shut.
Lying against a smooth wooden headrest, she considered his words, puzzling over which question to ask first. “What did you mean finally? How long have I been unconscious?”
“Three days.” He came to the bed to take her pulse with cool hands, check her forehead for fever. “I am Djal, physician to the nomarch.”
“Where are we?” She was relieved to see that, although the tent was sparsely furnished, it was unmistakably Egyptian. “Not—not at the Hyksos fortress?”
He shook his head. “No indeed, you are with the nomarch’s army, traveling to his capital city of Tentaris after the great victory. The men carry you in a shaded litter during the day’s march, surrounded by a special force of guards. From Pharaoh’s Own Regiment, mind you.” The doctor clucked his tongue in awe at the honor she’d been accorded. “I attend you closely at all times, as ordered. And General Kaminhotep comes throughout the day to check on you. He sits with you through the night, until it is time for camp to be struck in the morning and the march to resume. He’ll be relieved to find you so improved tonight.”
“General?” What do I have to do with an Egyptian general? Pulse quickening, a small trickle of fear ran along her nerves.
The doctor nodded, his eyes narrowed. “You were unaware of his rank? They tell me he travels undercover sometimes as part of his duties for Pharaoh. Perhaps he felt it unwise to reveal his true identity to you when you were both prisoners?” He stepped away to a long table at the other side of the tent, opening jars and small baskets, pulling out ingredients according to a recipe on a small papyrus sc
roll he took from his belt pouch.
Busy mixing a potion for her to drink, the chatty doctor added an aside over his shoulder. “The general is Pharaoh’s cousin as well, served with Nat-re-Akhte since before he ascended to the throne. Pharaoh holds him in high regard and trust. An excellent connection for me to make, thanks to you. He’ll be grateful for my skills.”
The doctor rambled on about his hopes for an appointment to the royal court based on his care for Nima. She stopped paying attention to his social-climbing plans. She lay still to avoid disturbing her shoulder and bringing on the waves of pain. Focusing on the seams in the roof of the tent, she tried to make sense of this new information.
Kamin, high-ranking? A noble related to royalty? Tears pricked in Nima’s eyes. Not a humble soldier suitable in station for a tavern dancer to marry. Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he let me dream? Angrily, she brushed the moisture from her cheek with her good hand. She didn’t know whether to be angry, terrified or distraught at the prospect of what he might offer to one such as her. Her thoughts whirled until her head ached and she grew dizzy with anxiety. I love him with all my heart, but I vowed never to take a concubine’s position in any man’s house. Do I have the strength to refuse him?
Numbly, she drank the nasty concoction Djal handed her. Don’t doctors have any potions with a pleasing taste? Would honeyed medicine violate some secret oath? Impatiently, not waiting for his potion to take effect, he unwrapped the bandages on her shoulder to examine and cleanse her wound, and the hurried motion added nausea to the dizziness already assailing her. Her breathing became labored, the fears about her future causing her chest to grow tight. A sharp stab of pain all through her upper body as the physician probed the wound was the final insult, making the world reel, and Nima passed out.
***
When she came to again, cool twilight had fallen, and a soft breeze whispered through the open door of the tent. Oil lamps provided gentle illumination. The remnants of a barely touched meal sat ignored on a table close to the bed. Kamin perched on a stool by her bedside, holding her hand in a loose but comforting grip. He wore a heavy gold signet ring, a falcon set with diamond eyes flying under a complicated cartouche. Deep in thought, he studied a papyrus in his other hand.
He’s tired. Nima watched him for a minute, heart aching with love tempered by the loss of her dreams of a simple life together. Confirming the doctor’s tale, Kamin was in a general’s uniform, crisp, white, pleated kilt edged in gold, cinched with a broad leather belt inlaid with more gold, jewels set in the buckle. He wore a leopard skin over the kilt. Leather straps crossed his broad, muscular chest, and the golden falcon badge of Pharaoh’s Own Regiment gleamed in the center. His black and gold nemes headcloth had been laid aside, on the foot of her cot, along with the golden flail of an officer. She hardly recognized this imposing person as the man she had journeyed with, danced for, and made love to.
His head came up as she shifted on the hard mattress. He inhaled sharply, eyes sparkling, the little crinkles appearing around them as he grinned and tossed the scroll on the foot of the bed so he could take both of her hands in his. “At last you’re awake. I feared the obsequious doctor was lying to me.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the tender concern on his face, and for a moment she couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat. She licked her dry lips. “Thank you for rescuing me, my lord.”
Pressing a kiss into her palm, he searched her face. “What is this sudden formality? I’m still Kamin to you—”
“But not exactly an ordinary soldier.” She gestured at the nemes and the golden flail. “You command armies, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, sometimes, but I don’t see what my rank has to do with the love between us.” He reached out to wipe away a tear on her cheek with his callused thumb. “Are you in pain? I can get the doctor—”
She shook her head, swiping at her eyes. “No, the pain is bearable, and the doctor—”
“Is unbearable. I know,” Kamin joked. “But he was trained in Thebes and is the best we have. Only the highest-quality care for you, beloved.”
Swallowing hard, Nima tried again to explain her reservations to him. “My lord, I—I dance in taverns—”
“And trained as a thief and an assassin.” He kissed her hand, but his eyes never left her face, lines of worry on his. “Boredom won’t be an issue, I know for a certainty.” He rubbed his flat stomach with the other hand. “And I’ll eat well, once you instruct my estate’s cooks in your knowledge. We’ll have to discuss limits on the use of the more exotic herbs, however.”
She refused to be sidetracked by his gentle teasing. “You’re Pharaoh’s cousin. You can’t marry someone like me. I’d bring ridicule and disgrace to your house. You have to marry a grand lady of the court.”
“The foolish doctor talks entirely too much.” Frowning, Kamin rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s treading on thin ground with me, skilled physician or not. I can marry whoever I choose, and it pleases me to marry you.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, as you might recall. I went through hell when I realized you‘d left me at the oasis to draw Amarkash off. Had Horus himself not stood in my way, I’d have come after you then. I bargained with the god, so I could have time to bring the army to your rescue.”
“You bargained with a Great One on my behalf?” Dizziness swamped her at the mere idea. Encountering Horus in falcon form had been frightening enough for her. And Kamin took such a risk for me! “How did you dare?”
Tenderly, her lover pushed the tangled hair from her face, stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I once told you if I was fighting for you, I could do anything.”
She coughed a little, her throat scratchy and dry. “But to argue with Horus—”
“Well, I couldn’t argue one woman’s life was more important than the fate of Egypt. Admitting the fact to the god tore a hole in my heart.” Kamin rose to pour her a mug of water, coming to sit on his stool again, raising her to drink, supporting her with one rock-solid arm behind her back.
She sipped gratefully, conscious of his immense strength and how careful he was with her. “The safety of the Black Lands matters more than either you or I. So, on what point did you negotiate?”
Accepting the mug since she was done with the water, he set it on the wicker table. “I asked him to intervene, to delay Amarkash on the road.”
"Oh,” she said, understanding now. “We had endless problems on the trip. Horses died, wheels fell off the chariots, we were overrun by not one but two sandstorms. The soldiers grumbled I was a witch. The priest of Qemtusheb was convinced I had some power, and then the problems the battalion experienced made everyone a believer.”
“I don’t think the gods are subtle when they play games with human affairs.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “When we stormed their fortress and I saw you stretched on the altar, the damned priest with his knife poised—”Unable to speak, he passed a hand over his face. Nima glimpsed the depth of his raw emotion, betrayed by the gleam of moisture in his eyes. Kamin straightened, rolling his shoulders, jaw clenched. “I would have sought death myself, in battle, if you had died. I would have slaughtered every Hyksos in the fortress, starting with Amarkash, until one of them slew me." He flashed the brash grin Nima loved so much. “Well, I did kill him, by the way, and took pleasure in doing so. But had you died, you’d have been properly avenged, I promise.”
Pride made her heart beat faster. “So romantic.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
He grunted. “Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ll not live without you.” He placed her hand over his heart, his eyes staring directly into hers. “My heart beats for you.”
“Definitely romantic,” she murmured, drawing him closer for a long kiss.
When the embrace ended, he squared his shoulders, meeting her eyes resolutely. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more about myself while we were on the run. I understand you might be angry with me.”
“It’s all rig
ht. I’m sure you had good reasons.” Smiling, Nima squeezed his hand. “You apologized to me at the caravan, remember? I understood the situation. Not about your glorious title perhaps, but the need for discretion.”
“We had more important concerns at the time than my lineage.” He raised an eyebrow, and she nodded. “You did point out yourself the less you knew of me and my mission the better, should you be recaptured. I’d determined to claim you as my bride anyway, once I’d gotten you to safety and could do some proper wooing. Get you used to my titles.”
“Titles? More than one?” she asked in dismay, the dizziness threatening to return. “The doctor said you were related to Pharaoh.”
He shrugged. “I was afraid if I came out with the information too soon you’d raise barriers between us.” Pointing a finger at her accusingly, he grinned. “As you tried to do a few minutes ago, with your needless qualms about your background. Your none-too-charitable opinion of the nobility came through loud and clear when we first conversed after our escape."
“You—you’re not anything like the nobles I've met before.”
“I should hope not.” He leaned forward, framed her face tenderly, his rough soldier’s hands gentle on her skin, his hazel eyes narrowed, serious. “Let us be clear now—I want you to be my wife, lady of my estates, mistress of my house, mother of my children. I don’t care about anything in your past, not one thing. We start our story from the moment you risked bringing water to a fellow prisoner.”
She sucked in a breath to protest.
Holding up one hand for silence, he tilted his head. “I respect your past. I’d never deny any of your experiences. Everything you’ve gone through made you the incredible woman you are, the woman I love, but I’ll allow nothing to come between us.”
I can see how he commands armies. Who could stand against such force of will and personality? Her heart beat faster at the vehemence of his declaration. “All well and good here in the desert, but our stations in life are too far apart for you to—”
Dancer of the Nile (Gods of Egypt) Page 18
