Flesh of the God lb-7

by Lauren Haney

  He had seen her every day since Paser’s death more than a month ago, usually early in the morning before her friends came to call. His love had deepened until the merest glimpse of her lovely face and graceful body took his breath away. Those few weeks, which had passed much too quickly, he had respected her recent widowhood. He had never touched her, nor had he uttered a word of what lay in his heart. He knew he must speak-and had come to do so-before she sailed out of his life forever. He could only pray she would understand that necessity drove him to act sooner than he should.

  He walked to her sitting room, a barren space devoid of furniture and personal possessions. She sat on the floor, her eyes overflowing, draping a long string of blue and red beads around the young servant girl’s neck. The child sobbed as if her life were ending. The older female servant knelt nearby, letting tears travel down her wrinkled face while she folded a dress into a travel basket. She, too, wore a necklace, a parting gift. Only Lupaki would travel north with his mistress. The women would stay behind to care for the new commandant and the wife and children who had arrived on the ship that would carry Azzia away.

  Azzia drew the child into her arms to comfort her. He retreated, giving them the time they needed. The aromas of fresh bread and roasting duck, the sound of a woman’s laughter, filtered into the courtyard from the rear of the house. A new mistress had taken charge of Azzia’s kitchen. The thought drove him on to Nakht’s reception room, empty except for memories.

  Azzia found him there, sitting on a low bench he had borrowed from the husky manservant. “I hoped you’d come. To say good-bye at the quay…” She gave him a crooked smile, shook her head. “Better here where I can speak what’s in my heart.”

  He did not delude himself that she meant to talk of love. “You can say anything you like other than words of thanks. First, however, you must promise to hear me out.” He tried to keep his voice light, teasing; the words came out strained, too intense.

  Her smile faded. A touch of pink colored her cheeks. She half-turned and he feared she would flee. She caught herself and her eyes met his straight on. “No, Bak. Some things are better left unsaid.”

  Blood rushed into his face.

  “My heart is heavy at having to leave a home I’ve learned to love. A place of sorrow now, but of many happy memories. A place of friends I hold dear.” She tried a smile that failed dismally. “Speak of something joyful, Bak. Tell me of the message the courier brought from the royal house. For you alone, I’ve heard.”

  He scolded himself for being so thoughtless. She had just bade her private good-bye to two servants who had been closer to her than any friend. He, like a clumsy fool, had been so intent on his own purpose that he had given her no time to collect herself.

  “I was given two scrolls. One from our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut herself, and another from Commander Maiherperi, the man who sent me to Buhen.”

  “You received much praise, I’ve been told.” Her voice was tense but steadier.

  He produced a smile, even managed to tease. “If you know their contents, why ask me to repeat what they said?”

  “The tale is yours, not that of any other man.”

  Her smile, though tentative, was so warm and sincere he wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms. Resisting the urge, he kept what he was sure was a silly grin plastered on his face, shifted to the end of the bench, and patted the space beside him.

  She hesitated, but finally sat down and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Tell me.”

  “The brief message from our sovereign recognized a task well done. She-or more likely the vizier or one of his scribes-made no mention of Paser or of the stolen gold or of any death except Nakht’s.” He had a hard time balancing pride, modesty, and cynicism.

  “Has the truth been kept from her?” she asked, surprised.

  “I’ve no doubt Maiherperi told her all that happened, but in private so no other man would hear. He values his position too much to air in public a tale she’ll keep to herself as long as Senenmut remains her favorite.”

  “I suppose it’s natural that she’d want to protect him and his family, and therefore herself, but with so many here in Buhen knowing the truth, will word not spread? What if the tale should reach the ears of Menkheperre Thutmose?”

  Bak leaned toward her, letting his shoulder touch hers, and murmured, “Can you keep a secret?”

  She could not help but see beyond his mischievous smile. “He knows already?”

  “A scroll went north to him on the same ship as the message to her. The man who sent it-I’ll not repeat his name-believes he’ll say nothing until he’s ready to take the throne for himself alone.”

  “And I thought those who live in the palace of my homeland were masters of intrigue!”

  He laughed.

  The last bit of tension vanished from her and she offered him an affectionate smile. He basked in its glow.

  The old woman came through the door, carrying a small leaf-lined basket of sweet cakes, an unplugged wine jar, and two stemmed drinking bowls. Without a word, giving no hint of what she thought, she set the cakes at their feet, handed over the bowls, and filled them with the pungent red liquid. Bak sensed disapproval. Or was his conscience nagging him for wanting to speak before Nakht was laid to rest through eternity?

  “Maiherperi’s message was not so formal,” he said, watching the servant leave the room. “He was free with his praise and, better yet…” He raised his bowl toward far-off Waset, offering a toast to the commander of the royal guard. “He gave me back the rank I lost. I’m once again a lieutenant, Azzia, and free to rise through the ranks with no black mark to besmirch my name.”

  Her smile was lovely, as grand a reward as any he had been given. “I’m pleased, Bak, and very happy for you.”

  “Azzia…” He reached for her hand.

  Her fingers slipped away and she bent to take a cake from the bowl at her feet. “I was told that Maatkare Hatshepsut rewarded you, but not with the gold of valor you earned.”

  “So conspicuous a recognition would’ve raised too many questions.”

  Azzia handed him a sweet cake-in the hope that it and the wine would keep both of his hands busy, he felt sure. “You aren’t disappointed?”

  “She gave me land, a small farm across the river from the capital. My father’s home is close by and I know it well. It has a house, small to be sure, but it can be made larger, and the soil is dark and fertile.”

  “You plan to keep it for your own?”

  He caught her eye, held it. “With a good man to tend the fields-a servant like Lupaki, for example-it would be an ideal place for a woman alone to live.”

  She flushed to the roots of her hair.

  He set his cake and drinking bowl on the floor and, to make sure he had her undivided attention, took the bowl from her hand and set it with them. “Azzia, I know you must take Osiris Nakht to Mennufer, and that I respect. Later, after he’s resting peacefully in his tomb, I’d like you to go to my farm and make it your home. While you’re there, think of me. Here in Buhen, also alone.”

  “You’re staying? I assumed…”

  “That I’d been given permission to return to the land of Kemet? Someday perhaps, but not now.” He laughed, surprising her and himself. “I thought never to say this, but I’ve grown used to Buhen and the way of life in this garrison. I’ve learned I like being a policeman. The freedom, the excitement of the chase, the problems I must think out and resolve. And the very thought of leaving Imsiba and all my Medjays, of parting from Hori, Nebwa, Kames, even pompous old Tetynefer…” He shook his head. “I don’t regret remaining here. If the truth be told, I’d hate to leave.”

  “My husband would be pleased. He thought you’d…”

  He caught her chin and forced her to look at him. “Will you do as I ask, my sister? Will you go to my farm? Then later, when the time is right…”

  “I owe you my life, Bak, and for that I’ll never forget you. As for anything more�
�” She gave him the tenderest smile he had ever seen. “I’m sorry.”

  “Azzia! I know about Nakht’s cousin. I read the scrolls he sent when he was overseeing construction of the tomb. He’s a mean and petty man. He’ll take you in; by contract he must. As soon as you’re a part of his household, he’ll claim all you have as his. Your few belongings. Lupaki. Maybe even your body. You’ll become his servant, Azzia, a woman with nothing of her own and nowhere to go. I would spare you that.”

  “I appreciate your concern more than you’ll ever know.” She took his hand and pressed it to her warm cheek. “Have you not learned that, short of being accused of taking a life, I can protect myself almost as well as any man?”

  He forced a smile. “You’ve a tendency to let your opponent get too close and take your weapon from you.”

  “As a young man, Lupaki was a fine soldier. He’ll hone his skills and mine.” Her soft lips brushed his fingers, making every nerve in his body tingle.

  “I love you, Azzia.”

  She pushed his hand firmly into his lap. “I loved my husband, Bak, more than life itself. I still love him. How can I give myself to any other man? Or think of it?”

  “In time…?”

  “If I could love another, it would be you. But today I cannot. Nor can I make any promises or look to the future, for who can say what fate the gods plan for us?”

  He could see that any further plea would turn her from him. “I’ll say no more,” he said, making no effort to mask his disappointment. “You must never forget that my farm is yours should you change your mind.”

  She released a long, slow breath and smiled a heartfelt thank-you. Biting back a fresh entreaty, he returned her wine bowl and took up his. They sat together, sipping the heady liquid in a silence strangely companionable after so unsatisfactory a resolution, at least as far as he was concerned.

  Too soon the wine was finished.

  “I must leave you, but first…” She bent over the basket of cakes, withdrew Nakht’s sheathed iron dagger from beneath the leaves, and held it out to him. “I want you to have this weapon.”

  He gaped. “You can’t give it away! It’s value is too great, both for the memories it holds and for the objects it could buy should you be in need.”

  “I know of no other man who has more right to it.”

  “Are you sure, Azzia? I was told Nakht kept it with him always.”

  “It took his life, Bak.”

  “It saved yours.”

  “For both those reasons, you must have it.” She placed the dagger in his hand and gave him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. He reached out to her, but too late. She stood up and ran from the courtyard.

  He longed to follow her, but he knew full well that to draw out their parting would hurt her as much as him. He slid the dagger from its sheath and stared at the long, tapered blade of iron. He had coveted it exceedingly when first he had laid eyes on it; now he would give it up without a moment’s thought if he could have Azzia instead.

  Bak stood alone atop the towered gate, intent on the harbor below and the river flowing north to Kemet. The sun beat down on his shoulders, draining the moisture from his body. The city behind him lazed in the midday heat, its streets still and silent except for the sporadic barking of dogs, their naps disturbed by the wailing of the hired mourners standing on the terrace that ran along the base of the fortress wall facing the harbor.

  He leaned farther over the crenel, his eyes glued to the sleek traveling ship swinging away from its mooring. The mast and rigging had been lowered, the sail stowed away. The current would carry the vessel downstream. It’s prow, on which had been painted the half-open blossom of a blue lotus, rose high and proud above the sundappled river. The captain bellowed orders from the low forecastle. A man at the stern worked the rudder. To the beat of a drum, the other sailors, twenty in all, dipped long oars into the water, maneuvering the ship toward the stronger midstream current.

  Baskets, bundles, and furniture were stowed in and around the yellow-and-blue checked deckhouse. Lupaki stood beside Nakht’s shrouded coffin, waving to Imsiba and Nebwa on the quay. Bak could not see Azzia, who had disappeared beneath a woven reed awning attached to the rear of the deckhouse.

  Earlier, he had been one of many in the long procession of mourners who had accompanied the coffin from the house of death to the quay, the women moaning and keening and throwing dirt in their hair, the men marching with tears in their eyes. Almost every man and woman in Buhen had come to display grief for a commandant they had loved and respected. With the coffin safely on board the ship, all except the ululating women had gone on about their business.

  The vessel cleared the quays and began to gather speed. The oars rose and fell in unison to the rhythmic cadence of the drummer. Imsiba and Nebwa waved a last farewell to Lupaki and turned back toward the gate, walking close and easy together, chatting like brothers. A smile flitted across Bak’s face as he thought of the mutual dislike and mistrust they had held for each other a few short weeks before.

  He looked back at the ship and his heart twisted. Azzia had come out from beneath the awning. She stood beside Lupaki as if saying a final good-bye to a place she had thought of as her home. Raising her arm high, she waved. Bak scanned the harbor but saw no one there paying the slightest bit of attention. He returned the signal. Her good-bye was for him alone.

  With luck and the favor of the gods, he would one day see her again.

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