After the lengthy journey, Ismene was already quite glad to have Alonah with her. This would be the first time she had ever been thankful for her mother's advice. Alonah was a pleasant companion, and Ismene welcomed having a familiar face by her side.
“Oh! I almost didn't believe they were real!” Alonah shrieked.
Ismene's gaze was again directed to where Alonah's attention lay. There, in the distance, was one of the pyramids she had heard so much about. It was majestic and mysterious at the same time. As chilling as the idea of mummifying a person for the afterlife was, a part of her wondered what lay behind those bricks, encased in that magnificent tomb. So captivated was she that she didn't even realize they were fast approaching Alexandria.
This city would be her new home. It was as alluring as it was huge. Large brick buildings lined the streets of the marketplace. They were most likely the homes of the merchants and middle classes. Their close proximity, making the best use of space, reminded her of homes in Athens. However, these homes had converted the lower floor of the two- and three-story buildings into stores. The roofs were flat, too. Intriguing. It must be one of the idiosyncrasies of their architecture.
As if reading her mind, Alonah leaned over. “I've heard tell that the Egyptians sometimes sleep on their roofs. Do you think that's true?”
“I don't know,” Ismene's voice trailed off. That would make sense of the flat roofs and would, for certain, make for a more pleasant sleeping environment during the hotter months. Ismene pursed her lips. It was a smart idea.
The streets were alive with people and vendors. Many things among the wares were novel to her. There were beautiful cloths, strange-looking fruits, baskets, art, jewelry, carvings, and much more. She did spot a few things she had seen before, but only as priceless souvenirs displayed in the wealthiest homes of Athens. Her thoughts drifted once more to the vistas of her homeland that she had left behind. That was where her heart lay...with Thelopolis. And again, her heart was sad.
This will not do! She chided herself, This is your home now and Thelopolis is not to be your husband. These words had been her constant companion on this long journey. But she vowed to him and to herself that she would never love another. Her heart was his and his alone. Of this, she was determined.
Passing out of the most clustered part of the city, they pulled through the outskirts where the houses were bigger and more dispersed. From the placement of the houses and the grander size and detailing, she guessed them to be upper-middle-class and wealthy homes. She was surprised, but pleased, to note that many had gardens. There wasn't much time, however, for her to muse over the prospect of visiting a garden in this desert as the carriage had halted in front of one of the more spacious structures. Would she truly be calling this small palace home? It was hard to imagine.
Though she was the daughter of a nobleman who held an important station, her home in Athens was closer to the size of the middle-class homes she had seen in the city. There wasn't much difference in size between the homes of middle and wealthy classes in Greece. Wealth and station were determined by where your house was in relation to the marketplace and other conveniences, as well as what was in your house, such as gold inlaid in the furniture, precious gems, and so forth.
Turning her attention back to the grand estate in front of her, she tried to take it in. A wall surrounded the entire exterior of the home with a large gateway to greet visitors. The sides of the gateway rose high above the wall and bore an intricate design with bright reds and greens. She couldn't see much beyond the wall, only making out the top of the massive structure that lay beyond. To her delight, she did see that there were, indeed, gardens within the safe confines of the walls. Nothing about this house or its appearance indicated that a native of her own land called this home. Was she to live as an Egyptian? To abandon all Grecian ways?
Alonah’s hand touched her arm, pulling her from her distracted thoughts and drawing her attention to the kind face of a man. This strange man's hand was extended to help her out of the carriage. Almost as an instinct, she drew back. She had seen Egyptians before. As a child of privilege, she had accompanied her parents to gatherings that included political heads and other people of importance to the Greco-Roman Empire. Indeed, she had been in the same room with Egyptians, but never so close. In her younger years, she had been rather interested and quite curious about these people who looked so different. It had never occurred to her that, as a woman, she would not be able to contain that curiosity.
The man's skin was dark, tanned and worn by the sun and harsh winds, and his hair was jet black and straight. His eyes were more almond shaped and set farther apart, and his features as a whole seemed quite smooth and angled toward the sun. Those eyes were deep brown and kind, his nose long, and his mouth small. She was surprised at her overwhelming temptation to just stare at this man. Shaking herself from her trance and gathering her wits, she took his hand and averted her eyes to the ground in order to step as securely as possible on the warm, brown sand.
The Egyptian then turned to assist Alonah, who was more able to disguise any trepidation she might have had about these strange people. Once again, Ismene was thankful for another Grecian face in the midst of these foreign ones.
The Egyptian gentleman led them through the gateway opening and onto the grounds. A few things took Ismene by surprise. One was a pool located to the right of the gateway entrance. Even from her vantage point, she could see that the pool was stocked with colorful fish. The other thing that struck her was the crowd of people between the entrance to the house and herself. They must be the household servants, come out to greet her. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of her husband-to-be. None among the group appeared the least bit Greek to her.
Ismene gazed down the line of household servants who had come out to greet the woman who would become their mistress. They seemed just as intrigued by her as she was by them. Some of their faces were filled with anticipation, eager for her to say something. No one there seemed above the station of the man who helped her from the carriage, and he was neither Greek nor a general.
Ismene was rather confused by the absence of her husband-to-be. Was he going to make a grand appearance once she was established properly? Was she to be escorted to him as a common guest? Was this a show of power—his way of letting her know who was in charge? Just as well, she thought with a sigh. She had no intention of making his life difficult with any semblance of a power struggle. It was her full intention to let him be and avoid any more contact with him than absolutely necessary.
The man who had first offered her his hand was, to her understanding, a station above the other household servants. He stepped in front of her again to greet her in a more formal manner.
“I am Neterka,” he offered, bowing. “My master, General Merenre, regrets that he cannot be here to greet you himself. He is appearing before Pharaoh as we speak. But he wishes that I extend apologies and see that you are settled in your accommodations.”
Ismene was surprised by the man's Greek. She didn't know what she had expected. And, though it was a bit broken, she was pleased to know that she would be able to communicate with someone here.
“I thank you, Neterka. This is my handmaiden, Alonah. I would like to greet the others of the household, if I may.” She indicated the line of servants.
His face brightened. Ismene found that she was somewhat put to ease by his kind smile.
“Yes, they would like to meet you also, but they do not know your language. They are learning well, but they do not know it much.” He gave her an apologetic look. His own grasp on Greek was still limited and full of pauses and altered patterns.
“I see.” She had not considered what she would have to do in order to communicate. Would she need to learn their language? That hadn't occurred to her. She hadn't thought on much but her sadness on the journey and now wanted to kick herself for her lack of foresight. As she rolled it over in her mind, she decided that she was grateful for the chall
enge—something to look forward to.
“I can translate for you, if you wish,” Neterka offered.
She nodded, turning toward the line of eager faces. Trying to be mindful of Neterka, who was translating a sentence behind her, she kept her word choice simple and paused often, so he could keep up.
“I am the Lady Ismene of Greece. I am honored by your warm welcome as I have entered this strange land to make it my home.” She moved to indicate Alonah. “This is my trusted maidservant, Alonah. She, too, is excited about our new life here. I hope someday soon she and I can both speak to you ourselves and you to us.”
When Neterka was finished, Ismene nodded to the small gathering of smiling faces. She lowered her voice, turning back toward Neterka. “What should I do now?”
“May I escort you to your rooms, Lady Ismene? After your journey, you are certainly in need of rest.”
Ismene nodded; she had to admit that she was tired.
Neterka faced the congregation again and spoke. A couple of manservants came forward to assist in unloading their possessions. As they came near the carriage, the two Greek manservants in Ismene's party started pulling the chests free of the carriage. There were also three Egyptian female servants who made their way into the house while the rest remained as they were, heads bowed for Ismene to pass before them and into the house.
Neterka nodded to Ismene and led both her and Alonah into the peculiar structure that would, from now on, be their home.
* * *
As Nassor moved down the busy streets of the marketplace of Alexandria, he had the distinct feeling that everyone's eyes were on him. But every time he glanced in the direction of the other patrons on the street, their eyes were on the vendor's carts, each other, or the path ahead of them. Was he so nervous that he was conjuring ghosts? Or was someone following him? He had been playing this game with himself for quite some time, and so, for the tenth time, he jerked his head around to look behind him. Nothing. There was nothing to be concerned about. No one knew of his errand, no one knew of their plans, no one knew...
Nassor slowed as he approached his destination—one of a handful of jewelry shops on the strip. Sefu and his wife sold many kinds of jewelry here, from beads to metal, some simple and priced for a pauper, some fit for the queen herself. Sefu's wife made it all. Making his way through the familiar shop, Nassor dodged customers and counters, moving toward the stairs at the back of the structure. Sefu's wife glanced up from her current sale and nodded in his direction, indicating that it was clear for him to proceed up the stairs.
Taking a deep breath, he took the first step. He was tempted to take the stairs two at a time to remove himself from all onlookers and into the seclusion of Sefu's home quarters with greater speed. Also driving him was the knowledge that it was not like Sefu to not be out here helping his wife sell her creations. Nor was it like him to summon Nassor so hastily or before nightfall. He calmed himself to take the stairs one step at a time—he did not wish to draw attention to himself from the customers in the store or passersby on the street. The stairs at length opened into the living quarters of the family, but the room was empty. Moving farther into the area, his eyes darted about the room, looking over the simple furnishings and utensils for any clue as to where he would find the master of the house. As Egyptian houses were quite open, the only place not within his visual range was the bedchambers, and he did not wish to invade the privacy of that area.
“Sefu?” he called out. “Sefu, I have come.”
No response. If Sefu wasn't able to hear him on the main living level, then he must be on the roof. He found his way back to the stairs and could find no reason not to take them in twos.
As he reached the roof, the sun once again bore down on him, and he was hit by a breeze which had been blocked earlier by the many buildings lining the streets. It didn't take long to find Sefu, though. The roof was unhindered by structures or furniture save some cooking appliances and rolled up sleeping mats.
Sefu was on the opposite edge of the roof, looking down on the street that Nassor had just come from. He was silent and still, watching over the people below as if he were a guardian angel, ready to swoop down and rescue them from some unseen danger.
“I have come, Sefu, as you requested.” Nassor broke into his vigil.
“Do you not wish to come over and enjoy the view?” his friend asked, turning to him, beckoning him to come stand next to him.
“I do not wish to be seen here!” Nassor countered. “Do you not think it too dangerous for us to be spotted together like this?”
“I don't think anyone looks up at the roofs to spy on their countrymen, Nassor. And if the people know, so what? It is we who are fighting for them. Let them know.”
This was all quite strange to Nassor because it was usually Sefu who was the picture of discretion. But Sefu still stood there, gesturing for Nassor to take the spot next to him. In the end, he acquiesced, coming up alongside his friend and gazing down on the people below. Sefu seemed to be right—as much as Nassor's eyes moved over the people there, he did not spot one looking up at the rooftops. Everyone was too caught up in where they were going, what they were doing, and never on what may be going on around them.
“They have no idea the dangers that are around them,” Sefu said.
Nassor nodded his head in agreement.
They stood for a handful of moments in silence.
“Why have you summoned me?” Nassor asked after some time.
“It has begun,” Sefu said simply as he shifted to face Nassor.
Nassor was silent again; he had known this day was coming, but he wished he could have put it off longer. Now that it was upon them, he wasn't sure he was prepared. But he had made a commitment. And he believed the ends would justify the means.
“What would you have me do?” he asked.
“You know what you must do,” Sefu said, his voice firm.
“It is time to gather the others.”
Sefu nodded. He put a hand on Nassor's shoulder. “Never forget. What we do, we do for Egypt.”
Read more about Ismene’s journey at:
SaraTurnquist.com/the-generals-wife
Acknowledgements
THERE ARE SO many things I am grateful for and so many people in my life who contribute in so many ways. It is just not possible to thank everyone who touches my life in a real way. But I want to take a moment and acknowledge the people whose contributions had a more direct impact on this book.
I want to thank my editor, Julie Sherwood, for making this book what it could be. Her input was both valuable and necessary. I also want to thank my irreplaceable beta readers Christina Horton, Stacy Schoenwetter, and Hillary Harvey, without whom this book would not be possible. Their insight and encouragement have added so much and pushed me through so many tough spots. As well, my writing mentor, Hannah Conway, deserves acknowledgement for pouring into me everything she can. And I want to give a shout out to my critique group members whose honest feedback and support are priceless!
I also want to thank the amazing cover artist, Cora Graphics, who is just phenomenal. I am impressed by both her talent and how easy she is to work with.
My photographer, Rachel Bull, is also one of the most talented people I know. I am grateful for her work as well.
For my sister, you make me want to be better. For my parents, you make me feel so good to have achieved this dream of writing. And for my husband and kids, you give me every reason to smile.
Check out these other writings by Sara found at Amazon:
The General’s Wife
The Lady Bornekova
Sara resides with her family in Middle Tennessee 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 inspired her to write Historical Fiction. Sara’s debut novel, The Lady Bornekova, was greatly influenced by her
time spent in the Czech Republic.
Web: SaraTurnquist.com
Twitter: @sarat1701
Facebook: AuthorSaraTurnquist
Sign up at SaraTurnquist.com/list to keep with the latest.
Off To War (War Between The States) Page 27
