Saved by Her Enemy Warrior

by Greta Gilbert

  Its eight noble pillars—four on each side of the room—held up a steep, barrel-vaulted ceiling whose painted stars glowed with an otherworldly light.

  Two vibrant wall-sized murals graced each end of the space. Their beauty gave him pause. On the far wall, he saw the outline of the final brick seal.

  ‘Your Pharaoh was clever,’ he said. ‘No tomb robber would ever think to search beyond this false chamber. It seems even truer than the main chamber somehow.’

  He watched her approach the hut-sized burial container at the room’s centre. She gazed at its gilded walls. ‘And yet it is truly false,’ she said.

  He stepped behind her and breathed over her shoulder. Even in the low light, he could see her skin rising beneath his breath.

  ‘There is a sarcophagus inside this shrine,’ she informed him, ‘but nobody is in it.’

  He tilted his head slightly and breathed in her scent. How was it possible she could smell so good? He imagined himself bending to kiss her neck.

  She turned to face him and his heart skipped. Gods, those eyes. They were watching him again, causing his thoughts to scatter.

  ‘I have heard of false doors and hidden pits,’ he said stupidly, ‘but never an entire false chamber. It is a brilliant ruse.’

  ‘Yet it was never meant as one,’ she said. His eyes slid to the base of her throat. She frowned and stepped away from him.

  ‘Then why was it constructed at all?’ he asked, pretending interest in the walls.

  ‘I invite you to guess,’ she said.

  They were still standing far too close to each other. He could not allow her to drive him from his mission yet again. ‘We have little time for puzzles,’ he said and started across the chamber.

  * * *

  ‘Those sound like the words of a man who fears he cannot solve them,’ she said, hoping the statement would reach its mark.

  He stopped in his tracks. ‘There is no one better than I am at solving puzzles.’

  ‘Then guess.’

  He continued to the other side of the chamber and paused before a pillar, studying an image of the deified Pharaoh Seti. ‘This was originally Tausret’s chamber and the main chamber was for her husband Seti,’ he pronounced.

  ‘Alas, no,’ said Aya. ‘The main chamber was carved only after Seti passed on.’

  She motioned to the chamber’s most splendid painting: a netherworld chimera with a ram’s head and an eagle’s body, whose massive blue wings stretched almost the entire width of the wall.

  ‘That is from the Book of Caverns,’ Aya explained. ‘The great being is the sun god in his most elaborate form. Is it not a lovely rendering?’

  ‘It is,’ Intef said, but he was looking at her, not the mural. ‘You seem to know much about the sacred books.’

  ‘Tausret saw to my education herself.’

  ‘You joined her court when you were young?’

  ‘Three years old.’

  ‘And your parents?’

  Aya shrugged, then directed his attention to the mural. ‘Do you see the images above the great being? They are the three other incarnations of the sun god: the sun disc itself, a scarab beetle and a child.’

  ‘You know nothing of your origins?’

  ‘Tausret told me that my father was a Libyan warrior. He died the same year Tausret’s father Merneptah assumed the double crown. Come, let me show you the other mural.’

  She turned on her heel and walked closer to the mural at the opposite end of the chamber. In it, Osiris’s supine figure stretched across the top of the image in the dignified pose of death. ‘I remember seeing the sketches for that image when Pharaoh was still planning the tomb,’ Aya remarked in wonder. She heard his footfalls behind her.

  Her gaze slid down to the bottom of the mural where an image of Osiris’s standing figure and fully erect member caught her eye.

  ‘That is from the Book of the Earth,’ Aya said. ‘An invocation of the power of resurrection.’

  She turned to find Intef smiling wryly. ‘I can see how such an image could inspire the wife of a pharaoh.’

  ‘Was that a jest?’ Aya asked with a small grin.

  Intef grinned back smugly. ‘It was the answer to your puzzle.’

  Aya frowned.

  ‘This was the original burial chamber for Tausret,’ said Intef, ‘but it was meant for a chief wife. When Tausret became Pharaoh, she decided to dig deeper.’

  Aya bowed her head. ‘I did not think you would arrive at the truth so quickly.’

  ‘Then you underestimate my cleverness.’

  ‘I believe that was Tausret’s problem,’ said Aya. ‘She underestimated her own cleverness.’

  ‘Now it is I who does not follow.’

  ‘All her life Tausret was told that women begat kings, they did not become kings. After she was named regent, she remained in the shadows, letting Bay counsel Seti’s heir, Siptah. She believed the boy needed a man to guide him.’

  ‘A man indeed,’ huffed Intef.

  ‘Pharaoh did not yet understand her divinity, or her power. She only became Pharaoh in order to right Bay’s wrongs and help save the people from drought. She was officially Pharaoh for only a few years, but she saved many lives. She was Egypt’s greatest champion.’

  Aya prepared herself for a cutting remark, but none came. ‘And it seems that you are hers,’ Intef said. ‘Come.’

  They crossed to the final sealed entrance—a wall of bricks separating the false chamber from the long entryway, which had been filled in with earth. Intef placed his chisel between the bricks and in minutes the wall was destroyed.

  He plunged his arms into the wall of backfill and began heaving it in volumes on to the floor of the false chamber. Aya held out the torch and closed her eyes.

  Forgive us, Pharaoh.

  When she opened them again, Intef was standing before her, his muscular stomach heaving. ‘The ceiling of the corridor is not as high as that of the chamber itself,’ he said. He pointed up at the chamber’s domed ceiling, then lowered his gaze to hers. ‘We must begin our chiselling at the highest possible point.’

  Aya shook her head. Not the domed ceiling.

  ‘We cannot.’

  ‘But this is a false chamber only,’ argued Intef. ‘Pharaoh’s spirit will not return here.’

  Aya gazed up at the lovely domed ceiling, replete with stars. ‘This chamber represents a part of Tausret’s life, her history. We must leave it as it is.’

  ‘We will save hours, perhaps even a whole day,’ he argued. ‘I do not think you understand the haste we must make.’

  ‘I understand—but to despoil this chamber would be like carving a hole inside my own heart.’ She dropped to her knees and assumed the position of entreaty. ‘Please, Intef, keep the sacred chamber whole. I promise you that I will do everything I can to help us make up the time.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘It could mean our deaths, do you understand?’ But he turned from the chamber, stormed up the ramp and wedged his chisel in the corridor’s low ceiling.

  ‘I will never cease to thank you for this,’ she called meekly.

  ‘Five days,’ he growled, then landed his first blow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Her gratitude was like a burst of rain. In the many hours since he had landed his first blow to the corridor ceiling, she had arranged the back wall of the false chamber for their living quarters, acquired and prepared a washbasin, and discovered, among other things, two bed mats, three oil lamps and a cache of fresh figs.

  He knew all this because she had announced her accomplishments to him as she had completed them, along with a steady stream of thoughts on a variety of topics, including the hazards of the Underworld, the threat of the Sea Peoples and techniques for preparing perfume.

  Her chatter was cheerful and seemed to speed the passage of t
ime—so much so that when her talking ceased, the false chamber seemed quite gloomy.

  ‘Aya?’ Intef called from atop the mound of dirt. No response. It had been several hours since he had heard her soft voice.

  He ceased chiselling and descended the growing mound of rubble that was his perch. He had made an arm’s length of progress through the limestone so far, and the hole in the ceiling through which they would escape had begun to take shape.

  His fingers were aching badly. He had practised his masonry skills for a full cycle of the moon in anticipation of this mission, but with less than five days to chisel out, he feared his conditioning would not be enough. He could do no more today.

  He had an urge to make water and resolved to find some discreet part of the corridor between the two chambers. As he crossed the false chamber he lifted his torch and took stock of the changes Aya had made.

  She had done her best to sweep the spilled dirt off the tiles, and had arranged a small sitting area to one side of the false shrine. A jug of water and a serving of cheese and bread stood ready to be consumed and she had decorated the table with a blue glass vase full of figs.

  She had nestled the bed mats in the sunken area between the pillars—one in each corner. They lay many paces apart—a welcome configuration. Everything depended on his ability to get as much chiselling done as he could. He did not need her beauty or nearness distracting him in the night.

  He stepped into the corridor, thinking he might find her there, but the hall was empty. He noticed two small doorways on either side of him and remembered Hepu’s description of the unfinished chambers. He flashed his torch into one of the doorways and gasped.

  Four full-sized chariots made of solid gold stood side by side, as if preparing to roll off to war. They had been wedged between the walls of the first unfinished chamber along with piles of weapons—exquisitely carved bows and arrows, jewel-encrusted javelins, and every manner of gold, silver and copper blade, polished to a high shine.

  At the back of the unfinished chamber, which was nearly as wide as the false chamber and half as long, Intef noticed a shelving structure that stretched to the ceiling. Several hundred palm-sized figurines stood in neat rows on each of its half-dozen shelves. They were ushabtis—the ever-present denizens of Egyptian tombs—servants of the afterlife.

  Intef had seen thousands of ushabtis in his life. The markets of Thebes were famous for them: tiny men and women who carried baskets in their arms and spells on their backs. I am here when thou callest, their inscriptions read, always willing to till a field or set a table in service of the deceased.

  But the ushabtis that occupied this chamber had a decidedly different mission. Each wore the same spare uniform: a simple loincloth, thick sandals and a triangular leather cap. Each stood at attention, his hands behind his back, a leather shield resting at his side, awaiting command. These were soldiers.

  Intef lifted a soldier from the shelf and felt his chest squeeze as he remembered the last time he had seen his mother alive...

  * * *

  ‘Intef! You have come home!’ his mother shrieked. Tears poured down her face. ‘I did not think I would ever see you again.’

  She dropped her cane and opened her arms, and Intef rushed into her embrace. ‘Of course I came,’ he said, feeling a rush of love so powerful that he ached. She was a small woman and in the past he would have lifted her off the ground and whirled her around him, but he noticed that her lower leg had been wrapped in linen.

  ‘You are injured.’

  ‘Did the messenger say nothing of it?’

  ‘Only that I was needed urgently at home. Mother, are you unwell?’

  He reached down to inspect the cloth, but she swatted his hand away. ‘It is nothing to worry about—just a ruse to get you to visit your poor old mother.’ She reached up and took his face in her hands. ‘It has been too long, my beautiful boy.’

  ‘Only four years.’

  ‘Only four years?’ She moved one of his curls from his eyes. ‘Setnakht’s other soldiers come home every harvest.’

  Setnakht’s other soldiers were not deadly assassins.

  ‘You know I have been busy,’ said Intef. ‘Setnakht is very close now to seizing the double crown and uniting Egypt for good.’

  She frowned. ‘Each time I see you, you are more like your father.’

  ‘I shall take that as a compliment,’ he said. Guilt pulsed through him. If it had not been for Intef’s selfishness, his father would have been taking care of his mother right then.

  ‘Come inside, Intef. Let me pour you a cup of beer.’

  Intef watched with alarm as his mother lifted her cane and hobbled into the small mudbrick hut where Intef had been raised. ‘Mother, you are not well.’

  ‘I am well enough,’ she said. ‘I miss your father, though. I will join him in the afterlife soon.’

  ‘Pah,’ said Intef. ‘You are still a young woman!’

  Intef’s mother laughed.

  He wandered over to their family’s small shrine—a shallow concavity that his father had carved into the wall long ago. It had once held a statue of Bastet, the feline goddess of the home, but since his father’s passing his mother had replaced the statue with a finely carved ushabti of a soldier—a memory of his father.

  Intef kissed his fingers, then touched them to the figurine’s head. He should have dropped to his knees and made a proper prayer, but his lips were trembling and he did not wish to burden his mother with the heaviness in his heart.

  ‘Sit down,’ his mother said, pointing to the three stools and small table where the three had always taken their meals. There were dangerous memories everywhere he looked. In one corner of the hut, his father’s fishing pole remained propped against the wall. In another lay the two wooden swords that he had once used to spar with Intef.

  Intef accepted the cup from his mother’s scythe-calloused hands and guzzled it down in a single draught. ‘Do you have anything stronger?’ he asked. ‘Mead? Wine?’

  ‘There may be a little mead left from the Festival of Osiris,’ his mother said, rising to inspect a cluster of amphorae. ‘Wine is too expensive.’ She lifted an amphora and tilted its contents into Intef’s cup.

  ‘You will be able to afford as much wine as you like now,’ said Intef. He plunked a bag full of silver deben on the table.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Booty from these last years of raids. It is yours now, Mother. We can get you a good doctor and you will not have to lift a scythe ever again.’

  His mother blinked back a tear, but it did not appear to be one of joy. ‘Is that why you think I called you home?’ she asked. ‘To ask for deben?’

  ‘Of course not. But I have been wanting to give you—’

  ‘I do not need deben, Intef. I need my son.’

  Intef took his mother’s hand and pulled her close. Love flooded into his heart. He hated this feeling. It was one of the reasons he had stayed away. The longer he stayed, the more he would feel it and the more difficult it would be to leave.

  ‘How long can you stay?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘As long as you need,’ he lied. He squeezed her hand. He would stay as long as his heart could take. Usually it was less than a week.

  ‘I have missed you, Intef,’ she said. ‘All these years.’

  ‘And I have missed you.’ More than you will ever know. ‘But you understand I must do my duty.’

  ‘Your father would be proud of you. You must know that. You are a man of principal just as he was. Of honour.’ She cringed in pain as she walked to the table and took her seat at one of the stools.

  Intef felt a lump in his throat. If his father were alive, surely he would be proud. But he was not alive and that was Intef’s fault.

  He did not know if he could even stay another night.

  But it did not matter, for the n
ext morning his mother was cold in her bed, dead and gone. And whatever remained of Intef’s heart was gone, too.

  * * *

  His torch flickered with a rush of air. He turned to discover Aya standing in the doorway to the unfinished chamber.

  ‘Intef, are you all right?’

  ‘I am fine. Fine.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  He blinked and looked around. ‘Just...remembering.’

  * * *

  She watched as Intef returned the ushabti he held to the shelf. Sadness surrounded him like a fog, but she resisted the compulsion to console him. Not friends, she reminded herself. Still, there was too much silence.

  ‘You have been chiselling for many hours,’ she remarked. ‘You must be tired.’

  ‘I am,’ he said. ‘I fear I can do no more today.’

  ‘In that case I must take my turn,’ she said. ‘May I show you something first?’

  They crossed the hallway to the opposite unfinished chamber. ‘This and the other unfinished chamber were supposed to comprise the second burial chamber,’ Aya explained. ‘But the workers came across cracks in the ceiling and were forced to stop.’ She motioned to a large crack in the ceiling. ‘Pharaoh said that it was the gods trying to tell her to dig deeper.’

  Intef cast his gaze about the small room, which was divided into two smaller, rectangular-shaped rooms—one visible and the other hidden by a thick wall. In the visible room, shelves full of perfumes and oils lined the walls, their valuable glass and alabaster containers exuding powerful scents.

  She directed his attention to the back of the room where she had spaced two empty amphorae. She had poured a large pile of black earth between them and propped a tall copper shovel against the wall. His eyes grew large with recognition.

  ‘It’s our—’

  * * *

  ‘I know what it is,’ he said, though he could hardly believe it.