Saved by Her Enemy Warrior

by Greta Gilbert

  What was he doing here and, more importantly, why was she so happy about it? And she was happy—terribly, horribly happy. She had hoped that time passing would make her thoughts of him fade. Instead, they had grown more vivid.

  Some nights, she would lie awake on the roof of her hut and gaze up at the formation of the archer sparkling overhead. She would picture herself in that pose, but not alone. He was always behind her, his body pressing against her back, his arms covering her own, guiding them.

  When she lifted her bow during a hunt, sometimes she could not even see her prey. She could only indulge in the rosy memory of his arms stretched out over hers, his warm breath on her neck, his deep, masculine voice quietly encouraging her.

  She even seemed to miss their arguments. Despite his feigned indifference to her ideas, he always took them seriously. She loved how they sparred—his mocking reveries against her good sense—though of course he did not see her sense as always good.

  And she was glad of it. Their differences did not bother her. On the contrary, they made her feel as if the world was somehow larger than she had ever conceived. ‘Perhaps you do not know everything,’ he loved to tell her.

  Perhaps not and thank the gods.

  Curse him. He was like the sun—impossible to avoid, warming her wherever she went. She could not rid herself of him, just as she could not rid herself of the desire to eat or sleep or gaze at the stars. They had spent only a few days together, yet she would never be the same. He had awakened her body, inspired her mind and healed her soul. Somehow, he had taken her darkness and brought it into the light.

  But then he had betrayed her.

  Why did her heart not think about that? He had lied to her about the most important thing in the world—the sanctity of Tausret’s tomb. He had not only violated her trust, he had tipped the balance of ma’at. He was the very reason Tausret’s spirit had nothing now.

  Aya was the only thing standing between Tausret’s soul and total oblivion. Her tomb had been cleaned out, her name erased. She no longer had a home. It was all Aya could do to keep her alive with offerings of beer and bread inside a crumbling temple at the edge of nowhere.

  ‘Why do you walk so far away?’ Intef called.

  ‘Because I do not trust you,’ she called back.

  ‘You can mistrust me much more easily by walking beside me.’

  He was flashing his handsome grin—yet another reason to keep her distance. Still, if he did plan to try to seize her, he would not be so foolish as to do it in the open. He would wait until they arrived at his so-called tomb.

  ‘How did you escape Rameses?’ he called to her. ‘Please, I must know.’

  ‘I fashioned a bow,’ she called back.

  ‘A what?’ he asked.

  ‘A bow!’ she cried, holding up her bow. ‘I fashioned a bow.’

  He shook his head. ‘I cannot hear you.’

  Finally, she caught up to him. ‘I said that I fashioned a bow.’

  He resumed walking. ‘You are too thin,’ he observed, but there was a smile in his voice.

  ‘And you remain as rude and manipulative as ever,’ she said.

  ‘How did you fashion a bow?’

  ‘With a curtain pole.’

  He laughed. ‘A curtain pole? Impossible. And the arrow?’

  ‘The poker of a brazier,’ she said. He was trying not to show it, but she knew he was impressed.

  ‘How did you get out of Thebes?’

  ‘I took the river.’

  ‘You hired a boat?’ She flashed him a grin. ‘You swam?’

  She nodded, working to conceal her delight.

  ‘But did you not fear crocodiles?’

  ‘Of course I feared crocodiles, but I loved freedom more.’

  ‘Freedom?’ He looked at her and she dared to return the glance. His eyes were more luminous than she remembered and vastly more dangerous.

  ‘Yes, freedom.’

  ‘Is that what you are now...free?’ He glanced in the direction of the crumbling temple. ‘In the village they say you worship a strange spirit—one you have invented.’

  ‘I worship the spirit of Tausret. I keep her alive.’

  ‘You have given your life for hers, then.’

  ‘It is the duty of a beloved servant.’

  ‘But you are not a servant. You are her daughter.’

  They crested a rise and Aya stopped. She gazed down into a cleft between the hills very similar to the valley where Tausret’s tomb was located. ‘What does it matter if I am Tausret’s daughter? What will it change? It will not bring her back from the afterlife. It will not keep her ka, her eternal spirit, fed or clothed, or help her ba recognise her when it needs to rest. Pharaoh’s tomb has been pillaged, her death mask destroyed. I am the only one on this earth left to help support her and protect her in the next life.’

  He continued walking. ‘You are not the only one left protecting Tausret,’ he called behind him.

  They descended into the small valley and soon were standing outside an opening in the side of a hill—obviously the entrance to a tomb. He disappeared through the entryway and returned with a torch, and she watched him strike flint to stone. The flame erupted in moments and she felt a wave of yearning for days past.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked suddenly.

  He bowed his head. ‘You already know why, Aya—to save men’s lives,’ he replied.

  ‘I do not refer to the pillaging of Tausret’s tomb. I understand why you did that.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Why did you follow Setnakht in the first place?’

  ‘At first I did it for my father,’ Intef explained. ‘I had failed him in life and wished to atone for my mistake. But I also believed the stories the priests told us—that Tausret was a weak and corrupt ruler, that she was leading the country to ruin. I was so certain that I was doing right by following General Setnakht that I never thought to question the veracity of those stories—until I met you.’

  Aya searched his eyes, looking for the lie. Still she could not find it.

  ‘Now I realise that I cannot trust everything I hear,’ he continued. ‘I should not trust the priests, or even Setnakht himself. I am not just a soldier, not just some wooden ushabti in somebody else’s game of power. I am a man who can think on his own. You have shown me this, Aya. For the past four months, I have been labouring for what I have decided on my own is true and good. Will you not let me show you what it is?’

  The first thing she noticed was the walls. Intef flashed his torch across them and she was struck by the intricacy of the scenes, all of which were accompanied by columns of text. In one scene, the sun god in the form of a scarab beetle passed beneath the horizon. In another, the figure of a child sat in a boat, floating past a landscape teeming with plant and animal life.

  ‘These are from the book of what is in the Underworld,’ she remarked.

  ‘Do they please you?’

  ‘Of course. But I do not understand. The text of that sacred book is for the tombs of Pharaohs only.’

  ‘I know it is,’ said Intef.

  ‘Then why have you placed scenes from that text inside your own tomb?’ He was walking away from her again. ‘Intef?’

  ‘Come.’

  They made their way deeper down the corridor and Aya caught sight of an image of a woman making an offering of incense to Horus, the god of kingship. The woman was clad in a body-shaped tunic adorned with the half-moon of a colourful beaded pectoral over her chest. She might have been beautiful, but her image was distorted by the long dark beard jutting out from her chin: the pharaonic beard of kingship.

  A chill travelled across Aya’s skin. There was only one person it could have been. Moving further down the hall she began to see more images of the beautiful bearded woman. Then Aya was stepping into a chamber that f
elt oddly familiar.

  Intef lit a lamp at each corner of the space until the room was illuminated with a soft glow. Adorning the walls were the same scenes from the Book of Caverns and the Book of the Earth that had adorned Tausret’s own tomb. At the chamber’s centre was a giant sarcophagus, its lid propped beside it.

  Aya felt a surge of joy as her heart comprehended what her mind was still trying to understand. She crossed to the sarcophagus and peered inside.

  ‘Tausret.’ There she was—her beloved Pharaoh. There were her lovely limbs, her long straight hair, her perfect fingernails. And there, atop her head, the splendid mask of death that would allow her spirit to recognise her body in the afterlife. It was Tausret—just as beautiful and whole as the day she had been laid to rest.

  Aya burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘How did you—what did you—?’ She was sputtering with emotion.

  ‘It has been my labour for these past four months—me and a whole gang of workmen, that is,’ Intef said. ‘And a rather large bag of gold.’

  She looked around the chamber once again, as if seeing it anew. She pointed to a corner. ‘A storage room?’

  ‘Fully stocked: bread, beer, wine. A nine-year-old vintage.’ He grinned self-consciously, then motioned to the other three rooms—one at each corner of the chamber. ‘I have included everything she may need: clothing, medicines, furniture, even a cosmetics kit, and there are hundreds of ushabtis to aid her in whatever work is required. I have also hired two priests from the village to leave offerings for her daily. I pray it will be enough.’

  Tears streamed down Aya’s face. ‘It is more than enough.’ She ran her hand down Tausret’s long, desiccated arm. ‘My Pharaoh,’ she whispered. ‘My mother.’

  She gently took Tausret’s hand in hers. Her whole being seemed to fill with light. ‘How can I ever thank you for this?’

  ‘It was my duty,’ Intef said, then added, ‘and my honour.’ He had never felt so light of heart. For the first time in his life, he had done his duty and also managed to protect the one he loved. ‘She was a great ruler,’ he said.

  ‘Do you truly believe that?’ Aya asked.

  Intef took her free hand. ‘I do and promise that I will never lie to you again.’

  There they were—the three of them—their hands intertwined and also their fates. And also, perhaps, their hearts. He sensed that he had only begun to mend the damage that he had done. He only wished he could spend the rest of his life trying.

  * * *

  Aya walked beside him all the way home, though it felt more as though she was floating. She could not feel the rocky ground beneath her sandals. She did not suffer beneath the midday heat. She could only see colours—so many colours! The vibrant blue of the sky against the orange hilltops. The endless variety of hues reflected in the dusty rocks: sepia, grey, henna, agouti. How had she never noticed all the colours?

  She noticed the living things, too. There was so much life in the desert. The stalwart bushes and intrepid lizards. The industrious scarabs lurking among the rocks. Overhead, an ancient vulture stretched his wide wings as if in praise. ‘Look at the world!’ he seemed to be saying. ‘How wondrous it is!’

  They stopped at the temple to retrieve the offering of meat she had made that morning. As with all offerings, the leavings would ultimately be consumed to help ensure that the living always had reason to thank the dead.

  Aya and Intef returned to the hut and sat down to feast. ‘Is gazelle all you have to eat?’

  ‘Is it not enough?’

  ‘Do you not have a garden or a field? Somewhere to grow things?’

  ‘I am all alone. I do not find myself wanting...for food,’ she said. She popped a chunk of gazelle between her lips and slipped him a clever grin.

  * * *

  He swallowed his meat and stared at her, thankful he did not choke. Had she just suggested what he thought she had suggested? Wondrous woman. She had surprised him once again and it occurred to him that she would always surprise him. It was something he knew as certainly as his own footprint. He could stare across the table at her for all eternity and never grow bored.

  ‘Is there something besides food for which you are wanting?’ he asked boldly, taking another bite. His heart thumped.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Her gaze shifted to the empty bucket of water in the corner of the hut and she sighed. ‘Today I find myself wanting a bath.’

  Now he did choke. He coughed and gagged until his half-chewed, half-swallowed gazelle finally went down the right pipe.

  ‘Would you like some more beer?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he replied, feeling himself flush.

  ‘Well, in that case I will leave you with your gazelle. I am going down to the well to bathe.’

  * * *

  She walked down the path to the well, trying to control her blush. She did not know what had made her so bold. Perhaps she had spent too much time alone in the desert. Or perhaps the long hours inside her tiny hut had given her a better appreciation for the nature of time. Sometimes it dragged past. Other times it was as if many months had passed in a day. Today was one of those days. Already the sun was dipping towards the horizon and she feared his plans. She did not know if he would go or stay.

  She wanted him to stay.

  Still, it was possible that at this very moment he was slipping away into the dusk, never to return. And why not? He had done his penance. He had given back that which he had taken from her and restored the ma’at between them.

  Indeed, now he could finally move forward with his life—a marvellous life for certain. He was the Hero of Thebes after all. By now he had surely found himself a beautiful wife and a high post in the new Pharaoh’s army. He would want to get back to them and she did not wish to stop him. Her quick departure for a bath would at least give him the opportunity to escape.

  She arrived at the well and quickly disrobed. The sun god was low on the horizon, but his rays still warmed her skin. She cranked the handle and raised up the bucket, then tilted it over her head and let the cool water pour over her limbs. She felt better already.

  If he did not return, she would be fine. She would miss him, of course, but she was accustomed to missing the ones she loved. She would allow herself no regrets but one—that she had failed to thank him. By saving Tausret’s afterlife, he had also saved Aya’s current life.

  Thanks to Intef, she was no longer bound to this place. Her mistress—her mother—was provisioned now. Her death mask was restored. She would live and thrive in the afterlife, giving Aya the opportunity to live and thrive in this one. She would be able to live the life that her mother had always wanted for her.

  ‘Thank you, Intef,’ she murmured to the muddy ground. She missed him already. She pictured him making his way down the trail to Amarna. She had lived by herself for years now and never once felt this alone.

  She lowered the bucket again into the well and poured it over her head. Yes, much better. The water splattered to the ground, mixing with the sound of birdsong coming from the birds flitting among the nearby boulders. She shook out her head and reached for the pot of salt and oil.

  The birds were getting louder with Ra’s retreat. One in particular was making quite a bit of noise. Its whistle sounded almost like a tune she knew. She turned to look for the feathered creature among the rocks, but what she discovered was something more wonderful by far. He was no bird, though the sound of his silly whistle made her heart fly.

  ‘Intef!’

  * * *

  He watched the colour rise to her cheeks and knew he had done well. He had decided to remove his clothes at the last moment, in retaliation for her suggestive departure. If she could surprise him, he could very well surprise her in return.

  ‘I have realised that I am also in great need of a bath,’ he said casually, as if he had just arrived fully clot
hed to a banquet. He only wished he had arrived a few minutes sooner so that he might have seen her pour water over her equally unclad skin. As it was he could hardly keep his eyes above her neckline.

  He stood beside her and peered down into the well, feigning great interest in it. He let the bucket fall and cranked it back up again. Then he stepped in front of her, positioning her between himself and the rim of the well.

  ‘Please tell me that you at least own some decent scrubbing salts.’

  ‘I would not be a one-woman temple if I did not,’ she said and reached for a clay pot full of salt and oil that had been resting on the lip of the well. ‘I traded for it in the village.’

  ‘With gazelle meat, I assume?’ He rolled his eyes.

  She shot him a scolding look. ‘Gazelle is a highly valuable commodity! And the hides are incredibly soft, though rather difficult to clean.’

  ‘I would like to clean your hide,’ he said, stepping forward.

  ‘That would be a laborious task.’ She stepped backwards, closer to the well. She appeared to be reaching for something behind her. ‘Cleaning hides is much more difficult than chiselling through stone.’

  ‘Is it really?’ he asked. ‘Well, you will have to teach me, then.’ And in that moment he felt a torrent of cold water pour down over his head.

  ‘Barbarian woman!’ he shouted. He dipped his hand into the pot and came up with a palmful of the salt and oil. ‘Now you will feel the heat of my palm!’

  * * *

  It was the most welcome threat that had ever been made to her and she sighed as he wrapped himself around her in order to carry it out. He began by rubbing the mixture up and down her back, but instead of moving on to her limbs, he squeezed her in his embrace.