Pharaoh's Desire (18 page)

As she worked in her small kitchen, she heard someone calling her name.

“Mutema, are you there?”

The voice belonged to one of her neighbors. “I am in the kitchen,” she replied.

Seconds later, her neighbor, a plump older woman, appeared. She was out of breath and flushed. “Mutema, there are three men waiting outside for you.”

“Oh pity. This batch of beer will not be ready for days. I do not think I have enough from the last batch to sell. I wonder how much they require.”

Her neighbor placed a hand on her arm to halt her. “I do not think it is beer they want. They look like soldiers
.
”

Mutema looked confused for a moment, and then her shoulders sagged. The magistrate had finally sent someone to remove her from the property. She breathed deeply and steeled herself for the inevitable. “I shall see to them. I may need to rely on your kindness for somewhere to lay my head tonight,” she added.

“Of course.” Her neighbor gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You are always welcome in my home.”

Mutema gathered her courage. She had survived the loss of her only child and endured the trauma of losing the only man she’d ever loved. She’d escaped poverty and an abusive husband. What more could the gods do to her? They had taken everything but the very air she breathed. In this absence, from this place of emptiness, she found there was nothing left in the world for her to fear.

She emerged from the cool interior of her house into the bright sunlight to find three soldiers on horseback waiting outside. Instead of wearing the traditional Nubian loincloths, they wore short white tunics knotted at the waist—the apparel of the Egyptians. But from constant interaction, many Nubians had adopted that style of dress. Mutema still preferred the handsome animal skins and rich textile patterns Nubia was known for.

One of the soldiers nudged his horse forward. “You are Mutema Nubemheb?”

Not trusting herself to speak, she merely nodded.

“Your presence is requested,” he told her matter-of-factly. “You may ride with me.” He extended his large, callused hand.

The soldier’s horse snorted loudly and stamped one of its hooves impatiently. Mutema gasped and scurried back. She’d never ridden a horse before. In fact, the only horses she’d seen had been securely attached to chariots, and from a distance they appeared a great deal smaller than this one. Almost everyone traveled by donkey or on foot, unless they were nobility and had the good fortune of owning a litter.

There was a time when Mutema might have accepted the challenge of riding a horse. It would have been an adventure. But those times were long gone, and even though her spirit was still strong, her bones were not.

“I shall walk,” she said, turning her nose up.

The soldiers offered no objection, and she willingly followed them as they kept a deliberately slow pace. She had no idea where they were taking her, and she did not ask. From the stony looks on their faces, they probably would not have told her anyway.

The midday sun had barely peaked when the soldiers led Mutema into an encampment outside the city. Dozens of soldiers were engaged in various tasks around a half dozen tents. Mutema watched their movements warily as she followed the mounted soldiers. They came to a stop in front of the last white tent. One of the soldiers pulled the large flap of the tent aside and disappeared within.

He reappeared moments later and held the flap open for her. “You may enter now.” He
 
waited as she passed through and then rejoined his companions.

Mutema did not understand. She’d assumed she would be brought to court, but she knew the moment she left her home, the soldiers were taking her elsewhere. She’d made no protest as she followed them through the city and to the edge of the forest where their tents were hidden. But she now worried for her safety.

She entered the dimly lit tent and stood hesitantly, waiting for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. From the outside, the tent appeared to be quickly assembled, but the furnishings inside bespoke a certain elegance. There were beautifully handcrafted rugs on the ground; a small table supporting a gold bowl heavily laden with fruit; a silver wine decanter with matching goblets; and a pallet of exotic animal skins atop a makeshift bed in the corner. The unmistakable odor of myrrh incense permeated the air. She knew one thing for certain. The occupant of this tent was accustomed to the finer things in life.

Amonmose sat in the comfort of his tent, enjoying a rare moment of relief from the oppressive heat. He longed for a cool bath in his massive tub, but the nature of his mission did not lend itself to luxurious accommodations. Days ago, he’d left the palace early, while the first colors of dawn peeked through the tapestry of the morning sky. He took a secret entourage with him, which included Baal, thirty soldiers, and two tracking guides. They’d been riding hard, virtually nonstop ever since.

He sent a messenger back to inform his advisors of his whereabouts, but he’d told no one of his purpose, not even his beloved Kama. When he’d left her almost a week ago, she had been slumbering so deeply she had not stirred when he left.

He’d briefly considered making love to her one last time, but the sound of her slow, contented breathing convinced him otherwise. He drank in his fill of her image alone, her flawless skin and curvaceous body half-buried in the sheets. The memory would have to be enough to sustain him until he got back. She would be confused by his absence and hurt that he had not said goodbye, but it was a risk worth taking.

In the few months he’d known Kama, they’d shared more than just carnal desires. She’d told him of her life from before, and this was how he’d learned where to find her mother, Mutema. As soon as the woman entered his tent, he saw her sharp eyes survey her surroundings. She was small, with a cloud of long, white cloaking her shoulders. Upon first glance, he thought her to be an old woman, but then he saw her young face and the same noble bearing that Kama possessed. Her dramatically high cheekbones were accented with red ochre. And black kohl liberally lined the rims of her sparkling, dark eyes. She was exquisite in every way, standing defiantly beside the entrance of the tent. Is this what his beautiful Kama would look like when she got older?

Mutema was dressed in traditional Nubian garments, a long, leather sheath that extended to her ankles, with elaborate beadwork bordering the edges. The necklace she wore was fashioned from dyed cowrie shells, and it draped around her neck no less than six times, with the longest strand dangling above her waist.

“Mutema, how is it that you have stark white hair, yet your face is so youthful?” Amonmose asked.

A shadow crossed her strong features. “Because I have been dealt a great tragedy, suffered a loss no mother should know. All that I had is dead, and each day is a struggle.”

The Pharaoh’s heart tightened in his chest. He was the reason for her misfortune; his orders had brought tragedy upon her house. But there was no changing the past or erasing the pains of loss. He could, however, certainly control the future. He’d brought foreign dignitaries to their knees, forced nations to surrender to his mighty army, and doubled the size of his kingdom’s coffers. If he was capable of doing all of this, surely he could make one woman happy.

“I am sorry for the hardship you have endured,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “My suffering has been compounded by your attempts to cast me from the home I have known for years.”

Amonmose frowned. “I’ve no desire to do such a thing.”

Her face clouded with confusion, and she pieced her words together slowly. “You dress as a nobleman…yet, the gold pectoral you wear is encrusted with the most brilliant turquoise I’ve ever seen. A magistrate would not possess such jewelry.”

He was traveling in disguise, dressed like a member of the nobility to avoid drawing attention to himself. Kerma was powerful in its own right, so he was not leaving anything to chance. He camped outside the gates of the main city and sent his scouts to make inquiries in the city. If Amonmose or any of his men were caught here, it was certain death. “I am not a magistrate and I have not called you here to force you from your home.”

“You stand like a man with the world at his command. Who are you?” she demanded.

If the situation were not so serious, he might have laughed. Mutema spoke in a confident and direct manner, much like her daughter. “I am a man of great importance,” he told her.

She eyed him warily. “You obviously know my name, and your soldiers knew where I lived. So, if you are not here to evict me, what business have you with me?”

“I have traveled a great distance to find you and give you an important piece of news.”

She motioned to the objects in his tent. “You are someone of considerable wealth. Our worlds are far apart. What news could you have that would interest me?”

“Our worlds are not so far apart as you might think. In fact, we have something in common. I know your daughter, Kama. And I am here to tell you that she is alive and well.”

Chapter Twelve

           
Mutema’s eyes narrowed. “You bring me here to spout cruelty? My troubles are abysmal, yet you dare to jest. What kind of creature are you?”

Amonmose had expected joy, gratitude . “I assure you, there is no intention of humor or malice on my part,” he said. “I speak the truth.”

Mutema digested this information slowly. “I was told…my child perished in a fire,” she said. “I have resigned myself to this. And now, you come bearing rumors that she is alive?”

“It is no rumor. I can tell you for certain that she is not dead.”

Mutema’s heart skipped erratically as she battled to contain her emotions. Kama…alive? Could it be true? “How can you attest to such a fact?” she asked.

Amonmose motioned for her to sit down on one of the stools, and he sat across from her. “I know she is alive because I am the one who rescued her from the fire.”

Mutema sagged with relief.
 
The seed of hope that had taken root now sprouted wildly inside her.
 
Kama was alive.
 
Her sweet child was alive!
 
She put her head in her hands and wept quietly. “I never…I thought…” she wiped her tears and clasped his hands. “Thank you for bringing this news.
 
May the gods bless you!”

“But”— he paused, giving her the feeling that she would not like what next came from his lips.
 
“I am also the one who started the fire.”

She squeezed his fingers, as if that could steel her against the shock. Then, she slowly pulled away. “I heard of a great and powerful army that swept through the night and turned the village into a blazing inferno,” she said. “If that fire had not occurred on that particular night, my family would be alive today.” She drew back from him further as her understanding dawned. “You are…”

“I am Pharaoh Amonmose Tehutimes, ruler of Egypt.”

Anguish tore at her heart. “You are the man responsible for my family’s death. And now, you are telling me that Kama is alive?”

“I realize how great your pain is—”

“No!” she hissed. “You cannot! You cannot know a mother’s pain. You cannot know the feeling of confronting the very monster who is the cause of my misery.” Her eyes glistened with tears and she leaned toward him, her voice shaking with hurt and rage. “I want to claw your eyes out. I want to bury a dagger in your chest.”

Amonmose took a deep breath
.
 
“Mutema, I do not blame you for the way you feel. You say I don’t understand your pain – but I do.
 
I too, have lost family. I did what I did for Egypt. I was protecting my citizens.”

Mutema stared at him a long time, then stood up and walked away, putting distance between them. “I forget myself. You are Pharaoh of Egypt; the closest thing to a god.” She glanced around, fear creeping into her heart. “You could have me killed for my disrespect. We’re at the edge of the city, and no one can hear me scream.”