A Time to Seek, page 15
I spent another tortuous night, pawing through every memory I had of my parents, imagining a sister traveling through time, puzzling over what I would say to them if I ever found them. Even sending up another tentative prayer or two for clarity, to any God who might be listening.
At long last, the morning light began to creep across the chamber floor. Before it touched the low couch where I lay, neck stiff and heart exhausted, a shout at the door startled me to my feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The yelling from the hall had Senamun flying across the sitting room from her bed as my feet hit the floor.
“Your majesty!”
She glanced at me, eyes narrowed.
“Is it Bek?” The voice sounded young.
Senamun grabbed her robes and began wrapping the fabric around her waist and across her shoulder in a complicated pattern. “Open it,” she said to me, indicating the door.
I crossed to the door and flung it open.
Senamun tucked the final fold under her arm.“Let the boy in!”
Bek strolled between the two guards with a smirk for each. No doubt enjoying his favored-servant status.
Senamun scowled at the guards and slammed the door shut. “The Vizier Ay claims his guards remain to protect me, but we all know I am a prisoner in my own palace.”
I put my hands on the boy’s shoulders. “What is it, Bek? Is there news?”
His head bobbed. “Yes, lady. Yes, majesty. There is a caravan that will soon arrive. They are saying many camels, armed men—not traders.”
This was it, then. My pulse fluttered. Surely the Hittite prince would remember those who brought him Senamun’s proposal. Would he know what happened to my parents?
Senamun circled Bek, hand on her chest. “Who is saying? Where did you hear this?”
“At the guard house, my lady.” He dipped his head. “Vizier Ay, Mighty of Strength, had runners in the desert who brought news. Ay has extra men posted, and many of them prepare to ride out.”
Senamun met my look of hope with one of horror. “We cannot allow Ay’s men to reach the prince first!”
She grabbed a headpiece from a side table and strapped the beaded band tight across her forehead, its rearing cobra at the center.
Then with a determined set of her chin, she opened the doors and addressed the guards.
“My friends and I will be spending some time in the courtyards.” She led the way out of the chamber. “We have no need for accompaniment.”
Bek and I followed her, but when I glanced back it was clear the guards were also following.
Senamun must have sensed them, because she stopped in her tracks and spun slowly. “I have instructed you to remain.”
Her tone was as icy and regal as any queen’s could be.
“You will continue to guard my chamber, to ensure no one enters while I am away and lies in wait for my return.”
The two guards glanced at each other. Probably weighing the option of disobeying the queen-who-wasn’t-really-a-queen any longer, and the vizier who wasn’t yet a king. After a moment, they each took a step backward.
Senamun spun and continued to sail through the palace hall, with Bek and me in tow.
We passed through the courtyard where I had seen Jack’s lookalike, but didn’t stop.
Bek peered up at me and shrugged.
Through another long hall, across a dusty open courtyard, to what looked like a hut, but turned out to be a horse stable.
I stooped to enter under the low doorway, then hesitated while my eyes adjusted.
Bek sped past me toward a pair of horses standing side-by-side near a small, two-wheeled chariot like the one that brought me to Malaqat. He seemed to know Senamun’s mind, for as he strapped the chariot to the horses, she climbed aboard.
“Come, Ra-Ne-Hannu.” She waved me over. “You will be my excuse. We will say we are on a pleasure trip to the Nile.”
Was I crazy? Riding out to the possibility of an armed conflict?
But I must learn more of the family that recently left Egypt. I climbed into the chariot and perched beside Senamun.
Bek stepped in front of us both, grabbed at the reins, and clucked to the horses.
It was clear why Senamun trusted the boy. He was smart, intuitive, and not afraid to get involved.
We wheeled out of the stable, and I gripped the side of the chariot. “How will we reach the prince before Ay’s soldiers?”
Senamun’s face was set like stone, eyes boring into the desert. “His soldiers will be on foot. But we will have to move quickly.”
At that, Bek flicked the reins over the backs of the horses, and the chariot rolled faster.
We moved past the administrative complex and kitchens, gleaming white in the sun, out through the gated wall of the massive palace enclosure, flanked by two statues of a seated pharaoh, perhaps Amen-hotep, grandfather to Tut-ankh-amun.
What would Jack say, if he could snap photographs of this scenery? I could almost see him, jumping from our chariot to aim his camera in every direction.
The life-giving Nile and its farmland lay green in the distance to the east, beyond the harbor and connecting canal.
The House of Rejoicing lay outside the flood plain, safe from the yearly Inundations, the waters roaring down from Aswan, overflowing the banks of the Nile and bringing needed water and rich silt deposits to both sides of the river. Deep-dug canals funneled precious water to irrigation basins, where farmers carefully released it to keep the farmland fertile. The “gift of the Nile” propelled Egypt into a major ancient power, supplying other nations with grain for more than two thousand years. Even in Roman times, still a thousand years away, Egypt would be called the “breadbasket of the world.”
But here in our chariot, we traveled over desert, toward a plain shimmering with deadly heat.
On the narrow path ahead, a dust cloud bloomed from the desert floor.
“The Hittites?” I asked Senamun.
She shook her head. “More likely, Ay’s soldiers, sent to kill the prince. Hurry, Bek.” She muttered what sounded like a curse. “How did he find out? I was so careful to keep my plans quiet.”
“Could Ahmose have betrayed you?”
“Not a chance. I trusted him with my life, though I knew him only a short time.”
“Why so much trust?”
“He was a seer. He knew things. Of the future, and the past. And he saved my life.”
I lifted my eyebrows, inviting more.
“Just after Tut-ankh-amun’s death, when I was still foolish enough to ask questions about what had happened, I nearly met the same fate. I was intent on accusing Ay before the priests. Ahmose made me see sense and recommended a more strategic approach.”
Did that sound like my father? All I had were memories of childhood. It had been so long. Ahmose and Alexander had little in common, other than the initial letter. But there would have been nothing in the Egyptian language that sounded like his given name.
Senamun was right. The cloud of dust, as we approached it from behind, was a contingent of soldiers, marching out into the desert. Bare-chested with sandals, they bore little resemblance to the photographs I had seen of British soldiers in the Great War. They carried leather shields and spears, each with a short dagger strapped to their waist.
Bek yelled to them as though he were a general.
They turned to see the Great Royal Wife behind, and parted ranks to the soft sand on either side of the packed road, allowing us to pass without sinking a chariot wheel.
I glanced behind as we passed.
They re-formed ranks, no doubt wondering if they should have allowed Ankhe-sen-amun to outpace them.
And now we were ahead.
Beside me, Senamun exhaled and leaned back, flattening palms across her thighs.
With the disturbance behind us, we could now see farther, to where the Hittite prince’s retinue approached.
Bek barked an urgent command to the horses.
The scuffle of the soldiers’ sandals at our backs increased.
It was impossible to judge the pace of the Hittites ahead, but it didn’t take long to reach them.
About a dozen men riding on horses met us. The forerunner wore metal plating across his chest and a head covering in a dark red that streamed down to his shoulders.
Greetings were quickly exchanged. The prince nudged his horse forward until it nosed the edge of our chariot.
Senamun put a hand to the horse’s head, her eyes trained on the prince. “You are Zananza?”
No shyness, nothing that indicated an impending arranged marriage, with all it entailed. Instead, Senamun’s lifted chin spoke only a challenge.
“I am he.”
The prince was perhaps thirty years old, and not bad-looking. He had a pleasant smile, and seemed amused by the young royal petting his horse.
“You are ready to join your kingdom to the mighty Egypt? To stand beside me to rule?”
No awkward small-talk, then. Perhaps arranged marriages had something to recommend them, if they avoided the need for all that dancing around and evaluating each other.
He bowed his head. “As your letter stated. To you, I will be a husband. To Egypt I will be a king.”
Senamun glanced to where I sat in the chariot, as though contemplating giving the soon-to-be-pharaoh my seat.
I wouldn’t refuse a chance to ride horseback into the palace surrounded by Hittite soldiers. But I needed a moment to speak to this prince.
Senamun flicked a hand. “You will follow us. There are soldiers on the road, unfriendly to my rule. They seek to put a commoner on the throne—my husband’s vizier. Stay behind and you will be safe.”
Bek expertly turned the horses and our chariot.
But when we pivoted, we faced the oncoming warriors of Ay in our path.
Ay’s contingent of soldiers drew up and stopped. There were more of Ay’s Egyptian guards than Hittites, perhaps forty soldiers to the Hittite dozen.
Senamun’s assertion that Zananza and his men would be safe behind a two-wheeled chariot carrying two unarmed women and a boy seemed rash.
“Stand aside,” Senamun called out. “These men are accompanying your Royal Wife back to the palace. They will pass unharmed.”
The Egyptian at the head of the pack twitched his head only slightly, but enough that the group of soldiers parted to let our vehicle pass.
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding.
But it was too soon to feel relief.
As soon as we were through the soldiers, they closed ranks behind us, cutting off the Hittites.
The first ring of sword-on-sword reverberated in my chest.
“No!” Senamun stood and spun in the chariot, hands gripped along the backrest. “Let them pass!”
But there was no stopping it now.
The Egyptians soldiers were on foot, rather than horses, but they outnumbered the mounted men. The clash had every man engaged.
Cries and grunts split the desert air. Sand and blood flew.
Bek tried to step off the chariot platform.
I blocked him and shook my head, heart pounding. My eyes stung and bitterness rose in my throat.
Bodies fell with oddly-gentle thuds into the sand, eyes open and staring.
Senamun flung her headpiece to the sand and stood in the chariot with hands clutched to her head.
I had seen gruesome injuries, when Lady Almina had turned Highclere into a hospital during the Great War and I had worked beside her to tend the wounded soldiers.
But I had never seen a battle.
Despite the stories the men at Highclere had whispered like confessions or moaned in their sleep, I was unprepared to watch men cut down before my eyes.
The heat and the blood made my head sway, but my training took over. Where would I do the most good?
The Hittite numbers dwindled. Three Egyptians to every one made it only a matter of time. Was the prince still fighting?
Senamun jumped out of the chariot, heedless of the danger, and ran toward the fight.
I blew out a breath. Courage prompted me to follow her, to protect her, but this was not my fight, not even my time.
But Bek made my decision when he dashed after his sovereign.
I could not leave them both out there. I jumped into the sand.
“Bek! Senamun!” My voice disappeared into the battle-screams and the clash of iron.
What did she hope to accomplish? To shield the Hittite prince with her own body? Did she think Ay’s soldiers would not cut her down?
I had nearly reached Bek when the world spun and dimmed.
A blow to the back of my head.
I was going down.
Slowly, slowly, with the blue desert sky rotating above me and the golden sand rising up to graze my cheek.
In that hazy moment, I saw the face of Oliver, a soldier I had cared for during the war. I thought of his stories of battle at Artois, on the Western Front. Stories of how it felt to be shot from behind.
And then, darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
July, 1915
Highclere Castle, Hampshire, England
“Sahara, pull down those blinds before this room gets any hotter.”
Lady Almina stood with hands on hips, frowning at the afternoon sun streaming through the French windows of the Library. Dust particles hovered in the sunlight and danced above the groupings of chairs forming the men’s day room, where they could spend the day reading or playing cards as they convalesced.
I did as bidden, and watched the sharp crease dividing light from dark slide down the far wall.
Did I imagine a sigh of relief from some soldiers, as the room seemed instantly cooler?
It was high summer at Highclere, and after a year of war, we were all ready for some relief.
With nearly all the men given their own guest room, and maids doubling up to leave extra quarters for the thirty or so nurses, everyone at Highclere was busy creating a retreat for wounded soldiers that was also a top-notch hospital.
“Sahara…” A whispered word from across the room, from the handsome Oliver Bainbridge, reclining on an overstuffed sofa, leather-bound book in his hand.
I circled one of the lofty gilt-edged wood columns that graced the room and bent to him.
He was finally gaining some strength after weeks of touch-and-go.
“What can I get you, Oliver?”
He sighed and grasped my hand. He was my age, with light hair and a stubbly beard and a smile that left me feeling warm and safe.
“You can get me out of here. Perhaps a picnic on the lawns with my favorite nurse.”
I returned his grip and his smile. “There will be time for picnics when you are well.”
“Is that a promise?” He gave me a wink and a grin, then pulled me down to balance on the edge of his sofa.
“So warm and dry,” he said, indicating my hand. “How I dreamed of the warm, dry hand of a pretty girl during all those wet, cold nights in the trenches. You’ve no idea.”
“Well, you are here now. Back in wet, cold England.” I laughed and glanced at the windows. “Except for today, of course.”
“England can freeze over, and I wouldn’t care, as long as I don’t have to go back there.” He frowned as soon as the words were spoken and glanced at his comrades scattered around the Library. “You’ll think me a disloyal chap, I fear. Or worse—a coward.”
I leaned toward him, to check the bandages at the back of his head. “Any man who can survive a bullet is no coward, Oliver. And you have fought just as bravely here in hospital as you did on the field. It’s your country’s turn to be loyal to you.”
Oliver had told me of the day he was shot, weeks ago. Of the strange blurring of his vision, the feeling of being clubbed and wondering why the club-wielding attacker was invisible. The slow fall-forward, each blade of grass in sharp relief against the hard-packed earth, rising up to meet him.
“But what does any of it mean?” he whispered now.
I smoothed the white starched apron over my strawberry-pink uniform. The question required more from me than a simple fetching of water or a cool compress.
“I’m a failure.” His voice was still low, and trembled. “I didn’t take out a-one of them, to my knowledge. Instead they took out me.”
“You sacrificed for what was right and good, Oliver.”
He shrugged. “But what difference did it make? What was it all for? Do we really even understand why we’re fighting? Those boys in trenches on the other side of the field, firing at us… They’re fighting for what they think is right, too.”
I sighed. “War is—complicated. I don’t pretend to understand.”
“Life is complicated.”
Agreed.
“But when I get out of here, Sahara...“ his voice was a whisper, a private thing for only me. “You and I… we can make it simple.”
We’d known each other only a few weeks, and spent every minute in the presence of others, but an unspoken understanding had grown between us. The sense of waiting, of knowing more was to come, as soon as the world returned to sanity, and war was a memory.
He enclosed my hand with both of his, and his steady gaze into my eyes spoke even more than the words.
“Oliver, I…” The admission of feelings lodged in my throat. It had been so long since I’d expressed affection to anyone. Since I’d dared to feel it.
“Just tell me you care for me, Sahara.”
I let the heat rise to my face, then smiled. “I care. I care very much.”
“Sahara!”
Another summons from her ladyship.
“I need to go.” I leaned across, my lips grazing his ear. “I’ll return as soon as I can.”
Oliver held on for an extra moment, a twinkle in his eye that must have been normal in the days before the war. Voice louder now, for his fellow patients to hear. “You know you’re my favorite, right?”
