Lauren Haney - Flesh of the God

He did not delude himself that she meant to talk of love. “You can say anything you like other than words of thanks. First, however, you must promise to hear me out.” He tried to keep his voice light, teasing; the words came out strained, too intense.

Her smile faded. A touch of pink colored her cheeks. She half-turned and he feared she would flee. She caught herself and her eyes met his straight on. “No, Bak. Some things are better left unsaid.”

Blood rushed into his face.

“My heart is heavy at having to leave a home I’ve learned to love. A place of sorrow now, but of many happy memories. A place of friends I hold dear.” She tried a smile that failed dismally. “Speak of something joyful, Bak. Tell me of the message the courier brought from the royal house. For you alone, I’ve heard.”

He scolded himself for being so thoughtless. She had just bade her private good-bye to two servants who had been closer to her than any friend. He, like a clumsy fool, had been so intent on his own purpose that he had given her no time to collect herself.

“I was given two scrolls. One from our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut herself, and another from Commander Maiherperi, the man who sent me to Buhen.”

“You received much praise, I’ve been told.” Her voice was tense but steadier.

He produced a smile, even managed to tease. “If you know their contents, why ask me to repeat what they said?”

“The tale is yours, not that of any other man.”

Her smile, though tentative, was so warm and sincere he wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms. Resisting the urge, he kept what he was sure was a silly grin plastered on his face, shifted to the end of the bench, and patted the space beside him.

She hesitated, but finally sat down and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Tell me.”

“The brief message from our sovereign recognized a task well done. She-or more likely the vizier or one of his scribes-made no mention of Paser or of the stolen gold or of any death except Nakht’s.” He had a hard time balancing pride, modesty, and cynicism.

“Has the truth been kept from her?” she asked, surprised.

“I’ve no doubt Maiherperi told her all that happened, but in private so no other man would hear. He values his position too much to air in public a tale she’ll keep to herself as long as Senenmut remains her favorite.”

“I suppose it’s natural that she’d want to protect him and his family, and therefore herself, but with so many here in Buhen knowing the truth, will word not spread? What if the tale should reach the ears of Menkheperre Thutmose?”

Bak leaned toward her, letting his shoulder touch hers, and murmured, “Can you keep a secret?”

She could not help but see beyond his mischievous smile. “He knows already?”

“A scroll went north to him on the same ship as the message to her. The man who sent it-I’ll not repeat his name-believes he’ll say nothing until he’s ready to take the throne for himself alone.”

“And I thought those who live in the palace of my homeland were masters of intrigue!”

He laughed.

The last bit of tension vanished from her and she offered him an affectionate smile. He basked in its glow.

The old woman came through the door, carrying a small leaf-lined basket of sweet cakes, an unplugged wine jar, and two stemmed drinking bowls. Without a word, giving no hint of what she thought, she set the cakes at their feet, handed over the bowls, and filled them with the pungent red liquid. Bak sensed disapproval. Or was his conscience nagging him for wanting to speak before Nakht was laid to rest through eternity?

“Maiherperi’s message was not so formal,” he said, watching the servant leave the room. “He was free with his praise and, better yet…” He raised his bowl toward far-off Waset, offering a toast to the commander of the royal guard. “He gave me back the rank I lost. I’m once again a lieutenant, Azzia, and free to rise through the ranks with no black mark to besmirch my name.”

Her smile was lovely, as grand a reward as any he had been given. “I’m pleased, Bak, and very happy for you.”

“Azzia…” He reached for her hand.

Her fingers slipped away and she bent to take a cake from the bowl at her feet. “I was told that Maatkare Hatshepsut rewarded you, but not with the gold of valor you earned.”

“So conspicuous a recognition would’ve raised too many questions.”

Azzia handed him a sweet cake-in the hope that it and the wine would keep both of his hands busy, he felt sure. “You aren’t disappointed?”

“She gave me land, a small farm across the river from the capital. My father’s home is close by and I know it well. It has a house, small to be sure, but it can be made larger, and the soil is dark and fertile.”

“You plan to keep it for your own?”

He caught her eye, held it. “With a good man to tend the fields-a servant like Lupaki, for example-it would be an ideal place for a woman alone to live.”

She flushed to the roots of her hair.

He set his cake and drinking bowl on the floor and, to make sure he had her undivided attention, took the bowl from her hand and set it with them. “Azzia, I know you must take Osiris Nakht to Mennufer, and that I respect. Later, after he’s resting peacefully in his tomb, I’d like you to go to my farm and make it your home. While you’re there, think of me. Here in Buhen, also alone.”

“You’re staying? I assumed…”

“That I’d been given permission to return to the land of Kemet? Someday perhaps, but not now.” He laughed, surprising her and himself. “I thought never to say this, but I’ve grown used to Buhen and the way of life in this garrison. I’ve learned I like being a policeman. The freedom, the excitement of the chase, the problems I must think out and resolve. And the very thought of leaving Imsiba and all my Medjays, of parting from Hori, Nebwa, Kames, even pompous old Tetynefer…” He shook his head. “I don’t regret remaining here. If the truth be told, I’d hate to leave.”

“My husband would be pleased. He thought you’d…”

He caught her chin and forced her to look at him. “Will you do as I ask, my sister? Will you go to my farm? Then later, when the time is right…”

“I owe you my life, Bak, and for that I’ll never forget you. As for anything more…” She gave him the tenderest smile he had ever seen. “I’m sorry.”

“Azzia! I know about Nakht’s cousin. I read the scrolls he sent when he was overseeing construction of the tomb. He’s a mean and petty man. He’ll take you in; by contract he must. As soon as you’re a part of his household, he’ll claim all you have as his. Your few belongings. Lupaki. Maybe even your body. You’ll become his servant, Azzia, a woman with nothing of her own and nowhere to go. I would spare you that.”

“I appreciate your concern more than you’ll ever know.” She took his hand and pressed it to her warm cheek. “Have you not learned that, short of being accused of taking a life, I can protect myself almost as well as any man?”

He forced a smile. “You’ve a tendency to let your opponent get too close and take your weapon from you.”

“As a young man, Lupaki was a fine soldier. He’ll hone his skills and mine.” Her soft lips brushed his fingers, making every nerve in his body tingle.

“I love you, Azzia.”

She pushed his hand firmly into his lap. “I loved my husband, Bak, more than life itself. I still love him. How can I give myself to any other man? Or think of it?”

“In time…?”

“If I could love another, it would be you. But today I cannot. Nor can I make any promises or look to the future, for who can say what fate the gods plan for us?”