Jennifer Colgan: The Concubine’s Tale

One by one, the acolytes danced around the man. Their fingers fluttered over his chest, his back and his own member, which grew erect as the ritual continued.

Finally, when the drumming became a crescendo that rattled the walls, the man reached out and drew one of the acolytes to him in a backward embrace. He pulled her against him and bent her forward. She threw back her head and let out a moan of pleasure as he entered her. He grasped her hips and took her, moving to the beat of the drums, while the other acolytes danced and the priests chanted.

Nayari sank against Khanu’s chest, and the heat of her skin burned him. She began to sway with the beat as well, bumping her buttocks against his thighs. She had to feel his own hardened member, had to be aware of his growing arousal. She moaned softly, and his cock surged. Without thought, he slid his hand from her shoulder to her waist and held her, trapped against him until the ritual ended. The man and the acolyte collapsed on the floor before the altar, panting from their exertions. Once again, the priests knelt before the statue of Min and bowed their heads.

The tableau remained for a moment, all the participants utterly silent, then they rose, gathered discarded robes and skirts and left the room. Only Min remained, still holding his member, its long shadow stretching across the room to point at the corridor where Nayari and Khanu stood, trembling.

“I’ll take you outside now,” he said finally, finding his voice. He removed his hand from her and stepped back. She didn’t turn, but he saw the tremor in her posture. Silently, he followed her out into the brilliant sunlight of the temple courtyard.

“Interesting ritual,” Grant said when they reached Cait’s apartment. Her story definitely had an effect on him. His voice had gone deep and husky, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him, she caught the hint of arousal in his eyes. “I’m going to have to do some research on Min.”

Cait’s hand shook a little as she maneuvered her key into the lock on her apartment door. There was still time to back out of this and send Grant on his way. After all, this evening had never been intended as a date. Why, suddenly, was she willing to endanger her job for Grant? Was it simply because she hadn’t been out with anyone in months, or because maybe she’d been holding out for just this moment? For the first time, she saw past his arrogant exterior to the man beneath and wondered why she hadn’t bothered to look that closely before.

Pushing her inner debate aside, she turned the key and opened the door. She hit the light switch, and Grant followed her inside. “Much of what’s written in Layton ’s journal seems to be speculation, but the description of the rite witnessed by Nayari and Khanu is very specific. It may not have been a standard ritual that was practiced often.”

She led Grant through the small entry hall into her living room. “Have a seat. I’ll make some coffee.”

“That can wait. I’d like to hear more. At this point, they both must have been supercharged. How did they keep their hands off each other?” His grin was mischievous. He took her hand and drew her toward the couch.

“Escaping the sultry atmosphere of the temple was probably a wise thing at that moment. Outside there would have been a number of people milling around, traffic on the street, merchants, caravans, people waiting to leave offerings for Min. They wouldn’t have been alone.” She sat, leaned back into the corner of the overstuffed couch and stretched her legs.

Grant loosened his tie and took off his jacket. His crisp, cream-colored shirt fit as though it was hand-tailored, and she found herself admiring the hard lines of his angular torso. He was probably a weightlifter, she decided, but not fanatical about it.

“How many times have you read the translation?”

She laughed. “More than once. Layton includes a literal, line-by-line account, which can be a little hard to follow at times due to the syntax. But he also commissioned an interpretive translation to smooth out the rough spots in the text. That writer embellished here and there, obviously, but really made the story come alive.”

“You seem to have that talent as well.”

Cait felt herself blush. How had she managed to end up with Grant Pierson sitting on her couch, flattering her, ready to hear more about the ancient lovers who had captured her imagination? “Nayari didn’t want to be forgotten. It’s wonderful that we finally get the chance to know her story.”

Grant’s eyes darkened momentarily. “ Layton would have kept it to himself forever.”

“Fortunately, his heirs are more generous.”

“Or greedy. They’re asking a hefty price for the scroll and the journals, right?”

“The bidding is going to be hot.”

“You bet it is.” He licked his lips. “Tell me more. How long did it take Khanu to make his move?”

Nayari’s first full day in residence at the temple was long and frustrating. After watching the shocking ritual, she could think of nothing else for hours. Still dutiful to Ammonptah, she struggled to keep her eyes off the warrior and found a shady spot in the courtyard to sit and contemplate her fate.

When the acolytes came to find her later in the day, she tried to pick out which one it had been that had participated in the coupling with the man in the dark robes, but all the women looked very much alike. With their eyes ringed in kohl and straight black wigs on their heads, she could scarcely tell one from the other. When they escorted her back to her room, the warrior remained in the courtyard, talking to one of the priests. That suited Nayari since she could think of nothing to say to him.

Alone with her thoughts once again, she wondered how long Ammonptah expected her to wait for him. Perhaps merely living in the temple would bestow some of the blessings of Min on her and make her fertile, but she began to think perhaps she would be expected to participate in a rite like she’d seen that day.

Her mind wandered, recreating the fevered dancing and the incessant beat of the drums. In her mind’s eye, she saw the warrior, felt his hands on her waist, and finally imagined the thrust of his cock inside her as she bent in supplication to the god.

Why couldn’t she think of Ammonptah the same way?

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t conceived yet. She thought of Ammonptah only as her master, a man whose clumsy attentions were to be endured rather than enjoyed.

She paced the confines of her room for what seemed like hours, hoping to work off the nervous feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach. A dozen times she went to the door and, without disturbing the reed mat, tried to peer through the miniscule holes between the weave to see if the warrior had returned to his guard post.

She nearly fell over when the mat swept aside and one of the acolytes hurried into the room.

“Shh.” The woman hushed her and turned to peer back into the corridor. “I’ve come to bring you news.”

“Of Ammonptah?” Nayari’s heart thundered. Was he finally here? Had the warrior left? She found herself wanting to call for him, except she still didn’t know his name.

“There is a man coming here from Saqqara. A wizard. You are to be given to him.”

A startled laugh escaped Nayari’s lips. What absurdity. Ammonptah was a magistrate, a man of stature and intelligence. He had no use for wizards…did he? What could a wizard possibly offer Ammonptah?

“I overheard Menep the priest saying that the wizard’s entourage would take an extra day to arrive and that he was going to instruct your guard not to take you out into the courtyard again. In fact, the other acolytes are preparing a room beneath the temple for you where you’ll await your new master’s arrival.”