Lovers At Dawn

: : Author : : Liz ([email protected])

: : Summary : : Based on the premise that Evie (Nefertiri) and Rick (I've called him Sarpedon) would have been lovers in Ancient Egypt...

~

Thebes, 1291 B.C.
Dusk had fallen. The night air still carried the warmth of the day, and the slight breeze that rose each evening from the river brought with it the scent of lilies. It disturbed the fine woollen curtains that hide the great wooden doors of the palace courtyard, and I wanted to tear them down. Every time they moved, I jumped; why does time pass so slowly when you await a beloved?

I had dismissed my slaves, not wanting to share any of this delicious anticipation, and then I was at a loss. The polished bronze of the mirror gave back my reflection: the princess Nefertiri, she who finds favour in the sight of her royal father, Pharaoh Seti, the first of that name. I had changed from my formal robes into the short linen kilt and halter-top that I was wearing when I first saw him. Such immodest attire for the full-grown daughter of pharaoh may be explained by the fact that I was fighting with Father's chief concubine, Ancksunamun.

I explain myself badly.

It is not that I do not care for Ancksunamun - I do not - but there is something singularly lacking in her. In short, I think she is a witch, as she has caught my father in her wiles as the spider catches the fly. I do not consider her particularly beautiful, either, but I have seen how men look at her. Men other than my father, such as the High Priest, Imhotep, and his gold-painted eunuchs. It is a blessing that all they can do is look upon her, for she is cunning enough to deceive my poor enraptured father.

She has a dark, rather coarse skin that shows she has worked outside in her youth. No amount of bathing and rubbing herself down with ashes and natron, or the application of oils, can hide this fact. Since she cannot hide it, she flaunts it, and wears gold dust on her eyelids to accentuate her darkness, and she laughs with her common-born servants at my pale, indoor skin.

It is I who should laugh at her, but she finds favour with pharoah, and for all that he is my father, she tries daily to turn him against me. I fear for myself as much as I fear for him. My brother Rameses scoffs at my worries, dismissing it as jealousy, but all he cares about is war and the sound of his own name in the mouths of our people.

If he will not help me, then I must help myself. For some years I have trained in secret with the knives, and considered myself the equal of any man in this skill. But behold, Ancksunamun is also proficient, and under guise of helping me to develop my knifework, she attempts to shame me before the court and before my father.

Instance several days ago, when Father was entertaining an envoy from the Hittite kingdom. This man was seeking a bride for the Hittite king, and although no Egyptian princess has yet gone to the royal court of a foreigner (it is beneath our dignity), Ancksunamun kindly told me that I might be the exception. I have no doubt that she suggested it to my father. In my anger, I challenged her, and we began to fight. I had thought our dispute would remain private, but then the doors onto the inner courtyard burst open, and in came an eager audience. The Hittite envoy was amongst them, and he was clearly appalled by my actions. Father seemed almost proud, but whether this was due to my skills or to Ancksunamun's, I cannot say. He rewarded us both publically, but scolded me later and threatened me with marriage to the fat merchant Zoser. I detected the hand of my enemy in this matter also, and went to my brother.

"Marriage will be good for you," said he. "You have spent too many seasons doing as you please, and in Seti's eyes you can do no wrong. It is good that Ancksunamun has awakened him to the possibilities of what your marriage could bring. Although it will not be Hittite lands or gold, Zoser controls the trade-routes through to Punt, and this will be of enormous benefit to us."

Rameses already thinks of himself as pharaoh.

Elder brothers are rarely useful or sensible individuals, but while I may rail against his nature, I must give thanks to Hathor and Isis for his choice of fighting companion. As we argued, in strode a man, the like of which I have never seen before.

Not much strikes me dumb, but this man did.

I stared into the mirror as I remembered, and reached for the small alabster pot of galena to touch up the smoky shadows on my eyelids. The breeze from the Nile was cooler now, and beyond the scent of lilies came the breath of the desert. I shivered, wishing for the warmth of my fringed wrap, but until he arrived, I would not change my dress. Thinking of him warmed my blood a little, and I saw reflected the spark in my eyes and the pink tinge to my cheeks as I remembered his beauty.

He is a Med-Jai, one of pharaoh's bodyguards, a mercenary of the highest order. I had grown up with the Med-Jai surrounding me, and was well-used to the types of men employed, from the coal-black, graceful Nubians to the striking hawk-featured desert tribesmen. He is not Egyptian, not Nubian, not of the desert, nor is he Hittite. He has skin that would be as pale as mine, if he had not been a warrior and so darkly tanned. He has hair the colour of acacia bark, with tawny streaks from the sun's touch. His eyes are the shade of the river where it blends with the horizon. He is taller than even my brother Rameses, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped like the most perfect statue. He would quicken the heart of any maiden, and doubtless would delight the gaze of any less-than-virtuous woman that looked upon him.

I was not entirely sure which category I fell into.

Indeed, I could hardly think at all. Rameses, damn him, had noticed my discomfiture (how could he not!), and made a sort of introduction.

He is a Keftiu, and his name is Sarpedon.

He had come to deliver a message to my brother, but it seemed to be forgotten as we stared at one another. Finally I remembered my place, and was aware of my dishevelled appearance, and I left them.

Only to request a meeting with the Keftiu...

Outside, the mournful howl of the jackals sounded and reminded me how late it was. A Med-Jai he might be, but punctuality and obedience to the royal daughter did not seem to be amongst his virtues. I pushed the alabaster pot and the mirror away from me in a fit of temper, and turned to draw the curtains across my couch.

He was watching me from the door.

My heart jumped.

He moved towards me slowly, his tawny hair falling into his eyes, and he smiled. "Waiting for me?"

I summoned back my voice from wherever it had been banished. "I sent for you at dusk."

The smile never wavered. "I was busy."

"Busy?!" I was annoyed, and distracted by his closeness. I took a step back. This seemed to amuse him, and I found it difficult not to look at his mouth as he smiled down at me.

"Yes, busy." He stopped a few paces from me, and his gaze travelled over my costume. Suddenly I regretted wearing it. It seemed too insubstantial, and his expression suggested that he was imagining me without it.

"What could be more important than a royal command?" I demanded peevishly, and those extraordinary eyes flashed.

"I was thinking, lady," he replied. "I have been told by no less an authority than the Crown Prince that the Princess Nefertiri is no man's fool, and that she is likely to carve a man up rather than suffer his gaze upon her."

My mouth hung open for a moment at Rameses' effrontery, then I recovered. "If what you say is true, and if you are so afraid of me, then why are you here?"

Again that smile. "Because it is your wish, and because I knew I would risk Seti's anger to speak with you."

I was mollified. "So it is my father you are afraid of, not me."

His eyes assessed me. "I believe you capable of more refined cruelty than your esteemed father."

It was prettily done; I laughed.

"I also hear that you have contracted a marriage to Zoser," he said.

"It has been mentioned." I wrinkled my nose in distaste, but his smile was fleeting.

"I had heard rather that it was signed and sealed." Sarpedon put his head to one side, face impassive. "That is why you sent for me, was it not?"

For a moment I did not understand, and looked blankly at him.

He folded his arms across his broad chest and continued to regard me curiously. "I'm here at your whim, to give you a good time before your wedding, isn't that right?" He cocked an eyebrow heavenwards. "Lady, I can give you a very good time!"

I gasped in shock. "That may impress the maidens of Keftiu, but I can assure you that it does not impress me!" I snapped. "You are nothing but a scoundrel and a rogue!"

Both eyebrows lifted. "And a mercenary, princess, in your brother's employ."

I lifted my chin. "The Med-Jai have protected my family for generations. Strangely, I do not feel protected by you."

"Oh?" Sarpedon moved a little closer. "And how do I make you feel?"

"Nauseated!"

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that did strange things to my insides. Irritated, I tossed my head, the tiny silver threads in my hair swinging to catch the light. His hand reached out to take one of the delicate braids, and I stilled. I could feel the warmth of his skin beside my face, and I lifted my gaze to his.

"Silver is more precious to your people than gold," he remarked, almost conversationally. "This that you wear I mined myself. Never did I imagine it would adorn such loveliness."

I jerked my hair away from his fingers. "You lie," I said. "My brother gave me this silver as a gift at the last inundation."

"Indeed. He had it from Byblos, for he bought it from me. And I had it from an island beyond Keftiu, in the northern reaches of the Middle Sea."

The room had grown chilly, and I moved away from him. I was disappointed. He had admitted to being only a miner and a trader; I wished him to be a prince. As I stood, staring out at the river unseeing, he dropped something warm and soft around my shoulders - my wrap.

"You are angry. I do not live up to your expectations," he said, his hands still on my shoulders. I did not shrug them off.

"I do not know you," I replied dully.

"You do." Something in his voice made me turn around. Then he was altogether too close for presence of mind, his hands moving down my upper arms. His stormy eyes betrayed him, and my senses swam as I breathed in his scent when he leant down towards me.

Time stopped; no longer aware of the surroundings of the palace, of the chill of the night breeze, my existence shrank down to this: a kiss so tender, so desperate, that I never wanted to leave it. The whisper of eyelashes brushing over my skin; the hard enamel of teeth and the soft yielding tongue, the contours of the mouth that now smiled, exultant, at the kiss.

Sarpedon broke it, shaking his tawny fringe from his glittering, glinting eyes.

I looked at him, breathless, thinking that he had finished with me, then he gently rubbed his nose against mine in a gesture I found strangely reassuring despite all the tumult he'd awakened within me.

"My princess," he murmured. "Nefertiri."

By now I had lost all semblance of rational thought. "Yes." I shivered, from fear or excitement I couldn't tell. I took a step away from him and towards the sleeping-couch, my feet catching the rug on the floor so that my attempt at a graceful, seductive movement was somewhat spoilt. He did not seem to notice, but I could not quite meet his gaze. I stared at my bare feet as I fumbled with the knot of the halter-top.

"Let me help you." Sarpedon crossed the room and ran his index fingers under and around the knot, loosening the strip of linen until it fell free. I avoided his eyes as my top slithered to the floor. As his hands slid down over my midriff to the top of the kilt, I snapped back to reality.

"I can manage," I said huffily, beginning to unwrap myself from the intricate folds of the skirt. I hesitated, aware of being watched, and my face flamed with non-specific shame. I hooked my thumbs into the top of the loosened kilt, and slid it off my hips to join the heap of clothes on the rug. Then I faced Sarpedon, naked and horribly self-conscious.

"You're lovely," he said, a purr in his voice. He stepped forwards and gathered me close, kissing me. I responded eagerly, lifting my arms about his neck to hold him in the embrace.

Sarpedon smiled. "Now, undress me."

He was armed with the short double axe of his country and the curved stabbing knives of my people. Gingerly I removed them from around his waist, dropping them to the floor and busying myself with the thick linen of his kilt, all wrapped about with leather and hide. Then it fell to join my clothes, and he was as naked as I was. Quickly, so as not to show my confusion, I got onto the couch.

Sarpedon stretched out like a cat next to me, propping himself up on one hand and reaching for me with the other. "Explore," he commanded softly, taking my right hand and drawing it towards him. I looked at my hand, inches from his body. A body familiar, yet unfamiliar. I moved my fingers and touched Sarpedon's chest, encountering skin, warm and silky, and it struck me that I'd never been so aware of the physicality of a body before. I wondered if it was because of Sarpedon himself, or just because of my inexperience. My fingers wandered lower, over his stomach, circling his navel; they crept lower, then paused.

"Shy, lady?"

I grabbed him. "Not at all!"

He laughed at me, and rolled me over, shifting position and licking at my throat until I squirmed, feeling slightly sick and dizzy suddenly. I gasped as the sleek tawny head moved down to bite gently on one of my nipples. I could feel him smile at the reaction, and he began to lavish all his attention on it. Exquisite spirals of pleasure were running through me as I arched up against his slowly-moving hips.

"Patience," Sarpedon murmured as he ran his tongue across my breasts and nuzzled at the base of my throat. "What do you want?"

I moaned in desperation. "Oh, Isis save me!"

Sarpedon laughed, altering position yet again so that we were joined, in an attitude so intimate that it took my breath away. There was a brief moment of pain, then he began to thrust faster, so that I sighed, lifting my hips to match his rhythm.

"Oh, it's good -" I breathed, heat flooding my face, my body quivering. I closed my eyes for a moment, laughing softly. My hands fluttered, pulled free, and I dragged Sarpedon closer, grasping his buttocks and moving with a wild abandon. I flung back my head and watched him, my mercenary, his eyes dark pewter grey in the haze of desire, then my mind went blank with pleasure, and I cried out his name.

Then I burst into tears.

Sarpedon pressed me to him, and I tasted the salt from his skin and from my own silly tears.

"We were meant to be together, you and I," he said, his voice soothing. "We have known one another before, and we will know one another again."

I am not entirely sure what he means, but it sounds wonderful. I decided then and there that I would ask Rameses to make Sarpedon his general; then, when my brother is pharaoh, it would be right and proper for me to marry my Keftiu.

I was reaching for him again when I realised that dawn was breaking, stealing through the woollen curtains to disturb us. I drew him from the couch and we walked to the balcony, hand in hand.

"Shu separates the earth and the sky, and thus creates the light," I said. "It is written that lovers should cease their caresses at dawn, and give thanks for the glory of the daybreak."

Sarpedon growled. "Then I prefer my gods, who impose no such restrictions."

And - blasphemy! He kissed me again, and I let him.

The dawn came late that day.

THE END

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Lovers At Dawn