Irenamon paced in the hall of Lord Sheftu's fine home as dawn broke, casting a lavender hue over the alabaster stone walls. Where was his Lord? Hours ago, he had left in a maddening hurry – more alarmed than Irenamon had ever witnessed. The old major domo could not help the flutters of anxiety creeping through him as he imagined Sheftu's departing words to him, "I go to the palace, old friend, to stick my head in a noose." Irenamon prayed his young master was using irony, but he knew it was not like Sheftu to behave in such a fashion. If Lord Sheftu was worried, it was certainly for good reason. But what was his concern? He had mentioned a maiden… Irenamon shook his head, he knew of no maids in Sheftu's life as of yet. He exhaled sharply and, tired of pacing, threw open the doors to the front garden, intending to walk toward the front gate. Perhaps his master would have told more information to the gatekeeper.
"May thy ka rejoice," Irenamon called out as he reached the sleepy gatekeeper.
"And yours, honored one!" The man returned, hiding a yawn.
"Have you seen our young master?"
"Not since…what was it? The stroke of three?"
Irenamon nodded and said, "Look you, did he say anything to you as he left?"
The gatekeeper scratched his head under the linen headcloth he wore and said after some deliberation, "Nay, he merely made his orders about the gate and went through." Disappointed, Irenamon made his parting comments and went away, this time heading to the kitchens. The other servants were busy preparing various fruits, unaware that their master was away. Irenamon sat down at a table and quietly accepted the drink a kitchen maid offered. He sipped the liquid while pondering how he would go about investigating this morning's events. Before he had taken another sip, a great bustle of noise reached him from beyond the kitchens. Voices were calling out and doors were being opened and closed in haste.
Irenamon left his drink and strode toward the clatter just in time to glimpse his young Lord, carrying a lithe maiden in his arms, racing down the hall. The girl was not unconscious, but badly injured, and her head lolled weakly as Sheftu moved about. For the briefest moment, she gazed in Irenamon's direction, and her sapphire eyes startled him. What bedazzling, unique eyes! Irenamon had never seen such a striking visage in all his life.
"Irenamon! Quick!" Sheftu called to him, "help me get this maid to a couch!"
"Y-yes! At once, my Lord!" Irenamon stumbled after Sheftu, "which room, honored one?"
Sheftu hesitated a moment and said, "the room of palms."
His mother's room! Irenamon did not question him, and began barking out orders to the other servants, following on Sheftu's heels. They entered the serene room and the servants prepared the couch in an instant. Lord Sheftu lowered the girl carefully onto the cushions. She winced and hissed in pain as her bloody back touched the couch, and Sheftu helped her roll to lie face-down. He held her hand and knelt beside her, anxiety marring his handsome face. He was speaking to her in a voice too quiet for Irenamon to make out what he was saying, but the tone was that of concern. The girl's eyes looked like glass as tears formed and spilled over her cheeks. Sheftu kissed her hand and Irenamon heard him this time as he said, "My love, my darling Mara, weep not! The doctor will be here in but a few moments, you will be free from this pain, soon." The girl, Mara, closed her eyes and nodded, patting the hand that held hers as if to comfort him. Irenamon studied this scene, question after question bubbling in his mind.
"My Lord…" Irenamon ventured, "…I'm sorry to disturb you, but –"
"Irenamon," Sheftu interjected, standing and placing his hands on the major domo's shoulders. "A doctor is coming here to treat this young lady's wounds. In the meantime, is there nothing we can give her to soothe her pain?"
"To be sure, though I cannot think of –"
Before he could go on, Sheftu interrupted him again.
"Please get it prepared at once, she has gotten much worse in just this quarter of an hour…where is that cursed doctor?"
Sheftu spun to throw open the window and call out to servants outside. He then turned and dropped a kiss on the girl's cheek and rushed out the door, stopping only to urge Irenamon to hurry after.
Irenamon hesitated no more and left as well, having the draught made up by a kitchen servant. He delivered it to Mara himself, the wheels in his mind turning to figure out who she was and what had happened to his Lord this morning. He remembered dimly that Sheftu had admitted to having trouble with a maid…was this the girl he spoke of?
Mara raised herself slightly to accept the potion, drinking it down gratefully. Even with her face so ashen, so drained of blood and color, Irenamon was captivated by her beauty. If this were his master's maiden, he understood how he might have trouble – one would risk a lot for the affection of such a pretty girl. Mara thanked him and lay back down with some effort. The tears continued to flow from her closed eyes, and Irenamon decided to give her some privacy. He went in search of Sheftu to offer further assistance. When he passed the stables, he heard the voices of two palace servants.
"So he was made a count?" One servant was saying, "And Pha - Hatshepsut has died?"
"Yes, and now our King is Thutmose, may he live forever!" the other servant said.
"May he live forever!" was the reply. Irenamon could barely believe his ears. He stumbled into their presence and demanded clarity. The palace servants fell into conversation with him, revealing the events of the early morning. They had been the servants carrying the litter that bore Sheftu and Mara home, and one of them had been in the palace for the entire morning, witnessing all that had happened there after the great battle.
"And now my Lord is a Count! And this maiden?" Irenamon said.
The servants shrugged. "She seems to be his beloved," one said.
"The King said she has saved Egypt, he honored her scars forever," the other said, "And Count Sheftu said to her several times on the journey here that she was to spend her life with him."
Irenamon felt almost giddy. A Count! And a maid! Finally, someone to fill the empty place of Sheftu's honored, departed mother at the dinner table. Bewildered, he fussed with his wig, whistling a little as he thought of something to say. Instead he chuckled a little and said goodbye before searching for his Lord – his Count again.
