Author's Note:
*Groan* It took me forever just to write this chapter - I'm really bad at love scenes (you don't know how many times I wanted to lapse back into modern day language and phraseology, and really needed to hit myself over the head with it), even though I am quite a big fan of mush! Just happy that this part is done though.
SoWhat do you all think so far? Please, comments very welcome! ;-)
Chapter 18
I persist in turning from her, though much against my will;
And when she is absent, I avoid listening
To those who saw her or heard from her.
Love for her came to me before I knew what love was,
And it found a lasting abode in a heart till then empty.
- Yazid lbn at-Tathriya
He stirred slightly, opening his eyes slowly, his eyes absorbing his small living quarters that was typically strewn with mats and cushions, still darkened. The only difference it made was the woman who lay peacefully in in slumber still, in his arms.
A passionate woman she was, he smiled briefly; there was no further need for confirmation. The uncertainty of the past and coming months had lain far away from them as glory was personified the night before, its relentless vortex was nothing less than the promise of rapture and bliss, delivering all that it claimed to be.
Aretas, she had cried out many times the night before as his lips traced paths down her form, his unfulfilled hunger taking its pleasure from another's flesh, filling, taking, giving, satiating until the bliss that ensued was an overpaid reward, satisfying two instead.
She had gasped her appreciation and his name; he had been too drunk with her to answer in speech and coherence, choosing in its place to silence her with his touch.
It will bring so much remembrance, of their first night together, he thought, stroking her bare arms slowly, rousing her gently.
She stirred, turned slowly to face him, eyes lighting up in recognition and remembrance at his proximity to her, flushing momentarily as he tilted her chin up with a finger. How could she forget the dryness in her mouth as his own tore away from hers, the primal pounding that rose to her throat each time he returned to claim her lips?
I apologise for not letting you get enough rest, Rai, he murmured against her softly, a grin forming at the corners of his mouth.
I am not protesting, she replied sleepily, but a very fitting one.
You have not slept enough, he said to her firmly.
Did I tear you away from your duty last night?, she dismissed his concern, turning the question on him.
It was a distraction that I would willingly die for again, he told her, their faces close, enraptured by each other's gaze.
This is the morning after, Aretas, things are not as mysterious as the night would have it. Without the shield and concealment of darkness, we see each other with the clarity of a worker who works under strong sunlight. But I will never the way we drew comfort from each other last night.
You fascinate me, Enheduana-Rai, he told her after a pause, threading his fingers through hers, dropping his gaze from hers. How often is it that a woman unmans me?
She kept her lips sealed for a while, questioning herself if she had indeed done herself a grievous wrong in wantonly letting a man of a foreign tongue and land share her bed, this dark, handsome man who was still very much a stranger to her. That she had failed at keeping him from arm's length was an error on her part, that the failure lay with her alone and not with him.
I do not know if we have done one another justice last night, she told him baldly. I still belong to the Pharoah.
I am not careless with women, he finally answered her quietly, after a long, deliberate pause. Least of all, you. It was my pleasure in watching you also delight in what we shared.
Enheduana-Rai flushed at his words; he seemed to know how to respond to her resistant jibes, with words that were not laced with pure flattery but with sincerity.
I will do all that you ask of me, even if you choose to leave now, he told her then. But do not ask me why.
They were both afraid to speak of love, the emotion that still remained shrouded to them in flimsy veils, reminders of unhappy pasts and unfulfilled desires, skeptical that love should arise after one night, knowing instinctively that if it should arise, pain that equalled it would most certainly also abound.
Love will never be love until there is vulnerability, she thought, unwilling to speak further, disentangling herself from the sheets, from him, dressing hastily.
A sudden intrusion made their heads snap around.
Aretas, it is time. I will meet you where we normally gather.
Djosyn stood at the doorway, his expression veiled, concealing any surprise that he might have felt upon seeing Enheduana-Rai in the proximity of his friend, nodding his head toward her in greeting.
Aretas affirmed his response wordlessly, as Djosyn turned and left. He dressed hastily as she had done before him, before moving to stand in front of her where she now stood, at the foot of his cot.
You are more than what one can hold in the palm of a hand, Rai, he leaned in then, whispering against her face before pulling back and stepping away.
She felt no hesitation this time as she stretched out her own hand to stop him from completely moving away from her, already bereft of the loss.
Come to me again, Medjai. I find that your arms shield all that is undesirable, she told him finally.
He paused at her words, nodded and left.
His footsteps were songs and rhythms found in the light taps across the grounds, music unto the ears even of strangers, the innate acappella that sang within him externalising itself, even though the task that lay before him was arduous and critical. It only transpired that he now breathed breaths of vigour, energy personified.
The small group of warrior-scribes had gathered, Aretas noticed, around their leader Djosyn, patiently awaiting his presence, their faces highlighted in parts by the early morning light that filled oddly-shaped ventilation holes, distorting their fullness.
Aretas, one of them grinned, you slept very well I gather?
Khamet, the other scribe with whom he frequently broke bread with, was a formidable ally in war but also a formidable foe to defeat in his ready wit and sharpness.
You do not to care for subtleties this morning, Aretas shot back mock-fiercely.
Khamet guffawed.
I had only thrown a wild guess. And you fell into my trap completely. If you were a prisoner of war, you will fall freely into the Underworld.
Aretas makes yet another conquest? Another mocked.
He felt a smile creep onto his face despite their cheerful insinuations, knowing that the bond they shared as the elusive and few warrior-scribes; their taunts were never meant to scald, not when their loyalty to each other outweighed petty differences.
No, I did not sleep at all, he shot back with both brows raised, so think what you want you want to think for yourselves.
Djosyn had been grinning silently at their jibes, but stood up when Aretas made their gathering complete. The mirth dissipated almost immediately, the brevity of the situation taking the upper hand in pressing down the backs of these warriors once again as they fell silent, leaving them bereft of the lighter emotions.
You know why we meet today, he started out grimly. The scrolls and papyrus are yours, he motioned with a slight arc of his hand. And possibly the course of the whole future lie in your hands. Do the Medjai proud. The assignment of the scrolls and the various occurrences have already been done. Work diligently, courageously, with all your soul, such that you also leave your legacy when you finish.
They dispersed then, the brief but secret meeting broken up as quickly as possible. Creative indolence took no space in their determination, deeply penetrating as they wordlessly walked out of their undersized meeting site, perhaps feeling superhuman at the moment they surrendered themselves to the larger claim of history and the existence of the Medjai.
But before Aretas stepped out of the doorway, a hand on his shoulder halted his progress. He was greeted by a look on Djosyn's face he had never seen before -that of understanding, bewilderment, surprise and shock found abundantly together.
The whole soul is never one unless in ecstasy? The indirect question that Djosyn posed brought a look of unexpected pain across Aretas' face.
Truth of the gods, Djosyn, I wonder if there was any honour in my actions last night. How is one to take pleasure in the knowledge that he stole a taste from the forbidden?
The forbidden beckons does it not, my brother? To be able to taste it increases its sweetness manifold. We all claw for the forbidden, if this is a truth that will comfort you.
I lose my honour, Djosyn. I covet a prized possession of the Pharaoh, yet I told her bravely, perhaps even falsely that I am not careless with women.
Indeed you are not, I say of you. But for me, the other sighed, I can also make no excuse for mine, Aretas. Djosyn said quietly. You know that I love Nefertiri with all that I am; I am only thankful that you have chosen not to judge me on my honour when you saw me with her. And now I return that favour and blessing. Enheduana-Rai is safer with you than she is with Ramses or Sahure.
There is no love in this, Djosyn, only the rise and fall of fickle emotions and carnal senses, he said bitterly. I admire her as a woman, and though she believes otherwise, I still question myself harshly if I am also using her as the king had. This woman has been used enough.
Perhaps you will learn to love her, Aretas. Or you may find her to simply be one of the women whom you have been with before. But I seem to see that you are already threading your way through the papyrus fields of love poetry, Djosyn answered dryly.
It is said that the mind develops its greatest strength in contest with the sensual. If so, why is guilt creeping upon me now? We are not people only of the sword and of hardness, Djosyn. Such reality is both crushing and welcoming at once.
They stood facing each other, each having a hand on the other's shoulder in support, their heights nearly identical, faces mirroring similar emotions leaving only their external colourings different. The fair-haired and the dark-haired warriors, brothers in spirit, with bond greater than the bond of blood, all too well acquainted now with the frailty of human strength.
There is every moment of the present that we now live and breathe. And that is all I am able to tell you. There is no one who is any more precisely informed about their own selves found in ages past and will be in ages to come.
You speak great truths when you wish to, Djosyn, he sighed. Have I not seen with my own eyes how dangerous forbidden trysts are?
We all possess certain virtues which are never made known to us ourselves, unless we are told, Djosyn laughed then, as they proceeded to commit themselves fully to the task of recording Egypt's sudden tumultuous landscape and politics, racing against time and uncertainty.
I will come back to you, as long as you have a need of me, he wanted to promise her again the very same night they took each other still with unsatiated hunger. He had tried to show it to her wordlessly, assuring her with his mouth and strong embrace, yet not knowing if she heard him.
Do you, Medjai? Will you now make promises to me that you will find later very difficult to keep? She had asked him then, with clarity in her eyes, wanting no more than an honest reply.
He kissed her again, mouth hot on her skin, delaying his reply to her.
But it was she who pulled away hesitantly, her face on his cheek.
I am stronger than you think, Aretas. If you wish to tell me that nothing further will proceed between us, I am able to understand. I am the Pharaoh's concubine, bitterness masked behind the calm voice that said those words. Pain is never easy to endure, but we will all live through it numerously in our lifetimes.
You lie, Rai. He said to her with a hooded expression, gauging her response.
I do not, she replied quietly. Do you not believe me when I tell you that pain hardens one? Do you not believe me when I tell you that pain is very real, to see your own people reject and betray you before an alien king? I will not say more. I will not repeat what you have heard so clearly.
The life of a Medjai is never certain, Enheduana-Rai. I beg your forgiveness if you had expected any more of me than what I knew I had to give, he was troubled at what she said, not knowing if the brave front that she wore before him now was truly real.
She stiffened, pulling herself away from him, but not before he caught her wrist.
Rai, you must hear all that I say, he bit his lip rather anxiously, the grip on her wrist tightening. I have great need of you that I cannot understand. All the time I fear that you will slip away from me, or something will inevitably pull you away, and in my great need to make you a constant around me, I may have driven you even further. I do not know what to tell you that will make you realise your own worth; surely you know that you are of great value because you are a woman of the king.
She turned around to face him; wrist still in his hand, but it did not feel like the tyrannical grip of those who attempted to enslave her; its hardness on her wrist spoke of security and protection.
But do you know that you are of exquisiteness to me, you far exceed the worth that people place on you, because I have known you and you have known me.
We cannot foretell the future, Aretas, she began with frustration. The King is gone. The Viceroy, he might summon the women of the court for his own use. I am powerless against him. Are you willing what my body also offers to him?
It pained him exceedingly, to hear such truth fall from her, making him want to yell with the outrage and the injustice of misplaced and forbidden passion, the unsympathetic gods that had not allowed a smooth communion with the woman he wanted badly, only favouring those in positions of power by pelting them with gifts they did not even know the complete worth of.
I want to say that you belong to me now, Rai. But I will not do so, he told her firmly, closing his eyes at the sharp reality that had corned him with its deadly spear. You are your own, forever, and always, even though the palace decrees that you are the King's, until the day you decide that you belong to someone.
There was no release of emotions as he told her; possibly the most difficult task he had done by twisting the knife in himself, possibly ringing the death knell for the both of them.
I know, Aretas, she said, the calm mask threatening to break as it faltered. We are forbidden to continue. But you have shown me a temporary paradise, of which I will now always thirst for.
He felt like a broken man at the finality of words, knowing that she was lost to him; their togetherness was not to last.
But the gods help me, I cannot tear myself away, she confessed in a small voice, fisting both her hands tightly, wanting to wail and rant. I cannot tear myself away!
I will not, he whispered to her fiercely then, I will not tear myself away, no matter what the gods decree. Burying his hands in her hair, the renewed desperation for each other resurfaced, hands that explored everywhere could not get enough of each other, lips that ate each other could not get bruised and swollen enough, and kisses that were spent on each other were not lavished enough to last the night, yet the moans of pleasure that they extracted from each other carried yet too much anguish to belong to satisfied lovers.
