The Concubine's Tale (2 page)

He ran one finger over the edge of the glass case. “Some say Ammonptah was related to the Pharaoh Seti II, is that right?” he asked, his expression distant.

Cait nodded at his astute question. Very few people knew details of that obscure period in Egyptian history. “That’s an unsubstantiated rumor. Some say Ammonptah was Seti II’s elder brother, the son of a princess from Asia traded to the Pharaoh Merneptah. Others believe he was the child of a servant and his lineage was suspect. Either way, he wanted Seti’s throne and was ruthless enough to try anything to get it.”

“This seems like it’s going to be a long story.” Grant checked his watch, and her heart sank a little. How could the tale be boring him already?

“If you’re in a hurry, I can fax you a synopsis of the trans—”

“Actually, I’m starving. How about you?”

Cait felt lightheaded for a millisecond. Was he actually asking her to dinner? “Well…” Normally, that was forbidden, but Mr. Greer had said to do anything necessary to pique Grant Pierson’s interest in the piece.

“Do you like Del Monaco’s?” he asked.

The most exclusive restaurant in town? Who wouldn’t? “Sure.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about the concubine and her ruthless master over dinner?”

“I shouldn’t.” Cait’s mind whirled around the idea of just this one time in her life, actually breaking a rule. Who would know? And since it was a personal request of Mr. Greer’s favorite client…

Grant cocked an eyebrow. “Consider it a business meeting. I have a lot of questions about the piece if I plan to bid on it at auction.”

“I’ll get my coat.” He certainly knew how to work her, didn’t he?

Chapter Two

Grant’s gaze roamed up from Cait’s Dolce & Gabbanas to the hem of her skirt as she slid into the high-backed booth in the darkest corner of Del Monaco’s. A single tea-light flickering in a cobalt hurricane glass gave just enough light for him to maneuver in next to her without stepping on her feet.

The waiter greeted him by name, took their drink order, and politely disappeared.

“You come here often.” The lilt in her voice told him she was testing the waters, trying to find out more about him than just his dining preferences.

“It’s one of my favorite places. I get tired of cooking for one.”

“You cook?” Her sculpted brows rose in amused surprise. “I’m impressed.”

The waiter returned with their drinks and took their dinner order. When he’d gone again, Grant settled forward so his head was close to hers.

“I’m competent in the kitchen. I
excel
in other areas.” He watched her swallow that statement with a demure sip of her pink martini. “How about you?”

“Can I cook? Or where do I excel?” One hand toyed with the top button of her blouse, purposely drawing his attention to the V of soft skin beneath the dark silk.

“Yes.” He licked his lips in anticipation of the answer.

“I make an award-winning coq au vin.”

“One of my favorites.” The look she gave him was skeptical but playful. He laughed. “I’m serious. I love it.”

She ran one finger around the frosted rim of her glass, and her expression sobered. “What else do you love?”

“I’d love to hear more about Nayari. What do you suppose the life of a concubine was like in 1200 BC?”

“Well, there’s not much in the scroll about her day-to-day life, but the details of the particular incident that the scroll describes are quite vivid, thanks to the interpretation of Layton’s translators. They may have indulged their creativity a bit, though.”

Grant leaned in a little closer, his curiosity piqued. “I can’t wait to hear it. Start from the beginning.”

“Is Ammonptah displeased with me?” Nayari wrung her hands and paced the confines of the small salon at the back of her master’s house. Around her, servants gathered her few belongings and packed them into woven baskets.

Ammonptah’s head wife, Baakah, supervised the work, her painted lips set in a satisfied line.

“Not displeased. He has merely asked that you travel to Coptos to meet him.” Baakah’s explanation rang false, but Nayari dared not question her. “You will reside at the temple there until Ammonptah arrives.”

The temple? Nayari had never lived in a temple. Why would Ammonptah send her there? “Will I be coming back?” she asked when the servants began carrying the baskets from the room.

Baakah nodded absently. When the servants left, she took Nayari’s slender hands in her own and squeezed them. The jewels on her wrinkled fingers dug into Nayari’s flesh, but her dark eyes held sympathy for once. “Be well,” she said.

The servants escorted Nayari out of the salon and through the house, which would no longer be her home. Just beyond the low stone wall that skirted the courtyard, a small caravan waited. A stern-faced warrior stepped forward and bowed to Baakah, then to Nayari. He put his hand on hers and drew her toward the wheeled cart into which the servants were piling her belongings.

She looked up into dark eyes ringed with kohl, and something tightened in her belly. She placed her hand on her stomach, beneath the woven belt that girdled her long, flowing dress. The emptiness there began to fill with fear and a strange form of excitement when the warrior’s gaze met hers.

“Who are you?” she dared to ask. She’d never seen a man so tall and broad-shouldered. His skin, a shade darker than her own honey tone, glistened with fragrant oil. Bronzed bands circled his upper arms as if to keep his muscles imprisoned and controlled. A collar of beaten gold hung across his upper chest.

“I serve Ammonptah. That’s all you need to know.”

Nayari glanced back at the house. Baakah hurried across the courtyard and went inside, shutting the door behind her. No one remained outside to see her off. Even the servants who had packed her baskets were gone.

With a heavy heart and a hot ache in the back of her throat, Nayari climbed into the cart. The oxen tethered to its front shuffled their feet and made noises of bovine complaint when the warrior urged them to motion. Nayari drew the shawl from around her shoulders and covered her head against the glare of the afternoon sun. She huddled there, swaying with the movement of the cart, staring at the warrior’s broad back and narrow waist and trying to keep herself from crying.

“Let me guess, Baakah didn’t like Nayari and arranged to have her removed as competition for Ammonptah’s affections?” Grant asked when Cait paused for breath. She’d been transported by her narrative, and the bustling restaurant had seemed to fade away. Grant’s question brought her back to reality.

“You know a lot of Egyptian history. I’m impressed. I’ve spent a lot of time reading the journals that came with the scroll. Layton paid a lot of money to his researchers to get the details right. He must have had them working on it for years.”

“It’s unusual to find a story about the life of a concubine. I know back then the Egyptians were meticulous record keepers, but it’s more common to find a ledger of household accounts than a diary.”

Cait nodded. “Layton believed this story was written as both a warning and a confession of sorts. It seems as though someone wanted future generations to know what happened to Nayari, so she wouldn’t be forgotten.”

“I bet the warrior never forgot her.”

Cait looked up and thanked the waiter who had returned with appetizer salads and a basket of fragrant rolls. Her insides trembled at the thought of the young Nayari being cast from her home by the man who owned her. “As Ammonptah’s head wife, Baakah had quite a bit of leverage in the household and enjoyed a coveted place in society. If she didn’t like Nayari, she could have arranged for the girl to fall out of favor with her husband, but this was more complicated. It was Ammonptah who chose Nayari to be moved to the temple in Coptos.”

“That was the temple dedicated to Min, correct?” Grant’s eyes flashed, and Cait wondered what else he knew about the ancient Egyptian god of male fertility and sexual prowess.

“That’s right. Ammonptah became a disciple of Min later in his life, apparently around the time he decided to maneuver himself into Seti II’s throne. It would have been unusual for a non-religious figure to live at a temple, but apparently Ammonptah had enough influence to be granted a special favor.”

“Nayari was a sacrifice?”

Cait shook her head and took another sip of her drink. “No. Min preferred wheat or lettuce as an offering, and some speculate on the sensual rites and dances that were held to honor him and invoke his blessing on a man’s…performance.”

Dark eyes locked on hers, and she felt a flutter in her chest. She imagined the distant beat of drums and naked worshippers writhing together on the temple floor. Maybe a practical demonstration would be in order—later.

What was she thinking? Had those few sips of martini already gone to her head? Breaking one rule was enough. She didn’t dare try breaking them all in one night, especially with Grant Pierson. She never would have imagined enjoying dinner with the man, but here, away from the gallery, he seemed different. The arrogant businessman had become charming and attentive. Was it only due to his interest in the scroll?

“Tell me more. Ammonptah had some nefarious plan in store for Nayari, didn’t he?”

“According to the scroll, yes. But it took her a while to find out exactly what.” Cait took another sip of her drink and continued her story.

The journey to Coptos was tedious. Only the warrior seemed unfazed by the heat and the dry dust that rose along the road as they plodded along. His posture never wavered, and he slowed his stride only long enough to water the oxen and ask Nayari if she needed to relieve herself. She declined the offer and pulled her shawl farther over her face to distance herself from his disconcerting stare and to hide from the prying eyes of the people they passed along the way.

She imagined what the other travelers must think of her, being led along in an old cart with the stiff-backed warrior trudging ahead of her. She felt like an outcast, and she began to hate Ammonptah for visiting this torture upon her.

She thought back to the last time she’d been with him and wondered if she’d done something to make him dislike her.

Then it occurred to her that Ammonptah probably thought she was barren! She’d been in his household for several years now and, at age twenty, she had yet to bear a child for him. Obviously he was sending her to the temple to ask for a blessing of fertility. That had to be it. That thought eased her apprehension somewhat. A blessing from the gods would certainly help. Then she could return home, fully prepared to serve Ammonptah’s household properly.

Her spirits buoyed now, she straightened her spine and clapped her hands to get the warrior’s attention. “What’s your name, servant of Ammonptah? I must know what else to call you if you are to be my servant as well.”

He stopped mid-step, and the thick muscles of his back bunched before he turned to her. “I am Ammonptah’s servant. Not yours.”

“I demand to know your name.”

He turned away from her and began walking again. The oxen snorted, and their tails flicked in unison to dislodge the flies that had settled on their angular backsides.

“I am a servant of Ammonptah.” He said nothing more until sunset.

“He didn’t like her, I gather.” Thanks to Cait’s colorful description, Grant had a clear picture of the scene in his mind. The strong warrior reduced to babysitting a spoiled princess for his master. It sounded like a dishonorable job reserved for someone who’d screwed up royally and needed some humiliation to keep him humble.

“On the contrary.” Cait grinned and popped a bite of her smoked salmon entrée into her mouth. Grant watched her lips again, tantalized. Did she taste sweet or spicy? How many buttons between her cleavage and her skirt? “According to the scroll, the warrior was smitten with Nayari the moment he saw her. She was considered very beautiful in an exotic way. Her skin was light, and her eyes were the color of dark honey. Her hair was probably black, long and straight and shiny. He, of course, was forbidden to think of her as anything other than cargo to be transported at the whim of Ammonptah.”

“Did he know why she was being brought to the temple? Did he wonder if he might get to see her dance for the fertility god?”

“He didn’t know yet. It wasn’t his place to question. However, he was clever and strong-willed and not exactly sure that he supported Ammonptah’s ambitious bid for the throne.”

“He was a man of integrity.” Grant sipped his wine and tipped his glass to touch Cait’s. “To integrity.”

“Of course, it wasn’t a time in history when integrity was well received. Political alignment was everything. Wealth and power were the only avenues to a comfortable life and, as a soldier, he had to be on the winning side to reap the rewards of his station. He had to bide his time.”

“But he had the hots for his boss’s woman.”

“One of his boss’s many women. A young, beautiful woman who was about to need his help desperately.”

“Don’t leave me hanging. I need to know more.” At his prompt, Cait’s eyes seemed to lose focus, as if she were seeing into the past as she described it to him. Grant kept his gaze on her and let the rhythm of her words transport him once again to another world.

A river of stars dusted the sky when Nayari and her stoic escort finally reached the temple at Coptos. The heat of the day had faded, and Nayari shivered in her thin shawl. The warrior reached up to help her down from the cart. When she laid her hand in his, the heat of his skin felt like fire. His black eyes smoldered when his gaze met hers, and once again she felt a jolt of unexplained anticipation.

Acutely aware of her movements now, she slid her legs down and pointed her sandaled feet at the ground. As she lowered herself from the cart, her billowy skirt rose up her legs, revealing the thin leather ties that crisscrossed up her calves.

His rough fingers slid upward along the curve of her hip to steady her.

“Thank you, servant,” she said, mimicking the tone she’d often heard Baakah use with lower members of the household.

He dropped his hand and turned without a reply. Nayari thought of ordering him to remove her belongings from the cart just to see how he might react, but she didn’t have a chance. At that moment two priests emerged from the temple, and behind them came two women. All were bare-chested and wore thick belts of beaten gold and linen skirts. Their bare feet made no sound on the cool sandstone pathway that led into the temple, and they said nothing to their guests.