Closer still, she found that he was almost too flawless, his features too perfect, too expressionlessly handsome. His eyes were too pretty, too liquid, his face and form unblemished while her own bore the scars of life… A tingle moved over her skin, something she hadn’t felt so strongly since her days with the Druid priests.
Magic
? She could sense a frisson of enchantment around him… So, it was a glamour, an enchantment. Instinctively, she kept her glance half removed from his, to keep the spell he’d cast over himself from ensnaring her as well.
For the first time in her life, Eres was truly afraid. Not just frightened but terrified.
This man was magician and no simple magician, either, but a wizard of some power. She’d seen folk like him before, had seen the destruction they wrought in their wake...
Her very soul was imperiled.
And there was no one to turn to… She had only herself to depend on.
The compound they led her to was large and lush, the high thick walls concealing, not surprisingly. This man would not want observers to what he did within them. It would be an affront to any but the darkest of Gods.
Inside, palm trees swayed in the breeze. Low bushes, fig, and olive trees were planted along the inside of walls and along those of the house. To one side were the quarters of the slaves, mean and filthy, little more than a long low shed roof supported by unfinished rough tree trunks
In the center of the compound was the house itself, almost two levels high, made of smoothed sandstone, with stairs that led upward and another set that led to another level below ground. Broad, shady verandas encircled each level. The walls were made of stone, thick and deep. It would be cool inside…and dark in those chambers below…
There were no windows, no openings there at all, nor in the tall surrounding walls. No escape.
The sun beat down hotly on the two within the makeshift ring as steel rang on steel. A thousand times now it seemed Eres had fought in a ring like this or another very like it somewhere around Thebes. Kamenwati set her against one warrior or slave after another as the bets and wagers flew among those who watched. Judging by the wagers she could hear she’d made him a small fortune, even had he not been among the King’s favorites and had coin and more to spare. In fact, she’d fought in front of the King himself once.
That man she’d liked. For all the makeup and wigs, the false beard, there had been wisdom in his eyes, but not in regards to his cousin Kamenwati. It was plain the glamour Kamenwati cast over himself had even the King well and truly caught.
Nor could Eres say Kamenwati treated her unfairly. Not as he did the others. She wasn’t summoned as they were to join him below stairs. She was clearly one of his favored slaves, given food, drink, rewards, and freedom far beyond that of her fellows. Save for chaining her each night, he didn’t touch her carnally, as he did those others. Some of whom did not return from his attentions. All the slaves dreaded his summons of a night but they couldn’t deny him either. He was the master. On other nights when those few returned, some wept for what was done to them but wouldn’t speak of it. Even so, she heard whispers about what went on below stairs. It was that terrible sensation Eres feared most, which came over her on some nights within that dreadful place – as dark forces roamed within the walls and she closed her eyes against them.
Fear didn’t even begin to describe it. She felt helpless before it and hated it. For the first time in her life she faced something she didn’t know how to fight.
On this day though, Kamenwati’s slave-master came to her once the fight was over.
A heavyset man much given to drink, as she might if she knew what he must of what went on below stairs. No slave-master could afford emotions but it was clear by his manner that even he found the whispers and the darkness, disturbing. His head was shaven, a bad decision as his naked head didn’t have a pleasant appearance as those of some others did. His eyes were the same color as the dark beer he loved so much.
As she must, she prostrated herself before him. At the same moment, she sensed another set of eyes on her, darker, knowing eyes.
She knew Kamenwati watched from above, as he did often, hiding in the shadows. He loved to watch as she humbled herself, she could see it on those rare occasions when he appeared. She hated feeling helpless, trapped.
Resurrecting old memories, Eres shielded herself with Druidic wisdom and willed herself to calm.
Even so, she could feel Kamenwati’s presence. It beat against her will. Carefully she let it slide away like water, like rain, from her consciousness.
Not truly humbled, Kamenwati knew, watching her, or she would be awaiting his attentions in the chambers below even now, but it was a fine balance... He knew if he broke her truly, she’d be of no more use to him in the ring. Then she’d just be another slave to be used as he used the others. The urge was there, though, to take her to his secret chambers and visit himself upon her body. To torment and torture her, to break that strong spirit as he had those others. But she raised too much power for him and had become too visible in the eyes of the King. He dared not use her in that manner, not yet. Her moments in the ring brought him too much power and gold, and would bring him more yet... In memory, he felt the heady rush of power that flowed through him when she fought, the dark rush of pleasure from those around him…
He didn’t know her name, whatever name she’d been born to, and he didn’t need to know. She was a slave, property, and had been for more than a year now. She’d gained him considerable prestige, acclaim and honor, even more gold, and the dark energies of greed, bloodlust and desire.
Now she would bring him even more.
She wouldn’t like his instructions and knowing that gave him a pleasure all its own. Obeying would bring her even more under his control and humble that proud spirit, knowing she couldn’t refuse him.
Kamenwati had taken note of the lengths to which she would go to keep from killing her opponent in the ring, even to the point of taking wounds herself. As a slave though, she must obey his order; she dared not defy him – the penalty for such was harsh. Very harsh. He smiled at the thought. He knew she went warily of him. And he enjoyed knowing it.
Attention from the slave-master, with Kamenwati watching from above, boded ill. Eres had reason enough to fear.
In no way did she indicate how terrified she was. She kept her emotions firmly in check as she’d learned to do over the past year. The price for failure was too high…far too high.
Had Kamenwati tired of her services in the ring? If he had, if she was to become a house slave… Another kind of fear moved through her.
She waited.
“You’ve performed well,” the slave-master said. “The Master is pleased.”
Her body bore the evidence of her battles in the ring, a dozen or more scars than before she’d come here. Her scars were testament to those clashes.
That was some little relief. Eres waited, still prostrated before him. Why then had he come to her? She couldn’t ask. A slave didn’t speak unless spoken to.
“This next fight,” the slave master said, “must be to the death.”
Shock rang through her and her blood ran cold.
By no means did she show her horror.
She’d never fought in the ring to cause another’s death. Fight, yes, but this was a game, it was for a wager – sport, entertainment, nothing more. No man’s life should be forfeit to sport. It was wrong. Even in battle, she hadn’t fought to end a man’s life, but to win, to survive, and for those she fought with to survive with her. She’d fought to first blood or disarmament, in this game. Not death.
“Do you hear me?” he demanded.
Something else was going on here...
Above, she felt Kamenwati watching, felt that will batter against her own. He needed her consent, her acquiescence to his orders. It was merely the first step in her downfall.
“I hear you,” she answered, softly, obediently, giving nothing but assent, not consent, and hoped it would suffice.
It did...for the moment...or else the slave-master missed the import of her words.
He waved her away negligently and she backed away.
A breath of relief sighed out of her.
How long it would last? How much time did she have before they realized she hadn’t truly agreed?
Not long.
Bowing, she rose to her feet, her head lowered as he departed. The sense of presence above her was gone.
Fear raced through her as she considered what had been laid on her.
According to the law in these lands, her soul wasn’t in peril until she took another’s life. In these lands she must appear so spotless she could appear before Ma’at – the Goddess who governed the balance of light and dark – and her heart would weigh as nothing compared to a feather, unstained by darkness.
So far, she thought she could as she’d never killed in anger or in thoughtlessness. But after this? To knowingly take a man’s life, not through the accident of the ring but consciously, knowing what it was she did?
She couldn’t. It wasn’t in her. Honest battle, yes. Deliberate murder, no.
What could she do?
Nothing…
According to Egyptian law, if she took the life of another, her own would be forfeit, even if as a slave she was following her master’s orders. It was one of the questions in the Book of the Dead, when souls appeared before the Gods in judgment. Osiris or Anubis wouldn’t ask if her master had ordered it, only whether she’d done it...for the choice in the end was hers to make.
Yet, if she disobeyed, Kamenwati had the right to kill her in whatever manner he pleased. She’d heard tales of what went on below the stairs and the thought terrified her as nothing else did. She’d heard the cries and screams of a night, the wails of horror.
If it became known she was willingly killing in the ring, she would be brought before the judges. Before the eyes of the King, it would be seen as her hand that had done the deed, hers that held the sword…not Kamenwati’s.
It was her life, her honor, at stake.
Here only the Gods had more power than the King…Kamenwati’s cousin.
Only the Gods could save her now.
If they would take her…
As a favored slave she had some rights, some freedoms. She’d served faithfully for over a year. As distinctive as she was, everyone knew it would be difficult for her to escape, and the punishment for attempting it was severe. While she might have gained some distance if she traveled at night, she couldn’t flee Thebes easily. The desert was unknown to her.
If she tried to escape and failed? The punishment would be left to Kamenwati. She’d seen that as well, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a savage grin as he beat the slave to death for attempting to run away. She’d seen and felt the dark pleasure he’d taken in the task.
Now, though, she was willing to risk death to escape, as she risked it now anyway.
Wrapping her swords in an old slave-shift, she slipped out of Kamenwati’s compound, telling the gate guards she needed to take her swords to be sharpened. It wasn’t an unusual request and deemed too demeaning a task for the slave-master.
Her swords were the only things of value she owned of herself. What little else had come from Kamenwati or as gifts from those who bet on her. She couldn’t use them as an offering to the Gods.
The city of Thebes was only somewhat known to her. She’d learned the language but there had been few valid reasons for her to leave Kamenwati’s estate. She had, however, noted the locations of the temples of the Gods on her few excursions.
It had taken time for her to understand those Gods, although it turned out they hadn’t been so foreign as her own Gods had been much the same, if with different names.
She hadn’t much time, though, for if she took too long her absence would be noted. Her explanation would only hold for a brief time.
One temple in particular she sought, the red-washed walls distinctive among the others…
For only a moment, she looked behind her toward Kamenwati’s compound and then she stepped into the cool depths of the interior. A breeze moved softly around her, seemed almost to sweep her inside.
The priests and priestesses paused in their devotions as she stepped into the cool shadows within the temple.
Resolutely, aware of their eyes on her, she walked to the altar at the feet of the Goddess and laid her swords upon it in offering. She bowed as she looked up at the lion-headed Goddess under whose sigil she’d been born. Slowly, she sank to her knees and prostrated herself.
This was the warrior Goddess, Sekhmet. Surely she would understand…of all of the Gods, this was the Goddess most likely in need of a warrior.
After a little time a priestess came to kneel beside her.
That one sighed.
She was a woman of strong visage as befitted a priestess of Sekhmet, her skin darker than many in these lands, her features aquiline, her dark hair smooth and straight, glistening where it fell to her shoulders.
Very softly, the priestess said, “My name is Djeserit.”
Djeserit had watched the girl step inside the temple. Her coloring was exotic, foreign, her movement graceful, her body strong. She’d heard tales of this one, even seen her fight. With that hair and a warrior’s scars, there couldn’t be more than one like her in all of Thebes. The Goddess she served moved within Djeserit, making her tremble. She felt the force of prophecy… ‘The golden one who would face the coming darkness…’ as Kahotep, High Priest of Horus had said.
She could almost see it and was grateful she couldn’t see so clearly, despite being Sekhmet’s priestess. In that vision, she could hear terrible cries, the wail of horror and death. It was coming, though, and soon enough.
Then the Goddess was gone from her.
Shivering a little in response, Djeserit looked to the girl lying on the floor before her. A whisper to one of her priestesses sent the woman running.
“Rise child,” Djeserit said. “Tell me your name.”
Eres looked at her, rose to her knees. “Eres.”
Tipping her head a little in a benediction of sorts, the priestess handed Eres the basket a priestess brought to her.