In a part of the camp filled with the noises of camels as they belched and chewed and belched again, Jehan angrily rubbed at the manure-encrusted flank of an ill-tempered beast. It seemed to her as if the camels had been particularly skillful on that day to lie in as much of their own filth as possible. Surely, she had never recalled seeing so many dirty, smelly specimens as she had on that afternoon, and her irritation with the vile creatures churned with each manure clod she encountered.
As the sunlight fled the sky and it became dark around her, she was at least thankful that she could no longer clearly see how dirty the animals were, preferring to simply feel for the larger masses and remove them with her bare fingers. There was a sliver of a moon that gave just enough light for her to complete her task, but just barely. She knew, too, that somewhere nearby, doing the same miserable job as she, was Tariq, and that fueled her annoyance. Every few minutes she would hear him grumble and then, a few seconds later, hear the grunt of a camel as it responded to his command. He was actually better at dealing with the beasts than she, a vestige of growing up more Bedouin than Medjai.
She wasn’t certain if it was his skill with the camel that irked her, or just his nearness. “Those creatures like your touch, Tariq,” she called into the darkness, bitterly.
“’Tis good that something does, although this one is male,” he answered with a smirk, but instantly regretted it as he didn’t want to pick a fight. He had grown tired of the bickering between them and wished to mend their marriage, and not just because of Ardeth’s order. What he really wanted, he knew, was for the two of them to be at peace with each other. Quickly, before she could fire back a biting response, he called back out, “I did not mean that as it sounded. I do not wish to argue. ”
Jehan, indeed, had been ready with a snarling reply, and now felt the heat drain from her. She did not want to argue, either. She was tired, filthy, and wanted to just not have everything be so hard. “I know,” she answered, without thinking. As she heard the words, however, she understood that he was not trying to antagonize her, somehow. “Tariq…. I…” she wanted to tell him that she, too, had been sorry for everything that had happened, but, in the fraction of a second it took for her to look away from the camel in front of her and towards her husband, the animal grabbed her upper arm with its mouth, delivering a painful bite. Uttering a virulent curse, she slammed her knee into the camel’s belly. “Misbegotten beast from hell. Horrid bastard creature....”
Tariq, hearing the ruckus, raced to her side, instantly realizing what had happened. “Jehan… did it break the skin?” he asked, with great concern. It was too dark to see the extent of the damage, but he anticipated the worst. Camel bites often became horribly infected. “How deep is it?” he asked again, urgently, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back.
“I cannot tell,” she answered brusquely as she probed the area with her fingers. She could feel a sticky warmth soaking her clothes but didn’t know if it was her blood or the camel’s spittle. She did know the bite had done damage, as her entire arm was already painfully throbbing.
“We need to get you into some light. I have a place nearby. Come.” His arm slipped around her waist as he guided her away from the camel herd. His small lean-to was erected away from the rest of the camp, as he hadn’t wanted to be near anyone, let alone the Nubian women. It was spare, but he was accustomed to having little. A folded blanket on which to sleep was all he needed. It did have an oil lamp Tariq had liberated from the Fulani packs which would let him see the wound more clearly.
Jehan surprised herself by not arguing. It actually felt nice to have his arm about her and to know he was concerned. Still she reminded him that there were those more skilled with wounds than he. “Carrie should still be awake.”
“We will send for her if needed, I swear. It is best, though, if we at least look at it before disturbing her. If it is not so bad…well…I have doctored my share of camel bites, being as I slept with the creatures until I was twelve.” He grinned slightly, not that she could see in the darkness. “Some would say that explains my social skills.”
She winced at the pain, but still caught the humor and responded in kind. “It does explain your stench.”
“And you, highborn lady that you are, think you smell sweeter, covered as you are in dung?”
“I earned this dung,” she retorted with an impish grin of her own. “As did you.”
He almost laughed, thinking of how dirty they both were, and why. Their little romp in the sand in the desert, in which they had rekindled the flames of desire both had so long denied. By Allah, it had felt wonderful to have her beneath him, her body eager for sex.
They had reached his small tent, and he pulled open the flap, exposing two flimsy bedrolls, and startling Ay’il, who was slumbering on one. “Boy, turn up the lamp,” Tariq gruffly ordered as Jehan settled onto the open pallet. “Hold it steady or I will feed you to the scorpions.” He hadn’t told Jehan that he had allowed his half-brother to stay with him, and was aware of her questioning gaze. “He had no place else to go,” he explained sheepishly, knowing it was not true. Ardeth had made it clear the boy was welcome to sleep outside his tent.
Jehan knew this as well, and quietly mouthed, “Liar,” before giving him a smile that lit the tent almost as much as the lamp’s flame. She gingerly shimmied her arm free of the robe and both saw that there was extensive bruising, but little blood.
“It is not so bad. I do not think the camel’s teeth reached you, which is good. They have filthy mouths.” He pulled the robe back over her bare arm, well aware that Ay’il had taken in the lovely curve of her bare shoulder and limb.
Fastening the robe with a sash, Jehan looked up at Tariq, lifted an eyebrow teasingly, and remarked, “Indeed? I have a fondness for beasts with filthy mouths.”
“Really? One would never have guessed this of you, my lady.” Sarcasm, pointed yet also playful, infused his words. “You smell of the sweetest flowers and your voice is more honeyed than that of the evening nightingale.” He grinned and tipped his head back as he let his eyes roam across her. “I, on the other hand, I would gladly roll in camel shit for all eternity if it was the price for having your legs around me.” He looked at Ay’il who had observed all of this silently, almost as if he had not been in the tent. How well Roquila, the whore that bore us, taught you little brother, Tariq thought bitterly. She trained you to draw no attention to yourself for that would have only earned you a beating. “Ay’il,” he said, not unkindly. “I need time alone with my wife. Take your blanket outside and sleep there. It is mild, with little wind, and you will not need the shelter.”
Jehan watched the boy set down the lamp, gather his blanket, and leave, almost, she thought, like a ghost. “You are softening to him?” she asked quietly, so the lad just outside would not hear.
“As I said…he had…” Tariq tried to dismiss this but was interrupted by Jehan.
“Nowhere else to go. I heard you and I know better. Either of my brothers would give him shelter, and Carrie thinks he’s cute.”
“Ay’il …he… I understand his life. He did not choose his parents any more than I did. Why should he be punished for their crimes?”
Jehan enjoyed being the Devil’s advocate and pointed out that they still had enemies within the Medjai. “Because Daoud, your other half brother, has sworn vengeance upon us, and Ay’il might be leading us to him?”
Tariq nodded. “He might, and if he is, I will slit him open like a sheep, which he understands. I assure you. I hold no familial concerns for Daoud, and I do not think Ay’il does either, considering Daoud traded him to those sodomites.” Tariq fell silent, staring at Jehan with an odd, distant expression.
“What ARE you looking at?” she questioned, a bit irritably, her eyes narrowed.
Instead of answering directly, he spoke of what was on his mind. “It was good, Jehan, today in the desert. It was wonderful to feel your body under mine, even if we were still fully clothed.”
She shook her head firmly; as if she could ignore her own thoughts on just how very good it had been. “We were fools. We were lucky it was only Ibrahim who came upon us and not some renegades.”
He stepped closer, his sexual intent palpable. “Ibrahim is far more intimidating than any bandits. We would have killed the bandits and continued in our pleasures, without our clothes, before the blood had dried on our swords.”
She considered this for a moment before agreeing, “True.” She then lowered her voice so only he would hear, “It makes me hot with need, Tariq, when I am in battle. I cannot explain it, but, after a skirmish, I find myself wanting to undress, to feel the air upon my skin.”
“That might come as a surprise to those you have just mortally wounded,” he joked, a grin on his face as he imagined a dying man looking up at the naked beauty whose sword dripped with his blood.
She smiled wickedly, stared directly into his dark eyes, and trailed her finger slowly across his beard-stubbled cheek. She imaged herself naked, holding a blade in her hand while watching an equally nude Tariq dispatch an adversary. “When I see you in battle, Tariq, it makes me want to mate with you, right there, regardless of who is nearby.” Dropping her eyes momentarily, she raised them again and continued, her voice mingling breathless desire with animal lust, “You always said battle and sex were opposites sides of the same coin. With us, I think it is all the same, without sides.”
Her hand meandered down his neck to his chest and stopped there, just above his heart, her fingers splayed apart as she felt each beat. She brought her other hand up and rested it, too, on his chest next to the first, almost, he thought, like a lioness pinning her prey before the death bite.
Armed conflict caused a rush of adrenalin; it made the head ring and the heart pound. Tariq was well familiar with it and felt the same warmth heating his blood now. His Jehan, his amazing Jehan, was unlike any woman he had ever known. Indeed, he felt there could not be another like her on Earth. Oh, she was deadly, of that there was no doubt, but she was also loving, tender, and endearingly vulnerable when she came to him as a woman, as she did now, her heart open to the love that ensnared them.
Oh, he loved her, and his blood burned as hot as hers, but he was not yet ready to give himself up to the flames. He remembered far too well how Jehan had cavorted with the Nubian women and he would not continue in this seductive dance until she understood his thoughts. Grabbing her hands firmly in his, keeping her from enticing him until he told her what he must, he pulled her against him, restraining her with his body.
As he expected, she struggled, but he was ready and held her fast. “Do not fight, I do not want to further injure that arm. Show that you trust me.” He expected her to resist even more, but she did not, instead, quieting against his act of dominance. Indeed, she smiled up at him, sweetly, almost innocently. He smiled back in a way both unyielding and adoring, appreciating how unpredictable she could be. “You need to hear this, my beloved wife, and you need to heed my words or you will never again know my touch.” She sobered at his words and nodded, fully realizing that Tariq was quite serious. He continued, quietly. “You have enjoyed the company of our hosts and seen how they behave with their mates. You are comfortable with these women; far more than I think is good. Know this: I am not one of the men the Nubian women treat as possessions. I am Medjai, as are you. Our ways are not theirs, and I will take my place in our bed as your husband, not your ‘consort’.” The last word carried with it all the contempt he could muster.
“I see how these Nubians are treated by their men and I like it. I will not be subservient, Tariq, like a Fulani bitch, catering to some man as if he were a king.” Her voice turned as steely as her gaze.
Tariq was not deterred, his resolve as hardened as hers. “I have never asked that of you, nor would I be happy if you did.” A sudden smile broke the tension as he added, “It would destroy you to be so meek, and it would destroy me if I was the cause.” He remembered Ardeth’s words about accepting her as she was. She was truly unique, which Tariq fully embraced. He did, however need her to understand that he would not tolerate anything less than complete honesty between them. “I love all that you are, Jehan, but I cannot, will not, be husband to a wife who does not respect me.”
“When have I not been such a wife? When?” Her challenge was clear, her sensuous mouth curling into a snarl that only enhanced her raw beauty.
Tariq looked into her eyes with a hint of feigned amusement. “Can it be you have forgotten the last time my body was inside yours? I would have thought it was burned into your memory. It is in mine. I can still find the lump upon my skull left by your tender embrace. Forgive my ignorance, but I was not led to believe this was a sign of respect.”
There it was again, the issue that still divided them. She had tried to explain it, many times, and failed. Why would tonight be different? She asked herself bitterly. Still, she did not want this discussion to end in another fight, even though in her mind, she had not shown disrespect, but love. “Tariq I…. I…” She could almost hear herself saying the same words as she had before, how she had done what she had to protect him, but she stopped. He did not need to hear that again and she did not need to say it. She paused, the words half-formed as, in a flash of understanding, she realized how it all was to him; how he would think she had betrayed him. Even more, she admitted to herself that she had not trusted him – not entirely, and in that, she HAD disrespected him. “I am sorry. I was wrong to not trust you,” she said softly, almost soundlessly.
Tariq heard her clearly but her voice was so quiet, he nearly asked her to repeat it. To do so, however, would shame her, and he would never do such a thing. She was entitled to her pride as much as he, more, perhaps, as she was not only a warrior but also a woman like no other; his woman.
Instead of speaking, he released her hands, his own rising to cradle her face between them, and his lips covered hers in a passionate, almost desperate kiss. It was as if he turned to flame and she with him, and they tumbled together to the blankets on the ground. Neither willing to break free of the other, even to undress, they struggled out of their clothing in a frenzied, furious scramble of arms and legs, until they fell back on the makeshift bed, naked at last.
Initially, Jehan was on top, and in a few quick moves, brought herself down upon Tariq’s rigid organ. Almost immediately, she arched her back in ecstasy, wildly pumping her hips as a searing orgasm shattered any remaining vestige of civility. Animal-like screams filled her throat and she loosed them without caring, as it was not at all like her joining night, when she did not wish for anyone to hear her vocalizations. Here, now, she wanted every Nubian woman in camp to hear her and to know that Tariq was her man.
Tariq, in kind, welcomed the chance to make her scream in pleasure, for his own desire was boundless. His hands cupped her buttocks, rocking her forward on his manhood so he could push ever more deeply into her, until she howled like the wild, untamed specters said to claim a man’s soul on moonless nights; the witches of the dark who coupled with unsuspecting soldiers and turned them into their slaves. Jehan was salvation and damnation and everything in between, and he wished only to join with her in the ancient ways of flesh and spirit.
The lamp remained on, and in the flickering half-light, their entwined shadows danced upon the thin material of the tent, leaving little doubt to those on the outside of what occurred within. Ay’il, accustomed to the mating of his parents, pulled his blanket over his head, wishing to sleep, but he could not drown out the moans and near-feral screams that poured from the tent and caused the Nubian women nearby to chuckle in admiration.
Several Nubian warriors had admired Tariq, but noted he did not provide their new friend Jehan with sex. They wondered among themselves if this was a Medjai way, that perhaps Medjai men were incapable of satisfying a woman, but now, had proof otherwise. It caused one of them, Lubasha, who had found Tariq particularly pleasing to the eye, to consider speaking to Jehan in the morning on the matter of an exchange.
Another set of ears was aware of the conjugal act occurring. Ibrahim had strolled through the camp as was his habit, although he was not on duty. He would leave in the predawn and wished to speak to Tariq and the Nubian in charge of the camels regarding the beasts he would take. He also needed to ascertain that Jehan and Tariq had penanced for their earlier misdeeds. As he walked through the herd with the Nubian, he discerned that the camels were as clean as they could be given the shortage of water, and selected two stout animals, one for himself, the other for the boy, Ay’il, whom he would take along.
Ibrahim, like Ardeth, still held concerns of the boy’s allegiance, and they had already discussed plans for the lad. If his brother, Daoud, waited in ambush, it was better to take Ay’il alone, without risking Carrie and Jabrail. It also gave Ibrahim the opportunity to speak with the boy privately, to use his abilities as an interrogator to learn more of him. Once in Khartoum, if there was no ambush and Ay’il gave Ibrahim no reason to kill him, Ibrahim would offer the boy two choices. He could remain in Khartoum, apprenticed to one of several merchants with ties to the regional Medjai tribes, or he could continue north with them, and take a place in Ardeth’s household as a stable boy.
Ibrahim found the boy wrapped in his blankets outside Tariq’s tent. The unmistakable sounds and images of coupling from the tent, and Ay’il’s futile attempts to screen them out, caused Ibrahim to suppress a grin as he nudged the boy awake with his boot. Sleepy-headed, Ay’il struggled to his feet without complaint, well aware that he was an orphan now, dependent on others for all things, even life.
How well Ibrahim knew the lot of an orphan, of being content to sleep anywhere one was tolerated, and he saw a bit of himself in this boy. Placing a hand on one shoulder, he spoke kindly, “Tomorrow you ride beside me towards Khartoum. It is best if you sleep near our fire so I will not have to search for you in the morning. I have no tent, and sleep under the stars but there is a place for you.” Nodding, Ay’il pulled his blankets into a bundle and followed.
Inside the tent, nothing mattered to Jehan and Tariq except the power of their joining. They had been apart too long, both physically and emotionally, and neither knew restraint. There was little nuance to their sex, it was fast and hard, each yearning for release and acceptance. Tariq, aroused to a nearly combustible point, now took the top position, pinning Jehan’s arms above her as if they were locked in battle. She did not fight him, however, but moved with him, excited all the more by his ability to hold her, meeting each deep thrust with an upwards surge, driving them together again and again until all they were aware of was the throbbing rhythm of their mating.
When, finally, his seed burst forth, his body pulsating within her, she gasped and cried out his name, just as he whispered the ancient prayer for conception, the words he had once thought he would never speak, words of belonging to a family and of creating life. They were, again, complete with each other, united as two souls who shared a single love.
In another part of the camp, Ardeth poked at the dying embers of the fire. Caroline slept within, the baby curled next to her, and he wished to compose his thoughts in the quiet of the night. The miracles of his life never escaped him, and he felt grateful to the core of his being for the lives of his wife and child. As he made his peace with God for the night, he remembered the words of a psalm from the Hebrews.
Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,
The fruit of the womb is a reward.
Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,
So are the children of one’s youth.
Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them.*
Ardeth had not yet a quiverful of children, he reflected, but was exceedingly blessed with one, and hoped there would be more, some day, who would look to him as father.
He had just finished his prayers when Ibrahim’s footfalls caused him to glance up, and he noted the boy, Ay’il, trailed behind his brother.
Ibrahim explained quickly, “I thought it best if he slept here. I will not have to hunt him down in the dark.”
“If you wish,” Ardeth answered casually. “Did you speak with Tariq regarding the camels?”
Ibrahim sat next to his brother and motioned a place for Ay’il to spread his blanket. As the boy concerned himself with bedding down, Ibrahim answered his brother. “I spoke with the Nubian and procured two animals. I did not see our brother in law, as he was occupied.” Ibrahim glanced once at the boy who was already nearly asleep before drawling, “He was endeavoring to support our sister, I believe, with all due diligence.”
Ardeth glanced up at his brother in understanding and grunted once. He did not have to ask about the specifics of what Ibrahim spoke; he knew his brother alluded to sexual congress. He hoped a child would come of this night, not only to help protect Jehan, but to repair the rift between her and Tariq. Poking the fire with a stick to rouse the dwindling flame, he softly answered, “May they be blessed, as are we.”
*************************************
The next morning was a glorious one, arriving with a rosy dawn and ripening into a day of soft breezes and gentle clouds that hugged the eastern horizon. Carrie paused from packing up what few belongings she had to gaze across the plane. She would have liked to enjoy the beauty of the day but there was far too much to do. Ardeth was already loading the camels for the trek to Khartoum and would come for her in a few minutes. She sighed as she turned back to the meager pile of items gathered onto a blanket. “I told your daddy I traveled light,” she said to her son, who drowsed on the same blanket. “Just you, babe, that’s about all I have.”
The tent the Nubians had lent them was already gone, rolled up earlier by a man whom she assumed was attached to Etosha in some way as his turban was made of her royal cloth. She would miss the tent; it had been a small dwelling, as the Nubians also traveled light, but it had been a welcomed refuge for her and her child from the always-bustling camp. It was particularly buzzing now, in its last hours, as the entire camp was dismantling around her. The Nubians were also on the move, with all but a small escort group returning with Etosha to her citadel. The escorts would go as far as Khartoum, and see the Medjai visitors were safely aboard a steamer before returning to their queen’s stronghold.
Carrie had chuckled softly, remembering Ardeth’s expression when Etosha insisted that the escorts accompany them. The Nubian queen would not hear his protests that no further guards were needed, saying that she wanted no harm to come of her blue eyed friend. When Etosha had left, Ardeth remarked knowingly that there was another issue of importance; the camels upon which the Medjai rode. Etosha’s guards ensured that no one else would claim them after the boat to Cairo sailed. “She is a good friend,” Ardeth had drawled with a sly smile, “but she is not one to let valuable camels slip from her fingers.”
“Smart woman,” Carrie had answered, while still wondering just how close her husband had once been with their hostess. There was a lingering sense of intimacy that continued to twang on her internal alarms. Had Ardeth been more than just friends with Etosha? Surely, if he had he would have said something to her…surely.
Pursing her lips in irritation at her own silliness, she sat on the blanket next to her son and scooped him into her arms. He was awake, his dark eyes, which seemed to belong to an older, wiser soul, studied her face intensely before his lips curved into a smile. He was far too young to really smile, she knew, but still, it hurt nothing to imagine he had, and she beamed back. “Hello, my little man. What are you thinking about on this gorgeous morning?” She opened her shirt and tipped a swollen nipple into his rosebud lips, watching as he latched on. It was a marvelous sensation, the way her breast tingled as he suckled, and she closed her eyes, memorizing every tiny bit of this moment with her son.
In another part of the quickly disintegrating camp, Ardeth laughed with his sister. She had just shown him the bruise caused by last night’s camel bite. In pulling her tunic open, she had inadvertently exposed a bite of another sort; a love bite left on her neck by Tariq. “That is quite the mark,” Ardeth chuckled in admiration, thinking of both bites, but not mentioning the one on her neck, at least not just yet. While he was relieved his sister and her husband were again…active… he was still uncomfortable thinking of her being with a man.
Pulling the tunic closed, Jehan was oblivious to her brother’s double entendre and thought only of the camels. Shaking her head in annoyance, she sneered. “I find I have little love for these camels. I will not miss them. That is the bastard that bit me. He was one of the Fulani camels.” Her head jerked once in the direction of the beast Ardeth was nearest to.
“Our father liked camels, although not as much as horses.” Ardeth did not share his father’s liking of the beasts, although could ride them with skill. He owned several, but no longer maintained a breeding herd, as had his father, a herd that wore the mark of the Bay house with pride. “This is a stout brute, one of good lineage, that is certain,” he said almost without thinking as he studied the one Jehan indicated. It was the large bull that had somehow made the journey all the way from the village, being one of those captured by Jehan and Tariq. There was something about the animal that caused Ardeth to pause and run his hand along the shoulder, his fingers instinctively feeling for a brand hidden under the thick fur. He was not surprised when he felt it, as, somehow, he knew it would be there.
Turning back to his sister, he urged her to come closer. “Look, here. Feel this scar. You know it, although it has not been put on a camel in years.” After their father’s murder, Ardeth had continued breeding camels for only a few years, selling most of them to those more interested in the animals. It had been seven years since a newborn camel had been branded with the mark of his house. Ardeth looked closer at the beast, trying to discern its age, and deciding it was at least ten. “Most likely, he was branded by our father.”
Intrigued, Jehan joined him and traced over the area where her brother’s fingers still rested. She, too, felt the unmistakable ridges of a familiar brand, seared into the flesh by her father. Jehan was moved by the irony of it all. This animal, who at one time had been her father’s, had returned to them, had been the one she had chosen to take into the desert to search for those held by the Cybeline, and had been waiting for her when the temple was consumed in its own flames. He had saved her, and he had, on the night before, bitten her, causing her to cry out which led to Tariq’s coming to her aid and to their coming together, again, as a couple.
Her eyes widened as she looked at the camel’s head. As if reading her thoughts, the animal turned towards her, his eyes, large and inscrutable, staring back as if he was silently answering her questions. Jehan remembered her father telling her that a camel’s loyalty, once earned, was without equal. She felt, somewhere deep in her soul, that this camel was honoring that. She realized suddenly that this brute, a link to her father, would not return to the village again, that his part in her life was coming to an end. “What will become of him, Ardeth, after we board the steamer? There is not room for him on the boat.”
“Etosha will keep him and all the rest of our camels.” He rubbed an appreciative hand across the bull’s neck. “This one will no doubt be allowed to breed when I tell her of his lineage.” The camel bellowed then, as if he understood his fate and approved. Ardeth felt the moment was right to speak to Jehan of Etosha’s offer. “Jehan, Etosha approached me last night. She has extended to you the invitation to remain here and train with her soldiers.”
Jehan considered her words before speaking, a skill she was beginning to value. “You wish me to do this?”
“You would return to our tribe in a year, bringing with you knowledge of their ways. It is also a great chance for you, to learn their ways. You already meld with them, and have found a place within their structure. A warrior of Etosha’s choosing would be exchanged and it would solidify the union of our tribes. It would also be advantageous for both our peoples. Tariq can even remain with you, if you so choose, to learn from the Nubians.” He answered as a chieftain, without emotion and she rolled her eyes impatiently, abandoning her hard-fought control.
“You wish me to do this, BROTHER?” she asked again, emphasizing their relationship with her voice as well as impatient toss of her head.
He responded by smiling, and cupping her cheek. He so adored his sister, and no longer spoke as her chieftain. He kissed her forehead, as he had done since they were children and stared into her eyes, now speaking as her brother, totally thinking of the sister he loved with all his heart. “Jehan, I do not know how the tribunal will judge you. I amy not be able to protect you, and if you remain here, you are safe.”
“If I remain here, I am a coward hiding from my actions.”
“No one will think that if I order you to remain here.”
“They will think you believed me guilty, Ardeth. They will think you acted as a brother first, and not as a chieftain and, while they will not say so to your face, they will whisper behind your back that you have gone as soft as an old whore’s…” She was going to use the coarse soldier’s slang term for a woman’s groin, but stopped short. He was still her brother, after all. Her meaning was plain, however, and she continued, “I will not have that, not for my sake.” She took his hand from her cheek, held it between both of her palms and studied the marks upon the knuckles. How she had envied him those marks when she was a girl and never thought she would ever be able to tread upon the warrior path. How she loved her brother, who had always championed her abilities, and how it pained her to say the next words, but she had to speak the truth; Ardeth had taught her that. Looking up, she unblinkingly issued her ultimatum, knowing it gave him no option. “If you order me to stay, I will disobey and desert, and then, on the road to Khartoum, I will return. You will then, according to our laws, have to execute me.”
It was his turn to consider his words before speaking, and he did so with the unhurried patience of a man well schooled on the matter. Her logic was flawless, and he had to appreciate that, even if it tied his hands. It was his own fault, he knew, for he had trained her to think with clarity and she knew the convoluted rules that governed their world as well as did any chieftain. Still, he said, without a flicker of emotion, “Mother always said I would regret the education I gave you.”
Jehan knew he was displeased, but still flashed him a smile before placing a kiss on his cheek. “I am not afraid of the tribunal. They will simply have to understand. I will make them understand, and you will help me.” Seeing his concern was unabated, she reminded him, “Did not our father always tell us that we must have faith?”
“He did,” Ardeth nodded as he silently prayed his father, in whom Ardeth had always had faith, had been right.
“Then have faith in me, Ardeth.”
***************************************
Lubasha, the Nubian woman who had admired the way Jehan’s man, Tariq, had made her moan the night before, observed Tariq from a short distance away. She made no effort to hide her obvious interest in the Medjai, not from him or from the Nubian man standing at her side.
She appraised the Medjai male with an eye trained in judging men as if they were livestock, and found very little to condemn. His body was well formed, and he was darker than most Medjai, which added to his attractiveness. Moreover, he had an arrogance about him that Lubasha found stimulating. Few Nubian men were so prideful when it came to obeying the orders of their women, and it was exciting in a perverse way.
Lubasha looked at the man standing respectfully behind her. He had been a gift from her mother to celebrate her first battle killing, and was considered quite desirable by other Nubian women. Tall, athletic, and well trained in the ways to pleasure a woman, he had attracted more than one offer of trade, which Lubasha had turned down. None of the men offered had been worth losing a gift of such obvious value. The Medjai, Tariq, however, now that was another issue, for Lubasha was determined to have him.
Her eyes roamed the camp until she spied Jehan walking away from the camels. Now was the time to speak to the Medjai woman and reach an accord. “Come,” she said without a backwards glance at the man she planned to offer as just compensation for the one called Tariq.
*Psalm 127
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 38