The boats that plied the route between Khartoum and points north along the Nile were a heterogeneous bunch, ranging from the venerable feluccas to modern steamers aimed at snagging European tourists; the ship upon which Ibrahim booked passage fell somewhere in the middle of this spectrum. It was a rear-paddled steamer with a strong engine but was not as luxurious as those plying the tourist trade. The ship had only three cabins, which was perfect, as Ibrahim had booked them all. This prevented any possible breach of security from other passengers.
Strangers were considered enemies unless proven otherwise, and contact with them was minimized.
He had secured similar lodging in Khartoum, arranging for an entire floor of a small, slightly rundown hotel where they would not be disturbed until the time of their departure. It was plain but clean, with four small rooms on the top floor and a single bathroom at the end of the hall. There was a solitary staircase, which was easily guarded, and theowner was all too eager to give the intimidating man who made the arrangements anything he requested.
Ibrahim might well be dressed in the clothes of a Fulani trader, but the marks on his face were unmistakable, as was the promise of dire consequences should his wishes not be followed.
Even before the others arrived, Ibrahim had contacted the Medjai garrison in the city and shed his Fulani disguise for the familiar black robes of his order. Stacks of similar robes waited in each room for the others, as Ibrahim knew they would be as eager as he to bathe, dress in their proper clothes, and take absolution with the local Medjai holyman.
He had also made inquires as to Ay’il’s future and found several Medjai tradesmen willing to take the boy. They were, of course, ignorant of his parentage, as they would have insisted on his death had they known. Ay’il understood his life depended on no one ever knowing he was Rasheed Al Mier’s youngest child, and quietly listened while Ibrahim spoke to others regarding his fate.
Ay’il was a clever boy and paid close attention to the discussions while keeping his eyes averted. He was aware that he would have some choice in the matter. That was not something he had often enjoyed, and he intended to make full use of it. Still, as tempting as several of the positions were, he wanted to stay with Ardeth Bay’s family. He had come to like Ibrahim, or at least trust him, and Ay’il also knew the captain liked him or he would have been killed somewhere between the Nubian camp and Khartoum.
Ay’il was young but fully understood his life had been in Ibrahim’s hands.
As he walked beside the captain, his legs stretching to keep up with the long strides of the tall man, Ay’il made his decision. He would go north with the enemies of his family, with Chieftain Bay and his American wife, and with Tariq, the half-brother to whom he felt a strange kinship.
As he did, he was unaware that another brother, Daoud, the one who had sold him to the Cybeline, had spotted him, and watched from the shadows with growing hatred. How quickly little Ay’il had become the lap dog of Ibrahim Bay, Daoud thought blackly, while hatching a plot born of revenge in his twisted heart.
Daoud had not originally thought to come to Khartoum, but his father had friends here, and now, he was glad, for it would seem fate had pulled him to the right spot. Word that Ardeth Bay and his blond whore had survived had reached Dauod through the shadowy network of spies that operated in the city, and Daoud, at first, had cursed his failure. Now he saw that he had a golden chance to correct this though the traitorous body of his little brother.
A slow, wicked smile crept across his face as he contemplated how he would, finally, rid the world of the man who had destroyed his father. He would, this time with his own hands, kill Ardeth Bay.
***********************************
Two days later, her mind far from anything save the way the sunlight reflected off the water and danced across the ceiling of the cabin, Jehan lay naked across the narrow bed. Medjai were far more accustomed to live on land than on water, yet she had quickly become comfortable with the rolling of the boat that steamed towards Assuan, the southernmost railhead for the Royal Egyptian Railroad.
She had been on watch until dawn, earning her the right to drowse a bit this morning. Rolling onto her belly, she laughed lustily, thinking of how she had decidedly NOT drowsed when first coming off her shift. She had not sought sleep, but fornication, and found release in the willing and aroused body of the dark man waiting in bed for her.
He was an eager and powerful lover, giving her the immediate gratification she wanted, and had done so with a minimum of foreplay. She had come to learn a number of things about herself recently, one was that, when she got off guard duty, she wanted sexual release and she wanted it immediately.
She turned on her side, swung her feet to the floor and stood bare, stretching her arms above her head. Soon enough a knock on the door would signal her resting time was over. Besides, she was looking forward to sitting with Carrie and Jabrail. Another thing she had come to understand about herself was that she actually liked babies, at least Jabrail, who seemed also to like her.
As she pulled on her black trousers, those belonging to a male warrior, as she disguised her femininity beneath them, she caught a glimpse of herself in the dingy, cracked mirror. There was a large, dark bruise on her arm, the shape of four fingers showing clear against her skin. Rubbing it lightly, she recalled how her partner had gripped her there, firmly, almost painfully, as he had relentlessly driven his organ into her, even as she urged him to move faster. How nobly he had obeyed, she thought with a smile, and how wonderful was her pleasure.
The knock came, just once, and there was no more time to dream over the early morning revels. She pulled her robes on, fastened them, and donned her weaponry without further delay. Before leaving the room, she glanced at her image in the mirror to assure that her identity as a female was disguised. It was simply easier to deal with the crew of the ship if they thought she was just another Medjai soldier. It was a slight annoyance, perhaps, to be ever mindful of her veil, but she was glad to finally be rid of the Fulani rags she had worn for so long.
It was a bright morning, and as she stepped onto the deck, Rai Kah, the Nubian man who had been her gift from Lubasha, immediately greeted her with a deep bow. He was always by her door, unless she ordered him elsewhere. They exchanged a few quick words of greeting before she moved along the narrow passageway between wall and rail, so intent on her thoughts that she did not notice the other man who lurked in a small alcove, observing her every step.
Her robes hid her shape well, he thought as he watched her speak with the Nubian. To most eyes, she appeared as a slender, particularly graceful, male Medjai. He knew better, of course, just as he knew he needed to act quickly to succeed in grabbing her before she became aware of him. Ensuring she could not reach her knife was paramount, for she was as deadly as an asp.
He had only to wait a few more seconds, until she rounded a corner and slipped through a doorway that led down the stairs to the common areas. Then he could spring his well-planned trap. Just beyond the opening was a small maintenance closet, and the man had already prepared it, leaving the door slightly ajar. His plan was to grab her, force her into the closet and then she would be at his mercy.
It seemed like an eternity until she made that turn, and then, everything moved at lightening speed. He jumped towards her, gathered her in his arms, pushed the door open with his boot and rolled the two of them into the closet as the door banged shut behind them.
They landed against a wall, his weight restraining her efforts to reach her knife. “Not this time, my wonderful wife,” Tariq hissed as Jehan’s initial growl turned to melodic laughter mingled with playful cursing.
“I did not see you, you diseased pig’s ass…. You vile, depraved….”
“Depraved, is it? That is not the word you used earlier this day, when you begged me to thrust into you like a man possessed.” He grinned broadly and imitated her. “Oh…deeper…Tariq…. more…. more….” Laughing as she squirmed against him, he concluded, “You have become insatiable.”
“It is all your fault.” She pouted slightly, or at least tried to, and reasoned, “I know only what you have shown me….”
He guffawed loudly at her attempt to explain how frenzied their congress had become. It was how she liked it, at the moment, and he was happy to oblige, although he knew she would soon wish to refine her understanding of sex. “I HAVE shown you other ways of satisfaction, ways of tenderness and time. It is YOU who demands we fornicate like drunken barbarians.” Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling, he sighed. “Typical novice, mating like a weasel in heat, whenever you can, wherever you can. You will soon want more of the delicacies of love, but, until then, sweet, sweet Jehan, I shall mount you like a wild bull and ride you until you scream with release. It may yet be the death of me, but I shall die a happy man.”
“If it is too strenuous for you, I shall seek out the Nubian. Lubasha said he was most thoroughly trained as a lover, and he is exceedingly muscular. Imagine how his thighs could drive into me. They say Nubian men are quite large.” She lowered her chin, gazing up through thick, black lashes as she taunted him. She knew Ardeth’s decision to let the Nubian come with them rankled Tariq.
Tariq’s smile turned into a grimace as he thought of the man his wife had managed to ‘acquire’. “I doubt if his death would please your brother, given the deal he struck with Etosha, but dead he would be if he ever lay with you.” He looked around, and, with a wink added, “Or against you, as I am now. There are many uses for walls, you know.”
“Are there indeed? We survive well enough without them in our tents.”
He let his full weight rest upon her, pressing her against the iron bulkhead, his body forming to hers. Loose as Medjai clothing was, there was no room to wonder what caused the firmness pushing against her belly. She twisted a leg free, wrapped it around his calf and purred, “He grows eager, the wild bull.”
“He is always eager for you.”
“Typical novice…” she began, but his mouth was already devouring her words as he possessed her lips.
Just as quickly, her hands were ripping at their clothes, both hers and his, wanting nothing to slow their joining. In a heartbeat, their trousers were open and his manhood teased the entrance of her ready chamber. She was already moist, her hips rocking in anticipation as she tried to impale herself. Lifting his mouth from hers, he repeated, “Typical novice…..” before plunging into her with a single thrust.
They were not particularly quiet, and in the passageway outside, several sailors guffawed in voyeuristic delight at the sounds. They had seen two Medjai disappear into the closet, and assumed they were both men. When the guttural groans of intercourse were heard, it caused them a great deal of entertainment, as the prospect of such perversion between two male Medjai was almost inconceivable. So engrossed were they that they did not see two high ranking Medjai approaching behind them until it was too late to run.
Ardeth and Ibrahim were walking the deck, discussing the reports they had received in Khartoum when they heard their sister’s moans and saw four deckhands straining to hear more, their ears pressed at a door.
Ardeth made the first move, his deep voice rumbling as he asked, “Do you think it wise to eavesdrop on two Medjai thusly?” The startled deckhands’ eyes grew wide with fear as they realized their plight. Before them, scowling his displeasure, was a Medjai chieftain.
Ibrahim joined in, his stern face impassive but his hand resting on his sword. “Indeed, our companions inside are both of a volatile nature. They would view such a transgression as most impolite. They might well remove the ears and hands of any who dared intrude upon their privacy.”
Ardeth added a grunt of agreement before tossing his head in the direction of the stern. The frightened lads scurried like wharf rats in that direction, praising Allah that they still had all their parts.
Ibrahim frowned as he watched the deckhands vanish. “I cannot say I can fault them. By the Pharaohs, Jehan has not yet learned to contain her noises and they believe she is a boy. It is a situation made for gossip.”
Ardeth nodded his head solemnly as the two moved away. He was pleased that Jehan and Tariq had mended the rift between them, and it was good that she find her marriage pleasurable. It was disconcerting, however, to hear his sister, whose virtue he had guarded for so long, announce her sexuality so vocally. As they rounded the bow, his eyes fell upon Caroline, who was standing against the railing, her elbows resting on the top, her tawny hair blowing away from her face. He realized she hadn’t yet seen him and stopped walking to admire her from afar, wanting to memorize this image. “Ibrahim, let us continue later.”
Ibrahim smiled slightly. He completely understood his brother’s mood, and nodded his agreement as he turned to leave.
Carrie was totally lost in the beauty of the Nile. She had read of the Blue Nile and the White Nile, of course, but was unsure which she was on. Both, she concluded, as they were down river from the confluence. On this day, it was neither blue nor white, but a soft turquoise, which complimented a cloudless, azure sky. It was truly beautiful, this ancient giver of life.
The river teemed with fish, the small craft pulling nets full of the silvery bounty as she watched. Above them, flocks of birds competed with the fishermen for the shimmering catch, spiraling over the water like leaves in the breeze, diving down to steal their breakfast from the nets.
Lifting her eyes to the shore, she studied the lush vibrancy. Each bank contained huge swaths of cultivated fields and groves of tamarisk trees, almost in defiance of the desert that lay just beyond the ribbon of deep green. It was as if all creation for hundreds of miles in each direction had been concentrated along the river, or, perhaps it was that creation spilled forth from the Nile’s banks, spreading across the sand until the desert was simply too much, too strong, and life stopped.
She thought then of their village with its own life line provided by the underground wells. It, too, defied the desert, bringing life to where there should be only sand. Sudden homesickness swept over her, not for Montana where she was raised, or for any of the other many places she had called home, but for the tent she shared with her husband in the little crescent valley of the Khere Aba.
Ardeth, enjoying the loveliness of the day, as well as the view of his wife, crossed his arms as he leaned against a bulkhead. She was not far from their cabin, and he knew Jabrail was napping inside, for she would never step away from him otherwise. A quick glance towards their cabin showed an open porthole from which she could hear their son’s slightest gurgle. Of course, he thought, she would always have one ear cocked for Jabrail.
Returning his attention to his wife, Ardeth noted how vital she was on this glorious morning. He was no stranger to death and had seen its shadow upon her face, back in the cave, when her soul was ebbing away. To see her standing at the prow of the ship, her hair flowing loose as her cheeks grew rosy in the wind was certainly a blessing, and he was glad she had disobeyed him regarding her veil.
He had suggested, strongly, that she either remain in their cabin or cover herself with her scarf when venturing out, but knew, almost as soon as he had said the words, that she would do neither unless he ordered it and he had no heart to do that. He saw her scarf was around her neck and laughed, for he realized she had indeed attempted to cover herself, but had failed to wrap the veil correctly. It was something she had yet to master, and he often teased her about it. He did not mind, as it gave him an excuse to touch her in public when he assisted her with the veil.
He wondered, now, if she truly had difficulty with it or pretended to so that he would help her, and smiled, imagining the cleverness of his beloved.
As he rocked forward on the balls of his feet, he watched Carrie step onto the raised lip of the rail. It gave her a few more inches of height. She was leaning over, waving at someone below, and her skirt blew against her legs, delineating her curvaceous rump. It was not an unfamiliar shape to Ardeth, who had often taken his wife from behind, particularly in the middle months of her pregnancy, when her belly was too great for him to lie upon. He imagined himself now, bending her over the rail, holding her hips against his, and having pleasure with her, there on the prow of the ship, his body joining with hers. Smiling slightly at the scene it would make for the deckhands, he walked forwards, just as she turned towards the sound of his boots on the deck.
“Sneaking up on me, mister?” she asked, eyes dancing as her hair blew around her.
He was behind her then, one hand on each side of the rail as she pivoted to face him. His eyes roamed across her face, noting the sun had raised a line of tiny spots…freckles, she called them… on her cheeks. His voice was a sensual growl as he told her what was on his mind. “Imagining what I could do to you, little one, if you would but lean a little farther over that rail, and lift your skirt to accommodate my need.”
She knew exactly what he meant and she teased him a bit, slipping her hands inside his tunic sleeves and running her fingers delicately along the corded muscles of his forearms. “You could push me right over the rail.”
He tenderly gathered her flowing locks in his hands, tucking them under her poorly tied scarf. “No. There would be pushing, but I would be careful to ensure I had a very good hold on you, and you would have a tight hold on me.” His eyes crinkled as he emphasized the word ‘tight’.
“Ah. You’re suggesting we give Tariq and Jehan a little competition.”
He pressed his lips together in a suppressed smile. “You have heard them?”
Carrie made no attempt to control her broad grin. “Hasn’t everyone on the ship? Criminy…. It’s your fault.”
“Mine? How?”
“Oh, come on, you basically ordered Tariq to get her in bed, and then you insisted she accept that Nubian as a gift. Tariq is more than a little jealous, and a jealous man is a motivated one.”
“Rai Kah is not precisely a gift.” This was true. Lubasha had offered to trade Rai Kah for Tariq, but Jehan had turned her down, politely, of course, and the matter would have ended there had not Etosha been within earshot. The queen had been nearby, learning from Ardeth that Jehan did not wish to remain in the Sudan. She understood, of course, but wanted to personally assure Jehan that she would be welcome among the tribe at anytime. It was then she heard Lubasha’s proposal, which led to Rai Kah accompanying the Medjai group.
Nubian women were free to trade their men among themselves, however Jehan was not a Nubian. She was, in fact, from a tribe that did not view marriage in the same way as the Nubians. Etosha was well aware of this and knew Lubasha’s offer could be seen as being impolite. It was also something that should have been brought to her, as queen, first, before it was presented to Jehan. Etosha then issued orders that were immutable. Lubasha would give Rai Kah to Jehan without trade. He would travel north with the Medjai, live with them for a year, learn their ways, and then return to the Sudan to take his place as one of Etosha’s one consorts.
Jehan had attempted to argue but was cut off by a pointed look from Ardeth. He fully recognized that there was no way to NOT accept the man, but did what he could to modify the arrangement. It would be one of military, not conjugal training, but Jehan would, indeed, be in charge of this. It was the only way to bend Etosha’s ruling to the Medjai customs.
Had it made Tariq jealous? Ardeth was certain it had, but it was a beneficial sort of jealousy as Tariq and Jehan had grown noticeably amorous. Caroline was an astute judge of human nature, which pleased him. It was a valuable trait in a chieftain’s wife as she often was her husband’s eyes and ears in the village. “My wife is observant to see such things.”
“Your wife is no dummy, but dang, you wouldn’t let ME bring home a man as a souvenir no matter how motivational he was.”
“If he had been presented in the same manner as Rai Kah, I could not have refused, not without seriously insulting Etosha. She has been far too good a friend for me to do such a thing.”
Carrie looked away then, averting her eyes from Ardeth’s as she considered her next words. Deciding she might as well speak her mind, she looked back at him and spat it out. “Just how close are you two…you and Etosha? You were awfully familiar with her. I felt I was sharing you somehow, with her.”
Wonderment showed on his face as he pondered, “Is it that you are…Caroline…are you jealous yourself?”
“I know you’ve been with other women before, and I…I… you were just so darned comfortable with her….and…” She couldn’t finish and just looked into his face as if the answer was to be found there.
He was gentle with her, his voice tender as he asked what he must to clear this up. “Do you think we have been lovers?”
“Have you?”
He would have laughed had he not seen the seriousness in her eyes. She was near tears, her lip quivering as she searched his face for answers. This was something that HAD plagued her, he realized, and knew he had to explain how it was between himself and Etosha. “Little one, no, never was there anything of the sort. We did share an experience… we were captured by the Fulani, as you know, along with Amud, and our captors took a certain perverse pleasure out of stripping us of our clothes and our dignity. They found it entertaining to see us humiliated, to watch us as they reduced us to slaves, and to bet on whether we would fall on each other like animals. You can say that there is a certain familiarity shared between us, but we were children…frightened children. Our nakedness was only a way to torment us, Caroline, nothing more, I promise you.”
She felt so silly, so childish for having even wondered, and she laid her head on his chest. “I should have known better, it’s just that I feel so emotional right now. It’s the hormones. Well, at least that clears THAT up. If the answer had been yes, I would have had to kill Etosha.”
He chuckled at her joke as his arms surrounded her. “How was I so blessed to find a woman who loves me so? Etosha is a beautiful woman….” She gave him a sidelong glance and he laughed again before his voice became velvety with emotion. “But I have no desire to belong to anyone but you, my lady with eyes blue as the Nile.” His lips lowered to hers, softly at first, but then with the heat that smoldered within. It was only when the cry of their son wafted from the porthole that he pulled away. “He calls for his breakfast.”
Carrie grinned as the sun caught the blue of her eyes. One hand cupped Ardeth’s cheek as she explained, “Jabrail’s had breakfast…oh…. at least three times already. Our little Medjai has quite the appetite.” She slipped from his embrace, but glanced over her shoulder with her best ‘come hither’ smile. “Want to watch? I’d love the company.” She held out her hand in invitation.
Ardeth’s hand easily covered hers and the two walked to the cabin where their son, the baby created from their love, awaited. It was, Ardeth reflected as he stepped inside the small chamber, a perfect moment.
********************************
Back in the passageway outside the closet, two of the deckhands had returned, despite the warning. Shipboard life was dull, and they often enjoyed eavesdropping on couples making love. They had never before done so with a pair of the same sex, but found it just as entertaining, even more so as it involved a forbidden thing; homosexuality. They were still under the illusion that Tariq and Jehan were both male as they were too late to hear Jehan’s voice, clearly that of a woman, call out in ecstasy as she climaxed. Tariq’s deep, masculine moans were plain, however, and the deckhands exchanged salacious grins. “Do you think he was the one in front or behind?” one asked.
“How would I know of this?” the other replied as if insulted, while pondering the question in his mind.
Inside the cramped closet, Tariq, his legs wobbly from the combined efforts of strenuous thrusting and a shattering orgasm, rested his forehead against the bulkhead, his lips but inches from Jehan’s ear. “You have rendered me weaker than a kitten… again,” he whispered.
Jehan, too, felt as if she had melted into the wall, her body without bones. She managed to stroke the back of his head as she murmured, “It is good between us, my sweet… my dearest one. Tariq, I love you so.” She smiled and giggled like a shy girl. “Perhaps next time, we will try one of those ways that take more time.”
Her tenderness was as obvious and genuine has had been her earlier passion. She was the affectionate, vulnerable girl Tariq knew lived under the hide of the warrior. He would indeed give her whatever she needed of his body, but welcomed the growing need in her for something more than this frenzied mating. “Perhaps,” he replied softly, kissing her temple as he pushed a sweaty tendril of hair from her face. “But now, we must appear on deck or I fear your brothers will come after us. Allah only knows what punishment Ibrahim shall mete out this time, or, even worse, Ardeth, with that disapproving glower of his.” Pushing up from the wall, he extended his hand to help her stand. “First, you should close your tunic or no one will believe you are a boy.”
Jehan grimaced as she rearranged her clothes, which were quite askew. She finished by wrapping her scarf about her face. “There. I am again some Medjai youth you chose to molest. You know, Ardeth truly likes you. Just the other day he….” She was still talking as she pushed at the door, unaware that the two deckhands had their ears pressed against it. When she opened it, it banged into their heads, and they sprawled across the deck, scooting backwards until they hit the passageway wall.
Both Tariq and Jehan responded quickly, Tariq by pinning one against the wall with his boot planted on his chest. The other deckhand managed to stand and would have fled but Jehan was quicker than he and dug her curved knife into his ribs. It should have been enough to silence the men, but the one under Tariq’s heel sneered, “Queers….unholy sodomites.”
Tariq’s lip curled in a sarcastic snarl as he contemplated the man’s error. If only he knew the women who hid under the robes. Laughing, he mocked the deckhand. “That is more woman than you will ever have, cur.” He thought it hysterically funny that these men thought his Jehan was a boy, and he was ready to let them go with a scare.
Unfortunately, the deckhand at the end of Jehan’s blade chose poorly, looked askance at Jehan and sneered, “You must be the passive one, spreading your ass like a goat. I do not care if you are Medjai. I do not care if you hold a knife on me. I spit on you.” As he unleashed a spray of spittle to prove his point, Jehan spun around, cracking him soundly in the jaw with the heel of her boot, smashing him into the deck. The sound of shattered bone filled the narrow aisle and no one needed to even ask if it was broken.
Before the man’s agonized scream had weakened into a pitiful moan, Jehan was straddling him, one knee on his chest, the other, on his groin. Her right hand held the knife tip under his chin while the left pulled her scarf down, exposing the truly lovely woman beneath. Her voice left no doubt as to her gender, for, although the words were harsh, the tone was female. “Spit again, son of a whore, or even whine too loudly, and I will remove from you that shriveled parasite you call a penis and shove it between your buttocks. Then we shall see who takes it in the ass, Hmmm?”
Tariq exchanged knowing looks with the man under his boot. Seeing there would be no more trouble from him, he stepped away, letting the man squirm into a corner. “I am blessed to have such a wife am I not?” he asked with a smug wink. His eyebrow cocked upwards as he addressed Jehan, who was still tormenting her captive by grinding her knee into his scrotum. “Jehan, my good wife, if you break all the crew, who will sail the boat? Besides, we have not yet had breakfast. If you are done here….?”
She did not immediately look up, choosing instead to purse her lips into a kiss aimed at the unfortunate soul who had spit at her. “I am quite hungry, my husband,” she finally replied. She sheathed her knife and stood in one graceful move, planting a kiss on Tariq’s cheek before remarking, “It has already been a very busy morning.”
As she walked away down the corridor, Tariq looked down at the two men still whimpering on the deck and decided to give them a bit of advice. “Stay out of my way for the rest of the journey, if you value your genitals, and stay out of hers if you value your lives.” His nose detected that one, perhaps both, had defecated from fear, and he snarled, “And clean up. You have disgraced yourselves.”
He caught up to Jehan just around a bend in the corridor and took her elbow in his hand, his face struggling to stay sober. In a voice that fought to not explode into laughter, he whispered, “Darling, you really need to develop a sense of humor about these things.”
Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she pursed her lips petulantly, and sighed. “What are you talking about? I showed a good deal of humor. I could have just killed them both.” She flashed him one of her brilliant, heart-stopping smiles, and then Tariq’s laughter could no longer be restrained and it burst forth, joined by Jehan’s own infectious giggle.
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 39