She doubted he could fulfil such a promise. Still, if the act of coupling with Intef made her feel anything like his kisses had been making her feel, then perhaps she would become a beggar.
She knew what came next, of course. Of all the people of the world—the Egyptians, Libyans, Nubians and Asiatics—it was the Egyptians who were the most open about it. And why should they not be? It was natural—like breathing or eating. It just happened that Aya had been too busy all these years to take very many bites.
Now she hurriedly tried to recall the things she knew. She had engaged in the pleasures of the flesh several times, so why did she not understand what he was doing now?
As he began kissing slowly up her thigh, she started to have a clue. They were not just kisses he was placing on her skin, but tiny fires. They smouldered and sparked, causing other fires to break out in other places, until she began to feel as if her whole body was burning.
And yet he was kissing her so very slowly! Maddeningly so. But did she really wish for him to speed up? No. Yes. Gods, she did not know what she wanted. Meanwhile, he was moving relentlessly up her inner thigh. He seemed to be telling a story whose conclusion would soon be reached.
Was this a story she wished to hear? Did it have a happy ending? She was tensing again. Perhaps this was a bad idea. She really did not expect this particular part of it, though of course she had experienced the other thing at least twice. Blessed Hathor, what had she got herself into?
‘Relax, my goddess,’ he said. ‘Let me take you. Let yourself feel how much I want you.’
He plunged his head back between her thighs and continued to kiss. And then he was there. Right there. Kissing between her legs. Kissing her.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She squeezed the sheets in her fists and felt a rush of pain that was pleasure, that was torture, that was also ecstasy.
And then she felt his tongue—hot and wet and moving inside of her. Touching her. Tasting her. She sat up in alarm. ‘Surrender to me, Aya. Let me give you pleasure.’
She lay back and opened her legs just a little bit more. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is it.’
Perhaps she gasped. Maybe she moaned. She could have cried out. She did not know, for her awareness had collapsed into the exact size and shape of a man’s tongue.
Cursed Seth, this felt wondrous. Why had the women at court never gossiped about this particular...pleasure? Why had they said nothing of the terrible ecstasy, the mind-numbing bliss? Not a word! Though perhaps Aya had just not been listening.
Oh, sweet river. She was all mixed up and growing warmer and warmer by the moment. Evil man. With each sweep of his tongue he seemed to be coaxing her yearning. She began to move her hips, trying to encourage him in his pursuit.
‘Yes, that is it, Aya,’ he said, but he seemed to be slowing. She was moving her hips, but his tongue was no longer moving with them.
‘Yes, Intef,’ she said, trying to encourage him, but he was no longer giving her what he had just taught her to want.
He withdrew his tongue and hovered over her. He was retreating from her, even as her whole body seemed to be crying out.
‘Please, Intef,’ she gasped.
He moved away from her. She could no longer feel him touching her.
His voice came out of the darkness. ‘What do you want, Aya?’ he asked in a low, dangerous voice.
‘I want you,’ she said. She felt ragged, desperate. She needed to feel him again. Soon.
‘I will give you what you want, but first you must say the words.’
‘I beg you.’
She could practically see his triumphant grin. He moved over her and she felt his legs straddle her hips once again. He lay atop her with all his weight and in the crush of him she could feel his desire pressing against her stomach.
Its presence seemed to infect her with a kind of fever. She felt ill with the want of him. So this was what she had been missing all these years. A man’s desire and a desirous man to go with it.
There was no light, yet she was delirious with visions of him—an enemy, a lover, a dangerous god hovering over her, ready to take his fill.
She wanted him to take it. She wanted it so badly that she felt if he did not do it soon she might burn up beneath him.
He braced himself on his arms and pulled back his hips.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, please,’ she added. ‘I beg you.’ She could hear the soft tumble of fabric as he removed his kilt. He hovered astride her. She could feel the tip of him brushing up against her. He reached his finger down and gently stroked her, making her shudder. ‘You are so wet,’ he breathed.
‘Is that good?’ she asked.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think—’ she began saying, then felt his lips upon hers once again.
‘Do not think,’ he breathed into her mouth.
He was lying heavily atop her, kissing her, when she felt the tip of him push into her just a little. She startled, but the weight of his body prevented her from moving much. He pulled out of her. ‘What is the name of your bow?’ he asked her.
She laughed. ‘You already know the name.’
‘Indulge me,’ he said.
‘The Goodly Thief.’
‘Tell me how you ready your Goodly Thief for its delicate work.’
She smiled and felt her limbs relax. ‘Well, first I select an arrow from the quiver.’
‘And then?’
‘I place the arrow on the nock.’
‘Yes?’
‘Then I make sure that the tip of the arrow is lying properly on the bow rest.’ His desire hovered just outside her entrance, poised.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘What next?’
‘Then I check the angle of my body and move my bow into position,’ she said. He raised himself up and braced himself on his arms above her.
‘And then?’
Her desire had begun to throb. ‘I know what you are about, cunning man,’ she said.
‘Do you really?’ he asked, and in that moment he pushed himself inside of her and she was full of him.
He was overcome with sensation. ‘Blessed are the gods,’ he murmured. This woman. This woman, this woman, this woman. Pangs of lust catapulted through his body. It was all he could do to speak her name. ‘Aya...’
‘Intef...’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ Aya said, gasping. ‘I am...quite well.’
He bent to reassure her with a kiss and was met with something greater than reassurance. Passion seemed to pour out of her.
‘Ah, my love,’ he said. ‘Where have you been all these years?’
He began to move inside her, as slowly as he could. This was only her third time, he recalled, though he felt rather new to the situation himself. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Aya.
He could hardly believe his feelings were real. After his father had died, the only lust he had felt was for revenge. Over time, that lust had turned to stone and, lately, that stone had eroded into dust. He had felt so low for so long, he hardly knew what real happiness was. Now, buried beneath the earth, he felt as if he were flying.
‘Aya...’ he breathed. He began to move inside her. Her soft, warm depths enveloped him and, with each successive thrust, he felt simultaneously closer to her and also closer to the moon. He wove his hands with hers and watched her beneath him. He wanted to remember this moment for ever.
It could not last. He was too aroused. His body yearned for release. He was moving faster, gathering his rhythm. He needed to bring her with him, but he was already far above her, pumping his wings.
‘Oh, Aya, forgive me,’ he cried. She felt so good and it had been so long. He could not wait for her. He could only squeeze her hands tightly and pull himself out of her as he reached the hot vent of air and began to soar.
His body quaked. His stomach lurched. His mind split in two. There was no darkness, nor was there any light. There was only air—perfect, buoyant air—ferrying him into bliss.
He spilled himself on her stomach, then collapsed beside her. For many moments, he could not feel the floor. ‘Aya, I am sorry,’ he uttered at last. ‘That was not how it was supposed to be.’
‘But it was wonderful,’ she said, and there was enough wonder evident in her voice for him to believe her. And yet he knew she had no idea.
‘I did not go slowly enough. I did not give you your pleasure.’ He wiped her stomach with the bottom corner of the sheet.
‘You did give me pleasure,’ she said. ‘It was all pleasure.’
‘You do not understand. I did not do my duty.’
She giggled. ‘My pleasure is your duty?’
‘You have no idea how I can make you feel, Aya,’ Intef said. ‘How I will make you feel!’
‘You have already made me feel so much pleasure,’ she said, but he could hear the yawn in her voice. She reached for her loincloth and he heard her tie it back into place. ‘Gratitude,’ she said. She rolled over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘For showing me the marshes.’
It was as if she had just thanked him for pointing out a good fishing hole. He ran his hands through his hair. No, no, no: this was all wrong. He was not done yet; he had hardly just begun. He reached to pull her atop him, but she was nuzzling herself inside the crook of his arm and in moments she was asleep.
He spent the next several hours making all sorts of vows. He would correct this injustice and soon. He would give her pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced. He would show her the moon, then give her the stars on a platter.
So consumed he was with this new purpose that he did not even notice himself falling asleep.
The next time he opened his eyes, the chamber was filled with light.
Morning. He should have been glad for it, but he only wished it would go away. He had wrapped his arms around Aya in the night and her backside was pressing into his hips. Somehow their legs had become entangled. He could not decide which limb belonged to whom—and he did not want to decide. Not ever.
He needed to visit the latrine, but he ignored the urge. He squeezed her closer. He needed another night—that was his first thought. His second thought was that he needed many other nights. His third thought was that the gods were cruel and that the moment he left her side it would all be over.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair. It was a mix of dust and hibiscus oil and her own special musk. He felt certain that he had never smelled anything quite so appealing.
He wanted to taste her, so he lifted her hair and placed his lips at the base of her neck. Pulling away, he noticed her tattoo. The mark was quite small—a circle no bigger than his thumb and, inside the small circle, a triangle.
He kissed the tattoo, for it was the last time he was going to ever think about it again. She was the heir to the Horus throne, but nobody would ever know, for he would tell no one.
He had finally decided: he would not give her up. He would complete his mission for General Setnakht and hope it would be enough to prevent war. But Aya’s life was her own, just as her own mother said it was, and she deserved to live it. He had no right to stop her.
Carefully, he disentangled himself from her and padded into the smaller unfinished chamber to use the latrine. He had grown so accustomed to the dark over the course of their entombment that it no longer felt like the dark at all to him, but instead a kind of alternate world.
It was the place of fragrant lavender and bittersweet beer and Aya’s soft voice in the air. It was the strange abode in which he had chiselled through walls and touched invisible limbs and discovered the deepest pleasure he had ever known.
The darkness was beautiful, but it was not without its dangers. He had lost himself so thoroughly in it the night before that he had somehow left Aya behind. It was a regret he feared would haunt him the rest of his life.
There was no more time for thinking about such things, however. Intef’s fellow tomb raiders could arrive as soon as that night and Intef needed to get Aya out of the tomb before they did.
As soon as the sun set he would escort her to Tausret’s mortuary temple and then return to the tomb to meet his brothers and complete the mission. He could not allow her to witness the devastation that was about to ensue.
He was standing beside his fellow tomb raiders inside General Setnakht’s war tent. It was the eve of Intef’s entombment and the four had come to receive their final orders.
The General was distracted, however. He paced about the tent, lecturing his officers and shouting curses at the flies. At the corner of the tent, his son Rameses was puzzling over a large papyrus.
‘I believe the High Priest will assemble his army here where the land is flat,’ Rameses said, pointing at the papyrus. ‘Thus he will be able to utilise his advantage of numbers.’
General Setnakht cringed. ‘We will have no chance against him—not without mercenaries.’ The General stepped before Intef. ‘We need Tausret’s gold, you understand, Beetle?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Intef, keeping his eyes on the floor.
General Setnakht turned to Intef’s erstwhile partner at arms—the ill-mannered Theban called Ranofer. ‘You are certainly well made,’ observed Setnakht. ‘With those arms, you should be able to extract at least four bags of gold.’
‘When I am done with that tomb, my lord will be able to purchase the entire army of Kush!’ shouted Ranofer.
Setnakht regarded the other two tomb raiders, a pair of lovers named Den and Huni. ‘You two men are also quite well fed,’ he observed, then turned to his son. ‘Rameses, remind me why we selected such brutes?’
‘The nested coffins, Father,’ replied Rameses, still studying the map.
‘Nested coffins?’
‘Inside the sarcophagus. The men must be able to lift the lids to reach the golden mask.’
‘Ah, yes, the death mask,’ said Setnakht. He began pacing the room once again. ‘I want you to take that cursed mask and everything else of value that you can, do you hear me, soldiers?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ the men said in unison.
‘Every precious jewel and golden dagger, every silver goblet and electrum-encrusted plate. The more you take, the greater your rewards.’
Abandoning his map, Rameses crossed the tent and stood before them. ‘You will bring back fantastic riches, we will win this war and my father will be Pharaoh.’ And I will be Pharaoh after him, he seemed to say.
‘And we shall erase the name Tausret wherever it appears,’ added Setnakht. ‘On every King’s list and on every temple wall. Even inside her splendid tomb!’
Intef stepped from the unfinished chamber back into the corridor. Enough light was reaching the entryway for Intef to discern the colourful paintings adorning the walls and he caught sight of Tausret’s humble cartouche.
It was not surprising that General Setnakht planned to erase Tausret’s name. Egypt’s Pharaohs had been erasing one another’s names and images for thousands of years. What surprised Intef was the anger that sparked inside him at the thought.
She does not deserve it.
When you erased a person’s name, you erased part of their spirit and, without all its parts, the spirit could not go on.
He no longer believed Pharaoh Tausret deserved such a fate. How thoroughly he had misjudged the woman who had sacrificed herself for the good of Egypt. It scared him to think of how credulous he had been of the news he had received all these years. Erroneous news, as it turned out. Lies. He had given over his life to the southern rebellion and now wondered how much of it was based on things that simply were not true.
He realised all at once that this would be his last mission. He could not go on fighting for any more causes if he could not trust that the reasons for them were true. The only thing he seemed to have any faith in any more was Aya herself.