The Caravanserai Bride: Ancient Egyptian Romances

By Danielle S. LeBlanc

Kemet (Egypt) 2966 B.C.E.
Alone in the desert without even a pair of sandals to her name, Lunja joins a caravan bound for the largest outpost in the western desert. The best she can hope for is a life of service, while hiding the secret that has haunted her family for generations. When a handsome stranger rescues her at the slave auction, Lunja must choose whether to trust him with a terrible truth, or risk discovery, thereby losing the man she's grown to love.

Senna is heart-broken when the woman he loves chooses another. To win her back, he resolves to prove he can be a responsible husband. How better to do that, then by marrying someone else? When he wakes after a night of revelry to find a strange young woman in his kitchen, Senna must choose whether to ignore his conscience and cast her out, or keep her and risk forever losing the woman he wants to win back.

Follow Lunja and Senna as they chance exile and loss to find themselves - and love - in a desert caravanserai.
***
Each novel in the series is a stand-alone, and can be read on its own.

Books in the Ancient Egyptian Romances series:
1. In the Court of Kemet
2. In the Temple of Mehyt

2a. The Anubis Mask

2b. In the House of Iput
3. The Draughtsman's Daughter
4. Lady of the Caravan
4a. The Caravanserai Bride

• Language: English
• Publisher: La Venta West
• Release date: Aug 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9780994975164

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LA VENTA WEST, INC., 2017

Copyright © 2017 by Danielle S. LeBlanc

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in Canada by La Venta West, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Attributions for cover art

This cover is a compilation of public domain images, purchased images, and modifications of the following:

The Goddess Hathor - Jeff Dahl, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

Floral frame - Floral Frame (no attribution required) use GDJ on Pixabay

Eagle – image purchased from DollarPhotoClub by JanStopka

Print ISBN 978-0-9949751-7-1 

eBook ISBN 978-0-9949751-6-4 

For Alex

Acknowledgements

Once again I need to thank the Mad Writers for allowing me to monopolize so much of their time with this novel. Your thoughtful comments and conversation are always appreciated.

Quick Reference for Ancient Egyptian Words

Ari hem-t – to live with a wife

Burnouse ­– a long, wide-sleeved vest worn by North African Berbers over a robe, usually dark and woolen

Hai – to act the part of a husband, husband

Heset – singer

Khen – a caravanserai / marketplace / outpost in the desert. Also a well, pool, or water station

mt-Hnt – concubine

Neb-t per – legally married wife, primary wife of the master of the house, as opposed to a concubine

Sesheshet – also known as a sistrum, a percussion instrument used in Ancient Egypt, like a rattle

Shesh – a type of turban worn by North African Berbers, consisting of a long strip of fabric wrapped about the head and face as protection from the elements

Tayi neb – my lord

Chapter 1 – On the Auction Block

Lunja surveyed the long line of semi-naked men and women before her and knew that it would be hours before her time on the auction platform. Hours of standing under the blazing heat of the sun, in the thin hope that someone might bid on her. The merchant had said some men obtained wives at the auction here because the desert fortress of the Dakhla Oasis contained more men than women, but Lunja knew there was no chance of attracting a husband with her appearance alone. The merchant must have thought so, too, since he’d placed her near the end of the line.

The most beautiful women went to auction first, to be bought as wives or concubines. Then came the fittest men – labourers and skilled workmen. Last in line were general house servants and slaves, such as herself. Though she hoped to be employed as a free servant, rather than purchased as a slave, she had few options and would take any bid made for her. At least she had plenty of experience to offer after all her years of service, and extraordinary as it seemed, for once she’d had a hand in choosing her fate. She’d begged the merchant caravan leader to help her, and she’d chosen to walk all the way here to be auctioned off, as opposed to sitting back in Farafra, waiting for starvation to slowly overtake her. 

Furthermore, now that she was in Dakhla, she was closer than ever to finding her brother. There was a chance he was somewhere nearby, perhaps only two days’ walking distance. If she could find employment and make enough to pay her way for the journey to Kharga, the next oasis, she might learn something of his fate. To think she might see him again, that he might still be alive, pushed her to conquer her anxiety over once again starting out in the service of an unknown – and potentially dangerous – employer. 

Aside from the small auction platform, several stalls occupied the fortress’s village square, offering jewellery, food, furniture, precious stones, and other items brought by caravans from all around the living world to sell here in the busy desert caravanserai. Merchants called out their wares, a boy played a whistle in one corner of the square in exchange for small sacks of grain, and servants clad in the long robes and head wraps of nomads bustled through the square. On the far end before her, a man herded bleating goats out past the gates of the khen – the desert market fortress. Behind her, the mud-brick huts of the village clustered together, beyond them swelled the hills with their much larger manor homes. 

Suddenly, something bumped into her from behind with enough force to knock her down. Even as she fell, her hip thumping hard on the ground, she knew well enough to stifle a cry.

Balzar, you’re a jackal’s ass! Look what you made me do, a tall figure swore at another young man, one of several laughing and talking loudly in the midst of the busy square.

What? The other man shrugged. It’s just a slave.

The tall man rolled his eyes, muttering a curse at his friend before looming over her, asking, Are you all right?

Dressed only in a white shenti – a wrap skirt – the man had a leanly muscled torso, nut brown in colour. His head was swathed in finely spun white linen, a strip of which looped below his chin in the typical fashion of a nomad. He had lovely, slightly slanted kohl-rimmed eyes, with long lashes sweeping high cheekbones. He looked to be somewhere in his early twenties, perhaps just a few years older than herself.

Here, let me help you. He extended his hand, palm up. I’m sorry. My friend pushed me and I tripped. I’m not normally such a clumsy donkey.

On instinct, Lunja hid her left hand inside the sleeve of her robe and placed her right in his. His fingers were long and strong, and he easily pulled her up.

"Thank you, tayi neb," my lord, she said, coming to stand in front of him and finding him to be tall indeed. Of course, she was diminutive, so most people outstripped her, but this man was especially towering. But in an oddly non-threatening sort of way.

The man laughed, revealing straight white teeth and twinkling eyes. "Not tayi neb, please. That’s my brother. You can call me Senna. You’re not hurt, are you?"

She shook her head. No, sir. When he gave her a mock frown, she added cautiously, Senna.

That’s better, he grinned, producing dimples on both dark cheeks, and squeezed her hand, still enfolded in his larger one.

You’re not a nobleman, sir? she asked boldly, looking pointedly down at the thick gold cuff encircling his wrist. He appeared to be well fed, and the fine weave of his linen skirt and head wrap – along with the gold cuff – indicated a high degree of wealth. She saw that he even wore sandals strapped to his feet, and she self-consciously rubbed one bare foot over the other. After days of walking across the desert, her feet were a little worse for the wear.

It’s Senna. And no. My brother is the one married to the queen’s cousin. I’m just a falconer, albeit a rather extraordinary one. He winked. 

She blinked at him, confused. Was he joking? He certainly looked like someone who liked to tease and laugh a lot.

Ah, I see, he lifted his eyebrows comically. You are new here and have not heard of my illustrious brother. No matter, then. You have met me on my own terms. 

Senna! One of the young men was calling. Quit flirting with the slaves. You were the one moping this morning, so hurry up and let’s get drunk!

He heaved a grand sigh and released her hand. Well, if you are not hurt, you must excuse me. Somewhere there is quite a lot of beer that needs tending to.

I... thank you? The very fact that he’d stopped to apologize and help her was so anomalous to her experiences that she didn’t know what else to say.

He grinned indulgently, and oh that grin. It compelled her to smile back, even though it hurt her chest because he looked the very epitome of merriment and she was anything but.

And then he was off, one of his friends throwing an arm about his shoulders as they jostled one another, making their way through the mingling crowd. Lunja watched him go, his shenti resting low enough on his lean hips to reveal dual dimples in his back, just above the curve of his buttocks and the edge of his shenti. As if the dimples on his cheeks weren’t enough to illustrate his good humour. He walked like a man who had little to fear. She wished he would turn around once more, so that she might draw some cheer from his infectious smile.

Out of habit, she kneaded her left hand through the fabric of her robe. The scars didn’t hurt any longer, they hadn’t for years, but she could still feel them. Or rather, she could feel them with her right hand. Where the scars laced over the last two fingers and along the side of her left hand she had no feeling at all. A good reminder that there was no sense in hoping someone like Senna, the extraordinary falconer, might wish to acquire her as a wife today. Even if she were pretty, and she was too small and too skinny to qualify as such, her skin the pale greyish-beige of sand instead of a warm brown, she possessed a secret that had not only mutilated her body, but also her mind. 

She prayed she wouldn’t get nervous and end up having one of her episodes on the auction block. If she didn’t find employment today, the merchant warned her he’d have no choice but to leave her here, and then she, in turn, would have little choice but to sell more than just her labour.

SENNA SQUINTED ACROSS the tavern, trying to straighten his vision to find the tavern girl, hoping to order another drink. It didn’t help that the spacious tavern was windowless, lit only by flax wicks burning in bowls of oil, and that the screens separating the seating areas – large cushions arranged in clumps – obstructed his vision.

Although the Dakhla Oasis fortress was the largest village this side of the western desert, it was not nearly as large as most of the cities along the great river to the east. However, for the nomads that circulated the oasis throughout the year and the merchant caravans that traversed the region, it was the primary spot to buy and sell goods. Therefore, the handful of taverns in the outpost saw plenty of business, especially on an auction day like today, when travellers came from all around the desert to buy and sell goods, and sometimes people.

Or perhaps, Senna thought, it was no longer auction day. He hadn’t looked outside for what felt like hours, and the several mugs of beer he’d consumed did little to aid his sense of time.

Balzar, a stocky fellow with a thick head of black hair and green-tinged brown eyes that some women apparently found intriguing, elbowed him and jerked his head towards the tavern girl who Senna had just spotted across the room. Why don’t you see if she’s got a back room, eh?

Turning his head with calculated slowness to Balzar – sudden movements were wont to cause wooziness after so much beer – Senna said, You know damned well she doesn’t. This isn’t that sort of place. None of the taverns in Dakhla are.

More’s the pity though, eh? Balzar elbowed him again, grinning. But here’s a thought! Why aren’t we outside the city walls where the ladies wait for the lonely merchants and we could find ourselves a girl or two? That ought to help you get over what’s-her-face. Taklit? Tafsoot?

Takfa, their friend Idir supplied. Like Senna, Idir was tall, lean, and dark. Unlike Senna, he tended to be the voice of reason. Which could be good or bad, depending on what one wanted to do at the time.

Right now, Senna wasn’t sure what he wanted. So he said in a voice that may have slurred just a little, "I can’t just go find another woman. That’s the problem. Takfa thinks I’m not serious enough. She thinks I’m not resh-responshible. She doesn’t trust me to settle down. I’ve never even given her reason to think I might be unfaithful. I just happen to be a nice fellow and women happen to like that about me." Senna held his palms up, the very picture of innocence.

Yes, yes, Balzar flapped a hand, and she told you last night she’s going to marry someone else. We’ve heard it all, man. All. Day. Long. So she doesn’t want you anymore, he shrugged one wide shoulder. Well you ought to forget her, then, and find another. And why wouldn’t you? Balzar slapped Senna on the back, jolting him forward and causing the last few drops of beer in his mug to slop over the edge. You’re the brother of the damned commander of the Dakhla Oasis outpost. Your sister-in-law is descended from pharaohs. You, sir, are a powerful man.

And a damned fine falconer, Senna grinned, puffing out his chest, then faltered, Except Takfa never liked my birds. Hated it when I talked about them. Never wanted to come out to see me fly them. He craned his neck from side to side, trying to catch the eye of the tavern girl, who seemed to be evading him on purpose.

Idir said, "That is rather important. It’s how you earn your living, after all."

Senna shook his head, "And what I love to do. She wanted me to give it up, you know? She wanted me to prove that I could stay at home with her if we got married. And why would I sit at home all the time, anyway? Where’s the fun in that? I mean the nights would certainly be fun..." he trailed off wistfully.

Tall and long-legged, Takfa possessed the sort of face that made men stop and look. If it happened that she was somewhat less-than-lovely when she was angry, her nose scrunching in a way that made her nostrils flare and her eyes squint, she made up for it with two of the most beautiful breasts Senna had ever seen. Perfectly sized, they spilled nicely out of one’s palm, and jiggled when she laughed.

You know, Idir cut into his thoughts, "Takfa might not be entirely wrong. You could be a little more responsible..."

"I am responsible, dammit. I work hard, don’t I?" Senna glared at Idir, although in truth if anyone would know about responsibility, it was his friend. Idir had married young, and brought his wife and two children to the outpost six years ago, at the same time Senna and his family moved in and Senna’s brother became the commander. But then a plague had swept through many of the oases, and Idir had lost his wife and children. The man was widowed before he’d even turned three and twenty.

Unlike Balzar, whose wife had left him two years ago after catching him in bed with her younger sister. 

Idir shrugged. You could try cleaning your place once in a while.

Balzar laughed loudly, and said, That’s true. Your place is filthy. Have you even cleaned it since you moved in? 

Dammit, there went the tavern girl again, still ignoring him.

Eh, Senna? Balzar nudged him. You haven’t, have you? It’s been, what, a year since you moved out of your brother’s house?

More than that, Senna murmured, and Balzar hooted, saying, No wonder your woman was complaining. You keep your bird cages cleaner than your own home.

Senna paused in his attempts to flag down the serving girl to consider this. He conceded, My sister-in-law has been urging me to get a servant. Someone to clean and cook and what-not.

The slave auction is on today, Idir said, putting his mug down and glancing towards the tavern door. If we go now, you might still be able to purchase one. He held up a hand to stop Senna’s protest, and added, Or hire a live-in servant, then. I know how you feel about slaves.

Senna’s mother had been a free servant, not a slave, but that made no difference when the bastard nobleman she worked for took advantage of her. For that reason, Senna had endeavoured for years to ensure others understood his standpoint on servants’ entitlement to personal freedoms. 

Now, an image came to mind of a small, shy face with full lips shaped like a down-turned bow, and wheat-toned skin dotted with tattoos down her cheeks and chin, all encased in a threadbare head scarf. The girl he’d knocked over in the auction line-up earlier that day. She’d appeared young and plain, quiet and unobtrusive. Not at all the sort of girl who might attract him. She might, in fact, be perfect to keep house for him.

And the tavern girl still hadn’t come by with another drink.

So he said resolutely, Let’s do it. Let’s go get me a servant.

Senna jumped swiftly to his feet, or he tried to, at least. He’d been sitting cross-legged for an inordinately long time, and his legs had fallen asleep. When he stood, they behaved like date syrup poured from a jug, thick and slow-moving.

He cursed. Luckily, Idir caught him under his arms and steadied him until he could shake his legs around to get the blood flowing through them.

In the meantime, Balzar slapped him on the shoulder. "I have a better idea! Why not buy a neb-t per – a wife – at the auction? Forget what’s-her-name and procure a woman who will appreciate that you’ve chosen her. Just think, a grateful woman will do all kinds of things to keep you happy, Senna."

What? No! How would that help me win back Takfa?

Balzar snorted. That’s not the point.

Then what is the damned point? Senna was bewildered. Upon standing it seemed that not only were his legs not working, but all sense of balance had left his head and dropped to somewhere about his knees, which were still a little unsteady.

Idir was helping him towards the door now, and as they broke out into the near-twilight, Senna welcomed the fresh, late afternoon air. It appeared they had been in the tavern a very long time.

The point, Balzar was still talking, "is that you will prove that woman wrong if you can get yourself a neb-t per the very day after she throws you out like the contents of a dirty bedpan. The prettier the woman, the better, too, I say." 

"What do you say, Idir? Should I get myself a neb-t per?" Senna had managed to stand on his own now, unassisted. If he stayed in motion, he might be all right. It was when he stopped moving that the world began to revolve about his head. The world with all its noisy merchants, and smelly goats, and running children and people walking by who waved hellos to him, perhaps with amusement in their expressions. He was, after all, well known about the outpost. And then there were the mud-brick huts, wavering and casting long shadows across the lane as the sun sloped low in the sky beyond the desert. Looming behind them were the high mounds of hard-packed sand topped by manor homes. Of which his was one.

He wondered how he was to climb up all that way home... perhaps on his hands and knees? He grinned at the image, and how his older brother Menes would chastise him for being a fool, as if he were still the boy Menes had raised after both their parents passed away.

It was a good thing Menes was away for a few days. Otherwise he’d probably be chastising Senna already. And his sister-in-law would coo over his broken heart and pat his hand and offer him tea and sweet buns. Just like she did the last time. Senna sighed. Like Idir’s level-headedness, sometimes being cooed over was both good and bad. A grown man ought to reject such treatment as reserved for children with scraped knees and such, but what sane man could reject tea and sweet cakes and the undivided attention of a pretty woman?

Idir circled an arm about his shoulders, and said, Why don’t we go to the auction and see what is available? They may be done for the day, and then you’ll have to wait until next month.

Excellent plan, my good friend. Senna stumbled just a little into Idir, who, he discovered, was not so solid on his feet, either.

Along the way to the auction, they re-connected with Amzeen and Udad, friends who had accompanied them earlier, but left in pursuit of food and an errand for Amzeen’s wife.

Senna hailed them like long-lost friends he hadn’t seen in a decade or more, while Balzar cheered that it was finally a party again. Where have you two been? Senna scolded them. You’ve left me in my time of need, you know.

An average-sized man with thick black hair and a hawk-ish nose, Amzeen laughed, and said, "If this were the first time you’d been in such need, I would have stayed, as I did way back then, you’ll recall. But this is not your first heartbreak, is it? Not even the first one this year. But look, he held out a small jug, we brought you some of my grandfather’s best liquor."

From the way Amzeen and Udad were grinning, their shoulders bumping each other as they swayed slightly, Senna judged they’d already been dipping into the sweet, mystery concoction Amzeen’s grandfather brewed in his kitchen. Or perhaps he was the one swaying and bumping shoulders.

He took the bottle from Amzeen, swallowing a hefty swig. It is the first heartbreak this year, I’ll thank you to remember. Lalla married Yuba sometime last year. He waved a hand, dismissing the memory of another lovely-breasted woman. In the case of Lalla, however, it was Senna who had broken things off, though the loss of those breasts had been devastating. 

Where are we going, fellows? Udad asked, hopping from foot to foot. He was a short, wiry man, with an abundance of energy. So much so that his first wife had found it tiresome. His second wife, however, was much better suited to him, and seemed more than capable of keeping up with him and their three children.

Balzar took the liquor jug from Senna and toasted it into the air. "We’re going to the auction to buy Senna a neb-t per! So he can get over what’s-her-name."

Servant, Senna corrected, to prove I’m resh-responshible. But the other men were hooting and cheering and linking their arms in his to carry him along. Idir was shaking his head, but he followed nonetheless. People fell to either side of the lane as the group of laughing men stumbled by. Senna thought he caught some amused glances, mingled with some annoyed ones. No doubt his brother would hear of this when he returned, and scold him. The thought made him smile.

Along the way, his fellows joked about the auction, Udad and Amzeen strongly advocating for marriage. Both were happy with their state, and agreed it would be an excellent way to get over Takfa. Senna gulped down the bottle of sweet liquor, and his own protests seemed to make less sense. Why not get a wife? He could settle a sum on her, and if they didn’t suit she would leave a much wealthier woman for it. But if the marriage was a success and he and the woman were both happy, wouldn’t it prove to Takfa that he was responsible? Then she would have to admit he was right and take him back.

Idir told him that his logic was faulty, but it made perfect sense to him.

You don’t know how to have fun anymore, Idir, he tried to slap his friend on the chest, but missed, skimming his shoulder instead.

Ignoring that comment, Idir cautioned, Your brother will not be happy if you marry some unknown woman from the auction.

Pffft, Senna blew wetly through his lips.

When the men reached the auction they were in luck. There were still a few women left. A woman with an infant slung about her chest, on offer as a wet nurse, an older woman up for sale as a housekeeper and nanny of sorts, a rotund woman with professed cooking skills, and the small young woman he’d knocked over thanks to Balzar. Few people remained in the square, being that it was dinnertime and the light had begun to fade in the sky. The arrival of five raucous young men did not go unnoticed. Particularly when two or three of them began to chant, "Neb-t per, Neb-t per, Neb-t per," in less-than-quiet tones.

Senna waited until the tattooed girl mounted the auction block, and then he stepped forward.

LUNJA HAD NEVER BEEN in a village before, and spent the day observing the operations of the fortress. There was little else to do, aside from speaking with those others up for sale. The oasis outpost appeared full of healthy, well-fed people, many of whom seemed to know one another, smiling and greeting others as they passed along the lanes that bordered the square, or stopping to chat with the merchants at the stalls. She had little experience with the sort of mud-brick huts that populated the outpost, having lived all her life in tents, travelling around various desert oases. But these huts had a cheerful presence, promising warmth at night and protection from the wind and bands of raiders of the sort who had kidnapped her brother years ago. She saw people sitting on the rooftops in the heat of the day, sharing a midday meal beneath umbrellas made of palm leaves, and cooling themselves with feathered fans. 

It seemed like a lovely place to live. That is, if one were not on a quest to find their missing brother, or did not have an awful secret to keep.