Warrior King

By Jennifer Brassel

When kings were gods and power was absolute, treachery hides behind every door and in the hearts of those who should be allies. 

Pharaoh Tuthmosis secretly seeks solace in the arms of Alia, a young slave, but spies lurk everywhere and she becomes a pawn in the struggle to usurp the throne.

Pharaoh's one small act of compassion has repercussions that takes years to unfold and threatens not only Pharaoh's sons and daughters but the kingdom itself.

Can Tuthmosis find a way to protect those he holds dear? Can he maintain ma'at, the order and balance so vital to Egypt's future or will the rebels finally overthrow Pharaoh and destroy Egypt once and for all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Brassel
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223277477

Jennifer Brassel

Jenny Brassel is passionate about a lot of things: history, mythology and romance to name but a few, and writing allows her imagination to run riot. Creative to the bone, when Jennifer isn’t writing she can be seen with a paintbrush in hand. History, especially ancient history, is her most fervent passion and recently she has spread her writing wings to pen the first in a series of historical sagas based around the lives of her favourite pharaohs. They are filled with the epic stories of life in ancient times, warts, brutality and all.  Her work has won a number of major romance writing contests including the Land of Enchantment Romance Writers’  Rebecca; From The Heart Romance Writers’ Wallflower and Missouri Romance Writers of America’s Gateway to the Best. Jenny holds an MA in Creative Writing and teaches courses and workshops for community colleges and writing centres. Jenny hails from Sydney Australia. Married to her high school sweetheart, most of her days are spent staring at her computer screen under the supervision of a very demanding bichon frisé, Cordy.

Book preview

1

Thebes

c. 1458 BCE

The acrid smell of cook fires wafted over the ragtag group of captives as they trudged the last few miles to the city. Alia shivered when she looked toward the forbidding gates of the great city of Thebes. All the stories she’d heard paled against the majesty of the brightly colored stone portal.

Those around her began muttering prayers of deliverance to their favored gods as the uncertainty of their fate loomed ever closer. Alia did not believe her captors would have wasted their time or food on marching them all to Thebes merely to kill them upon arrival. No. She, and those around her, were destined for servitude – of that she was certain.

As they drew nearer, some of her assuredness wavered. Crowds began to line the processional walk. Jeering crowds. And though she did not understand all of their talk, some words and gestures needed no translation.

Whore! Whoreson! Children of Apophis!

As captives, they were branded devil’s spawn, to be treated with utter disdain by all the citizens of Thebes.

The stench of sweat and dust and death again rushed to meet her as the level of fear rose. Panic swelled cold in her breast.

Rotting fruit began to fly at them. A little at first, but as they stumbled onward, apples and dates rained down in clumps. Though she tried to evade them, pieces slapped her bare skin like burning brands. Soft, hot pulp squelched between her blistered and bleeeding toes, stinging like ants.

No! Alia wanted to fall to the ground and curl into a ball, but the tether dragged her onward. Her breath came in short gasps, and her heart thundered in her chest.

Angry curses grated upon her ears like the cries of wild dogs when they feasted upon carrion. She shuddered as the nearest man spat, barely missing her face. Loathing reached out from the crowd so palpably that she hunched lower in an attempt to become a smaller target.

Better if I’d perished on the battle plain.

But she had been born a princess, and no matter how much these heathen Egyptians hated her, she would maintain her dignity. Even unto death.

Licking her cracked lips, she ignored the wave of agony that seared them, stiffening her back as she limped under the shadow of the great portal. With the cessation of the sunlight came a moment of utter cold that speared straight to her heart.

None of the stories had prepared her for the size of the city she entered. It rose out of the desert like some giant monster that would devour everything in its path. From miles away she had seen it, and now, as she passed inside its yawning mouth, foreboding clutched at her insides and twisted until she feared she’d vomit what little she had eaten at the rise of the sun.

She groaned, swallowing down another empty heave.

As the cacophony of abuse continued, she began to pray along with her countrymen. Until now she’d been spared the rapes and beatings some of her fellow captives had endured. But when she looked into the angry faces of the rabid mob, icy fingers of fear gripped her vitals, and she realized that the line of soldiers flanking them were their only protection from the jostling crowd.

A horn sounded above the noise, and suddenly the multitude fell silent. The soldiers halted. Their faces lifted in the direction of a gateway ahead, and as she followed their gazes she saw a leonine man, bathed in gold, standing atop a chariot shining so brightly, it dazzled her.

Pharaoh.

The sound of the breeze as it whistled faintly through the narrow alleyways became an eerie herald. After a long moment Pharaoh gestured to the man beside him, and into the silence the lead soldier called an order. The procession lurched forward once again.

A sharp shove came from behind, and when she took a faltering step her blistered foot screamed in agony. Choking back a sob, she concentrated on the body in front of her, matching his pace with sheer effort of will, even as she felt the blood trickling over her toes.

As the procession neared the gilded chariot, Alia stole a fleeting glance upward at the famed god who was Pharaoh. For a split second her eyes connected with those of the great lion, and in that instant she knew what was meant by the word power. Her father had thought he commanded it, but he’d been mistaken. This Pharaoh embodied it. It spread outward from him in waves, and she quickly looked away. An overwhelming sense of awe ripped the air from her lungs.

Pharaoh’s House, Thebes

A season later...

The warm water lapped gently at Alia’s tired limbs. Herb-scented steam wafted about her, lulling her into closing her eyes. Oh, how she relished this indulgence.

What are you doing in the baths, slave?

Alia opened her eyes and groaned beneath her breath as the chief concubine’s hard face glared at her with disdain. The horrid woman had hated Alia from the moment she had entered Pharaoh’s household, and Alia was at a loss to comprehend why. Some said Sitiah had been Pharaoh’s favorite and had commanded much power until around the time Alia arrived in Thebes — even more than Pharaoh’s great wife, though Alia doubted the stories were true. Still, the chief concubine had lost status in recent times and seemed to want to blame Alia for it. Alia didn’t understand the connection — she had barely glimpsed Pharaoh, much less done anything that could place Sitiah in disfavor.

I have permission, exalted Lady, Alia said in her meekest voice. Vizier Rekhmire instructed the steward that I must be scented and clean to serve at Pharaoh’s table this moonrise. Pharaoh dines with ambassadors from my country and commands that I listen and interpret their words.

So please go away and leave me alone!

Sitiah harrumphed loudly. Well, daughter of infidels, just be sure you do not foul our waters with your heathen body fluids, otherwise you will receive the beating all your race deserves.

Alia didn’t reply, although it struck her as odd that the chief concubine would call her heathen when she herself hailed from the land of the Canaanites.

Once Sitiah left the bathing chamber, Alia again allowed her lids to close, and she breathed deeply of the perfumed steam. Had Pharaoh not defeated her father’s army, Alia would now be a queen among her people. But Pharaoh showed no mercy in his greatness as warrior, and her father, indeed probably all her male relatives, long since lay as headless carrion on the plains near Megiddo. Alia herself had been taken as a slave — part of the spoils of war. Luck had been with her, though; instead of being leashed and beaten or raped as most slaves were, she’d been separated with the few others of noble blood to become servants to the royal household. As a political prisoner — a hostage, she could be manipulated for Pharaoh’s domination of his growing empire. Loosely tethered and well-guarded, she was left to her own devices.

In truth, for the most part, Alia’s life was better now than it had ever been. A royal daughter to a minor king, she’d been closeted away from men’s eyes and had remained a virtual prisoner all her life. During those years she’d heard the wild stories from her father’s slaves of strange places across the desert and dreamed of one day exploring that world, somehow escaping the confines of her birth status. And, by being part of her father’s entourage at the war in Megiddo, when all the Retennu princes and kings had banded together against the young Egyptian, she’d unwittingly been granted her freedom, despite becoming a captive.

Her mother would have thought it an amusing irony.

Yet, for all her happiness at being wrenched from her old life, she did miss her sisters and aunts. And this Pharaoh, whom she’d seen only fleetingly, frightened her. Their eyes had clashed on one occasion, and in that moment she witnessed an emotion so foreign it chilled her. For a split second, his tawny eyes bared her soul to leave her shivering in terror.

An echoing quiver raced up her spine, even as she remembered.

This man-god, who wielded such power, held her destiny in the palm of his hand — one wrong word, one wrong gesture, and he could crush her until she became nothing but sand.

And now he wanted her to serve him at table and translate when he misunderstood her countrymen. Did he not have priests and advisers for this purpose? What if she made a mistake or misheard? What would be her fate then?

Fear warred with her curiosity. The whispers she’d heard said Pharaoh was fair in his dealings with all his people, whether woman or slave or fellow king. Some of Sitiah’s women had told her that he was knowledgeable about the world and though a great warrior, was reputed to be honorable, unlike their dreaded mistress. Alia had known only one other king, her father, and he seemed ruthlessly cruel. But wasn’t that expected in a king? Her mother always said so.

Still, serving Pharaoh’s table would be a change from dining among women and eunuchs all the time. And, perhaps, if she caught the eye of one of her countrymen, he might offer ransom for her, and she could remove herself from the chief concubine’s constant and unpleasant scrutiny.

*

Vizier Rekhmire paced back and forth in the anteroom as he awaited his king. It had been his idea to use the girl, and though Pharaoh had questioned the value of it, he finally acquiesced once Rekhmire explained his reasoning. A number of ambassadors from the newly conquered territories sought an audience in the coming weeks, and at least one of these men was at the center of the plot to assassinate Pharaoh. His spies had managed to learn that much. But which ambassador posed the threat remained a mystery. For all Rekhmire knew, it could be all of them — they had banded together once already in the ill-fated battle only a season before.

Ah, Rekhmire, is all in readiness?

Rekhmire kept his features stern as he nodded. He knew he was one of the few men in all Egypt who had earned Pharaoh’s absolute trust, and he would do anything necessary to ensure his lord’s safety and good health.

Yes, Majesty. Over the next cycle of the moon we shall entertain the petitions of these conquered ambassadors. With luck, we might also unmask the rebels and remove whatever threat they pose.

And the girl — is she ready? Pharaoh asked, a frown creasing the smooth brow beneath his khat and uraeus.

I believe so. If she is part of the plot we shall know soon enough. If not, and she doesn’t play false, we can perhaps use her to our own purpose.

Pharaoh’s frown deepened. The girl appears an innocent, Rekhmire. Innocents make poor pawns.

True, Majesty; however, if this girl is involved, if she shows even the slightest recognition of any of these ambassadors ... He did not need to finish; they had discussed the matter at length over recent days.

Pharaoh crossed the small room and peeked through the gauze screen that separated the anteroom from the audience hall. The girl stood behind the vacant ambassador’s chair as a steward instructed her. She appeared sweet-looking. Somehow he couldn’t believe she would play false. He had questioned the spy priest who kept watch on his chief concubine and her household. From what the priest said, the girl’s life in Sitiah’s house was not a happy one. Rekhmire had twice talked him out of removing her from Sitiah’s influence with the argument that of all his women, Sitiah was the least vulnerable to any murder plot since she’d proved barren. And until they knew for a certainty that the girl wasn’t an infiltrator who’d deliberately allowed herself to become captured, it was better that she remain in Sitiah’s household.

As he watched her, she glanced up and again he marveled at the strangeness of her eyes. He’d first seen them when she’d entered the gates of Thebes. He remembered the sudden surge of desire that had raced through his gut, the same sensation that flowed through him, unbidden, now.

Today the paleness of her eyes almost seemed to glow in contrast with the darker green of the cosmetics on her lids. She concentrated keenly on the steward’s words, and Pharaoh found himself quite captivated with her face. In that moment he made the decision ­— if she came through this night’s test, he would reward her.

*

Pharaoh’s table, far more formal than Alia had experienced the few times she’d dined in her father’s tents, astounded her with its grandeur. The exotic smells rising from the platters made her mouth water and her stomach writhe. Never had she seen such strange foods, and she marveled at the way each dish had been placed to form intricate and colorful designs upon the long low tables.

Servants stood behind every chair, and Pharaoh himself sat on a high-backed, raised golden chair, spaced slightly away and above the rest of the diplomats and priests. Pharaoh’s food was tasted and served to him by the priests of Amun.

Even though her belly churned, Alia remained perfectly still behind the diplomat from Kadesh. She had been stationed there since she spoke the Kadeshi tongue fluently, and unlike Pharaoh’s official translator, she was expected to understand the little nuances and colloquialisms that the diplomats were so fond of uttering beneath their tightly plaited mustaches. The chief table priest told her she must listen and relate every single whisper, and that, because she would appear an insignificant female servant, she’d be able to hear speech inaudible to everyone else at the table.

In other words, she was to spy on her kinsmen. Yet, even as she held that thought, Alia realized she harbored no fondness for any of the people seated at the table. She recognized none personally, and several only by reputation. The fierceness of the Kadeshi faces made her shrink back and hide from their curious glances. The man she was stationed to serve had hard, bitter eyes, and licked his lips lasciviously whenever her near-naked breasts came into his line of vision. Every time he looked her way, a chilled wave shuddered through her to leave her feeling unclean.

Why was I not permitted to wear my own garments!

In her home country, the clothing she now wore would mark her as a whore. But here in the land of the Great River it was customary for servants to be almost unclothed. She supposed she should be thankful the chief steward had allowed the gauze overshift. It might be transparent, but at least she didn’t feel completely exposed. The steward also demanded that she kohl her eyes and paint her cheeks and lips with red clay powder. Yet, despite the painted face and strange clothing, she knew the ambassadors had noticed she wasn’t a native of Kmt, and one man in particular, an older man with a grizzled face and bushy brows, stared openly at her. She could see by his peculiar expression that he had noted her familial heritage in her distinctive green eyes. He nodded once and gave her a sickly smile that made her cringe. All thought of being ransomed fled her mind — if this man sought her, she’d surely hide!

During the meal and the conversation that followed, Alia noticed many things. For one, her countrymen were sly. She understood slyness was fostered among her people as a respected trait, especially in diplomatic circles. But as she stood and listened to the attempted machinations of these ambassadors, it all just sounded unsavory and petty.

Her mother used to laugh at the men and their politicking. It makes them feel grander than they are, she’d comment with a wave of dismissal, and men like nothing more than to feel grand.

Alia had known from the time she was old enough to understand that she’d assume the role of political tool when the need arose. When she’d been schooled for marriage, the elderly women who had tutored her on behavior impressed upon her that her feelings meant nothing — she would become wife to a rival king, or perhaps to seal a treaty. But Pharaoh’s defeat of the consortium of princes had put an end to that. Recalling the aftermath of battle on the plains near Megiddo made her stomach quiver with revulsion. The stench of blood ... the cries of the wounded as they begged for the mercy of death; the collecting of the hands of the dead, and near dead, as the victors measured their triumph.

Gods preserve me from ever again witnessing such carnage.

Still, her mother and tutors had taught her well. The sly ambassadors were not aware of her tumultuous feelings or that she listened so intently. Her face remained a neutral mask that never revealed any comprehension of the ambassadors’ words or gestures — all of which sounded more significant than perhaps even Pharaoh suspected.

We seek to ransom some of the hostages if mighty Pharaoh finds that favorable, stated one of the elder tribesmen from a northern province beyond the great salt sea.

Which of my servants would you redeem? Pharaoh asked, appearing disinterested as he plucked a date from the bowl before him.

Alia had to hold herself completely rigid when she heard her own family named among those listed. However, her mother would have been proud — she moved not an eyelid, even as her heart raced beneath her breast. When the older man slid his glance toward her and smiled in that smug way of men who anticipated a night of debauchery with an untried young girl, her flesh prickled across her back. She had to count slowly to calm herself as a heated wave shot through her. At that moment her decision was truly made; if she had to withstand the humiliation of remaining under the wretched eye of Pharaoh’s chief concubine and even if she spent her entire life in servitude, it would be far better than becoming the used and worn-out leavings of the camel-smelling ambassador before her.

When negotiations moved to provincial governors and tithes, she covertly studied the young Pharaoh, Tuthmosis. Unlike her countrymen, his face was smooth and hairless beneath his false beard. His eyes were painted in the usual fashion of the Egyptians and though she'd thought it odd at first, she’d become accustomed to the green-shadowed eyes, the kohl, the oiled skin, and wigs.

Tuthmosis sat straight and tall upon his chair in his full pharaonic regalia, yet he exuded a feline grace in every one of his movements. He said little and showed almost no reaction to most of the ambassadors’ miserly petitions, though Alia could tell he considered their words and gestures with great care.

His golden eyes occasionally measured her as well, and she wondered what he might be thinking. She had to draw on every ounce of her training to remain still and silent in the face of his probing scrutiny. Every time he glanced at her she felt the heat of his innate power flow over her as if his fingertips grazed against her skin. Gooseflesh rose along her arms, and her cheeks warmed as the overwhelming urge to cover her near-naked body took hold of her chest, but she fought it by concentrating on the black insect she could see crawling across the balding head of the ambassador before her. When she again allowed her eyes to roam toward the young king, her breath faltered as he bestowed the gentlest of half-smiles upon her.

The ambassadors, so involved in their own grievances, did not appear to notice that Pharaoh no longer gave them his full attention.

The discussion returned to the barter of political hostages, and Alia couldn’t help but throw a pleading glance to Pharaoh when her family name was again mentioned.

Please — do not give me to these men!

An imperceptible lowering of Pharaoh’s eyelids told her the silent plea had been heard. What she’d have to sacrifice in payment, she didn’t know, but at the moment this young Pharaoh promised more to her than any other man seated in the room, and something warm in Pharaoh’s golden eyes assured her that her decision, and his, would not bring her harm.

When the ambassadors withdrew, they appeared far from happy. Deliberately, Pharaoh had thwarted all the ambassadors’ arguments and petitions, and what gold or lapis they offered in ransom fell far short of Pharaoh’s demands. They’d only managed to secure the release of one of the hostages they sought, a boy called Anen, the minor son of a petty prince from Kadesh who could not pose Pharaoh’s armies much threat — he was only eleven harvests in age and very sickly.

Alia marveled at Pharaoh’s shrewdness in his dealings with the ambassadors, who, in their own kingdoms, were princes among men. Careful not to offend, Pharaoh made certain these men were aware of their lowered stature.

Only time and strict adherence to truces or treaties will bring about the return of more of the noble hostages, Pharaoh stated as he signaled an end to the meeting.

Of the other hostaged family names and titles mentioned, Alia had sighted none since entering the palace at Thebes. Whether she’d been kept separate for a particular reason, she didn’t know. She was well aware that her father wasn’t highly ranked among the princes who’d been defeated, so any special treatment was not owing to her heritage. Perhaps Pharaoh scattered the hostages throughout his kingdom so they could not band together and rebel. Her father would have done such if he’d kept hostages, but her father had been a very cruel man and rarely allowed any of his enemies’ kin to remain alive.

Once the foreign ambassadors had taken their leave, Pharaoh motioned for his chief steward to begin clearing the remains of the meal. He kept the finely wrought wine cup but waved all other offerings away.

The priest of Amun who’d commissioned her presence swept over to Alia and in his crude tongue demanded her attendance upon Pharaoh. Her heart hammered. Do I dare tell him all that was said by those pompous ambassadors?

As she approached the royal chair, she noted Pharaoh’s skin glistened from the oil that covered his upper torso. She bent to kneel facedown on the floor below Pharaoh’s feet and waited until the priest ordered her to rise.

The priest, Pharaoh, and Vizier Rekhmire exchanged whispered words before Pharaoh’s eyes came to rest on her face. Her breath caught as his royal gaze pierced hers.

So, Little Flower, did your countrymen speak in lies? As he spoke, he studied her face as if measuring her. Be sure you tell the truth before Amun, for his light will not shine upon you and yours in the afterlife if you lead my thoughts astray.

Alia bowed her head in obeisance. Though her gods were not the same as Pharaoh’s, she knew it was not wise to anger any gods — least of all Amun.

Mighty Pharaoh, my countrymen spoke in discomfort, she said in quiet tones as she searched for the correct words. Egypt’s forces have decimated their kingdoms, and few families remain intact, so their under speech carried much resentment and fear. Alia didn’t chance a look at Pharaoh’s face to see if her words angered him.

Pharaoh reached out his hand and gently lifted her chin until his gaze again claimed hers. Do not be afraid of me, Little Flower. The corners of his lips quivered slightly as if he were trying to suppress a smile. One of your countrymen wished to ransom you for his own pleasure — I saw it in his eyes.

She quivered with revulsion then averted her gaze, shamed that her undisguised distaste would show. I think it was the intention of the Prince of Yehem, Mighty Pharaoh, she whispered.

Pharaoh laughed. As your protector, I could not allow it. The man is old and diseased and would have killed you with his harshness. A man such as he carries his brutality like a banner, no matter how he tries to hide behind civilized behavior.

Alia nodded a tentative agreement, but refused to meet Pharaoh’s eyes for fear she’d betray her relief at his understanding.

Do not be sad that you cannot return to your people; they are all but gone and can be no support to you now. I promise you will be happy here among the women of my household. Now, tell me, did the ambassadors speak ill? Do they have secrets I should know?

Drawing a deep breath, Alia discreetly met her new benefactor’s golden gaze. Instead of being full of unbendable strength, she found it to be warm and welcoming, and she wondered whether he practiced this as a means of gaining cooperation from those around him. For all the stories she’d heard about his mighty deeds in battle, his expression seemed almost compassionate.

"Great