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well.
    Oddly enough, the most difficult part of the evening was when she watched him undress for the night.
    He was a well-formed and firmly muscled man as well as a handsome one with his fine, aristocratic features and slightly full mouth. As was the habit with these folk, his beard was neatly and closely trimmed and she found she preferred that to the untamed tangles of those of the north, while his thick, wavy hair streamed over strong shoulders. The muscles of his chest and belly were taut, conditioned by time and labor.
    She wasn’t immune to the attractions of a handsome, well-built man.
    Each night she watched and listened. Each day she marched, her own skin browning where it was exposed by the coarse shift. After a time the slave-master gave up beating her as she showed so little effect. He didn’t know the days she’d been dizzy with it, sick, the days she’d drunk the natron-laced water they showered over her to slake her thirst before taking her to Khai.
    She couldn’t mistake the growing excitement among the troops, the quickening of their step, or the growing numbers of the scattering of villages they passed. She knew the feeling from her companions of old if she hadn’t known it herself. These folk were near to home. This night perhaps might be her last night among them.
    Soon they would reach a city, with its markets.
    A cool rush of fear went through her. She’d seen slave markets and knew what awaited. It was useless to fight, to be apprehensive, but she was.
    That was for the morrow. She put it aside.
    As they had each night, they brought her to Khai’s tent.
    This might be her last night with him, too.
    She listened as his people spoke to him, as he spoke to them. She understood more and more of their speech. She’d learned the methods of address, the forms and words of respect, the difference between the servant’s speech and that of his captains.
    In his own way, Khai had protected her; she understood that. He’d kept her from being ill-used and had resisted using her himself. All the signs had been there, although she hadn’t dared act on them then. On the morrow that protection might very well be gone. Coldness filled her belly at the thought.
    Once more she reminded herself that was for the morrow. She owed him something for this brief period of safety.
    The hour grew late.
     
    Khai was weary. So many preparations had to be made for their return – pay, bivouacs, leave. At last he could dismiss his people, give them some respite from battle. He would be grateful to finally reach Thebes and relieve some of his own tension. Not all of it due to his service.
    From time to time he’d glanced toward the slave, knowing she was there, aware of her in ways that were sometimes maddening, to see that intelligent gaze observing everything. Watching, always watching. She might have been a statue to some foreign goddess, she stood so still. Each time her beauty caught at him and awareness of her body tormented him, but the stillness of her expression held him back. That and respect, the respect of one warrior for another.
    He had neither wife nor family in Thebes, his parents and siblings were far away, but there were ways and other companions. He needed relief. There were the priestesses of the temples of Isis and Hathor to give comfort as well.
    “My Lord Khai,” a soft voice said as if in answer to his thought.
    Startled, he turned to look at her. Her eyes flashed to his in a quick glance.
    The words, the language… Her phrasing was uncertain…tentative…but very nearly correct.
    He was surprised. Although he’d had no doubt there was wit behind those eyes he hadn’t thought she’d learn so quickly.
    As she spoke, Eres kept her eyes lowered respectfully.
    This might be her last chance to be touched…kindly…and she owed him something for his consideration. He hadn’t killed her out of hand nor used her body as was his right.
    She kept her face slightly averted, careful to look at him