The raiders thundered in on powerful horses, causing dust to rise in golden clouds against the dying rays of the sun. I stood at my door, my heart trembling at the awful sight of silhouettes flanking the hill above the city. Thousands of soldiers on horses stood side by side, profiles that looked like men-beasts ready to devour. A shout went up, followed by the din of trumpets and drums. And suddenly, the mass moved forward as one, then severed ranks, one half moving to the east, the other to the west through the streets of Napata. The earth shook, and screams soon followed.

I slammed the door of the home I had once shared with my father who perished fighting the Romans at Primus. Outside, I could hear the sounds of a thousand horses descending, of swords clashing, of men and women being slaughtered. I ran to my room and knelt before the statue of Isis, praying to the goddess for protection. She heeded my prayer, although at the time I did not know it. In the outer room, I heard the ramming against my door, heard the wood give way. I refused to move, deciding to meet my death with defiance. They would not see me cringe nor hear me beg for my life.

On my knees is how he found me, the man I would come to know as Antonius Sergius, centurion in the Roman army led by Petronius, the same Petronius who had waged the campaign in which my father died. The three soldiers entered my room with swords drawn. One drew forth, ready to smite me but the centurion yelled out in his tongue, and the soldier held back, although he looked as though he would run me through if given the slightest chance.

I looked up at the centurion who stood between me and death for the moment. He stared down at me and said in Meroitic, my tongue:

“Don’t be afraid. You will not be harmed.”

I said nothing, not trusting the promise of an invader.

He motioned for me to get up, but I continued to kneel, unsure what to do. One of his men took that as impertinence and grabbed my arm, jerking me up brutally. I closed my eyes at the wrenching pain. A slap resounded and when I opened my eyes the soldier was rubbing his jaw, his face angry. But not as angry as that of the man who had slapped him. The leader said something to the soldier in their tongue, his tone quiet but seething. The rebuked soldier nodded and left, as did his companion.

A second or two passed as we stood there, soldier and captive. I broke the silence.

“What are you going to do with me?” Although my voice was calm, I was trembling inside.

“You will be taken to Rome to serve our great state.”

“Serve? You mean I will be a slave, don’t you?” My shallow breaths hardly allowed me to speak. If he had not held his sword close, I would have grabbed it and run myself through. A slave! I was the daughter of the valiant and great general Nutem, who had fought and shed rivers of Roman blood. He would cry from the heavens to see me shackled and humiliated. I swore to myself right there that given the first chance, I would take my life in the name of Isis and my father, that my enemies would not have the last victory over me.

The soldier stared hard, but not unkindly. “It will be difficult at first…to lose your freedom. I will not lie to you. But I will put in a word for you, Amun, daughter of Nutem so that you are placed in a merciful home where you will be treated well.”

“How…how did you know my name?” Now I was more afraid.

“Your father, even in death, is well known. Petronius called him The Lion, for he was a fierce and courageous warrior. We knew Nutem had two daughters, Amun the elder and Senun the younger, that Senun married and lives in Egypt, while you, Amun, remained with your father in your childhood home. It wasn’t hard to find you.”

“It would be a coup to have Nutem’s daughter as a slave to Rome, particularly for you. So your saving my life was not an act of mercy then?” I asked bitterly.

He did not speak and I had my answer. And from that moment, I knew I was destined to hate him.