“Don’t fret. Your position here is safe. As soon as I’m king, I’ll make you vizier. We’ll finally be able to clean up the council.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to pick someone with more years of experience?”
“More years gathering dust, you mean. I have more trust in you than in any of those honey flies that swarm the palace.”
Fast approaching steps caught their attention. A young servant woman appeared from another corridor and stopped in front of them, short of breath and her cheeks pink from effort.
“Misha!” said Damon, helping her stand upright. “What is it? Why are you running?”
“Her… Her majesty!” she panted, replacing her black braids. “Princess Soromeh! She—she—”
“Ran away?” Damon guessed.
“Yes, sire,” she said, placing a hand over a side cramp. “Her personal guard has already been alerted, the Palace soldiers will relay the message to the city police, and dock security is on the lookout. Her highness mentioned the other day she wanted to go into town. I thought it would be efficient to concentrate our efforts in the neighborhoods near the main palace door.”
She righted herself and replaced her dress, her face still red.
“Forgive me, your highness, Sir Damon. I did not mean to interrupt your conversation.”
“We were just talking about the royal succession, nothing too important,” said Damon with a smile. “Are you feeling better?”
“Slightly. The princess delights in giving me grey hairs before my time.”
“Go get some rest. We’ll bring her back home. Right, your highness?”
“I’ll let you take care of it, since she’ll soon be under your responsibility. You oversee Soromeh, and I’ll oversee the rest of Egypt,” he said, then left.
“I’m pretty sure I lost in that deal, your highness!” shouted Damon after him.
* * *
Soromeh made her way through the noisy crowd of the marketplace. Even though she was dressed in a simple tunic and a veil covered her head and face, she knew she didn’t have much time before the city police spotted her. She walked past the farm animal stalls, the food merchants, and the weavers’ corner to get to the bigger and spacier area of the expensive goods.
She ignored the rare delicacies, art objects, precious jewels, and imported perfumes and went directly to the slave merchants. Misha would be against it, but Misha was sometimes boring, thought Soromeh. Her brother Sethy had a shorter temper with his approaching rule, Damon tended to disappear for hours, and Kamilah only wanted to talk politics. The children that came from the noble class or from the harem only wanted to get into her royal good graces. Soromeh would get a friend by her own means, a companion raised far from the Palace and its fake smiles.
She stopped in the middle of the slave auction and frowned. There were rows of men and women standing under the unforgiving sun, eyes empty. There were many slaves at the Palace, but she had never seen any in that state of undress, evidently hurt and tied together like chattel. One of the stands was filled with young people. She felt sick. The boys were marked with the telltale crisscross marks of a whip. The girls were more exposed than the meat of neighboring stalls. Some of them were still children.
“May I help you, Miss?” asked a merchant with a smile.
“I’m buying them,” muttered Soromeh.
“Ah!” his smile got even bigger. “Which one of these beautiful specimens caught your eye?”
“All of them.”
“Err… I love your enthusiasm, but I must warn you that they’re pricey—”
“I said all of them.”
She got her pouch from the folds of her dress and slammed it the merchant’s hands. His eyes went huge when he saw the contents of it. He lifted his head, about to say something, when Soromeh cut in.
“Is it enough, yes or no? Because I have more.”
She lowered her veil and let her long black hair fall over her shoulders. She undid the numerous gem-covered clasps of her complicated hairdo and removed her earrings, necklaces, and bracelets.
“This is all I have on me. Is it enough?”
The merchant untied the slaves in a hurry, before Soromeh could notice she had paid triple their worth. He barked orders, reminding them that their lives were now dependant on their new mistress’ mercy. Soromeh grew impatient and walked off as soon as the last slave was freed. They followed her in silence, heads bowed.
Her small group caught the eye of everyone in the marketplace, and, soon enough, she was followed by shouted invitations and offers.
“If they keep at it, they’ll be able to spot me from the palace’s windows,” she said through gritted teeth.
She turned to look at her sad following. Some Hittites, a handful of Hebrews, some of unknown origins with the dark skin of the southern people, and others, pale like the ones from north of the great sea.
“You can leave, if you want,” she told them. “I’m giving back their freedom to whoever wants it.”
She got only silence. None of them dared look her in the eye.
“You are free,” she repeated.
One of them, a teenage Hebrew boy, raised his head with hesitation.
“We can’t leave, Mistress,” he said, his voice hoarse. “For us, the streets lead to death.”
“All right,” she said after a moment. “The palace is certainly big enough for all of you.”
She turned back, but before she could even start walking, a voice rang out over the marketplace.
“One more step and I’ll feed you to the sacred leopards!”
The crowd opened, and Damon appeared, followed by a handful of soldiers.
“Oh, curses!” she yelped.
The young Hebrew slave threw himself in front of Soromeh, his arms wide. One of the soldiers advanced and, with a single blow, sent him to the ground. The young man didn’t get back up. Soromeh yelled with indignation.
“Damon! Call back your men!”
Damon chased the guard away with a gesture. He looked at the scene, frowning.
“We aren’t even married yet. This is not my responsibility. I’m handing you over to Sethy or Kamilah.”
“No! They’ll only get angry and double my guard. Damon, I need your help.”
She kneeled next to the young Hebrew. He was slightly taller than her, slightly older, undernourished, and had the rough skin of someone who had worked all their life.
He had stepped between her and a group of armed soldiers.
“I want to find them places at the palace,” she said. “I want them to have good posts, I want them healed and fed adequately.”
Damon nodded with a sigh.
“You always find a way to extinguish my anger. Yes, of course I’ll help you. No matter where they go, I’ll make sure that they remain under the protection of your name. What about him, though?” he pointed at the unconscious Hebrew. “Same as the rest?”
“No. I’m keeping this one with me.”
* * *
The palace was built around the throne room, a massive hall bordered by columns covered in hieroglyphs. Its high ceiling was covered in crisscrossing wooden beams, where flocks of doves made their homes, and from which hung hundreds of oil lamps. The floor was covered by an intricate mosaic, swept several times a day. The numerous lateral doors were flanked by statues of the gods. At the end of the hall were thirty stone steps that led to a raised dais, where stood a gigantic statue of the falcon god, overseeing everything. At its foot was the empty throne of the king.
Prince Sethy couldn’t find the courage to sit in his father’s chair, so he stood next to it while discussing with the council members. He avoided most of their questions and the insistent looks of his subjects.
From the moment they had announced the king’s impending death, there had been a stream of people coming to the throne room, their voices mixing in an indecipherable cacophony. The sound of trumpets stopped them. The prince chased his council away and waited.
&nbs
p; Sir Damon entered by the main doors, head held high. The people scrambled to make way. No one was surprised to see Princess Soromeh following him, even with her common clothes and annoyed expression. What started the whispers were the twenty slaves that followed her, eyes lowered.
Damon stopped at the bottom of the throne steps and bowed deeply.
“Your majesty, we accomplished your request,” he said with great pomp. “We found her highness your sister and escorted her back here, as per your royal wish.”
The prince gestured for them both to follow him and disappeared through the dais side door. They joined him in an ostentatious antechamber and closed the door behind them, shutting out the noise from the throne room.
“Sethy, before you get mad—” Soromeh started.
“Nine times, Soromeh!” he spat, turning around. “How could you escape from the best guards in Egypt nine times?”
“Nine? Are you sure, because I counted eight—”
“Don’t change the subject. Your irresponsibility puts you in danger, reflects badly on the royal family, and brings disorder to the palace!”
“Did you have cobra for breakfast?”
“Stop being impertinent. You owe me more respect than this, Soromeh.”
“Since when do I need to measure my words when it’s just us three?” she yelped with indignation.
“Since this morning, when Father left me the crown.”
Soromeh’s face became suddenly neutral, empty of any emotion.
“Father?” she asked. “Is he…?”
“Not yet. But he doesn’t have much time left. You should have been present. He would have liked to see you.”
“Oh, does he finally find me worthy of his attention?” she spat, crossing her arms.
The prince exchanged a look with Damon. The latter gestured to keep going.
“There is a council meeting later,” said Sethy. “I expect to see you there. Dressed appropriately.”
She glared at him and stomped out. Damon scratched his head.
“This isn’t what I had in mind, Sethy. You should be nicer to her. It’s also her father.”
“And you should be stricter. Twenty slaves, Damon? Really? And I’m guessing you haven’t mentioned the wedding, yet, since she was still in a decent mood.”
“I couldn’t tell her the bad news in the middle of the marketplace! She would have been a danger to the good townspeople!”
“We’ll sing songs of your bravery,” answered the prince, pushing him after Soromeh.
* * *
The main door of the princess’s chambers was opened with force. Misha, busy setting the table, sighed in relief. She saw the princess and Sir Damon enter, followed by twenty slaves looking overwhelmed.
“I can tell him where to stick his crown!” shouted Soromeh, removing her outer tunic and throwing it angrily. “He seems to forget that—hi, Misha—that I’m almost as important as he is in the royal hierarchy!”
“Good afternoon, your majesty,” said Misha with a bow. “I am glad to see that you’re not in the stomach of a crocodile.”
“The sacred crocodiles prefer their meat to be tender,” corrected Damon. “I’m bringing back our princess, Misha.”
“Stop making cow’s eyes at each other and let’s get to work,” groaned Soromeh. “Misha, I need you to find adequate postings for all these people. Except this one. Give him a bed in the companions room. Damon, if you want to talk to me, you’ll have to hurry. I need to change. These official dresses require several dynasties to put on.”
Misha took advantage of the lazy hours following dinner to direct the new slaves through the empty corridors. After a quick talk with every one of them, she placed a few in the kitchen, the gardens, and the stables and appointed some to the palace maintenance team. A couple of young girls had talent, so she placed them with the royal musicians. She walked back towards the princess’s quarters, followed by the last of them, the one with a black eye.
“Tell me, what is your name?” she asked.
“Iram, son of Levannah,” he answered, looking at the floor.
“Stand upright, Iram. We are brother and sister, you and I, since we are both Hebrews. Do not be ashamed of your roots.”
Iram threw her a curious glance.
“I could have landed on a merchant stall, like you,” said Misha. “I thank our Lord every day for giving me an Egyptian father that kept me, instead of forsaking me, as happens to many of our people. I was lucky, and you were not, but we are family. I will then give you this advice.”
She stopped and turned towards him.
“The Egyptians do not like us,” she said, bluntly. “Our people did not forsake their language and beliefs for theirs. If you want to survive in the palace, I suggest that you pray in secret and that you keep to yourself the story of our ancestors.”
She gave him a once-over and sighed.
“Once again, I was luckier than you. My face is Egyptian. Yours is not. And yet they still doubt my ability to serve a royal child. They will be merciless with you. Be irreproachable, and maybe they’ll give you some respect.”
Iram nodded slowly. Misha started walking again.
“The palace is a snake nest, but the princess is fair and just. You are now an official companion to her majesty. You are tasked with obeying and entertaining her. You will enjoy a certain freedom so you can answer to her needs. You are forbidden to leave the outer walls of the palace without her permission.”
They stopped in front of Soromeh’s quarters doors. They could hear muffled yelling through them. The guards standing on either side were trying to keep their expressions neutral.
“You will be given clothes that you need to keep spotless and a bracelet that will claim you as property of the princess,” Misha said, showing him the leather one she wore above the elbow. There was a gold plaque spelling Soromeh’s name in hieroglyphics. “It will give you access to her quarters. You will walk two steps behind her and keep your eyes to the floor. You will be allowed to speak only to answer her or any other noble. You have to bow to the general palace inhabitants and prostrate yourself in front of the court members and the royal family.”
The door opened with a bang. Sir Damon walked through, furious. He nodded at Misha and walked off. She glanced back at Iram, who had thrown himself to the floor at his sight.
“Generally, you will have more time to prostrate yourself,” she said with a tiny smile. “Stand up. I still have instructions for you.”
They entered the quarters and stopped in the main room. They found the princess near the window, dressed in a fine white linen dress, covered in jewels and her face impeccably made-up. Iram almost could not recognize the young girl who had bought him earlier that same day. He prostrated himself.
“Misha,” Soromeh groaned while removing a necklace, “why did you teach bad habits to the new guy? You. I don’t want to see you bow in my quarters.”
“Forgive Iram, your majesty,” said Misha, gesturing to Iram to get back up. “We hadn’t started on your personalized rules.”
Soromeh walked up to them, took Iram’s chin, and turned his head one way, then the other.
“You look famished,” she said, letting go. “My rules are simple, Iram. Eat when you are hungry, remain standing in my presence, and talk freely and openly.”
“These rules are, of course, only applicable when we’re alone with her highness,” Misha added in a hurry.
“Spoilsport,” added the princess. “Show him his bed and come back to help me.”
Misha led Iram to a room where simple beds were aligned on both walls. The one near the window had a thick woolen bedspread. The small bedside table held some personal objects and a half-burned candle.
“You can take this one,” she said, pointing to the bed opposite hers. “We will give you a blanket and a chest to store your clothing and possessions. Her majesty allows us to own things. She tried many times to make me take the dresses and perfumes people gift her.”
The Celestial Conspiracies Page 2