by Diana Ballew
Sitiah snarled, her face transforming, just for an instant, into something feral and jackal-like. “Neferure and that aunt of hers — they steal what belongs to me, and I shall wrest it from them.”
Enlil exchanged a knowing look with his friend, one born of many years contriving together — far easier to bargain with someone whose vision was corrupted by anger.
“What is your plan?” she asked Enlil.
“After meeting with our comrades, one of us shall return at the new moon and stay hidden here to learn all that can be learned of Pharaoh, his family, the vizier, and their routines. Within weeks we will know when they are most vulnerable and where to strike. The other will remain with our comrades beyond the palace precincts and arrange the assault.”
“Pharaoh must not die,” Sitiah said in a low voice. “Once I become great wife, I will ensure that you have your lands returned to you. I will be the power behind my royal husband.”
Again his friend sent him that knowing look. “We merely want our heritage returned to us. You may have your puppet king. Our main concern is whether you can hide one of us safely.”
“I have many secret rooms. This section of my suite was once mere storerooms. Over the years since I came here, I have slowly had the rooms cleaned out to make very comfortable, but private, quarters for myself where I could meet with visitors that might not … please Pharaoh. Only the guards and servants I brought with me from Taanach have access to these rooms. And they know the price of betrayal. You will be quite safe here, and I am sure I can find amusements for you to while away the time.” She smiled a truly sensual smile, and Enlil decided he would be the one to win their wager.
“Then we are agreed.”
Sitiah lifted the jug and poured the wine. “We shall seal our bargain with the best wine in all of the world.” She lifted her cup and drank. As she lowered her cup a few deep red droplets dribbled onto her lip. Her long tongue swept along her fuller lower lip to catch them ever so slowly. He imagined what else she might do with that tongue and as his groin tightened further, Enlil wondered if she had done it deliberately to distract him. He looked across to his companion to see him staring, almost bewitched, at her mouth.
“You do not care for the wine?” she asked his companion.
“I will wait in case it is poisoned,” he said after a moment.
She laughed, then took his cup and drank. When she placed the cup before him again her face showed just a hint of anger. “There, it is not poisoned.” She turned to Enlil. “Do you also fear I have lured you here to poison you?”
Enlil grinned and drank the entire cup down in one long swallow.
“Brave, my prince — far braver than your friend.”
“It has little to do with bravery, my lady. I know your reasons are different from ours, but you need us and you need our plan to succeed if you are to achieve your own desires.”
“What can you know of my desires?”
“Enough to know that you cannot have the power you seek unless the great wife is dead.”
“True.” She lifted the jug to pour more wine. Enlil’s friend merely twirled his cup with his long fingers and studied Sitiah through slitted eyelids.
“Which of you is to stay?”
“That is your choice, Sitiah.”
“And how am I to decide?” She raised a thin brow at each in turn, her eyes glittering in the lamplight.
“I expect you should choose whichever of us you would most like to entertain for the time needed to achieve our aims, Sitiah,” Enlil said in a low voice, meant to entice.
She looked at him, her eyes half closed, a coy smile gracing her lips. “That might be a difficult decision.”
They spent another hour drinking more wine, arguing strategy and bargaining over their individual rewards. Enlil did not reveal their full intent, and he was just as certain that Sitiah kept the bulk of her plans to herself.
Finally, she had her steward show him to a cell at one end of a long hall. A servant took his companion in the opposite direction.
The room itself was spare and dimly lit, with a low pallet and a table under which he stored his clothes.
When he had undressed and washed, Enlil lay upon the pallet and waited. He knew Sitiah would come to him. He could see that she equated power with sexual domination, as had many women in his past. Yes, she would come to him.
Chapter 2
A distant bell warned of the middle hour of the night, and suddenly he sensed her in the hall just beyond his door. He didn’t acknowledge her. If she wanted to play games then so would he. He feigned sleep, though he couldn’t prevent a smile quirking his lips as she approached. He could see little in the near-perfect darkness, but the sound of her gown as she swished it aside echoed loudly in the tiny cell.
Breathing slowly and moving not a muscle, he pretended to be unaware as she lowered the fine linen sheet that swathed his body. As soon as she exposed him she laughed — a deep sensual sound that sent heat flowing through every sinew of his being.
“Why, my lady Sitiah, whatever are you doing?” he whispered in mock challenge.
She did not answer, but merely straddled him and lowered her tight warmth over him until he was seated so deeply inside her wetness he couldn’t help but groan. Swollen and hot, she dripped with liquid heat, coating his skin with her scent and making his blood catch fire in his loins. He gripped her hips and lifted her roughly, then dragged her down onto him, several times, each time forcing himself even deeper. She cried out, then shuddered in instant climax.
As her muscles clenched around him, he smiled to himself as he realized she must have been aching for him since they parted more than an hour ago, but he cared nothing for her pleasure. He did not speak. He would not kiss her or gentle her — no, this coupling was more about domination than pleasure. He lifted her thin hips, digging harsh fingertips into her flesh, and slammed her down over him, again and again. When she whimpered he dug his fingers harder, hard enough to leave bruises that would last many days, but despite her mewling she still moved over him as eagerly as a well-versed whore.
In a swift reversal of positions, he rolled her beneath him and began to pound against her. His skin burned and the sweat flowed slick from his body, but he would continue as long as it took to subdue her. He was a big man, muscular and strong, and he needed to be in total control.
As he thrust into her, his lust vied with his anger for supremacy — anger that she could think she could command him with her flesh. He wanted to hurt her, but she met him thrust for thrust, open and hot, scratching and biting him like some wild creature until he was beyond knowing anything but the screaming fire in his blood. He knew he needed to slow his movements and regain some mastery — he needed to make her understand that he would never be conquered by any woman.
He withdrew and roughly flipped her over.
Forcing her face down into the pallet, he hooked his arm under her stomach and raised her lower body. She squealed when he invaded her from behind like an animal, grinding himself as deeply inside her as it was possible to go. He bit his own lip to keep from losing self-control and continued to thrust deep and hard until she screeched in protest and fell limp to the pallet.
A surge of elation rose in his chest at her complete surrender. His blood immediately quickened, and he felt the tingling coming upon the base of his spine, to spread like lightning through his burning phallus. Exploding inside her, he savaged her shoulder with his teeth as he lost all semblance of restraint. She cried out in pain even as she again found her own release.
He rolled away from her, tasting the metallic taint of blood in his mouth. He didn’t know whether it was his own or hers. Nor did he care. In a way, she disgusted him, but the violence of the last few moments also fed a secret lust he harbored. He had always taken his women roughly — had enjoyed the look of fear he saw in their eyes when he left them.
Sitiah didn’t seem to fear him. Yet. He wondered how far he could push her, hurt her, before he c
ould make her show that same fear in her eyes? Her complete subjugation would be a worthy challenge.
Although he believed he should really be the one who remained beyond the palace and felt better equipped than his friend to organize their assault … the thought of being closeted with Sitiah piqued his senses and sent a renewed surge of power through his loins.
The sleeping room Ineni led Alia to seemed much larger and homier than those in the chief concubine’s suite. Here, she shared with ten other women, ranging from the young Inhapi, who, Alia learned, was mute and had only seen eight floods of the great river, to the chief servant, Adjedaa, who’d seen nearly seventy.
Pallets were scattered about the floor, and there was much talking and laughter when Alia arrived. Adjedaa, being the eldest, asked Alia questions about her breeding and how she came to be in Pharaoh’s service. Alia told her tragic story without inflection, knowing most of these women probably had similar stories to tell since they were all in servitude themselves. One woman, who didn’t name herself, said she hailed from a country that neighbored Alia's homeland and had been brought captive to Thebes some years earlier while Pharaoh had still shared his seat with the deceased Hatshepsut.
After all the talk, Alia felt her knotted stomach begin to calm a little. The past few months had been painful, being shuffled from camp to camp in the desert, then led as a tethered captive through the gates of Thebes and thrust into the unhappy household of Sitiah. Alia still didn’t understand the chief concubine’s dislike of her, but at least she could now be out from under the sour woman’s watchful eye. When she mentioned her happiness at being away from the chief concubine, Adjedaa laughed heartily.
“Sitiah dislikes you because you are young and beautiful. Pharaoh accepted her to seal a treaty with a prince of Taanach, but she has not produced any sons or daughters for the glory of his Majesty. So jealousy eats at her. Do not fear her, Alia, she will not harm you while you reside under Neferure’s roof.”
With the help of a much younger woman, Adjedaa stood. “Come, young Alia, we shall find your pallet and turn out the lamps. Dawn will be upon us soon; lord Osiris' passage through the underworld will race by, and we must be prepared to attend our mistress.”
Adjedaa held out a gnarled hand and led Alia across the room to an alcove between two false pillars. “You will sleep beside me for this night, may the gods bless it.”
One by one the lamps went out, and smoky tendrils curled upward to be caught by a gentle breeze, then carried away. Alia was so tired from all she’d done and learned in this one day, her eyes slid closed before her head came to rest on her pallet.
Alia woke the next morning to find new clothes awaiting her.
Surely this is meant for someone else.
The garments that lay at the foot of her pallet were not as sheer as those she’d worn the previous evening. Dyed a rich, pinkish orange, the shift smelled fresh and appeared finely made. Her fingertips smoothed over the material, and her eyes filled with wonder; she’d never felt fabric as soft. The shift was too fine and too beautiful for the likes of a slave.
Ineni appeared and placed a bowl of porridge on a low bench beside her, then squatted on the other side and took up his own bowl and spoon. He gazed at her as if waiting for her to speak, but for the life of her she didn’t know what he expected her to say. Instead, she lifted her spoon and began to eat.
They both sat measuring each other until Inhapi came bouncing in and sat beside Ineni, looking at him with love beaming from her black eyes.
"What is it you desire, little one?" Ineni asked with patience and affection. She touched his hand and blinked her eyes and moved her lips, but no words escaped her throat. Ineni nodded and smiled, then nodded again.
Alia watched the exchange curiously. She knew that little Inhapi was mute, yet she appeared to have no difficulty communicating. "What does she say, Ineni?"
"Ah, so you have found your tongue, Alia. That is pleasing. I'd begun to think I’d have to inform my lady Neferure that you can no longer interpret at Pharaoh’s table. And my mistress has questions for you. I feared I’d have to deny her the answers." He rose with the dignity of a gazelle and straightened his garments before holding out his hand to her. "Come, Alia. Dress, we must see to your new mistress."
“Am I to wear this beautiful tunic?”
He nodded with a bemused mien. “Our mistress requires it.” He turned away and waited as she quickly slipped on the beautiful gown.
Moving quietly between the empty pallets around her, she followed Ineni through the apartment until they came to a large door flanked by two silent armed guards. The guards exuded strength and determination, and an implacable air of loyalty. Both men watched her without betraying any reaction, yet instinct told her that if she harbored any designs of harming her new mistress, she would not make it a foot beyond them. Understanding this, she felt no real fear because she also knew that whatever happened, she would make her home here and be happy about it; she, too, would be loyal to her new mistress.
The door, painted with colorful scenes of the hunt and the protection of the gods, swung wide. Beyond the threshold, Neferure sat stiffly on a raised chair as a number of women attended to the painting of her face, cleansing of her nails, and the dressing of her feet. Though not beautiful, Pharaoh’s great wife had such presence, such a majestic bearing, that Alia felt an overwhelming desire to fall to her knees. She bowed a deep bow and then stood with her eyes lowered as she awaited her new mistress’s attention.
When she looked up, Pharaoh’s wife stared at her, long and hard. Then, just as Alia began to quake under such probing scrutiny, the woman rose to her feet and swept away the attendants’ ministrations with a flick of her delicate hand. Neferure measured a similar height to Alia — which was considerably shorter than most Egyptian women. Where Alia was slim at the waist, Neferure’s body showed the thickening that came to women after childbirth.
The great wife took a step toward Alia, then her face broke into a glowing smile, and for some reason, one Alia didn’t quite understand herself, tears began brimming beneath her lids.
“Alia — you are welcome in my home.”
Pharaoh’s great wife stretched out her arms, and Alia, her lower lip quivering with pent-up emotion, found herself walking into the woman’s embrace as if she were seeking solace in the arms of her beloved mother. Alia hung on as the great wife enfolded her with compassion; a dam she didn’t know existed burst within her.
Neferure gently smoothed Alia’s back as she sobbed. “It will be well, young Alia, all will be well. Pharaoh has decreed so.”
After but a moment’s struggle, Alia pulled herself together and backed away. “I apologize for my indiscretion, Mistress.” She bowed very low, trying to hold back the wave of emotion that still threatened. Suddenly, all the loneliness and the fear she’d held in check all these months seemed to want to erupt. But her mother would have been proud, Alia thought, as she sought the deep well of her training and regained composure.
“There is no need for apologies, young Alia.” Neferure bent her head to look into Alia’s eyes. “Or would you prefer to be known by the name ‘Little Flower’ as Pharaoh speaks of you?”
“Address me however you prefer, Mistress. I am but a slave and you are queen.”
To that, Neferure laughed. “Your mother has taught you well, young Alia. I will call you by the name she gave you, in honor of her fine work.
“Pharaoh likes to have pet names for everyone ... when we were young he said I reminded him of a monkey that Hatshepsut gifted to him from her expedition to Punt. So he named me his little monkey,” she said, then looked away, a wistful expression crossing her face for a fleeting second. “It has been many harvests since he has called me that.” She smiled grimly at Alia. “No matter.
“Tell me about yourself, Alia. How did a well-groomed young princess become slave to Pharaoh’s great wife? Where is your home?”
Alia’s shoulders sagged a little. “Mistress, my
home was near the great salt sea. I became a hostage during the recent wars with the princes of Retennu. My father was a minor king among them. He and two of my brothers were killed. By now, my mother is remarried to secure my father’s territories, and perhaps to save my young aunt who hid to escape capture. I do not know the fate of my infant half-brother; I had only seen him twice since his birth, a month before the war began.”
Pharaoh’s great wife listened to Alia’s story with obvious sympathy, asking questions and diverting her from memories too painful to relate.
“Well, Alia, I can promise you my protection if you choose to stay in my home. I understand Pharaoh’s chief concubine is most stern, but if you would prefer to return to her, it can be arranged.”
Alia’s face shot upward, and she tried not to choke on her words. “I have a choice?”
Neferure watched Alia’s reaction intently. “Perhaps — if you please Pharaoh with your dedication. My royal husband can be most generous.”
It makes no sense — none of it! Why is the great wife being so kind to a mere slave?
“I do not need any choice, Mistress. I would prefer to remain in your service if that is permitted. As you say, the chief concubine is quite stern.”
Again the queen laughed, more heartily this time. “I also understand the chief concubine took a particular dislike to you.” To this Alia nodded. “Mmm, that is no surprise. I fear she is becoming desperate, as it is clear she is barren and cannot present Pharaoh with more sons or daughters. Sitiah resents any woman who is young, or beautiful, or of childbearing age—thus she is ever more angry and vindictive.
“My divine husband has instructed that you are to attend his table whenever he is joined by ambassadors or messengers from the lands near your birth. This is well, as you can still attend me at garden and during worship. You will also help in the nursery with Pharaoh’s children and tutor them in your tongue. Pharaoh desires they be educated in the languages of his enemies and allies alike, and though the priests are well versed, there is no substitute for a native speaker.” The great wife paced the room, smiling as she spoke of her children, scowling when she spoke of the priests of Amun.