Scandalous Lovers

by Diana Ballew

  The well-guarded Neferure was in her early teens when he’d come upon them together. That first night, he’d watched, spellbound, as the eunuch washed and oiled and kissed and sucked every inch of Neferure’s body until she exploded in a violent sensual release. What Ineni could do with his tongue defied imagination. Menkhepere had become so aroused he barely made it to his chamber without soiling his clothing. After that night, he couldn’t resist the urge to return on other occasions to learn more.

  Years later, he was very thankful he’d witnessed several of their trysts, because the temple priests’ instruction about the mysteries and art of sex seemed extremely inadequate compared to Ineni’s tender ministrations. The temple priestesses taught him more, of course, but Ineni had shown him that gentleness and love could ignite a great fire in a woman.

  Ever after, the eunuch and his wife had been lovers — yet not true lovers — since the man was incapable of penetration. Thus Neferure was safely virginal when she entered the marriage bed, and she’d provided Menkhepere with heirs, as was her duty. Though Neferure and Ineni’s relationship was never spoken of, Menkhepere and his wife made a pact that she and Ineni could remain together as long as she wished. In many ways he pitied the eunuch, to be able to give such satisfaction yet be unable to receive it in return. In fact, he pitied them both in their undying but impotent love.

  He’d never revealed that he’d seen her making love with her steward. Neferure’s heart had always belonged to Ineni, just as, he’d begun to suspect, his own heart had finally found its home in the young Retennu princess.

  When he had joined with his great wife, he was but fifteen years old. Though they had spent many years together, they'd never really found the closeness of spirit he craved or the intimacy he had witnessed between his wife and her steward.

  For his concubines, he felt no affection at all — they were simply alliances. As custom demanded, he serviced each until they began increasing. Then he rarely visited them again. He barely recalled what each woman looked like, and it pleased him greatly that his ‘godlike’ aura allowed him to remain aloof.

  The only woman who did manage to cause problems was the barren chief concubine, Sitiah, whose jealousy over the other women’s offspring had made her sour and vindictive. Time and again he’d removed servants or priests from her household because of her brutality. If it wasn’t for the fact that he disdained unwarranted death, he would have allowed the priests to work their magic with poisons or some such, long before now. Still, her recent actions neared the point where even his reticence was sorely tested. Her treatment of Alia had almost earned her a death sentence. His most trusted priests, and Rekhmire, continued to watch Sitiah closely.

  The conspirators remained in the shadows until Alia had made her way past, down the long hall to the queen’s private suite.

  “That whore must not live,” Sitiah sneered in the direction Alia had taken, before she spat on the stone floor. “She will not gain power — she will not be his whore. And she will not carry his sons! We will show her the afterlife before much longer.”

  Though not old, the chief concubine had a severity about her that repelled most people. Her face carried a hardness, an underlying brutality that showed in the arch of her brows and the thinness of her beak-like nose.

  The young man beside her gave a sly smile, his pale eyes flashing. He had his own plans, of course. It just happened that, for the most part, they coincided with those of the woman alongside him. He intended a slightly different scenario than the one Sitiah probably imagined, one that allowed him the pleasure of watching Enlil subdue the stupid girl before she met the depth of pain she would surely endure at Sitiah’s hand. The chief concubine had a reputation among her confidants for being very ruthless in her vengeance.

  Right now, it suited him to use her malice for his own ends — and not only her malice. Aside from the arts of war, at his father’s knee he had also learned how to bind people to him, how to generate allegiance in those weaker than himself. It had worked with Enlil, though Enlil didn’t realize it. And for all Sitiah’s harshness, she was just as weak. He had bound this woman as any person is bound — by appealing to her base sexual desires, as well as her vanity.

  “Many of the priests of Amun show loyalty to me, Arad. They will make a painful and slow poison that will cause the girl terrible agony. All I need do is choose the time. What say you, young prince? Shall we torture her with an agonizing sickness, so she wastes away before Pharaoh’s impotent eyes?”

  At that moment, Arad believed he’d never seen greater ugliness in a female. But then, he didn’t need to look at her face; the tone of her words showed a deeper darkness, a deeper ugliness that had nothing to do with her hard visage.

  Sitiah didn’t yet know that the girl they spoke of was his sister, though it mattered naught now that Alia had chosen betrayal over blood.

  “Come, Sitiah.” He whispered her name like a caress, though it galled him. “Shall we not seek refuge in your chamber and finalize our plans in privacy?” He held out his hand.

  She let him take her wrist and lead her discreetly, through darkened alcoves and servant’s entrances, to her suite. The danger that he might be caught within the royal precincts only added to the piquancy of the secret.

  Alia, no doubt, believed he’d died in the wars, an assumption that would work in their favor; he wouldn’t reveal himself until it was too late. For her, and for Pharaoh. Oh, how he would enjoy seeing that usurper meet his destiny! Arad knew the story; one of Sitiah’s closest confidants let slip that the priests of Amun had chosen Tuthmosis to rule — expecting he’d be a puppet to their will. With the seal of approval from that witch Hatshepsut, who obviously saw co-regency as a way of holding onto power, he’d ascended despite his lowly status as son to a lesser wife. Thus Hatshepsut had kept her power, a power she should never have wielded.

  Her death had been timely — planned as a means to draw the young Pharaoh back to his homeland instead of pursuing the war at Megiddo.

  Arad remembered the elated cheer that echoed down their encampment when news of the witch’s death arrived. But the celebration was short-lived; Pharaoh remained and conquered many of their people.

  Still, the witch deserved death. The hated Hatshepsut held too many in her thrall and her usurper stepson would meet a similar end along with Hatshepsut’s daughter, Neferure. Then the land of the great river would have all the conquered territories wrested from its grasp.

  The time of volatility following Pharaoh’s death would allow for a great uprising, and the lands to the north would again be free. He and Enlil had planned it all, with the help of other kings and princes who were yet in hiding.

  Enlil had deliberately misled Alia into believing he’d rendezvous with his men beyond the city, but in reality, he hid only streets away in the house of Wati the merchant, who’d lost much of his trade when Pharaoh conquered the northern lands. Enlil’s men, a small band of handpicked assassins, were similarly billeted among disgruntled merchants and foreign traders.

  Arad knew for a certainty the gullible girl would soon relay the false information to her beloved Pharaoh, if she had not done so already. Thus, their plan was in motion. They simply awaited the arrival of the perfect moment before they made their next move.

  He couldn’t suppress a self-satisfied smirk as they slipped into Sitiah’s small garden. It had all been so easy. Glancing across at the woman on his arm, he felt an almost exultant wave of victory. Soon everyone would receive their due reward.

  A short, black-skinned servant touched Alia’s shoulder as she entered the outer chamber and beckoned her to a quiet place at the side of the small room.

  “You are the one they call Alia?” the girl asked meekly.

  Alia nodded at the girl, who was obviously younger than her and very overwhelmed. “Yes, I am called Alia.”

  The girl lowered her eyes and dipped her knees slightly.

  “Please,” Alia said, lifting the girl’s face with both ha
nds “I am but a servant also, do not bow before me.”

  The girl glanced up sharply, then straightened when she looked at Alia’s clothing and recognized that she spoke the truth.

  “I beg forgiveness, Alia, my mistress said you were a freedwoman.”

  At that, Alia’s face spread into a broad grin. “In name only — I have chosen to remain in the queen’s house for the rest of my days. Now, what is it you wish?”

  Allowing her lips to lift ever so slightly, the girl’s dark irises beamed. “I am to deliver a message. My lady, Sitiah, has sent me to you.”

  At the mention of her former tormentor’s name, Alia stiffened. “What can Sitiah want of me? I am no longer a member of her household.”

  The girl’s gaze dropped to the floor, and her lower lip trembled. “This I do not know, Alia. My lady just ordered that I deliver her words to you.”

  Alia surmised from the darkness of the girl’s skin that she had probably been enslaved somewhere in the lands to the south, and if she worked in the chief concubine’s house, she had also become a victim of her hatred and cruelty.

  “Come, what is your name?” Alia asked, leading the girl to a small settee.

  The girl sat nervously beside Alia and wrung her hands before she spoke.

  “I am Nany.” Her answer came as a mere whisper. Although small, Nany looked well made and had a sweet face.

  “And how did you come to be in Sitiah’s household? I did not see you there.”

  “My place in Sitiah’s house is to wash and clean, but I must keep myself hidden because my size and dark skin offend my lady — I was stolen from my family many moons past. I do not know if any of them still live.”

  Alia blanched at the girl’s words. Did Sitiah’s cruelty know no end?

  “I’m sorry, Nany. I know how it feels to be so hated by the chief concubine — and I too became enslaved after my father and brother were killed in the wars with Pharaoh’s armies. But Pharaoh has been fair and rescued me from the chief concubine’s house.”

  “Oh, how I wish ...” Nany’s black eyes held a look of wistful longing before she shook her head and rolled her eyes as if she realized her mind had suddenly filled with nonsensical desires.

  “My lady wishes me to say this: ‘He, who is dearest to your heart, spends his nights sleeping beside me. If you believe power will be gained in Pharaoh’s arms, think again. Power never lies where it seems.’ She said you would understand.”

  A shiver coursed down Alia’s spine, and she had to fight hard to suppress her fear and loathing. Who could Sitiah mean?

  The girl stood and gave Alia a wavering smile. “For myself, I would ignore my lady’s message. From all I have learned of her, nothing she says brings any person favor.”

  Alia nodded. “I thank you, Nany, perhaps we will meet again.”

  The girl bowed hesitantly, then giggled to herself as she obviously remembered Alia’s earlier instruction. She slipped from the room, leaving Alia to ponder the chief concubine’s enigmatic words.

  The sound of a footfall made Alia think Nany had returned, so she was more than surprised when Pharaoh’s imposing figure emerged from behind the nearby screen.

  “So,” he said; his mouth drew to a thin line as he studied her, “who is nearest to your heart?”

  “I was just asking myself the same question, Majesty,” she stated in an uncertain voice.

  “Did we not agree that you would use my given name when we are alone, Little Flower?”

  She dropped her gaze to her feet, uncomfortable that he chastised her.

  “Yes, Majesty. But it is difficult to change a lifelong habit. I always addressed my father such.”

  “Surely I am not near as old as your father?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. He was very old.”

  “How old do you think me?”

  She glanced up, attempting to measure his age in his smooth, painted face. His golden eyes seemed to dance with youthful mischief, yet she had also seen how, at times, the gravity of his position made him appear older and world-weary. It was difficult to assess his age since his head always remained covered by his striped headdress. “I would not assume—”

  He moved closer. “Now, now, Alia. You must guess — there will be no penalty if you guess wrongly.”

  She studied him again. From her memory of her brother, and in contrast to Enlil, she would say they were striplings compared to the man/god who stood before her. Yet, her father had seen forty-three harvests, and she knew for a certainty he’d been a goodly few seasons older than Menkhepere. She turned his name over in her mind for a short moment, testing how it felt.

  “Come, Alia. It is not such a task.”

  She responded with a shy smile, and the room warmed in an instant.

  “I am guessing, as you suggested,” she warned in the hope he would not be offended if she strayed too far from the truth, “About thirty, perhaps thirty-two harvests. Of course, if your hair is silver beneath your khat ...”

  He laughed and tore it off to reveal a short black braid tied at his neck. “Does this help you to decide, Little Flower?”

  “Indeed, Maj—Menkhepere, it does. But is it not forbidden for me to look upon you in such a way?”

  He shrugged lightly. “No.”

  “Am I wrong in my reckoning, Majesty? You have not revealed your age to me.”

  “Not very wrong. I have seen four and thirty floods of the mighty river, and have ruled as Pharaoh in my own right for but two.

  “Now enough of riddles. Of all the men you know in the palace, who is closest to your heart?”

  She stilled — she knew none save Pharaoh himself, and she dare not reveal those feelings — even to herself. “I truly do not know of whom the girl spoke.”

  Pharaoh took a step closer and lifted a hand to her cheek. He slid his thumb across her skin in a slow caress and looked deeply into her eyes. “Truly?”

  Gooseflesh rose over her back as the impact of his probing gaze held her in his thrall. She glanced away and murmured, “There is no man for whom I hold especial esteem.”

  He took another half pace closer until his bare chest brushed her shoulder. Lifting her chin, he silently commanded that she meet his eyes, and as soon as she did, she felt herself begin to melt into their amber warmth. Slowly, almost delicately, he lowered his head until his lips rested on hers. For long seconds, she shivered from the heat he transmitted. His thumb wove lazy patterns on the delicate flesh of her throat until she gasped, and Pharaoh took the opportunity to taste her inner mouth and tongue with his own. Her heart began to thunder, almost painfully, as it forced her heated blood to pour into her private places. He drew her to him, folding her gently against his broad chest as his arms spanned her back. Every inch of her skin suddenly seemed to burn.

  Lifting his head, he repeated his question in a hoarse whisper. “Truly?”

  She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No man ...”

  Again he touched her cheek as his gaze roved over her face. “What of a living god — could you not find a small place in your heart for one such as that? — one who might need a refuge from the weight of kingship?”

  Before she could answer, he kissed her again, a slow drugging kiss that carried so much need, she could almost sense an inner ache in him.

  When he released her, she felt bereft. A well of emotion rose in her throat and she nearly whimpered aloud. Astarte — what is he asking of me?

  Pharaoh understood her hesitation. Her life had changed dramatically in the past few moons, and now, before he’d intended, he’d as much as told her his plan to make her his lover. She was so young, and in many ways, innocent. Rekhmire had warned him several times that he must be certain she did not intend treachery, and, of course, he couldn’t deny the possibility that she’d been planted by his enemies. But ...

  He shrugged the thought away. Nothing she had done even hinted that it was so. And Rekhmire attested to her fear and abhorrence of Enlil when he attempted to ravage h
er in the garden. When Rekhmire had told him the story, he’d barely stifled the urge to have the young prince put to death on the spot! Yet he knew he must bide his time where that one was concerned — Enlil’s degradation would be complete in Pharaoh’s own good time.

  Again he studied her eyes, measuring her feelings. A fine emerald ring surrounded the softer green of her irises. And even now, as he watched, her pupils grew to welcome him.

  “So, Little Flower, will you promise the boon I seek? Will you allow me a small space in your heart?”

  Alia boldly reached up to touch his face, just as he had touched hers, sending ripples of sensation throughout his body. He turned his lips into her palm and kissed it lightly.

  Her reply came out as a soft, uncertain whisper. “You may take my whole heart if that is your desire, but how can I remain in the queen’s house if …?”

  He placed his fingers across her lips and smiled. “Have no fear of Neferure, she will not object — you shall see.

  “Now,” he glanced about him as he suddenly remembered they stood in a public place where any servant could come upon them, “I must return to Rekhmire and discuss our next campaign. Some of the recently conquered lands have begun to rebel, and my armies must subdue them before the coming inundation.

  “Tomorrow, we shall meet after the evening meal. I would like to learn more of your life in the lands to the north ... perhaps you will remember more about your brother and Enlil that would help my campaign.” His face took on a faraway look for a second, then he glanced at her upturned face and grinned. “And we are yet to learn who this ‘beloved’ is that Sitiah speaks of — though I have my suspicions.”

  As she made to repeat her vow of ignorance, he shook his head. “Do not worry yourself, I have spies within her household. They will report to me soon. Go now, see to Neferure; she expects you.”

  As she walked slowly away, she wondered what she had just agreed to become. His spy? His lover? A combination of the two? Had he, in his sweetly romantic seduction of her soul, bound her to him merely to make her his tool? For he had seduced her, body and soul, with a single kiss.