by Diana Ballew
Eyes wide, Alia shook her head vehemently.
“Then, am I to guess that my royal husband has something to do with your inability to perform even the most simple task today?”
Alia’s cheeks felt as if they’d caught fire. How could she tell the queen that her husband had made love to her former slave?
“I gather by your silence, I am correct.” When Alia didn’t respond, Neferure continued. “Actually, I must be honest — Ineni informed me that you went to Pharaoh’s suite last eve.” Neferure looked deeply into Alia’s eyes, then broke into a broad grin. “Oh, young one, I am very pleased. Pharaoh deserves some happiness. Duty weighs heavily, and if you can bring him some respite, I am glad you joined my household.”
Alia didn’t know what to say — Neferure’s generosity extended beyond her comprehension.
“You are very quiet, Alia. Am I wrong in assuming you are happy too?”
“Oh, no, Mistress, I am so happy I hurt!” she blurted. “But Pharaoh says he must go away to war, and I might not see him again for many months — and what if he is injured or killed?”
Neferure stood and walked the length of the room. “Yes. Duty often calls him from his home. Almost every year since he became Pharaoh, he has traveled to a foreign land and made war. Thus Egypt is becoming very powerful and prosperous. Do not fear for him, young one, he is very strong and able. Amun and Isis always protect him — he is, after all, a god.”
“Yes, Mistress, I know. But there is this terrible fear, deep in my heart,” she said, then clutched at her breast as if her heart truly ached.
Neferure came to stand before Alia, pulled her to her feet, and gave her a motherly hug. “Do not let fear rule your thoughts, Alia. A god’s fate is his fate. Pharaoh will feel your fear and be troubled by it. Trust his strength. Trust his promises.” Taking Alia’s hand, she ran a finger over the scarab ring Pharaoh had placed there. She gave a gentle half-smile. “Trust his protection.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Now, I bid you take the day off and seek some rest. I expect you to join me in the baths before the evening meal, but until then, your time is your own.”
Alia had to smother the impulse to wrap her mistress in a joyful hug. Perhaps if she rested a little, she wouldn’t carry this feeling of dread.
“Thank you, my Lady.”
“No, young one, it is I who thank you. Now off with you — and send my maids back in, I must fix this wig before attending the royal children.”
The moment Ineni and the same soldier appeared shortly after the evening meal, Alia found it difficult to suppress her excitement; the urge to run made the journey to Pharaoh’s private rooms seem frustratingly slow. This time, the soldier led her a different way, making her more confused than ever. But when she arrived, Menkhepere’s greeting so overwhelmed her; she forgot everything else but him.
When he embraced her, he marveled at the softness of her skin and her exquisite scent, and she felt extremely glad the queen had ordered her to join her in her special bath to be pampered with fragrant herbs and oils.
On this night, since she’d been summoned much earlier, they were able to spend more time together, loving and talking and just holding each other. He told her of his plans to make Egypt the greatest power in the world and repeated his vow that she’d formally become a royal wife upon his return from the northern territories.
Again she begged him to take her with him, her eyes welling as she spoke, “I will hide myself among the other women tending your camp — I can dress myself as a slave. No one need know who I am. Please?”
Sadly, he shook his head, though he said he wished he could answer differently. “It would not be safe, and if Egypt’s armies are defeated, your life would be forfeit. No, my love, I cannot take the risk.”
“Please, think on it. If you change your mind, all you need do is send your summons.”
“I do not expect to change my mind, my flower, but I will consider it.” She rewarded him with a hesitant kiss, which he took as an invitation to again fill her. She accepted with all the love she could muster.
They lay in each other’s arms long into the night, and Alia had to fight her tears when the distant bell chimed the middle hour.
“I will try to summon you tomorrow, but much must be done before departure, so I cannot promise it will be so. Keep safe, my love,” Menkhepere said as she reluctantly left with the bodyguard.
“So, it is definitely the signal,” Sitiah mused, a look of macabre delight crossing her sharp features.
“Yes, Mistress. The bodyguard brought it with him when he collected her from her rooms last eve.”
Her eyes strayed across the room to the alcove where both Arad and Enlil hid, knowing they heard every word of the spy’s report. It was time, then. They’d put the plan into motion this day. Good.
Barely glancing at the spy, she reached into a wooden box by the table and retrieved a necklace of silver and stones in the shape of a lotus. She tossed it to the man and flicked her hand in dismissal. “That will be all. I will call you again if I need you.”
“But, Mistress — don’t you want me to see if she goes again tonight?”
Sitiah shook her head. “It won’t be necessary. I know enough. Go!”
She waited until the man was long gone before striding over to the alcove in triumph. “You see — we have the means. How are things progressing among your forces? Are you ready to move tonight?”
Enlil strode forward and glared down at Sitiah. “Just you worry about your end, woman. We will make our move when the time is right, and not before. The girl, however, can be dealt with tonight, as you say.” He grinned a feral grin, thinking about what he’d do to her once he got his hands on the treasonous little whore. “It is all in place. Just wait here until I send word that it is done.”
“But, Enlil, you promised I would be there when she dies — we had a bargain.”
Turning away, he narrowed his eyes in speculation before he spoke. “When death comes, you will be there, Sitiah.”
Arad came up behind, his brows raised at Enlil’s words, but Enlil gave a quick nod to assure him that their plan still held.
Chapter 9
It was close to dawn when the soldier crossed the threshold into Neferure’s outer audience chamber. Alia had sat there waiting all evening, hoping beyond hope that the bodyguard would come, but as time slipped by she became more and more afraid he would not. Eventually she had fallen asleep on the hard stool, knowing deep down she wouldn’t see Pharaoh for a long time.
The soldier was a different man from the guard who’d escorted her before, but he brandished the piece of cloth, so she immediately leapt to her feet, eager to meet with her lover.
At first the route the soldier chose followed a similar course to the night before, but as they crossed a small courtyard and changed direction, she noticed they were entering the rear of the chief concubine’s chambers.
A knot formed in Alia’s stomach at the idea that Sitiah might come upon them.
“Are you sure we should be going this way?” she whispered to the soldier, who seemed to be in a very great hurry all of a sudden.
He grasped her wrist and picked up his pace, practically dragging her along. “Yes, Mistress, this is the way — a secret way.” He hauled her through another doorway, then let go of her hand so quickly, she lost her balance and fell sprawling to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as she rubbed her bruised elbow.
When the soldier didn’t even apologize for his mistreatment, she glanced up and gasped. Before her stood Enlil, his face stretched into a savage smile that promised danger. He brandished a flail with long beaded tails, and her heart instantly began to pound — she’d been tricked!
Enlil waved the flail before her, and she could smell the sickly-sweet odor of honey, which he’d used to coat the strands of plaited leather. Her father always did the same, ensuring the whip would stick to the skin and tug at the open wounds as it
was wrenched away.
Scrabbling upright, she backed up and looked behind her for a place to escape. The soldier still blocked the door through which she came — and Enlil stood between her and the entrance opposite. Nowhere to run. She had to think quickly. She wanted to scream, but past experience in the chief concubine’s suite told her that if she screamed she’d only waste her breath — people often screamed in this house, always to no avail.
“Enlil,” she began in a soft voice, hoping she could somehow reason with him. “Why have you brought me here? I am on my way to answer Pharaoh’s summons — I must not be late.”
“Sweet little Alia. Ever naïve.” He smirked as he tapped the flail against his palm. “Pharaoh did not summon you — he is enjoying the delights of the chief concubine’s body, even as we speak. No, I summoned you.”
“We summoned you,” Arad corrected as he stepped into the room behind Enlil.
“No!” Alia froze, unable to breathe for utter shock. Arad lived!
Her pounding heart raced madly as her mind jumped from her pleasure in seeing her brother alive to abject terror — recognizing in an instant that the man before her was no longer the brother she once knew. Bigger and taller than she remembered, Arad’s face bore a hard cynicism, a cruelty, she’d never before seen in him.
“Why?” she begged weakly. “Why did you bring me here?”
Enlil stroked the flail down her throat in a mockery of a caress. “Why do you think we summoned you?”
Alia’s eyes widened, unable to find the strength to respond to his sinister tone.
He slid the flail down her throat, between her breasts and onward, until the tip teased at the apex of her thighs. “Do you not know? Can you not think why we brought you here?” A taut grin stretched across his face. “Never mind, you’ll learn soon enough.” He dug the flail painfully against her pubic bone, forcing her backward until she was trapped against the wall.
She looked over at Arad, silently begging. But he merely gave her a bored look, crossed the dimly lit chamber to sit on a low divan, and said to Enlil, “Get on with it — we need to be away before dawn.”
Tears began to course down her cheeks, and her whole body shook. The man on that divan couldn’t possibly share the same mother who reared her. Where had the gentle boy gone?
“As you wish, brother,” Enlil replied before he turned his attention back to Alia. “So, whore, you chose to betray your family and your home. Do you know what we do to traitors?”
A wave of dizziness threatened; she knew exactly what they did to traitors — she’d heard the stories. If she survived the torture, she’d be beheaded, or thrown, alive, to the crocodiles. Bile rose to burn her throat.
“Ah,” Enlil laughed, a grim smile of satisfaction lighting his handsome face. “I see you do know. That is well.” With his free hand he reached forward and ripped the fine gown from her shoulders. She tried to catch it and drag it back up, but Enlil flicked her arms away before pinching her left nipple until the stinging pain made her cry out.
“Why are you allowing this, Arad?” She tried to evade Enlil’s punishing grasp but the flail’s increasing pressure effectively held her in place. She looked down at the thick, hairy arms, so intent on hurting her, and suddenly realized who had assaulted her. “It was you, wasn’t it, Enlil? You attacked me in the halls and warned me not to tell!”
Enlil didn’t answer — he simply crushed her breast as he’d done that day. She let out a strangled cry and groped at the wall behind her, wishing there was something she could hold onto. But her fingertips merely slid on the cold stone.
“Please, Arad, help me! I—”
Her brother merely looked away in disgust.
“Shut that filthy mouth, whore!”
Enlil’s fingers abandoned her nipple to cover her mouth, before he slammed her head into the stone and pinned her body against the wall with his. She felt the skin at the back of her head tear before blood began to trickle down her neck.
She tried to struggle, striking out with her arms, but he held her body with his, all the while digging at her with the flail. As he pushed the flail harder he bent his head close, so he could whisper into her ear. “I have plans for you, girl, and before I am done, you are going to beg me to kill you.” With that he savagely twisted the flail. A fiery, knife-like agony shot through her, bringing tears to her eyes and stealing her breath away.
A mute wail raced up her throat, only to be choked off by the unyielding grip of his hand. He closed his fingers around her nose, cutting off the air. Her eyes darted about frantically, looking first to Arad, silently beseeching him to help, then, when he stared back with a look of bored dismissal, hoping to search out some kind of weapon, anything to fight back. She clutched at the cold stone of the wall, ripping the skin from her fingertips as she tried to grasp something — anything!
But there was nothing. Enlil was twice as big and ten times stronger than she was. She couldn’t breathe and already she felt herself fading.
The sound of a sharp intake of breath made Enlil turn toward the chamber door, and for just a split second, he relaxed his grip enough to allow her a quick breath.
Nany stood in the doorway. Her eyes widened with fear, her dark complexion paling as recognition and understanding obviously dawned. She took a step backward, but Arad sprang like a cheetah, trapping her against the far wall. With one well-placed blow to the side of her head, she crumpled to the ground. Arad picked her up by the ankle, dragged her inside the chamber, and dropped her like a discarded rag beside the divan.
Nany!
Suffocating, Alia whimpered helplessly, knowing there was little she could do to help Nany — if her friend still lived. But she didn’t have time to worry about Nany, her own life had begun to drain away — a sticky warmth trickled down her back. Parts of her stung where the skin had ripped against the wall. With Enlil’s choking grip still holding her immobile she couldn’t see it, but she knew. Blood. Her lifeblood. Already she felt light-headed. And cold. Her legs quivered as the numbness began to seep across her lower body.
Without warning Enlil released her mouth. Air shuddered into her lungs, searing them. But before she had the chance to breathe deeply, he thrust the flail’s gown-covered handle into her belly, and this time she did scream as it crushed at her insides. The hot agony became excruciating, and she struggled grimly to maintain a thread of awareness. She moaned.
Again he covered her mouth. “Mmm, yes, I thought you’d like that,” he murmured against her ear as he jabbed with the handle again. He seemed to rejoice with each cry of anguish he elicited, his eyes becoming frenzied with power. He circled her earlobe with his tongue before biting down hard. She struck out with her arms, trying to push him away or scratch out his eyes, but he seemed completely impervious to her impotent struggles. Finally, with one jagged fingernail, she managed to rip his cheek.
He backed up enough to look her in the face.
“Whore!” he bellowed. Then, suddenly, the flail was gone.
He shook the bloodied gown away and struck her across the face with the stinging tails — lashing her again and again as she tried to shield her face with her arms. He yelled and cursed and screeched at her, words without meaning, all the while bringing the whip down faster and harder.
Alia slumped to the ground at his feet atop the remains of her bloodied gown, her entire body afire with searing agony. Every muscle quivered as she waited for the next lash, but it didn’t come. She lifted her head slowly until she could see her brother across the small chamber. “How can you stand by and let him do this?” she sobbed, “you are my brother ...”
Arad tilted his head to the side as if speculating. “As you say, but Enlil is a blood brother — and, sister dear, you sealed your own fate with your treachery. You betrayed your family and became the usurper’s whore — you are no longer kindred of mine.”
Enlil stood over her naked body, obviously waiting for her to try to move, but she didn’t even have the strength to
crawl. A bone-deep cold filled her and an uncontrollable shaking took over.
Enlil had spoken the truth — if he raised the flail again she would beg for death.
Deep inside, until this moment, she’d held the secret hope that someone else would come along who could stop this, but in reality, she knew the gods had deserted her.
The linen square, her link with the man she loved, lay only inches from her face. With shaking fingers she reached out to try to grasp it to herself but Enlil was quicker.
“You can’t have it!” he laughed. “Pharaoh thought himself so smart with his secret signal and his late night trysts. Neither of you knew how closely you were watched. It was so easy to steal it, and I’ll wager if your beloved Pharaoh didn’t even miss it — he won’t miss you, either. All you are is a usurper’s whore. You stupid bitch,” he threw the swatch across the chamber, “if you had done as you were told, you might have made an adequate minor wife. Now you’re just dirt beneath my feet!”
Again Enlil brought the whip down. This time she didn’t even bother to cover her face. He grasped his long undershirt and tore it upward to expose his arousal. It was obvious how much the violence excited him — his penis was scarlet and dripping above her. He brought the lash down again and again, stroking himself as he did so — his face a contorted mask of ecstasy.
So sickened, she became numb to it all. She was beyond help, beyond healing.
As his stroking became frenzied the whipping became less brutal, but she no longer felt it anyway. Instead, she began to mourn, not for herself, but for the fledgling love that was already slipping away, along with her lifeblood. A swarm of bees began to buzz inside her head, and the world beyond faded into a low hum.
“Go on, Enlil. Be done. I grow weary of this — we have more important things to attend.”
The last image she saw was Enlil’s savage exhultation as he cried out and pumped his hot seed over her naked body.
With a crazed expression still glowing in his eyes, Enlil turned to his friend. “Do you wish a turn?”