Scandalous Lovers

by Diana Ballew

  “Rekhmire.”

  “Yes, Majesty?” He stepped up on the dais beside his ruler.

  “Once we have addressed the assembly, return to Thebes and have the guards search out my beloved. I do not care if it takes them to the ends of the earth or the end of time. And if she is not found, I will continue the search in the afterlife and beyond. Alia is mine and, by Isis, she will be returned to me.”

  He raised his voice to address the upper ranks of his army.

  “Hear this, all Kmt, who live and work by Pharaoh’s decree. A reward, his weight in gold and a gilded chariot, to the man who learns the fate of Alia, Princess of Retennu, former freedwoman in the house of my queen, Meryt-re-Hatshepsut Neferure. Two thousand of the army’s number will immediately return to Thebes to begin the search.”

  Waving Rekhmire forward, he bade his vizier inform the assembly of the tragic events that occurred in Thebes after their departure.

  Tuning out the words that still filled him with utter disbelief, he extricated the swatch of linen from his wristlet and raised it to his nose so he could again lose himself in the scent of cherished memories. How long he sat clutching the linen, he didn’t know, but it seemed a mere moment later when Rekhmire directed the guards to bring the prisoners to kneel before him.

  Minutes passed as Pharaoh studied the four animals kneeling before him — and they were animals, for men did not torture their own sisters. Again the urge to barehandedly rip out their hearts surged through him. The need for vengeance was so strong he felt almost sickened by the thoughts that ran through his own mind.

  What else these barbarians had done, they were yet to learn, but that was only a matter of time. He would draw out every single confession with the measure of pain each prisoner deserved.

  He could see little resemblance between Arad and his beloved Alia, except perhaps the liquid green of his eyes.

  Handing the crook to one of the priests, Pharaoh stood to tower above the prisoners. His flail, the symbol of Pharaoh’s dominion over his people, he retained, wishing that just this once it was not a ceremonial implement but a real whip, which he could use to effect the first stage of his vengeance.

  “Arad, son of Hallil, and Enlil of Sechem, you have been caught attempting to assassinate the person of Pharaoh, your lord and conqueror. Vizier Rekhmire informs me that you murdered Pharaoh’s great wife and also tortured the freedwoman Alia, daughter of Hallil and sister of Arad.” He watched both men closely. While Arad seemed to flinch at the charges, Enlil glanced up with a crazed smile that suggested triumph, despite the fact that he knew his own death was imminent.

  “Have you nothing to say?” Rekhmire demanded as he stepped forward.

  Arad closed his eyes and shuddered, no doubt imagining his fate.

  Enlil grinned. “That whore betrayed her family — treason is punishable by death in my country, just as it is in Kmt.”

  “Only Pharaoh or his vizier can decide or execute law.” Pharaoh flicked his hand toward the two prisoners who’d accompanied Arad and Enlil. “Bring them forward and remove their tongues and eyes.”

  The assemblage stood silent and tense as the two men struggled against their captors and screamed with pain as the soldiers hooked their tongues and sliced them away. Both Arad and Enlil were spattered with blood as their rebellious comrades cried out in misery.

  “Now, kill them,” Pharaoh ordered without inflection.

  Pharaoh watched without seeing, rigid in his stance. The gaping void within his chest grew steadily — he would feel no pleasure with these two deaths. He hoped the pleasure would come when the princes met their fate. He hoped their agony would somehow fill the void.

  Two soldiers stepped forward and cleanly decapitated the mutilated men. The still twitching bodies crumpled in front of their countrymen, gushing warm blood over their legs and feet.

  Arad vomited, while Enlil, ever defiant, glared up into Pharaoh’s face.

  “So, Enlil, are you ready to speak?”

  In answer, Enlil spat on the floor before him.

  Pharaoh turned his attention to Alia’s brother.

  “Arad, son of Hallil, did you and Enlil murder Pharaoh’s great wife, chief concubine, royal guards, and two of the great wife’s women?”

  The soldier gripped Arad’s hair and yanked his head back until Pharaoh could see his face. A trail of bile slid slowly down Arad’s throat and breastbone, accentuating his heart that seemed to beat out of his chest.

  “All traces of Pharaoh’s rule must be eliminated,” he groaned weakly as if repeating a lesson memorized by rote. “The land of Retennu can only be strong again if Pharaoh is defeated.” His head fell forward the instant the guard let go of his hair.

  Pharaoh took a step forward. “The land of Retennu will be crushed, just as you will be crushed.

  “Now, tell me what you did with Alia, your sister.”

  Again the soldier wrenched Arad’s head back, drawing a gasp of pain from his lips. “The woman, Alia, ceased being sister to me when she betrayed her people. Whatever Enlil did, she deserved.”

  Pharaoh nodded to the guard and amid Arad’s screams, the soldier sliced out his tongue. Again he began to retch, his blood and bile mixing with his dead comrade’s blood on the ground before him.

  “Enlil of Sechem, if you wish to see your family in the afterlife, you will answer this question — does Alia yet live?”

  Lifting his chin, Enlil gave Pharaoh a defiant smile. “That, you will never learn from my lips. The whore is beyond you — you might have your kingdom, but that is all you will ever have.”

  As a soldier stepped forward with a knife at the ready, Enlil laughed out loud. “A curse upon you and all your descendants. May you never keep those you hold dear safe! May you ever lose them and die of loneliness! I pledge on my soul, and by your gods and mine, my descendants will return to thwart yours through all eternity. They will wrest those you cherish most from your grasp, so you are ever without a mate. Not until you willingly surrender your kingdom— ”

  “Cease!” Pharaoh nodded to the soldier who dragged Enlil’s head back and neatly caught his tongue with a sharp hook. Blood spurted upward, covering Enlil’s face, as he too cried out, his tongue landing between his knees.

  Sightlessly, Pharaoh resumed his chair while his soldiers systematically cut each man to within an inch of their lives. His soldiers were expert, making sure their captives remained aware and could know their fate. Finally, when what remained was neutered and barely recognizable, the whimpering murderers were taken to the river where the crocodile god, Sobek-Re, had patiently awaited his prize. The soldiers cheered as the two men were tied to posts and slowly lowered, screaming, into the snapping jaws of the great beasts.

  Pharaoh stood silently on a platform above the scene, nursing the anguish that he feared would be his companion for the rest of this life. The void in his chest was yet to be assuaged — he drew the swatch of fabric to his lips and closed his eyes, remembering the short burst of love that might have to last for this lifetime — perhaps forever. The coldness he felt was real, almost all-consuming — if she still lived, there’d be a flickering of warmth somewhere inside him. Hope remained, a desperate hope, and he searched within himself to catch hold of that elusive feeling, but the ice seemed to pervade almost every sinew, every cell. The only true warmth now lay in memories.

  “I promise, Little Flower, one day I will find you and I will rescue you.”

  No one but Rekhmire heard his whispered vow — directed to the heavens, where the gods, his brethren, held sway over the fortunes of all who lived. He would make sacrifice at all the temples, give riches to their coffers, whatever it took to gain their aid in finding his love.

  Chapter 11

  “The steward is to receive the rites and will be given a place alongside his mistress,” Menkhepere commanded when the embalming priest questioned the presence of a second corpse. “I have ordered the builders to make an anteroom. My queen will need her man by her.” />
  Rekhmire didn’t argue with his lord. He was one of the few who understood the special relationship between Neferure and Ineni. And though he was officially a slave, Ineni could have been granted his freedom at any time, if he so wished it — but the man had been both proud and loyal, and chose to remain in his mistress’s service.

  The jackal-headed priest agreed, then retreated behind the tented opening to his hall.

  As Menkhepere turned and marched away, Rekhmire could sense his king’s frustration. For the seventy days it took for the rites to be completed, his lord would remain in Thebes like a caged creature. Every moment since their return the day before, Menkhepere had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to be out leading the search. Soldiers had been dispatched in every direction, to every city and town from the delta to the upper reaches of the river, and beyond into Nubia. The reward: a gilded chariot and a fine stallion from the royal stable for the first man to find Alia.

  But so far there had been no word … it seemed like the longest four days Rekhmire had ever spent with his pharaoh.

  Some of Sitiah’s retinue, so happy to be out from under the dreaded woman’s yoke, were eager to tell of the two young men who had spent much time in their mistress’s chambers in recent weeks, but none could say more than was already known. Menkhepere spent hours repeating his questions to the frightened servants until Rekhmire himself had begged his king to stop.

  “There is little point in badgering the poor man,” he’d said of one of the eunuchs, “it is quite obvious he holds no secrets from his king. We must await news from the soldiers; it has only been four days, Majesty, so surely the first of the messengers will report soon.”

  Menkhepere frowned harshly at his vizier, then strode back towards his bedchamber, where he’d taken refuge since returning to Thebes, with orders that unless he had news of Alia, Rekhmire should keep everyone else away.

  In his sanctuary, he took up the cloth and held it to his nose, drawing in the faint scent of his beloved.

  A small settlement on the outskirts of Abydos

  * * *

  “Quickly, bring her in here,” Tiy said to her husband as the soldiers began making their way up the small street towards their bakery. “Lay her upon the bed.”

  She covered the girl with blankets, leaving only her nose and mouth exposed, then lit a small lamp, the oil scented with healing herbs. She sat on a wicker stool beside the bed.

  The hammering sounded just as expected, and she cast her husband a look that warned him to remain silent.

  He crossed the room and called through the door. “What do you want?”

  “Open the door in Pharaoh’s name!”

  After momentarily turning to his wife, the man eased the door open.

  “What is it you want?”

  The soldier, a tall Kushite man with shiny black skin, ducked his head and stepped inside. “We search for a young woman on Pharaoh’s orders.” He motioned to the body on the bed as he took a pace closer. “Who is that?”

  Tiy stood to block his view. “My daughter, Sara. She is ill and sleeps fitfully. Do not get too close in case her sickness comes upon you.” To stress her point, she tightened the veil she held over her own face.

  Backing up a step, the soldier eyed the body on the bed with suspicion.

  Tiy didn’t give him the chance to ask more questions. “Who is this girl you search for? Perhaps we have seen her.” She gazed into the soldier’s eyes, feigning motherly innocence. “We are the bakers for this town and provide bread for many of its people as well as the temple of Osiris.”

  The soldier kept his eye on the still figure in the bed.

  “Have you seen any strangers in the past week? A woman went missing several days ago. She is dear to Pharaoh. She is young and hails from the lands to the north. She is small in stature, her hair is dark, and her eyes are an unusual green.”

  “We have sold no bread at all to strangers this past week.”

  Although it wasn’t as lie, it tasted like one, and she prayed that Isis would forgive her. But she knew beyond doubt that she simply acted as Isis would have done, protecting one of her own from those who would cause harm. The girl was obviously a runaway slave, who’d been tortured and left for dead. Tiy would never forgive herself if she sent the girl back to what would surely be a most painful death. Whatever the girl had done, she could not possibly deserve the treatment she had received.

  The soldier grunted and, with a last look at the body that lay unmoving on the bed, he headed back out into the hot sun. “There is a reward from Pharaoh if the woman is found. If you see anyone who might fit her description, go straight to the garrison commander at Abydos and report it.”

  Tiy followed him through the door and shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight with her arm. “Of course. We visit the commander every day when we deliver our bread. If we see anything amiss, we will report it, as you say.”

  Nodding, the soldier moved on up the short street to rejoin his comrades. Tiy watched as the men spoke between themselves. The soldier turned and pointed at her a moment, then another man swatted the air in her direction; obviously he wanted nothing to with someone who might be carrying a sickness.

  It was only when she had again closed the door that she allowed herself a tiny smile. She hoped that her story would keep the soldiers away … she had never had children of her own and caring for this poor girl would ease her emptiness, an emptiness that could never be assuaged by the promise of riches.

  Menkhepere sighed deeply as he and Rekhmire listened to another useless report from the runner who had brought messages from the soldiers searching to the south.

  “It is as if she has simply dissolved into the desert sands,” Rekhmire commented, his voice resigned.

  “Send them out again,” Menkhepere commanded. “Allow them two days to rest with their families, then send them all out again. She cannot simply have vanished. Someone knows what became of her. Someone must have seen her!”

  Concerned, Rekhmire placed his hand on his lord’s shoulder. “I know you refuse to believe it could be true, but there is every chance that the rebels threw her into the river. If so, Sobek will have left no trace.”

  Menkhepere shook his head vehemently. “You have said this before, Rekhmire, but I will not let it be so!” He thumped his own chest with his fist. “She cannot have gone to the afterlife. I would feel it here, within my heart. Send them out again.” Crossing the veranda that overlooked the river, he stared out at the still black waters, asking Amun to speak into his mind and tell him if Sobek had taken her spirit. But Amun remained silent, and Menkhepere knew he wasn’t wrong.

  Turning back to Rekhmire, he repeated his command in a low voice.

  “But what of the rebellion? Can we not halve the number searching so more of the army can begin marching north?”

  “Not yet. Let them keep searching until after Neferure’s burial. If we have not found Alia by then, you may send more of the soldiers north. And we will crush the rebellion until those princes’ names are obliterated from memory.”

  “Thank you, Majesty.” He collected his papyrus and inks. “Shall I have the priests bring your meal now?”

  “I am not hungry, Rekhmire.”

  The vizier’s frown deepened. His lord had eaten little over the past month, and he wondered whether it had begun to cloud Pharaoh’s judgment. He seemed to have lost interest in everything except finding Alia or exacting vengeance upon the rebels. He’d left all other matters of state to Rekhmire, and while Rekmire felt well equipped to take the reins of government completely if needed, he did not like it. Pharaoh had a duty to maintain ma’at, and chaos would result if he left it to others.

  Most of the nobles and the army commanders assumed that the reason for Pharaoh’s behavior was that he was grieving for his great wife. And in part that was true. But it was only a small part. His king had become consumed by finding Alia.

  It quickly became clear that smarter men were needed if he wa
s to drag Menkhepere out of his melancholy. When fifteen days had passed with still no word, Rekhmire dispatched some of the elite palace guard to assist in the search. But even the elite guard had learned almost nothing.

  A small settlement on the outskirts of Abydos

  C1479 BCE

  * * *

  “Ah, thank you for coming so quickly,” Tiy said to the surgeon as he entered the small hut. “The babe will not come, you must cut her before they both die.”

  The surgeon looked down at the young woman, swollen with her unborn child. He noted the recently healed scars that criss-crossed her body — obviously the slave had been badly beaten. He found it odd that this couple would even own a slave, but right now he had no time to ask such questions.

  “What is her name?”

  The woman shook her head. “I do not know — we call her Sara. We found her by the river, wrapped in blankets. She appeared to be dead. My husband and I were just about to feed her to Sobek when she moaned. We decided to bring her home and tend her. She has never spoken, and her mind seems all but empty. But she washes and cooks and helps in the bakery. We did not realize she carried a babe within her.”

  The surgeon nodded and removed several ivory and bronze instruments from his satchel, laying them beside the unconscious woman. When he examined the girl’s birth canal, he could only agree with the woman — the damage he saw would most certainly prevent a normal delivery. Whoever had done this to her had shown no mercy; no wonder the girl was mindless and mute.

  He cleaned his hands in a bowl of water and washed the girl’s distended abdomen before sprinkling a fine powder over her.

  Working quickly, he cut through the layers of tissue to reveal not one, but two infants, both large and strong despite the young woman’s tiny size.

  “Twins! A boy and a girl,” the woman marveled. She would welcome the chance to care for these two. She took the infants, one at a time, and laid them on the pallet she’d prepared.