by D. S.
The usurper lay on a cart in the centre of the square. Amenhotep pointed the tip of his blade at the man’s throat. Suddenly there was uproar behind him. The prisoners began shouting and crying treachery. The Prince turned to Narmer, jerking his head in their direction. “Kill those fools.”
“You promised them mercy, Sire … it would not be fitting to…”
Amenhotep exhaled. “Well kill them quickly then, that’s mercy enough for them. Anyhow, what does it matter? A pact between civilised men and barbarians carries no weight.”
“And what of the boy here?” Narmer said. “He’s too young and scrawny to do any harm and may fetch me a few coins.”
The Prince shrugged. “Yes, yes whatever you please, Narmer, whatever you please.”
Shiri raised her woozy head. Lady! He’d stolen Lady. Of everything he’d done, in that brief moment, stealing Lady stupidly seemed his greatest crime of all. He had all the gold in the world, why did he have to steal from them? “Thief!” She roared it in Egyptian. Old Dathan had taught her a few words and she could speak the odd phrase or two at need. She struggled to her hands and knees, “You thief!” She shouted again. The monster didn’t even bother turning to look at her.
She felt a man grab her and lift her to a standing position. He said something but she ignored him. She looked across the square and could see Simeon kneeling as his Egyptian executioner raised a great curved sword above his head. He stared across at her with an almost apologetic look on his face as the blade sliced his throat. My turn to die next … so be it. She didn’t care anymore, everybody else was dead. Just let them do it quickly.
Narmer hit her hard across her cheek, “Answer me, boy.” He spoke in her own tongue but still she said nothing. She simply stared back at him without fear or emotion. He struck her again, harder this time, her lip split open and her legs went weak under the weight of the blow. She’d have fallen if he hadn’t held her up. “How are you named damn it?”
She raised her head and again met his eyes. Her lips and chin were a mess of free flowing blood. Again she simply stared at him, refusing to answer.
Narmer threw her to the ground in disgust. “Damn it to Apeth,” it was half a laugh. “Eight thousand new won slaves in Megiddo and I’ve gone and got myself a lackwit.”
Shiri looked past him. The monster had dragged her King off the cart and held him by the hair. He pulled off his crown and placed it carefully on the cart before grasping Lady in both hands and taking a step back. One stroke was enough to cleave the crown in two, the soft gold no match for Lady’s kiss. He laughed and tossed one half at Narmer’s feet. “Worth more than your runt I’d wager.” He turned back to the King who had slumped to all fours.
“Give him your sword, Narmer.”
Narmer tossed his still bloody Kophesh at the King. Jacobaam made no move to grasp it.
Amenhotep danced into a fighting pose. He was skilled at fighting dying men, “Up King of slaves! Let us see who’s the better man!” He swung Lady in a few practiced patterns and flitted from left to right in front of his foe. Jacobaam coughed up dark sticky liquid and collapsed to his stomach, much to the Prince’s annoyance. He grunted to Narmer. His ghaffir moved forward and tried to help him to his feet. He could do little more than sit him upright. He attempted to pry open the King’s right hand and place the sword in his grasp, but Jacobaam’s fingers wouldn’t part. Narmer settled for the left.
Amenhotep grew curious at that. “What have you got there?” He pointed to the clenched fist with his sword but got no response. “What is it, old man?” He stared at the fist questioningly and then there was a sudden grin. He’d heard the tales. “It’s from your whore isn’t it!” He laughed, “The one that ran off with the governor!” He stepped forward and went to grasp it. He turned to Narmer, his sides almost splitting with the laughter. “The Shepherd King keeps whore hair!” Narmer grinned obligingly as the Prince leaned in. “Give it to me.” He grabbed the fist and tried to pry the fingers apart.
Jacobaam’s eyes shot open. Without warning and with terrific speed his sword swung at the Prince’s chest. With a shriek Amenhotep raised Lady. But he was too slow. Jacobaam’s blade caught him right at the hilt. Lady flew from the Prince’s hands. She landed at Narmer’s feet and two of Amenhotep’s fingers with her.
Amenhotep fell to the ground howling and writhing frantically. Suddenly Jacobaam was on him. “Get him off! GET HIM OFF!” The Prince screamed, struggled, and shrieked like a crazed beast but he couldn’t win free. His bloodied fist struck at the barbarian’s jaw, his fingers clawed and gouged at face and eyes, his legs kicked and thrust at groin and stomach, but all with no noticeable effect. Jacobaam’s vision was blurry, his sword arm faltering, but he went for the kill. With one last surge of power before his strength left him he thrust his blade down.
Lady blocked his strike. Narmer stepped in and cleaved upwards taking the King under the arm. Jacobaam’s sword fell and he collapsed backwards. Instantly Narmer was on top of him and with a grunt he plunged Lady deep into the Shepherd King’s heart. Slowly, Narmer rose and turned to his Prince. Amenhotep was rocking backwards and forwards, clutching his bleeding hand and the Prince’s ghaffir thought what he dare not say.
Best stick to women and younglings in future, Your Grace.
XIII
Aratama’s nerve broke the moment his messenger carrying a flag of truce was shot and Pharaoh’s chariots surged forward. The old King turned and fled, his supposedly elite Maryannu at his side. His foot soldiers were left leaderless and defenceless, cowering behind their shields as Egyptian arrows rained relentlessly down on them. Soon enough men began to turn and run, and when they did, the Godking’s rampaging chariots charged them down.
Whether his guards had been slain or had simply fled with the rest Josef didn’t know. All he knew was, that wincing with the pain in his ribs, he was running, stumbling for the mountains alongside hundreds more. It was every man for himself, and none of those routing with him were concerned with trying to recapture the Shepherd Prince. They thought only of themselves, only of escape. The mass of men resembled a panicked flock of sheep, fleeing and crowding together under the belief that by doing so, they could save themselves from a pack of rabid hounds intent on slaughter.
Josef risked a backward glance towards the oncoming chariots as he ran. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two giant black stallions, nostrils steaming as they churned the earth beneath their hooves. Almost in slow motion, he saw the flash of a tall blue crown atop a fierce looking warrior whose jaw was wide, teeth bared in maniacal laughter. The warrior swung his sword at his neck, but in the same moment Josef stumbled and fell before him. The sword caught the top of his helmet, cleaving straight through to the scalp, bringing forth an eruption of blood, but it was not a fatal blow.
Josef raised his head, spitting red sticky earth from his mouth. Blood was pouring down his face, blurring his vision. The chariot was a hundred yards ahead now, cleaving a bloody path through the fleeing masses before it. Josef groaned. The world around him was spinning. He stumbled to his feet and staggered his way drunkenly forward, still heading towards the mountains. He passed over a carpet of bodies some dead, some dying, some pretending to be dead. As his senses began to return he started to run once more. Then he saw them; a panicked mass of men running back towards him. The chariots had cut them off. There is no escape.
Josef turned, looking desperately towards the now burning hill of Megiddo. Beneath the towering black smoke an advancing line of Egyptian foot soldiers filled the horizon. They were still some distance off, but they were drawing nearer with every beat of his heart. They were finishing off the dead and the wounded, spearing everybody and cutting off their hands for the death count. Those that were already dead were speared to make sure of their passing. Those that were wounded were hurried on their way.
Suddenly he was struck from behind. He felt powerful hands grab him and wrestle him to the ground. Struggling wildly Josef managed to twist and
came face to face with Yuya. Desperately, Josef grabbed Yuya’s wrist as the Egyptian tried to plunge his knife into his neck.
“Why don’t you just give up, master?” Yuya spat the words at Josef through straining lips. “I’ll let you live if you give up.” Yuya had both hands on the knife now. “I’m sure your father is not dead yet. I promise I’ll allow you to watch as he is executed ... return the favour as it were.”
Yuya shifted ever so slightly as he gloated and Josef saw his opportunity. He slammed his armoured thigh into Yuya’s groin. Yuya howled in pain, his grip on the knife momentarily weakened. Josef wrenched it from him. And suddenly it was Josef on top, his knife to Yuya’s throat.
“No! Please ... Please mercy!” Yuya’s eyes were wide with panic. “Please I ... I meant to let you go free! It ... it was just a ruse to trick that old fool Aratama! He’d wanted you dead!” He squirmed and wriggled desperately but Josef held him. “And ... I didn’t mean it ... I never touched her! I ... I swear it!”
A moment Josef paused. He remembered something in his father’s hand. All that was left of her. “You squirm well ... master,” he plunged the blade into Yuya’s neck and stared unfeeling into his panicked eyes as the shadow of death slowly clouded them. He heard Egyptian war horns sound and looked in their direction. The Gypto chariots were wheeling off, heading for the burning hulk of Megiddo.
Josef slumped where he was, tired, exhausted, broken. The day was lost, his father dead or captured. His people would be enslaved and dragged in chains to serve in Egypt. The knife felt heavy in his grasp. Slowly he brought it to his throat. Better to die by my own hands.
He pressed the blade against his skin, staring silently at the multi-coloured robe that Yuya still wore. No doubt it was his slave colours that saved him from the Gyptos. He glanced again to the line of approaching soldiers. They are not on me yet. An idea, a desperate, impossible idea began to form in his mind. Slowly, ever so slowly Josef lowered the blade.
XIV
Shiri’s lips were swollen and decorated with lumps of dried blood. An ugly swelling had all but closed her left eye. The other was an open wound under the great purple welt in her forehead. She stumbled forward with the others, stopped when she was commanded and stood there in a daze of pain and confusion.
Three of them were lined up side by side. An old woman, hunched and wheezing to her left and a young boy, perhaps Ethan’s age to her right, he was sobbing inconsolably, calling for his ‘mama’ again and again. She turned to him and for a moment their eyes met. He didn’t seem to see her, just kept on crying, kept on sobbing.
A week ago she would have cried too, but now she simply stood there numbly. The last few days had been one long nightmare and she could not escape it. She felt almost like a sleepwalker waking up at the edge of a giant black abyss, not really believing what was happening. I just want to wake up, I just want to jump.
A couple of Gypto’s were talking about them. Shiri sniffed, catching the general gist of their conversation. They were speaking of them not as people, but as pieces of meat to be bartered for. A man grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shoved her away from the others.
“What about this one then? He’s in better shape than the other two, worth a few coins I’d wager.” She recognised the voice. The one the monster called, Narmer, the man that killed the King, the man that captured me.
Another man approached her, a big ugly man that smelled of ale and stale piss. There were bits of food in his beard and his teeth were brown and rotten. He grabbed her by the chin and turned her face from side to side, “Why would I buy me a runt when there’re plenty of heifers about?”
“I’ll let you have him cheap, Bomani. You can feed him up a bit and sell him for a profit in a few moons.”
“Aye, maybe,” Bomani said. “I’ll not be giving much mind you. I mean to have enough for a decent heifer.” He yanked at her arms and she felt him squeeze her muscles. “By Thoth he’s a scrawny whelp! Barely any meat on him at all, he’ll not be up to much. I’ll give you two rings of copper for him.”
“That’s barely half what I’d get in Memphis.”
“Does this look like Memphis? ‘Tis twice what anybody here will give, he’s not worth one and you know it.” He grabbed her by the face again, this time fat greasy fingers squeezed her jaw. Briefly she tried to resist but he was too strong. He pried her mouth open, forcing two fingers inside so he could inspect her teeth. “He’s a pretty face for a boy.”
“Is that your fancy?” Narmer sounded amused. “Four debens then and you can fuck him all you want.”
“Very pretty face,” Bomani repeated sounding almost suspicious. “And good teeth too,” He squeezed her cheeks even harder. It hurt. Shiri felt a few tears finally begin to well up. Briefly the man met her eye. “Ah, stop your snivelling.”
She bit him.
He yelped, and fell away from her, clutching his fingers, “By Thoth! You’ll pay for that, you little bastard!” He came at her as if to strike. Shiri stared defiantly back at him, fierce hatred in her eyes. I’ll not show fear no matter how much I feel it. He grabbed her and she tried to squirm away. His hand reached for her makeshift turban and tore it off. A roll of long dark hair cascaded across her face. The two men gasped.
“Well I’ll be damned the runt’s a heifer after all!” Bomani grinned, looking suddenly more interested. “Young and not long in her blood I’d wager.” He went to grab her once more.
“Hold up there, Bomani. This puts a different face to the matter,” Narmer shoved him roughly back before turning to take a look at her. He pulled her withered tunic lower, revealing her shoulders. Shiri made to pull away but he held her fast. One more tug ripped it off completely. Her wrists were bound, but even so she managed to position them to cover herself.
He slapped her arms up, trying to raise them above her head, “Up, damn it, up! Show us what you’ve got.” She tried to cover herself a second time, and again and with a curse he slapped at them viciously and followed up with a trio of painful open fisted blows back and forth across her cheeks, “Bloody lackwit! Put them up damn you!” He grabbed her by the throat, squeezing with one hand while curling the other into a threatening fist.
Tears flowed freely now as Shiri capitulated and hesitantly raised her hands above her head. Her breath came in shallow halting sobs, the salt of her tears stinging like fire against her cheeks and bloodied lips. This couldn’t get any worse. Big flooded eyes pleaded helplessly with Narmer as he pushed her hair back, held her head between his hands, and spat a frothy wad on her face. Roughly he made to wipe some of the grime off her cheeks and get a good look at her. He went at her mercilessly and speckles of fresh blood began to appear about her bruises.
With one last tug he pulled off the last of her underclothes, Bomani breathed deep as he did so. Finally Narmer took a step back and frowned as if his efforts had done more damage than good. On top of everything, the quiet sobs and sniffles served to further foul whatever small beauty she might once have had. But still, there was some wisdom to his rough treatment of her. Bomani was known to like it when his whores were thus presented.
She stood there naked, crying, arms quivering above her head and one leg slightly raised and turned against the other, half trying to cover her secrets, but afraid of what he’d do if she did so too successfully. Narmer grinned over his shoulder. “You see? The slut’s starting to learn.”
“Beneath it all she might once have passed as half way pretty,” Bomani said slowly. “But ‘tis hard enough to tell truth be told.”
Narmer grinned for Bomani’s benefit. “You do her an injustice. She’s a lone flower blooming beautiful and tall from a stinking mound of shit.” He gestured towards the long line of new won slaves streaming past. He looked pleased with himself, “Aye, a daughter of Isis and no mistake. She’d make a fine bedslave.”
Through her sobs Shiri saw Bomani’s eyes glow as if drinking cruel pleasure from her tears. At some point during Narmer’s interactions with her
, Bomani’s hand had found its way inside his kilt. He quickly removed it as Narmer turned, “Ah she’s too scrawny by half,” he said. “I’ve bigger teats myself.”
Narmer laughed. “You’ve bigger teats than half the whores in Memphis.” Bomani glared at him but Narmer continued regardless. “There’ll be plenty willing to swap good metal for this one, have no doubt on that. She’s that pretty face as you say, and the look of a virgin about her.” Suddenly his hand darted lower and he tried to force thick grimy fingers inside her. He leaned closer, bringing his lips to her ear. “Has some shepherd’s cock fucked this?” He said it in her own tongue and it sounded all the worse for it. He thrust at her viciously and she shrieked. Instinct made her hit out at him.
His eyes flared. A huge backhand across the face sent her sprawling face first into the mud. It was perhaps the hardest he’d hit her yet. “You’ll learn yet, you slut! I’ve been too easy on you so far, too easy by half. But by Apeth, strike me again and you’ll know pain.”
For a little too long she lay motionless and Narmer took a step forward, looking a little worried, before he saw life once again tremble through her limbs. He turned, leaving her face down in the filth as she started heaving out loud, violent sobs. He waved Bomani off. “Away with you, I’ll not be taking four debens for this one. I’ve a mind to hold on to her and play with her for a night or two. She needs to learn her manners.”
“Alright then ten debens, and that’s pushing it. I’ve seen a score better than her already.”
“Hah! Save your breath, I’ll not part with this pretty little thing for less than twenty. And I’ll be the one to have her maidenhead at that.”
“Twenty! And you the one to break her in?” Bomani laughed. “Bah! Do you jest? No man would pay fifteen for her let alone twenty!”