Shiri
Page 8
He attempted a stern face. “Be still, I have to clean it.” The eyes seemed to accept it. Briefly they gazed past him, staring towards the far side of the tent. He imagined he saw something flicker in them then, but quickly it was gone. She gave a little nod and he felt himself relax. With a deep breath, he brought the cloth at her again. “I’m just...” she swung at him, scratching hard at his face, her nails drawing blood. He fell away holding the back of his hand to his cheek. “Damn it girl, I’m trying to help you!”
She lunged past as he swore and he felt a thrill of panic when he saw what she was going for. He’d left his knife on the table and she meant to have it. He grabbed her, ripping her new clothes as she reached for the blade. She cried out in fear and frustration, kicking and screaming. He hoisted her up off her feet and deposited her like a sack back in her corner. Suddenly she was the terrified child again. She held a protective hand over the rip in her sheath and the pleading and promises of obedience began anew. He turned, picked up the cloth from where it lay, and flung it at her feet.
He stood there and she looked up at him with eyes in which terror and disgust fought for dominance. He sighed, pulled up a stool at the other end of the tent and tried to avoid staring at her. In turn she cautiously inched forward taking the cloth. He took a deep swig from a bottle of Theban Shedeh he’d purchased and nursed the thin flame of scarlet that was creeping down his cheek. One more wound to add to the collection.
As he placed the wine back on the bench there was a sudden movement at the tent’s entrance and Akil, the first Egyptian that had come across him after the battle, suddenly entered. Josef’s Egyptian was perfect and with Yuya’s coloured robes on his back it had been easy to pull off the deception.
Akil laughed when he saw the mark on his face. “Ah, she’s a feisty wench this! Claws like a wildcat!”
“Damn it, man, do you not announce your presence before entering a noble’s tent?”
Akil nodded by way of apology before dumping a plate on the table before him. “Just thought I’d drop this in to you.”
“My apologies, Akil, I didn’t realise-”
“No need to apologise, you haven’t tasted it yet.” He glanced at the slave in the corner, noting the rip in her sheath and flash of small bare breast with a grin. It seemed Lord Yuya had been having some fun, though clearly the slut hadn’t yielded without a fight. He spun, leaving as abruptly as he had entered.
Akil hadn’t been lying. The food was not exactly fit for Pharaoh. At some stage during cooking, the half eaten leg of lamb had been befouled with mud and dirt. Josef picked at the plate unhappily, thoughts of his father swirling through his head. Could he really have fallen? He was so strong, so wise.
He sighed dejectedly. I haven’t even had time to mourn. The war was lost and all those that had believed in their cause were in chains or graves. He buried his face in his hands. It was my fault. He’d failed, failed to come to his father’s aid in time. If only he’d been stronger, if only he’d demanded that Aratama march at once, if only he’d insisted they march hard when they saw the smoke. Eight thousand new won slaves have me to thank for their plight. Thousands more, from every town and village that joined our cause, will curse my name when the Gyptos come for them.
At first light when the bulk of army pulled out he would move too, not northeast towards Mitanni but south, back along the route the Egyptians had taken, or perhaps by Gilboa rather than the treacherous Aruna Pass. He would move ahead of the slave caravans, he would march alone into the very heart of the enemy. He would do something, anything, everything, he could to help the people he had failed. I have to do something, have to try to make amends. He sighed, lifted his plate again and looked across at the girl, “You’ll be wanting some of this I’d wager.” He pulled his head back with a start.
She had cleaned the mud and grime from her face and was now giving careful attention to her bruised forehead. All the time she stared at her captor as if plotting the best way to kill him.
He took a breath. It’s her … the girl from the village. For a moment he felt nervous ... if she recognised him there could be problems. But as he looked on her hate it was clear she didn’t know him. That was for the good.
He gazed at her a little too long and she looked away, hate again being conquered by fear. She was pretty this shepherd girl. Hers was not perhaps the beauty poets and minstrels of noble courts spoke of. She was not tall with porcelain skin and curves a man could get lost in. But there was something about her, something deeper than skin, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She dared look up at him again and it was then that he realised what it was; her eyes.
He smiled. “Well now, you don’t look half so bad when scrubbed up,” he said it as if it surprised him, but once said he hoped it might have a positive effect. It didn’t. She continued to stare with those dark eyes. They had that same look of ill disguised fear and overt hatred. She could speak with those eyes.
“I mean to release you,” he said it suddenly and this time he finally saw a change in her expression. “I’m not a man who likes this slave business.” He waved his hand as if the statement were of no importance. “You’re free to go your own way whenever you please.” Did she understand? He wasn’t sure.
Shiri was shocked. Was the Gypto saying what she thought he was saying? “Free?” she said simply, looking suddenly alert and almost upbeat.
“Yes,” he laughed. “Free.”
Her look reverted once more. He’s mocking me, laughing at me.
Josef furrowed his brow at the renewed glare of disgust she gave him; it was even more intense than before. “Well what’s the matter now? Do you not understand?” he said slowly, “You’re free to leave whenever you like. Free!” He imitated a man walking with his fingers. “You’re not my slave. Go home to your family and get away from all this.”
Shiri’s Egyptian though weak, was not as bad as he seemed to think. She understood more than she could say, and certainly understood much of what he was saying. But still she didn’t answer, sure he was mocking her. He’s the worst one yet. At least the others didn’t give her any false illusions about their intentions. They meant to rape and beat her body, he meant to go further. He means to rape my mind. He wanted to torture her with lies and promises, laugh at her, get her to beg and plead and do his bidding willingly, in the belief that then he would be true to his word and free her. He wanted to give her false hope, only so he could watch and laugh at the pain in her eyes when he wrenched it from her. These Gyptos were each viler and more twisted than the next.
Josef sighed. “Who could have imagined releasing a slave would be so difficult?” he shook his head. “YOU ... FREE ... GO!” He said it ridiculously slowly, again miming with his hands. “Free … you free … go home.” He pointed to the entrance. “GO!”
She cast a fierce glance at him, annoyed by his attempts to talk down to her. He must think she was a complete fool, but he was the fool not her. Finally she shouted at him, and in his own foul tongue. “I know, I know what you say, stupid Gypto. No family, no home you kill, I hate stupid Gypto.” She spat on the floor between them to emphasise her point. “You free me now, bad man all around? Hah!” She spat again.
He raised an eyebrow clearly impressed; few amongst the peasant folk could speak so much as a word of any tongue but their own. He waved his arms in a self-deprecating gesture. “Aye, aye, you have the right of it, of course. I may as well release a lamb before a pack of wolves. Alright then, how about this? You can sleep with me tonight, and then once the troops have departed, I’ll release you.”
Her lip curved into a knowing snarl, it was as she had thought. He would promise her freedom and talk her into willingly debasing and humiliating herself to satisfy his perverted lusts. Then he’d laugh at her in the morning, call her a stupid whore, and say how easy it had been to trick her. But she was too smart for him, “Hah! You want sleep me, I no want sleep you, you same as others ... you same but bigger ugly, hah!”
“Stupid Gypto I already tell, no home no family you kill. I clever you stupid hah! I know your words you not know mine!” She tapped the side of her head with her knuckles and made a mocking open-mouthed face. “Stupid fat Gypto. You dumb like donkey.” She produced a noise that he assumed was supposed to sound like said creature. “Donkey! Donkey! Stupid fat donkey! Hah!”
“Sweet Ba’al almighty!” he raised his arms, half laughing as he turned away from her.
He heard her voice again, “What you say?” Her voice was different this time, softer, quieter.
He glanced over his shoulder, weary from all this. He rubbed his head. The wound in his scalp was throbbing.
“What you say?” She said again, staring at him intently.
Now it was his turn to be confused. “What?”
“What you say? What you say! Say again!” She rose to her feet and stepped closer.
He shook his head. “Um ... you can go home and forget all this.”
“No! No!” she stamped her foot in frustration. “The bull! Ba’al the bull!” She struggled to find the words, “The ... the Storm Lord! Ba’al!” Two more steps brought her face only inches from his. She seemed almost to be studying him, his features, his nose, his mouth, his cheeks, still red and bleeding where she had scratched him. He was paler than the other Gypto’s. Her gaze rested on his eyes – so blue, none of the others had blue eyes. She remembered something, something from a past that seemed almost a dream. Soldiers ... soldiers in Yaham. He looked away. He had never before failed to meet someone’s gaze, not even his father’s, but he failed now.
She spoke again, more softly than he had heard her speak before, “Ba’al god of Shepherd not Egypt.”
Part II
Master and Slave
I
She stood there, hands on hips, legs slightly apart, daring him to answer. “Who are you?” She said again, and this time in her own tongue, “You’re no Gypto.”
“Be silent.” He balled his hand into a fist and attempted an aggressive gesture. “Be silent or it will be the worse for you.”
“Be silent,” it was a nasal mockery of his own voice. She took a step closer, staring up at him almost aggressively and then all at once she shoved him. “Who are you?” He was forced to take a step back, his mouth felt dry. “You ask many questions,” he said slowly.
“You answer few.”
“It’s no concern of yours who I am,” he said at length. “I bought you and now I’m freeing you. What does the rest of it matter? Once we’re away from the camp we’ll go our separate ways. So let that be the end of it.” He turned from her as if there was no more to be said.
The girl was clearly of a different opinion. “You’ll tell me or ... or I’ll scream ... I’ll scream loud enough to rouse the whole camp and you can explain yourself to Pharaoh.”
He turned and for the first time answered the girl in her own tongue. “Scream all you want, nobody will come.”
She scrunched her lips as if tasting something bitter. “You weren’t lying when you said you would release me were you?”
“Like I said, you can sleep in the tent here tonight, and tomorrow too if need be, and once the army has left you can go.”
“Just tell me who you are.”
She was, he concluded, decidedly ungrateful. “If I tell you, you’ll have a power over me. You may try to blackmail me.”
She huffed in frustration. “Oh why would I do that?”
“They are many reasons why someone would betray me.”
“I won’t betray the man who saved me.”
He deemed it was the closest thing to a ‘thank you’ he was likely to get off this one. “What if the Gyptos capture you again, they’ll have troops all over the country scouring it for survivors of the battle. They might ask you questions, they might use means to persuade you to talk.”
“You mean … you mean they will not be leaving?”
“Pharaoh is not one to leave his enemy half beaten,” he said. “He’ll kill every man that didn’t keep his lips planted firmly on the ground, he’ll burn every village if need be and won’t rest till he’s hunted down the last rebel survivors. And more than that, word is he means to have every first-born in bondage.”
Shiri bit her lip. I’m a first-born. “And this is what I’m to be released to? To go back to the ruins of my village and wait for them to return?”
“Well what am I supposed to do about it?”
“You can tell me your name for starters.”
He said it, even though he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t. “Josef”
“Josef!” her eyes opened wide. “Not ... not the Prince? The Shepherd King’s son?” It was. She could see the King in his hair, those eyes, “And I...” She was suddenly embarrassed. The Prince and I called him a donkey ... a stupid, fat, ugly donkey. She curtsied quickly, her cheeks scarlet, “B...begging your pardon ... m’lord ... Your Grace ... I didn’t mean ... well what I meant was...” A long awkward pause, and then she looked at him again, “But ... the Prince was killed in the battle! I heard the fat one say it to the soldier that caught me.”
He shrugged. “No, that was another.”
Almost imperceptibly a strange look clouded her eyes. At first it was a just the ghost of suspicion, but slowly it grew; grew until the suspicion turned to certainty. She glared at him, suddenly aggressive. She came forward pointing at his money pouch. “How came you by that? How came you to laugh and joke with the Gyptos as your people are whipped and sold like animals?”
“Well ... Pharaoh ... he rewarded me for...”
“He gave you coin! He ... He paid you off!”
“Aye, well, no … it’s complicated ... I did not betray my people, this is not what you think.”
“You tell me what I think now?”
“No, I...”
“You take the menfolk of Yaham so she is undefended. Did you know it was their plan to steal into the village all along?” He opened his mouth, but the girl gave him no chance to answer. “You tarry with Aratama so as to avoid the fight, and now you celebrate and take coin from the Gyptos.”
He turned away so she wouldn’t see her words hit home. “Aye, that’s about the size of it ... I daresay I couldn’t have served Pharaoh any better if I tried.” He slumped into his stool and buried his face in a mug of heady ale.
They stayed like that for a while. He, sitting under a cloud of doom, determined to drown his sorrows, she, standing there, gazing at him with disgust. Then after what seemed like an age he slowly rotated and looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of treachery. And then, all at once, he gushed out his story. It was like a dam had burst and in the flood he held nothing back.
He explained how Aratama had betrayed him, how he had fought with Yuya, and how in desperation he had donned his robes and taken his place. He told her everything, even his plan to go to Heliopolis and make a claim for Yuya’s birthright and maybe, just maybe gain enough influence to ease the plight of the people he’d failed. He could achieve nothing in Palestine. Every minute he stayed offered the risk of being recognised, and look how easily the first one of his own people he’d spoken to had seen through him. Only in Egypt, where Yuya hadn’t been seen since he was a child did he have a chance. Only from there could he gain some form of revenge on the man who killed his father, only from there could he help them.
She stared at him as he spoke. His eyes burned with the intensity of his words and in that inferno she saw truth. But still she was suspicious. She inched a little closer. “How do I know you’re not just spinning me a yarn?”
He shrugged. “You can imagine me as a traitor or accept me as a fool.”
“You really think you will be able to help them?”
“Probably not
. I probably won’t even make it to Heliopolis. If you can see through me so easily, what chance have I got with people that actually knew Yuya when he was a child? I have nothing, no allies, no armies and barely enough coin to make it to Egypt, nothing.”
“You ... have me,” she said softly.
He smiled. “No not even you, you are going back to your village, remember?”
“Back to my village?” she rolled her eyes. “Back to await the next Gypto raiding party?”
“Well what else is there?”
“I ... I could go with you. I could help you.”
His face grew stern. “No, I’ll not be bringing you into the viper’s nest. You’re staying in Palestine.”
“To do what? Sit by my parents’ graves and wait for the Gyptos to return and do to me what they did to them?”
“Well you can’t come to Egypt, you couldn’t pass for an Egyptian, ‘twould take months to teach you to speak the language fluently and even then your accent would betray you.”
“And you? How will you pass as a noble without a slave, without even horse or guard? A man who curses to the wrong gods?” She cocked her head cheekily.
“I have money enough for a horse, and I’ll survive better without a guard questioning my every move.” He waved the subject aside. “But now it seems you have me at a disadvantage, you know my story, but I don’t even know your name.”
She smiled at him and he was surprised to see her confident swagger return to timid redness, “What does it matter what my name is? I’m no prince or princess, just a nobody caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“It matters to me.”
She blushed again looking away this time. “Shiri, my name is Shiri.” She returned her gaze to him reasserting her determination. “And I will go to Egypt with you.”
“You won’t.”
“I will.”