by D. S.
Amran glanced around him, Tiye’s bodyslave was far distant but her eyes were ever watchful. But that one did not give him concern, he smiled. The witch was nowhere in sight. He drew suddenly closer and spoke rapidly. “I ... I know a copper merchant who would smuggle us to Tjaru. From there we could set out by ourselves to Palestine or beyond. I have some knowledge of the mason’s arts and if you would come with me, I know we can make a life for ourselves.”
Tiye blinked. “Oh, Amran, you say the funniest things.” She gave him a smile that would have taken the hearts of a thousand Amran’s, before unexpectedly leaning forward and gracing him with a dainty kiss on the cheek, the type ever before saved for her father. She heard her bodyslave cough and drew back quickly. It was the first time her lips had touched him since that day.
It had a strange effect. Amran seemed to swell, his face contorting in joy or pain. He nodded his head, his eyes no longer able to seek hers. Then all at once he came on again. “I may not be skilled with sword or bow, but I’d take an arrow in the heart to see that smile again.”
“It won’t take that much,” she grinned obligingly, and then he was off. “I can offer you love and loyalty. I can offer you everything that I am, my darling. I may not be handsome of face or wise in lore but-”
“Father thinks the miracles of the temple’s inner sanctum will impress Prince Amenophis,” Tiye said hastily. “Have you seen them?”
He shook his head. “Despite Lord Yuya’s petition, Habiru still ain’t allowed in the inner sanctum, m’lady.”
“Oh yes of course ... I forgot,” she wore a mildly bored expression. Amran seemed to be struggling furiously for something interesting to say, so she decided to leave him at it. Perhaps he’d have thought of something by the morrow. “I had best go or mother will be out.” She graced him one more quick smile before departing. Her bodyslave rose as she passed and followed her into the villa.
Amran sighed.
II
She wore her blue dress. It was studded with green amber and coloured stones, Amran had once proclaimed that it made her look half a goddess. Her father had bought it for her fourteenth name-day, and nothing else would do, though it did seem a little tighter about her breasts and hips than she remembered. He’d been away for nearly a fortnight this time, and was bound to be bringing presents. She couldn’t wait. But it was not her father alone who would be coming. She turned to her Habiru. “They say Amenophis is handsome.”
“He is not ill-favoured,” the slave replied cautiously.
Tiye pursed her lips as if pondering something. “He’s married though … to Gilukhipa.” She shifted impatiently while Shiri attempted to weave a mesh of lotus blossoms into her hair, and Amaris made to paint her nails. “But mother says she has a face like Ammit, and that the Prince cares little for her.”
“She is of royal blood, granddaughter to Aratama of Mitanni. They say she’s schooled in many tongues and they say that-”
“That she is ugly.” Tiye said with a grin. Once Shiri had finished with her hair, Tiye and Amaris sniffed cautiously from a selection of expensive perfumes, and took turns making faces at different ones. She finally settled on a few drops of a rather potent mendesian blend. It reminded her of honeysuckle, jasmine, and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Shiri deemed it a little strong, but Amaris’s glowing smile when Tiye rubbed a little into the slave’s neck, confirmed she’d made the correct choice.
At noon, trumpets announced that the Dreaming Pharaoh’s flotilla had been sighted. Her mother’s household guards pushed their way through the throngs, so the first family of Heliopolis could welcome the Co-Regent in fitting manner.
By the time they arrived, her father’s vessel had already docked and the high priest was disembarking, his ghaffir and Old Solon close behind. Lord Yuya greeted his wife with a light kiss on the lips, mussed his son’s hair, and turned in time for his daughter to jump into his arms. He laughed as she hugged him. He kissed cheek and forehead both. “You get more beautiful every day,” his eyes passed over Tiye’s stony faced bodyslave as he said it.
And then everybody turned towards the ‘Hammer of Ptah.’ Tiye knew it was the largest ship in the entire Memphite fleet, and second only to the giant double hulled ‘Megiddo’ of the elder Pharaoh, Amenhotep himself. The great ship glided effortlessly to the docks, where a dozen or so Habiru grappled with papyrus ropes and threw planks across to the deck.
Tiye gasped as a line of a hundred or more Companions, wearing what looked like heavy, crocodile skin armour, marched out with perfectly timed steps. They swung as one and faced the crowd. One of their number bellowed something rather aggressively, and the rest responded by slamming spear against shield in sudden unison. The noise made Tiye jump.
Despite being outnumbered fifty to one by the crowd, it took the Companions only a few moments to peaceably, but forcefully, push all save the city’s first family, back to more fitting distance. Tiye heard her father whispering to her brother. “Such impressive manoeuvres can only be perfected after years of training.” For her part, Tiye thought one or two of the Companions looked very impressive indeed.
There was a sudden blast of trumpets and the crowd went deathly silent, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air. And then, after what seemed like an interminably long delay, she saw him emerge on deck – the Dreaming Pharaoh. The Co-Regent was greeted with cheers and stood for a moment, almost as if in a daze, before raising a golden sceptre aloft and saying a few words.
His speech was lost on the wind but nobody seemed to care. Hundreds of people surged forward, pushing against the Companions as they tried to catch a glimpse of him. Tiye furrowed her brow and scrunched her lips. She cocked her head a little to the side and passed her bodyslave a confused glance. Shiri stifled a smirk.
Despite being covered from head to toe in finery and being weighted with a golden torc so thick it would likely blunt a battleaxe, Tiye concluded the Co-Regent was a major disappointment. Not like the statues at all. He was younger than her father, yet looked older. He seemed thin and pale and stood perhaps half a foot shorter than herself. His face was painted blue, no doubt to better hide it, and as he began to walk down the gangplank it was clear that the effort wore on him.
A young man of an age with herself took the Co-Regent’s arm and helped steady him. He too was clad in gilded finery, but the effect was markedly different. She nudged her bodyslave, nodding her head ever so slightly in the man’s direction. The slave gave her a surprisingly apprehensive look. “That’s Amenophis,” Shiri said through the side of her mouth.
Tiye straightened up as the Co-Regent and his handsome helper drew nearer. Behind them, four or five women in dresses of silver and gold congregated; three of Tuthmosis’s four wives and Amenophis’s one. Tiye had her bodyslave point out Gilukhipa.
They all went to one knee as the royals drew near, all save her father at any rate. He stepped forward smiling broadly, before taking the Co-Regent’s proffered hand to his lips. “I hope Your Grace had a pleasant journey.”
Tuthmosis didn’t seem to hear and Tiye noticed that his eyes appeared unfocused. Was he dreaming like in the stories? Her father was ever being called to Memphis to help find the truth in his latest visions. Yuya glanced to Amenophis. “Your father is well? He was in good form when we parted company in Memphis.”
“He took ill on the journey, but the priests of Imhotep do what they can to ease the pain.”
“Better perhaps if my own man, Old Solon here, was to...”
Abruptly, the Co-Regent seemed to become aware of who stood before him, and embraced her father in a manner that Tiye deemed a little overly familiar. “The blood dream came again last night.” Tuthmosis slurred. “I fear our famine is not yet past … I would have words about it at your convenience.” Thanks to her father’s foresight and perhaps Aton’s grace Heliopolis had escaped the worst of the famine, but down river Tiye had heard that times were hard.
Lord Yuya bowed. “As you say, Divi
nity, such visions should not be ignored. I suspect the Aton still demands the ultimate sacrifice of us.”
The Co-Regent seemed only half conscious of his surroundings. “Ever do you tell me thus, but to free so many ... I ... would it really please the Jealous One?”
“Of a certainty.”
“It would not please my grandfather.” Amenophis said curtly before taking the Co-Regent’s hand once more. Tuthmosis seemed to lose interest in continuing with the pleasantries. The boy waited a moment for his father to compliment the high priest on the impressive turn out, before deciding to take the task upon himself. “Heliopolis does us high honour. My father is most pleased with the display.”
Tiye’s father smiled. “The honour is ours.” He made the slightest of gestures with outstretched hand and her mother stepped forward. She signalled to Meira who went to bended knee, a papyrus basket containing a tribute of water and mud in hand. Amenophis nodded his acceptance of the city’s fealty. Tjuya motioned for Ay to move up beside her. “My wife, Tjuya,” Yuya said with a grin. “And my son, Ay. He’s destined for glory this one; already does he outmatch me on the Senet board.”
“No great feat.” Tiye heard Old Solon say under his breath.
Amenophis offered her mother his hand and she pressed her lips to it. They seemed to linger there a while longer than seemed appropriate, her dark eyes looking up at his, almost as if trying to hold them. But Amenophis’s eyes would not be held. They’d transfixed themselves on something. He’s staring at me!
Without further ado, he deftly slid past the still genuflecting Tjuya and wholly ignored Ay. He glanced briefly over his shoulder. “You give name to the thorns, Lord Yuya, but what of the rose?”
Her father frowned, unsure how to take such a comment. “My ... my daughter she...” His words petered out almost in shock, as in a move that played completely against convention, the Prince took a knee before his daughter and moved to take her hand to royal lips. Tiye’s heart pounded, and blushes chased themselves across her cheeks, as gracefully she accepted the Prince’s fealty. Amenophis was not quick about releasing her hand.
The Prince held his breath. He’d heard whispers before he’d arrived, rumours that in Heliopolis there dwelt a creature that could rival the goddess of love herself. He knew now that such talk had not done the girl justice, for surely even Isis would pale in comparison with Tiye.
The girl’s eyes were like something out of legend, and they had him, they had him completely and totally, and what’s more they seemed to know they had him. He’d never seen the like before. They brimmed with a playful innocence, yet concealed something deeper, something full of passion and promise. He could stare into those eyes for an eternity yet still be unable to define the colour. It was a blue that was not quite blue; a deeper, softer hew that was neither lilac nor indigo nor any colour he could name. And they were certainly not the piercing, unsettling orbs of her father; there was something else in there.
He glanced briefly to the mother but could see no trace of it, yet something told him he’d seen it somewhere before. In the sky perhaps; at dawn or dusk, a blue tinged with something else, not quite crimson, not quite gold ... and then for the briefest instant he imagined he saw it. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a movement somewhere behind her; another set of eyes staring at his, boring into him almost aggressively. He wrenched his gaze from Yuya’s daughter and looked for them, but the feeling was lost. He found only Tiye’s bodyslave and she was staring stalwartly at her feet, as was proper for one of her station.
Finally he managed to find his voice. “I was told Heliopolis was the home of a god, but I fear the reports were mistaken, for it is not a god, but a goddess that walks its streets.”
Tiye blushed appreciatively. It was like something Amran would say. “I did not realise such follies dwelt on the tongues of princes.” Her eyes flitted impishly to his, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of a kitten toying with an outmatched foe.
Amenophis laughed. “This prince’s tongue seeks only to confirm what his eyes have seen.” He kissed her hand a second time and this time she imagined she felt the slightest touch of that tongue brush her skin. Tiye realised she was smiling. Amenophis rose to his feet, mirroring her smile. “Perhaps we should walk together a while and see what else it can discover.”
“We must visit the temple before the sun falls from noon,” Her father said quickly. Amenophis looked a little put out. He still held her hand. “What need for haste? The temple will yet stand in an hour,” his eyes again found Tiye’s. “Or a day.”
The Co-Regent suddenly erupted. “The Aton will not suffer delay! The Jealous God will bring fire and death to those that do not offer him fealty!” He swayed backwards as he said it and the high priest had to jump to prevent him from falling.
Amenophis bowed. “Of course, Father, as you say.” He left Tiye with a lingering backwards glance, and took the Co-Regent’s arm in hand. The rest of the royal procession began to drift past and Tiye felt herself able to breathe again. Someone bumped rather roughly into her shoulder then. Tiye stumbled and Gilukhipa offered her apologies before gliding after her husband.
III
Sometimes Tjuya imagined she saw him staring at his slut, a furtive peek or stolen glance when he thought his wife was not looking. He had done so again at the docks. It may have been his wife’s lips that he kissed, but it was the slut’s that he wanted. Always the slut.
Did he go to her still? She doubted it. He would have seen the marks. They were faint, but there all the same. Meira has grown careless of late. Tjuya sighed. She did everything a good wife could to capture his heart. She offered witty conversation, humorous jests, moist lips, soft thighs and more. In their marriage bed she gave herself to him in whatever manner she thought would best please him, and more often than not he would do his duty, but she couldn’t help but feel that he took scant joy in it.
Worse than that, in the darkest shadows of her mind she could not but think, that when they joined their bodies it was not his wife that filled his thoughts. The slut’s fault, always the slut’s fault. He never initiated it. It was ever her that had to make the play, ever her that had to go to him. She could scarce remember the last time her husband had come to her with fire in his belly. He never lifted her in his arms, threw her to the bed and took her with passion and lust, never. I have to make do with Jafar for that.
She bit her lip. They were ever arguing of late too, and it was always over his whore or his bastard. At first she’d been able to disguise her loathing for the girl, attempted to dote on her, attempted to be her mother. But as usual his slut had ruined it all. The slave always knew exactly how to steer her towards anger, always knew what to do to drive further wedges between her and the child. But still Tjuya had done her best to please husband and child both. She’d regularly kiss the girl in his presence, and spend much time teaching her needlework and the three stringed lyre when he was near. But the girl was so spoilt and aggravating that she’d always end up having to scold the brat for some misdemeanour, at which point the girl would run to him crying and complaining. And he of course would always take the brat at her word.
That too, was the slut’s fault. Always that fucking slut’s fault. Never did a week go by without the slave whispering lies and exaggerations in his ear. The bitch had lost him, yet was still determined to ruin his marriage, still determined to rob others of their happiness.
Oft had she seen the Habiru giving him eyes when she thought nobody was looking. Oft had she seen her sneak off to tell him of some new half imagined slight. And whenever she did so, he came to his wife with anger in his eyes, demanding explanations as to why she had disciplined the child, or why she had refused to spoil her rotten, or why she had neglected to bow to the brat’s every whim. And then we argue.
His heart was so full of love for his bastard that he had no space left for his wife, nor even his trueborn son. But at last she had him wrong footed. At last she would be able to get rid of the li
ttle slut. And that’s what she was, a dirty little slut just like her mother. Meira had been right in that much. Whore’s blood runs deep.
She’d watched her cavorting with the Habiru dog, seen her wiggling her hips at him and attempting to puff out her chest and give him an eyeful of her growing breasts. Dirty, conniving little whore. Tjuya smiled at her husband, her voice sweet as her Memphite Red. “She’s such a sweet, innocent thing, she deserves only the best. She would be the envy of every girl in the realm.”
“That’s not the point.” Josef said. “Amenophis could end up with a harem a hundred women strong. He’s already all but abandoned his first wife. You would have Tiye become naught but a plaything to be cast aside when someone younger and prettier comes along?”
“You saw the way he looked at her today. I don’t think he’ll be casting her aside any time soon. Besides, you know what they say of Gilukhipa; three years wed and no child to speak of, little wonder he’s done with her. If Tiye gives him a son or even a daughter she’ll be his first forever more.”
He shook his head. “I’ll hear no more on the matter.”
She sighed. Why does he always have to be so stubborn? “You have someone more appropriate in mind then? The Emperor of the Hittites perhaps? Or Memnon of Nubia is it?” She twisted her lip sarcastically.
“I haven’t given it much thought, nor will I for many years yet.”
She drifted towards him and placed a soft hand on his arm only for him to shrug it off. Her irritation grew. “Yes I hear Memnon seeks fresh meat for his harem,” she said airily. “A maid of Tiye’s complexion would play well against the darkling stock he’s accustomed to.”
She saw his anger rising and laughed at it. “Amenophis it is then, your daughter will prove her worth yet ... provided she learns how to please a man.”
Josef took a breath. “She is over-young. We might revisit the topic in a year or two ... perhaps, and I would learn more of this boy before I give my consent to any such marriage.”