Shiri

by D. S.

  “Nonsense! Was your whore so much older when you took her?” She saw his lip twitch and eased her tone a little. “Gilukhipa was a full year younger than Tiye is now. Besides, if I do say so myself, the girl has a pleasant look to her, though the gods only know where it comes from. Tall and slender with promising breasts and good hips for her age, and that hair – so unusual, I’d wager none from Memphis to Thebes has such a colour. If you wait any longer, I fear the Co-Regent will want her for himself.”

  Her husband clenched his jaw. “I will not have that.”

  “Yes, I’d rather the son too, truth be told, or perhaps even Pharaoh himself. I hear Amenhotep grows bored of his current mounts.”

  Josef stared at her coldly. “Never.”

  She looked at him blankly. “But why not? I could write to the grand vizier. Papis is visiting Memphis as we speak. Word is he’s looking for a new bride for the Godking. He’s having a presentation of suitable candidates brought before Pharaoh for the feast of Isis.”

  “You will not write to him, Tjuya. I promise you that.”

  She sipped at her wine daintily. “They need only to be pretty, unspoilt maids of noble birth. He may decide on more than one, so even Tiye has a chance.” The look in her husband’s eyes was almost comical. “Amenhotep offers the girl’s weight in gold to the father of any he chooses to bed,” she paused, wondering if she should dare say it. “A fair exchange ... for a bastard.”

  He spun, his eyes ablaze. He raised the back of his hand and for a moment she was almost afraid. She flinched. He’d never hit her before, and he didn’t now, but that had been close … that girl must go. He lowered his hand quickly, but his eyes remained cold as ice. “I’ve told you, Tjuya, never call my daughter that, never.”

  She parried his sally with a smile. “Best wed her to Amenophis then. I grow forgetful in my dotage, and if she remains here much longer...” She pouted at him, “Well, I can’t be held accountable for a slip of the tongue.”

  The high priest clenched and unclenched his fists. “Young Rahotep of Dashur is a kindly sort and Tiye seemed to like him when last they met. I’ve no doubt he would treat her well. Perhaps in a year we could arrange another meeting and see if she likes the man he‘s become, then perhaps something could be arranged.”

  She rolled her eyes and he paused as if seeking a way to sweeten the deal. “His house … his house is moneyed enough to maintain twenty battle tested men at arms and nearly a hundred slaves. She’d want for naught and would be just half a day’s ride from Heliopolis.”

  “You realise of course that Rahotep’s grandfather was a fishmonger?”

  “He was an exceedingly successful fishmonger.”

  She turned from him. “Honestly, my darling, you have no sense when it comes to that girl. Here I have an offer to wed our house to the throne, and you speak of twenty worn out sell swords as if they were a division of Companions.”

  “The closer you get to the throne the nearer you are to the headsman’s axe.”

  “An old wives tale, spread by high lords seeking to stunt the ambitions of their peers, the closer you are to the throne the nearer you are to wielding that axe, and just think, if Tiye serves her purpose well and bears him a son … well could you imagine what it would mean?”

  He seemed to falter. “A grandson on the throne ... he would let them go...”

  She furrowed her eyebrows. “What? Let who go?” he came out with the strangest things sometimes.

  He shook his head. “It … will be her choice, if she does not want to…”

  “Oh what does a girl of barely fifteen summers know of such things? Did I have a choice? Did you?”

  “No, but…”

  She moved closer, taking his hands in hers. “It was not Amenophis alone that seemed enraptured at the port. Tiye likes him too; you cannot be so blind that you did not see that.”

  She saw the admission in his eyes and smiled. She kissed him softly on the cheek and slid a hand between his legs. “And besides, if you wish it, we can still make another babe to sit on your knee – we are not so old yet.” She allowed her dress to fall to the floor and turned to her shadow. “Leave us, Meira. I would be alone with my husband.” He was not as eager as she would have hoped. Little new in that. But he did not resist as she pushed him back on the bed and guided him into her.

  IV

  Dawn found him at his daughter’s door. Three soft knocks and Tiye bid him enter. She was sitting by her mirror, her bodyslave platting her hair. He caught himself wondering what it would be like if it was just the three of them, far away in the Wildlands or beyond.

  His eyes passed silently from one to the other. If Shiri was the rich dark colours of earth and water, Tiye was the radiant fury of sky and fire. Where one’s was a soft beauty, hidden under frowns and scowls as once it had been hidden neath bruises and mud, the other’s was a raw, primal thing that filled the room, the house, the city itself, a beauty that could not be missed, a dangerous beauty.

  Yet, for all that, it was not his crimson locked goddess that held his gaze. The slave turned as he entered and her eyes shot poison at him – there was hate in that look. He’d seen hurt, sorrow, fear and even love in those eyes, but never hate. She’s told them already. He’d wanted to be the one to break the news, wanted to broach it gently, his wife had known that, but still she’d gone to them.

  Tiye offered him a massive and impossibly pretty smile. “I’m to be a princess! I’m to go to Thebes!” It was almost a shriek. “And Amenophis promises one day he’ll make me his queen! Shiri says Gilukhipa is set to be his queen, but I know Amenophis tells it true.” She cast her bodyslave a dismissive glance.

  Shiri smiled at her mistress, but Josef couldn’t help but think she directed her words at him. “Men promise many things, m’lady, and wanting them to be true does not make them so.”

  Tiye paid her Habiru no heed as she rose from the chair. She was wearing the same dress as yesterday. “You wear that frock, overmuch,” he chided with a grin.

  “Amenophis … he asked me to,” she said, a little embarrassed. “He wants to take me to see the sunset in the shadow of the Giants of Giza … can I ... can I go?”

  He frowned. “Aye, well, as long as you take Shiri.” He’d not have the boy taking liberties.

  Tiye beamed at him and all but fell into his arms as she planted an excited kiss on his cheek. “Amran waits in the gardens,” he told her. “I did what you asked, though by rights there are others more deserving of the position.”

  Tiye pulled back looking a little confused. “Amran? … Oh yes, I forgot. I’ll tell him now!” She wanted to give Amran a special present before she left.

  Her father let her go and she darted for the exit. He saw her pausing at the door, hands on hips, legs slightly apart. So like her mother. He was amazed nobody else ever appeared to see it. Tiye made an impatient noise between her lips as she waited for her bodyslave to follow.

  “One moment, m’lady, I’ll just clear the dresser.”

  Tiye nodded and as quick as that was gone. Instantly the brightness seemed to go out of the room. Shiri stared at him with eyes like daggers. “You’ve sold my daughter,” she said with sudden venom. “Sold her for the ear of the future King.”

  He gulped. “She’ll live in the lap of luxury, a hundred servants at her beck and call. Amenophis will be good to her.”

  “And Amenhotep?”

  “Amenhotep? ‘Tis not Amenhotep she marries.”

  She made a face. “Even with streaks of silver in your hair you’re still young as ever. You know what they say he does. You think a beardless boy will have the strength to stop him?”

  Josef paled a little. “I … I had not thought.”

  “Hadn’t you? … I wonder.” She turned and made herself busy tidying her mistress’s dainties. “I … I know you chose our people over me. I don’t blame you for it, it had to be done.” She didn’t sound like she believed those words. “But in my darkest nightmares I never imagined y
ou’d choose anything over her.”

  “I chose nothing over her,” he said. “Amenophis is his grandson, he will be king after him, Amenhotep would not dare … besides Amenophis loves her. You can see it in his eyes.”

  “Love? What would you know of love?” Her voice sounded like nails scraping slate.

  He frowned. Why must you always be so bitter? I told you not to come to the Two Lands, but you would not listen. I offered to abandon it all and leave with you, but you would not have it. “He’ll raise her high. She could be Queen one day. Nobody will ever be able to hurt her. I did what is best for her not just …” He moved as if to touch her arm but she stepped back.

  “Don’t touch me … Yuya.” She backed away.

  He sighed. “You wish now that we had never met?”

  His words took her off guard, and for a moment he thought he saw pain in her eyes, but instantly it was gone. “How can you say that?”

  He stepped closer again. “Then there is something there still?” He looked strangely hopeful.

  She took a breath and suddenly she was holding his gaze. “No … nothing,” she paused. “It’s only… if we’d never met I would not have had her. She’s all that I care about now. I don’t care about you, I don’t care about them…” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the slave quarter, “Just her.”

  She doesn’t mean it. “When Tiye leaves I’d like for you to stay. She won’t be gone for more than a few moons. Amenophis will want to return to Memphis within the year to help his father rule the Lower Kingdom. Amaris can be her bodyslave ‘till then … and you … you might take back your old room? Not the basement, the other one … to hell with Meira,” he smiled, “and perhaps we might…”

  “When Tiye leaves I’m leaving with her.”

  He stood there for a while, looking for all the world like a lost puppy. Finally she seemed to feel some pity and moved closer. He grinned and raised a hand to hers, but then he saw she was not coming to him, she was merely making for the door. She brushed past him and paused a moment, and then he felt it; her hand questing for his. It was a gentle caress, her fingers trembling as if she were fighting with herself. He wrapped his around hers and squeezed. Something passed from her palm to his. She allowed the touch to linger a moment before abruptly she withdrew. “I don’t want this anymore,” her voice seemed a little shaky. She turned and almost ran.

  “Shiri wait...”

  She was gone. The crumpled rag paper felt heavy in his hand, stained and torn, but he could still read the crude glyphs. He’d all but forgotten it, how many years had she kept it secret, kept it hidden? He traced the figures with a tentative finger. “Shiri,” he said quietly.

  Tiye discovered Amran in the gardens. He’d been waiting for hours by the look of him and had a sour expression on his face. He offered her no friendly greeting, “Is it true then?”

  Tiye chewed her lip, news travels quickly. “Yes, it’s true.”

  Amran did not take that well. “But what about me? What about us?”

  There is no us, there never was. “I meant to tell you sooner.” She made to change the subject and smiled, clearly delighted with herself. “I was speaking to Father about you … he’s agreed to make you leader of a hand! A whole hand Amran! You’ll have five Habiru under you! You’ll have a hut all to yourself and will answer only to the overseer!” She beamed at him, “You’ll live almost as a free man!”

  Her gift did little to lighten his mood. “Live? Can a man live without his heart?” He moved closer. “Please, Tiye … don’t marry him. You don’t love him, you barely even know him.”

  She took a little step back. “His father sits the Red Throne. His grandfather wears the Uraeus Crown.”

  “And that means so much to you?”

  She sighed. He’s only a Habiru. I can hardly expect him to understand. “Oh Amran,” she opened her arms and hugged him.

  When she went to break the contact he held her tighter. He could feel her softness through the linen; feel her perfect breasts pressing against his naked chest. He could smell the sweet lotus oil that moistened her skin, and see the vivid blue orchids that adorned her famed crimson mane. And she could sense his arousal. He was sure of that.

  He had not held her thus since that day. And she was different now, a woman. He lost himself to her, his mind unable to think of anything but the moment. Too cruel that he should be the one to watch her grow and bloom only to see her drift ever further from him, too cruel that he should be the first to taste her lips and lose his heart while another would be the man to take hers. He kissed her.

  “Amran that was not proper,” It was part giggle, part gasp. She drew back and attempted to push him away, but he would not have it. He held her almost roughly and made to kiss her again. Still half laughing she turned her head and lips met cheek.

  “Amran, please ... you know what happened last time.” Weakly, she pushed at his chest and then she saw his eyes and was taken aback. There was a desperate, almost manic look in them. A little nervously now she tried to push him off more firmly. Her strength was as nothing to him.

  Easily he pulled her closer. Again he made for her lips and again she turned, he found neck and cheek once more. “Amran please,” he sought her mouth. “Amran stop it!” She twisted and wriggled, no longer laughing. She wanted to leave as friends, not like this. “Mother will see, don’t ruin it Amran.” His hand found its way to the small of her back, then darted lower and all at once his fingers were feeling and touching her most intimately private places. Finally her anger broke. “Amran enough!” Her knee thrust upwards and found him between the legs. He cried out and crumpled forward. She lost her balance and together they fell backwards onto the muddied bank of the Sunpool, he on top of her.

  He saw her eyes grow moist and wide with fear or panic and all at once he was himself again, instantly regretful and apologising. “I ... I’m sorry, m’lady, I didn’t mean...”

  She pushed him away angrily. He was just scrambling to his feet and offering to help her up when they heard a voice. “What were you doing to my sister, dog?”

  Tiye pushed away the slave’s hand and stood under her own power. She smoothed her blue dress unhappily, it’s ruined, dirty black mud splattered all down its back. She was close to tears. Her eyes shot fury at Amran before glancing sheepishly towards her brother. How long had he been there? He had his stick sword in hand and seemed of a mind to use it. “Answer me, dog, or you’ll answer to my father instead.”

  “She ... she tripped ... I was just helping her up.”

  “Liar!” Ay wacked the slave in the head with his sword. Amran stumbled but kept his feet. He was a little taller than Ay, a little broader about the shoulders. Ay stepped forward boldly, clearly enjoying playing the hero. For her twin he did not look much like her, dark hair, dark eyes, dark words. “Speak truly, dog. You meant to fuck my sister didn’t you?” Her brother whacked him again, square in the face this time. Blood spurted from crumpled nose and severed lip. The slave went down. “Or have you fucked her already, is that it?” He turned to her. “Do you play the bitch for this dog?”

  “Ay stop it! It’s as he said, I slipped and...”

  “And he suggested you grab his cock to balance yourself?” He turned for the villa. “Mother won’t be happy. She’ll probably cut it off!”

  “If you tell her, I’ll tell Father that you ... that you pushed me into the mud!”

  Ay paused; she was ever their father’s pet, able to wrap him around her finger with a single pout, just like she could with all the ghaffirs and sun priests alike. And if she pretends to tears again and names me the cause. Well, it didn’t bear thinking about. He shrugged as if the matter concerned him little, and turned to leave the pair at their business. “Suit yourself then.”

  Tiye hurried after her brother, slipping past the slave without looking at him. She only glanced back as she entered the villa. He was sitting in the mud, nursing his wounds and looking sorry for himself. Her words stun
g more than her brother’s stick ever could. “Amran … you’re never to visit me again.”

  V

  Yet again the flood was late. It should have come two moons past, but still there was no sign. Mayhap this will be the year it fails completely. The air was arid and parched. It felt like he was breathing dust. The river itself was weak and low as he’d ever seen it, great floating blobs of green and yellow scum covering half its surface. And what’s more it stank; a fetid cloying stink that penetrated everything. Here and there, Papis could see dead fish floating past. Doubtless that was the cause of the stench. The river was so low that his large, unwieldy ship, ‘Sword of Amun’ had run aground on semi submerged muddy banks near half a dozen times. Each time was a delay, each delay was an irritation.

  The fool that named himself captain seemed to have a knack for discovering every sandbank and mudflat in the river. Delays were one thing, humiliations another. One week into his journey back to Thebes, the ship had become irrevocably stuck on a high bank. Some hidden rock had breached the hull and the whole vessel began to list alarmingly as water surged in. In the end, the high priest of Amun had to suffer the indignity of being rescued by the lead ship of Lord Yuya’s flotilla, fresh out of Heliopolis. They’d left three days after the high priest, yet had overhauled him two days out from Thebes. He would have to arrive in the great city on board a vessel blessed by the Jealous God. He glanced back, the giant beast of a vessel, the Hammer of Ptah, was close behind. It seemed to be able to negotiate the low waters easily enough. I should have hired a captain that knew his business.

  At least the great city was in sight now. Its towering walls had appeared on the horizon at daybreak, but it had still been hours before the sheer splendour and size of the place became apparent. Thebes of a hundred gates, Thebes the unconquered, Thebes of Amun. It was midday before the enormous phallus shaped pillars of Karnack materialised, stark and bold against the sky further south. As far as the priest could tell, Lord Yuya’s daughter had come up on deck for no other reason than to point and giggle at them. No respect.