Going Forth By Day

by Mary R Woldering

  “It would be rude of me not to give my name,” his deep rasp of a voice announced, “I am His Royal Highness Prince Maatkare Raemkai, General Overseer of the Upper Lands, but you will use only ‘Your Highness’ or perhaps my simple birth name, ‘Maatkare’. The right to say all other names or titles must be earned,” he emphasized.

  The cold ire that had crouched, hidden inside her heart leapt up at the man’s announcement. And I am not your pet, she wanted to hiss and break away, but she fought that urge. ”Ma-at-ka-re” she twirled her free hand in a summoning gesture, not sure of what force or who she called to aid her at that moment. “Deka”, she replied, her deep brown-green eyes glowed, edged in gold and red.

  Suddenly, Deka found herself forced up against the wall and ambushed greedily. The prince’s mouth devoured hers. The weight of his massive upper body pinned her flat on the wall while he sought out her breasts, raked the sensitive skin on her back with his oddly sharp nails, and then found the opening of her dance belt. He insistently caressed her increasingly moist mound. “The name Deka means pleasing,” he gasped in a delighted but momentary pause of tittering, low laughter. “Will you be that to me, Hmmm? We shall see, Ta-Seti, shall we not?” he spoke eagerly, his phrases punctuated by heavy breath as his mouth and tongue sought her jaw-line and throat.

  The instinct to push him away overwhelmed Deka. She knew she was strong enough, but at that moment the will to push and pry his hands loose, to knee and kick his hardening groin suddenly fled. She became tense as a wooden plank despite her intense arousal.

  The children… she whispered inwardly, but the red stone pulsed a little more quickly as if it had become eager itself. They want this. They want me to… Deka remembered how the Children of Stone had always enjoyed these tense emotions, particularly lovemaking, but this man was rough and unquestioning enough for her to think of it as rape.

  “You fighting me?” he paused only briefly in his torrent of hard and biting kisses on her face, neck, and shoulders. “No. Trust me. You don’t want to do that!” A pause followed, and then another deep and searching kiss. “Well, not too much…”

  “Stop! Not here!” she croaked, weak and giddy in his arms. Desire and need welled up and overwhelmed her, against everything in her nature. Augh! No! I am being betrayed by them. Why? Deka thought Maatkare would take her in an instant, like a dog would, out in the open and against the wall. He really would rape her, and then leave her scrambling to right herself from a humiliated heap as he went on his way to his home. Something about that, though repulsive, thrilled her.

  Then you fight me! Make me do it. Win me! she felt her thoughts screech.

  A strange voice whispered in her thoughts. The one you called Man-Sun is dead, but he was false. Take it.

  No? Is it this man? Could it be…Ta-Te! Here? Her thoughts leapt again, sensing that the force smiled. It seemed proud beyond telling, as if it had waited for her to be caught in this passionate moment. But, why have you come now? In this form?

  As if the young prince sensed her inner turmoil, he whirled her around and boosted her away from the river, suddenly going in the opposite direction. He wound through the white walled corridors with her. As he raced, he stopped her frequently to drink in and savor her mouth and breasts with more fierce and brutal kisses. Quickly, he urged her along the narrow path to the back entrance of a two-leveled building. Once they were inside it, he rushed her in a flurry up a set of brick stairs to a wide room with a porch that overlooked an open plaza. Servants, who had appeared to tend to the prince’s needs as he arrived, scattered. A woman paused and shouted angrily, but he turned to her with a snarl that wasn’t even human.

  Once they were in his spacious bedchamber, he released her briefly while he threw the bedding from his carved ebony bed to the floor. Her back turned, Deka trembled with excitement. She began to remove the pretty dance kilt the inspector had given her, but the prince seized her arm, pulled her back to him again, and tore it and the jeweled loin belt from her hips. She felt herself being lifted into the air, and then deposited on down filled mats on the floor. Maatkare showed her no tenderness or even a hint of anything beyond reddest lust. As he scrambled on all fours to her like a ravenous animal, he didn’t even give her time to admire his nakedness. For the tiniest of moments, she felt fear and cried out in a breathless whisper: “No. Don’t.”

  “Don’t?” the prince stopped his insistent grappling for an instant. “What lie is this now?” his voice growled as if he had become a wolf or a wild dog that could still speak as a man. “Say one thing, beg for another. See this? You know you want it so bad, so very bad,” he sat on his heels and caressed his erection with a tenderness that showed he might either be gentle or just in love with his own hugeness. “Get away from me…” he snapped. An agonizing, stony silence followed as he turned his back to her in disgust.

  Deka panted, winded from running and trying to catch her breath. Even so, she couldn’t hide her feelings or her thoughts. He’s making me weak. I can’t hide. I can’t fly away. Oh, Mama Menhit, huge! He would shame the fertile god, Min. He means to hurt me with it, too. Run. Get out. Escape, cried her thoughts.

  Stay. I can smell your fear, woman. Good, his inner whisper flooded her beneath the whispers of the Children of Stone. It is good you are afraid, now. You know you want it, though. I’ve seen your eyes craving it, all of it to the root deep inside you. He repeated what seemed to be a mantra he had begun earlier: Beautiful Fire, I know you inside. I’ll sit here. You’ll think about it for a while.

  Deka felt ill and weak. Her upper body fell forward behind his back. No. Her heart wanted to burst. Every breath hurt because she wanted him. Worse than that, she wanted to be owned by him. You can’t do this to me. Don’t overtake my thoughts. I am kentake. I am god-blood. I remember, now.

  I know what you are. I told you that, she heard him sigh a little, expressing his own needs while his back was still turned to hers.

  Deka studied at the small of his dark back and the gentle swaying curve out into his hard, muscular buttocks. She saw no evidence of fat whatsoever. Her hands wanted to grip them hard, to guide him. Everything about his shape made a statement about raw and untamed power. Another rumble of distant thunder sounded. The pitter and patter of gentle drops of water struck the outer tiles. A gentle rush of wind caressed her as she lay behind him. It was as if the gods of wind and rain she’d called were blessing this moment.

  “Nnnggghhh. Nnngh…” Maatkare emitted at a faint moan that sounded like a whine of a beast that was suffering for something sweet.

  At that moment, Deka knew she could not deny him. With trembling fingers, she reached to the inner curve of his arm.

  “See?” he whispered, then turned to her again almost tenderly. A low, hoarse chortle accompanied his voice. “You see?” his eyes closed then re-opened. For a moment, she thought they flashed a different, greener color. He crossed his legs, starting to stroke her thigh.

  “I know what you are… and who,” he chuckled and lifted one of her feet to his lap, then up to his lips. Breathing out gently on her toes, he lapped at the arch of that foot. Suddenly he glanced toward the wall. Deka turned her head so she could see too. Above the piled up comforters was a small wicker table. On it stood drinks and a medium-sized jar with a brush inserted and leaning to the side. “I could take you and break you before you knew what had come upon you, like a bitch in the tall grass. But, because you have decided to obey me and perhaps learn a little of my ways, I will take you slow and sweet.” He abandoned her foot for a moment and lunged forward to get the jar. Maatkare pulled out the brush. The golden, rich sap on it formed a bead and dripped back into the jar. He wiped the excess on the inside lip, and then took up her foot again. Slowly, he began to paint her toes with the substance.

  “I saw it in a dream once, that in another world I am a painter… an artist. So, I will paint you now. It’s honey, because I like something sweet with my meat.”

  Deka felt him begin to slowly la
p at her left foot, then pause to seek her expression with his own smoldering eyes. They had turned a mysterious greenish-gold from their olive color. She gasped, unable to speak or even move. Her fingers like claws, she gripped the comforter on each side of her body as she panted with the anxiety of expectation.

  “Say it to me,” his husky, deep voice growled a little again. His side teeth seemed somehow longer now. “It will go better for you if you do.”

  The enraptured woman felt the brush and his mouth moving to her other foot, then up a little higher, lapping the honey he had applied gently before continuing upward very, very slowly.

  “No words, sweet brown cinnamon woman? None? Too overwrought to speak already?” his voice almost teased. “Then, sing for me as I play your instrument better than it has ever been done before,” she heard him laugh. For a moment she wanted to struggle, but she couldn’t. The prince tittered just a little like a jackal. “And, know this about me, my sweet sister Ta-Seti. Know that I will take what I want, when I want it, and as often as I want it,” his voice grew darker and then quieted. With that, he licked and kissed ever so slightly higher on her inner thigh.

  “Please,” Deka’s whisper escaped.

  “No, not yet, perhaps not even tonight,” he moved upward, drizzled a little of the honey onto the dark fur of her mound, caressed it to spread the sweetness evenly and then settled gently alongside his prey.

  CHAPTER 11: A ROYAL CONCUBINE

  He’s finally asleep, Ariennu smiled, turning to lie on her back for only a moment’s stretch. She had held the crown prince in her arms until he slept. The man who had taken her to his palace two nights earlier and ultimately to his bedchamber tonight seemed more like a big child than a fully grown man. He was sweet and matter of fact. He wasn’t at all vain or haughty as she expected a royal prince would be. Ari didn’t want to think about the evening she had just spent with him, or the day of preparation that had preceded it, but she could not help but review the whirlwind of events.

  When she had arrived at Prince Shepseskaf’s home the first night, she shared some late night kisses at the entry to the women’s quarters with him. Then, servants politely bowed as they approached and quietly took her to a freshly prepared, wonderfully cool and perfumed bed. It was set up in a large room with a shallow, central bathing area, some storage chests made of cane, leather, or wood stacked against the walls, and five linen draped beds with other women reclining in them. They gazed at her with passing curiosity, but, as it was late, they said nothing. Ariennu lay on her new bed that first evening, trying to contemplate her future.

  She couldn’t stay awake that night, despite her efforts. Then, after a few hours of exhausted sleep, she woke. She tossed, turned, and napped off and on for the rest of the night until dawn lightened the sky enough for the rest of the household to stir.

  What followed was a full and miserable day of instruction in the behavior expected of a royal concubine.

  Ariennu spent the first part of the day practicing dances and walking through the gardens of the estate in order to learn what areas were designated for the serving women and potential concubines. The various maids and servants instructed her in personal grooming, service, deportment, and public behavior. She was officially “on observation”. The only difference between her status and that of a maidservant, she learned, was that her “duties” included physical or sexual entertainment if the prince desired it. Her teachers were extraordinarily close-mouthed about any emotion or desire their employers might have. Although she wanted to ask a dozen questions, she found quickly there would be few answers.

  On the second day, Ariennu met the mistress of the house for the first time. Her two instructors in deportment, healthy but plain spoken women in their late thirties, rested in the shade of an awning in the women’s area after their midday meal. Ariennu had become almost misty about her life as a merchant in Little Kina Ahna and had silently wondered how she might get her sisters back together so they could leave this cursed place. Etum Addi would take them if they could get to the coast, she knew. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the sharp intakes of air from the other two women who were resting, or that they scrambled to attend their mistress. The young princess had arrived from her work at the temple just in time to interview the newly chosen companion.

  “So, you are called Lady ArreNu, I understand,” she began. She held something fluttering and pale in her hand as she beckoned for Ari to stand and come to her.

  Ariennu bowed a little as she rose from her seat at the pool. “I am Ariennu, of the Kingdom of Tyre by birth, but I call no place my true home.”

  “But, now you are here in my house,” the very young, quite tiny woman with a heavy indigo braided wig that entirely covered any of her natural hair, approached. “Come with me, ArreNu… Arry-Yen noo. I will learn of you some more. My king is impressed by your look and apparent good health.” The young woman cracked a pert and artificial little smile. Her unspoken works were clear as water from and unsullied fountain: but I will learn your spirit as we take some air.

  Ari padded along quietly near the woman, looking down at her as they walked out to the gardens where an abundance of fig and date trees were starting to fruit. She was impressed by the young prophetess’ maturity. Earlier, one of the maids had intimated that the royal princess was a mere twenty-two years of age, but this Princess Bunefer seemed far older and wiser than her years dictated.

  As royalty, the woman was naturally a little distant and condescending when she spoke. Ariennu expected that. The pale thing in her hand was actual a linen mitten on each hand.

  Leprosy? Illness? Ari wondered. Hardly, she answered herself, pondering. Why the mittens? She felt the young princess’ shining black eyes as she sensed the question about the mittens.

  It was obvious that the woman was being careful of what she touched. If a hound or a cat came, or if one of the trained falcons flew down as they walked and talked, she would touch them with an ungloved hand. If a person approached, they waited until she had donned her glove. No one seemed to think her private little ritual was out of the ordinary.

  What’s she afraid of? Ari wondered. A spell from someone touching her? Time, she knew, would have to give the answer to that question. For now, Ari smiled in all of the false demureness she could muster. “I am grateful his Highness has chosen me to come to his house, to be your companion perhaps, Your Highness,” Ari answered. That was the sort of exchange the maids had told her was allowed: demure, subservient, but friendly in tone.

  Although Prince Shepseskaf stated he had “liked her” that night at the count’s house, Ariennu learned quickly that the only reason she had been chosen for his household was so that she might bear him a child. The only son Shepseskaf had sired with his beloved Bunefer or any other woman had died years ago. That was before Shepseskaf was even named as the heir by his father King Menkaure. Together they had brought a daughter, Khamaat into the world. There had been no other children. The woman was certainly too young to worry about infertility, but Ariennu sensed that potential condition was foremost in her mind.

  “And if you need one, perhaps I could be a nurse to your daughter,” the elder woman suggested.

  “Princess Khamaat has seven years and will be married to a quite young noble youth studying in the temple of Ptah who will be our vizier when the time comes. She is away for four years now and is at training to be Daughter of the God,” the little woman’s eyes averted. At once Ariennu knew her conversation had strayed into forbidden territory.

  “I’m sorry, I…” she felt nervous and uncomfortable again, wanting to be anywhere else in the world than in this beautiful, birdsong-filled garden.

  “I understand you sold medicines for women in your marketplace, our cousin who is the Inspector of the Ways has told us this. Is it true?” she looked up as if Ariennu had said nothing. Her mitted hand shaded her eyes from the sun against the tall elder woman’s back.

  This question gave Ari an idea. If the princess di
vined that she as a new concubine was infertile, perhaps she could continue on in the royal household as a healer and seek training in the temples for Aset. With the perceptiveness radiating in the little woman’s aura, Ari knew the woman would find out soon.

  “I did, Highness,” Ari said.

  “Then, hear me. I have need of your services as I have not come with a child for his Highness in five years and I am still young. What customs are used in Tyre, or any part of Kina-land to increase a woman’s fertility?” the princess inquired.

  “Uh, I am not certain what you mean,” Ari felt reduced to stammering. That was a first for her. Ariennu had always been a confidant woman, but something about this young princess unnerved her. Young Bunefer was reading her. When Ari had been bold enough to satisfy her own needs rather than waiting for Marai to enjoy her body, she had obscured the memory of these encounters with various strangers with a gift given to her by the Children of Stone. She visualized light, divided by a crystalline structure into myriads of rainbow light. It was a pattern she had seen inside Marai’s vessel of crystalline light. When men she met on evening ‘wanderings’ tried to call her to mind the next day, that glistening pattern was all they could remember. Worried that the princess would see far too much about her, she bowed her head in feigned shyness and imagined the light laid carefully over the secret of her age and her own chosen infertility. “Oh,” she started again. “Well, I must say no one has approached me with such a request since I have been here. I sold love charms for lonely women,” she tried to laugh, but her humor was lost. “Maybe I… Don’t worry so…” she started and stammered, then gave up for a moment, turning to face the sun. She sensed the woman already had sought a reading from her sisters that a child would be born of her womb, but that one more would come from an unexpected source. Telling her to relax would have been like telling the River Asar to cease flooding in its season. Royal women spent their days with so many responsibilities that their children were often nursed by servants. Further lack of children might have been caused, in truth, by a lack of sex due to exhaustion. In truth, averting pregnancy had been her own specialty, but she kept silent about that to the young princess. “Perhaps the fault is not yours, Your Highness,” she suggested. At that point, the conversation nearly ended.