Shiri

by D. S.

  “That was an entrance.” The old man closed his eyes. “Do men take their whores to worship in the Wildlands?” Pentephres was a stern sort at the best of times. He sunk into his granite hewn high seat and did not look inclined, or able to rise and greet his visitor in a manner more fitting the man’s rank.

  Josef bowed low. “A foolish error from one who has been away too long. You have my word of honour as a loyal son of the Two Lands, that henceforth I’ll let no Habiru set foot inside your temple.”

  “In my day,” the priest said, “before the countless victories of Tuthmosis, third of his name, I could walk from Heliopolis to Memphis and not see a single slave. Now I find them even in our temples.”

  Josef shifted. “Again, I can only apologise I…”

  Pentephres’s waved the words aside. “Young Hapu is ever ... overzealous in his adherence to the old ways,” he paused as if the effort of speaking wore on him, “and times are changing eh? The high lords take bodyslaves now and oft as not they forget they are at their side. A few licks of her master’s whip will be punishment enough for that one.” His eyes slowly opened and seemed to focus on his guest, “Still … it was better when bodyslaves were the domain of our women alone I think.” He inhaled deeply – a long, gasping breath that seemed to pain him. He gazed at Josef a little strangely. “Come closer, child I ... cannot see you.”

  Josef’s heart beat faster, he took a single step and went to one knee, head lowered.

  “You come back to us a man grown, Yuya.” There was a curious tone to the priest’s voice now, “How old were you when you left us, five was it?”

  “Six”

  “Ah yes of course, six ... the years ... they play tricks with the mind.” Pentephres took a long sip from a goblet hewn from a solid block of rock crystal. It was inlaid with delicate silver glyphs that seemed to glint almost magically in the lamplight. “So many used to pass through the schools of Heliopolis, it is hard to remember all the faces ... and yet,” he leaned forward a little, “You may look at me, child, I’m not the Godking, and I would see your face.”

  Josef raised his head and placed a hand on his knee in a manner that displayed Yuya’s ring clearly, “I mean to offer my service to the Three That Are One,” he said hastily.

  Pentephres’s eyes seemed to flick towards the ring, before slowly, deliberately, the old priest drew a crumpled letter from his robes. “Yes, I received this from your father ... a year ago. He announced that you would be returning immediately to escape the troubles.” His eyes peered accusingly above the papyrus, “He ordered you to avoid the shepherds by leaving quickly. Clearly you failed him in that.”

  “Through no fault of my own, your holiness, the shepherd rebellion took us by surprise both with its swiftness and its scale. I had hoped to leave as the disturbances were mounting but clearly, as you say; I failed in that.”

  Pentephres touched the Sun Ring, caressing the bloodstone with trembling hand. He closed his eyes and whispered some strange incantation in a language lost to time. The light seemed to go out of the chamber and the shadows about the priest grew dark and black as night. Pentephres’s incantations grew louder and slowly he straightened himself up. His breathing became stronger, his shoulders less hunched. He raised his head and smiled before bringing the ring to his lips and kissing it. “My life for the Three That Are One,” he whispered. “My life for the Aton.”

  Josef watched the show curiously. ‘The ring of Heliopolis, blood of the creator, healer of wounds,’ or so the wet-nurses said. He glanced to the alcoves as ghostly shadows flitted silently away, a line of extinguished oil lamps in their wake. He thinks to play me.

  “Is that what happened?” Pentephres looked suddenly alert and proved he was not yet in his dotage, by standing and moving towards Josef. His voice rose almost aggressively. “Perhaps you first journeyed to the lords of Karnack. That is where the power and riches lie now. Perhaps you only came to me after they turned you away.” His breath no longer came in wheezes, his fingers no longer trembled.

  “I have no desire to serve the Hidden One. Amun does not speak to me.”

  “And you claim the gods of Heliopolis do?”

  “I hope that perhaps in time the Three That Are One might deem me worthy. I know in my heart that the priests of Sun Temple tell it true. The spirit of life and light is the true lord of creation just as the brethren of Heliopolis have ever...”

  “Hah! Do not play at fancies with me youngling, I know wither the wind is blowing. The priests of Karnack turned you away! Be straight with me in that much at least!” He showed the boy his back, his eyes surveying the gutted innards of his once great temple. “Where have you been these fifteen years past?” Pentephres said. “Where was your father’s gold when the Sun Gate burned and I sent word that I had need of forty thousand debens to purchase slaves and material? Where were you when she came into her blood and the appointed year arrived?” He made an irritated sound in the depths of his throat. “And now you come to me with nothing, your lands confiscate to the Crown, your family decimated root and branch.” He turned and pointed an accusing finger at Josef. “Oh I know your game, youngling. You mean for me to name you heir to the Sun Ring in place of Hapu or Potiphera who have served me well these twenty years past.”

  Josef stood and for the first time held the man’s gaze. “Twenty years in which they have allowed the temple to fade into obscurity.”

  “And you would do better of course.” Pentephres dismissed the notion with a snort.

  “I could not do worse.”

  “You think it an easy task, Yuya? You think we have not done all in our power to rebuild?” Pentephres glanced at the boy as if accessing if he was worth the effort before motioning for him to come closer and give ear to his conspiracies. “It was the priests of Karnack that did it.” He whispered.

  He had journeyed to Thebes and taken the same accusations to the Godking. Tuthmosis had given him a perfunctory hearing before dismissing him without even bothering to bring the acolytes of Karnack in for questions. “Heliopolis was always the brighter star,” the priest said airily. “Karnack, naught but a mongrel pup beside our ancient temple. So the acolytes of the Theban Triad sent fiends and criminals in the night. They burnt it, they burnt my ... burnt our temple and defaced the Sun Gate knowing we lacked the funds to ever repair them. We fought the fires all night long,” he pulled back the sleeve of his robe, revealing the scars of some old and gruesome burn.

  “I remember the smoke and the ... heat still,” Pentephres said. “We begged and pleaded for money to rebuild, we leased the Temple’s lands out to the noble houses of Memphis, we offered blessings and absolutions to those who give even the smallest of tributes. For a price we allow merchants and ... and whores to ply their trade in the very shadow of the Temple, but still we cannot raise the funds.” He turned on Josef. “And you come here and tell me we have not done enough? We have done all we can and more! But where was the house of Ratoker when the Sunpool was emptied to fight the flames and the very rocks themselves sundered in the fires of hate? Where was your father? Where were you?”

  Josef could feel the pain in the old man’s voice as he spoke. He stepped closer, placing a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “I am here now, and I would rebuild the Temple. I would make it the wonder of the ages.”

  Pentephres shrugged him off. “And what secret fortune do you possess, Yuya? Your father is cast down; you have naught to offer but the clothes on your back and words in your mouth. What I need are slaves, hundreds of slaves, thousands, and to buy slaves I need gold, and to make gold I need slaves.” He chuckled as if there were some dark humour in his quandary. “The gods mock the plights of priests and sinners alike. Oh I have some coin and much salt and grain to barter, but with the cost of a decent Habiru or Nubian these days...”

  Josef smiled. “I’d wager the cost of slaves is about to become more reasonable.”

  There was a flicker of interest about the priest’s eyes. “New stock is it?�
� Pentephres was ever quick to spot a bargain. If the victors of Megiddo were bringing a few hundred slaves back with them they might be going a little cheaper than normal. But even then he would need thousands, not hundreds. “From the war is it?” He paused as if pondering something, before apparently thinking better of it. “Eh, no, no I care not for new won cattle, vile and barbarous that lot. They’ll do more harm than good.”

  “The greater houses of Memphis will like as not be of a similar opinion.”

  “And with good reason, so unruly and the smell ... the smell offends me. No, better to have home grown cattle, bred to serve and able to speak the tongues of civilised folk.”

  “But those come at a price, and I assure you I have experience in dealing with these ... cattle. I’d have them bending their backs to the work soon enough.”

  “Experience gained at your father’s knee is it? Hardly the greatest reference, did he teach you how to lose an army and drive a whole province to revolt? Did he teach you how best to bare your neck so they might slice off your head?”

  Pentephres seemed a little perturbed that frank talk of the father did not seem to offend the son. The man barely seemed to notice. “Amenhotep drives near ten thousand new won slaves before him,” Josef said. The priest’s eyes widened at the figure. “He means to sell, and sell quickly so he can pay for new temples, coronation ceremonies, gilded chamber pots and the like ... Memphis will be overrun for a season or more.” Josef lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But what the Co-Regent forgets is that the richest nobles of Memphis are still on campaign with his father. There’ll be few in the city with desire or funds enough to buy more than a handful. And so the prices...”

  Pentephres’s eyes glinted. “The prices will be most ... favourable.” The old man did a few calculations in his head. Nothing excited his sensibilities quite so much as the possibility of getting one over on the nobles of Memphis, and better yet the Southron lords of the Upper Kingdom and those blasted priests of Karnack.

  He could buy up a whole swath of dirt cheap Habiru, set them to work, train them up, and then sell them on piecemeal in a few years time, or whenever the price was right. “I’d wager, even the best of them will not be going for more than nine or ten debens a piece,” the priest said, “And like as not, the Co-Regent will be willing to accept salt and spice to some degree at least ... mayhap even grain ... why I could ... I could buy me two for the price of one. If I invested the temple reserves ... why I ... why I could take over three thousand! Enough to raise the temple to even greater heights than before! The Sun Gate would stand proud once more! And Heliopolis ... Heliopolis would have a monopoly on nearly half the slaves in the Memphite plain!” His eyes were glowing. “We could hire them out, sell them, mayhap even establish a brothel or two! By Horus, Yuya, there’s money to be made here!”

  Josef’s heart was pounding. Even better than I had hoped. He looked away, trying to hide his excitement. Three thousand at a stroke, not free true enough, surely he could never hope to achieve that much, but if he could somehow get himself into a position of power in Heliopolis he could at least make their lives easier, and in time maybe ... just maybe he could think of something. He felt a thrill of apprehension, if Pentephres discovered that Tuthmosis would be bringing a second batch, near ten thousand more, in a few moons time he would not be so happy. But such bridges would be crossed another day.

  The high priest smiled with his eyes and gazed at Josef with new found respect. A hint of something else slowly entered the old man’s countenance, almost as if there and then he had just decided on something. “You speak with knowledge that few of my acolytes could match.”

  “Knowledge is a poor substitute for wisdom, or so the greybeards say.”

  “Ah, but is knowledge not the pathway to wisdom? My acolytes...” he sighed before returning to his chair. “Well, they’re a poor crop if you must have the truth of it. And you’ll be pleased to know I’m a man of my word,” he laughed. “Aye, despite it all I kept my vow to your father, besides, like I said there’s not a man worthy of her in the lot of ‘em. Since the great fire those with wit enough to know what’s good for them have long since declared for the Theban Triad and journeyed south. Those that remain spend more time drinking and wenching than performing their ablutions. Little wonder that of late even the temples of Seth receive greater tribute.”

  Josef was barely listening, his mind racing. He would have to convince Pentephres to send him to Memphis to personally view the auction blocks and do the buying, a fellow veteran of Megiddo may be able to talk the Co-Regent into selling an extra few. He would have to persuade Pentephres to part with as much gold, silver, salt, grain whatever could be traded as possible. If he could manage to get four, or maybe even five thousand it would be a start, a hell of a start, better than he’d dreamed possible. He grinned to himself. Wait ‘till I tell her about this.

  He realised that Pentephres had drawn closer. “I accept you into the service of Heliopolis, Yuya.” He held out his hand presenting Josef with the Sun Ring so that he may kiss it. Josef did as bidden and all at once the old man laughed as he would on meeting an old friend. “Yuya, my son, it’s been too long!” He motioned for Josef to rise before clasping him in what seemed to him an overly friendly embrace.

  “Now, I believe I know someone who would very much like to meet you. You’ve shown great patience, my lad, gods, if I were your age it would not have been so!” The old man’s grin had grown to almost lewd proportions. “Especially after so many years eh? By the lords of life and light she’d almost given up hope.”

  Josef looked at him trying to hide his confusion. Yuya mentioned no one else. Pentephres led his newest charge out of the temple, instructing Hapu to provide food and drink for Yuya’s companions. He led him out passed Shiri who rose from where she was sitting and made as if to follow. Josef shook his head and she stopped, seeming to understand, and abruptly turned to follow the priest who was leading Solon and Akil in the opposite direction. Pentephres led Yuya up an empty street to a large mudbrick villa, which stood at an intersection only a short distance from the temple.

  The mansion appeared to be empty, so Pentephres showed his bemused guest through to the central courtyard. There, the heat of the sun was somewhat alleviated by the shadows of the mulberry and lotus trees whose gnarled branches stretched out over the yard. A brace of comely Habiru women wearing loose fitting robes that left their breasts exposed appeared as if by magic. Josef could not help but stare, though the high priest paid them little heed.

  Pentephres sent them on their way with orders to fetch meat, figs and honeyed wine. “And Yocobel,” the priest added, “have your sister bring it.” One of the slaves hesitated a moment before curtsying somewhat stiffly and continuing on her way. He motioned for Josef to sit overlooking a small pool fringed with floating lilies and fragrant multi-coloured flowers – the Sunpool, or so the household named it. The original Sunpool lay in a dilapidated courtyard behind the temple. It had been abandoned and all but forgotten after the high priest had changed residence in the wake of the fire.

  “You must tell me all about your time in Palestine, my son, I hear Tuthmosis has put the villains to flight and even now crosses the Euphrates itself.” He slapped his thigh in admiration. “Egyptians crossing the Euphrates! Gods, has there ever been a Pharaoh to match him?”

  “Not even in the songs and legends of the elder days,” Josef said.

  Pentephres looked suddenly sombre. He raised his eyes to his guest. “Was it really the hell I have been hearing of?”

  Josef glanced beyond the priest as a fluffy haired little girl struggling with platters and wine approached. He heard Pentephres shift as she drew near. She came to the guest first, and did not meet his eyes as she filled his goblet, and presented him with an appetising looking haunch of venison. It was sided with figs drizzled in honey fresh from the comb and olives stuffed with creamed cheese.

  He smiled at her. “Thank you,” She glanced up at that, her
eyes, deep and suspicious, her skin, pale and unblemished under her golden curls. Too pretty for her own good, and too young, much too young. She gave him a strange parting look before curtsying and moving to tend her master. Josef turned his attention back to the high priest, “Aye, hell it was, but for some more than others. It does the spirit good to be back in civilisation and in the company of such noble and distinguished persons as yourself.”

  “And they say it is not yet over? Old Aratama lives to fight another day?” Pentephres allowed a wrinkled hand to massage one of the girl’s small breasts as she bent to fill his goblet.

  Josef shook his head forcing himself to match the priest’s tone. “He lives long enough to bend his knee before the Blue Crown.” He frowned as he saw the old priest idly twisting a nipple between thumb and forefinger. “Even now Mitanni goes down in fire and smoke. The war was done the moment the Shepherd King...” Josef found himself unable to continue, the old man had moved his hand under the girl’s skirts now, he worked it back and forth and all the while continued to chat with his guest as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “I would appreciate a cup of water.” Josef told her. The slave looked at him, lip quivering, red-faced. Abruptly Pentephres withdrew his hand. “You heard the man, Amaris, water, quickly now,” he waved the girl from his side, his eyes following her as she hurried away. “Such a delectable creature, my little Amaris … like a pale spring flower that has not yet come into full bloom.”

  Josef’s lip twisted in ill-concealed distaste. “I would have a real woman’s company.”

  Pentephres shrugged. “Aye, well, one cannot account for taste,” he took a deep draft from his goblet. “We must make burnt offerings for the sun lords,” the priest enthused suddenly. “I prayed daily, not for victory you understand, but that the war should end swiftly. The only good in war is its ending. And now, since the Three That Are One have answered me they must be thanked before the full of the moon.”