Shiri

by D. S.

  And then his hands were everywhere, a wild, almost scary look in his eyes. He does want me. He really does! She let his hands go wherever they willed. She was his, every inch of her, she would let him do anything to her, she wanted him to do everything to her, wanted to do everything to him – for him. She felt a hand sneak under her skirts, felt his fingers slide ever closer, felt them as they found her, felt them as they ... as they ... she whimpered. Her eyes sought his and held them as she moved her hips ever so slightly against him, letting him feel her, letting him enter her. She reached one hand around his back and again she pressed her lips to his, this time opening her mouth and allowing his tongue to play with hers. The other slipped inside his kilt. Her fingers found it, and wrapped around it, squeezed it. She felt him moan into her mouth as she slowly slid up and down his length. She drew back a little and bit her lip, glanced at him playfully, and now it was his turn to breath hard as the shepherd girl gave him a look no street harlot could ever hope to match, “M’lord really is stiff after his travels.”

  VII

  The melodic chanting of the temple priests singing to the first light of a rising god wafted through the window. His eyes were closed, but she sensed he was awake. Should I say it? She traced a finger along his arm and he opened his eyes as she did so. He ... he feels the same ... he must. Her eyes flicked towards his and quickly darted back again as she whispered it. “Josef I ... I love you.”

  His body seemed to stiffen at the words. She slid her naked thigh over his and allowed busy fingers to move between his legs and stroke him. He was hard again. She giggled and moved to kiss his chest, and then his stomach; she glanced lower before boldly her lips moved to follow where her eyes led. Suddenly he was pushing her away.

  “Josef?”

  He sat up. “Josef what’s wrong?” She placed her hands about his shoulders. They were rigid and tense. She leaned against his back, her soft breasts pressing against him. She kissed his neck, kissed his cheek.

  He shrugged her off. “Don’t,” he said, and then he was standing. She made to go to him but stopped herself. I shouldn’t have said it.

  He slipped into his kilt and sat down at the bottom of the bed, his back to her, “Yuya,” he said, “Yuya and the daughter of Pentephres are betrothed.”

  She pulled the blanket up about her. “What do you mean? When did you agree to this?”

  He stood and moved towards the looking bronze, staring solemnly at his reflection. “There was nothing to be agreed, they have been betrothed since they were children.” She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the reflection. “That’s why Yuya was named as heir to Pentephres’s high seat. If I don’t marry her, I cannot hope to ever succeed him and this whole journey will have been for nothing.” His words sounded almost deliberately callous, as if no argument could be broached.

  Shiri felt a painful tightness in her chest. He intends to go through with it.

  “He means for the ceremony to take place as soon as possible,” Josef said blandly.

  She could barely speak. “W … when?”

  “Soon, very soon.”

  “But what about m-” she shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. “And you ... you’re doing it? You’re marrying ... her?”

  His silence was the final confirmation. Her voice grew suddenly accusatory, “You knew of this before we-”

  “No! I didn’t know, I only discovered … yesterday.”

  “Yesterday!” She looked shocked, angry and betrayed. “You knew yesterday,” she it said quietly this time. “Get out,” she spoke in the same quiet voice. It would have sounded less bitter if she’d shouted it.

  Finally, he turned from the mirror. “Shiri, I didn’t mean...”

  “So that was a lie too.”

  He didn’t understand. “What was a lie? I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Then why do you remain when I tell you to go? Am I not the master when we are alone? Get out or drop your mask and show me the truth of it. Leave now, or pull out your cock and command me to humiliate myself again, which way is it?”

  “Shiri, you know I’d never make you do anything you...” She cut him off blocking her ears. “Stop it! Just stop it! You wouldn’t make me? No, you wouldn’t, that’s not your style is it? You’d just trick me and lie to me instead! Words! It’s all just words with you!” Words and lies, he lies to the Gyptos and he lies to me.

  He moved closer. “Shiri...”

  “Get out! Get out! GET OUT!” She reached for the bedside lamp and flung it at him. It sailed over his head, smashing against the wall. She turned face down into the pillow. “Get out. Please just get out.” They were barely audible whispers now. She heard him sigh, heard him turn, heard him walk away. The door closed softly behind him.

  It was past noon when she emerged from her room. She’d spent an age trying to brush the tangles from her hair before finally giving it up for a bad job and tying it back. Josef had gotten her a few pieces the Gypto noble ladies were fond of in the market stalls, and she’d done her best to figure out what went where in front of the polished bronze mirror. She had a little henna on her nails, something with the faintest of reddish tinges on her cheeks, and fine Elephantine kohl lined about her eyes. She frowned at the effect. A few drops of lotus oil on her neck made her at least smell pretty. She wanted to be at her best when she told him.

  She found him sitting under a cloud of gloom in the common room. He raised his head when she approached. “You look beautiful,” he said in conciliatory tones.

  She sat across from him hard of face, determined. She avoided his eyes to make her task easier. “I’ve come to a decision.”

  “No me first,” he said. She briefly met those eyes then. She imagined she saw resignation in them. He looked like he was about to say something but changed his mind. New words formed on his lips. “You mean to leave?”

  She nodded, struggling to control herself. “Yes,” she said simply. She still didn’t know if she really meant it. “It’s for the best … you were right all along I ... I should never have come, I’m just ... a burden.” He made to object but she ploughed over him. “Walking into temples, saying the wrong things and now getting in the way of your only means of ... of becoming heir to Heliopolis.”

  She barely paused for breath. She’d rehearsed the words for what seemed like an age, but still struggled to say them. Pride wanted her to leave, everything else wanted her to stay. “If you let me take Ba’al and see fit to help me gather a few supplies, I think I can find my own way out of Egypt.” She doubted it was true, the minute she opened her mouth they’d know her for a slave – a runaway. She’d be stripped and beaten, lashed to the forked stick and made to haul it to her death. But what did it matter? She was just one person, a nobody, and without her he might save thousands. And at least this way I won’t have to look at him arm in arm with another.

  He shook his head. “No! Don’t be foolish you’re not a burden. How could you think it? Who else can I...”

  “I’m foolish now?” She shrugged as if he’d just confirmed the most obvious thing in the world.

  He sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  She felt herself growing angry; he’d promised she could leave whenever she wanted. “Will you help me leave or will you make me stay?” There was a bitter tone to the words.

  He shook his head. “You asked me if I know my heart.” He looked away. “If you must leave, then... ” He took a deep breath before pausing as if thinking better of it. He wrung his hands together like a man grappling with himself, swinging one way then the next. Finally raised his eyes to hers and smiled. “Then I will leave with you.”

  Shiri sucked in her breath. Could it be? “You mean … you’d… for me?” It was as if the nightmare had suddenly turned into some fantastic dream. She almost fell into his arms then, almost kissed him again, kissed him and hugged him harder and longer than ever before. But something stopped her. That smile. It was not his normal smile, not the smile he g
ave her when she laughed; not the smile he gave her under the willow tree. It was ... it was the smile he gave the Gyptos, a fake smile, a forced smile.

  “Aye,” he said simply. He reached for her hand, but suddenly she withdrew it, refusing to let him touch her. There was a flash of anger in his eyes and he practically leapt from the stool. He turned away from her pacing up and down, his feet pounding against the sandstone tiles. “Damn you, woman. What more do you want from me? I’m trying to tell you I’ll forget about them. I’ll let it go for you!”

  He’s shouting at me.

  “I’ll leave with you if that’s what you want. We’ll make a life for ourselves.” He spun back to her but his eyes were unseeing.

  Is he angry with me or himself?

  “We’ll leave now then? Today?”

  She’d dreamt of hearing those words, but in her dreams it had been different. Tenderly he’d looked deep into her eyes and kissed her. He’d said he loved her, loved her the way she loved him, he’d said he didn’t care about anything else, just her. The world could burn around them and it wouldn’t matter as long as they were together. And in the dreams he’d said the words softly, happily.

  The man before her now said them angrily. Her heart felt like somebody was twisting and squeezing it, her insides were in knots. The truth of it was too cruel. If she left he might go with her, but he would never again really be with her. He would be forever angry with himself. If he abandoned them and left them to their fate, if he betrayed countless thousands just so he could be with one, he would blame that one. If we go he will blame me. She could see it in his eyes, even if he would not say it outright. Even now he blamed her. As days turned to weeks and years he would come to hate himself for his selfishness. As an old man he would come to regret he ever saved her. He will come to hate me.

  “It would be best if you marry this Egyptian,” she said. “How else will you get Pentephres to give you the coin to buy them?” He said nothing. She wanted him to defy her, take her into his arms and say to hell with them. But he didn’t. He said nothing at all, did nothing. “Is she pretty?”

  The question took him by surprise. He stopped pacing and sat back down beside her, he shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  He’s lying again. “You’re the only one that can help them,” she said quietly.

  He shook his head, a pained expression on his face. He doesn’t know what to do. He’d made all these plans, set his mind to achieving them, sworn he would not deviate from them no matter what the cost, but now that it came to the final hurdle he was stumbling, stumbling because he’d been fool enough to spend fifty debens on a shepherd girl. He reached for her hands and this time she didn’t pull back. But she did look away. He was about to speak again when there was a thunderous rap at the door.

  “Yuya! Where are you, boy? You were meant to be at the temple an hour ago. How long do you mean to keep my daughter waiting?”

  Shiri withdrew her hands from his grip, “The wedding is today?” The imminence of it shocked her. He nodded. “Go then,” she said. She sat back in her chair, arms folded, as she looked as far away from his eyes as she could.

  “Shiri...”

  “Go,” she said again. “What are you, stupid? Go to her!”

  “Shiri I...” A second series of thumps at the door cut him off.

  “Why must you make this harder than it already is? Just go will you?” Her voice cracked a little. She heard the man outside cursing, but still Josef failed to stir from his seat. “You know you have to.” She felt herself breaking. He’s supposed to be the strong one, not me. “Go or let your people rot forever.” She said venomously. “Go or turn your back on all those you failed. They’d still be in Palestine if it wasn’t for you and your bloody father.” She bit her lip. I shouldn’t have said that. It seemed to snap something within him. Finally, he rose and moved slowly towards the door. He paused, staring back at her. She turned her face from him. He shouldn’t have let me kiss him. He shouldn’t have come into my bed ... he shouldn’t.

  He opened it with a diffident bow and he was Yuya. “My apologies, Father, I was...”

  “Never mind that, never mind that.” Pentephres bundled him out the door, it closed with a thud behind him. The villa was instantly cold and silent as the grave. Shiri turned, revealing eyes full of tears. She stood and moved towards her room walking as unsteadily as a condemned man to his executioner. She looked to the door willing it to open, willing him to come back to her. It stayed shut. He belongs to another now. She fell on the bed, buried her face in the pillows and cried.

  VIII

  Tjuya looked quite stunning in her sleeveless gown. In the fading light it seemed to shimmer almost like liquid gold. She wore her black hair loose and free. It descended beyond her shoulders, from where a silver Menat necklace with a heavy obsidian scarab hung loosely.

  Josef took a deep breath. Women wore the Menat when they meant to conceive a child. It rested deliberately between large, perfect breasts that glistened with the most fragrant oils the lilies the sacred river could yield. For reasons known only to herself she twirled before him, revealing a delicate amulet of red gold dedicated to Hathor, goddess of motherhood, dangling between her shoulder blades. It acted almost as counterweight to the scarab.

  The sound of raucous laughter echoed from the courtyard below, where Pentephres had decided to hold a party. He could cut a few coppers off the cost of the event by serving ale from his private stock. Josef glanced past his wife. Her bodyslave was still with her, an ever present shadow. A gesture from Tjuya and the slave moved to close the shutters. His wife glided closer, she looked a little nervous. “Do you like Memphite Red?” she tried. Josef nodded and quickly she turned to the slave. “Two goblets from Father’s personal reserve, Meira.” Her shadow curtsied and hurried silently from the room.

  “Your bodyslave does not accompany you?” She looked a little put out.

  He shook his head. Strange question.

  She bit her lip, seating herself beside him, but just out of reach. He made little effort to aid the conversation. “I hear you refused to punish her after she entered the temple.”

  “She was unaware of the law.”

  She twisted her mouth. “And refused again after she disobeyed a direct order from Hapu?”

  “It was a trifling matter, nothing that need be of concern to you, my lady.” The old priest had clearly been hard at work.

  “Trifling was it?”

  He nodded affirmatively.

  “And am I to be told that every man in Thebes has ... what is it? Three such slaves?” She did not look impressed.

  “Hapu is old, and I was tired. I had little interest in explaining myself to him.”

  “Then explain yourself to me.”

  Josef sighed. “Her family have been serving my family for generations, and as such a certain bond has developed between our lines.” He shrugged, “The girl’s parents were killed in the troubles. And as the last surviving member of my house I feel somewhat responsible for the creature, even if she is just a Habiru.”

  Tjuya made a face. “Yes, well, I suppose I would do no less for Meira,” she said as the slave returned, tray in hand. Tjuya rose slowly, conscious that in the lamplight her bridal gown seemed almost transparent. She stood before him as one not unaware of her attractions would, before passing him a goblet from Meira’s tray. He took a deep draft, but his mouth still felt dry. “You like Habiru girls don’t you, Yuya?” His answer was to empty his goblet.

  Tjuya kissed her slave on the lips, her eyes flicking invitingly to her husband as she did so. She moved behind the slave, unclasping the Habiru’s sheath and allowing it to fall to the floor. Meira cupped her breasts and smiled at him, she was not unattractive. Josef felt increasingly uncomfortable as the slave came forward. “What’s mine is yours, my husband,” Tjuya said. Now she was the shadow approaching silently behind her slave. Meira went to her knees before him, fingers sliding under his kilt, her tongue playing around her lips
. She glanced back to her mistress. “May I pleasure him with my mouth, m’lady?”

  “Does your bodyslave do that?” Tjuya asked him mildly.

  Meira folded back his kilt. “I can do it better than her, m’lord.” Her fingers found him, she giggled, squeezing him playfully as she looked up at him. “You were right, m’lady, your husband does like Habiru girls.” She tried to hold his eyes with hers as she slid him between her lips.

  Abruptly Josef rose and stepped back from her. The slave looked at him plaintively. “What is this?” he gestured towards the slave. Tjuya looked at him curiously but made no response.

  Meira giggled again, slipping a hand between her legs, opening them a little, showing herself to him. She cocked her head cheekily. “You mean m’lord has not seen one before?” She traced a finger around her lips before sliding it into her mouth and sucking on it, suddenly her eyes sparkled. “Does your bodyslave dance for you, m’lord?” She jumped to her feet excitedly and spun on her toes. “May I dance for him, m’lady? I’m a good dancer! I can dance better than her! Just ask your...”

  “Meira!” Tjuya glared at her and the slave bit her lip.

  Josef brushed past the Habiru. “Enough of this, why do you care so much for my bodyslave? It’s not I that seeks to bring a slave into our marriage bed.”