by D. S.
“Oh,” Tjuya looked disappointed. She turned from him, “I’m sorry ... I meant only to please you. I hoped that if Meira could...” She chewed her lip. “Leave us, Meira.” The slave’s hands flopped to her sides, she huffed dejectedly before gathering up her sheath. “If m’lady requires...” Tjuya waved her hand in an impatient gesture. The slave curtsied and made for the door, pouting at Josef as she left.
“So, you do not like all Habiru girls then. Or is Meira a little old for your tastes?” She shrugged as if it were of little importance and sat on the bed looking unhappy. “There should be no lies between husband and wife,” she said as he haltingly drew closer and took a seat on the bed beside her.
“Then leave my past in Palestine where it belongs.”
Tjuya sighed. “You’re more handsome than the boy I remember ... that is for the good,” she smiled and it looked almost sad. “But … but I’m sorry I do not please you.” She lowered her head. “I ... I’m sorry, I ... I did try to make myself look beautiful for my wedding day.”
That blow struck home. He felt guilty now, two women, and he was ruining them both. “You are beautiful,” he said. “Very beautiful.”
She looked at him as if she’d heard such words a hundred times, from a hundred men unable to think of anything of worth to say.
“But to speak of your beauty alone would do you an injustice.” He continued. She looked a little confused and he took her hand. “Your father does not see it, but I do, you have more wit than all the priests of the Sun Temple. Any man that plays you for a fool will live to regret it.”
She showed a smile at that. She placed a hand on his thigh. “You do not speak like him either.”
He looked suddenly wary. “I do not speak like whom?”
She shook her head. “But that ... is also for the good.” She took a leaf from Meira’s book and allowed her hand to glide higher, until she found him. She bit her lip. He doesn’t just like Habiru girls. “We will leave your past in Palestine then, if that is your wish.”
She felt him relax a little. Her father had seen something in this one, ‘he stands with the great ones’ he had told her, ‘he will raise our house to new heights.’ She looked at him and she saw it too. Something burned like an inferno within him. Was it ambition? Already he had promised them slaves, enough slaves to make them the great power of the Memphite plains. She wanted men of noble birth to kneel before her. She wanted the women of great houses to look upon her with eyes green with envy. She wanted to dance with kings and have high lords push each other aside in the hope of gaining her favour. Could this man do it for her? This man of blue eyes and secrets. “Father says you would make me a great lady.” She stroked him skilfully, flirting with her eyes.
For a moment he said nothing and the beginnings of a pout formed on her lips. He brushed his hand through her hair. “Alas I fear I am too late on that account.”
She drew back from him. “Meaning?”
He thought of a woman, a woman that was not his wife and he spoke to her. “The gods have made you a great lady already.”
She laughed, and pushed him back into the soft feathered pillows. Her lips found his. He did not look like Yuya, he did not speak like Yuya, he did not kiss like Yuya, and truly it was for the good.
IX
A small thing, pretty of face, but with little enough about her chest – pleasing to look at yes, but not the beauty she’d feared. Tjuya smiled as the slut approached. She was glad her husband had not thought to bring his whore with him as he perused the Memphite slave markets. A promising sign.
The slave wore a simple woollen tunic, girded about the waist. It hung loosely from her shoulders, falling to just below her knees. Her dark locks were tied back and she had a dash of kohl about her eyes, she even wore sandals, Tjuya frowned. Slaves should go bare footed, with eyes plain and unadorned. She frowned again as the whore bowed her head a little stiffly and offered lip service to the courtesies. “You sent for me, m’lady?”
Lord Yuya’s wife lounged atop a couch swathed in feathered pillows. She was gilded with full make up and sparkling jewels, a watery linen sheath doing little to hide her figure. One impressive breast was partially covered by the thin fabric, the other was exposed; such was the latest mode in the Theban courts of the south. Her hair had been softly curled and in accordance with the more adventurous Memphite trends allowed to flow freely about her shoulders. Meira sat on the marble tiles before her, massaging her mistress’s feet with scented oils. “You’re my husband’s ... bodyslave yes?” Tjuya smiled. “Shiri, isn’t it?”
Aware of how inferior she looked in her drab attire, the slave shifted from one foot to the other. “If it pleases, m’lady.”
Tjuya held a green crystal goblet in hand, her index finger playing idly about its rim. “Such a polite child, I think perhaps Hapu was mistaken.”
Meira took a little more oil in her palms and allowed her hands to glide slightly higher, the tips of her fingers sliding under the hem of her mistress’s sheath. “Tell me, Shiri,” that smile again, “what tasks do you perform for my husband?”
“M’lady?”
Tjuya clicked her tongue. “It’s a simple question, child. What tasks do you perform for him? Do you sing? Are you an accomplished cook?” the smile broadened in increasingly friendly fashion. “You must make us a northern dish, something exotic from the Wildlands.”
Shiri shook her head. “I...”
“You’re skilled at reciting verse then?”
“No I...”
Tjuya looked disappointed. “Ah, so you must play a musical instrument. What is it a mizmar or an arghul? I can carry a tune on the three stringed lyre myself.” She smiled as if they had found common ground.
Shiri bit her lip and Tjuya cast Meira a knowing glance. “Oh ... I had thought perhaps...” She wet her lips with some Memphite Red before turning back to Shiri. “So, you must be trained in the arts of the scribe? Is that it? You put his words on papyrus. An educated Habiru are we?” Her smile returned.
“No, m’lady, I cannot, I...”
“Oh?” Tjuya shook her head, looking perplexed. “Then what is it you do for him, Shiri? What do you do that pleases my husband so?”
“I tend the gardens and ... teach him the language of the slaves.”
Meira tittered. “I can guess what she tends, m’lady.”
Tjuya passed her fingers idly through Meira’s long auburn curls and Shiri imagined she heard the slave purr. Tjuya spoke almost to herself now. “The gardens ... and the tongue of slaves ... of course, how silly of me...” her eyes flicked to Shiri once more, “It’s just that the common folk ... they talk much. Lies and slanders for the most part you’d agree.” She took another sip, before casting the Habiru an almost sympathetic glance. “Why ... why, they even spread rumours about you and my dear husband.”
Shiri’s mouth was dry. “What sort of rumours?”
“You mean you haven’t heard? Oh, my poor dear ... filth, nothing but filth and lies ... I’m sure that is what they are.” She looked to Meira. “Should we even tell the girl?”
Meira pouted. “If she doesn’t hear it from us, she’d like as not hear it from someone who means her ill.”
Tjuya nodded at that. “Yes, yes, of course, Meira, you have the right of it.” She sighed as if the weight of the world had come down upon her. “They say ... they say ... oh, I can hardly bear to tell the child...” She covered her mouth and looked away.
Meira glanced at Shiri over her shoulder, her eyes glinting and mischievous. “They say he mounts you more often than the master of horse mounts his chariot,” she giggled. “They say you’re his slut whore and that he takes you as a dog takes his bitch. They say you live only to give pleasure to his cock, they even say-”
Tjuya raised a silencing hand. “Meira please, we’re in my father’s house.”
Shiri reddened. “It’s not true! I never! We only...”
“You only what, child?” Tjuya waved her slave from her sid
e and gracefully rose to a sitting position.
Shiri lowered her head. “Nothing, may ... may I go?”
Tjuya was standing now, gliding silently closer as she spoke. Shiri could discern the curves and contours of her body beneath the slight fabric as clearly as if she were wearing nothing at all. “Are you his ... his ... whore, Shiri?” She said the word through pursed lips, almost as if simply speaking it was a crime that sullied her tongue.
Shiri wouldn’t even dignify it with a response. She turned and made for the door. A nod from Tjuya and her ghaffir stepped outside and closed it before she got there. “I did not give you permission to go.”
Shiri spun. “What did you summon me for?”
Tjuya tutted, before motioning for the slave to return to her. Shiri remained where she was so Tjuya closed the distance between them still further. She cocked her head and spoke ever so quietly. “Take off your clothes, Shiri.”
“NO!”
“A slave is it?” Tjuya glanced at Meira who tittered in return. “She has airs above her station, m’lady. Shall I fetch a switch?”
Tjuya raised an eyebrow. “Do you have airs above your station? You don’t refuse my ... requests do you?” She was standing just inches from the slave now, her perfume almost overpowering.
“I ... I am to take orders only from my master.” It sounded so stupid now. “My master, he...”
“He is my husband! And I am his lady and the head of his house until he returns. You will do as I say or I will have you whipped.”
The slave dared to curve her lip upwards, it was almost a smile. “No, you won’t. He would not allow it.” Tjuya slapped her. Shiri barely flinched; she’d been struck harder than that before.
Tjuya turned to her bodyslave. “Meira ... fetch a switch.”
“At once, m’lady!” The slave clapped her hands excitedly and bolted towards the door making a kissy face at Shiri as she passed her.
“I could have you beaten,” Tjuya said icily. “But the switch is such a crude device, the scars it inflicts are skin deep and fleeting; a man’s weapon. A lady of quality prefers her tongue.”
“It’s a switch you’ll be wanting so.”
She slapped her again. The slave’s cheek reddened a little this time, but she only seemed to grow bolder. “That is not your tongue, m’lady.”
Tjuya went to slap her a third time but held herself. Perhaps the slut wants to be whipped so she can run and show her stripes to him. “So ... you think yourself a clever whore?” She showed the slave her back. Slowly she moved towards the window, gazing out across the blooming flowers and whispering trees of the gardens. “Yuya was such a lazy, indolent boy, not likely to amount to much – or so my father had said.
But still, he was heir to a high lord and we were a good match, at least that’s what old men told me.” She spoke airily, more to herself than the slave. “But now he returns a different man, does he not?” She cast Shiri a strange look as she said it. “He will do great things will my ... Yuya. He will raise me to heights undreamed of. I had never dared to hope that I...”
She caught the slave’s lip curling again. “You think me foolish? I am not foolish, Shiri. I am his wife, his love. As he rises so shall I. But you...” There was sudden venom to her words. “No matter how high he goes, no matter what he does, you will never be any more than his whore. A dirty slut he picked up at too high a price. Oh, yes, he’s told me all about you.”
“He’s told you nothing.” She knew she shouldn’t say such things, but she found it hard not to respond. She held Tjuya’s disdainful gaze and saw her mouth twitch with restrained anger.
“Is that what you think, child? What was it he said you cost him? Fifty debens was it?” Tjuya showed her teeth when she saw the slut’s reaction to that. “He told me he could have bought four bedslaves in your stead, and would have done, had he not been palace bred and unsure of the price of whores. You see, dear child, like as not he will go to you whenever I am in my blood, or when his base desires and perversities go beyond what it is fitting for a man to ask of his wife. But in the end he will always come back to me. I will be the one at his side when the high lords come to pay homage to the Three That Are One, I will be the one on his arm when he comes into the Sun Ring and Heliopolis grows mighty once more,” she turned. “Isn’t that so, Meira?”
Her bodyslave had returned with a stout birch switch. She nodded. “As you say, m’lady ... shall I begin?”
She moved towards Shiri but a gesture from Tjuya checked her. “That’s what whores are for you see, and you’re good at being a whore, aren’t you, Shiri? I suppose each of is blessed with certain skills. I, as you see, am gifted with grace, wit and beauty, Meira here, is a fine cook and excels in needlework, you ... you are skilled at spreading your legs.” She shrugged as if resigned to the fact. “Well, I suppose we do what we can with the gifts the gods give us.”
“Whore’s blood runs deep,” Meira advised, “like as not her mother was a whore too, it’s not the girl’s fault. Let me cleanse her flesh with the switch, m’lady. If we bleed her a little it may help rid her of the demons.”
Tjuya tried a different approach. She cast Shiri a sideways glance. “Do you ... do you love him, Shiri?” She stared at her intently now. “Are you in love with my husband?”
The slave’s breathing grew shallow, for the briefest instant her eyes found Tjuya’s and gave silent answer to the question. Tjuya turned back to the window as if it were of no matter. “Yes, he told me as much.”
Shiri closed her eyes. Lies, it was all lies. “He told you nothing,” she repeated. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Tjuya.
“Oh, you poor dear. Why, he even jested over it while he had Meira dance for him. Isn’t that so, Meira?”
Her bodyslave smiled at her mistress. “It was a funny jest, m’lady.”
Tjuya came closer to the slave, her voice a whisper now. “As I say, a lazy, indolent boy, with brown hair, short and fat as a toad.”
Shiri met her gaze. She’s suspicious. “Time ... it changes a man. He has grown tall and his hair-”
“-Has darkened over the years? Yes, yes, so I’ve been told.” Tjuya came closer still. She traced a finger along the girl’s cheek, raising her chin a little before rubbing her thumb gently across Shiri’s lips. Pretty, a little too pretty. She brought her mouth to the slave’s ear. She brushed her lips ever so lightly against her and whispered so softly that not even Meira could hear. “Time may change the girth of a man’s waist, or the vigour in his heart, it may even as you say, darken his hair, but...” She drew back a little. “Time cannot change the colour of a man’s eyes.”
Shiri gasped, she fell back from the woman, feeling bile rise in her throat. She knows!
Tjuya laughed at her reaction. “My father would be most interested to learn how your master performed such a feat don’t you think? Perhaps I will call him now. Jafar!” The door swung open instantly and Tjuya’s ghaffir entered. “M’lady?”
“Send for my father, Jafar. I wish to tell him something...”
“No! Please!” Shiri grabbed Tjuya’s arm, her eyes wide with panic. “You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I?” Tjuya shrugged. “Well that’s entirely up to you, child,” she waved the guard back to his station. “Serve me or watch me bring him down.”
Shiri looked from left to right as if searching for an escape. She could hear Meira giggling, feel Tjuya laughing. “Oh my poor girl, you really do love him don’t you? What was he, some enterprising servant of Yuya’s house? A noble from Aratama’s court?” Tjuya shrugged as if it was of no matter. “What’s mine is his and what’s his is mine. Such is the way of things between husband and wife. You are his, and thus you are mine, and you will serve me as a slave should. You will clean my floors, kiss my feet, and attend to my needs ... Meira’s too if I see fit.” She glanced to her bodyslave. “Meira and I mean to leave my father’s house and share my husband’s villa behind the temple. You will vac
ate the room you occupy now. I would have it for Meira. Find yourself quarters in the basement – or in the kennels with the rest of the dogs if you prefer.”
She paused a moment, her eyes looking suspicious. “You will say nothing of what has passed here today and you will not attempt to escape or flee. If you do I will reveal to all that he is not Yuya but some imposter. Likely he will end up on the executioner’s block within the day, could you live with that? I will have you watch him die.” Her smile could not have been broader, “What do you say, Shiri? Will you serve me, or will you sentence him to death?”
Shiri gazed at her in cold silence. Tjuya spun on her toes and returned to her couch wiping her hands on Meira’s sheath before taking her seat. “Well Meira, we’ll find out if she truly does love my husband soon enough.” She yawned and stretched herself out like a big lazy cat. Shiri knew who she meant to be her mouse. “Now,” Tjuya smirked. “I ask you again, take off your clothes.”
Shiri stood there unmoving, but if looks could kill, Tjuya would be as dead as good King Jacobaam. Tjuya sighed. “Oh well, I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, the man had such potential. Meira send for...” Her voice petered out as with eyes that despite her greatest efforts were starting to look a little moist, Shiri glanced to the cord about her waist. Slowly she raised her hands and begun to untie it. Tjuya broke into a triumphant cackle. You see, slut? My tongue is better than any whip.
A flick of Shiri’s fingers and the cord dropped to the floor. Tjuya sipped her wine as she watched her. “That’s a good girl.” In one swift movement Shiri lifted the tunic above her head and let it fall, leaving her in nothing but her underclothes. The slave kept her eyelids pressed tightly closed. “All of them, my dear,” Tjuya’s voice was quivering with restrained laughter.
Shiri chewed a trembling lip, a lone tear finally breaking on her cheek as she complied. Meira giggled. “You were right, m’lady, she is a slut.”
Shiri’s eyes opened at that and quickly she wiped away the tear. She would not shed anymore. Not by cause of this one’s tongue, not ever.
