by D. S.
Karnack was the greatest shrine in the world. Her puny Sun Temple and her punier city could fit into the smallest alcove of Karnack and still leave room to spare. For Karnack was not just a temple, it was a city in its own right. Ten thousand priests walked its halls, a thousand scribes bent over their desks, two thousand monks sworn to silence. And most sacred of all; five thousand boys taken from the lowborn of the great city, avowed to serve, live, and die within the temple grounds. Eunuchs all, their manhoods sacrificed to the Hidden One.
Papis had told the girl as much, only to receive a blank look. She glanced at the thousand and more giant phalluses outside the temple and made a face, “Yes, I can see your god has a craving for co… ”
“Tiye!” Her mother drew up behind the girl. She smiled at the grand vizier all apologies, “Pay no heed, my lord, my daughter has an impudent tongue, one can only hope she doesn’t embarrass us all on the morrow.”
Papis nodded with good grace before showing the pair his back. He moved off a little, but remained near enough to hear the ensuing scolding. “Will you ever grow up, child? Why can’t you be more like your brother? And don’t pull that face at me, or would you have Meira take her switch to your bodyslave again?” The girl had left for her cabin after that. The Beautiful One they called her. Papis shrugged, he didn’t see it himself.
The Dreaming Pharaoh’s ghaffir sauntered past him; at least he had been the Dreaming Pharaoh’s ghaffir. In a rare lucid moment, Tuthmosis had declared that he’d give the champion of Memphis to his son, as a kind of wedding gift. The statement had come out somewhat garbled though, and had made the first Companion of Memphis sound almost a slave.
Papis couldn’t help but stare at Smenkaure as he passed. Here is the Beautiful One. Tall and handsome as any man he’d seen; all muscle and armour, a god. Smenkaure wiped the sweat from his brow and cursed the heat. Papis felt a thrill in his stomach as the man turned and offered him a nod. “This blasted drought will never end.”
The priest wrung his hands in solemn fashion. “With such lewdness and immorality profaning the streets of Heliopolis it’s small wonder that the gods see fit to punish us.”
Smenkaure yawned. “Aye, aye, no doubt you’re right, famine and pestilence, poor harvests and non-existent floods, all the fault of the blasphemy of Heliopolis. Likely this sun god is responsible for the wart on my second wife’s backside too.” The man made to move past him.
“I … I saw you fight three men at once in the tournament of Horus.” The priest blurted. “The way you moved … you were incredible!” He immediately regretted the words.
Smenkaure smiled. “Aye, and that self same day I saw you convince a starving orphan boy to let you diddle him up the arse for the price of a hot meal. We all have our talents.”
The high priest reddened, fumbling for a response before the smile broke into a laugh and the soldier moved off to practice his art with a pair of ghaffirs from Lord Yuya’s house. Papis’s cheeks were crimson. That one needs to work on his courtesies. He turned only for things to go from bad to worse. Why did that blasted ship have to sink?
Lord Yuya offered him a friendly, but to Papis’s mind condescending, smile. “I trust you found the cabin adequate? No match for the one on your Sword of Amun no doubt, but at least you won’t wake in the middle of the night to find your feet wet.”
“Adequate is precisely the word for it,” the priest retorted curtly. An extraordinarily pretty slave girl brought them a mug of water each. She was at least a match for the one they named ‘beautiful’ so far as Papis could tell, but this one was only a Habiru so instead of ‘beautiful,’ men likely named her whore or slut.
Lord Yuya smiled at her. “Thank you, Amaris, but see that you leave enough for yourself.” Supplies were running low what with the river water being near undrinkable at this stage.
Papis raised an eyebrow. “Rumours of your love for the Habiru abound. It seems they are not unfounded. I’ve not heard a man speak so softly to a slave before. I heard your daughter speak in similar fashion yestermorn.” He shook his head reproachfully. “I see now where the child’s weakness comes from.”
“You make a habit of questioning success, Papis? Such methods have resulted in healthier, highly skilled stock.”
“Success?” The grand vizier scoffed, “Word is you allow slaves, beggars, vagabonds, even women to worship in your Sun Temple. You would deem that success?”
“And each offering coin or grain for the privilege. My house is now the largest and most prosperous in the Lower Kingdom, why even Pharaoh himself cannot boast as many Habiru.”
“You seek to rival Pharaoh now?”
The high priest of Aton backtracked a little. “The Habiru are the property of the Jealous God, truth be told. They’re the Aton’s people, purchased with the monies generated by his temple. My house is merely the custodians of...”
“And the Sun Temple is the property of the crown, or do you forget to whom you swear fealty? The Godking would see his Habiru kept in line with whip and flail, not words and courtesies.”
“The Co-Regent is lord of the north, not Amenhotep, and he has decreed that no Habiru within a hundred miles of the Sun Temple will suffer under the flail. The Aton, demanded as much.”
“Was that before or after he demanded you burn and desecrate idols of greater gods than he?” Papis said, “He demands a lot, this Aton of yours.”
Josef bit his tongue. He does not demand a nation in bondage. He turned from the priest in time to see Amenophis’s new ghaffir put Akil flat on his back. By rights the man should be travelling on the Hammer of Ptah with his new lord, but the Prince had given him the task of guarding his bride to be. He must think my men incapable. He watched Jafar take up the challenge and lunge in aggressively, only for Smenkaure to turn him dismissively and send him sprawling into the decking. Josef shrugged. Perhaps the Prince is right.
He went to supervise as his men heaved out a boulder that served as anchor and brought the vessel to a halt mid-river, a good twenty yards out from the sprawling docks. With the river so low it was as close to the harbour as the captain dared go. Josef watched as votaries, bearing the mark of Karnack, tossed offerings into the depleted waters by the wharf. The Hidden One was well served in Thebes.
As a myriad of small craft plied back and forth between ship and city, he saw his daughter emerge on deck, Shiri close behind. Together, mistress and slave pointed and wondered at the sprawling city before them. Josef felt an uneasy queasiness in his stomach.
VI
She’d had butterflies in her tummy all morning. Her bodyslave made one or two final adjustments to the lotus blossom garland that meshed into her locks, before standing back to observe her work. “You are ready, m’lady.”
Tiye smiled at the slave’s reflection in the looking bronze before rising. Her dress was vapours of mist, clinging to her curves and shimmering in the morning light. A thin veil of some strange fabric from the dawn-lands of the east shrouded her face. It moved ever so faintly with her breath, but she could see through it easily enough. It seemed to give the room a soft silvery hew. “Thank you, Shiri.”
She rose with the faintest of rustles. Her bodice was encrusted with amethyst shards and girded tightly about the waist, but the dress opened out into folds of lacy excess below that. Her feet were bare, as tradition dictated, her skin, pale and unmarred by kohl or henna.
Tiye made a face at her reflection. The frock made her breasts seem smaller than she would have liked. She pulled it up slightly higher and pushed out her chest a little. She scrunched her lips. “I’m not sure … will he … will he think me beautiful?”
Shiri said nothing. Yes, he will think you beautiful.
Tiye furrowed her brow. “I think it makes me look half a child. Perhaps a piece by Memnet of Abydos would have served better. I told mother as much but she didn’t listen.” She glanced to the slave. It was not like Shiri to remain silent when asked a direct question. The Habiru was looking at her strangely. Tiy
e met her eye, sad, happy, proud, she couldn’t tell what secrets were in that stare. “Shiri? Why so quiet?”
Her bodyslave looked away then, and Tiye almost thought she heard her sniff back a tear. But no, that couldn’t be right – it took more than a pretty dress to make that one cry. It took Meira’s switch. It took mother’s tongue. Abruptly the slave curtsied and spun to take her leave. She paused at the door and spoke without looking at her. “You … you look too beautiful for words … m’lady.”
She said it with such feeling that even Amran would have had a run for his money. Tiye couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh Shiri, don’t you start,” She turned from the mirror as if satisfied.
The Habiru nodded and slipped out. It was not for a slave to present a prince with his bride. The door closed silently behind her. Tiye picked up a small papyrus basket. She had to remember to present it to Pharaoh before the ceremony. She stole one last glance at the mirror. The Beautiful One … they all told her she was; she wasn’t convinced of it herself. She was a little too tall, a little too skinny. Most of the time she wasn’t even trying to look pretty, yet still they told her. Sometimes she wondered if they only said it because her father was so powerful. Either way she was trying today. I hope my prince won’t be too disappointed.
She took a deep breath, smoothing the linen about her waist, pivoting slightly from side to side as she looked at the reflection. Finally she steeled herself, turned, and glided to the door. Her father was waiting outside. He smiled when he saw her, an encouraging smile, a proud smile. He said the usual about how gorgeous she looked and all the rest before offering her his arm.
She took it and quick as that she was being escorted through the halls of the citadel. She saw lines of Companions standing to attention at either side as they past. She saw huge busts of Pharaohs and heroes long dead in every alcove. She knew their names from the stories; Menes the Unifier, Khufu the Giant Raiser, Tuthmosis the Great. Father had actually traded words with that one. The Pharaohs stared back at her with cold, hard eyes that made her shiver. She looked to the walls instead and saw large and marvellous tapestries and paintings covering every surface, masterpieces all. The White Palace, they called it. The Black Palace more like. Everywhere was shiny black marble, great giant slabs of it, heavily veined with green and gold. Everywhere, were colossal black statues, huge brooding effigies of the current Godking.
She saw her prince waiting before the arched causeway that led to the famed courtyard of Amun-Ra. She’d heard tell that the courtyard stood so high atop the citadel that nearly half of the greatest city in the world could be seen from the altar at its western edge. She was looking forward to seeing that. A woman stood beside Amenophis, another stood behind, and behind her a whole gaggle of high ladies of the Theban court were looking on expectantly, and whispering amongst themselves. “His mother, Queen Nefertari,” her father whispered through the side of his mouth. “And his wife…”
“Gilukhipa,” Tiye said cautiously. She’d known Gilukhipa would be there, but strange that the first wife of the Dreamer dwelt in Thebes and not Memphis. I must remember to curtsy and tell them they look pretty. And Nefertari was pretty, as pretty as Tiye had known she would be, though as she drew closer she saw that her face seemed strangely harsh and worn for one still a summer shy of three and thirty. Nefertari smiled as they approached, and offered Tiye an outstretched hand. Tiye curtsied and told her how pretty she looked before taking it to her lips.
“I hope my son realises the treasure about to be bestowed upon him.”
Tiye opened her mouth to respond but Amenophis’s first wife beat her to it. “And what a pretty dress the child wears!” Gilukhipa appeared to inspect her for a moment before sending forth a single jewelled finger to test the fabric of her shift, and thus confirm her suspicions. “Oh is this Memphite linen? How quaint!”
Tiye heard the ladies of the Theban elite giggle amongst themselves.
“Aseneth swears by Memphite linen don’t you, Aseneth?” Gilukhipa turned to her bodyslave who nodded in agreement.
“As you say, m’lady, it’s very ... sturdy.”
Tiye bit her lip and felt herself reddening. I knew I should have sought Memnet of Akhmin. Gilukhipa glanced at Amenophis and made to praise his new bride further, but Tiye’s father came to the rescue. With practiced grace he entered into the standard waffling; words, courtesies, flatteries, they all washed over Tiye; at least they did until her prince spoke somewhat forcefully. “Nonsense, my princess and I will remain in Thebes and every man in the nation will turn green with envy!”
He’s so powerful, just like a hero of old, even Father submits to his will. Tiye smiled at the words but imagined she saw a dark shadow cross Nefertari’s face. The woman offered her son a diffident bow. “As you say, my Prince.” And then slowly she took Tiye’s hand from her father’s and joined it to his. She leaned in and kissed Tiye on either cheek as she did so, before bringing lips to ear, her voice so soft Tiye could barely hear. “Do not tarry long in the court of Amenhotep, pretty one.”
Tiye drew back a little too quickly at that. The Queen gave her a lingering, somewhat cheerless look before turning and taking Tiye’s father in hand. Together they moved on ahead of Tiye and her prince, “Memphite linen!” She heard Gilukhipa repeat deliberately loudly, just in case anybody had missed it the first time. Tiye saw her own mother ahead and watched, as she took Nefertari’s place on her father’s arm. She half thought Tjuya would turn to offer her an encouraging smile but she didn’t. She felt Amenophis squeeze her hand. I’m to be introduced to Pharaoh himself next. She felt even more nervous than before and found herself squeezing him back. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” he said with a grin, before giving her a light kiss on the cheek and stepping forward.
Pharaoh offered his ghaffir a raised eyebrow as the high priest of Heliopolis and his wife approached through the archway. “Lord Yuya’s wife is a creature to raise the spirits.”
“Aye,” Narmer whispered, “And other things besides, small wonder the drought goes easy on Heliopolis, with teats like that I’d wager she could feed half the city.”
Pharaoh chuckled. “Perhaps she might provide me distraction tonight.”
Narmer rubbed his chin. “I’ll have her sent to your chambers after dark then?”
Pharaoh grunted. “Nay, best not, the high priest is of a type that would take offence, and I’d want a better reason than her to offend one of his standing.”
Pharaoh broke into a friendly smile and exchanged a few necessary courtesies as arm in arm, the couple drew up and bowed before him, a half dozen slaves and retainers in tow. A moment, Amenhotep imagined one of the slaves was staring at him, but when he looked he saw they all had their heads bowed demurely. The high priest moved on and disappeared amidst the throngs in the great courtyard of Amun-Ra. And then Pharaoh saw Amenophis, or at least he would have done if his eyes hadn’t fixed themselves on the goddess at his arm. Amenhotep drew breath when he saw her gliding ever nearer, more stunning with every step. “Gods,” he gasped, “I thought the wife looked well until I saw the daughter.”
Narmer too stood transfixed. The girl was in a word, incredible, her bridal gown seemed almost to shimmer, her hair was red flame wreathed in a purple lotus mesh, her skin, fine porcelain, and her eyes … her eyes were beauty. He nodded slowly, “Aye, Divinity, the mother’s is a beauty that warms the blood. The daughter’s is the kind that spills it.”
“I would have her maidenhead,” Amenhotep said a little too loudly.
Narmer gulped, the wives of minor nobles and even high lords were one thing, but this one belonged to Amenophis. “Your grandson has that privilege,” he said cautiously.
“What of it? I serviced the boy’s mother more than a few times and naught was said about it. She gives me eyes still that one,” He offered his ghaffir an amused expression. “Does Amenophis grow so far above his station that he seeks to deny me my right?”
“It would not play
well about the court, Your Grace. The boy has more about him than the Dreamer. He might not … might not be happy.”
“What’s there to be unhappy about? I’ll not want her for more than a moon or two and don’t worry, you’ll get your turn too. Once she runs out of ways to provide us pleasure I’ll give her back to the lad.”
Narmer licked his lips and made an unpleasant noise in his throat. “Most gracious of you, Divinity.”
Amenhotep turned from his ghaffir as the couple paused before him. Amenophis bowed low, but his eyes never left Pharaoh. The goddess took the boy’s lead and offered her king a practiced curtsy. The sweet scent of Memphite jasmine and wild honeysuckle seemed to waft about her, and when she went down Amenhotep could see the curve of her breasts nicely displayed under the shimmering fabric of her sheath.
She offered him a woven papyrus basket containing twin clay pots of earth and water. He smiled as he handed it to one of his retainers, a broad almost hungry smile that seemed to suggest that no tribute, no matter how grand, would be half as pleasing as her own soft flesh. He saw the boy’s eyes grow hard. He chuckled at that. Formidable as a puppy with his hackles raised. He sent forth a jewelled hand so the girl would be forced to kiss it. She hesitated at the sight of his stumps before her lips brushed lightly across his fingers. They felt warm and moist, timid and yielding. They felt good. He stiffened inside his kilt as he imagined pressing those lips to his. He heard Amenophis’s breathing grow shallower.
When the pair rose Pharaoh stepped closer and raised her chin. The boy was saying something, introducing her he realised. He paid the words no mind, he cared little for her name, no more than he cared for the names of his wives. Still, he held her chin turning her head ever so slightly from left to right. He could see she was growing a little uncomfortable. He rubbed the tip of his thumb across those soft lips and felt the girl’s nervousness increase, though she did not pull back from the touch. She wants me, they all want me.
