by D. S.
Amenophis’s words were growing louder but still Pharaoh did not give the boy his ear. His eyes were burning coals and they bored deep into hers. The girl seemed to be doing her best to smile while her eyes began flitting back and forth attempting to look anywhere but in his. No, it is not for the boy to defile this creature, I would have it, and I would have it now. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “Such beauty is not meant to share a boy’s bed,” he whispered. “Better that it knows a man’s love, a god’s love … my love.”
The girl pulled back glancing from Pharaoh to his grandson. She looked confused, but was well armoured in her courtesies and found herself offering Pharaoh a second low obeisance. “I … I am to wed your grandson.” She said it with a beguiling smile and in tones that suggested there may have been a misunderstanding. Amenhotep grinned at that and rounded on the boy. “Do you take a knee, young prince, and thank the gods that a better man is willing to take this burden from you?”
Amenophis reddened, his jaw twitched. “I …”
Pharaoh bulled over him. “You see, my boy, a creature such as this will befuddle and corrupt the mind of those not strong enough to put it in its place. Such was the tale of my grandfather and the whore who stole his heart and twisted his mind. Even today I have not yet managed to hack the Slut Queen’s name from all the monuments of our house. They play on your weaknesses you see. Worm their way into your affections, your heart, your very soul until those of feeble moral standing become slaves to their whims. You must learn how to handle such creatures, Amenophis, learn to bend them to your will, learn to see through their tender words, sweet smiles and salty tears, else they will rule you as a master rules a slave.” He tutted disapprovingly. “Aye, I can see it in your face, my lad, already are you bewitched.” He pinched the boy’s cheek in a paternal manner before placing a hand on his shoulder, “So you see now how it must go to a man with greater experience than you of course? For the good of our house you understand?” His eyes seemed to brook no argument. “Give this thing to me, so it may learn its proper place.”
Amenophis looked like a fawn staring down the hunter’s spear. “She … she is to be my wife, she is promised to me … her father and my father … it is done, I … I’m a man grown … you cannot…”
Tiye looked to him suddenly afraid. He no longer sounded like a prince, a hero from the stories. He sounded like a stuttering child, a boy of sixteen summers.
“And now you present it as a gift to your grandfather?” Amenhotep mussed the boy’s hair. “You’re loyalty shall not go unrewarded I assure you.” He gestured absently to his ghaffir. “Let it be known to the appropriate persons that young Amenophis here shall come into lordship over the Water Palace on Elephantine on his next name-day, and all the slaves, lands and titles that come with it of course.”
He brushed passed the boy and made to take Tiye’s arm. Tiye spun her head from one to the other. Pharaoh’s three fingered paw closed around her wrist, he lifted the veil from her face and seemed to almost drink in the sight.
“Amenophis ... what … what’s happening?” She tried to look beyond Pharaoh’s shoulder. “Father?” Where’s father? The boy began to shake and she saw him struggling to sniff back tears. She couldn’t help feeling that he looked little different to a child that had just had his favourite toy snatched from him. She squeezed his fingers, he still had a hold of her hand. Don’t let go! Her prince turned back to Pharaoh, met the Godking’s eyes, tried to hold them, tried to defy them. Tried and failed. Slowly, ever so slowly Tiye’s prince lowered his head. His fingers loosened about hers and she felt him slip from her hand. He let go. Her eyes grew big. You promised … you promised. She heard him whisper something, it sounded a little like ‘sorry.’
All at once Pharaoh was pulling her into his arms, pulling her away from her prince. She reached for his hand, but he made no attempt to grab hers, “Amenophis … please…” She wished her father was beside her. He’d make everything alright. It was all just a misunderstanding. He’d explain it all. “Amenophis ...” it was barely a whisper. She met his eyes and saw shame and anger in his … no, shame and acceptance. He saw fear and moisture in hers. She turned back to Pharaoh, still pleading a misunderstanding. “I … I’m to marry your grandson,” she said again. She tried to smile as she said it, but it came out halfway between a sniffle and a sob. The first tear broke and touched her cheek. Her prince saw it, tracked it with his eyes, watched a second follow it, he saw Pharaoh take her into his arms, “Amenophis…” it was a full sob now. She tasted salt in her mouth.
The Godking stared at her prince imperiously, as he slid a hand down her back and gave her behind an exploratory little squeeze. He glanced briefly to his ghaffir as he did so. “Oh aye, I reckon you’ll like this one.” She could feel his three fingers touching, feeling, probing.
Amenophis heard his bride whimper. Pharaoh grabbed her chin again, a little more roughly than before. He turned her head from side to side and kissed the tears from her cheeks, swallowed them. He made a sound as if he’d just tasted a fine northland wine before murmuring “sssh,” ever so softly in her ear. Then, slowly he edged smiling lips towards hers.
Tiye pushed vainly against him, pulled her head free of his grasp, turned away from him, took one last desperate glance back at her prince, tears streaming down her face now, and then she saw it. He loves me! Amenophis firmed his jaw and suddenly he was striding forward, his fingers reached back for hers; found them, and tightened about them in sudden defiance.
He shouldered his way in between her and Pharaoh. Amenhotep took a step back, an expression of surprise on his face. Tiye’s prince met the Godking’s eye, and this time he held it, his voice shaky, but firm. “You can have any woman in the realm, grandfather ... any but one.” He drew himself up until he was almost of a height with Pharaoh. “You cannot have Tiye.”
Pharaoh’s ghaffir moved forward, his hand on the hilt of his blade. I laid hands on him without his leave, Amenophis realised at once, even for a prince of the Godking’s blood such an act was … unwise.
Pharaoh’s lips curled upwards. The boy has courage in this much at least. He smiled or snarled for what must have been the hundredth time, but this time the smile did not extend to his eyes. A gesture stalled his ghaffir but those eyes did not leave the Prince. “Men have died for less than that ... boy. Best you stand aside now or things may go badly for you.” He stared a while longer, still expecting the boy to capitulate, but Amenophis held firm, his fingers tight about hers. Pharaoh’s ghaffir stood, hand on hilt, ready to back the Godking’s words with bronze if need be. Tiye could feel Amenophis shaking, feel his heart pounding. A moment she thought she felt his grip weaken a second time, but then she felt him squeezing harder once more.
Abruptly Pharaoh shrugged. “Keep your whore then. I care not,” he whirled around and pounded down the corridor and out into the light of the courtyard beyond. Dignified applause and the sound of trumpets greeted his appearance. Tiye took a stuttering breath and felt her prince relax. He was still clutching her fingers. He turned an ashen face to hers but even as she looked at him, she saw his colour returning. He smiled. “Even Seth himself could not part me from you,” he said softly.
She thought something about the way he said it sounded very gallant. He squeezed her fingers so hard, so protectively that she almost gasped, “Well … now that you’ve met the relations do you still want to marry me?” he sounded almost anxious. She managed a wan smile at that, and wiped a lingering tear from her eye before nodding. Together they took a tentative step towards the courtyard.
Shiri watched as Tiye emerged into the amber light of the Theban dawn. She looked a little dishevelled, a little shaky. The boy too seemed pale. But one thing at least gave the slave heart, they were hand in hand, fingers meshed tightly together, each holding the other as if there were nobody else in the world. There is love there. At least she hoped there was. Perhaps Josef hadn’t been entirely wrong. If the boy was good to her, if he stayed
true, then perhaps … perhaps it might not be so bad. Perhaps she would be happy.
Amenophis led her over a carpet of flowers; golden honeysuckle, purple lotus blossoms, white lilies, red roses with thorns removed and countless others. A line of children; sons and daughters of noble houses, were throwing them on the tiles before the couple, while yet others held burning vials of incense aloft.
The ceremony was taking place under the auspices of Amun. Papis had ensured that no mention of the god of Heliopolis would be made. The high priest of Amun went on for an age about gods and love, honours and duties. From her place, quite a distance from the high altar, Shiri could only catch a few words here and there, but she knew it was done when she saw both bride and groom bowing as they were anointed with the oil of Isis.
Shiri looked away from the altar and stole a peek in his direction, arm in arm with his wife and kitted out like a good Gypto nobleman, all gold and linen, handsome as always. The witch was all smiles and jewels but when she caught the slave looking at her husband her face turned sour. She squeezed his arm a little harder and rested her head on his shoulder in a loving gesture, her eyes didn’t leave the slave’s as she did so.
Shiri paid her no mind and turned her gaze back to Tiye in time to see the newlyweds rise and turn to the congregation. The girl shared a glance with her parents, or her father at least, and then in a move that took the slave by surprise, Shiri saw her turn her head in the other direction, her direction. The Princess offered her bodyslave a quick smile before sharing a quicker kiss with her husband. Something about that smile brought a little moisture to her slave’s eyes. She doesn’t completely forget me.
Even as the congregation was applauding the kiss, an enormous flock of strange stork like birds suddenly swooped overhead in a cacophony of beating wings and shrill cries. Hundreds of them, so many that Shiri could feel them casting a great cooling shadow over the court. “Ibis,” she heard somebody whisper. “Ibis,” she heard again. “Ibis! Ibis!” People began pointing skyward, even Tiye and her new husband looked up. Tiye pointed and laughed, and while all eyes were elsewhere her husband took the opportunity to lean in and kiss her a second time and with a little more gusto.
The whispers rolled through the congregation before finally breaking into shouts and cheers. “Thoth sends his messengers! The flood! The flood is coming!” And then the chant began. It started somewhere near the back but more and more picked it up until soon, fully half the congregation were chanting. “She brings the flood! She brings the flood! The Beautiful One brings the flood!”
VII
He did not record the names of his wives and why should he? They were not his queens; they were his servants – slaves to a Godking’s lust, and not very good ones at that. Why else would he need to look to others to provide him pleasure? The boy is not so wise. She’d not been in the city a day but already the name, ‘Tiye’ was being chanted in the streets, some called her ‘the Bringer of the Flood,’ some named her ‘Isis reborn and the Daughter of the Sun,’ others simply, ‘the Beautiful One.’ Already, the halls of Karnack and the White Palace were being attacked with chisel and brush as Amenophis had his new bride’s name inscribed beside his.
The wedding feast was a lively affair. Nubian dancers, with painted skin and plumed headdresses cavorted to energetic music, great dishes peppered in strange and exotic spices adorned every table, while perfumed noblemen and sparkling ladies shared glances and traded flatteries. Even the priests of Amun and the acolytes of the Jealous God broke bread together. But for Pharaoh the feast had a bitter taste. She has barely looked at me all night. Even Papis’s recounting of his glorious exploits on the blood-fields of Armegiddo, exploits that made Amenhotep seem more god than man, did not so much as attract a sideways glance.
Pharaoh rolled some honeyed Shedeh about his mouth, swallowed and stared. The more beautiful it was the more he needed to possess it. The more innocent it was the more he needed to corrupt it. The more perfect it was the more he needed to taint it. He needed to see tears on those soft cheeks, needed to strip her naked so his eyes could drink her beauty. He needed to hear her call his name and declare her devotion as he entered her and made her his. He needed to hear her beg and plead to serve him. He needed her to give herself to him in every way a woman could give herself to a man. He needed her to be his slut, his whore, his slave. He turned to his vizier. “If the gods do not want me to have it then why do they fill me with such lusts?”
Papis shrugged. “She’s an outstanding beauty true enough, but there are many and more that can match her. You can have them all without fear of angering the boy, better perhaps to let this one go, Divinity.”
“Fear? What mean you by that?” He allowed the high priest to speak freely, else his counsels would be worthless, but the man had been taking liberties of late. He emptied his goblet and called for another.
The vizier bowed. “I meant only that…”
He waved him to silence. “There has never been a mount to match this one, only a fool would claim different, ‘tis only right and proper that her king gets to taste her.”
“In times past you named your son’s wife, Nefertari, the greatest beauty in the Two Lands, you declared that if you had her you would never want for another. And yet, within the year you saw the error in that and cast her aside for young Rabiah of Tjaru … or was it that darkling wench, Monifa?”
“Yes, well, men get wiser and women get older.”
“And this one will get older too,” Papis said, “You can pick and chose as is your want. They say Salihah, daughter of Thauney, is as fine a creature that ever walked and that Nubian princess, sister to your vassal Memnon, owes you fealty, why not take them and leave Amenophis have his prize? What need to upset the lad?”
Amenhotep’s eyes returned to the temptress. She was seated in a position of high honour at Amenophis’s right, laughing and giggling with the boy and their attendants. Every movement was beauty, every smile a seduction. It knows I’m watching. It tries to seduce me from afar. She laughed at some jape by one of the boy’s entourage and touched her husband’s arm lightly. Amenophis turned to her and smiled, his eyes momentarily lost in hers. Pharaoh saw the boy’s first wife rise abruptly and leave the hall, her face a dour mask. The boy noticed her absence from the hall no more than his bed. Pharaoh shook his head. “I do not want the daughter of Thauney, nor some southron princess. I want, Tiye.”
Pharaoh saw his vizier raise an eyebrow, and frowned at the cause. I said its name. He rarely spoke the name of any woman. If they have no names nobody will remember them.
He dragged his eyes from the temptress and scanned the court. He was fond of picking out the choicest ladies of the nobility to grace his bed. Perhaps there was one amongst this gathering that could take his mind off the red goddess. Of late, he’d taking to picking a woman of high birth from the court and have her husband watch as she went to tend her king. Oft as not, he would simply have the wench pleasure him with her mouth while Narmer took her from behind, as was his ghaffir’s particular vice. Occasionally, he would even send word to a particular lordling who had given him grievance and have him journey to Thebes with his favourite wife in tow. Such had been the case with Asar of Akhmin. The long drought had hit the town hard and so Asar had begun to neglect his tribute to the crown. That had not played well with Amenhotep.
And then of course, there had been Lord Djoser of Abydos. Through seven years of dwarf floods the man had failed to get his young spouse with child. After Narmer had once japed, “Djoser’s cock rises less often than the river,” Pharaoh had graciously declared he’d take Djoser’s duties upon himself. Even then there was no quickening in her womb. He’d explained that before Narmer and Djoser alike easily enough. “I did not wish to look your dog in the face so I decided to take her in the style of my ghaffir instead. She’s almost pleasing when presenting herself as such you’ll agree?”
Djoser had bowed red-faced and explained that he had not yet had that particular pleasure
of his wife. Amenhotep had laughed like a hyena for a week. The twin brides of Heru; fine creatures raised by the banks of Lake Mareotis, had provided better sport. Heru had been more than willing to share them out and the twins had been so talented, that Pharaoh decided to reward Heru with rank and privilege. Once he was done with them and before returning them to their affable husband, he’d past them to Narmer and Papis as a reward for leal service. As usual Narmer had been most appreciative, but Papis’s tastes ran in a different direction so Pharaoh found him a particularly pretty pair of Habiru boys instead. They might not have been twins true enough, but they were young and appealing enough to keep the high priest happy for near six moons.
It didn’t always go so easily however, such had been the case with Tarik of Elephantine. When Pharaoh had seen the quality of the women of Tarik’s house, he’d declared that he would do the man high honour and have pleasure of his daughter and wife both. But Tarik revealed himself as traitor when he refused to give them over to his king. Instead, he made to abandon the court. Pharaoh had been more than happy to allow him to go; he’d even gone so far as to provide the man with free passage to copper mines of Serabit. His wife and daughter had remained behind, but Pharaoh soon grew bored of the pair and ended up giving them to the officers of the city watch. There were near two hundred officers in the watch and last he’d heard Tarik’s sluts had gone through the lot.
But of all his conquests, one alone stood out. Big brown pools brimming with tears and hate. Aye, that one had actually resisted him. He’d found pleasure in that, greater pleasure still in the impotent stares of her dying husband. Never since had any even made pretence at fighting him. Oh perhaps sometimes there would be a few silent tears as they debased themselves for his pleasure. But never had he felt the fire and fury that had met him half a lifetime before. Never had he heard the heartfelt pleas, nor seen the open hatred of that one, never had he supped on tears so sweet.
