Shiri

by D. S.

  “What you want is of no matter. You’re coming to Heliopolis if I have to drag you onto the bloody boat myself.” He spun and paced away from her. I’m sorry, Shiri, I’m sorry. Soon enough he realised she was no longer following him and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t see her. He took a quick step backwards, then two more and suddenly she emerged before him, still standing where he had left her, looking lost, angry, betrayed. She gave him a look that seemed little different to the one he’d seen her offering Pharaoh himself. He sighed again and took another step towards her, reached for her, “Shiri…”

  “I hate you, Yuya, I hate you.”

  He was shaken to find his eyes watering a little at those words. He took a breath, and steeled himself. “This is for your own good, Shiri.”

  She ground her teeth and met his eye. “For my own good? For my own good you took me into your bed knowing you were promised to another? For my own bloody good my daughter thinks me no more than a slave, chance bought at the auction block? And now, for my own good you would wrench me away from her? You would wrench me away from the one thing I have left to love? You bastard! You bastard!” She slapped him as hard as she could. “Don’t worry,” she spat, “that was for your own good.”

  He just stood there looking at her dumbly. He didn’t even bother raising his hands to protect himself so she thought it only fitting to slap him again. “For your own good!” She repeated.

  “Shiri stop it’s…”

  “For your own good!” She screeched, balled her hand into a fist and punched him square in the face. That got his attention. He raised his hands to fend off any further blows, but that didn’t help him. She fisted him again and then a third time, “For your own good! For your own good!” He grabbed her hands and pulled her to him, trying to restrain her. He was saying something. At first the words were drowned in her fury but finally she heard them. “I’m sorry, Shiri, I’m sorry, you can stay with her, you can stay with her. Of course you can.”

  She raised her head and only then seemed to see his face; his right cheek was red, and she even imagined there was a little swelling under his eye. I hit him, I hurt him, “Josef … I … I didn’t mean to…” He put a finger to her lips, leaned in and kissed her.

  The shock of it froze her. She made to push him off but he seemed to be holding her so tight that she could barely move. It took her a moment or three to realise he wasn’t really holding her that firmly at all. It was her, she wasn’t struggling, wasn’t pushing him away. Why can’t I say no to him? She felt herself returning the kiss, felt herself sigh softly into his mouth. It felt so right, felt like all she ever wanted. She felt herself pressing even harder against him, felt her lips open for him, felt the kiss grow deeper. Why can’t I say no? Before she knew it had happened she’d surrendered. Time itself seemed to slow down and the world faded around her until she could think of nothing but Josef – Josef and Shiri ... Why … why can’t I turn from him? Why can’t I stop loving him?

  And then almost as if looking on the scene from afar she saw herself pushing him away. Birds were singing once more, the babbling of the fountains and brooks in the Water Gardens came rushing back to her ears, and a sudden flare of anger returned to her eyes. She saw herself slap him yet again.

  He stepped back and finally held his hand to his cheek to inspect the damage. He hadn’t taken a beating like this since the blood-fields of Armegiddo. A deal of punishment for just one kiss, he grinned at the thought. “Worth it,” he said aloud. That made her fume all the more, she almost went for him again but he raised his hands in capitulation. “Six moons … just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She nodded and he seemed to take some assurance from that. His eyes held hers a moment longer and then he turned away. “Goodbye Shiri.” He made to cover the last few yards to Water Gardens to say goodbye to Tiye.

  All at once it hit her like a thunderbolt. Josef’s leaving me, for the first time since Megiddo, Josef’s really properly leaving me. She found herself running to catch up to him. She grabbed his arm and he spun round. And then she was in his arms, crushing her lips to his. His hands reached around her back, pulling her closer. Abruptly she pushed him off. She slapped him again. It was softer this time, much softer, barely a slap at all. He stepped back looking bemused. “You kiss me just so you can slap me again?”

  She twisted her lips, it was almost a smile. “Worth it,” she said.

  IX

  If she’d thought on it she’d have realised there’d been no letters from her mother. Her father made up for that. His letters were frequent and long. She deemed him a little overprotective and was quick to say as much, whenever she got around to replying, which she knew was not as often as he’d have liked.

  Her bodyslave was ever annoying her about that, always looking for opportunities to say, “Perhaps you might find the time to reply today, m’lady,” or whatever. Worse, Solon had taught the Habiru how to recognise a few words, and whenever Tiye received a new message the slave would hover over her shoulder making attempts to read it. To Tiye’s amusement she’d even asked if she could make her own marks on some of her mistress’s replies; just a word here or there in an awkward spidery scrawl that would leave even the least learned younglings in the White Palace shame faced, but the slave seemed infinitely proud of them.

  Surprisingly, her father would always take the time to reply to those particular parts. He would even ask about her slave now and then: ‘Is Shiri behaving herself? … be good to Shiri … tell Shiri Old Solon has been complaining that Yocobel lacks her touch about the gardens … don’t forget to give your bodyslave something nice on her name-day, it’s coming up soon,’ and so forth. The Princess would laugh at those parts and point them out to the slave, “Father says Old Solon was asking for you … again.” She noticed her Habiru seemed to take such words to heart and would study them closely, crinkling her nose over those that were beyond her abilities. It was then that Tiye decided to make it her pet project to help Shiri learn her glyphs.

  Her bodyslave was smart, for a Habiru, even her husband admitted as much. After just one moon the slave was even attempting to read out whole messages for her. The Habiru had been so pleased with herself, that for the briefest moment she’d actually slipped into talking airily of her youth, declaring that even the wisest greybeards in her village couldn’t do as much.

  Tiye had always imagined she’d been born into slavery, but apparently that was not the case. Amenophis had almost spoiled it all. One day, Tiye had Shiri stand before the pair, and the slave proudly set about reading her father’s latest letter to them. Apparently Ay had been wed and named as heir to the ailing lord of Akhmin. Amenophis laughed so hard at the slave stuttering and stumbling her way through even the simplest lines that he almost fell off the couch. A sharp glance from Tiye had put an end to that but the damage was done, her bodyslave was crestfallen. It took her a week to convince the slave to take up the challenge again. A moon later she had her stand before Amenophis again. This time he did not laugh.

  And now her husband even went so far as helping the slave with the odd word or two, ever mumbling about what his grandfather would say if he knew. Tiye smiled at him as he leaned in to help Shiri decipher the latest word that had stumped her. “Arson,” he’d said with a frown before taking the letter from her. “He says somebody attempted to burn the Sun Temple and hacked profanities and mockeries of the Jealous God into its walls.” He looked to Tiye. “And he says a Habiru lad was set upon in the streets. They cut off his fingers and toes and carved the name ‘Amun’ into his forehead.”

  Tiye gasped and for an instant she saw Amran flash before her eyes. “That’s terrible!”

  “You’re not wrong, the boy was a skilled stonecutter by all accounts, worth twenty debens at least I’d wager.”

  “What was his name?”

  Amenophis looked at her strangely. “Some Habiru thing no doubt, I can’t pronounce the half of them,” He shrugged tossing her the letter. “I fear your fa
ther brings these things on himself, my love, he begins to lose control of the situation. For years he’s been making it his business to give the Habiru ever more freedoms. It’s said that during the long drought the Habiru of Heliopolis ate better than half the peasants of the Lower Kingdom. And as far as this Aton of yours goes … well, he’s ever insulting the gods of old, ever denying the Hidden One his due. There was bound to be a backlash eventually.” He rolled his eyes. “You could have warned me before you named that little present I got you after him.”

  Tiye gave him a mischievous look. “Yes, well, I was expecting something a bit bigger for my name-day.” She still couldn’t believe what he’d got her; it was as preposterous as it was magnificent.

  “I’ll have to try harder for your next one,” he said. “Just let me know if you plan to pull a stunt like that again. You don’t need to be as boisterous in your faith as your father, not within hearing of Karnack at any rate.”

  Tiye said nothing to that. Father knows what he’s doing.

  “The pair of you should journey to Memphis and take matters in hand,” her slave ventured boldly. She seemed more than a little upset by the description of one of her kin. She’d taken the letter from her mistress’s grasp and was reading it again. “Lord Yuya says the Dreaming Pharaoh grows w…wea…” she sounded out the glyphs just like her mistress had taught her, “… weaker by the day. He b …bare … barely returns to the waking world at all anymore.” She looked to Amenophis. “You should go to him.”

  Amenophis glanced in the Habiru’s direction before making a face at Tiye. “You see this is exactly the sort of thing I mean.” It was half a laugh. “He fills his slaves with fancies beyond their station. They speak out of turn and hold their heads too high.” He grinned conspiratorially at his wife. “Some even learn how to put their words on papyrus.” Tiye pouted at that and he drew closer, taking her into his arms. “It’s … it’s dangerous, is all. I just think he should ease off a bit...” He paused; she was looking at him strangely. She’d been acting strangely all week truth be told, giggling and whispering with her bodyslave no end. “Alright what is it? Is something wrong?”

  She glanced at the slave then back to her husband, her eyes were bright. She kissed him playfully. “No nothing’s … wrong.”

  He narrowed his eyes, a serious look on his face. He turned to her bodyslave. “What’s she so happy about?”

  The slave smiled at the pair before offering the Prince a dramatic curtsy. “I’m sure I don’t know, m’lord,” she shared an eloquent glance with Tiye before turning to busy herself, preparing her mistress’s outfit for the excursion. The Princess would be escorting her husband through the streets of Thebes and on to the great Temple of Karnack, where he’d be presiding over the ceremonies before Sekhmet’s high altar.

  By rights, it should have been his first wife at his side on such an occasion but Amenophis had insisted on taking Tiye instead. Gilukhipa had actually come to their door demanding an explanation for his, “Trampling over the sacred traditions,” when she’d found out. Amenophis had advised her she could journey to Memphis and perform the ceremonies there if she was so eager to worship the goddess.

  Tiye felt her prince brushing a hand lovingly through her hair. “That slave of yours speaks well enough when she has no leave, but keeps her silences when put to question,” he said. “What secrets are you two hiding from me?”

  Tiye flicked her eyes to his. “You’ve got a big day ahead, my love, you’ll have to concentrate. It would not do to have your mind elsewhere.” She kissed his cheek and brushed her lips against his ear, “I’ll tell you on the morrow.”

  He made an impudent face. “You’ll tell me now or I’ll let Old Amenhotep know that he can go to Karnack himself, while I stay here searching my wife for secrets.” He slid a roguish hand under her frock and drew a giggle. He inched his fingers higher, “Now then, where shall I start this search?”

  She put a finger to his lips and an impish glance was enough to turn his words to kisses. “On the morrow,” she whispered into his mouth, “I’ll tell you on the morrow ... if you have not already guessed.”

  X

  ‘The Festival of Drunkenness,’ that’s what they called it. Statues of lion faced Sekhmet, goddess of fire, disease, and more importantly, wine, were carried aloft through the streets of the great city. Men wagered on who could do the goddess greatest honour by downing the most ale, women sang and danced in the squares, children supped on their first tankard of heady southland brew and Pharaoh brooded in his halls of gold.

  He read the letter a second time. It had happened at last, the Dreamer had past into the world of shadows and dust, small loss that was. He shook his head again, “I don’t care if he’s of age damn you! I need no more Co-Regents; the last one was as useful as a dead man’s cock. Amenophis will take the Red Crown when I deem him ready, not before. Until then he will stay here in Thebes.” He took a breath. “He will stay and so will she.”

  Papis gulped. “As … as you say, Divinity, perhaps you have the right of it, the boy is over young.”

  Amenhotep’s response was a grunt. Once again it was the young prince, or more accurately his stunning new wife that had stolen the show. They’d made an appearance before the gates of Karnack handing out fruity wine and heady ale from Memphis, Tjaru and Akhmin to all comers. The city had come to a near standstill. He turned to the vizier, his voice almost a whine, “Why do they love her so?”

  Papis, shifted from one foot to the other, looking increasingly apprehensive, Pharaoh was ever quick to anger when in his cups, “Well she … she talks to them you see, she goes down amongst them and...”

  “Talks to whom, the priests, the high lords?” Pharaoh sipped a proffered cup of Memphite Red before waving it aside in favour of an outland white of rare vintage.

  His ghaffir took over from the vizier. “No, no, the commoners and peasants, street urchins and fishwives, she talks to them all … she asks them questions.” Papis put a cloth to his nose when Narmer decided to annotate his words with a belch.

  “Questions?”

  “Oh aye, questions!” The Companion was drunk, slurring his words, struggling to focus his eyes, but as ever he was talkative with drink in hand, “You should have seen her today.” He made to imitate the Princess’s voice, “How long have you lived in the harbour district? Are the fish biting? Is your wife well?”

  He called for more wine and took the carafe from the serving girl before pulling her to him and sitting her on his knee. His hand wandered idly under her skirts, “And gods, you should have seen the way this pockmarked wench, with a mewling infant in her arms, beamed when the Princess paused to cluck over the thing and tell the wretch her babe was the prettiest she’d ever come across. The whole business was unseemly if you must have the truth of it, and as for the crowds, gods be good, the crowds, they thronged and flocked about her like locusts, and the whole time barely a one looked to their Prince, and him wearing the jewels of state and all! Not that the boy seemed to care mind you – he was looking at her too!” He shifted in his seat as he broke wind surprisingly loudly and took a long swig from his carafe.

  The girl squirmed a little, so he brought the carafe to her lips and made her drink until she gagged. The wine dribbled and spilled all over the pair of them but he didn’t seem to notice. “And of course our Tiye wouldn’t allow the Companions to clear a path, so it only got worse as they neared Karnack. The whole procession was forced to stop while she exchanged courtesies with whores and street players alike. She bought some lacy shawl off an old crone with teeth brown as mud and paid twice what it was worth. She told the woman it was the finest embroidery she’d seen, and asked if she’d like a position amongst the weavers of the White Palace.”

  Narmer paused to take another hefty swig and then he was off again. “And strike me down if I tell it false, but the crone broke into tears there and then and insisted on kissing the Princess’s feet and blessing her before all the gods she could name.
And then, before the gates of Karnack itself, and now I didn’t see this much myself mind you, but plenty others did by all accounts, the Princess went and kissed some ancient spice merchant on the cheek!” He laughed and a little wine snorted out his nose. “I’d wager the old bastard will still be boasting of that ten years hence.”

  Pharaoh frowned. She gifts street peddlers kisses but won’t offer me so much as a favoured glance. An irritated gesture silenced the ghaffir. It was ever the same, crowds following her wherever she went. Folk would call out her name as the royals toured the city. Women would approach her on bended knee asking her to bless their newborn babes. Men would grovel in the earth at her feet and thank her for bringing the flood; her, always her. Did it start like this for the Slut Queen? And as for the boy, well, he just made things worse.

  Tales of how the Prince had commissioned a mighty new ship and presented it to her as a present for her sixteenth name-day had already spread as far as Memphis. Beggars and merchants alike journeyed to the far corners of the Two Lands and told how the Beautiful One’s smile had lit up the docks when she named the vessel. Named it for some strange god few of them had heard of. Amenhotep rolled the wine about his mouth, ‘Aton Glimmers.’ The girl’s ship was the largest in all the Two Lands. It dwarfed the dead Co-Regent’s ‘Hammer of Ptah’ and was fully twelve yards longer than his ‘Megiddo.’ The boy had made sure of that. A deliberate affront.

  Once, from the very walls of the White Palace, he had heard the throngs chanting her name as she toured the Osiris wells with her husband. Near a mile distant and I could still hear the chanting. Queen of Beauty, Queen of Love, Queen of Thebes, they called her. My wives have no names, Amenophis’s has a hundred. She had conquered Thebes and as far as he could tell she hadn’t even been trying. He gulped back his wine, it tasted rich and fruity. “Are the plans in motion?” he asked quietly. Narmer booted his girl away and attempted to stand so he could bring lips to Pharaoh’s ear, but encountering difficulties of balance, returned to his seat. Amenhotep grinned, he’s drunk, everybody was drunk, Sekhmet demanded as much.