House of Dreams (37 page)

The office was scrupulously neat, its desk cleared of all but a palette and a box of scribe’s brushes, its walls lined with dozens of round, open-ended receptacles for scrolls. There was little else. I wondered briefly which niche held my contract and what other information about me was being amassed and recorded. It must have been a monumental task to document each woman in the harem. My inspection lasted only seconds, for Amunnakht was rising from his chair.

“Greetings, Thu,” he said imperturbably. “May I offer you wine or a dish of figs? What do you require of me?” Mindful of Hui’s warning I declined the refreshment. Amunnakht did not ask me to sit, in fact he regained his chair and crossed his legs, arranging his linen over his knees and looking up at me inquiringly. I wasted no time.

“I am ready to go to Pharaoh’s bed,” I declared without preamble. Amunnakht’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. He nodded.

“Good. Ramses has been asking for you but I have told him that you are indisposed. He thought that was very funny, a sick physician. Nevertheless he will not be patient for much longer.” I was secretly thrilled. Pharaoh had not forgotten about me, indeed, he had actually been asking for my presence! It was an excellent omen and my good humour was restored. “Do you need any advice, Thu?” Amunnakht was continuing. I blinked.

“Advice, Keeper?” For one idiotic moment I expected him to launch into a list of sexual instructions that would have seemed wildly indecent coming out of that urbane yet stern mouth.

“Are you aware of the etiquette of the situation? Do you know how to behave when you approach the God?”

“Oh!” I said with relief. “Oh yes, Amunnakht. I have been in the royal bedchamber before.” Was that the suspicion of a smile on the Keeper’s face? Did he sense that I intended to break most of the rules, that I had listened to Hunro, to Hui, to my own intuition, and had decided that the last thing I must do is behave like a shy, overawed virgin even though I probably would feel like one?

“So you have,” Amunnakht replied gravely. “I had forgotten. Then I wish you the blessing of Hathor and the favour of our King. I had not yet selected someone to share the royal couch tomorrow night. You may have that privilege. A palace servant will come for you after sundown.” Should I thank him? I thought not. Bowing, I retreated and found another runner waiting for me outside, doubtless to make sure that I returned the way I had come and did not go wandering where I should not.

The palace garden was still suffused with a peaceful bronze glow, and as I set off past the other offices I saw a cat jump from the lower branch of one of the trees, and reaching the ground, slither away through the flaming grasses with a boneless, fluid grace. I took the sight as a promising omen and said a quick prayer to Bast, cat goddess of sexual delights, asking her to prosper my endeavour.

That night I also prayed, long and earnestly, before my little statue of Wepwawet. I reminded him of my faithfulness, of the way he had answered my earlier plea and had taken me out of Aswat, and I begged him not to let his effort be in vain. I told Disenk that my moment had come and instructed her in what I wanted to wear. She became hesitant.

“But, Thu,” she said, “with much respect, it is an untried virgin clothed simply in white linen that Pharaoh wants. If you go to him in gold and yellow with a wig on your head and fine jewels on your person he will dismiss you immediately.”

“I do not think so,” I smiled. “I will not be able to disguise my inexperience, Disenk, and I will not try. But I have a better idea. I will go as a person of authority, a virgin masquerading as a physician. Ramses will be intrigued.”

“I hope you are right,” she demurred unhappily and Hunro, who had been flexing one slim leg against the wall, touched her forehead to her knee and murmured, “It is very clever, Thu. You just might make it work.” I shrugged, displaying more confidence than I really felt.

“If not, I will try something else,” I said loftily. “I will rely on my instinct. I will be one concubine Ramses will not be able to discard.”

I slept fitfully that night, waking several times to lie gazing into the darkness, once hearing the soft voices of the runners who kept a vigil in case any woman should need her servant and once being startled by the eerie scream of a desert hyena coming clearly and ghoulishly on the wind. The verdant Delta stretched a long way to both east and west before it met the intractability of the sand and I wondered if the sound was for me alone, a warning from the gods. But perhaps the animals crept into the city under cover of darkness to scavenge. That was just as likely.

Mentally shaking myself I turned over to slip once more into unconsciousness but the experience had started a flow of unrest in me that I had to deliberately subdue. I did not want to give my virginity to that man. Years ago I had been prepared to sacrifice it to Hui in exchange for a glimpse into my future, but I had been a child then, ignorant and reckless. It had been nothing more to me than a commodity, something to trade. Now it represented a great deal more. It was still a commodity but its worth had grown, become entangled in my mind with the value I placed upon myself as a whole, and in a moment of genuine insight I knew that Hui was more worthy to receive it than the Lord of the Two Lands. Yet for me it could never be a gift. I was at last using it to pay for the future I had wanted to see so long ago, and the revelation brought me both hope and shame.

I pursued my morning routine a little later than usual, wanting to be completely rested for the coming event. I checked the contents of my medicine box, and while I was doing so the fresh supplies I had requested from Hui arrived. In the afternoon’s heat I slept again, and until sunset I composed myself by playing dogs and jackals with Hunro. Then it was time for the ceremony of dressing and painting. When the palace servant appeared, I kissed Wepwawet’s feet, picked up my box, and followed him out into the fragrant evening. I had chewed a kat leaf while I was waiting and my anxiety had become nothing but a dim throb deep in my belly. I was young, I was beautiful, I was wily and clever. I was Thu, Libu princess, and I was going to conquer the world.

I had anticipated a long walk, time in which to collect myself, but the silent servant led me out of my courtyard, a few steps diagonally across the path that ran from end to end of the harem, and straight through a gate in the palace wall onto a short avenue. Almost at once we came to a door. The man said a few words to the guards upon it and they knocked. It was opened and we went in.

I blinked in momentary confusion. Without warning I was in the royal bedchamber. I recognized the elegant chairs with their glimmering electrum legs and tall silver backs, the low tables exquisitely embossed in golden figures. My eyes flew to the massive couch, bulking dimly in the soft light of the many lamps on their cedar stands.

Someone was sitting on the stool beside it and I half-expected to see the Prince rise briskly from it as he had on the day Hui brought me here, but the linen-swathed form bending to watch his sandals being removed was Pharaoh himself. The servant who had escorted me was crossing the floor to take up his station by the farther door. Ramses had seen his movement, and looked up. Heart pounding I took a step then went carefully to the lapis-inlaid floor, first my knees and then my face and the palms of my hands as Disenk had taught me. I had placed the box beside me. “Rise!” the well-remembered voice commanded and I did so, pulling the box back into my chest for the comfort of its familiar authority. I did not wait for permission to go forward. Squaring my shoulders and taking a deep, quiet breath I stalked up to the stool.

Ramses had risen. I had not seen him on his feet before. He was taller than I but only just, so that as he looked me up and down with obvious disappointment our eyes met. His head was covered by a loose linen cap that served to make his cheeks seem more pendulous, his generous mouth more prominent than I remembered.

“The eyes are the same,” he grumbled, “but that is all. I am tired, I have a headache. I was pleased when Amunnakht told me that you had recovered from your slight indisposition, for I was beginning to think that you were reluctant to gratify your Pharaoh. I was looking forward to a closer acquaintance with the sprite who called herself a physician. But what do I find?” He swung away petulantly. “A wigged and bejewelled creature who could be anonymous in any court gathering. I am not happy!” The last words were shouted. They echoed from the high, blue-tinged ceiling and thudded into me like blows. I was trembling inside but I followed him. As I did so, I noticed a motionless, blueand-white sashed form in the shadows on the other side of the couch. With a shock I recognized Paibekamun. He was staring at me in puzzlement, his face a dusky oval in the gloom, and I met his gaze. Trust me, I tried to say to him mutely. Just trust me.

“Sit down, Majesty,” I ordered in a firm voice. Ramses halted abruptly and I repeated myself. “Sit down. I am willing to wager that your Majesty did not follow my instructions last time regarding a fast of water only. Does your Majesty not remember his pain, his fever, from overindulgence in the sesame paste? Your Majesty’s head aches because the Metu to the head is clogged with too much wine, too much fine food. Is it not so?” I made myself busy as I was speaking, not looking at him, opening my box and lifting out my mortar and pestle. I began to unseal jars. Your Majesty’s person is sacred and precious to all Egyptians,” I went on reprovingly. “Your Majesty owes his subjects a little self-discipline.”

“Self-discipline?” Ramses roared, turning. “Who do you think you are?” Then his tone changed. “What are you doing?”

“I am preparing a mixture of setseft seeds, fruit-of-theam-tree, and honey to clear the Metu to your head. Your Majesty will swallow it slowly, and while you do so I will massage your feet.”

This was the moment. My heart was now pounding so violently that I thought it would burst out of my chest and I was glad that the shaking of my fingers was hidden by the action of grinding the potion. For what seemed like a henti the King stared down at me, breathing noisily, then he slumped back onto his stool with an exaggerated sigh like a reprimanded child.

“Paibekamun!” he barked. “Fetch me a spoon!” The shadow detached itself and glided away. “I wanted a few hours of lovemaking,” Pharaoh complained to my bent head, “and I get a harangue from a harridan disguised as a beautiful young girl. Already I rue the day I ever sued for you, my little scorpion!” I did not answer. There was humour in his voice. It was going to be all right.

By the time Paibekamun materialized with a golden spoon the medicine was ready. Ramses took the stone mortar, and while he stirred the contents and dosed himself I settled before him cross-legged, took one of his feet onto my lap, and began to knead it. Occasionally he winced as my probing fingers found a tender spot, but he continued to swallow my concoction and when it was gone he handed the empty mortar to the Butler and leaned back against the side of the couch. His eyes slowly closed. This time his sigh was one of pleasure, and I saw his penis stir with an uncanny, independent life and grow hard. I stopped what I was doing, and parting his filmy, voluminous linen cloak I took hold of his member, squeezing it tightly. It shrank, and Ramses’ eyes flew open. “That hurt!” he said.

“No, Majesty, it did not,” I contradicted him. “I am trying to treat your headache and fatigue. This is not the time for sex.” I went on massaging, first one foot and then the other. Again he became aroused and again I deflated him. The third time he grew engorged he whispered to me, “Do it again, Thu,” and I did. Then he reached forward and lifted the wig from my head. My hair tumbled about my face and he began to stroke it, running his fingers through it and pressing it against my face. I pushed him away, but before he could protest I knelt and tongued his toes, licking and sucking them slowly. He murmured something I could not catch. Carefully I extended my range, kissing his calves, the inside of his thighs, then abruptly I stood.

“Is your Majesty’s head less painful?” I asked briskly. His sleepy gaze rolled over me and he struggled to his feet.

“Yes indeed,” he said thickly, grasping at my sheath. “Come here.” I evaded him, passing my hands provocatively over my clothing as if to smooth away the rumpling he had caused. It was time, I thought, to be what I truly was, an apprehensive virgin.

“I cannot,” I said. He frowned and his eyes lost some of their glazing.

“Why?”

“Because in order to please your Majesty tonight I dressed in my best jewellery and prettiest sheath and I am afraid that in your Majesty’s ardor, both will be ruined.”

“What nonsense!” he snapped. “Do as you are told! Come here!” Meekly I obeyed, closing the space between us and inwardly tensing for the first touch of his chubby hands on my unsullied flesh. But he did not pull the sheath away from me as I had anticipated. He reached behind me, gently unclasping my necklet and laying it on the table by the couch. With the same studied care he lifted the earring from my lobe, slid the bracelets from my arms, undid the gem-studded belt that held the linen to my waist. As he did so he began to pant. His warm breath smelled of honey with a tang of the setseft seeds he had eaten. Easing the sheath down over my shoulders he let it slip to the floor. I was now naked before him. “There,” he said huskily. “Is that better, little scorpion? May I now see whether or not there is a sting in your tail?” He pulled me against him sharply, his hands grabbing my buttocks, his face buried in my neck, and for a moment panic overcame me. I struggled, not able to draw air into my lungs, but he held me all the tighter. I knew that I must regain control of the situation, not just in order to set the tone for our future encounters but also for the sake of my own self-respect. No man would take me without my full consent, not even Pharaoh.

“Do you rape all your virgins?” I cried out. He went very still. His hold loosened, and as it did so I pushed him onto the couch. His knees buckled and he lay on his back, looking up at me with an astounded expression. I climbed up and knelt beside him. “I am afraid, Mighty Bull,” I whispered, and it was the truth. “Can you not see that?” I brought my mouth down over his.