14

I DID NOT FEEL READY to brave Pharaoh’s bed until the middle of the following month, Paophi. Each morning I awoke thinking, I will do it today, I will send for the Keeper and tell him, but always something happened to divert me. My unacknowledged reluctance to do my duty was the true excuse, but there were many more. Within two weeks of my arrival in the harem it was known among the women that I was a physician. There were others, of course, men of high medical standing, but in coming to me the women knew that their ailments, and above all their most private requests, would not be relayed to the Keeper or worse, to the palace authorities. I would open my box of supplies and sit in a chair in a secluded corner of the courtyard, listening to the real or imagined needs of my compatriots, examining them and prescribing as best I could. Many of them were simply plagued with the vague distempers of boredom but it was not my business to recommend a more active life and in any case I knew that my words would fall on deaf ears.

I myself had embarked on a routine as similar to the one I had practised at Hui’s as I could make it. Most of the women slept for as long as possible and would emerge from their cells, half-naked and yawning, to stumble into the shade and pick at their first meal of the day when the sun was already overhead. The temptation to follow their example was strong, but thanks to the rigid discipline I had endured under Hui’s wise direction I was able to resist it.

In the morning Disenk roused me early and I would exercise, going through the rigorous movements Nebnefer had taught me, while the sun lifted higher, turning the pink and shadowed courtyard into a cup of golden light. Often I was joined by Hunro who would dance on the grass with a joyful abandon, her face an ecstatic mask as she lifted it to the glittering sky. Then, both of us panting and pouring sweat, we would run down the narrow path between the forbidding wall of the palace and the blocks of harem buildings until we came to the entrance of the compound. Of course we did not attempt to pass the guards. We veered right into the little-used harem garden that enclosed the whole huge complex on three sides, and plunged into the pool. Hunro was content to immerse herself and then get out, lying on the grass until she was dry, but I grimly swam the lengths I had been used to doing for a shouting, critical Nebnefer, up and down, up and down, until my arms and thighs trembled with exhaustion. I would collapse beside the woman who was fast becoming a friend, and until hunger overtook us we would talk aimlessly, with much giggling. We did not bother to take our servants with us. At these times we had no needs and besides, while we exercised, Disenk and Hunro’s woman were in the kitchen preparing our food. When we were ready we would stroll back to our quarters and eat and drink like famished desert lions, self-righteously watching the first few sleepy denizens of the other cells stumble out and stand blinking in the strong sunlight. My appetite appeased, Disenk would escort me to the bath house where I was washed. This was followed by a body shave and massage from one of the resident masseurs.

Those morning hours became precious to me. They were a time of quiet and privacy before the courtyard filled with young children and gossip, before the few women I saw professionally each day began to drift in my direction.

At first the dozens of other concubines, a lovely, soft mass of big eyes and high voices and yielding flesh, were anonymous to me. Most of them remained that way, for I saw no reason to cultivate their acquaintance. After all, I would not be among them for long. But some stood out from the others. There was Hatia the drunkard who made her appearance in the late afternoon with swollen face and shaking hands and would sink gracelessly beneath her canopy to stare out upon the noisy crowd around the fountain. No one paid her any attention. She would sit thus, wine cup in hand and motionless servant behind, until sunset, at which time she would rise as silently as she had come, and disappear into her cell.

There were Nubhirma’at and Nebt-Iunu, a pair of nubile Egyptian girls from Abydos who had been raised on neighbouring estates and had been friends since their birth. Ramses, on a visit to Osiris’s temple at Abydos, had been captivated by their singing and had contracted with both their fathers for their inclusion in the harem. They regularly went to Pharaoh’s bed together and were summoned to him frequently, but it was hard for me to see them as my rivals. They were sweetly stupid, obligingly good-natured, and had eyes only for each other. One was never seen alone. They shared the same couch in the same cell and sometimes even ate with fingers intertwined. They consulted me together, coming into my cell with shy determination and asking for a contraceptive. “We know it is forbidden,” Nebt-Iunu whispered breathily, hanging onto her lover’s arm, “but although it is the greatest honour to bear a child to the Great God we really do not want to. Can you help us, Thu?” I did not want to help them. I did not want to be discredited, or worse, incur the anger of the God I myself had yet to encounter, but I was conquered by their pleading looks and transparent distress. I did as they asked, grinding up the acacia spikes with dates and honey and saturating the linen fibres with the mixture, thinking of my mother and the furtive consultations I had witnessed in her herb room. Perhaps we are not so dissimilar, I mused as I worked. Perhaps it is true that blood will out.

More often than not I had the cell to myself during the daylight hours. Hunro seemed to have much business to attend to, but she would slip onto her couch as Disenk was putting flame to the wick of my lamps and then we would lie watching the shadows gyrate on our walls and talking lazily. She spoke of Ramses and how to please him, her language unselfconsciously explicit as she described in graphic detail the mysteries of the royal bed, and I listened and stored away the information, bringing it out later to ponder and dissect while Hunro slept peacefully.

It came to me then that I could not expect any kind of fulfilment from my role as concubine. Not for me the anticipation that brought a smile and a thudding heartbeat when a lover was close by. Not for me the moment of sheer joy when a beloved face appeared. There would be no tenderness, no urgent yet gentle merging of body and ka. Such things would be forever beyond my reach, forever beyond my experience, and I was not yet sixteen years old. I was paying a high price for dreams that were not yet within my grasp, gambling with enormous stakes for a future that might never be mine. My sole purpose was to please Pharaoh. He had no obligation to please me. At least, not yet, my mind whispered back. Not yet … I tossed and turned restlessly. If I wanted love, if I wanted real passion and romance, I would have to come to the attention of the Prince, but even if I did, what then? I belonged to his father.

One early morning, when Hunro and I were speeding along the narrow path on our way to the pool with the air still cool on our naked bodies and the walls on either side of us still cutting out the new light, we almost collided with a small procession that was emerging from the Queen’s domain. I was ahead, but at the sight of the cavalcade Hunro grabbed my shoulder and brought me to a sudden halt. We stood panting and exposed as first a Herald in blueand-white livery and then a Steward came towards us. The angle of a white canopy inched around the corner and then a dull flash of jewels, a wide, braided and coronetted wig, an expanse of flowing, gold-shot linen. The Herald stopped opposite us. “On your faces before the Lady of the Two Lands, concubines!” he snapped. Obediently we went down, kneeling in the cramped space with our foreheads against the gritty stone of the path, and the man moved away. I felt the tiny breeze of the Steward’s passing and then the shuffle of the canopy bearers. Greatly daring, I lifted my head.

The miniature woman beneath the filmy gauze was as tiny and willowy as an artist’s dream. The feet stepping delicately by were shod in sandals that could have fitted a child of ten and the transparent linen swirled around ankles I might have encircled with one hand. Yet as my rapid glance sped upward I realized with a shock that I was seeing an aging body. The Great Queen’s belly sagged slightly and the vague outline of her small breasts beneath the pleats showed that they were not firm. Her high neck, draped in many gems, was ropy and in the second when I scrutinized her meticulously painted face I was aware of the clefts that ran beside her nostrils, the fan of lines about her eyes that the kohl could not disguise in the pitilessly revealing light of morning. Her bearing was haughty, her expression closed.

My forehead once more touched the ground. The footsteps receded and I had begun to pick myself up, one knee still resting on the stone, when I heard someone else coming quickly. Hunro was already on her feet. From the entrance to the Queen’s quarters a man was striding towards us, arms swinging, head raised. My heart gave a leap. It was he, so handsome, so strong, so glorious with his square chin and flashing black eyes, the hennaed mouth I longed to kiss and the flexing thighs that begged to be caressed under the short kilt. Intent on catching up to his mother he merely glanced at us and I was grateful, for I was unpainted, drenched in sweat from the exertions of my exercises, and my sticky hair was plastered to my skull. Then all at once he checked himself and turned. Hunro and I extended our arms and bowed very low.

“Greetings, Hunro,” the well-remembered voice said. “I trust you are well. And how is Banemus? We have received no message from him yet. Have you?”

“No, Highness,” Hunro replied with her usual aplomb. “But you know my brother. He will be more concerned with the welfare of his contingent as they march to their fort in Cush than with dictating a scroll to the palace.” The Prince smiled. His even teeth were dazzlingly white.

“And so he should be,” he retorted. His attention turned to me. At first it was politely non-committal, then his gaze became keen. “It is the female physician, is it not?” he said. “The Seer’s assistant? You are now one of my father’s acquisitions?” I nodded dumbly and the smile returned. “He has made a good choice, I see.” Without further comment he went on his way. I watched him hungrily until he was out of sight then I grimaced and fell into step with Hunro.

“Gods!” I groaned. “It is just my luck to be caught by him in this lamentable state! What will he be thinking of me?” Hunro shot me a sharp look.

“He will not be thinking of you at all,” she said quietly. “Why should he? And for your own sake you must not let your mind dwell on him or you will come to grief.”

I did not answer. When we came to the garden I attacked the water of the pool as though it was an enemy, slicing through it with ruthless power until the blood was pounding irregularly in my ears. It was time to make Pharaoh my slave.

That very afternoon I requested, through Neferabu, an interview with the Keeper. I had expected that he would come to my cell but I was sharply reminded of my true station when Neferabu returned to tell me that although the Keeper was otherwise engaged he would be pleased to give me a few moments towards dusk in his office. Now that my decision was made I was impatient to put it into action. Irritably I accepted the message, sent for a harem scribe, and whiled away the intervening time in dictating a letter to my family and one to Hui. I said nothing of any great import in either of them, certain that all correspondence passed under the Keeper’s eye before finding its way out into the world. I had hoped that Hui might have visited me or at least been called to treat someone in the palace and come to see how I was faring, but neither he nor word from him had arrived.

Just after sunset a runner came to escort me to Amunnakht. I went with ill grace, wrestling with my pride as we walked far to the rear of the compound, through a guarded gate, and out onto a wide yard of beaten earth. Against the far wall was a long series of many cells and beside them the kitchens. They were surely the harem servants’ rooms. But we turned sharply right, brushed a short way along the inside wall, and then turned right again through a throng of soldiers who watched us carefully.

I found myself within a vast garden, on a path that soon veered left to run in front of a row of large cells whose doors were open. Inside I glimpsed men sitting behind desks, scribes taking dictation, scrolls piled everywhere, and presumed that these were the offices of administration for the palace. On my other side, indistinct through the trees, I could make out the solid wall of a huge building. After frantically trying to place my position I decided that I was actually inside the palace grounds and was looking at the seat of power itself. I was not particularly impressed. The little runner paused outside one of the offices, knocked on the open door, announced me to whoever was within, bowed, and hurried away. I did not wait to be invited, but walked forward.

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.

For one horrible moment I seemed to be outside myself, hovering somewhere close to the ceiling of the great room and peering down at the slight figure on the bed bending naked over the other sprawling, obese figure, with the Butler standing immobile against the wall and the body servants clustered like equally insubstantial ghosts at the far end of the room. I wanted to stay there and watch. I did not want to feel the King’s mouth, his soft body, his questing hands, but I returned to myself as rapidly and painfully as I had left.

Ramses’ lips were hot and quivering. His tongue poked at my teeth. Fiercely I tried to enter into the experience, to conjure up in my mind a vision of Hui’s kiss, of Prince Ramses’ magnificent body, but the present was too immediate and my distaste too real. As Pharaoh twisted, rolling me onto my back, his mouth firmly clamped to mine as his hands sought my breasts, I became entirely cold. Again I fought that coldness, for I knew that beneath the thin armour of my virginity lay a nature both sensual and passionate and it should not matter what mouth, what hands, what body stirred it into life, but try as I might I could not drown myself in sensation alone. I hate you, I found myself thinking as the King parted my legs and thrust his fingers into me. I hate you for taking this away from me and I hate Hui for making me a whore and I hate the Prince for giving me a glimpse of what I can never have. I wish you all dead.

From that cold place my reason reasserted itself. As Ramses entered me at last with a crow of triumph and delight and I bit my lip so as not to recoil from the sudden pain, I vowed that he would pay, that somehow this would be made worthwhile. Grimly I waited, twining my arms about him, gripping his fat buttocks while he pumped. Then he ejaculated with another wild cry and collapsed upon me, his sweat oiling my skin. He lay quiescent for a moment then rolled away and propped himself on one elbow, smiling down into my face. “Now you are mine forever, little scorpion,” he panted, and even as I smiled back I thought savagely, no. You are my captive though you do not know it yet. “Paibekamun!” Ramses called. “Bring wine!” I extricated myself from his embrace and sat up.

“I suggest that you do without the wine, Majesty,” I said resolutely, “unless you want your headache to return. Have I not been enough stimulation for one night?” Kissing his forehead I left the couch. As I stepped into the circle of my discarded sheath and began to pull it back on I felt something hot running down my legs. I replaced my jewellery with calm deliberation, reached for my wig, put the mortar back in my box. “Will your Majesty dismiss me so that he may go to sleep?” He lay there staring at me, perplexed, then gradually his bright button eyes began to fill with a shrewd understanding. He started to chuckle and then to laugh, great full-bodied guffaws that rang to the roof.

“Oh, Thu!” he choked. “Well have I named you scorpion! But stay with me a little longer. We will have beer instead of wine, if you wish, and garlic steeped in juniper oil. Stay and talk to me.” It was not a plea, of course. Kings did not plead. And yet in that moment I knew that one day the begging would come. I was tempted to comply, to jump back onto the couch like the girl I really was, and settle against the cushions, and we would prattle away to each other like old friends. But the liquid on my legs had trickled to my ankles, dark red and distasteful, making me shudder. I merely stood there, the box in my arms, and at last he grimaced. “Go then,” he commanded, and I bowed and left him. The servant on the door by which I had entered opened it for me and went swiftly ahead, back along the short avenue now nothing more than a broad paleness beneath me, through the gate, across the dense darkness of the main path, and at last into the courtyard of my building. Here he bowed and vanished into the night.

The fountain gurgled and splashed silvery water into its grey basin. The stars’ faint light made long shadows snake over the deserted grass. My footfalls seemed loud on the stone fronting the cells as I approached my own haven. One lamp was burning. Hunro was asleep. Disenk was there, waiting for me, her face drawn with weariness. She rose from the mat as I entered, and without a word began to quickly undress me. She did not comment on the sight of the blood. When I was naked she hesitated and I shook my head. “No, Disenk,” I whispered. “I do not want to wash tonight. I am too tired.” She nodded and held back the sheets for me. I fell between them, and she covered me and stole away.

I drew up my besmirched knees and put my hands over my face. I was cold and exhausted and utterly drained. I had succeeded. He would send for me the following evening, I knew it, but the knowledge was as ashes in my mouth. “I hate you,” I murmured, no longer really meaning it, no longer caring about anything, and from that despair I toppled into a heavy sleep.

Nevertheless, I had instructed Disenk to rouse me at the usual time and sluggish and fatigued though I was, I forced myself through my routine of cleansing and exercise. Hunro joined me on the grass and afterwards in the pool. She began to question me closely, almost anxiously, about my night, but I was loath to discuss it then, and I put her off with abrupt answers. That it had gone well there was no doubt, but it had left me with an unexpected feeling of humiliation. The thought that I was now fully a woman brought me no pride, and before I could reassure Hunro, my shame had to fade.

In the afternoon Neferabu came and told me that Pharaoh demanded my company again that evening. I received the news calmly, dressed a small wound on one of the children who had cut himself when he had tripped on a stone, ate a light meal sitting in the shade outside my cell, and as the day faltered into sunset I submitted to Disenk’s ministrations once more.

I had decided to go to Ramses this time as the white-clad girl he had expected before. Disenk wove ribbons into my loose hair, kohled my eyes very lightly, and dressed me in a modest sheath that covered me from unadorned neck to naked ankles. She did, however, rub yellow saffron oil into my skin so that at every move I exuded an aroma of sensual promise. I wanted to keep the King off guard. Last night I had been the autocratic physician melting into an inexperienced child. Tonight I would send a message of purity overlying a hint of knowing decadence. I left my box behind. I did not intend to exhaust the game of patient and physician. It had months of possibility in it.

The same palace servant came to escort me into the royal presence and I followed him without the trepidation of the night before. The same guards were on the gate into the gardens and on the doors of the bedchamber. Once again they graced me with keen glances as I passed between them. The doors were closed behind me.

This time the haze of recently burned incense hung in Pharaoh’s room, bluish and sweet, and as I paused to perform my obeisance, a priest flanked by two little acolytes was just closing the ornate household shrine that stood in the far corner. They turned and bowed to Ramses, smoking censers still in their hands, and backed out of the main doors. Pharaoh acknowledged them then turned eagerly to me, bidding me rise.

“But where is our noble physician today?” he said jovially, taking my hand and leading me to the couch. “Is she perhaps ministering to some unfortunate and so had to send this charming substitute? I do not know whether to be insulted or gratified!” He was certainly gratified. His round face was flushed and his eyes sparkled in anticipation. I smiled back demurely, eyes lowered.

“She is indeed here, Great Horus,” I answered, “but she has no interest in medicine this night. She has had a taste of other skills, and wishes to learn more.” Do not flatter him, Hunro had warned. All the little girls flatter him, and he is astute enough to recognize their insincerity and be insulted by it. He is not a stupid man. He shot me a piercing glance.

“Hmm,” he said. “Is that a mild sting from the scorpion’s tail or a pat from a kitten whose claws are still inside? Come and sit by me, Thu. You look delicious without all the trappings. Will you take wine? Paibekamun, pour for us!” As the ever-present butler glided to obey, Ramses settled himself beside me on the couch, grinning impishly. “What?” he went on. “The physician will not protest when her God wishes to imbibe the fruit of his vineyards?”

I returned his smile. “The physician is not here,” I answered softly, “and Thu, your lover, will take wine with you gladly.”

“Drink then,” he offered, handing me the brimming cup, and together we sipped the dark red liquid. “I dreamed of you last night,” he said, his brown eyes tender over the rim of his goblet, “and when I awoke I wished that you were lying beside me. Is that not strange?” I answered carefully, aware that I was treading on dangerous ground.

“I am honoured that Your Majesty should consider me worth both desire and dream,” I responded soberly. “I am Your Majesty’s loyal servant.” He must have expected more. He was obviously waiting for me to go on, his head cocked to one side, the smile holding on his face, and it came to me suddenly that I had answered cautiously and well, for his words had been some sort of a test. A fleeting throb of pity for him brushed me and was gone.

“You are wise far beyond your years, Thu,” he said flatly, “and wisdom combined with beauty and extreme youth can be perilous.” Impulsively I laid a hand against his full cheek.

“O Mighty Pharaoh,” I whispered, “If those things are cemented together by an honest heart, how can there be any threat?”

He drew me to him then, nuzzling into my neck, kissing my chin, his hands deep in my hair, and I responded deliberately, pressing against him and winding my arms around him. This time his mouth on mine was familiar and I felt the faintest stirring of pleasure. Yet I would not succumb to it. The key to keeping this man on fire was simple. Put off the moment when his flame would be extinguished for as long as possible. Surely in all the dozens of women at his beck and call there had been a few who realized this! But such manipulation required courage and confidence, the ability to walk the rim of the cliff that fell away into royal anger and thus oblivion. It also required intuition coupled with careful instruction, and I had the advantage of both Hui and Hunro’s cogent advice. I could not afford to enter into the hot, blind morass of Ramses’ lust, be carried with him into that unreasoning void. Not for months to come.

Many times that night I pulled him back from the edge and many times I lured him towards it until at last we toppled over, he in an explosion of prolonged sexual release, and I in a sweat-drenched exhaustion. Both of us were trembling and limp when I crawled out from under him and reached for the wine, holding it to his lips with an unsteady hand and seeing him gulp it down before I drained the cup myself.

“You are not a girl, you are a demon,” he croaked, the last words he said to me as I bowed to him, and clutching the limp folds of my linen around me, backed from the room. With my servant attendant I stumbled along the short passage, hurried past the gate guards, and sucked in great lungsful of the untainted pre-dawn air as I crossed to the harem.

Once my feet found the grass and I was alone I walked to the fountain and without pausing, knelt and plunged my face into the cool water, then I leaned on the basin’s rim and watched the troubled surface grow calm again. As it did so the light was strengthening. Ra was approaching. His new birth was imminent, and the vanguard of his coming was turning the darkness around me into a sullen, shadow-less grey.

My reflection became slowly visible in the rippling water, a blurred, ghostly shape with two black holes for eyes and a twisted, ever-moving slit of a mouth. “Not a girl, a demon,” I whispered to it. “A demon.” It leered back at me, its outline slowly heaving, its expression vacant. I pulled myself upright and made my way to my cell.

Disenk did not wake me and I slept as one dead until the daily bustle of the courtyard penetrated my dreams. Then I forced myself to the bath house, reviving like a wilted flower under the scented warm water Disenk poured over me and the perfumed oils the masseur pounded into my skin. Both the bath houses were full of chattering women at that time of the day and the massage area was choked with them too, slick naked bodies that gleamed like satin in the strong light and gave off a confusion of overpowering aromas that swirled around me and made me feel slightly ill. Some of the women greeted me but I was still the newcomer, the peculiar girl who dispensed medicine, and though I received many smiles, they were either wary or politely preoccupied. I was not sorry when, freshly washed and oiled, my wet hair coiled on my head, I went back to my quarters.

As I approached my door I saw a familiar figure standing outside, arms folded, eyes fixed with monumental indifference on the happy chaos before him. I began to run.

“Harshira!” I shouted as I came up to him. “It is so good to see you! Is all well?” He turned to me gravely and bowed.

“All is well, Thu. The Master is within.” I blinked.

“Here? Hui is here?” I burst over the threshold and threw myself into the arms of the white-bundled figure who was rising from the chair beside my couch. I hardly noticed Hunro, who touched my shoulder as she went out. “Hui!” I breathed, hugging him fiercely. “I have missed you so much! What are you doing here? Why have you sent me no word since I left home?” He returned my embrace and then set me away firmly in true Hui fashion, taking my chin in one gloved hand and turning my face to the light. He studied me for a moment and then let me go.

“You are different,” he said matter-of-factly. “You have changed, my Thu. Disenk, bring us food. Thu, tell me everything.” Feeling completely revitalized I clambered up onto my couch and found the words spilling out of me in a flood. I could not take my eyes from him as he sat there imperturbably and listened. Disenk returned with a tray of something which we ate but I had no idea what I put into my mouth between my rapid sentences.

When I began to describe the last two nights, Hui came alive, questioning me sharply as to what Pharaoh said and did and how I had behaved. I answered unselfconsciously. It was as though I had become Hui’s patient, telling him my symptoms for his diagnosis. “Good,” he said. “Very good. You have done well, my Thu. But you must not drink Pharaoh’s wine again. It is usual for Ramses to make exclusive use of a new concubine for a period of time, but if weeks go by and there is no sign that he is tiring of you, you will begin to attract much attention. Not all of it will be admiring. Be more careful!”

“I will. I am sorry. But tell me what has been happening at home. Do you have a new assistant? What have you done with my room?” He laughed.

“Nothing much so far. It has been reserved for guests. As for a new assistant, I have given no thought to the matter. Who could replace you, Thu?” I was secretly pleased. The niches I had carved in his house were still there, formed invisibly to my shape and empty. I asked him about Kaha and Nebnefer and Ani with wistfulness and he responded lightly, knowing my spurt of homesickness and doubtless not wanting to exacerbate it. Then he rose, gathering his swathings around him. I pulled at his hand.

“You are going? Oh, Master, stay a little longer. Walk the precincts with me. It has been weeks since I saw you!” He bent and kissed the top of my head.

“I would like to, Thu, but I have business to attend to in the palace. Pharaoh’s mother needs my care and I must have words with Chancellor Mersura before I go. Have you been sending letters to your family? Is there anything you need?” I folded my arms.

“Yes, I have dictated to them and no, I don’t need anything,” I said sullenly, disappointed that he had not come into the harem just to see me. Tears pricked behind my eyelids, an indication of just how tense I had become. He nodded, satisfied, and went to the door.

“Just because I have delayed in visiting you until you were more at home here does not mean that I have not thought of you often,” he said gently. “I will return soon, my dear.” He was gone, his linen rustling, his body briefly shutting out the light.

I had a moment of overwhelming loneliness and discouragement. What if I progressed no farther in Ramses’ favour? What if I was condemned to stay in this cell for the rest of my life? I would rather die than end my years like Hatia, drunk and ill, abandoned and forgotten by all. Fear swept me up in its dark wings and I laid my forehead on my knees.

Hunro’s tentative hand on my shoulder brought me to myself. She studied me for a while then said, “It is not forbidden to leave the harem if we ask Amunnakht for permission and take guards with us. Such privileges are not usually granted so soon, and you have not been here long, but if you are with me I will guarantee to the Keeper that you will not run away. We will take a litter, and go into the city. Yes?”

“Oh yes!” I exclaimed, half-laughing, half-crying. “Oh, Hunro, what a wonderful idea!” She bade me get dressed and wait. She was gone for a long time, during which Disenk clothed and painted me, but when she returned she had two burly Shardana guards with her.

“The Keeper has allowed this,” she said, “providing we return before sundown. The litter is waiting at the main gate. Are you ready?” Anticipation had edged out my fear. She reached for my hand and together we left the courtyard.

For several hours, in the close heat of the afternoon, our bearers carried us in a delightfully aimless manner through the maze of thoroughfares, crooked alleys, squares and markets of Pi-Ramses. We crossed vast avenues that led the eye to the pylons of temples and more modest paths thronged with barbarically clad foreigners, merchants and artisans, on their way to worship their own strange gods. With Disenk and Hunro’s servant walking beside us and our guards shouldering a way ahead we negotiated roads choked with braying donkeys and barefooted citizens, creaking carts laden with earthen jars, mud bricks or precariously balanced tiles of brilliant hue from the glazing works. We halted by the markets, watching the dusty stall-keepers cry their wares to the passers-by. We even found our way to the docks where boats of every description rocked on the rising, brown surface of the Waters of Avaris to be loaded and unloaded by the sweating fellahin.

Once we happened upon a quiet corner where apple and pomegranate trees clustered together around a tiny shrine and a solitary pair of lovers sat in their shade, oblivious to us and the world around them. But such oases were rare. The city pulsed with vibrant, noisy life, with the heady, mixed odours of animal dung and dust and the faint but ever-present fragrance of the thousands of fruit trees, most of them hidden behind the orchard walls but whose essence pervaded the air around them.

Hunro and I stopped several times and sent the servants to buy rough cakes and greasy pastries from the street vendors, eating them with relish and licking our fingers as we lurched on, the sights and sounds of Pi-Ramses jostling by us while the guards called hoarsely, “Make way! Make way for the House of Women!” and Disenk’s silver anklet with its little golden scarabs tinkled musically beside me, a sweet, delicate sound under the uproar around us.

We returned, exhausted and happy, to the haven of our cell just as Ra was westering. The harem was a peaceful sanctuary after the city’s raw bluster. We lay out on the grass in the reddening light, drinking beer and gossiping, and I was able at last to tell Hunro of my nights with the King, for they had lost their power to shame me.