Flail of the Pharoah (13 page)

Charmian tried to brace herself against the whipping, but each time she was caught unawares. Her lower lip bled where she bit down upon it. Soon she lost count of how many blows had been delivered, since her mind was demented and her body in a continual state of agony where the pain was notched up a fraction, then down a fraction, but without any true respite.

She had entered a strange world where sensation took over completely and her body seemed divided against itself. While her rear was in hell, her front was throbbing with a strange excitement, causing her to rub her inflamed mound and erect nipples against the cold stone. Charmian tried to focus on the strange pleasure possessing her, but it was all a question of balance. If she tensed against the whip, squirming in pain, she was made more conscious of the torture she was enduring; if she allowed the other current to possess her, the weird excitement that made her want to surrender to something dark and voluptuous, she could ward off the pain and find a perverse satisfaction in her ordeal. The effort to find the pivotal point between these two extremes occupied her to the exclusion of all other thoughts.

So it came as a complete surprise when the final stroke fell and there was a long pause. For a while Charmian lay there still braced, her muscles in spasm, unable to comprehend that her torment was at an end. Her rear was on fire, smarting as if the full heat of the noonday sun was pouring down upon it, and her limbs felt utterly weak. Her mind spun dizzily, devoid of thought. The god of pain possessed her entirely, and all her senses had left her except for the primary one of feeling.

Then she heard an unctuous voice declare, ‘The sentence has been carried out, your majesty.’ It was only then Charmian realised her punishment was truly over.

The chastised concubine was delivered by the Pharaoh into the care of his wife. She was transferred to a litter and borne by two slaves to the queen’s apartments, where she was lifted onto the bed, facedown. Mira stared down at the prone girl, mixed feelings surging through her. It was her moment of triumph and yet she felt as if, in a strange way, the victory belonged to Charmian, not her.

Mira had watched Tut-Tut use all his force upon the creature, his flabby arms wobbling as the whip impacted upon her flesh again and again. A part of her had recoiled from the sight, but she was also fascinated by the way Charmian responded. At first there were screams as the cruel leather bit into her flesh, but then she subsided into moans and appeared to fall into a kind of daze. In this state she looked peculiarly aroused and sensual, her hips and buttocks moving restlessly while her pubis ground against the stone to which she was bound.

To her amazement Mira had found herself growing aroused, too. Her nipples peaked beneath her white pleated robe, and she could feel the juices start to run from within her cunny. Witnessing the girl’s utter submission to the lash roused peculiar feelings in her she’d never quite known before, although she recognised faint hints of earlier emotions.

Once she had grown very excited at seeing a concubine whipped by the officer of the harem, and more recently the spectacle of her own son punishing that upstart Nubian whore had whetted her appetite for love, an appetite well sated when the Pharaoh playfully struck her bottom before mating with her. The result of that session had been one of the most intense orgasms she’d ever had. It was all giving her much food for thought.

Mira sent Iras to fetch a pot of salve from the medicine chest and sat on a low stool next to the bed in order to administer it to the girl. Normally she would have allowed Iras to perform such an intimate task, but she wanted Charmian to feel grateful to her. Her plan to discredit this upstart and remove her as a rival, while rendering her infertile and assuring her son’s rightful place on the throne of Egypt, was working perfectly so far, but its future success depended on her maintaining Charmian’s trust.

Gently she smoothed some of the healing salve into the young, firm flesh, her eyes transfixed by the raised weals that marred the otherwise perfect surface of the skin. Charmian was moaning softly, as if half-asleep and troubled by a bad dream.

In an equally soft voice Mira murmured, ‘Our Pharaoh is a just ruler, my dear. If you obey his commands and serve him well you will receive many rewards. But if you thwart his will retribution will come swiftly and fairly. Never forget that he is a man with absolute power over his subjects. That way you shall not be tempted to stray again.’

‘I did not mean to do wrong,’ she whispered. ‘It was Prince Neshi. He…’

‘Hush!’ Mira cautioned her. ‘Forget what happened, it is past. Think only of the future now, and how to safeguard yourself. Your best course, Charmian, is to regard me as your protector and friend. Follow what I tell you to do, and you shall keep out of trouble.’

Charmian sighed and visibly relaxed as the queen’s careful hands smoothed her sore buttocks, leaving a glistening layer of ointment over her fair skin. ‘I shall obey you as a mother,’ she whispered, and as she closed her eyes and wriggled into a more comfortable position on the couch Mira smiled her dark, cunning smile. She would soon have this once wild and untamed creature eating from the palm of her hand.

Yet once the girl had left her chamber and she was alone with her thoughts, Mira felt the strange emotions she’d felt before revive in her. The mixture of envy and jealousy was a potent one and she could scarcely make any sense of it. Her jealousy of the slave girl who threatened to take her place in Seti’s heart was understandable; especially if she bore him a son who threatened the position of her own precious crown prince, Neshi.

But why on earth had she felt that perverse desire to put herself in Charmian’s place when strapped to the whipping stone? The excitement she felt as she witnessed the scene had been extreme, and the idea of submitting to such cruel punishment had not been so distasteful to her as she would have imagined. Indeed, she found herself imagining what it felt like to be in that girl’s position, helpless and naked, utterly powerless, and a shuddering thrill crept through her body like an outrageous secret.

No matter how much she reminded herself that she was Mira, Queen of Egypt, wife of King Seti and equal to the great Pharaoh himself, still that nagging voice sought to persuade her that her true fulfilment might lie along another path. What did it mean? Was she having some preternatural glimpse of her destiny, a terrible future of shame and humiliation that lay in wait for her?

Or had she discovered some hidden aspect of her nature, a side of her that had long been buried and was now, slowly, surfacing? Was it a mystery she would one day solve, providing some fulfilment for her desires, or would this nameless longing secretly torment her to the end of her days?

Something was troubling Charmian’s soul. It was not just the fact that she had been punished by the high priest for a sin she had not committed. It was not just the physical pain and humiliation she had experienced in the great temple, tied to a granite block like a human sacrifice. It was something else.

She found it hard to put a name to her feelings. Not even in her own language could she express the strange emotions that had taken hold of her during that severe punishment, nor the turmoil into which she was thrown afterwards. Perhaps there were no words to describe this strange feeling, part longing and part satisfaction, which still haunted her. It was the stuff of nightmares, yet there was something indescribably sweet about it, too.

Now she felt as if a peculiar bond had been formed between her and the fat eunuch, Tut-Tut. A part of her shrank from the idea, unwilling to be linked to such a grotesque figure, yet she could not deny that since he had been the instrument of the Pharaoh’s justice she felt an odd attraction to the man. Slowly she realised that she wanted to see him again, to talk to him about the experience of being at his mercy. Surely he, of all people, could help her make sense of these puzzling feelings?

Unsure of the protocol in the palace, she hesitated to enquire after the man, but then a few days later she overheard two of the concubines speaking about temple matters.

‘The high priest is supposed to be our spiritual advisor,’ one of them was saying. ‘If you’re worried about being neglected by the Pharaoh you should talk to him. He may be able to help.’

‘What, that fat bald pig?’ came the scornful reply.

‘Do not be so quick to dismiss him. When I miscarried he was very helpful, explaining where the souls of unborn children go in the other world. I found his words gave me solace, sister. He might well do the same for you.’

The other woman shrugged, and Charmian doubted whether she would be consulting him, but it gave her the courage she needed to approach the high priest herself.

By now she knew the routine of both temple and palace. The best time to approach Tut-Tut would be in the early afternoon, when most of the courtiers were taking a nap. He was then to be found inspecting the temple; making sure there was enough incense and that the burners were clean and bright; checking that the sumptuous robes used to clothe the statue of Amon were in perfect order; making sure there was no mouldy fruit or dead flowers polluting the inner sanctum. There were minions to carry out all these tasks but it was the duty of the high priest to be eternally vigilant, ensuring that all the rituals ran perfectly smoothly.

Yet there was always time, during these hours, for a consultation. Often Charmian had seen him in quiet conversation with the Pharaoh or his queen, and sometimes she would hear a lower ranking servant or concubine confiding in him as she passed the doorway of the inner sanctum. Today it would be her turn.

Her heart was resounding loudly in her ears as she made her way through the silent corridors to the temple. The corpulent figure of the high priest could be seen bustling about near the altar, and she hovered in the doorway until he noticed her. ‘Is it me you seek, child?’

Charmian nodded, nervously, taking a few steps forward. The small eyes glinted above the twin cushions of his cheeks as he beckoned her on. ‘Come, let us retreat into this privy chamber.’

Tut-Tut led the way into a small sanctuary, lit only by oil lamps. The flickering light threw huge shadows on the sandstone walls, engraved with scenes from the Afterlife. It was a spooky place, a place for imparting the deepest, darkest secrets of the soul, and Charmian shuddered at the thought of what she might be about to reveal to this repellent man. He bade her sit on the low carved stool before his golden armchair.

‘Are you recovered from your punishment?’ the priest asked at once.

‘In a way,’ she responded. ‘My body is almost healed, but…’

‘But your soul is troubled.’ She nodded. Tut-Tut closed his eyes for a few seconds, as if deep in thought, then he continued. ‘You may think of the human soul as a pool of water. Some rare individuals have a clear pool in which all things flourish. Most of us have a murky pool, to some degree. Then there are those whose waters have been muddied because the depths have been stirred up. I guess that you are one of those, my child. The chastisement you received has disturbed you, filled you with disquiet. Am I right?’

Charmian was astounded by his wisdom. Once again she could only nod her confirmation. The dark brown eyes squinted at her through the gloom as if trying to peer into her heart. ‘Tell me what you are thinking and feeling. No one can hear us; you may speak frankly. And I shall be your friend and mentor, for I know the hearts and minds of the gods, who built man in their likeness. There is nothing under the sun that is not known to me. Speak, child.’

She hardly knew where to begin. Slowly, in a whisper at first, the words came forth from her trembling lips. ‘I… I was never beaten, never hurt in any way before I came to this land.’

‘Then you were fortunate indeed.’ Tut-Tut smiled, placing his fingertips together beneath his chubby double chin to form a point. ‘And how did you feel when your flesh tasted the lash for the first time, little one? Was the pain unbearable, the humiliation distressing? Was the spirit of rebellion kindled in you, full of hatred and the desire for vengeance? Or did you feel you were justly punished and find satisfaction in atoning for your sin? Tell me the truth now, Charmian, and you shall perhaps be spared on the Day of Judgement when the secrets of your heart are laid bare before the Goddess Maat.’

‘I hated it at first,’ she admitted. Then, catching his eye, she corrected herself. ‘Or, I should say, I hated those who had caused me to be punished. I first despised Prince Neshi, who tricked me into carnal play then lied to get me into trouble, hoping thereby to save his own skin. But then I hated the king and queen more, for not believing in my innocence or listening to my side of the story. But most of all…’

‘Yes?’ The high priest leaned forward expectantly. ‘Who did you hate most of all?’

Her eyes slid from his penetrating gaze. ‘You,’ she murmured. ‘Most of all I hated you, for inflicting such terrible pain upon my helpless body. And yet, as blow after blow fell upon me, I entered a strange state where I glowed with desire even as I squirmed with pain. I do not understand why.’

‘It is not for you to understand such mysteries, but for me to explain them to you,’ he stated, a dreamy expression entering his eyes. ‘You should know that men – and women – are divided into two types, those who love power and mastery, and those who relish being mastered. Most men are of the former kind, and most women of the latter, but it is not always so. Some women are natural rulers, and some men love to be dominated by a woman.’