Shiri (37 page)

Epilogue

The bells of
Heliopolis rang long and loud, the streets thick with cheering crowds. Their Beautiful One had come back to them. The greatest ship in the realm lay at anchor twenty yards from the docks. Named for the One God, fifty oars to a side, its red sails glinting in the sun. Even with the river full and the waters surging, the mighty vessel was too massive to draw closer.

The plethora of smaller craft that followed in the great ship’s wake drew level on the landward side and a division of Companions were instantly under way to the shore. Only when they had docked and pushed the crowd back to respectful distance, did the Red One briefly appear on the deck of the giant ship. A great cheer went up from the masses in the city as they saw her. It seemed to catch her fine linen shawl and whip it skyward as would an insistent gust of wind. Then she too was underway, a small, dainty craft with red linen awnings carrying her swiftly to the docks. The first lady of the city had not come to greet her. Instead she was met by a slave, a boy-child in her arms, a white haired ancient at her side.

Old Solon took a knee as the Queen drew up before them and Shiri moved to follow him down. The Red Queen halted the slave’s movement with the slightest of gestures. “Shiri,” she said her voice barely audible above the cheering crowds. “No, you’ve spent long enough on your knees.” She glanced to the babe in the slave’s arms, caressed his cheeks, brushed her lips against his forehead before again raising her eyes to the slave. “No,” she said again. “It is not for you to kneel before me.”

“But ... but, my Queen,” Shiri looked
about her. “There will be whispers.” She moved to take a knee a second time, and a second time her daughter stopped her.

“Whispers? Do we care so much for whispers? Let them holler and shout it, let them stand on the rooftops and call out to the gods themselves, it changes nothing, you do not kneel before me, not ever.” She met her mother’s gaze. “You do not kneel before me and you do not kneel before them,” She waved her hand in the general direction of the Companions and the throngs they held at bay. “Even if my husband himself stood before you, and the whole world bows before him,
you
do not kneel.”

Old Solon raised his head.
“The slave who does not kneel. A noble gesture, Your Grace, but such a thing cannot be; a slave must…”

Tiye glanced at him and smil
ed. “Slave? There is no slave here, Solon.”

The old man’s eyes widened as realisation dawned. Tiye turned to her mother again. The slightest movement of an outstretched hand and an attendant came running. He bowed low before them; he held a small roll of papyrus bearing the mark of the Co-Regent. Tiye stepped towards Shiri and eased the babe from her arms. “Take it, Shiri. Take it and read.”

With the slightest of nods Shiri slipped the papyrus from the attendant’s fingers. She glanced briefly to Solon and then back to her daughter. She was met by Tiye’s smile, there was a little water in the Co-Regent’s eyes now. “Read it, Shiri. Read it.”

The slave traced a finger along its length as if considering something, then ever so slowly she broke the seal and did as her mistress commanded, her lips silently mouthing the words. Her breath grew a little ragged, she looked into her daughter
’s eyes again, saw the water in them and realised it was but a trickle compared to the sudden flood erupting in her own. “Tiye … you … you can’t, you mustn’t.”

Tiye shook her head imperiously.
“I can and I will.” Something entered her countenance then, “I only wish I could do the same for all the others, but I fear, even now, I do not have such power. Pharaoh will allow me much, but he will not allow that.” She caressed the baby’s head, stared at him as she spoke, “But perhaps … perhaps one day somebody will find a way.”

Shiri turned to Old Solon, saw him smiling back at her. He didn’t need to be told what the decree had said but she told him all the same. “I … I’m free, Solon, I … I’m not a slave anymore,” she turned to her daughter, “I’m free.”

Tjuya paced back and forth across the gardens in half a panic. She could hear the cheering drawing ever closer as the royal procession made its way towards the Sun Temple. Not a single man had stayed by her side, not one priest not one
ghaffir
. All had gone to bend the knee before the Red Queen. She’d sent desperate word to her son, begging the lord of Akhmin, the new made vizier to the
Deshret
Crown to come and take her part. Only he might dare to stand before the Co-Regent and mayhap blunt her wrath. Ay had not responded.
Even he’s abandoned me, just like all the rest.

She turned to her bodyslave, her voice trembling, “M… Meira, fetch me some Memphite R
ed.” The slave was slow to move. “Meira, fetch it now.” The Habiru smiled and strolled towards the wine cellar nonchalantly. There was a burst of trumpets and Tjuya spun.

A huge
Companion all leather and plate lead the way. His beard was black, his eyes were hard. Three score more followed him through the archway. They spread out across the gardens in a giant fan. None so much as looked at her. And then
she
came. She stood a moment at the centre of the fan. A silver dress streaked with blue and gold. The Red Crown carried on a plinth by her side, a babe in her arms. And then she was moving forward.

Tjuya stood still as stone, her heart pounding. Her sl
ave presented her with a goblet. “Your wine, m’lady,” she said it with a sneer. Something in that sneer was terrifying. Tjuya stared at her bodyslave wide-eyed. The slave made a face, turned and walked away without permission.

Tjuya met
his
daughter’s eye and bowed. She broke into a straining smile and moved to hug her. The beard thrust his spear against the ground with a noise that made her jump. “Back!” Was all he said as he gazed at her outstretched hands. Tjuya pulled back.

And then the Red One spoke.
“He shares my father’s look don’t you think? Perhaps he’ll share his dreams too.” She kissed the babe before looking on her again, her gaze piercing, “I loved my father well.”

Tjuya felt the menace in those words, saw the anger in her eyes, “I loved him too,” was all she managed before the Queen brushed past her. Tjuya watched her move to the Sunpool and kneel, brushing her fingers idly through its silky waters as if struggling to remember a youth long past.

For an age the Queen remained there, staring at her reflection through the ripples, thinking hidden thoughts. At length she saw Tjuya’s image appear beside her own, a watchful Companion close behind. She spoke to the image, “You stand accused of bringing death to my father and meaning the same for my son.”

Tjuya blinked.
“Is this … is this a trial?”

The Queen answered with silence and Tjuya wrung her hands, “No! No it’s all lies! Lies from the tongue of that filthy slut!”

“Slut?” The Beautiful One rose and for once her face contorted until it was almost ugly. “This trial is at an end. Your plea matters not at all. I deem you guilty.”

Tjuya fell to her knees, “No please!” Questing fingers reached to touch Tiye’s toes and this time the Queen’s man shoved her off.

Tiye turned away. “I loved him well,” she said again. But I think perhaps there is another that loved him even more. She waits inside.” She nodded to her father’s villa. “I leave your fate in the hands of the one you’ve hurt most, be it death or bondage the choice is hers alone. Best not let her wait too long.”

Tjuya’s eyes
widened in sudden understanding. “No! No please anyone but her!” But already the Red Queen was gone, fifty and nine armoured beasts following in her wake. Only the beard stayed behind. He jerked his head towards the villa and Tjuya rose on shaky legs.

She entered slowly, the Companion stayed outside. Meira stood at the window she turned and smiled as her mistress walked unsteadily forward. The old bowyer lounged on a couch in the corner, his leg flung over the armrest, his ancient dirty pest purring in his lap. But Tjuya had eyes only for one. Her husband’s slut was standing in the centre of the room staring right back at her. “You,” Tjuya said, finding sudden courage at the sight of her. “You wish to beat me or see me suffer under the flail before sending me to the block?” She spat, “I won’t let you,” she spun and made for the door.

“I’ll not send you to the block nor gift you stripes. I’ve supped on blood long enough. I’ll not be the cause of more.”

Tju
ya turned back looking confused. “Then what…”

Shiri stepped towards her, her eyes never leaving hers. She held a goblet of Memphite Red in hand. The shepherd girl took a little sip and sighed looking almost embarrassed. “Oh, but you see, my floors are so dirty.”

Tjuya made a face. “They look clean enough to me.”

“Really?” The Habiru shook her head looking bemused, “But do you not see the stain?” She pointed to the floor at her feet. “It’s right there.” Tjuya glanced where she indicated but could see nothing. She raised her eyes to the slave’s and it was then she saw her slowly tip the goblet. In horror she watched the wine splash against the tiles. The Habiru’s eyes never once left hers. “Do you see it now, Tjuya?” she said. She threw a washcloth at her feet.

Tjuya took a breath. “You bitch! I’ll not do it!” She spun, Shiri made the slightest of noises between half parted lips. The Companion was instantly at the door. Tjuya paused. She looked to her bodyslave, glared quickly in Shiri’s direction then back again, “Meira, fetch your switch.”

Her
bodyslave tittered back at her. “No m’lady. I think not.”

Tjuya gawped at her
– one final desertion to add to the rest. She spun back to the woman that had stolen her husband’s heart. She glared at her, battled with the shepherd girl’s eyes, matched her will against hers. The Habiru met that stare with ease and defeated it without a second thought. Tjuya dropped her head. Slowly, she walked forward and little by little, almost as if going down in segments, she went to her knees and reached for the washcloth. And then, with head bowed low she did as commanded. She cleaned the floor at the slave’s feet.

When she was done she stayed where she was, unable to raise her head or even make pretence of meeting the shepherd girl’s eye, “What … what will you have me do now?”

Shiri stared down at her without expression. “Nothing,” she shrugged, “Just go. Leave Heliopolis forever. Leave with the clothes upon your back and know that you are never permitted to own a slave again.” The woman rose to do as commanded. Shiri stopped her with one last gesture. “And Tjuya, before you go, take this.” She tossed her the washcloth, “Perhaps it will help you remember that for one day, just one day, you were the slave and I was the master.”

The End

Coming Soon!

“The Tears of Isis”

By

D.S Taylor

The Tears of Isis

Sing of Osiris and the body Seth tore.

Sing of the goddess and the grief that she bore.

Sing of her tears and the river they birth.

Sing of the Nile and the flood of the earth.

Prologue

It is said by the priests of the temple, that there was once a time before time. An age wreathed in mist, when gods walked the earth and
Osiris
ruled all. If those priests tell it true,
Osiris’s
brother grew jealous.
Seth
murdered his king and mangled his corpse. When the Queen found his body, it is said that she cried. It is said that she cried and a river was born. 

For ages beyond counting those tears flowed undisturbed, until at last, out of the jungles came men. With scraps of hide on their backs and flint tipped spears in hand, these hunters tracked the wandering herds. Day after day, they pursued the wild beasts across grasses that stretched as far as their eyes could see.

Beyond those plains lay the hot, forbidding wastelands of the Red God,
Seth
. Only the brave and the foolish dared venture there. Even then,
Seth
still came for them. Each night, exposed and vulnerable, the hunters huddled in darkness. Each night, they listened as
Seth’s
fury drew near. Each night, they screamed as the Storm Lord gorged on their fear.

But there came a time when everything changed, there came a moment when the hunters found the Tears of
Isis
. They saw the wet, black earth thrown up by the waters and they took it, took it and poured it into makeshift moulds, trusting in the light of
Ra
, to bake it dry. And when it grew dry, it grew strong, strong enough for a man to build a shack, strong enough for a tribe to build fifty shacks. Now, when light fled and darkness ruled, the hunters faced the Storm Lord not with fear, but laughter. Safe behind their mudbrick walls, they mocked
Seth’s
impotent anger and the
Red God raged at the arrogance of man.

In fury, he made his wastelands expand; expand until naught but the goddess’s tears remained free of his grasp. No longer was there grass to feed the great herds, and so the beasts died, they died and the hunters grew hungry.

From the halls of the dead
Osiris
saw his peoples’ need. His spirit travelled unto
Hapi
; guardian of the Tears. He commanded that each year she bring forth more rich black mud from the depths of the water. Mud so rich and bountiful, that the hunters need only throw seed upon it and watch, as good and plentiful crops burst forth to feed their children. Thus by the will of
Osiris,
the hunters became farmers.

It was then that
Thoth
, master of time and father of knowledge, gave them his wisdom. He taught them to mix straw from their crops into the mud of their bricks. The straw would make the bricks strong, strong enough to last a lifetime. And a lifetime was all they needed to last. A man’s son could build his own house.

And so the people were content. But
Thoth
was not. He showed them more. He showed them how to build with skill. He showed them that if their houses were well tended, if the walls were thick and the foundations strong, they could sometimes last even longer, two, three, even four lifetimes. And more than that,
Thoth
showed them how to record his words on the papyrus reeds that grew at the water’s edge. Now, the sons would never forget what the fathers had learned.

And it came to pass, that the people built grander houses. They claimed the land about their homes for their sons, trusting in the Tears to keep their heirs and their heirs’ heirs content. Together with their neighbours, their camps grew into villages and the villages to towns and eventually the towns blossomed into cities. Cities like Naquada of
Seth
, Abydos of
Osiris
, and Hermopolis of
Thoth
. The cities became rich and overflowed with people. No longer could all claim a farm, and so some sought other trades; carpenters, priests, and soldiers.

And the carpenters made ploughs, the priests made scriptures and the soldiers made war. And as the soldiers fought so the cities fought. Naquada vanquished Hermopolis and Memphis defeated Naquada, and thus was the Lower Kingdom born. Further up the sacred river, Abydos conquered Akhmin and Thebes routed Abydos and the Upper Kingdom too was united.

Then, the Two Lands struggled in long and bloody conflict. For centuries beyond reckoning they fought, until at last the great King of Thebes conquered all and the Two Lands were brought together under one ruler, one Pharaoh. And Pharaoh named his country,
Kemmit
, the Black Lands, for black was the colour of the mud, the colour of life, and white, the colour a man turned when that life left him, the colour of death.

Yet, still they built with mud. Only in the rarest cases where stone was abundant and easy to quarry would giant monuments of granite and marble begin to rise. And even then, such structures would be the domain of the rich, the mighty tombs of Pharaohs, or the beautiful temples of the gods. Often even the Kings themselves lived in palaces of mud. A palace after all, still needed to last for naught but a lifetime. Only the buildings of the dead and the divine had to be of stone.

They simply had to be, for only death and gods are eternal.