Shiri (8 page)

XVI

A coin at a makeshift stand bought him a pair of leather sandals and a thin linen kaftan of Theban style. He passed them to her. She snatched them from him and even with her hands bound together, she managed to hastily draw the kaftan over her head. It felt soft and clean against her skin. The sandals slipped on easily.

“Better?” He asked in Egyptian. She refused to answer, but followed a little less reluctantly after that all the same. He stopped at two more stalls buying wine and robes for himself before leading her to the tent that had been provided for him. All the while he kept his head low. There were many new won slaves about.

He motioned for her to enter, but she seemed suddenly afraid; terrified to be alone with him. There was a shout from a line of slaves filing past, “Look!” One of their number was staring directly at him, a look somewhere between confusion and disbelief on his face. The slave stumbled forward under heavy chains gesticulating violently to a friend in bondage beside him. Harsh words and the crack of a whip put an end to that. The guard turned in Josef’s direction to see what had caught the slave’s attention. The man took a step closer looking curious.

Heart pounding, Josef shoved the girl harder than he would have liked. She fell through the tent flaps, sprawling on the hard earth within. The guard laughed when he saw that and his voice boomed loud, “Aye, even the ones that look dainty and noble have at them pretty hard when they get them alone.” He loosed his whip across his slave’s shoulders, “What’s wrong, dog? Know the slut do you?” He shoved the slave onward and the procession was soon out of sight.

Josef entered swiftly after the girl and with a sense of relief he left his mask drop just a little. He did not like being Yuya. The tent was small, damp, and dark, but it would do for his purposes. Once they were inside Josef closed the flap behind him, shutting out the jeers and whistles from soldiers drinking ale nearby.

The girl scuttled away from him. She went directly to the furthest corner and sat, huddling her knees up about her face. She rocked back and forth whimpering something to herself and occasionally glancing fitfully in his direction, almost as if expecting him to lunge on her at any moment. She was young, mayhap three or four winters less than he. But a few years made a world of a difference.

Where he was tall, broad shouldered and now, handsomely clad according to the latest mode. She was small and wretched, barely half his size. The best of her was the new linen kaftan, but already mud and filth had managed to attach themselves to that. He sighed.
I hadn’t planned on this.
But while searching for Narmer he’d seen the girl. He’d seen her tears and the depraved looks in her tormentors’ eyes.
How could I live with myself if I’d walked away?

Had he been alone and still grasped his sword he would have slain them where they stood. He owed Narmer that much, girl or no. But he was not alone, he was in the middle of the enemy camp with twenty thousand Gypto soldiers, so he did the only thing he could do; with a hundred
debens
fresh in his pocket he’d bought her.

Shiri watched the tall Egyptian from her corner. He seemed to be in two minds, as if he were contemplating something. Suddenly he drew a knife and
came forward. Panic gripped her. “P ... please ... please no,” she whimpered in her broken Egyptian. She tried to push herself further back into the corner. She knew what he wanted, and he was showing her what would happen if she refused.
I can’t take any more pain.
“D ... don’t hurt, please ... d... don’t hurt.” Her eyes welled up and the words came in sobs. “I ... I do what you want ... don’t ... don’t hurt anymore.” She hated her weakness; she hated herself, hated herself almost as much as she hated him. She looked up at him. “Don’t hit ... don’t hit anymore.”

Josef knelt in front of her. His face was grim, the knife he held wa
s small, but it had a keen edge. “It’s alright, little one, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to cut your bonds.” He spoke as softly and reassuringly as he could. But he spoke in the language of Pharaoh; he couldn’t risk revealing his true identity. The girl seemed to understand something of what he said and fearfully, hesitantly she raised her tied wrists. He brought the knife forward and gently he held her wrists and cut through the bonds. Her hands free she pulled them back, pushing herself against the canvass of the tent. He smiled, almost as if he expected her to thank him. She did not.

He moved to the washbasin
, turning from her to hide his anger.
Gypto scum.
He slammed the blade into the wooden table and left it standing upright.
How could anyone treat a girl like this?
He dipped some cloth in the water and returned to his captive, kneeling beside her again. Ever so slowly he brought the cloth towards her face; a patchwork of ugly bruises roofed in dirt and all manner of filth. Even her lips were chaffed, swollen and caked with blood. She flinched as the cloth touched her, “No p ... please.”

“It’s alright,” he moved closer. S
he pulled her head back and whimpered as his hand brushed against her hair. He brought the cloth towards the lump on her forehead. A little clumsily he took it the welt. She made a noise as if in pain, but seemed to be attempting to stay still, as if fearing it would make him angry if she didn’t. A moment her eyes met his,
so sad
, moist with pain or fear.
Despair.
There was no hope in them.

He attempted a stern face.
“Be still, I have to clean it.” The eyes seemed to accept it. Briefly they gazed past him, staring towards the far side of the tent. He imagined he saw something flicker in them then, but quickly it was gone. She gave a little nod and he felt himself relax. With a deep breath, he brought the cloth at her again. “I’m just...” she swung at him, scratching hard at his face, her nails drawing blood. He fell away holding the back of his hand to his cheek. “Damn it girl, I’m trying to help you!”

She lunged past as he swore and he felt a thrill of panic when he saw what she was going for. He’d left his knife on the table and she meant to have it. He grabbed her, ripping her new clothes as she reached for the blade. She cried out in fear and frustration, kicking and screaming. He hoisted her up off her feet and deposited her like a sack back in her corner. Suddenly sh
e was the terrified child again. She held a protective hand over the rip in her sheath and the pleading and promises of obedience began anew. He turned, picked up the cloth from where it lay, and flung it at her feet.

He stood there and she looked up at him with eyes in which terror and disgust fought for dominance. He sighed, pulled up a stool at the other end of the tent and tried to avoid staring at her. In turn she cautiously inched forward taking the cloth. He took a deep swig from a bottle of Theban
Shedeh
he’d purchased and nursed the thin flame of scarlet that was creeping down his cheek.
One more wound to add to the collection.

As he placed the wine back on the bench there was a sudden movement at the tent’s entrance and Akil, the first Egyptian that had come across him after the battle, suddenly entered. Josef’s Egyptian was perfect and with Yuya’s coloured robes on his back it had been easy to pull off the deception.

Akil laughed when he saw the mark on his face. “Ah, she’s a feisty wench this! Claws like a wildcat!”

“Damn it
, man, do you not announce your presence before entering a noble’s tent?”

Akil nodded by way of apology before dumping
a plate on the table before him. “Just thought I’d drop this in to you.”

“My apologies, Akil, I didn’t realise-”

“No need to apologise, you haven’t tasted it yet.” He glanced at the slave in the corner, noting the rip in her sheath and flash of small bare breast with a grin. It seemed Lord Yuya had been having some fun, though clearly the slut hadn’t yielded without a fight. He spun, leaving as abruptly as he had entered.

Akil hadn’t been lying. The food was not exactly fit for Pharaoh. At some stage during cooking, the half eaten leg of lamb had been befouled with mud and dirt. Josef picked at the plate unhappily, thoughts of his father swirling through his head.
Could he really have fallen?
He was so strong, so wise.

He sighed dejectedly.
I haven’t even had time to mourn.
The war was lost and all those that had believed in their cause were in chains or graves. He buried his face in his hands.
It was my fault.
He’d failed, failed to come to his father’s aid in time. If only he’d been stronger, if only he’d demanded that Aratama march at once, if only he’d insisted they march hard when they saw the smoke.
Eight thousand new won slaves have me to thank for their plight.
Thousands more, from every town and village that joined our cause, will curse my name when the Gyptos come for them.

At first light when the bulk of army pulled out he would move too, not northeast towards Mitanni but south, back along the route the Egyptians had taken, or perhaps by Gilboa rather than the treacherous Aruna Pass. He would move ahead of the slave caravans, he would march alone into the very heart of the enemy. He would do something, anything, everything, he could to help the people he had failed.
I have to do something, have to try to make amends.
He sighed, lifted his plate again and looked across at the girl, “You’ll be wanting some of this I’d wager.” He pulled his head back with a start.

She had cleaned the mud and grime from her face and was now giving careful attention to her bruised forehead. All the time she stared at her captor as if plotting the best way to kill him.

He took a breath.
It’s her … the girl from the village.
For a moment he felt nervous ... if she recognised him there could be problems. But as he looked on her hate it was clear she didn’t know him. That was for the good.

He gazed at her a little too long and she looked away, hate again being conquered by fear. She was pretty this shepherd girl. Hers was not perhaps the beauty poets and minstrels of noble courts spoke of. She was not tall with porcelain skin and curves a man could get lost in. But there was something about her, something deeper than skin, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She dared look up at him again and it was then that he realised what it was;
her eyes.

He smiled.
“Well now, you don’t look half so bad when scrubbed up,” he said it as if it surprised him, but once said he hoped it might have a positive effect. It didn’t. She continued to stare with those dark eyes. They had that same look of ill disguised fear and overt hatred. She could speak with those eyes.

“I mean to release you,” he said it suddenly and this time he finally saw a change in her expression. “I’m not a man who likes this slave business.” He waved his hand as if the
statement were of no importance. “You’re free to go your own way whenever you please.” Did she understand? He wasn’t sure.

Shiri was shocked. Was the Gypto saying what she thought he was saying? “Free?” she said simply, looking suddenly alert and almost upbeat.

“Yes,” he laughed. “Free.”

Her look reverted once more.
He’s mocking me, laughing at me.

Josef furrowed his brow at the renewed glare of disgust she gave him; it was even more intense than before. “Well what’s the matter now? Do you not understand?” he said slowly, “You’re free to leave whenever you like. Free!” He imitated a man walking with his fingers. “You’re not my slave. Go home to your family and get away from all this.”

Shiri’s Egyptian though weak, was not as bad as he seemed to think. She understood more than she could say, and certainly understood much of what he was saying. But still she didn’t answer, sure he was mocking her.
He’s the worst one yet.
At least the others didn’t give her any false illusions about their intentions. They meant to rape and beat her body, he meant to go further.
He means to rape my mind
. He wanted to torture her with lies and promises, laugh at her, get her to beg and plead and do his bidding willingly, in the belief that then he would be true to his word and free her. He wanted to give her false hope, only so he could watch and laugh at the pain in her eyes when he wrenched it from her. These Gyptos were each viler and more twisted than the next.

Josef sighed.
“Who could have imagined releasing a slave would be so difficult?” he shook his head. “YOU ... FREE ... GO!” He said it ridiculously slowly, again miming with his hands. “Free … you free … go home.” He pointed to the entrance. “GO!”

She cast a fierce glance at him, annoyed by his attempts to talk down to her. He must think she was a complete fool, but he was the fool not her. Finally she shouted at
him, and in his own foul tongue. “I know, I know what you say, stupid Gypto. No family, no home you kill, I hate stupid Gypto.” She spat on the floor between them to emphasise her point. “You free me now, bad man all around? Hah!” She spat again.

He raised an eyebrow clearly impressed; few amongst the peasant folk could speak so much as a word of any tongue but their own. He waved his arms in a self-deprecating
gesture. “Aye, aye, you have the right of it, of course. I may as well release a lamb before a pack of wolves. Alright then, how about this? You can sleep with me tonight, and then once the troops have departed, I’ll release you.”