The inner walls of the palace enveloped him in reverent silence hardly later. Amidst the rock, nothing but work remained for him. Business he had to attend to before time ran out. The sigh stuck like honey to Assou’s lips and threatened to drag him to the ground as a boy detached himself from the shadows and bowed humbly. “Vizier, I have news.”
It was the child he had appointed to Fatrada’s man’s heels. The fields weren’t far away and though it felt like merely a brief breeze in the wind, much more time must have passed already.
With a throwing away hand gesture, Assou hinted they would speak in another place. But he could barely put one foot in front of the other before the rustle of gold jewellery made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was a tinkling, rustling of cloth, and when he caught sight of Maathorneferure in the company of two female slaves, his shoulders sagged.
Dark brown hair braided over one side, decorated with colourful threads down to her chest, it was the beige fabric of her calasiris that momentarily captivated Assou’s attention. Golden chains adorned graceful curves and brought shiny, colourful gems to the fore. It twisted a woman’s beauty and made her dangerous in the face of a mere human.
“How simple.” Scorn drew on her features as she gallantly folded her arms in front of her chest and paused in one spot. Her bare feet were adorned with chains. “A sack of wheat. Probably from the same woman who served you at the feast.” She snorted. “Do you really think a vizier, the Pharaoh’s sworn right-hand man, should desire a simple woman? And not only does she have no status, she’s married, I hear.”
“I wasn’t aware that women of wealth had increased value compared to those who work for our country.” Wrinkling his nose, Assou tilted his head before turning away and moving – straight past the Third Great Royal Queen as if she were just a spoilt child in the middle of too much splendour.
Probably it was true. She was just a woman. Not a goddess, not a piece of gold, just one of many – even if her appearance dazzled, and some considered her more perfect than she was.
Maathorneferure let him go. She didn’t bother to stop him, though Assou kept every muscle in his body tense so he could turn to her if she demanded it. She didn’t give a damn. Not in these breaths, where they both remained unpredictable in their own unique way.
With the messenger in tow, Assou took refuge in his study, far from prying eyes and uncertain glances. Settling on the floor behind the low table, the messenger knelt on the other side to bow once more before Assou gestured for him to speak.
“Vizier, I sought the woman Fatrada’s husband and found him in the wheat fields. I watched him and he did his work with conscience.” He paused for effect. “Then I went to the other field workers and asked them about this man. They told me that this man, Nagib, that’s his name, is a good man. Helps the old and the weak, shares with children, often gushes about his wife, to whom he has been married for a year. So I went on.” With a hand gesture, the boy made it clear he had travelled a long distance. “I asked neighbours and acquaintances, but they all gave me the same answer: the man Nagib is a good man. I told them about crimes, but they said I made all that up, which is true. They believe him. So it must be true.”
Unwillingly, Assou clicked his tongue. Of course, he should hardly have expected anything else. There was no negative point about this stranger and he couldn’t win Fatrada over if her husband was desirable and honest. If she loved him for those qualities, there was no hope.
“Vizier, what shall I do now?” Helplessly, the messenger slid around on his legs, causing Assou to take a deep breath. He hadn’t yet considered all the possibilities, and Nagib hadn’t yet proved himself a good man for Fatrada.
“Continue to shadow him and report to me regularly should anything happen. Daily at best. He may allow himself a misstep in front of you.” Nimbly, Assou slid two gold pieces across the table. “Take care not to be seen.”
A knowing nod was all the boy could bring himself to do before he jumped up and tried to hurry out the door – almost doomed to collide with another. The scrawny, strange boy dodged and staggered into Assou’s study in a few steps before falling to his knees and gasping for air. The other disappeared into the hallway.
“Vizier, I bring news.” He coughed. “I barely got halfway to the slaves before the message caught up with me. But it is not within my power to tell you of it. You are to appear before the almighty Pharaoh.”
How much bad news was one allowed to receive in one day? Again he gestured to the child opposite him to leave, watching as the scrawny figure disappeared. Then he took the freedom to put his head in his hands and breathe. Nothing went as he had hoped. There was no good news and whatever had happened to the slaves, he didn’t want to know. But it was his job to make the right decisions while Ramesses went about his work – even if his duties passed insignificantly in everyday life. So Assou tugged his robe into place and rose to his feet to answer his ruler’s call.
His bare feet made pattering sounds as he hurried across the warm stone to reach the king’s hall. Ramesses was still sitting on his throne listening to the woes of his people – the boredom had remained.
Next to his Pharaoh, Assou found a place to lean down and listen to the words that came over him like a flood. “You must think of something.”
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Uncertainly, Assou’s brows drew together. “To what exactly, my Pharaoh?”
“The slaves are on strike. They don’t care enough for the kindness I show them, and now they don’t want to work any longer.” Ramesses snorted. “I would suggest having them all killed.”
“That would be a delicate loss, my Pharaoh,” Assou interjected. “If we have all the slaves killed, it will take time to create enough replacements. Your wishes would be drastically delayed.”
“What do you suggest?”
Negotiating with the slaves would have been ridiculous. They were human beings, and they wanted to be treated as such. A request that neither Ramesses nor the gods approved of. To give them more than the messengers of the world had promised them offered potential for conflict. To have them killed, however, was a loss they couldn’t bear. To have someone killed at all had the wasteful flavour of a decision he wanted to avoid. Simultaneously, it was a process he had been taught from an early age: the value of a slave was less than that of a gold piece.
“I propose,” Assou began slowly, “that we have two of the slaves executed in front of the others. None of the old ones, because they may have finished with their lives, and none of the young, healthy men.”
“Preferably the ones who started this uprising,” Ramesses expanded. “But how do we get it out of them?”
“Offer the traitors an extra meal.” It was the easiest option. The slaves’ food was meagre and no one would turn down another bowl. At least not if they had any sense.
“So be it.” A dismissive wave of Ramesses’ hand blessed the idea. “See to it.”
“Very well.” Half of Assou’s perception was still glued to Fatrada’s husband. The rest worried about the slaves. If they didn’t buckle, they would die and the children, who had no future in the eyes of the higher ranks, would have to fill their places. Small bodies that were only half as efficient as the body of a grown man. Weak, tiny hands that would disappoint Ramesses.
The sigh on Assou’s lips didn’t lighten. Instead, his legs rushed, as they often did, to his study. But his room didn’t greet him with secluded solitude. Instead, the feline eyes of a female slave gazed back at him, gallantly seated on his desk.
“Dinem, what are you doing here?” He raised his brows. The plain calasiris on her body suited her better than most women.
When she brushed her black hair, which didn’t quite reach her shoulder, behind her ear, it was the shimmer of the outside world that enchanted him. In those breaths, she had more of a queen than Maathorneferure. “I have to remind you that you should take a bath. It has been days since the last one. If it pleases you, I will come with you to wash your back.”
He probably hadn’t seen water for days. The last few weeks had been full of preparations for the marriage and the last few days he had sacrificed every spare minute for Fatrada. But she wouldn’t want him if he was dirty. No one would. So he nodded and turned on his heel.
The hasty footsteps didn’t leave him and when Assou arrived in the bathroom, the stress seemed to roll over his lips in a gasp. The gleam on the surface of the water banished him for a moment, however, before he found the senses to take a breath and undress.
Dinem reached the room only after he had already climbed into the warm water and washed his arms in half oblivion. In her hands she held fresh clothes, which she placed on an empty stone pedestal before also discarding her fabrics. It was nothing out of the ordinary. He had probably seen every other slave naked, but Dinem had an idiosyncratic way of removing her clothes. Her movements were slow, sinuous and sensual, as if she were a lost part of Kematef. Simultaneously, she looked at him, not taking her eyes off him for a breath, while the well-formed curves of her body came to light.
Assou’s awareness grazed her breasts, which would more than fill his hands. The curve of her hips remained enticing, wide and unyielding, like her thighs, whose soft flesh didn’t lack mass. She was well-fed and yet not too much – though clearly more than Fatrada.
He lowered his gaze.
Even in those seconds, the friendly smile of the wheat seller didn’t leave him at peace.
When Dinem slipped into the water, Assou was already lost in his thoughts. The country was burning under the heat and yet it didn’t come close to the fire that was raging between the fronts. Other countries watched Egypt, and the slaves fought back some days more than others. The gods had given them so much, and yet no one was grateful.
He winced as Dinem pressed a wet piece of linen to his back.
“What are you thinking of, Vizier?” Her honey soft voice lulled him. Talking about the problems of his world couldn’t hurt; not on days like these.
“The land,” he replied. “There are so many problems on our sand and stone that I wonder how Ramesses will solve all of them.”
She brushed her fingers over his chest. Her hands were warmer than the water and her fingertips left a tingling trail on his skin. “It is you who must solve these problems, my Vizier. The pharaoh only keeps his watchful eye on the land and blesses your decisions. But at the end, Egypt is your land to rule.”
“You talk a lot for a woman.” Inevitably, Maathorneferure, who lacked any sense of politics, came to his mind. “Do you even know what you are saying?”
He wanted to glance over his shoulder, but Dinem gave him no room. Instead, she pressed herself against him. Her soft body nestled against his back, spreading closeness as her arms wrapped around his torso, stealing his freedom. She rested her head on his shoulder. She too seemed to want to let the soul rest in those seconds; for a few quick breaths.
“I know that,” she said finally. “I watch you and all the others in this palace, and I know what you do.” Her lips nestled against his ear. Hot breath crept into his hearing. “I don’t understand the world of politics, but I understand how some of these things work and I see how hard your work is.”
“Do you?” It took only a jerk to break away from her. Her quiet words didn’t improve the circumstances, but at least they conveyed that he and his work could be seen. That was good enough. At least at that moment, when he put distance between himself and Dinem and dived under.
His hands rubbed through his hair, his body felt more alive, and when he ultimately stepped out of the bath, it was the soothing scent of rose oil that put the finishing touches on his body. Dinem, meanwhile, remained standing in her place. The water lapped against her skin in shallow waves, and her eyes followed every movement of his naked body.
Her eyes didn’t break from him even as he wrapped himself in the clothes she had brought him; a tunic with light blue accents that was one of the few fabrics of his possession in which colour prevailed. Paired with a beige shendyt that reached a little below his knees and sat so loosely that he had to wrap it tighter than usual.
“Thank you,” he ultimately addressed Dinem once more and gave her a wan smile before turning and leaving.