Sharing the way back to the palace with her made the problems easier – tackling all the hurdles together gave him the security of not being alone on the front line. Dinem brought peace. Support and safety, which he didn’t expect from a woman, but which still cradled him gently in their arms.
Only before the mighty walls of the palace did they pause, ready to say goodbye to each other, and although he could have uttered a hundred words, it was a kiss on the cheek he gave her. A touch so gentle Dinem placed a hand on her skin with widened eyes to make absolutely sure he had been there. Quick breaths, which they both held in silent unity, before the tjati turned away from her and was the first to disappear behind the rock, held up by strong pillars.
In those moments, it was easier to take in the surroundings. The palace, where he had been resting for ages, came to the fore as if he had never been in this place before. The smooth staircase that lay behind him and the few low steps inviting him in, which had been installed to make it easier for old people, seemed free of dust and sand. The heavy pillars holding up the entrance had been ornately decorated with images and patterns. The entire palace possessed these pilasters, some of which were displayed to prove the beauty of the building to the masses. The graceful expanse was still recognisable as the Pharaoh’s palace even at the end of the city, and the greenery Assou usually overlooked decorated the facades of the walls in selected places to emphasise that even the greatest heat couldn’t bring down a fruitful tree of the gods.
As his feet carried him inside, it was the tightness in his chest keeping him alert. The walls were pure, clean, completely unadorned compared to the pillars rising every ten metres and telling little stories in different colours. Red patterns set a mood, brown figures moved if you walked fast enough, green branches told of peace and blue stripes separated the images. The polished stone beneath his soles threatened to reflect him, and the doors, which he usually ignored, were just as magnificent as the pillars. The only room that surpassed all of this was Pharaoh’s Hall, he knew, and yet no matter how hard Assou tried to visualise the room, he only knew of the endless path to the steps leading up to the throne. Everything else had always passed him by.
He rubbed his face with both hands. For whatever reason Dinem’s presence had caught his attention, it left a sweet aftertaste he wanted to savour. A minor change from the constant same images making his life a little more uniform every day.
The ornate walls moved past him in slowly, dragging his presence across the walls and clinging to his shadow as if it were part of this narrative. It turned over the images, the shapes, connecting with another shadow that drew the tjati’s attention and detached his gaze from the spectacle of the world behind his thoughts.
Opposite him, in conventional beauty, wrapped in a tight kalasiris adorned with blue beads around her waist, Maathorneferure waited for something. Her lips curled into a biting smile before she straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms gallantly in front of her chest.
“I see the old habit has driven you out of the palace.” Swiftly, she took a step aside. “Shall we walk a little, Vizier?”
Whatever was going through her head, it couldn’t be good. The certainty she was up to something made his every breath uneasy, and though he would have preferred to refuse, all he could manage was a disapproving snort of agreement. Then he fell into line beside the Third Great Royal Queen.
Her barely audible footsteps glided over the walls like unspoken secrets. Her gait, flowing like water, didn’t match his simple, hasty movements. Walking side by side had the strange air of unequal enemies trying to reach an agreement.
“What do you want from me?” Without looking at her, Assou turned to the only question between them.
“I thought I’d give you a token of my kindness by making you an offer.” Her high, velvety voice held no mockery for him this time.
“And that offer would be?”
“I am willing to give you your beloved Fatrada, should you resign your position as Vizier in return.”
This time his gaze darted in her direction, plagued by a thousand words hanging heavy as stone on his tongue. Instead, only another snort escaped him before he stopped and jutted his chin. “Is that all?”
“Did you expect more?” Brows raised, she turned to face him. The certainty in her expression already painted a picture of victory. A lost game that he seized by the scruff of the neck.
“What do you think will happen if I give up my position? Who should advise our pharaoh, the ruler of this country, if not me?”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Me, of course.” As if it were self-evident, Maathorneferure tilted her head, her smile fixed in place. “After all, I am as much a goddess as Ramesses was called by the gods. I know what is important for this country.”
“A war at best,” Assou spat back at her. The tightness in his chest and the heat on his skin made it hard not to turn around and push Maathorneferure’s sick fantasy away. But she had to wake up. She had to learn to understand, in whatever way she could. “You don’t know how to keep the peace and how Egypt stands in the face of the surrounding countries.”
“We don’t need peace when we can have everything,” she replied calmly. “You’re making the country sluggish. If Ramesses were set on the right path, Egypt would soon own every land there is to own. And the people would worship us as gods of this time. All of them.”
“You are mad, woman.” Assou’s statement collapsed in on itself, biting through the atmosphere no less venomously than Maathorneferure’s very existence. “I will certainly not resign my post for a madness that has no future for our country.”
“That’s a problem, obviously.” As if his words had no relevance whatsoever, she squared her shoulders and strolled a few steps back, straight towards him. It wasn’t hard to see that she still had something up her sleeve. Power she had been accumulating for this moment.
“But I can tell you that if you really refuse my generous offer, I will be forced to put Fatrada in her place.” Thoughtfully, the Great Queen put a finger to her chin. “She is an obedient slave with fire in her eyes. Fire that doesn’t yet know how cruel life can be, and I really have no problem reminding her which position is hers.” The smile on her lips widened. “I’ll break her if that’s what you crave.”
“Isn’t that simplistic?” Instead of being rattled, Assou took a breath. Fatrada wasn’t a woman to be broken easily, he wanted to hold on to that, and he had the better position in this war. “You realise I am the Pharaoh’s vizier, don’t you? You certainly haven’t forgotten that during your long period of reflection.”
“What are you getting at?”
“That it’s no problem for me to go to Ramesses and convince him to treat the slaves better because some of them are outstanding. The best of them could be made assistants ... or simply slaves with special freedoms, and it would be my job to decide who gets what.” The tjati shrugged briefly. “I could take away any slaves you play with.”
The corners of her mouth twisted. He had nothing on her, and yet she was making no progress with her plans. It was triumph that Assou could taste and yet it wasn’t bold enough. What he was left with was a sigh of Maathorneferure.
“If you think this decision is the better one, fine.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned away from him. “Try to convince Ramesses or wait until after the feast.”
“You’re going to give her back to me willingly all at once?”
“Certainly. As soon as I’ve found a worthy replacement. Or you’ll have even more work on your hands.” This time it was she who shrugged her shoulders.
More work wasn’t something he could take on. Treating the slaves better would upset the balance in the palace. Most of them were prizes and gifts to pay off debts. Others had been overpowered and enslaved. Giving them the option of half freedom would have driven them no less into madness.
However, she surrendered too quickly. The restlessness in her bones always led her to absurd ideas and that she would suddenly let go made no sense. There had to be more to her offer. Something that seemed more realistic than simply letting go of the only pressure she had. Trusting her was fatal. But unlike Maathorneferure, he wasn’t without help.
“All right. You give Fatrada to me after the feast and stay out of her life.” It was all he could ask, and with Dinem at his side, he at least had a watchful eye on the other side.
“I can live with that.” Maathorneferure’s shallow smile brought new tension rolling insidiously over Assou, yet it didn’t reach him. Instead, he could only watch as she turned away and followed her own path, far away from him, with her thoughts in realms he could never judge.
Still, it was victory. Being able to relieve Maathorneferure of Fatrada was one of those perfect opportunities to prove which of them was smarter. It made it easier to turn and run. Keeping up with the planning for the feast suddenly became a task that could be completed with joy – all because he knew Fatrada would enjoy this feast as much as he did. Perhaps he would even help Maathorneferure out and give her a new slave. One who was better suited to this role.
His legs carried him back to his workroom. The papyrus was piled up on his table, unwritten, and the rush next to it had dried out. Still, he dipped it in the reddish, stiff colour and scribbled down a few orders. The feast had to be big. It had to satisfy Ramesses and please Meritamen. No stress, but plenty of pleasure. Delights that especially appealed to the Great Queen and allowed her to indulge in beautiful thoughts until the day her child would see the light of day.
The crooked hieroglyphs gave the wildest instructions to the most diverse people. New statues were needed, new pictures, works that surpassed the old. The food had to be prepared, the wine stored, and the dishes selected. Every single decision was firmly in his hands. From the food to the few merchants who would come to the palace to dress Pharaoh and Meritamen. Each piece of papyrus was given a new order, always addressed to someone else. His fingers stripped the precious material, gave it a task, and moved it aside. Often enough so he eventually bumped his fingertips against the stone he always left behind.
Assou’s attention shifted instantly, clinging to the stone slab he still kept and which silently judged him even in those moments. But this time he wasn’t in a position that lay forlornly before him. Things had improved. He had gained the upper hand. There was no game he had to win any longer. It was over.
And this time, he took the stone slab and smashed it onto the ground with a swing. The question shattered. Pieces formed. Whoever had left this poor joke for him, the power was gone.