Flail of the Pharoah (16 page)

‘Prepare yourself,’ he commanded her. ‘Your sinful body must be subjugated with this multi-thonged flail, whose sting resembles that of a thousand serpents.’

He thrust the implement into her line of sight and she gasped to see at least a dozen leather thongs, each threaded with beads of faience, suspended from a stout handle.

Neshi raised the flail in the air and lost no time in bringing it down upon Charmian’s defenceless buttocks. She cried out with the pain, which was like being bombarded with a hail of sharp thorns. The cruel blows struck again, and again, and soon her entire bottom was peppered with the biting agony.

The agony was sharp, yet different from the pain she had felt before in that dark torture chamber of the temple, when the lash had fallen across her buttocks in one stinging stripe after another. Charmian lost count of the strokes she endured this time until, near faint with pain, there was a long enough pause for her to believe it was over.

She glanced up tentatively, to see Neshi striding away from her and the tension in her body relaxed in a long sigh of sweet relief. The whole of her lower body was smarting with the afterglow of her beating, every nerve-ending clamouring for the attention she could not provide. She longed for some soothing unguent to be tenderly applied, yet she had no hope that Neshi would be so considerate.

And she was right. He returned to his bed with a curt order for her to get up and pushed her roughly towards the door, warning her, ‘Tell no one of this, do you understand?’

She nodded dumbly, keen to escape, and the guard averted his gaze as she appeared. If he had heard or seen anything she knew he would be discreet, on pain of death. Slowly Charmian limped along the corridor, longing for the sanctuary of her own bed, but before she could get to the harem she was intercepted by Queen Mira, her path blocked by the woman, looking majestic in her afternoon robe. The girl’s heart sank.

‘Ah, there you are, Charmian,’ she said. ‘I have been looking for you.’

How could she conceal her agony from Neshi’s mother? If she saw how uncomfortable she was, how every step was painful and sitting out of the question, Mira would insist on taking a look at the source of her pain. The queen was no fool, and she might well guess who had inflicted such injuries upon her. So bracing herself, Charmian forced a smile, but Mira beckoned her into her chamber and bade her sit upon a stool. At once Iras appeared to do her bidding, and while the queen turned her back to give her orders to the girl, Charmian sat down gingerly. So long as she did not move too much she hoped she could suppress the discomfort.

‘You are to be purified,’ the queen announced. ‘Then you will accompany me to the temple.’

Charmian was mystified; what did she have in mind? Any unusual occurrence led her to fear the worst, but when she realised that ritual purification involved bathing her fears increased. What if the queen noticed the injuries just inflicted upon her?

But to her intense relief, while Mira retreated behind the screens Iras led her away to the bathing area and helped her disrobe out of sight of the queen. If the girl was surprised to see the state of Charmian’s buttocks she betrayed no emotion, but calmly took her by the hand and led her down the steps into the marble bath filled with fragrant water. The cool caress of the water on her skin was soothing, although she could not sit down but was obliged to kneel while Iras intoned the ritual words for cleansing.

The bathing had a calming effect upon her that increased as Iras patted her skin dry with a linen towel, carefully avoiding her sore bottom, then anointed her head with sweet unguents. By the time she was presented to the queen, in a simple white robe, she felt more confident that nothing too terrible awaited her.

They walked in silence to the temple, and at the entrance Mira told Tut-Tut that they had come to visit the shrine of Isis. The high priest bowed and retreated into the shadows as the females proceeded between the vast columns to the corner of the temple where the goddess’s statue stood. It was adorned with garlands and showed her with open arms, welcoming all comers. Her slim body was encased in a fine linen shift and an exquisitely jewelled collar encircled her neck. Charmian gazed upon the face she had not seen before. Isis wore a benign smile, and her features were finely carved. On her head she wore a small golden throne, representing the hieroglyph of her name.

From the darkness beyond the chapel a strong smell of incense wafted, filling Charmian’s nostrils with the intoxicating scent of lotus. She was used to it by now, and welcomed the pleasant numbing of her senses and befuddling of her mind that the drug induced. It meant she could forget about the dull ache she still felt in her lower quarters.

‘Queen Isis, hear the prayer of your sister queen,’ Mira began, in a low voice that was little more than a whisper but loud enough for Charmian to hear. ‘We are your sisters in suffering, as well as joy. Help us to understand the mysteries of pain, that our bodies crave as much as they long for pleasure…’

Charmian joined in the familiar response, ‘In the name of Amun.’

‘Help us to fathom the strange longings that well up from the deepest recesses of our souls, the perverse desires that lead us to relish the power others have over us. Help us to honour the Flail of the Pharaoh, symbol of his divine and severe authority. Help us to respect the holy fear, that keeps us in awe of the sacred…’

The long litany continued, punctuated by the obeisance to Amun, but it was confusing to Charmian’s ears. What was all this talk of suffering and pain, power and fear? Had the queen somehow found out about the beating she had just endured? Was Mira trying, in an obscure way, to console her husband’s concubine for the way her son had treated her? It seemed unlikely, but Charmian could think of no other reason why she had been invited to join the queen in these strange prayers.

The worship was finally over, and the women got to their feet. Mira laid the offering she had brought – a beautifully fashioned pair of gold earrings set with lapis and turquoise – on the altar of the goddess, and then bowed and turned to leave. As they did so Charmian saw, from the corner of her eye, a pale shadow glide away from the surrounding darker shadows.

Mira appeared not to notice the fleeting figure and Charmian assumed it was the incense bearer, but she still felt uneasy. Had some eavesdropper heard their intercession with the goddess? In this palace of secret sins and subtle power struggles she had the impression that there were eyes everywhere, watching everyone’s every move.

Once they were back in the corridor the queen seemed to come out of her reverie and spoke brusquely. ‘You may return to the harem now, Charmian. Tell no one of our visit to the temple. I may require you to accompany me again. Your lips must remain sealed about any royal or religious task I require of you. Now go.’

‘Yes, my queen,’ Charmian murmured, bowing low, but Mira had already swept on her regal way towards her private quarters.

The age-old festival of Opet was a time of luxury and licence for the people of Egypt. It marked a gap in the calendar between the old year and the new, and involved a ritual journey from Karnak to Luxor. It was a holiday not only for the people and the royal household, but for the gods as well. Statues of the Amun, his wife and son, were borne in golden vessels by white-robed priests. Amidst joyful crowds scattering flowers the procession went amidst clouds of sweet incense to the banks of the Nile, where the images of the gods would be transported on barges. Once installed in the temple at Luxor they would remain there for about three weeks while the festivities continued unabated.

Mira viewed the celebrations both with excitement and apprehension, and she knew Seti had similar mixed feelings. Piety demanded that they rejoice along with their people and gods, and there were certainly many feasts and entertainments to lift the spirits. Yet tradition also required them to give liberal amounts of food and drink to their people, which in a year of only moderate harvest could prove costly. In addition, their exposure to public view made them vulnerable to their enemies. No one in the royal household could forget the time when Seti’s grandfather had been attacked by one of the exiled Hyksos, while attending a spectacle.

Because of the unrest on the Libyan borders, Seti had doubled the royal guard for this year’s festival, so Mira felt a little more secure. She began to prepare several weeks beforehand, ordering a splendid new gown for the occasion and making sure the special royal regalia were in perfect order for the annual outing. A week before the start of the festival she was summoned to the Pharaoh’s audience chamber.

At first she presumed he just wanted to discuss the usual arrangements with her, but this year he had a new notion – one that struck fear and envy into the queen’s heart.

‘You shall preside at my side as ever, Mira,’ he began, in the placatory tone she had come to dread lately. ‘And our son Neshi shall also parade upon the royal float, for it was ever so. But I wish to give special honour to a concubine from my harem.’

At once the queen knew exactly which of his women the king wished to honour. She did not even ask her name but stammered out her enquiry, ‘Honour, h-husband? How?’

‘She shall be crowned Queen of the Festival and ride upon a float behind the royal one. I think the people will like that. As divinities we are seen as remote from ordinary people, but she will seem more ordinary, like them. And if she were to be a foreign slave, then that will please them even more, I think.’

‘A foreign slave?’ Mira repeated coldly, recovering her composure. ‘Do you not think that will encourage other slaves to aspire above their station? Will it not sow sedition? These are troubled times…’

‘I thank you for your concern, dear wife, but I look at it another way,’ he replied smoothly. ‘The threat to our kingdom comes from outside our borders, not inside. If the people see how fairly we treat even foreign captives, they will surely be all the more ready to rise to the defence of their country if the need should arise. Here in Egypt all are treated as equal under the gods, that is our rule, and the honouring of a beautiful slave will press home the point. Don’t you agree, wife?’

Mira’s lips were pursed as she bit back her true response to the king’s twisted logic. They had often debated issues together, far into the night, and she could usually see his side of the argument even if she disagreed with it, but this time she was baffled. The only truth of the matter was that Seti wished to publicly raise his pale-faced whore almost to the level of a Queen of Egypt. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, the real Queen of Egypt could do about it.

Sick to the core, Mira was obliged to sit and listen to her husband’s further plans for the festivities but her mind was miles away, festering with poisonous thoughts. Only when Charmian’s name was mentioned was her attention forced back to the king. She fixed a rictus on her face and stared, eyes dull, while he outlined her part in the girl’s elevation.

‘So you see, my dear, her costume must be something really special for the occasion. I know I can count on you to provide it. I should like her breasts to be bare but adorned, and the most transparent of material should be draped about her to show off her slender figure. She is not to wear a wig – that wonderful golden hair must be on show, as it is her chief asset, but it must be elegantly dressed with jewels. You know the sort of thing, I’m sure. Treat her as our own daughter, Mira, and make the most of her exquisite beauty, for my sake.’

The queen dared not look him in the eye for fear the pure hatred she felt at that moment should be revealed. Instead she lowered her eyes to her lap and murmured, ‘Yes, Seti, I shall obey you in all things.’

‘Good.’ His tone was dismissive as he rose to his feet. ‘Then send her to my bedchamber. I should like to tell her personally about the honour I am bestowing upon her.’

‘I hope the girl appreciates your generosity,’ Mira mumbled, the nails of her right hand digging hard into the palm of her left.

‘I am sure she will. When she is sitting up on that moving throne, with the crowd bowing and throwing blossoms along with their blessings, she will think herself a goddess.’

A glance at the king’s face showed he was smiling benignly, apparently oblivious to the pain he was causing his wife with each new twist of the verbal sword. ‘I am sure she will be eternally grateful!’ Mira grumbled as she left the room, unable to control her anger for much longer.

That anger was directed not only at her husband, but at Charmian too. How could she wreak vengeance upon the foreign whore who had stolen her husband’s heart? It was not long before the solution to her dilemma came to her. She sent for the royal jeweller and gave him a special commission, which he promised to deliver before the week’s end.

‘Perfect!’ she beamed when the man delivered the unusual gold items, handing him a heavy purse in return. Then she ordered Iras to fetch Charmian from the harem.

Charmian seemed to be spending more time in the company of the queen than the king, she reflected as she bowed low before her majesty. Oh why could she not be left alone, like most of the others in the harem? Every encounter she had with a member of the royal family seemed to bring some new misfortune upon her head.

‘Now Charmian, I wish to tell you about a great event which will shortly take place,’ the queen began with a pleasant smile, sitting in her own gilded armchair. Iras approached bearing a pile of cloth and ornaments, which she placed on a low table beside her, then retreated into the shadows, awaiting further orders.