Shiri (17 page)

IX

A small thing, pretty of face, but with little enough about her chest – pleasing to look at yes, but not the beauty she’d feared. Tjuya smiled as the slut approached. She was glad her husband had not thought to bring his whore with him as he perused the Memphite slave markets. A
promising sign.

The slave wore a simple woollen tunic, girded about the waist. It hung loosely from her shoulders, falling to just below her knees. Her dark locks were tied back and she had a dash of
kohl
about her eyes, she even wore sandals, Tjuya frowned.
Slaves should go bare footed, with eyes plain and unadorned.
She frowned again as the whore bowed her head a little stiffly and offered lip service to the courtesies. “You sent for me, m’lady?”

Lord Yuya’s wife lounged atop a couch swathed in feathered pillows. She was gilded with full make up and sparkling jewels, a watery linen sheath doing little to hide her figure. One impressive breast was partially covered by the thin fabric, the other was exposed; such was the latest mode in the Theban courts of the south. Her hair had been softly curled and in accordance with the more adventurous Memphite trends allowed to flow freely about her shoulders. Meira sat on the marble tiles before her, massaging her mistress’s feet with scented oils. “You’re my husband’s .
.. bodyslave yes?” Tjuya smiled. “Shiri, isn’t it?”

Aware of how inferior she looked in her drab attire, the slave shi
fted from one foot to the other. “If it pleases, m’lady.”

Tjuya held a green crystal goblet in hand, her index finger playing idly abou
t its rim. “Such a polite child, I think perhaps Hapu was mistaken.”

Meira took a little more oil in her palms and allowed her hands to glide slightly higher, the tips of her fingers sliding under the hem of her mistress’s sheath. “Tell
me, Shiri,” that smile again, “what tasks do you perform for my husband?”

“M’lady?”

Tjuya clicked her tongue. “It’s a simple question, child. What tasks do you perform for him? Do you sing? Are you an accomplished cook?” the smile broadened in increasingly friendly fashion. “You must make us a northern dish, something exotic from the Wildlands.”

Shiri shook her head.
“I...”

“You’re skilled at reciting verse then?”

“No I...”

Tjuya looked disappointed.
“Ah, so you must play a musical instrument. What is it a
mizmar
or an
arghul
? I can carry a tune on the three stringed lyre myself.” She smiled as if they had found common ground.

Shiri bit her lip and Tjuya cast Meira a knowing glance
. “Oh ... I had thought perhaps...” She wet her lips with some Memphite Red before turning back to Shiri. “So, you must be trained in the arts of the scribe? Is that it? You put his words on papyrus. An educated Habiru are we?” Her smile returned.

“No, m’
lady, I cannot, I...”

“Oh?” Tjuya shook her head
, looking perplexed. “Then what is it you do for him, Shiri? What do you do that pleases my husband so?”

“I tend the gardens and ... teach him the language of the slaves.”

Meira tittered. “I can guess what she tends, m’lady.”

Tjuya passed her fingers idly through Meira’s long auburn curls and Shiri imagined she heard the slave purr. Tjuya spoke almost to herself
now. “The gardens ... and the tongue of slaves ... of course, how silly of me...” her eyes flicked to Shiri once more, “It’s just that the common folk ... they talk much. Lies and slanders for the most part you’d agree.” She took another sip, before casting the Habiru an almost sympathetic glance. “Why ... why, they even spread rumours about you and my dear husband.”

Shiri’s mouth was dry.
“What sort of rumours?”

“You mean you haven’t heard? Oh, my poor dear
... filth, nothing but filth and lies ... I’m sure that is what they are.” She looked to Meira. “Should we even tell the girl?”

Meira pouted.
“If she doesn’t hear it from us, she’d like as not hear it from someone who means her ill.”

Tjuya nodded at that.
“Yes, yes, of course, Meira, you have the right of it.” She sighed as if the weight of the world had come down upon her. “They say ... they say ... oh, I can hardly bear to tell the child...” She covered her mouth and looked away.

Meira glanced at Shiri over her shoulder, her eyes glinting and mischievou
s. “They say he mounts you more often than the master of horse mounts his chariot,” she giggled. “They say you’re his slut whore and that he takes you as a dog takes his bitch. They say you live only to give pleasure to his cock, they even say-”

Tjuya ra
ised a silencing hand. “Meira please, we’re in my father’s house.”

Shiri reddened.
“It’s not true! I never! We only...”

“You only what, child?” Tjuya waved her slave from her side and gracefully rose to a sitting position.

Shiri lowered her head. “Nothing, may ... may I go?”

Tjuya was standing now, gliding silently closer as she spoke. Shiri could discern the curves and contours of her body beneath the slight fabric as clearly as if she were wearing nothing at all. “Are you his ... his ... whore, Shiri?” She said the word through pursed lips, almost as if simply speaking it was a crime that sullied her tongue.

Shiri wouldn’t even dignify it with a response. She turned and made for the door. A nod from Tjuya and her
ghaffir
stepped outside and closed it before she got there. “I did not give you permission to go.”

Shiri spun.
“What did you summon me for?”

Tjuya tutted, before motioning
for the slave to return to her. Shiri remained where she was so Tjuya closed the distance between them still further. She cocked her head and spoke ever so quietly. “Take off your clothes, Shiri.”

“NO!”

“A slave is it?” Tjuya glanced at Meira who tittered in return. “She has airs above her station, m’lady. Shall I fetch a switch?”

Tjuya raised an eyebrow.
“Do you have airs above your station? You don’t refuse my ... requests do you?” She was standing just inches from the slave now, her perfume almost overpowering.

“I ... I am to take orders only from my master.”
It sounded so stupid now.
“My master, he...”

“He is my husband! And I am his lady and the head of his house until he returns. You will do as I say or I
will
have you whipped.”

The slave dared to curve her lip
upwards, it was almost a smile. “No, you won’t. He would not allow it.” Tjuya slapped her. Shiri barely flinched; she’d been struck harder than that before.

Tjuya turned to her bodyslave. “Meira ... fetch a switch.”

“At once, m’lady!” The slave clapped her hands excitedly and bolted towards the door making a kissy face at Shiri as she passed her.

“I
could
have you beaten,” Tjuya said icily. “But the switch is such a crude device, the scars it inflicts are skin deep and fleeting; a man’s weapon. A lady of quality prefers her tongue.”

“It’s a switch
you’ll
be wanting so.”

She slapped her again. The slave’s cheek reddened a little this time, but she only seemed to grow bolder. “That is not your tongue, m’lady.”

Tjuya went to slap her a third time but held herself.
Perhaps the slut wants to be whipped so she can run and show her stripes to him.
“So ... you think yourself a clever whore?” She showed the slave her back. Slowly she moved towards the window, gazing out across the blooming flowers and whispering trees of the gardens. “Yuya was such a lazy, indolent boy, not likely to amount to much – or so my father had said.

But still, he was heir to a high lord and we were a good match, at least that’s what old men told me.” She spoke airily,
more to herself than the slave. “But now he returns a different man, does he not?” She cast Shiri a strange look as she said it. “He will do great things will my ... Yuya. He will raise me to heights undreamed of. I had never dared to hope that I...”

She caught the slave’s lip curling again. “You think me foolish? I am not foolish, Shiri. I am his wife, his love. As he rises so shall I. But
you
...” There was sudden venom to her words. “No matter how high he goes, no matter what he does,
you
will never be any more than his whore. A dirty slut he picked up at too high a price. Oh, yes, he’s told me all about you.”

“He’s told you nothing.” She knew she shouldn’t say such things, but she found it hard not to respond. She held Tjuya’s disdainful gaze and saw her mouth twitch with restrained anger.

“Is that what you think, child? What was it he said you cost him? Fifty debens was it?” Tjuya showed her teeth when she saw the slut’s reaction to that. “He told me he could have bought four bedslaves in your stead, and would have done, had he not been palace bred and unsure of the price of whores. You see, dear child, like as not he will go to you whenever I am in my blood, or when his base desires and perversities go beyond what it is fitting for a man to ask of his wife. But in the end he will always come back to me. I will be the one at his side when the high lords come to pay homage to the Three That Are One, I will be the one on his arm when he comes into the Sun Ring and Heliopolis grows mighty once more,” she turned. “Isn’t that so, Meira?”

Her bodyslave had returned with a
stout birch switch. She nodded. “As you say, m’lady ... shall I begin?”

She moved towards Shiri but a gesture from Tjuya checked her. “That’s what whores are for you see, and you’re good at being a whore, aren’t you, Shiri? I suppose each of is blessed with certain skills. I, as you see, am gifted with grace, wit and beauty, Meira here, is a fine cook and excels in needlework, you ... you are skilled at spreading your legs.” She shru
gged as if resigned to the fact. “Well, I suppose we do what we can with the gifts the gods give us.”

“Whore’s blood runs deep,” Meira advised, “like as not her mother was a whore too, it’s not the girl’s fault. Let me cleanse her flesh with the switch, m’lady. If we bleed her a little it may help rid her of the demons.”

Tjuya tried a different approach. She cast Shiri a sideways glance. “Do you ... do you love him, Shiri?” She stared at her intently now. “Are you in love with
my
husband?”

The slave’s breathing grew shallow, for the briefest instant her eyes found Tjuya’s and gave silent answer to the question. Tjuya turned back to the window as if it were
of no matter. “Yes, he told me as much.”

Shiri closed her eyes.
Lies, it was all lies.
“He told you nothing,” she repeated. It sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Tjuya.

“Oh, you poor dear. Why, he even jested over it while he had Meira dance for him. Isn’t that so, Meira?”

Her bodyslave smiled at her mistress. “It
was
a funny jest, m’lady.”

Tjuya came closer to the slave, her voice a whisper now. “As I say, a lazy, indolent boy, with brown hair, short and fat as a toad.”

Shiri met her gaze.
She’s suspicious.
“Time ... it changes a man. He has grown tall and his hair-”

“-
Has darkened over the years? Yes, yes, so I’ve been told.” Tjuya came closer still. She traced a finger along the girl’s cheek, raising her chin a little before rubbing her thumb gently across Shiri’s lips.
Pretty, a little too pretty.
She brought her mouth to the slave’s ear. She brushed her lips ever so lightly against her and whispered so softly that not even Meira could hear. “Time may change the girth of a man’s waist, or the vigour in his heart, it may even as you say, darken his hair, but...” She drew back a little. “Time cannot change the colour of a man’s eyes.”

Shiri gasped, she fell back from the woman, feeling bile rise in her throat.
She knows!

Tjuya laughed at her reaction. “My father would be most interested to learn how your master performed such a feat don’t you think? Perhaps I will call him now. Jafar!” The door swung open instantly and Tjuya’s
ghaffir
entered. “M’lady?”

“Send for my father, Jafar
. I wish to tell him something...”

“No! Please!” Shiri grabbed Tjuya’
s arm, her eyes wide with panic. “You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I?” Tjuya shrugged.
“Well that’s entirely up to you, child,” she waved the guard back to his station. “Serve me or watch me bring him down.”

Shiri looked from left to right as if searching for an escape. She could hear Meira giggling, feel Tjuya laughing. “Oh my poor girl, you really do love him don’t you? What was he, some enterprising servant of Yuya’s house? A noble from Aratama’s court?” Tjuya shrugged as if it was of no matter. “What’s mine is his and what’s his is mine. Such is the way of things between husband and wife. You are his, and thus you are mine, and you
will
serve me as a slave should. You will clean my floors, kiss my feet, and attend to my needs ... Meira’s too if I see fit.” She glanced to her bodyslave. “Meira and I mean to leave my father’s house and share my husband’s villa behind the temple. You will vacate the room you occupy now. I would have it for Meira. Find yourself quarters in the basement – or in the kennels with the rest of the dogs if you prefer.”