Shiri (32 page)

XIII

Shiri staggered into the room. She didn’t remember leaving his chamber. She didn’t remember walking down the hall. All she remembered was blood, tears and screams. She slid the wooden bar in place to seal the door behind her and hurried to the marble bath; it was still full of lukewarm water. She dumped her bloodstained clothes into the laundry hamper and bent over the bath, vigorously scrubbing face, hands, arms, shoulders.

Tiye spun on her stool. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. She’d found a rather plain looking linen sheath and looked as though she had been preparing to depart for Pharaoh’s chamber. An angry movement wiped aside a hot tear and the Princess rose. For a moment she didn’t seem t
o register the sight before her. “What did he…” her eyes widened, “Shiri?! Oh gods Shiri …what … what did he do to you? Is that … is that blood!?”

She bolted forward, her boiling anger instantly forgotten. The Habiru’s face was a mess, her left eye all but closed, her lips swollen to impossible size and split in more than one place. At once Tiye realised what had happened. She’d heard stories of Amenhotep’s cruel vices, heard that he enjoyed inflicting pain and torment on those he took to bed. He’d tortured and brutali
sed her slave for his amusement.
Is this what he had in mind for me?
She took her bodyslave in her arms.
She sacrificed herself for me.
The Habiru did not resist the embrace,
“Oh Shiri, why did you do that? You …you let him beat you and … and rape you, to spare me?”

Tiye took her bodyslave into her arms. She wrapped her hands about her, squeezed and hugged her tight. She heard the Habiru mouthing something agai
n and again through broken lips. “He … he won’t come for you … he won’t … he won’t ever again.”

She couldn’t remember ever actually holding her Habiru like this before. It was not exactly a dignified way for mistress and slave to conduct themselve
s and yet it did not feel wrong.
She let herself be tortured, beaten, raped, risked her very life for me ... why?
She’d cursed him, fought him, knowing it meant her death. It had taken all of her husband’s strength to stand up to him and that had been a close run thing. The slave hadn’t even hesitated,
why?
The Princess ran a hand through the slave’s hair, her eyes watering as she held her. “Oh Shiri, why did you do that?”

The Habiru raised her head and
looked her straight in the eye. “Do you really not know?” She bit her lip as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have, but even then she seemed about to blurt out more. At the last minute she managed to contain the words, but she could not stop her eyes from speaking. Tiye returned the look strangely. There was such love in her Habiru’s eyes that she couldn’t help but feel a little for the slave too. She felt that anger return and this time it could not be contained, “That bastard! He’ll not get away with this!” Suddenly, she spun and moved for the door.

The slave bolted after her.
“Wait! You mustn’t!”

“Don’t worry, Shiri, I mean to offer him nothing but the back of my hand.”

Her bodyslave grabbed her. “No! You mustn’t! Not tonight! You must stay here.” She pulled her back into the centre of the room with surprising force. There was a sudden commotion in the hall outside. They heard a man shouting, heard someone running, more shouts, a woman’s scream. Suddenly bells were ringing in alarm, trumpets were sounding. The slave’s face went pale. “I … I have to go.”

There was a banging at the door. Tiye felt a surge of panic, a sudden and overwhelming sense of dread. She looked at the slave again,
there’d been so much blood,
yet on closer inspection the only cuts on the slave were those about her lips and a little speckle on her neck. A terrifying thought gripped her,
‘he won’t come for you … he won’t ever again.’
She felt her breathing quicken, her mouth went dry. She pushed the slave away from her, “W…what have you done, Shiri? Oh gods what have you done?”

The slave looked away.
“He’s dead,” she said simply.

Tiye drew back. Her legs felt weak.

“He’s dead,” she repeated. “I killed him.”

Tiye shook her head in disbelief. She felt herself swoon, felt bile rise in her stomach. She reached out and found the slave there to steady her. She wrenched free of her grasp and shoved her away. “What’s the matter with you?” she shrieked, “Are you insane!?” Even as she said it she was backin
g away, edging towards the door.
It’s murder! … Assassination! … I must warn the Companions. I must warn the Companions.
The slave saw the movement but made no effort to stop her. The Princess paused even as her hand reached for the handle. “You … you killed him to protect me,” she said slowly.

They heard that banging again, more urgent this time, and then a voice demanding the door be opened at once.
Shiri stepped towards it. “I will turn myself in,” she said, “I’ll tell them the truth of it. It had nothing to do with you.”

“They’ll skin you alive! They’ll impale you in front of the gates of
Thebes!”

The
slave gave her that look again. “But
you
will be safe.”

Tiye blinked.
“What?” The Princess shook her head. This wasn’t right. Guilty or not, surely no Habiru, no matter how loyal, would willingly go to the block to save their mistress from suspicion, “You kill Pharaoh so he does not get to force himself upon me, and then you sacrifice your very life for me without even a word of complaint. Why?”

The voice at the door came again. It was angry now, angry or worried. Th
e slave tried to shove past her. “I must go!”

“You w
ill not.” Tiye blocked her path. “You will tell me why you do this.”

“Please, m’lady! If they discover he came to you they will think you’re involved!”

Something slammed into the door. The whole thing reverberated but it held. Again Shiri tried to move past her, but again Tiye prevented it. “Tell me, Shiri!

Shiri glanced one way then the next. The door would be breached any second
.
“Please, I must!” She reached for the door, saw it buckle and splinter as they slammed into it again, saw a beam of light shine through from outside.

Tiye grabbed
her hand. “Tell me!”

“Please, Tiye … they must know I acted alone! They’ll think you ordered it!” She wrenched her wrist free but Tiye blocked the door. The slave looked panicked. She spun one way then the next. She met Tiye’s eyes again and seemed to come to a decision. She turned and ran towards the bath. Tiye came after her but suddenly she stood frozen, an incredulous look on her face.

The slave had an eating knife in hand. “Shiri … what … what are you doing?” The slave came at her suddenly aggressive. She glanced at the door, seemed to pause as if fighting with herself and then all at once she lunged. Too late the Princess shrieked and spun for the door. The Habiru took the legs out from under her mistress and was on top of her, her knife at her throat. Tiye raised her hands to defend herself but her softness was no match for Habiru’s wiry strength. Easily Shiri held her mistress to the ground and then she paused again, staring at the door. Tiye felt hot tears in her eyes, “Let me go!! Shiri! What are you doing!?”

The slave refused to look at her, refused to answer. She just hovered there, her knife at her mistress’s throat, all the while staring at the door as if waiting for them to burst in. Tiye pushed vainly against her, but the Habiru had all her weight on top of her and she couldn’t win free. She felt the knife press against her skin. Tears streamed down her face. Her Habiru had murdered Pharaoh and now she meant to murder her, kil
l the unborn heir to the throne. “Shiri … I … love you, Shiri … you’ve been with me all … all my life, you were my wet-nurse, my bodyslave … my … my friend.”

The slave turned her head and looked into her mistress’s eyes. Tiye shook her head, her vision blurry from tears. She heard them smash against the door again, heard it splinter and felt the knife press harder against her t
hroat in concert with the sound. “Shiri please … I … I loved you as if you were my mother … please!” Even through eyes brimming with tears she saw something in the slave falter then, saw something in her face.

“Shiri?” Tiye felt the grip on her wrist loosen just a little. She watched the slave’s eyes well up, saw her lip tremble. The Habiru tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come. Instead she just looked at her and in that look the Princess saw truth. She stopped struggling and realised that somewhere, somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind she’d always known; a soft caress on reddened cheek, a silent tear on her wedding day, a thousand shared glances with her father. She stared into her b
odyslave’s eyes. “You … you are my mother.”

The door burst open. A man shouted. Another stumbled through the smashed ruins of the door and instantly dozens more were s
truggling to follow him through. “She has the Princess! She has the Princess!” Before Tiye knew what was happening the naked slave was wrenched off her.

Tiye saw her struggle, saw the knife pulled from her gra
sp. “Assassin!” someone shouted. “Murderer! She means to kill the Princess too!” Tiye felt strong arms reach around her and gently pull her to her feet. Her rescuer said something but it went over her head. Shiri was on the ground, a Companion straddling her back. With one hand he slammed her face into the tiles, the other wrenched her arms cruelly behind her back while a second Companion secured them with cord.

“Shiri!” Tiye screamed and tried to go to her. The Companion at her side attempted to hold her back but she pushed him away, “Get off of her! Get off of her at once!” The soldier still straddling the slave’s back looked at the Princess a little quizzically, before slowly rising to his feet. Tiye glared about her imperiously. There were at least a dozen men in the room, “Leave us. I will punish the slave personally for this.”

The men looked at each other almost incredulous. One of their number stepped forward. She recognised him instantly. Her husband’s
ghaffir
bowed, “With all due respect, Your Grace, she is not for you to punish. The Godking is dead and this one is…”

Tiye gasped, “Dead!?” She looked shocked, “Is this some sort of jest?”

Smenkaure stared at her strangely. “‘Tis no jest, my lady, he was slain with his own sword and even now his body is being carried from his chambers.”

The Princess swooned and Smenkaure had to
lunge to stop her from falling. “But … but how?” She said weakly.

“Well, by the look of it
your slave here…”

The Princess placed a hand on his should
er and seemed to steady herself. “We must seal the gates of the city! Rouse the city watch! Search every room in the palace! Where’s my husband? Why are you not by his side? The assassin may still be here!” She began ushering them towards the door, “Hurry! Hurry! My husband must be told at once!”

Smenkaure would not be moved.
“The assassin
is
here.” He pointed to the slave. “She tried to kill you and the Godking both. Who else could have entered…”

Tiy
e offered him a bewildered look. “You think my wet-nurse killed the hero of Megiddo?” It was almost a laugh.

“There is but one entrance to the royal apartments … nobody else was seen,” he sounded less sure of himself.

“But she was with me all night. I think I’d have noticed if she popped out for a spot of murder.”

The
ghaffir
glanced from princess to slave and back again. The slave opened her mouth as if to say something but held herself. “But … but what was going on here? Why was your Habiru trying to kill you?”

Tiye shrugged.
“The whore took some Habiru dog into her bed despite my expressed wishes to the contrary, and to make matters worse, the swine went and got her with child.” She made a defeated gesture, “Well, when I found out I slipped some
hellebore
root into her broth and did away with the thing. But after I revealed as much to the slut well … she lost her head. Thank the gods you came when you did.” She offered him a wan smile before glancing angrily in the slave’s direction. “I mean to make the bitch regret the day she raised her hands against me.”

Smenkaure turned and walked over to the slave. He grabbed her by the hair and raised her head, “What do you have to say about this Habiru?”

The slave said nothing, simply stared at her mistress. Her face was a mess of bruises, her lips swollen and cut. Smenkaure frowned and heard his brother’s voice behind him. “She says little.”

Smenkaure turned.
“‘Tis a fault the rack will mend.” His brother’s eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and sickly from drink or shock. It was Narmer that had discovered the body. Smenkaure gazed at his brother in a way he never had before,
you failed in your duty. You should have been at Pharaoh’s door not collapsed in a drunken stupor in the great hall.
He released the slave and rose, speaking to the Princess without looking at her. “Why was there no
ghaffir
in the royal apartments? Where was your man, Akil or whatever you name him?” Should he not have been at your door? Was that not his charge?” He glanced at Narmer as he said it.