Flail of the Pharoah (19 page)

When she overheard one man murmur to another, ‘Look at that pale goddess, surely more beautiful than the queen herself!’ she felt her chest swell with pride, even though she saw one of the royal guards glance suspiciously in their direction. Such a comment might count as treason and the man could be arrested, but fortunately for him no one else seemed to have heard it.

The city had been made beautiful for the festival, with garlands and carpets of flowers everywhere and banners praising god and Pharaoh alike. Eventually the royal party embarked onto decorated barges to accompany the statue of Amon to his summer palace, and the musicians struck up with their instruments. The air was redolent of incense and the perfume from a million flowers, making Charmian feel light-headed. A man was pouring sweet wine from a pitcher and soon the effect of the alcohol was equally strong. In a daze, Charmian watched the reedy banks of the river slip by in dreamy slow motion.

When the royal barge reached the summer palace there was a whole flotilla of small boats waiting to welcome the party. Charmian could feel her nipples aching sorely, despite the languorous state she was in, and she longed for the moment when she might divest herself of her festival attire and take a cool bath. She had no idea what her quarters would be like however, and guessed they might not be as well appointed as the harem in the main palace.

She was still musing on this when strong hands were held out to her from the short jetty, inviting her to disembark, and two smiling faces invited her ashore. Cautiously she stepped onto the gangplank and was soon stepping on dry land, but to her surprise the two youths bundled her away summarily into the cheering crowd so that she was soon separated from the rest of the royal party.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, rather alarmed, but the young men kept a firm hold on her wrist and continued to drag her through the throng, that parted instantly to make way for them.

Behind the waiting crowd was another litter. Charmian was bundled aboard and rushed away down a narrow dirt track between the reed beds. She looked back anxiously, only to glimpse the royal party making its way in the opposite direction towards two huge edifices that she guessed must be the summer palace and temple.

‘Hey, wait!’ she called to her litter bearers, but they were oblivious to her cries and continued to run at great speed regardless of the weight they were carrying.

Perhaps she would have special quarters along with the rest of the harem, she thought, barely believing her own explanation. As she looked back she could see the veiled ladies of the harem assembling on the bank near the royal barge, and soon they were led off in the wake of the royal couple.

Charmian felt really frightened and isolated. Who had ordered her to be carried off like this, into the unknown? She knew she had enemies at court – the queen and her son were principle amongst them – but surely they would not wish to spirit her away in the midst of the public celebrations? She would soon be missed, and then a search party would be sent out for her. They would never allow the Queen of the Festival to go missing for long.

But there was small comfort in her thoughts as the litter reached an obscure inlet in the river where a small rowing boat was waiting. Rough fingers pulled her from the litter and soon she was being blindfolded, gagged and bound, hand and foot, so that she had to be lifted into the small boat, and trussed like a young calf for ritual slaughter, she was terrified.

Even more terrifying was the experience of having a hood pulled over her head so that all was darkness, and she could only feel the rough wooden seat and hear the swish of oars and muttered oaths, or smell the male sweat of her captors taking her to an unknown destination.

It seemed an age before the boat reached its destination and the same rough hands pulled her onto dry land then into yet another litter. She was borne across country, being shaken this way and that until her limbs ached more than her clamped nipples ever did, and the cords cut painfully into her wrists and ankles. The day was hot and her tongue parched, to add to her discomfort, but with the cloth stuffed into her mouth she could not even beg for water.

Charmian had not felt so miserable since first brought to Egypt from the land of her birth, as a wretched slave. Was she going to return to that intolerable state after living a life of luxury in the palace? Had she incurred the king’s – or more likely the queen’s – displeasure? If so, what would become of her?

These questions, and more, buzzed in her brain as the weary journey continued. At long last she was helped out of the litter and across rugged ground. Even with the blindfold she could sense they were leaving the light of day behind and entering some dark, underground place that smelt musty and felt cold. Charmian’s terror increased.

‘Untie her!’ a man’s voice commanded, and soon her stiff limbs were able to move again, but this freedom was short-lived. A hand seized her arm and she was pushed forward, still blind and dumb, and then made to lie on a cold stone slab. Remembering her ordeal in the temple she shivered with dread. Was she going to be flogged again, here in this secluded place where no one knew where she was, or cared?

‘Strip her!’ came the harsh voice once more, and Charmian found herself shivering uncontrollably. Then she remembered the phial Iras had given her. She had placed it beneath the knot of her girdle and now, before her captors could find it, she must take some of its numbing physic. She thrust her trembling fingers beneath the tight knot as if to ease some pain in her stomach, and they closed over the little bottle and carefully drew it out. She moaned and doubled over, again to simulate a cramping pain in her guts, and took a surreptitious sip of the vile liquid. It tasted bitter, but even if this were the bitterness of death she would welcome it, here in this ominously dark and dank hole.

Feeling dizzy she let the men strip her of her finery without the least resistance, only uttering a couple of feeble protests when the gold ornaments were pulled mercilessly from her sore nipples, the gold earrings wrested from her lobes. When she was naked they lifted her onto the stone slab, and the last thing she heard was the men arguing about who should have which bauble, and then merciful oblivion draped upon her…

The hours of unconsciousness that followed were more like death than sleep, a kind of coma. When the powerful medication finally wore off Charmian’s consciousness returned rapidly, with no sense of time having passed. She was bewildered, not knowing where she was or even who she was, for what seemed like several minutes. The slate of her memory seemed to have been wiped clean and she was in limbo.

Then recollections began creeping back to her: she was a slave in Egypt, a concubine of the king, and she had been abducted during a festival. Where was she now? Was she alone? All was darkness, but her body felt stiff and when she tried to move she could hardly flex a muscle. Some kind of tight shroud seemed to have encased her completely and pure terror returned – had she been buried alive?

Mira was feeling very pleased with herself. The celebration of Opet went very well, despite the fact that the Queen of the Festival had been abducted. But this had been turned to advantage by a masterly piece of thinking on the part of the high priest: a declaration was made that enemies of the Pharaoh had struck in order to disrupt proceedings, but they would not be allowed to prevail. The festival would carry on as normal, with another of the king’s concubines being crowned in Charmian’s place. That honour fell to Iras, who had done her mistress’s work well in pretending to be sympathetic then giving her that mind-numbing potion.

Now the royal barge was making its way back along the Nile, its occupants somewhat more weary than before. As they neared the mooring for the West Bank, the high priest indicated he would like a private word with his queen, and she allowed him to sit next to her in the tent provided for her exclusive use in the stern of the vessel.

‘I know where a certain party who was kidnapped is being held, your majesty,’ Tut-Tut whispered. ‘If you are interested, we could go there.’

‘Where?’ she asked eagerly.

‘To the West Bank.’ The high priest did not have to explain. Everyone knew that the West Bank of the Nile was the City of the Dead, and none went there but the artisans who worked on the tombs of the Pharaoh and his household.

‘Excellent!’ The Queen smiled, and a frisson of cruel pleasure gripped her when she thought of the girl’s inevitable terror. ‘We shall find out exactly why the Lord Anubis saw fit to visit that whore of the harem.’

‘Indeed. I have arranged for her to be taught a lesson she will never forget. Being crowned Queen of the Festival encouraged the girl to get above herself. Imagining Lord Anubis visited her was just too presumptuous. The gods will only converse with other divine beings, such as the Pharaoh and his queen. There can be only one Queen of Egypt, and you are she.’

Mira felt gratified, although worried about what might happen if the Pharaoh found out that Tut-Tut was behind the girl’s abduction.

The high priest seemed to read her mind. ‘Of course, I throw myself upon your mercy by arranging this, your majesty,’ he said, his fat jowls trembling a little. ‘But my only desire is to serve you in all things.’

‘You have done well,’ she remarked, holding out her hand for him to kiss her ring. ‘I shall be pleased to visit the captive girl and interrogate her about her supposed visitation by the god. You are right, she was getting above herself and needs to be castigated.’

After dismissing the high priest Mira approached the king, ready to use all her feminine wiles to persuade him. ‘Husband, I have a request to make of you.’

Seti, pleased that the festivities had gone so well despite the unfortunate abduction of his favourite concubine, was in a good mood. ‘Whatever you wish, my queen.’

‘I should like to visit the tomb of my mother, to give thanks for another successful festival.’

‘What a good idea.’ Seti smiled. ‘And I shall visit my father’s tomb at the same time.’

This did not accord with Mira’s secret agenda, so she thought quickly and put forth, ‘But the servants need their king to oversee the return of the god to his dwelling. It cannot be done without the Pharaoh’s presence, but there is no need for me to be there. Please allow me to visit my mother’s tomb by myself. Tut-Tut will accompany me, and Neshi too if you so wish. We shall be back in the palace and ready to fulfil our duties before you know it.’

For a moment Seti was deep in thought and Mira feared he would refuse her. She had reminded him of the ceremonial duty, the reinstatement of the god, that he usually performed with his wife at his side. True, there was no written protocol requiring the presence of the queen or even the high priest. The priest had only a minor part to play in the proceedings, and a lesser priest would be honoured to oblige. But Seti might prefer them both to be there. She held her breath. Then he smiled and she knew her wish would be granted. Relief and excitement flooded her in equal measure.

‘Your piety does you credit, my dear,’ he told her, raising her hand to his lips. ‘I shall let it be known that the Queen of Egypt is honouring her mother, of blessed memory. The people will be glad – she was a very popular queen in her day.’

The royal barge headed for the mooring and a small party disembarked. On the face of it this was all part of the ceremony. The two ceremonial litters were offloaded and the queen and prince were lifted on the shoulders of their stalwart bearers while Tut-Tut followed more ignominiously on a donkey. Six royal guards accompanied them on foot, armed to the teeth, which would seem to everyone to be an appropriate precaution, after that unfortunate incident involving a concubine from the harem.

Noon was approaching, and the day was growing unbearably hot by the time the small party reached the Valley of the Tombs on the West Bank. There Mira instructed the slaves to wait near the entrance while she continued on foot with the prince and the high priest. Once they were out of sight, concealed by a twist in the road, they diverted from the path that led towards the Valley of the Queens, making for a more obscure site where a new tomb was being prepared for Ankhotep, the Chief Astronomer, now in his dotage.

As they entered the gloomy passageway, not yet decorated with the sacred images that would ensure the official’s progress through the underworld, Mira felt her pulses race as she imagined what they would find in the inner chamber. Neshi held a torch aloft and the flickering shadows only increased her sense of anticipation. The trio entered the rough-hewn chamber, where some attempt had already been made to protect the workers by painting magical hieroglyphs upon the walls.

Neshi used his torch to ignite the wicks in several sconces fixed to the rock for the benefit of the tomb workers. Once Mira’s eyes had adjusted to the dim light she could see the wooden sarcophagus standing in the centre of the chamber. On closer inspection she could see that small air holes had been left in the lid and sides, but it stood so silent and still she could hardly believe a living being was inside.

Tut-Tut advanced with a questioning air and she gave permission for the lid to be raised, and there, bound from head to foot like a genuine mummy, lay Charmian’s immobile form.

For a few seconds the queen gazed down upon the apparently mummified body of her rival, imagining that she was really a corpse. In some ways it would suit her to get rid of the girl. No one would ever know what had happened to her if she were simply buried in these hills. Already the former Queen of the Festival was missing, presumed dead. The sense of power that filled Mira for those few seconds was overwhelming, and the temptation to order the lid closed and the tomb sealed until the girl perished of starvation was great.