CHAPTER 2 That night Muralsu could not sleep. She did not even think of Miah and their forthcoming marriage. Her whole world had coalesced into that one cheap blue pendant, upon which there was inscribed a simple figure of a dancer. The lamplight flickered over the murals on the walls animating the painted dancers. The room was decorated to reflect her life, and was an unusual mixture of the local Cretan style, that of Egypt, and a hint of the more basic art of her native home. She called herself an Ethiopian, but she had been born further south, and even she did not know where. Her eyes caught the figures discretely depicted in a corner of the room. They appeared to be just a part of the overall scenes of dancing and performing which had been her life. To her however, the two female forms meant more, and acted as a reminder of how she had become who she was. One woman sat regally upon a throne, her high conical crown identifying her as Queen Nefertiti, and the other figure was pale skinned, her long hair cut in the style of Pharaoh Akhenaton’s Court, was a pallid yellow-white. She knelt stretching forth the sceptre and flail of royalty to the Queen. Muralsu could now hardly remember her parent’s village where she spent the first few years of her life. She held a vague recollection of a tall man, but her memory was so overlain with later thoughts of how it might have been that she could no longer distinguish between the two. The village had been dying, and the famine that had hit the area had shown no sign of respite. Her father had sold her to passing travellers for a little food to save the rest of his family for a few more pitiful days. For years she had hated him for so callous an act. Even now the dream could come. She could see him turn away and disappear into their hut and how she would hold out her arms to her mother who collapsed to her knees as Muralsu was dragged screaming away by rough hands. That was the fist time she had ever been tied up, and even now bonds and fetters were a horror to her. She had believed that her father did not want her, did not care for her, and was willing to sacrifice her for the others. She had agonised for long years as to why he had preferred them to her. She also hated her mother for how could she have stood by and allowed her own daughter, to be torn away from the family and carried into slavery? It was not until she had met the pale haired woman portrayed on her wall that she learned to think of things differently. It was the Lady Nefari, who suggested what she hoped was the truth. Nefari, with her natural insight into minds and motives, believed that her father had chosen her to be sold, knowing that she was the strongest, and of all his children and that she would best survive. Whereas he struggled to feed his remaining children he knew as a slave at least she would be have some food.. Muralsu had grown into an extremely tall young girl whose gangly frame in later years developed until she was of striking appearance and stature. She was much valued even as a child, and passed through several masters at a high price. She had suffered as slave girls did, and came to view sex act as being a form of torture and degradation Eventually she found herself the attention of one of her master’s female friends. They woman was kind and gentle with her, initiating her into realms she never knew existed. She found solace and gentleness in the relationship and an outlet for her own repressed sexual desire. When the affair had run its course, she found that it had awoken something deep within her, and she accepted her continued preference for love from her own sex. Eventually she could again lie with a man, but it never gave her the same pleasure and contentment that another woman gave her. When her master died, she was sold again to a Syrian trader who shipped her to Thebes to be part of his household. Here by sheer luck her life was transformed by the Lady Nefari. She was about the same age as Muralsu and she had the lightest coloured skin that Muralsu had ever seen. Her hair that was almost white in its paleness despite her tender years. At first Muralsu thought she was blind as her eyes were an almost colourless grey. She was from a rich family, and after much pleading and wheedling she managed to persuaded him her father to purchase the Muralsu. Muralsu found that being a slave in Egypt was not the same as in other lands. She was protected by the law, and was more a servant than a true slave. She found her new mistress kind and considerate and they discovered a mutual love of dance. Nefari was a dancer-priestess, and showed Muralsu some of the temple dances and found that the girl had a talent not only for dancing, but also a flare for performance and acting. She encouraged her, and even persuaded her father to have her schooled, so that she could entertain the family and friends. Eventually Muralsu danced before Queen Nefertiti, who was so impressed that she was transferred to the Queen’s household. Muralsu stared with fear at the picture of the dead Queen and fancied that the eyes moved, though it may only have been a trick of the light. She had served Nefertiti faithfully and had let her know bits of gossip that she picked up about the Court. Their relationship developed, for Muralsu fell in love with the demanding but beautiful Queen, and in affect became her spy. The Queen eventually freed her, and set her up in business with a dance troupe entertaining all the major households. Her fame spread, and she soon travelled abroad, performing for governors, princes and kings. She carried secret diplomatic messages for the Queen, and constantly fed information back about all manner of persons and situations. The methods of gathering this information were varied, and she and her girls found that selective whoring produced both wealth and secrets. As a result she slowly became rich and even showed an aptitude for trade. Free and comparatively wealthy, Muralsu did not however have the two things she craved. She was never truly accepted in the aristocratic circles in which she moved, other than as an inferior curiosity. Robbed of her family at a tender age she desired her own children but her propensity for female lovers had precluded this. In fact she did have a daughter, the child of a houseguest of one of her masters. However, she had been immediately parted from the babe who had been callously sold. Now she had the opportunity for marriage and a normal family life, and just when she was poised on the very edge of her desire, the past commanded her. Demanding, self-centred and regal, but always polite, the devastatingly beautiful Nefertiti, dead for the last ten years, now called to her, and she knew that she must answer. The following day Asif shuffled into her room to take his usual cup of wine with her. It had been their habit whilst running the business of the troupe, and it had somehow continued as a mere social occasion. Muralsu was looking out from the balustrade where she had kissed Miah. The Marmoset sat on her shoulder taking titbits from her hand. It little face was wrinkled in a perpetual scowl and so she had called it Serohia, after the short-tempered sister wife of Nefari who she had once rescued from Byblos. “So,” said Asif helping himself to the wine. “you are to be married and become a true lady. A shame that you must wait until he returns” He did not sound as though he meant it. “What did you do to him? He left in some confusion.” “How do you know? Have you been spying again?” she replied as the old man eased himself into the chair. “Spying? No, that’s your game, or was. No, there are few secrets in a house full of women “It was nothing, I kissed him that was all.” “I thought perhaps you had ravished him here upon the tiles.” “I was thinking of it, for he would then have to make an honest woman of me. It has taken so long. Do you think that I have lost some of my charm? “Can the stars loose their brightness? No you are as desirable as ever. With others you were a mere dancer, a weaver of dreams, exotic and available at a price.” How she hated it when he spoke plain truth. “Now you are a respectable woman, and though the game is the same, the rules are different.” Muralsu threw a cushion at him almost spilling his drink. “I have never been a mere dancer you old goat. I was the best dancer who ever performed in public – or private for that matter. She smiled wickedly. “I was exceptionally good in private.” “Has he the courage to see it through?” “Yes, he has, despite the squawking of his mother, sister and those other busy body relatives of his.” Asif held the cup in his steepled hands before him, his elbows resting on the carved arm of the seat His eyes narrowed slightly. Muralsu didn’t like it when he did that for it seemed that he looked into her soul and he usually did it before some deep and astute comment. “Are you sure that this is what you want?” “Of course. You know that.” She sat down on a blue and gold chair and continued to stroke and play with Serohia. The little marmoset took nuts from her fingers greedily pushing them in her mouth. “I know that it is what you think you want.” “Dance Serohia dance.” She watched the little monkey pirouette and jump up and down but it was only an excuse to avoid Asif’s eyes, who with unerring accuracy was voicing her own small inner doubt. “What I want, what I think I want, they are the same thing are they not?” she said. “Not necessarily. Forgive an old friend if I speak plain. Can you play the part of a respectable wife for the rest of your life? You have feelings that you are suppressing, but for how long? You have played many parts Muralsu, lover, slave, businesswoman, dancer, whore. Which is you, all of them, none of them?” “Are you saying that I cannot be a faithful wife? “Faithful in the usual way, probably.” “Meaning?” “You would not betray Miah with another man Blackbird, but can you continue to deny your inner self. I’ve seen how you look at the girls, particularly that new one.” Muralsu felt a flush of anger. “You do not know what you are talking about. That is in the past. I have sworn an oath to the Goddess that if she grants me marriage then I will not stray.” “Then stop getting angry.” He lent forward. “I don’t want to see you make a mistake and tear yourself apart keeping a promise that denies your nature.” “You know how strong I am when I set my mind Asif.” The old man made a gesture of resignation. “I hope that your marriage will be a happy one, the gods know, you deserve it.” He drained his cup and struggled to rise. Muralsu gestured to him to remain seated and shooing away Serohia, fetched the ewer to refill his cup. Like everything she owned it was beautifully crafted and expensive. She had not however, fallen into the trap that so many did who had riches but were from humble beginnings. They swamped themselves with ostentatious pieces to show off their wealth, and in so doing merely demonstrated their bad taste. Although Muralsu’s belongings were a strong mixture reflecting the different cultures amongst which she had lived, everything was however, exquisite and tasteful. “What have you decided about the Queen’s amulet?” Asif asked, sipping the wine and savouring its full body. Muralsu sat down again, the bright orange of her dress billowing about her. She favoured loose fitting clothes of the finest weave, cut a little here and a little there, for she still liked to show off her body. In fact it was a constant battle she waged between dressing suitably in her role as a respectable woman, and the flamboyant sexual exhibitionist she really was. In fact, if there were no visitors, she would often wear no clothing, and only the richness of her jewellery would declare her not to be one of the servants. Asif wondered how Miah would feel about his wife displaying herself in such a way. He looked at Muralsu again and concluded that he would be delighted even if a little shocked. “Do you not think?” Asif realised Muralsu was awaiting his reply, and that his thoughts had wandered. It was an increasing bad habit that he hated. Not wishing to admit his frailties, he replied with what he hoped was a knowing smile. “What is important Blackbird is what you think. Let me have your thoughts before they are coloured by mine.” Muralsu’s brow creased in annoyance for she had just told him what she thought, but she indulged him. “The amulet cannot be denied Asif. I have no wish for my new life to start in the shadow cast by the old. The Queen will be angry if she calls and I do not answer, though it fills me with dread. You taught me that a promise cannot be negated by death, and so I must keep faith with Nefertiti.” “Is that all?” asked the old man. She thought a moment. “Yes, should there be more?” “No little thrill of danger? No small quickening of the heart with the challenge? No stirring of the spirit at the return to Egypt that gave you so much?” “Don’t be absurd Asif.” Muralsu replied a little hastily. “I have only trepidation at meeting the dead, and concern at not being here when Miah returns. His sister will use my absence against me.” “Ah! there is that.” Asif nodded. Secretly he was pleased that she was being called back to her old life. He had watched her try to fit into what she wanted to be, but it was crushing the spirit out of her. It was like watching a wild leopard being caged and cosseted. As a result she was becoming mean spirited, something she could never before have been accused of. Yes, it would do his old heart good to see her truly alive again, a colourful exotic creature. He had no wish to see her become old, fat, and complacent. Asif’s eyes hardened and he suddenly seemed more alert. “So, you are to go to Egypt and answer the summons and return as quickly as possible. I have made the arrangements, and we shall leave the day after tomorrow. Later today you will receive a letter concerning the sale of property in Egypt that needs you personal attention. It fits in with your natural desire to consolidate your wealth with that of your new husband. Of course the details of this private correspondence will come to the knowledge of Miah’s relatives and will satisfy their curiosity at your departure.” Muralsu was not to be diverted by the detail of information that Asif was outpouring, neither was she surprised that he had already organised it without waiting to see what she had decided. She looked at him from beneath her eyebrows. “We?” “It is fortunate that there is a ship sailing so soon.” “We, Asif?” The old man shifted slightly in his seat. “Naturally you will need an escort and chaperon, particularly in view of your pending marriage. And I thought maybe Isis – to attend to your needs.” Muralsu had a fleeting vision of a journey punctuated by nursing an old man. “Asif, not a day goes by when you do not complain of not being able to walk, or having stomach cramps or some other ailment. In your state of health how can you travel to Egypt and become involved in who knows what?” He stood up as if by way of demonstration. Muralsu noted how hard he gripped the chair for support. “Anyway,” she continued, “you can assist Beksheba, who will have to run the dance school whilst I am away.” “She can manage on her own.” he replied. “I would not be able to stand her constant chatter. As for my ailments, they are a result of sitting around in idleness. A journey and some intrigue are better than any physic a doctor can prescribe. Anyway you need me.” With this he did his best to exit manfully actually carrying his stick tucked under his arm to demonstrate that he did not need it. Muralsu sighed, events seemed to be hurling her forward and she felt out of control. She knew that she must take charge again, and once more become the woman she had been. Asif was right, she had become indolent; the old goat knew her far to well. She was secretly beginning to look forward to the challenge that had entered her life, and she felt a spark of excitement. Perhaps one last fling. After all settling down with Miah would bring her social standing and the title ‘Lady’, a child perhaps, but it would not be exactly an exciting life.