Muralsu covered the room in a few strides and cautiously glanced around the angle of the door at the receding back of the girl as she vanished around a corner of the corridor. She returned to the table, and putting down her dagger picked up the jug and sniffed at its contents. It had a wonderful aroma. It was Nefertiti’s own wine, specially blended for her, light, scented and so very cool. Muralsu poured herself a cupful and raised it to her lips ready to sooth her roughened throat. She hesitated with the rim against her lip and then lowered the cup sniffing again at the contents. With reluctance she replaced it on the table untasted. She was unsure of her surroundings, and had she not caught one or two with drugged wine herself? She emptied the wine from the cup and dipped it into the bowl of water, rinsing it clean. She emptied it into the wine jug and then refilled it. The water smelt oily and bitter from the scent it contained. She put the cup down, the thirstier for the thought. Unclasping her belt she let her kilt drop to the floor, and taking a soft cloth dipped it into the water and began to wash away the dust. The girl entered and smiling held out a hand as she approached. “Let me assist you.” Muralsu eyed her cautiously, picked up the dagger, and banged it down on the table closer to hand. The threat made, she held out the cloth to the girl who approached and took it from her. She wished there was time to linger, for the girl was even more beautiful close to, and her perfume was enticing as she gently wiped the dirt from Muralsu’s skin. The girl finished drying her and offered her the green dress. Muralsu put it on, and although it was the almost the right length, its patterned bodice strained against Muralsu’s breasts. Too fat, she thought as she stretched out and picked up her dagger. “Please Muralsu, no weapons.” On seeing her hesitate, the Shabti added, “She is your Queen, had she desired your death you would not be standing there.” She put out both a hand and gently removed the dagger from Muralsu’s grip. Her touch was light and soft and Muralsu thought her very attractive and noted that Shabti were even warm to the touch. Satisfied, the girl gestured for Muralsu to follow, and lead the way from the room and down the corridor into a smaller chamber where Muralsu had never been before. The room was sumptuously furnished, and the tables and chairs glistened with gold. A cool blue river was painted on the walls the banks rich with lush green trees and papyrus plants. Not here though was the noise and thrill of a hippopotamus hunt, but the cool quite of a long hot afternoon past in the tranquillity of the shade. Before a beautiful hanging, an ornate chair, intricately carved and painted, was set upon a small dais. Muralsu knew it well. How many times had she spoken with the Queen as she sat in that very chair? Its tall back looked extremely uncomfortable but Nefertiti’s would never have leaned against it. In the presence of others she had always sat with her back unsupported and straight as a plumb line. “You may sit,” said the girl her voice polite but condescending. “I will inform her majesty” The girl had indicated a plain hard chair but it too was high backed and with arms. As Muralsu settled down, the girl past behind her. Muralsu turned to speak to her but she had gone. How she could have reached the doorway in so short a space of time was a mystery and very unsettling. Muralsu tugged at her dress and wondered how these Egyptian women could bare to constrict themselves in a close fitting sheath. She smoothed it on her hips and placed her hand in the low neck and eased her breast slightly where the material pulled at her. She did not like being so restricted and favoured flowing robes, cut and split to allow her freedom of movement, and for the air to get to her body. Perhaps it was because she had not yet slept, or that the climb up the ladders had fatigued her, but she felt weary. She was glad that she had refrained from drinking any wine whose soporific effect would surely have put her to sleep. The room definitely smelt of Nefertiti, and was so peaceful that she allowed her head to rest back for a second or two against the backrest. “Muralsu. I am pleased to see you again.” Muralsu’s eyes shot open in surprise as she was hurled back in time. The voice was that of Nefertiti Neferneferuaten, one time Queen and Co-regent of Egypt, and thereafter Ankhkheperura Smenkhara, Pharaoh of the Two Lands. It was a voice of the long dead. Muralsu attempted to rise from her seat but found that she could not, her heart thumped and she felt a shortness of breath as she breathed shallowly and quickly. “Do not trouble yourself Muralsu for we are old friends. Remain seated,” said Nefertiti. Muralsu sat back and looked at the figure before her which was surrounded by a bright light that hurt Muralsu’s eyes. There was no mistake; it was Nefertiti, the long slender neck, the arched brows and straight nose, the fine angle of the chin. There was something else but Muralsu could not see properly for the figure enthroned before her seemed to shimmer and became indistinct. It was with surprise that Muralsu found herself crying. The tears flowing down her face to deepen the green of her dress where they soaked in. Nefertiti, Lady, Queen, and King, but always a woman of inestimable charm, authority and beauty. Muralsu owed her much, but over and above that was a deep and almost reverend love. The tears were for sadness for what was lost, and for happiness of the moment. Never had Muralsu experienced the pain of such exquisite emotion. “The years have treated you well Muralsu,” Nefertiti said. “Majesty!” Muralsu’ tongue would not obey her. “Majesty, I …” she struggled. “Do not try to speak,” said the Queen. “It is difficult for mortals to speak with those in the realm beyond life. Do you recall your promise to me Muralsu, to aid me whenever I desire it?” Muralsu nodded, not trusting her tongue, and wiping away her tears with one hand. “This promise holds good for as long as you live?” A nod. “Good. I knew you of all people would never fail me. The Kingdom is in peril Muralsu. Will you take a message secretly to the court of King Suppiluliumas? Reform your dancers and seek out a personal interview with the king. Deliver him a message that will be given you. It is for the King’s eyes only, and even you must not be aware of its contents. Do this for your Queen, do this for me and the friendship we hold.” Muralsu still wept. Nefertiti had been demanding but a good mistress whilst she owned Muralsu. She had freed her and provided funds and introductions for her dance troupe, and Muralsu had been more than pleased to be her spy. Not normally given to tears Muralsu had cried for days on hearing of the Queen’s death. Suddenly, her feelings brimming over she struggled from the chair and fell before the Queen, her outstretched hand only inches from the royal feet. “Enough!” Nefertiti drew her legs back. “Serve me well Muralsu and I will be forever grateful.” The cool water revived her and spilled down over her breasts, and Muralsu pushed away the hand that held the cup. She was still lying on the floor where she had fallen, and looked up in anguish but the chair was empty only a lingering scent betrayed who had recently occupied it. “Come, sit, the feeling will pass.” It was the same girl, the Shabti. She helped Muralsu back into the chair from which she had fallen. She fussed about the room doing nothing in particular, as Muralsu cleared her head and gathered her thoughts. After a while the girl switched on the smile. “Are you a little recovered.” Muralsu nodded. “The Queen …” “Has returned from whence she came, where I shall shortly follow. Fear not, your head will clear. It is her presence that overcame you. Now she has left, you will feel better. Come, let me refresh you.” The girl brought a small basin and bathed Muralsu’s face, leaning close to do so. Shabti were made of wood or clay before the magical transformation into servants of the afterlife. The girl had said that she served the Queen, and Muralsu marvelled at the sorcery that transformed them into the warm flesh that she could glimpse tantalisingly down the front of the girl’s dress. Feeling recovered Muralsu gently took the cloth and examined the girl’s hand, turning it over, and noticing that the nails were short and some broken. It would appear servants in the afterlife still did manual work. But so it was. For Egyptians the afterlife was merely a progression and continuation of this earthly life. Muralsu always wondered if it was true, and, that if given the correct rituals she would be able to dance before Osiris forever. It was a pleasing thought. She let go of the girl’s unresisting hand. “Thank you, you need do no more. The Queen said there was a message?” The girl returned the bowl to a side table and spoke as she folded up the cloth she had used. “You will be given it in due course. The Queen requires you to travel to Hattusas. There you will await delivery of the letter. You are to take it to King Suppiluliumas and deliver it into his hand – only whilst he is alone.” Muralsu stood up but almost fell feeling so light-headed. Hattusas was in the heart of the Hittite homeland far away. It would take a long time to get there and back, too long. “I cannot go that far, it is not possible, and how am I supposed to see the King alone? He will be surrounded by courtiers and advisors.” The girl smiled sweetly. “The Queen has faith in your - talents.” The inflection she gave the last word left no doubt to what she referred. Muralsu strode over to the girl towering above her. “I don’t do that anymore. There is no time, I am to be married. Let me see the Queen again. I need to explain how things are. She will understand.” The girl had not stepped back, as many would have done confronted by Muralsu. Her voice never wavered, never changed its calm melodious pitch. “The Queen knows, but the safety of Egypt is paramount. She has such faith in you, do not disappoint her.” “I must see her, to explain.” “It is not possible, she has returned to whence she came.” Muralsu grabbed hold of the girl’s arm. “You, you are going there, to where she has gone. Tell her.” “It is not possible for me to tell her anything. I will speak of your reluctance to keep your promise to serve her..” It sounded like a threat. Muralsu saw a fleeting twist of the painted lips as she released her painful grip of the girl. “It is not reluctance to serve her. In life I never flinched from that duty. I served her with love and loyalty to her death. By Isis I still have my life to live and must return home before it is shattered.” “ Love and loyalty!” It was the first time the Shabti had raised her voice. “What do you know of love and loyalty, it is but a passing whim to you. Nevertheless, she said that if you had any doubts then I was to speak of one late evening. The children had gone to bed and Pharaoh was away. You were alone with the Queen. It was the evening she showed you the dancer amulet. She said to say these words to you, ‘for love, when bright Ra rides high, for love when Nut hides the sky, for love throughout this life. for love beyond the west. forever. Muralsu recognised the words as soon as the first line was spoken and her thoughts were on a glorious evening so long ago and before she could think further, the shabti had walked to the doorway leading to the corridor. Muralsu still light- headed and now bemused her mind a swirling mist of half thoughts followed with a final fearful glance at the curtains behind the Queen’s chair. The girl handed her the dagger having weighed it in her hand. “Such an unlady-like weapon.” It was the first piece of personality that had shone through her efficiently indifferent service. She waived a hand negligently. “You may keep the dress.” Shabti or not, Muralsu did not like the condensation. She could easily afford the dress, as well girl’s own dress, and jewellery, and with the girl with them come to that. It was not a displeasing thought. She stripped off the green material and flung it onto the nearby seat. “I have so much, you may have it,” she replied with a look that brought no reaction. She fastened the belt of the scabbard around her thigh and slipped the dagger into it, the pale bronze shining brightly against the midnight of her skin. Picking up the discarded kilt, she balled it up and flung it down the shaft. She then climbed onto the ladder, and with a last look at the Shabti started to descend. The door closed with a soft thud and she was alone. “Bitch!” she muttered starting the long climb. She slept most of the following day. She had arrived back at the lodgings just as the sun was beginning to blush the morning sky. She had brushed Asif’s questions aside and collapsed exhausted on her bed without even removing the dirt stained kilt or cloak. Several hours later feeling the warmth of the sun on her face and shoulders, she moved lazily giving a feline stretch. She opened her eyes and for a moment was unsure where she was, until the memory of the dead Queen came back to her. Her head ached a little, and she had a terrible thirst, but was so comfortable that she did not wish to move. She thought about that other meeting so very long ago. It was the jewel of her memories, one she cherished and shared with no one. Nevertheless something niggled at the back of her mind. Isis came in, and assuming that her mistress was still asleep began to perform a few dance exercises that she had seen Muralsu teach her students. Muralsu watched her from beneath half closed eyes. The girl had no talent and put Muralsu in mind of a plump little bear, clumsy in its movements but very endearing. She sang a soft little tune, and Muralsu noted that she had a pleasing singing voice, young, light and clear. Perhaps she could be instructed in a musical instrument so that she could while away long evenings in Mhia’s household, her household. Ah no, that would be too much temptation; reluctantly the delectable Isis would have to go. Her thoughts drifted about Miah, his lopsided smile, so warm and friendly and his humour, always delivered straight-faced. A flash of yellow disturbed her thoughts as Isis moved into view again. This time she was holding one of Muralsu’s flowing dresses before her. Tired of her idleness Muralsu groaned and put an arm over her eyes to give Isis time to put down the expensive material. Muralsu was very particular about her wardrobe, but the little scene and the warmth of the sun had been pleasing. “Mistress, you are awake. We were worried. You were gone so long. The state you were in when you came home. And you had bumped your head. Then going to bed so dirty. Asif saw that …” The incessant outpouring swamped Muralsu who held up a hand, “Isis!” The girl stopped in mid flow, hesitated for a second and said, “Yes mistress?” “Go fetch me some water to drink. Not wine, water.”