Chapter5 Isis bobbed a courtesy and ran off knocking a small box from a table by the door. Why, thought Muralsu, must she rush and gush everywhere? She flung back the sheet that covered her, and found that she was naked, clean and oiled. The blue kilt lay on the table in the sun, freshly laundered; even the tare had been expertly sewn. She smiled and knew that it had not been Isis. She wondered what she would ever do without old Asif. She dressed and made her way up to the rooftop to find Asif shading himself under an awning. “Ah! Blackbird, come sit. Tell me, did you see our dead Queen? Like old times, tell me all, miss no detail however small or absurd.” They had always talked like this when Muralsu returned from the other business, as they called her spying and information gathering. Asif’s insistence on detail could be embarrassing, even to one as worldly as Muralsu, particularly if she had used her charms fully. However, he never turned a hair, and she knew it was not a form of voyeurism, and he deduced facts from the strangest and most inconsequential information. He listened quietly allowing Muralsu to take her own time. “You are sure you drank neither wine nor water?” Muralsu swatted a fly and replied, “Asif, you know better than that. I must admit that the water tempted me, but it was perfumed and oiled. I did nothing but smell it, and then only lightly.” “Were you cut or scratched by anything?” “Only the glancing blow to my head when I was in the tunnel. It was not even sufficient to addle my wits. Other than that a few bruises climbing the ladder. There was nothing after entering the apartments. Why do you ask?” Asif ignored the question. “The girl, other than the fact that she served Nefertiti, was there any other reason to believe that she was a shabti, and not merely an ordinary mortal.” “None at all I suppose. She seemed real enough, and was efficient but condescending, also quite pretty.” She smiled at Asif but the old man’s face remained thoughtful. “You said you felt tired and your vision was cloudy. Are you quite sure about the Queen’s instructions?” “Yes, quite clear. As for my vision, I was overcome that’s all, I saw her through my tears.” Asif sat back his eyes closed and one gnarled brown finger placed against his lower lip. Muralsu knew better than to interrupt his thoughts and gazed out over the city. It was strange; each city had its own unique sound and smell. She had spent so much time here when she was younger she could almost call it home. The palace in the now abandoned Akhetaten, the Horizon of Aten, had never seemed the same. It had always felt what it became, a temporary residence. Akhenaten had built his city to his new god, and Nefertiti had moved there with him, but following his death it had been abandoned. Muralsu’s eyes settled on the flags flying from the pylons of one of the temples. She wondered how Lady Nefari, her one time owner and dear friend faired. She was now of course an important High Priestess. “Show me your breasts.” “What?” The sudden and strange request pulled her wandering thoughts back to the present, and she stared at Asif. “Come,” insisted Asif, flapping an encouraging hand. “Was the dress she gave you good quality or poor and rough spun?” Muralsu thought that the old man had perhaps had too much sun. “Asif, Perhaps you have been out here too long.” “Muralsu, this is important. What was the dress like?” She sighed. “Just ordinary, one of those hideous Egyptian sheaths. It was of good quality, plain, but a pretty pale green with a little beading across the bust. Not my kind of thing. Anyway, it was too small. The old man clapped his hand on his knee. “That’s it! Clever.” Muralsu had had enough and her head ached again. She stood up and towered over Asif. It did not bother him one bit. It was a tactic he knew well. Muralsu always used her height to intimidate. She was not really angry now however, merely irritated. “Asif, if you do not tell me what you are driving at, I shall pick you up and rattle your bones. It wasn’t a social meeting for me to show off a pretty dress, so why the questions about drink and clothes?” Her accent had thickened as it did when she was upset in any way Her voice was one of her endearing qualities, and men found it very arousing, and like her other qualities she used it for effect. Asif looked up at her, his head cocked to the side and one eye closed. “I just wondered how they had drugged you.” Muralsu hesitated a second, unsure as to what she had heard. “Drugged me?” “Oh yes,” he said in an infuriating everyday way. “Blackbird, when you came home last night, or earlier this morning I should say, I attended to you personally.” “I noticed. You take liberties.” He inclined his head accepting the admonition. “I noticed your eyes. The pupils were as large as cobblestones. It was obvious you were still suffering the effects of some drug. Now, your breasts, please.” Knowing that Asif never did anything without reason, and somewhat horrified by his disclosure, she shrugged her dress from her shoulder and let it fall to her waist. She was still proud of her figure despite the few extra pounds, and her full breasts were still well formed and firm. Asif gestured for her to step nearer and he touched them lightly bringing his face close the better to examine the satin skin. “Ah! Yes, as I thought.” He brushed a finger over an area. “There, a small rash, a little broken skin.” She pulled at her dress and returned to her seat and looked quizzically at Asif. She had to play the game. He liked to show off how clever he was, and he would feed her morsel-by-morsel rather than tell her the whole. “They know what you were once, and that you are no stranger to the administration of drugs and potions. They could not catch you in the usual way by putting it in your drink. I bet even the bowl of scented water was drugged as well. They had taken the trouble to choose a dress of green that you find attractive so that you would not refuse to wear it. It is strange therefore that it did not fit. I would hazard that it was long enough, only too tight across your breast.” She nodded and he continued. “It was deliberately so. The beading was liberally covered with the drug and was designed to chafe your skin where it was tender. Not enough to cause you distress, but enough to break the skin and allow the drug to enter your body. It’s a clever ploy worth remembering.” Muralsu placed a hand across her face to wipe away the perspiration. “The little bitch!” “Who?” “The shabti or whatever she was. So pleasant at the outset, so small and pretty, and all the time she was drugging me. The condescending little viper even told me to keep the dress!” Asif laughed, “I like her. She deliberately annoyed you, and what did you do? Throw it at her?” “Muralsu looked away ashamed at having been so easily duped. “Yes more or less. So where does this get us.” She hurried on, “Why would Nefertiti want me drugged?” Asif struggled to his feet, “I don’t know.” He wandered over to the parapet. “Are you sure it was she?” “It can only be she, Asif.” She sipped at some cool fruit juice Isis had brought her for she still was suffering from a dull headache. “Something the shabti said. “Why would that be?” Asif asked quietly and then remained silent seeing that Muralsu was staring into nothing, reliving the past. “ Come sit by me.” The Nefertiti’s voice was clear and well spoken. She was lying on a day couch propped up by a number of beautifully made cushions. She patted a lower couch that lay alongside hers which was usually used by her children. It was a great honour to be invited so close. Other than body servants, none but Pharaoh and her children were allowed within three feet of the Queen. Muralsu was young, her slimness accentuating her unusual height. Her heart pounded within her as she hesitantly stepped forward and sat on the edge of the couch feet firmly on the ground. The Queen laughed pleasantly and put out a hand “My poor blackbird, so lithe, so tall and yet you sit like a timid mouse. Come you’re shaking. Relax, lie back, give those wonderful legs of yours a rest, they deserve it for you danced well tonight.” Muralsu knew she should thank the Queen, but her throat tightened and she could not speak. She lay back on the couch as she had been told and stared at her feet, afraid to look on the royal face. Afraid because it was the Queen, the most powerful person in the empire after Pharaoh himself, afraid because she was in love with the Queen, loving her with a deep passion of her young mind and feared that she would show it. It was of course right for a subject to love her Queen, but what Muralsu felt was awe, gratitude, devotion and a sexual desire stronger than any thing she had experienced before. “Look at me girl.” She did as commanded and held her breath as she stared into the Queens large brown eyes. So intense were her feelings at being so close to the object of her passion that she almost fainted. She dropped her look, but there was no respite as focused on two painted lips, the upper beautifully bowed and the lower provocatively full. She even found the two faint lines either side of the royal mouth erotic. “You are a good girl my dear. I ask you to sit by me whilst we are alone to show that we are to be friends, not mistress and servant, not Queen and commoner. I ask for your friendship, will you give it?” Muralsu found her voice and whispered, “You have - my love, majesty.” The Queen put out and hand and stroked Muralsu’s cheek who turned her head slightly as a cat would do when fondled. She closed her eyes and breathed in the Queen’s scent. “I know I have that dear girl, However, love can perish and turn to dust. What I want is your friendship, friendship to speak to me without fear or favour, to speak straight, but a friendship that will be our secret.” “Your majesty has my friendship as well as my love.” “In that case I am but ‘my lady’, not your Queen, and you are my friend, my blackbird. I will give you something, and you shall be free from slavery and servitude. I will reward you and make you richer than you ever dreamed.” The Queen then told Muralsu how she would be set up with a dance troupe and introductions to society domestic and foreign. She would earn riches as she gathered information. The Queen lent forward and spoke softly, “For love when bright Ra rides high” Her lips pressed against Muralsu’s who was so surprised she froze. “For love when Nut hides the sky” The royal lips touched Muralsu’s again and she could feel the Queens double earrings brush her face. “For love throughout this life.” This time Muralsu tentatively returned the kiss. “For love beyond the West The kiss was a sweet as any from a lover, and was broken only for an instant before a last lingering caress of the lips. Muralsu in her youth and inexperience mistook the Queen’s intent, and to her everlasting shame open her mouth slightly and pressed forward feeling the warm moistness. Nefertiti immediately broke away “forever.” The Queen spoke the last word, and for the first and only time Muralsu saw embarrassment on those placid and controlled features. The Queen straightened up “For all I have spoken Blackbird, come to me if I send you this without delay, and in secret.” She showed Muralsu a blue pendant engraved with the figure of a dancer,, “It will mean that I am in personal danger and need you.” After Muralsu left her the Queen touched a finger too her lips. She had never kissed a woman before and had steeled herself to the act. It had not been too unpleasant until the girl had forgotten herself. She knew of Muralsu’s deviant sexuality and her unrequited love, and it had been a calculated way to bind her to her. She knew the bond would never be broken by the girl. Muralsu suddenly realised that Asif was looking at her, patiently waiting. “What?” She had forgotten what she had said. “You said something about what the shabti said.” “Nothing, foolishness. Just old memories. “And it was Nefertiti?” Asif insisted. Muralsu thought for a moment her mind sifting through her memory of the previous night. “It looked like her, and certainly sounded like her. Perhaps the voice was a little lighter. How do I know what a dead woman is supposed to sound like? It was Nefertiti, but …” “Yes?” Asif limped over to her, but she just shrugged. “I don’t know. I both feared it was she, and that it was not she. I so wanted it to be so. Yet something was not right, but I cannot tell what.” Asif placed a hand on her shoulder. “Go over it again piece by piece in your mind Blackbird.” The revelation hit her. “Blackbird! Only two people call me that. It was the Queen’s pet name for me. You are the only other to use it.” “Your point?” “She always called me that, never my name. Last night she only called me Muralsu.” Her brain was beginning to function again sweeping aside the cobwebs that tried to mask her recollection. “ ‘Will you take a message?’ ” This time it was Asif who was puzzled. “She said, ‘will you take a message?’ The Queen would never have said that to me. She never asked, she commanded. Oh she was kind and I loved her for it, but she was also demanding and autocratic. She would never have asked a menial like me. She would have told me to take the message and simply assumed I would obey her. It was her way.” Asif rubbed his chin in thought as he limped his way back to his seat in the shade. He had abandoned his stick, determined to prove that he was fit enough to accompany Muralsu wherever she was going. “It is not conclusive. It has been many years. She lives beyond death, and it may have changed her. Muralsu clicked her fingers as a further thought struck her. “It was not Nefertiti,” she said with a certainty in her voice. She saw Asif’s look. “Paint, Asif, paint.” She waited and seeing that he was not going to be drawn she continued. “I told you that I fell at her feet. It is strange when all else is cloudy, but I remember her feet as clear as looking at my own. Her nails were painted!” she hesitated and on seeing this revelation had not impressed Asif she explained. “ Nefertiti abhorred coloured nails, and never dyed or painted them. It was a thing she hated. She would have never suffered it in this life and I cannot believe she would in the next. Whoever it was it was not Nefertiti. That night watchers noted the comings and goings from Muralsu’s lodgings. Asif had let it be known that Muralsu was again forming a dancing troupe, and those who may be interested in joining should attend on them. They were looking not only for performers but seamstresses and odd job men who were handy enough to protect the girls against unwelcome attention. Even after dark had fallen, several women and girls had knocked on the door and been admitted by Asif. Some stayed a while and others were sent away quickly. The night took on a chill as the last of the day’s heat dissipated and outside the watchers huddled into their robes. A tall figure approached the house wrapped in a dark brown cloak, hood up and leading by the hand a girl aged about ten. They hesitated on the doorstep, and the figure threw back the hood revealing him to be a youth, who smoothed down his hair, shrugged the cloak to a more comfortable fit and knocked on the door. Whilst they waited he stooped and brushed back the girl’s hair saying something to her. They were admitted, and the watchers glimpsed with envy at the warm glow that was momentarily revealed. About half an hour later the door reopened, and the youth left and walked down the street still holding the hand of the chattering child. The little girl continued to talk until they turned the corner whereupon she stopped, stood still and disengaged her hand. She looked up at the figure above her and held out her hand. Muralsu laughed and threw back the hood of the cloak. “Well done little one. Here is what you are owed. Do not give it to that brother of yours, he will receive his due in the morning. Now you know what to do. Be waiting for me as we agreed and you shall receive some more.” The girl nodded and ran off disappearing into the darkness. Muralsu pulled the cloak about her, replacing the hood and made her way along the streets. The lock on the warehouse was again easily opened and she slipped inside, once more to be enveloped in the smells and scents of the stacked goods. She groped her way to the hatch in the floor and was thankful to find that some of the sacks had been removed and she had only a couple to drag aside. She climbed down through the hatch and then removed her cloak casting it aside. Underneath she wore the same blue skirt, but in addition to the knife once again strapped to her thigh, she also carried a plain linen bag, and a length of rope across her shoulder. She set the bag down and took out a lamp and lighter. Placing some of wadding in the lighter box she inserted a stick into the appropriate hole and twirled it rapidly between her palms. There was a whiff of smoke and the wadding briefly blazed from which she lit the lamp. As she had expected the wall had been bricked up anew and so delving into the bag she produced a sharp copper chisel. She began to scrape away the soft new mortar for she dared not hammer at it for fear the noise would carry. It was dirty thirsty work and she cursed the fact that she had not had the foresight to bring along some water. Eventually the bricks were loosened and she had made a sufficiently large hole. Replacing the expensive chisel in her bag, she picked it up and squeezed through the gap, leaving her cloak behind. As she made her way along the passageway she hoped that whoever had bricked up the hole had left the ladders in place, for although she had brought the rope, there was no way that she could ascend the whole way with it. At last she reached the end of the passage and with a feeling of impending defeat she saw that the ladder was absent. She held the light aloft but its rays could not penetrate the darkness sufficiently for her to see if they all had been removed. She set the lamp down on the ground, and took off her bag and the rope. She uncurled the hemp line, and checked that the heavy hook she had fastened to the end was secure. She swung the hook and let go sending it soaring into the darkness in the hope of snaring the platform of the first landing. She was rewarded only with the sound of metal on stone, and the hook fell back almost striking her head. Swearing, she stood further back, but again the hook failed to find purchase. After numerous attempts and with her arm beginning to tire, she stood still, twisting her head to try and relieve the pain from the constant looking up. She was bathed in sweat and decided to take a break, and so settled down resting her back against the passage wall watching the shadows thrown by the lamplight. After only a few moments her impatience got the better of her, and she again coiled the rope ready to throw. This time she stood further back again and tried to throw at a different angle. The hook flew into the darkness pursued by her curse of frustration. This time however, it snarled something, and Muralsu tentatively tugged at it. She then swung her full weight on it, half expecting it to give way but it held fast. She eased herself onto the first landing and lay on her stomach to gain her breath. “You’ve got fat and unfit you lazy cow,” she said to herself. She was disgusted to find that her easy life, and the years had taken their toll, and she was not as agile as once she had been. She made a mental note that if the gods willed it, and she managed to return from this night’s work, she would regain her former fitness. After all Miah wouldn’t want some great river cow for a wife. She sat up stretching a hand into the utter darkness, for she had not been able to climb and hold the lamp. Her hand brushed against something and she grinned as her fingers closed on a ladder. She had to stele herself during the climb, for the last time her way had been lit, but now she ascended in pitch-blackness, her way illuminated only by her memory and her questing hands. She hated the flexing of the ladders, and at each landing she imagined plummeting to her death. At last she saw a glimmer of light as she climbed onto the last landing and felt the wooden doors that lead into the Queen’s rooms. She listened, ear to the doors, but could discern no sound, and so very gently pushed to see if they would open. They resisted the pressure, and so Muralsu squinted down the crack between them and located the bar that held them shut. She took off her bag, stripped off her skirt and cut a thin strip of material from the hem to poke it through the crack above the restraining bar. It took some moments to catch the drooping end, and she then pulled both ends towards her. She then used the material to lift the bar from its seating without it toppling to the ground. Gently, in case the hinges creaked, she pushed one door slightly ajar putting her hand through the gap to grasp the bar. Silently, slipping into the room, she glanced around its darkened interior, ears strained for any sound. Satisfied, she shut the door and barred it again. The room was barren, only the pale moonlight shone across the patterned floor. Gone were the familiar furnishings and the hangings, Quickly Muralsu crossed to the doorway and looked along the corridor but it was deserted. Shivering in her nakedness she pulled her skirt from her bag where she had pushed on entering the room. She gave herself a rubbing down to try and remove some of the dirt and dust. She next took out a plain white dress and slipped it on and settled a straight short wig on her head. She did not know how long she was going to be, and who she would encounter, but hoped that the poor disguise would be enough for her to pass as a servant. She paused at the outer door staring into the passageway again. It was unlit but for the dim glimmer of the night through a window, and she quickly and stealthily crept to the room where she had seen the Queen. It looked the same, and even the chair where she had sat still remained facing the curtained throne. She wondered where the passage led but presumed that this was still the harem quarters of the palace as it had been in Nefertiti’s time. She encountered no guards, but if she were right then these would be posted outside the main entrance. Muralsu stopped and listened intently. She was unsure, but thought that she had heard a sound. Cautiously she moved forward her naked feet silent on the smooth floor. She heard it again, the sound of girlish giggling. She halted outside a room and could hear whisperings from within, accompanied by fresh giggling. She chanced a glance around a doorpost, the scent of women wafted to her. Her eyes probed the darkness and saw two figures huddled near to one another. “ Oh Tetti, you wouldn’t ?” whispered one. “You can watch,” the other replied. “Do you think he might …” The rest was drowned in further suppressed giggling. “Tetti, Merrit, stop your noise, you will awake her. Go to sleep and I will speak to you both in the morning.” Muralsu ducked back as the figure of the shabti emerged from another room, the moonlight silvering her naked form. The two errant girls lay down and the shabti disappeared again. There was a further whispered comment and suppressed laugh and then silence. If the shabti was there, she thought, then her mistress must be close by. She returned to the first room and wrapped her discarded skirt about her shoulders cursing that she had left the warm cloak behind. She had no idea how long she waited, and she feared dawn would lead to her discovery.