That there was to be performance by the legendary Muralsu and her troupe of dancers was gossiped about in the women’s quarters, however, neither Yukiko nor Mundia had heard of her. “Savages.” replied Miam when they asked her. “She is a famous dancer, well was a few years ago. She used to travel about all over the place giving performances to Lords and the like. They say she has even performed before the King. Supposed to be something special, though I doubt it.” “I wish we could see her,” said Yukiko. She was bored with the routine of serving the Queen. She was used to seeing new sights all the time, not being locked away in the same place day after day. She also needed something to distract her mind from worrying about those other duties that would be expected of her. She had not followed Mundia’s advice about the male servants. She didn’t find any of them attractive, and even Mundia had given up on her saying that she was too fussy, and that she could not be so when the Queen ordered her to some man’s bed. Her wish about the dancing performance was however was soon to be granted. They had watched from the window as an awning was stretched above part of the ornate courtyard and garden where the royal women usually took there ease when the weather was fine. The end of the garden was screened off, and rows of gilded chairs placed at the opposite end. It all looked very exciting. “Yukiko.” It was Sabatta. Who had seen them at the window. “Come away both of you. Mundia go attend the Queen. Yukiko I have a job for you.” Yukiko felt the blood drain from her face and her heart began to pound in her breast. She stood for a moment unsure whether her legs would carry her if she moved. She felt sure that she was going to be called on to entertain some important male guest. “Stop gawking at me girl and go and fetch your harp or whatever that thing is that you play. The Queen has lent you to Princess Matenapu. You are to join the other musicians in this entertainment she is having. Why the Princess has hired some foreign woman I don’t know when we have enough dancers of our own.” Sabatta obviously didn’t approve, but she very rarely approved of anything. At least Yukiko’s heart stopped its hammering, and she found that she again had movement in her legs. She gave Sabatta a little smile and ran off to fetch her instrument, elated to be part of the entertainment. They played whilst the guests greeted each other and drank wine, and fed from the laden table that ran along one wall. She could not remember when she had so enjoyed herself. The guests were attired in their very best, and the whole scene shimmered with colour and laughter. At one point the other musicians broke off, and went to slake their thirst or answer the call of nature. Yukiko remained where she was, and for want of anything else to do began to play a tune that her father had taught her. She had just reached the chorus for the second time when another instrument joined in. It was a flute and picked up the refrain. She glanced up and saw the eyes of a young man on her. She smiled at him and he nodded his head at her in greeting. They played the tune over again passing the melody back and forth and only stopped when some strangers came into the musicians’ area. An old man dressed in strange clothes smiled a gap toothed grin and spoke to them. Yukiko could not understand him at all but it was evident that he wished them to move. They did so, taking up a position in the corridor which flanked the area in which the performance was to be given. There were open archways every few yards, and each was soon crowded by those who were not guests. Yukiko had a splendid view, and was very conscious of the young man who pressed close to hers as others sought a vantage point. Their position was well sighted for it was very next to the entrance where the performers waited to enter the main hall. Yukiko loved seeing their costume and their painted faces. She was captivated and mystified by the tricks that Naidine performed, and like everyone else never guessed at the existence of her twin sister, which was a closely kept secret. The performances seemed to be well received and Muralsu, as usual, waited until last. She found that after the years in retirement she was as nervous as a novice, more so. The evening was chill to be wearing so flimsy a costume, and as she ran a hand over her arm she could feel the goose flesh. She stepped aside as the curtain opened to let the last performers through. The world stopped. Her attention contracted. Unknowingly she held her breath. She realised that she had missed the beat of the drum, and nodded angrily at the attendant who pulled the curtain aside. She walked slowly with pointed toes, out into the hall, her arms held aloft, the green material of her costume floating like a cloud. There was polite applause. She danced her routine almost automatically, her attention elsewhere. It was soon done, and Muralsu cursed herself for not concentrating, and she knew that she had not given of her best. Usually nothing intruded when she performed, and her mind was given over to beat, rhythm and step. If one of the girls had acted as she had just done, then she would have felt the keen edge of her displeasure. She stormed into the dressing room and flung down the fan she was holding and covered her face with her hands. Asif glanced up. “Something wrong?” “Wrong? Wrong?” She tore the feathers from her hair and threw them after the fan. “Everything is wrong.” She paced back and forth, angry with herself, angry that she could have so easily jeopardised their plan. “The whole performance is pathetic. Any tavern dancer could do as well. This is supposed to be the Great Muralsu.” She spread her arms as if announcing her name to the world. “There hasn’t been enough time Asif. I need time to prepare the girls, to sort out routines.” It was an excuse she knew, it was her lapse that was at fault. “My reputation was built upon hard work and hours of practice. We need the Princess to speak of us to the King or all our work is useless. I have not time to sit around in this forsaken spot for weeks. Miah will be returning home soon. I must be there.” She was almost close to tears which she choked back as Isis brought her a cooling drink. She took it without even a nod of acknowledgement. “Isis, go fetch Naidine, quickly,” and as the girl ran to obey, Muralsu shouted after her, “and one of the musicians.” She placed her cup untouched on the table. She was too involved to see to mundane matters such as thirst. “Asif, I have an idea. Quickly bring your paint and the African costume. Perhaps Niadine’s exuberance will, may hap, make up for lack of finesse. Have you any green fire left?” As Asif stood to obey, her mind disobediently flicked over those fleeting seconds, and she beat her fists against her forehead as if by doing so she could eradicate them. “Not now,” she whispered to herself By the time Yuki returned to her quarters it was very late and the others were already abed. She drew off her dress and slipped under the covers pulling the wool blanket over her. She was too excited to sleep, her mind full of the sight and sounds of what she had seen and in particular those few special but fleeting seconds. She had been watching two dancers finish their routine when she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye. She had turned to see a woman standing by the curtain awaiting the exit of the girls from the dance floor. She had never seen anyone like her before. Though she had seen dark coloured people on her travels, this woman had the blackest skin she had ever seen, and was impossibly tall. Thinking of Mundia, she had wondered if her colour was a skin dye or paint, and she had leaned over to look at the woman’s feet which were bare. Yukiko had expected to see her wearing stilts or built up shoes. The woman’s face paint had been bright and she wore the flimsiest costume made from delicately coloured material so skimpy and diaphanous that she was almost naked andYukiko wondered how she had dared appear before all those people so barely glad. The girls from the dance floor had pushed their way through the curtain and that had been the moment. She still flushed at the memory. The black woman had stared at her, her eyes large, warm and like liquid ebony. They had locked glances for only a second or two but something had happened, so fleeting and nebulous that even now Yukiko could not define it. The look had been short but intense and had only been broken because the girl who held the curtain touched the black woman’s arm. With a start the woman had looked away and vanished thought the curtain and onto the dance floor. Thoughts of the dancer kept creeping back into her mind. She had looked so wonderful, so unbelievably astonishing. And that last dance! Yuki had never before seen anything to rival it in all the lands she had visited. She wondered if perhaps the woman was part witch or djin of some kind. The display had excited and intoxicated her. To be like her, she thought, what a wonderful life. Perhaps she could flee the palace and join the dancers if the black woman would have her. Of course the idea was preposterous, for she was a bondswoman, and not free to go where she would. The thought however took root in the corner of her mind. Yukiko was not the only one too excited to sleep. Naidine had performed exceptionally well before the Princess in a totally unrehearsed routine with Muralsu. It had gone so well that Muralsu herself was ecstatic as they left the arena. She followed the still twirling Niadine into the dressing room, and the two embraced in high spirits. Muralsu felt a rush of feelings at the touch of the girl’s body and her lips came down hard on Niadine’s mouth. The girl, taken unawares, struggled free, stepping back a pace or two, the back of one hand to her mouth. Muralsu saw the look on her face and smiled. “Sorry my dear, an Ethiopian custom, no more. In the instant I forgot where I was.” The girl accepted the explanation though she knew it to be a lie. Muralsu did not usually touch her dancers except in the necessity of dance routines. That was unless she knew they welcomed it, and there were none like that in this troupe. She had found by experience, that petting the girls led her into temptation, and it caused difficulty, and embarrassment for the girls, and most importantly could ruin dance routines. “Wasn’t it wonderful?” Naidine had dismissed the moment, and her grin fell as she looked at Muralsu from under long lashes her head dipped. “Did I go too far to hide around the Princess. I got carried away.” Muralsu laughed. “No, in the circumstances you did well. We needed them to talk about something. It does not matter what the gossip is, as long as they do gossip.” Asif entered and clapped at them both. “Well done. A little rough in places, but passable.” Muralsu threw a piece of material at him but it fluttered to the floor before reaching him. “Any more of your green flames, and we would have choked to death with half the audience.” “Then I shall resign the Company, and not give you the news,” he declared in feigned pique” “News, what news?” asked Muralsu. She stripped off her costume and stood facing him naked, the sweat glistening erotically. He had of course often seen her thus, but he wondered if she knew how much it stirred him. He guessed that she probably did it deliberately. He dismissed the painful old memories that needed to be kept hidden. “Only that it is the King’s birthday in a week’s time. The princess wishes to make him a gift of one of our performances!” “Yes! Yes!” Muralsu tuned to Niadine arms out, but the girl stood back a pace or two and grinned uncertainly. They had a week in which to prepare a routine worthy to be seen by King Suppusuluiamus. When she had last performed for him, she had hastily adapted her Egyptian dance, and won great praise for depicting the Hittite King vanquishing Pharaoh and capturing the Egyptian Queen. She needed something as spectacular, and something by which she could tell him that she bore a message. Her mood remained irritable as time slipped by, and she seemed to be no closer to returning home. She worked both herself and the girls relentlessly, and did not even have much sympathy for Isis, when the maid had returned one day in tears, because someone had tried to abduct her in the street. Suddenly she had doubts about Miah, and cursed Asif for having fuelled them with talk of crocodiles and leopards. Why had he to go away? Why had she allowed herself to be drawn into matters which were not her concern? Was she really having a last taste of her old life, or did she not want to let go of it? The questions teemed and buzzed about her mind, and she seemed to have a perpetual headache. If all these trials were not sufficient yet another matter insidiously slipped into her mind time and again. It was as ridiculous as it was inconvenient when she was battling with doubts about Miah. That strange face in the crowd that made her miss her entrance seemed to hover in her consciousness, and she had found the girl so unusual and appealing that she had an overwhelming desire to see her again. Her interest was only professional as he girl would make an interesting addition to her dancers. She knew it was a lie. She tried to put it from her mind, told herself that she had enough problems. I any event they would soon be away and on there way home. There was no time for dalliance or idle daydreaming. Despite all that she continued to recall that fleeting moment for the memory was powerfully erotic. She knew the signs and was familiar enough with her body’s urgings, but she was determined to be strong. It was therefore with annoyance that she found that she betrayed herself in an unguarded moment. She had been talking with Isis about the last performance and Isis had mentioned the music. “Did you see the girl with the funny face? She could play really nicely.” She had said. Muralsu had not seen nor heard the girl play and was interested that she could. A gossamer thought of the girl joining the troupe as a musician passed through her mind, and was at the same time instantly dismissed. Nevertheless her reply had been made before she knew it. “Yes Isis, go find out who she is.” A second later Muralsu had called out “No,” but it was too late a Isis had bounded away in her enthusiastic way intent on carrying out her mistresses request as quickly as possible. Muralsu had caught her reflection in a polished mirror. Her own eyes seemed to silently accuse her. With a sigh she had muttered, “Life’s breath Asif, I think that you are right.” Muralsu was about to indulge in an idle daydream concerning the girl when she pulled herself up short. With renewed determination she would deliver her message as quickly as possible and return as swiftly as she could to her new life before it tumbled to destruction for want of care. She certainly did not want the complication of desirable looking young girls, it was bad enough having Isis around. Muralsu’s thoughts were shattered at a wail as Isis burst into her room screaming unintelligibly. Irritated Muralsu stood up and grabbed the girl by the shoulders. “Isis! Isis! Pull yourself together girl. Stop this and talk to me properly.” Isis calmed a little and looked at Muralsu with tears in her eyes and a look of shock on her face. “Serohia, its Serohia mistress,” “What about her girl.” “She’s dead mistress. Behind the stable, she’s … she’s …” She never finished the sentence as she turned aside and was sick over the floor. Muralsu took hold of her and sat her down as Naidine, and Asif came into the room to see what all the commotion was about. Seeing that she would get little sense out of Isis for the moment Muralsu strode from the room. “Asif, you had better come. Isis has found little Serohia dead behind the stables.” They scanned the ground behind the stable block and could see nothing. Asif suddenly nudged her and gave her a nod when she looked at him. She followed his gaze and the blood froze in her veins. The little marmoset was pinned to the wooden shutter on the stable wall with a nail through each paw. She had had her throat cut and she had been mutilated. That was bad enough but Muralsu’s hand went to her mouth as she read the Egyptian words scrawled in the congealed blood. “CUSHITE BITCH” Yukiko wondered if she would get chance to see another performance for she was stage struck. The thought of escaping with the itinerate dance troupe kept stealing unbidden into her mind. She realised that to make this possible she would have to persuade the black woman either to pay her debt or smuggling her away by stealth. She could think of no reason why the woman would agree to either. Aiding a bondsman to abscond was a capital crime. Nevertheless she remembered that lingering look that the dancer had given her and knew that she had at least been noticed. As circumstances turned out she was to see the next performance, but the event was marred by her greatest fear, soon to be magnified into her worst nightmare. Miam strutted into the room and grinned at Yukiko, relishing the news she was to impart, knowing how much it was going to upset her. “Well at last you can be of some use, and surprise us all with how good you are.” It was Mundia who answered, “What are you on about now you evil little runt. Why must you be so horrible to her?” “Shut up you painted bastard,” the dwarf replied. “We are going to see Doll start to pay back her debts.” She had fallen to calling Yukiko “Doll” after a child’s toy she brought in once, whose badly painted face had the same shaped eyes as Yukiko. Yukiko felt her stomach begin to flutter. “What you saying Miam?” “Well you played the harp at the last entertainment, and at the next one you are to dance, - but on your back not your feet.” She laughed at her own joke and made obscene gestures. She was enjoying Yukiko look of horror so much that she was not quick enough, and Mundia grabbed hold of her. She dragged her out of the chair and lifted her in the air an arm across her throat. Miam’s legs kicked in agony as she was slowly being strangled. When Miam’s eyes began to bulge and her face was going dark Yukiko panicked and ran forward to try and pull Mundia’s arm away. “Let her go, you’ll kill her. Stop it.” Mundia had a strange look on her face and her lips were drawn back and her teeth clenched. At last she seemed to hear Yukiko and simply let go so that Miam crashed to the floor coughing and retching. Yukiko knelt down beside her, and touched her shoulder. “Miam? Miam are you all right.” The girl shrugged her shoulder away and scrambled up. ”You’ll pay for that, both of you.” Mundia gave her a hefty kick but she ran out, shouting abuse. The result was a visitation from Sabatta who gave Mundia a trashing with her stick and warned her against any future similar behaviour. She then turned to Yukiko. “You will attend the King’s birthday celebration, which I am sure you will agree is a great honour. You will entertain a young Lord from the provinces, and the Queen particularly wants him to have a good time. Look after him well. That means he is to have anything he wants.” Sabatta looked to Mundia who was trying to wipe blood form where the cane had cut her. “Make sure she understands,” she ordered, and walked out. The King’s birthday celebrations had lasted all day, and as evening came the girls were dressed in their very best. Mundia and Miam had also been assigned to guests but only Yukiko was to attend the banquet and performance. Whilst Mundia was resigned to the situation, Miam was vindictively aggressive. “I told you she wasn’t like us didn’t I?” she said. “They won’t let the likes of us be seen in public.” Mundia cast and eye over Yukiko and thought that she looked wonderful. They had given her a pure white gown to set off her complexion and it was cut low to show her figure. A blue fringed over-mantle hung from her shoulders and she wore delicate slippers of similar material. She had put her hair in two bunches which fell to her shoulders. It was not a Hittite style, but was how her father had liked it. She looked very elegant and fragile ad very very different. In contrast Mundia and Miam looked exactly what they were, brightly dressed whores. Mundia’s dress was secured with a single pin beneath her breast. From there it was split to the hem and her movement showed that her tattoos indeed covered her whole body. Miam was dressed in bright scarlet her lips painted the same colour, and once more Yukiko noticed how pretty her face was, if she would only remove her perpetual scowl. Mundia moved to Yukiko and twitched the over-mantle to straighten a crease. “Don’t listen,” she said. “She is jealous. You look lovely. Now you remember what I have told you” Yukiko nodded nervously licking her lips. “Try not to do that.” Mundia cautioned, “You will remove the paint. Now try to relax and enjoy yourself, it will make things much easier. As it turned out her companion for the evening was a personable young man, if not the most handsome. He treated Yukiko like a lady and not a whore, but she had to endure him staring at her the whole time. Her first worries of being raped by some inconsiderate lecher had abated, and she had settled to the inevitable with the thought that things could have been much worse. At last the remains of the banquet were taken away and the tables removed. The guests retired to the perimeter of the hall. They sat on chairs or mats, or stood according to their degree or station. The King and the royal family occupied a dais draped in rich and colourful material. Yukiko gazed around. It was the first time that she had seen the King and he looked resplendent, the glisten of gold shone about him and he seemed to be enjoying himself. Yukiko eyes passed over the others, and she must have gasped because her companion asked if she was alright. Her blood ran cold as she saw that Prince Telepinus was looking at her with a hungry glare. So intent was he that he did not even reply to some comment made to him by the man at his elbow. The dancing began and for a time Yukiko was so engrossed that she did not look again at the dais for some time. When she did, the hot and lascivious eyes were still on her. The lamps and torches in the hall were put out accept for the few that were attended by girls holding bowls. At a drum’s sound each girl dipped a hand into the bowl and sprinkled powder into the flames which then burned bright orange. The entrance curtain was flung back and Naidine appeared. She was dressed as the African warrior again. This time she was painted with white stripes about her face and body and she wore a short lion skin skirt. Fringes adorned her upper arms and hung down from below her knee and two long black feathers arched over her head. She carried an ornamental spear whose blade was but an imitation made from stiffened straw. No real weapons were allowed in the presence of the king. She danced a routine in imitation of a hunter on a trail, but finally mimed tiredness and lay down as if to sleep. The attendants dimmed the lighting by part concealing the lamps. There was a silence for a moment and then a single drum beat sounded, a space and a further beat, and again each time the rhythm increased. The light suddenly turned green as the attendants threw a different powder onto the flames. Yukiko took in her breath as something slinked threateningly from low down beneath the curtain.