“Prince Telepinus!” Yokiko felt Telepinus turn and she struggled again but Per-hor tightened his grip on her wrists crushing them. “Piss off Sabaata, unless you want to join in.” said the Prince turning back to Yokiko. “Only the Queen commands me, and it is my duty to look after these girls.” His hand recommenced his quest and Yokiko squealed as he found her. “Lord Prince, the Queen will not be pleased. Do what you will with your own, but she is the Queens personal property.” The hand withdrew and Yokiko felt Telepinus begin to move from the bed. Suddenly his mouth was by her ear. “I’ll have you yet, and next time I won’t be so nice.” She felt his wet disgusting lips crushing hers before he climbed away. Per-hor gave a final squeeze and twist of her wrists before letting go. He cuffed her head and followed the Prince to the door. Yokiko wiped her hand across her bruised mouth and tugged her clothes about her, clutching her knees to her chest. She watched as Telepinus approached Sabatta who stood defiantly near the door. He stopped before her, and slave or not, she glared right back at him. “You know Sabatta, one day the Queen won’t be around to protect you, and I shall devise something just for you. Per-hor knows a nice trick” His hand clawed at her breast and then travelled down her body and between her thighs. She didn’t move or even blink. “The Queen awaits me, my Prince.” The voice was hard as metal. Telepinus laughed patted her cheek. “One day.” he said patting her cheek as he left. Sabaata rushed over to Ephron who was just returning to consciousness. Her habitual harsh manner had evaporated and she was all kindness and concern. Having attended him and being assured that he was alright, she turned her attention on Yokiko who expected a return of her domineering manner, but was surprised to find that she was equally concerned for her. Sabaata fussed and examined her to see that there was no hurt other than superficial scratches and bruising. “Do you wish to stay?” Sabaata asked. “In the circumstances you need not.” Yokiko looked at Ephron. With his clothes dishevelled and his hair tousled he looked no more than a boy. Fighting down the memory of Telepinus mauling hands she looked at Sabaata. “I’ll stay.” “Good girl.” Sabatta patted her arm with unexpected kindness, and then stood to address Ephron. “My Lord there is no damage but a fright. If I may say it might be best to forget the incident. The Prince is one to harbour a grudge.” She bowed to him and left, quietly closing the door behind her. Yokiko was sure that she had given her the merest nod of approval. Ephron approached the bed at sat on the edge. He stroked back her hair and said “If you wish only to talk or sleep I shall understand.” She looked at him for a second and shook her head, she had come this far and had no wish to wait for another night when her companion may not be as considerate. Muralsu was angry, angry, irritable, and tied. She was furious with the king for locking her away and delaying her return to Crete. Furthermore she was fighting her fear of being locked up and restrained. The first hours had been the worst when she railed and beat at the door as she felt the panic rise, and she knew she could do nothing to free herself. The first throes had past away, but even now she had to make an effort to control herself. With the combination of discomfort, cold and her calostaphobia she found it difficult to sleep, and once she did the nightmares sprang her awake again. She had no proper rest since the door had banged shut.. She had carried out the Queen’s command, and now all she wanted was to return home to Miah as quickly as possible. She fretted about the loss of time, she worried about her girls, and was anxious about Asif. By the third day she had worked herself into a frenzy of apprehension, frustration and anger. Over the years she had taken great pains to cultivate the manners of her betters until she was more ladylike than many who answered to the title. However, as she paced the room that shell cracked and she beat at the door, her language ripe in several tongues. It was no avail. The door remained obstinately shut and the beyond it the silence continued. The edge of her feelings blunted for a while by her outpouring, she sat down on the wooden bench, her head down and hands clasped behind her head. Could this be the way that the gods were telling her that the path she had chosen was not the right one? She pondered the question. She wondered if she really did love Miah. Love was the wrong word for he was a man, and no matter what she denied to herself, she could never love a man with the same passion as another woman. She did however care for him greatly and it was as near love as to make little difference. Was she fooling herself in order to obtain what she wanted? What did she want? A husband, a home, children perhaps, before it was too late? She had convinced herself that these were her true desires, but now she had doubts. She damned the Queen for casting her into the maelstrom again when she thought she had drifted safe ashore. Perhaps she did not want these things after all, and they were mere echoes of what she had lost as a child. She did in fact have a daughter but whether she lived and where she was she did not know. She had never even held the child in her arms for she was taken away at birth the property of her master. Her thoughts turned to the past and the life she had led, rich and full. She had talked with kings and queens, had stayed in palaces and rich houses and knew many influential people. She had her own riches, all earned from the use of her body and inconsiderable charm both on and off the dance floor. A face formed in her mind, and she felt a familiar and urgent yearning. Black hair framing that singularly different pretty face. The look was like none other, and she thought of those unusual eyes with their irises of a soft dark brown, and imagined she could stare into them forever. She wondered who the girl was. She had been dressed as a lady and appeared to be in the company of a young lord. Wife? Lover? She speculated, and remembered her touch as their hands had met when Muralsu had given her the flower. She smiled to herself, but her daydream was shattered as the lock was turned and the door swung open. “Isis!” “Mistress.” Muralsu jumped to her feet and embraced the girl, relieved to see someone familiar and overjoyed to see the door wide open. It seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from her. Her recent thoughts had aroused her and she enjoyed the fleeting softness and warmth of the girl’s body as she hugged her. “Mistress I have been so worried, they told me that they were going to kill you.” She spoke hurriedly in her vacuous way. Normally it grated on Muraslu but this time she found it oddly comforting. “They asked me all sorts of things about you. There was a man and he was horrid. Now I have to get you ready.” “Ready Isis? Ready for what?” “Didn’t I say? For the king. That horrid man says you have to go before the king again. At least that’s what I though he said, he talks funny, but it’s late, it’s the middle of the night.” King Suppusuliamus was reading a document seated on a cushioned divan near to the fire. The light from the lamps and the fire’s flames gilded his face as he glanced up, his eyes widening with appreciation. Muralsu was determined that she would secure her release and was using all means within her power. She had changed out of her Hittite clothes and now wore a diaphanous dress of the palest blue trimmed with silver. It flowed about her legs as foam about a ship but hugged her above the waist, the low-cut, thin material clutching desperately at her breasts to stay up. She was frozen for the garment offered no warm, and the fire highlighted the gooseflesh of her oiled skin. The King made a noise in his throat and handed the document to the nearby scribe, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. She knelt and bowed her head. “No formality Muralsu. Stand, come here by the fire. Your dress is most becoming but will put up no fight against our nights at this time of year. He approached her and raised her, leading her by the hand to the couch seating her by him. He inhaled the exotic strength of her perfume and there was a stirring in his loins. The woman was obviously dressed for sport, but business first. “I am sorry about your treatment my dear. I swear I did not know. That idiot Mitriah exceeded his orders. Be assured that there will be no repetition, and you and your company are under my personal protection.” Muralsu knew that he was lying but she had to play the game. “I thank you Lord King, for I worry about my girls if I am not there to look after them, and I am anxious to return home.” “Quite so. I thought that by way of amends we could spend an informal evening as friends, a little wine, and a few choice cuts of meat.” They talked a little while of this and that, and the wine eased the conversation. Every time Muralsu reached forward for her cup she dipped her shoulder knowing that her nipple would escape its confinement. As she leaned back a long nailed finger would slip the material back and she would pretend that she had not noticed where his eyes had rested. It was a well used ploy but always worked so easily. She realised that she was already betraying Miah, but she needed the king’s goodwill for she knew that whatever he said, this was not an informal evening, and her life was still very much in the balance.