Power Play

this story contains the vulgar word "fuck"

Power Play

by

John Markestad

           “I’ve set the day,” Pharaoh says.

           “How long do I have?” she asks. From the darkened alcove where she sits with her legs drawn up to her chin. Her arms are wrapped around them and her voice is barely above a whisper. She’s wearing only a few layers of fine silk, emerald green and blue the color of the winter sky, for this spring has been a warm one. Silhouetted against the window’s light they do nothing to hide the details of her body.

           “We will marry in three days, as the moon uncovers the sun. It is an important day and the priests have assured me that Ra looks most favorably on that day above all others save the Solstice. And I am not willing to wait longer to have you.”

           “Three days,” Pharaoh hears her say even more softly, talking only to herself.

           “I won’t fuck you!” she shouts out in a burst of anger, or frustration. Or fear.

           No doubt the guards and the staff heard that. No matter. If rumors of her outburst get back to Pharaoh, he’ll have them all killed. Each and all.

           “What you will, or won’t, dear sister, if of no consequence,” Pharaoh reminds her, his voice soft but firm. “We will be married and you will be my wife. And I will take you when I wish, which will be often. And you will bear me children that will continue our line, and they will have children, and our line will rule for thousands of years. That is what it means to be divine.” From deep in the shadows Pharaoh can hear tears. Too bad, she will do as everyone does…as Pharaoh commands. “I have waited years for you to grow,” Pharaoh says, hardening his voice. “You were destined to wed me from the day of your birth. You will be my wife and I will take you when I will. Your tears are as nothing.”

           Beyond the finely woven carpets that serve as walls for this private space, Pharaoh hears footsteps brisk and precise. The shadow of the sundial has reached its shortest and the guards are making their shift change. Leather scrapes on leather and bronze clanks against bronze. One set of boots approaches and stops just outside the curtain, a moment later the scrape of leather sandals stops beside the boots.

           “My Pharaoh, the Envoy from Rome has arrived and seeks an audience.”

           The Chamberlain speaks no louder than he must. He has learned well from the mistakes of his predecessor.

           “I’m busy. Tell the envoy I will meet with him tomorrow,” Pharaoh says.

           “My Pharaoh, the envoy is a woman.”

           That is unexpected. Pharaoh was not aware that Rome allowed women to attain high positions.

           “Enter.” The curtain is pulled back by the guard and The Chamberlain enters. The guard follows and stands at his back. “What of this envoy, then.”

           “She is pleasing to look upon, My Pharaoh. Younger than one might expect. I think maybe she is meant to distract you during negotiations,” The Chamberlain says.

           “Then by all means, let us look upon her,” Pharaoh says. “Admit her to my study and I will be along presently.”

           “You planning to fuck her, too?” The Sister hisses from the shadows.

           Turning back to her Pharaoh says, “Perhaps. Why? Do you wish to watch? Perhaps to learn somewhat of what awaits you in three days’ time?” He leaves her to scream out her impotent frustrations.

*         *         *

           The Envoy is indeed pleasing to look upon. Layers of fine linen hide her figure not well at all. Her burnished copper hair is held in place with fine pins that sparkle of diamonds on their ends. No more than 30 years old, she is very young to hold a position of such authority. Perhaps she is the daughter of a Senator, or one of the elite and wealthy. Pharaoh has heard that there are households in Rome that could buy half of all Egypt…such is their fortune. The daughter of such a house would be a powerful person in Rome, and therefore in all of the known world.

           Pharaoh looks on her and thinks he would very much like to have this one, although taking her by other than her own will would surely bring expensive retribution. Therefore, it will have to be with charm. It is only with difficulty that Pharaoh takes his eyes from the regular swelling and receding of her adequately exposed breasts that each breath brings. Though Pharaoh hasn’t been listening he’s sure she has been going on about the magnificent future that awaits their two great empires--all about how trade between the two will grow such great nations and so on and such like. Every Ambassador and Envoy from every corner of the world, whether sand-blown or swamp-strewn shithole, from the far north where the very air freezes as it falls, to the south where the great, fierce, black warriors rule, has learned from the same teacher…great this, benefit that, stronger allied, and every other platitude meant to endear themselves to Pharaoh. Many have found that Egypt is as fond of conquest as it is of trade. Why trade for goods and resources when they can so often simply be taken? Alas, with Rome, it will have to be trade. Even the best of trading partners are enemies at heart. But, when enemies are closely matched then trade by violence can be costly. Too costly.

           When she pauses for a breath, Pharaoh breaks in. “I can see great possibilities for Rome and Egypt. We are so very much alike in so many ways that we surely must be destined to be the closest of friends and allies. The very Gods themselves must be rejoicing at the many years of peaceful trade and prosperity ahead.” Pharaoh pauses in his delivery of the politically correct tripe to take in the warmth of her smile. Oh, to see those lips used in other ways.

           The oh-so-sincere back and forth drags on for a full half of an hour before The Minister of Trade finally can contain his enthusiasm no longer and begins contributing. With The Envoy’s attention temporarily on The Minister, Pharaoh can spare the time to imagine what must be beneath the fine linens.

           In the end, a meeting is arranged for noon of the day following the wedding and the eclipse. Pharaoh explains to The Chamberlain that The Envoy is to be served only the finest wines, and those with the greatest effects upon the senses.

*         *         *

           “The assassin will need to be killed, of course,” says The First Conspirator, whispering softly so as to avoid echoes within the large bedroom. She lies on her side, her head propped up by her left hand, her arm bent at the elbow upon a goose-feather pillow.

           “Such is the nature of the profession. The assassin will expect that we will try, and we must expect the assassin to resist,” The Second Conspirator whispers in return from where she stands next to the lavishly outfitted bed. “The Guild will protest and may even threaten reprisals.”

“Also to be expected,” says The First. “I have set aside a contingency fund with which to soothe offended sensitivities. The Guild Masters are as easily bought as anyone. The fee may be higher, but the result is the same.”

The Second nods to the truth of that.

“I have selected the date,” The First continues.

“I live to serve your desires,” says The Second.

“It is to be done in four days. The morning of the second day after the wedding and the covering of the sun. Before sunrise. Apart from that I have no need to know the particulars.” The First lifts an orange from the tray seated upon a small table between the two and studies it before putting it back.

“His death the day after the eclipse will be declared a divine act. Does the fruit displease you?” asks The Second. “I will order a fresh tray.”

“No, no need. The fruit is fine.”

“I do not need to remind you that it is important that you be pregnant by the second day after the wedding. There can be no doubt as to the timing, or the father, nine months from now,” says The Second. It’s good that the one to whom The Second spoke is of a more stable temperament than Pharaoh; such a reminder to Him might well carry the severest penalty. Depending on the mood of the moment.

The First smiles, “I’m doing my best. As you leave, send in the young man that is waiting just outside the door.”

*         *         *

           Pharaoh stood straight and proud. On either side of him rose the pure white limestone pillars carved in the shapes of the three greatest of the gods: Ra, Amun, and Isis. Each was painted as befit them in vibrant colors, proclaiming for all to see that they were favored above all others throughout the lands of the Nile and beyond. As an ascending god himself, Pharaoh looked forward to the endless years after his death when he would sit beside the greatest of the gods as well as the previous great pharaohs. His reign would a legend of Egypt for five thousand years.

           Ra, now approaching his highest point in the sky, shone down, fueling the growth of the new crops that lined the length of the great river. Crops that would ripen and feed the millions for another season. The spring floods were past and the renewing of the fields complete. There could be no greater demonstration of Ra’s love for the people of Egypt than the mingling with the waters of the Nile to provide for the people. And now, it was Pharaoh’s turn to begin the next season of Pharaohs.

           Beside him in the spacious amphitheater was Aineppe (Daughter of the Nile), his sister and soon to be his wife and queen. Throughout the morning she had been loud and defiant, fighting with women who were to dress her for wedding. Three times the guards had to chase her down and physically return her to her chambers. When word of her antics reached Pharaoh he ordered the medico to administer a soporific. Even that had been a battle as she had to be held and the potion poured into her. Now, her eyelids droopy and her posture less that perfectly upright, she nevertheless managed to keep her feet. The medico said the effects would last no more than three hours. Time enough.

           Distracted by a nervous wave of whispers from the royal sycophants and hangers-on, Pharaoh required an extra minute to realize that the quality of the light had begun to change. Shadows throughout the roofless space had changed, taken on the peculiar quality of having less defined edges. The light around him was dimming. The eclipse had begun.

           It was at that moment that the High Priest of Ra stepped forward from where he’d maintained his position of importance directly in front of the full body sculpture of his God. One hundred of Pharaoh’s personal guard raised and then slammed the blunt end of their spears onto the stone floors. The echoes of that boomed around the pillared space and instructed the witnesses to shut their mouths.

           Behind the royal couple a large square of highly polished wood had been erected at a height of eleven feet. In the center of that there was a tiny hole. The light of the eclipse shone through that and upon Pharaoh and his wife to be. As the eclipse progressed the light through the hole mirrored the passing of the moon across the sun; the bright disc of light gradually became a thinner crescent, until it was barely a red ring. At the moment of greatest darkness, the High Priest shook threw droplets of water from the Nile upon the couple. And thus did Anippe become queen of all Egypt, and wife to her older brother.

           From a quarter of a mile away, The Envoy watched the ceremony from the roof of the villa to which she’d been assigned. Depending on how this night went, tomorrow Pharaoh would be in a very good mood, or a very bad one.

*         *         *

           The Envoy is kept in her rooms, opulent nearly to the point of being vulgar, until late morning on the day after the wedding. She’d had an appointment to see Pharaoh for lunch but the guards ‘protecting’ her, and her retinue, have informed her that there are Matters of State being attended to. She’d known before leaving Rome that she most likely would end up having to fuck Pharaoh in order to keep negotiations moving forward. His penchant for mixing pleasure with Matters of State was widely known. Her own advisers had compiled a list of smaller kingdoms that had, or had not, been invaded based on the particulars of the Ambassadors and Envoys from those kingdoms. The pattern was very clear; and while Rome had no immediate reason to fear that Egypt may consider war, it was so much easier to play to Pharaoh’s weakness. She likely wouldn’t mind so much. The Pharaoh is handsome and fit, and has, no doubt, been well schooled in pleasing a woman. She’s not heard that he mistreats his toys.

           As the wait drags into its fourth hour past noon, The Envoy from Rome has a bath drawn and, following that, works quickly with her handmaids to refresh her clothing and her makeup. The heat of Egypt, even in the spring, quickly tarnishes the look she wants to offer up to Pharaoh. Finally, well into the afternoon, the guard Captain tells her that she is summoned.

           The Reception Hall looks little different than two days previous: guards aplenty, hangers-on and sycophants clustered in small groups to prepare the day’s gossip, an assortment of bureaucrats and functionaries hovering around the throne. Still, The Envoy notes few familiar faces among the latter. And there is a new man standing in the position of Captain of the Pharaoh’s Guard. Also, the buzz of voices seems a bit louder than she recalls. Something new is in the air.

           Returning her attention from the crowd to the throne, The Envoy stops. There is a Pharaoh seated upon the throne, regally dressed and looking very much a monarch, but it is not The Pharaoh she was expecting to have to bed. Rather, it is a young woman. Possibly only half the age of The Envoy herself.

           “Come closer, Rome. I would look at you,” says The Young Woman on the throne.

           It’s a testament to her self-control that keeps confusion from the face of The Envoy as she strides forward and stops and the proper six paces from the throne.

           “You appear confused, Rome,” Pharaoh says.

           “It is for certain that I am,” says The Envoy.

           “My husband and brother suffered a sudden decline is his health this morning,” Pharaoh says, her voice seeming to break slightly under strong emotion. “He died just before sunrise. The royal medico (she uses her right hand to indicate an elderly man standing with his back against a nearby stone column) states that he suffered a sudden leakage in an artery near his heart. By law, the responsibilities of State have fallen to me.”

           The Envoy from Rome gives a shallow bow and when she straightens there is a look of great inner sadness upon her features. “A tragic loss to Egypt, no doubt, Great Pharaoh.” Pulling her shoulders slightly together so the front of her dress falls open, The Envoy bows again, lower. “I look forward to continuing negotiations for the benefit of both our empires.”

end