Year 36, second month of the inundation, day three, under the majesty of; the king of Upper and Lower Egypt, Usermaatre-Sepetenre, the son of Re, Ramesses II, Beloved of Ptah.
Preparations are well under way here at Malkata Palace for the court to celebrate, in three days time, the twentieth birthday of his majesty's beloved granddaughter, my niece, the princess Bint-Anath Meren Meretseger; divine adoratrice of Isis, priestess of the temple, The House of Menmaatre.
Princess Anath, as she prefers to be called of late, is an intelligent and accomplished young woman and the gods have blessed her with great beauty. However, her facetiousness, rebelliousness and general lack of courtly decorum have, on numerous occasions, sorely tried the patience of her tutors, myself chief among them. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she remains his majesty's favourite grandchild and, as is true of all doting grandparents, he will forgive her anything.
- The Chronicle of Prince Khaemwaset.
*********************************
Evening. Queen Isetnofret loves music and for tonight's entertainment she has hired a troupe of the finest musicians and dancers. Since sunset they have entertained us; myself and a group of seven other fine ladies of the court.
It is a cool night. Gone is the heat of the long day, to be replaced now by a soothing breeze from the river. All the ladies are richly attired but perhaps not in their finest court garb. The queen wishes it so, disliking an excess of formality particularly when his majesty is absent. Tonight, it is in the beauty and grace of her ladies that she exalts and she delights in the candor of their smiles and in their relaxed conversation. There is much talk about my impending birthday and I am the victim of gentle gibes and benign teasing. I smile and nod graciously while secretly plotting revenge; I can give as good as I get. But take heed gentle reader, I am amongst friends whom I love and whom I would never wish to hurt.
I am not the youngest of our company; the lady Neith is a year younger than I and none of the ladies are more than three years my senior. As such, we have much in common. Tonight we sit in two rows on either side of the queen and we are all beauteous to behold by lamplight. Queen Isetnofret is pale and resplendent in her robes of royal linen, highlighted with spun gold. Her diadem is of electrum and fine silver and she wears a collar of pure lapis with in-layed rings of turquoise, gold, carnelian and sardonyx. All of the finest craftsmanship and so wonderful to look upon.
Of the ladies, by far the most alluring is Neferure; excelling us all in beauty and quiet dignity. Then there is Renpit Nefert of the lustrous lips and wondrous eyes, Tuya; the sweetly and softly spoken, Tetisheri our arbiter of elegance and golden skinned Sitre, Mutemwiya the wise and Neith; little, slim hipped Neith, the mistress of all mischief and all gossip. As for me, there is little to tell. I am Anath, a name I bestowed upon myself, reserving my full name for formal matters.
What you hold in your hand, gentle reader, is my day book. It is a record of all that has happened to me since I chose to press reed to papyrus. When I began this record on the suggestion of my uncle, the learned, wise and most venerable Prince Khaemwaset, I feared that it would be a mundane document; devoid of all art, all drama and interest. My uncle assured me that it would not and he could not have been more correct. I have found writing it a most stimulating experience.
But I digress. As the Queen's pleasant musical evening wore on, food and wine was served and while the dancers took their rest, our conversation turned, as it inevitably does, to affairs of the heart. Of course Her Majesty is always silent on such matters, as befits her regal dignity, however she does nothing to discourage those others of us who find the topic a subject of endless fascination.
Of all our company, the lady Renpit Nefert has the most outrageous escapades to recount, although the majority of her tales seem to have happened to a well travelled 'aunt' of hers who lived during the reign of King Djeserkheperure Horemheb, the justified. Renpit recounts the amorous exploits of this aunt in such detail that I find it difficult to support their veracity. However they are never anything short of entertaining and she always seems to gather a rapt audience around her.
“Forgive me for saying so majesty but frankly, aunt Bebbi loved nothing better than the sensation of a man's cock deep in her throat...”
This is met with a cascade of giggles and even the Queen cannot help smiling. Of course she says nothing, thus giving Renpit all the encouragement she needs to continue.
“On one occasion, she was abducted by a crew of Mitannian pirates who perpetrated all manner of unspeakable indignities and outrages upon her person. She was only saved when my uncle paid the brutes a huge ransom in gold. It took over a year for her to return to us, we had given her up as forever lost...”
“Why did it take so long,” asked Mutemwiya, “didn't you say that your uncle was governor of Byblos, right on the coast of the Great Green Sea?”
“Yes, but you see the pirates were all illiterate brutes and it seems that it took aunt Bebbi over a year to compose a ransom note that they could then send to my uncle… I suppose she just couldn't find the time...” She tried to suppress a laugh and failed.
“Journeys to foreign lands are always fraught with danger.” Surprisingly the Queen offered this comment.
“Indeed majesty. Now a few months after her return, she fell madly in love with my uncle's charioteer, so much so that the most intense and irrational of passions gripped her heart….”
This story grew until it totally surpassed the bounds of all probability and during its increasingly wayward course, the wine jug was passed around a good five or six times.
As Renpit regaled us, I noticed Neith rise and go quietly to the corner of the room, where she had placed her basket of cosmetics amongst the sundry stuffs and necessaries that the ladies bring with them on such occasions as this. She opened a sizable circular container and placed it on the floor where it could not be seen. Immediately I knew she was up to some mischief but what, I could not tell. She then picked up a mirror and pretended to check her rouge. She turned, eyes averted, and with just the faintest hint of a sly smile playing upon her lips, then padded back to her place at the Queen's side. Several minutes passed until, as Renpit was just about to begin the next chapter of aunt Bebbi's decline into debauchery, Sitre gasped,
“Lo, by yonder basket, a snake, majesty!”
We all turned, some rather unsteadily, and looked to where Sitre was pointing. There, by the basket of pomegranates, an amply sized, bright green snake meandered slowly over the blue-tiled floor. As I was sitting nearest, I stood up to take a closer look at the animal. I was momentarily reminded of images of the serpent demon Apep, the sun god's mortal enemy. But this snake seemed so docile that I began to suspect it might have been an errant pet. Even in the shadows, the snake's yellow eyes caught the lamplight like polished jasper. It was indeed a beautiful animal. I knew little then of snake lore but it seemed to me a rather inoffensive creature, having more in common with a hair ornament than with some malevolent deity. Nor could it ever have been mistaken for a horned viper or one of the sacred cobras; those dread incarnations of Wadjet, Netjerankh or Meretseger; the goddess who is my protector. I kept these thoughts to myself as I heard the Queen's measured tones.
“Anath, take care.”
We all looked at the Queen. And plainly saw that she didn't seem to be overly concerned. Coolly she summoned one of the servants,
“Though the hour is late Bati, see if you can fetch me a snake catcher.”
The woman bowed and quickly departed. The Queen spoke then,
“We must be mindful that the Gods speak to us through signs and their meaning is often veiled in obscurity. Should I have called one of the palace guard and had this creature dispatched upon the cruel blade of a sword or should I allow its release into the wilderness whence it came, where, be it a harbinger of some God, it may give good account of our kindness?”
“A pious sentiment and a wise course majesty, and may I say, you are a paragon of virtue.” said Neferure.
The queen grinned and signaled the musicians to continue their playing. Wisely, they chose a quiet melody for the reed flute, tabor and sistrum. We all listen attentively, while also keeping an eye upon the snake the entire time. One of the skills which my uncle, the venerable Prince Khaemwaset, has been at great pains to teach me is poise; serene dignity particularly in the face of calamity. While this minor incident hardly qualified as calamitous, in the near future I would have good cause to recall his teaching.
Our conversation then turned to the forthcoming embassy of the Kheftiu; those mysterious seafarers from beyond the Great Green Sea. Their ambassadors had always brought choice, rare gifts in the past, going all the way back to the time of King Menkheperre, the justified.
Renpit Nefert took up the story, “Their men are slim hipped and wasp-waisted, broad shouldered and tanned. I have heard that their women wear heavy, layered clothes to guard against the cold winters and that they bare their breasts in public when in their youth but cease to do so when they marry. The Kheftiu live on several islands the chief of which is a land of white mountains, fertile valleys full of grapevines and mighty black bulls. They are a wise, pious and peace loving people, although their ships are said to command the Great Green Sea.”
“Dear one, how do you know all these things?” asked Mutemwia with more than a note of skepticism.
“One reads of such matters in books. One may also speak to those who know or, with a little effort, one may learn the languages and lore of foreign lands. The tongue of the Kheftiu is my current study. In fact aunt Bebi spoke it well…. Apart from the word 'no' which she evidently could not pronounce.” We all laugh.
After what seemed a long while, I noticed that the lamps were burning low. The musicians too had changed their tune several times before the servant that the queen had sent to fetch the snake catcher eventually returned. The woman had obviously been running and reported the success of her errand to the queen in a breathless voice.
“Splendid, ask him to enter.” Said the queen.
We all turned as a tall man entered the room carrying a sizable, coarse cloth bag. He was tanned and broad shouldered, naked from the waist up but wore a fine pleated kilt and a bright blue serpent amulet. Dark eyed and fine featured, this, I would soon learn, was Rahotep the son of Ankhtifi. His hands were broad and strong, his torso of the finest proportion. But it was his noble features that I found most alluring. His head was freshly shaved and below his dark, arched brows were large, mysterious orbs of blackest onyx. At first he seemed a little confused as his eyes passed from one of the ladies to the next. I could now tell by the subtle shift in the mood of my companions that they too found him fascinating. As the queen spoke to him, he lowered his face and bowed.
“Please be so good as to remove a snake for us. It seems to have settled in that corner by the basket of pomegranates.
“Yes Majesty.” he said softly.
He moved swiftly, raising his arm in an elegant dance-like gesture. There was purpose and ritual in that move and we soon saw that he had grasped the snake just behind its head. As he turned, we saw that it had wrapped itself around his arm and looked to be quite comfortable and content. He faced the Queen and stepped back.
“Is it dangerous?”
“Thankfully, no majesty.”
With that, he deftly put it into the bag and tied the cord.
“Excellent, you have served us well. Might I ask your name?”
“Rahotep, son of Ankhtifi, majesty.”
“And from where do you hail?”
“Originally from Hiu in the Sistrum Nome, majesty.”
“A fine town. Please arise. I do not insist upon ceremony.”
As he straightened his back, a whisper of admiration escaped the lips of the ladies.
“Very well Rahotep,” the Queen continued, “Kheperkare, my steward will pay you in whatever commodity you wish from the palace stores.”
“Majesty.”
“Yes.”
“I only wish for a pomegranate, my elderly father is very fond of them.”
The Queen smiled in her good natured way.
“Of course, take one or two if that is your wish.”
Rahotep bowed low then fetched the fruit. As he returned, the lamp illuminated his fine brow while casting shadows across the ample muscles of is chest. He couldn't have been more than twenty summers old; a well wrought and finely crafted man.
He bowed again to the Queen and after the servant had shown him out Her Majesty asked,
“Now, who shall recite some poetry for us?
*********************************
An uneventful week passed since I wrote the words above. To say that I have been a little preoccupied would be to mislead you gentle reader. In the days that followed the Queen's evening of courtly diversions, I have thought of little other than Rahotep. I have even neglected my weaving and bead work, much as I love those pastimes.
My day begins with my devotions. I pray to Amun, Mut and Khonshu and to the Nine Great Gods and Goddesses. I pray to Hathor the goddess of love and I pray to Meretseger; my patron and my protector. That she loves me and watches over me, I am never in doubt, for my dreams and my heart tell me so. Now these ten days past, to each and every deity, I have prayed most fervently, imploring them to send me Rahotep.
Last night in my chamber I lay upon my bed looking out over the placid waters of the palace lake. Built many years ago by the great king Amenhotep Nebmaatre as a love token for his queen. It is a gloriously colourful place by day and a serene and sweetly scented jewell by night. Last night was unusually warm and the full moon cast its silver light so brightly that I could see to the lake's far shore. The hour was late when I rose from my bed and stepped out onto the balcony, feeling the welcome coolness of the tiles beneath my feet. There was no hint of a breeze but the shores of the lake were sonorous with soothing cricketsong. I quickly shed the light robe that I wore.
Nude in the moonlight, I was bathed in the delicious scents of the night flowers. Like a thousand gentle hands, the aromas caressed my body and delighted my senses. I ran my fingers through my long hair and down over my breasts; impetuous and irrepressible are they, much like the rest of me. My hands naturally found their way between my legs. My pussy tingled as my fingers rubbed it. Often it yearns for my touch but I am not always at liberty to indulge it. Not so this night.
On my balcony there is a low couch strewn with cushions. I settled back upon it and licked my fingers. My pussy is like a lotus flower. I spread its delicate petals and therein I find a secret world of delight. I feel myself moisten and I rub the juices all over my perfumed, petaled lips and folds. I payed particular attention to my sacred nub; that sweetest and most succulent of fruit.
I lay back on the cushions, spread my legs and let my fingers enter my pussy. I caressed its every fold, making circles and waves. My fingers plunged in and out of my wellspring of pleasure, going deeper and deeper, faster and harder. Sweet waves soon lapped over me; growing in intensity until, with a sigh I was spent.
I lay back upon the couch serenely and gazed up at the stars; perfect are they, beautiful in their courses, unknowable yet like old and treasured friends. They revived my senses. Soon I rose and stepped back inside. Beneath my bed I keep a cedar box. Inside are two treasures, rare objects from some unknown land. I open the box and take one out. I grasp its ample width, noting once again its considerable weight. It is an ivory tusk cleverly carved to retain its natural curve and wrought in the shape of a thick headed cock. Even in the moonlight I can see its finely polished surface shine. Whence it came, and from what strange animal, I do not know but it is a marvel. This is 'The Tooth.' Having once belonged to Hatshepsut Maatkare, it is clearly inscribed with her names as is it's fellow. The other object is made of horn, but a horn of prodigious size. It is of comparable workmanship' and polish but it is ribbed and grooved. This is 'The Horn'.
I took both Tooth and Horn out onto the balcony and I knelt by the couch. I slipped the Tooth eagerly into my pussy and my muscles immediately embraced it. I slid it in and out, slowly at first, feeling my pussy tighten and relax around it in turn. The rim caressed my inner depths and soon I thrust it in deeper and deeper; feeling the head and shaft fill me totally. Like a ripe peach, my pussy dripped with its own nectar and I anoint my precious nub with it until it glistens. I did this again and again until I felt as though I was drunk with rich pomegranate wine. Soon the Tooth unleashed a storm of pleasure within my loins; wave after wave like the waters of the Nile at inundation. I grit my teeth and drank it all, abandoning myself to pleasure, losing myself in the languorous scents of the night flowers.