Egyptian Evenings (closed thread)

[dr_mabeuse]

Prince Menere stood on the marble veranda of his palace, overlooking the broad Nile as it wound its way slowly past the city of Thebes. The sun was already down and the western hills were casting blue shadows over the river, which meant that he no longer had to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun as he looked over the small boats and barges that crowded around the quay, then turned his gaze down river to the north, looking for a sign of the Phoenician ship that would be bringing the royal princess to him this night, as per their arrangement. He was anxious for a glimpse of this young woman who would soon be his wife, binding her people to the House of Pharaoh and the great land of Egypt.

He turned from the river, cursing himself for his own impatience. He should have stayed out on his hunt earlier. Coming back to his palace as early as he had to prepare for the princess’s arrival looked unseemly and made him appear as eager as a common bride groom, and that was something he was determined to avoid. He was the crown prince after all, and would one day be Pharaoh himself when Ankh-shu-amon was called to ride the heavenly barque of Ra, and a Pharaoh could not show himself to be swayed by any sort of common emotion. So now he sat down in a gilded chair and took one of the cups a servant offered him.

He was still young, tall and strong in body as was his father the Pharaoh, with the same noble features and hawk-like gaze that made servants and commoners tremble and prostrate themselves into the dirt when he rode his chariot through the streets of Thebes. He had already led two victorious military campaigns against the Nubians to the South and the Mitanni to the east, and in fact it was the latter that led to the Phoenicians suing Egypt for peace as Prince Menere’s chariots had swept them from the field. After that battle, envoys had gone back and forth working out details of the peace and how much tribute the Phoenicians would have to pay, so eager for an end to hostilities that the King of Tyre himself offered his daughter in marriage to the Pharaoh as a symbol of trust and good will. Ankh-shu-amon was old, however, and already had more wives than he knew what to do with. But Prince Menere was at an age where he needed a wife. he was getting to old for carousing with harlots, no matter how expensive and beautiful they might be, and it was time he settled down. It was therefore arranged that the princess would be his bride.

Prince Menere understood the exigencies of diplomacy and appreciated the importance of this alliance, but he was also a man of an ardent and passionate temperament who had worn out more than one whore during an evening’s entertainment. He knew this was a political marriage, but still he hoped that this princess would be someone at least worth looking at.

Behind him in the halls of the palace was a host of servants and functionaries whose presence was necessary in order to greet the princess with the ceremony she deserved, Keepers of the Royal Seals, Minister of the Pharaoh’s harem, Minister of Treaties, scribes, fan-bearers and those who would serve as the princess’s new servants. Their milling around irritated him and made him nervous.

“Go,” he said. “Go down to the quay and hold your ceremonies there. Bring her to me when you are finished. I have to sit through enough of these things at my father’s court, I don’t wish to repeat that here.”

They could not disobey, so they filed out of the palace, and Menere watched as they walked down through the narrow, shadowy streets until he lost them, then, lifting his eyes, he say her ship in the distance.

He saw the gold leaf that decorated the prow and the single mast of the ship and the golden gleam of the oars as they lifted from the Nile’s surface. They had one huge sail abroad, and it was the deepest shade of the royal Tyrian purple.

 

[McKenna]

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[dr_mabeuse]

Prince Menere remained seated as he watched the ship approach the quay and tie off. He did his best to maintain his regal poise, but when he caught sight of the princess stepping gracefully off the barge—and it could only be she, dressed in that glowing pinkish gown amidst all the Egyptian white—he couldn’t help but glance down.

Well, at least she wasn't fat. No doubt she’d be homely, though. He remained seated as he watched the ceremonial greeting unfold down on the dock and heard the hieratic chanting of the ministers and the prayers of the priests. No telling how long this might take, those priests could go on for hours.

But no. The ceremony suddenly stopped in mid sentence. That piqued his interest and he looked frankly down at the crowd to see what had happened. The princess and her retinue were forming up for their march to the temple. Had she stopped the ceremony? She must have. Who else would have had the authority? And now he was shocked to see that she had refused to ride in the sedan chair he had provided. This was very strange. She seemed to prefer to walk to the palace on her own two feet.

Forgetting himself, Menere stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace so he could try and catch a glimpse of her as she approached. It was hard to get a clear view through the palms and the houses that lined the avenue, but he caught sight of a lithe and elegant figure, walking with the self-possessed grace of royalty.

His curiosity was up, and he had to get a better look. Leaving his servants standing about on the terrace, Menere strode through the palace and out into the courtyard as his retainers milled about in confusion, upset by this breach of protocol. By all rights he should receive her on his princely throne, the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt on his head, the golden Crook and Flail of the heir apparent in his hands. Menere turned angrily on them as they swarmed around his heels and sent them all scattering. He opened the heavy wooden doors in the outer wall himself, not waiting for the guards, and strode out into the dusty street to watch the princess approach. Two servants, nervous and confused and carrying his crown and crook and flail on embroidered cushions, ran from the palace and nearly bumped into each other as the got down and knelt quivering at his feet, offering up the symbols of his office. He ignored them. His eyes were on the princess.

How she walked! As if the earth below her feet belonged to her, and yet with a feminine sway that he had seen in some courtesans, but never performed with such natural ease and regal grace. Her robe blew against her body in the warm Egyptian wind and he saw the rich fullness of her breasts, the breasts of a goddess.

He stood transfixed, watching her approach, staring at her. Her eyes were green, as green as the Great Sea that ran by her land, the first green eyes he had ever seen. Her hair was dark, with waves like the Nile when the wind blew over the surface.

To his surprise she did not cower from his gaze nor did she lower her eyes. No one else in the Two Lands would dare meet the Prince’s eyes, but the woman met them and held them. She would not back down, and even as he watched she straightened her back, thrust her shoulders back and raised her chin. He felt a thrill of lust run through his body. This was a woman worthy of a Prince of Egypt.

“Good and Great God!” one of the kneeling servants stammered, “Your crown! Your scepter!”

“Oh, shut up.” he said absently.

He was a man of high passions and used to following his heart, and so he walked towards her now in the open heat of the wide avenue before his palace, unable to take his eyes from her. She stopped, and the procession stopped around her, and seeing the prince approach, the ministers bowed. The servants fell to their knees.

The prince ignored them all. He stepped forward, and without a word he extended his royal arm to her, just as his father the Pharaoh would extend his arm to his queen when they entered the throne room of his palace at Memphis.

It was an automatic gesture. The princess looked at him, and just as casually laid her hand on his arm as if she’d expected no less, the paleness of her long fingers making a contrast to his sun-bronzed skin.

“What is her name?” Menere spoke to the minister of protocol who stood by his side, head down. His eyes, however, remained on the princess.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, the princess said, “Illana, my Lord Prince. Illana of Tyre, Daughter of King Abadsidnar, the King of Tyre and Byblos.”

Menere was taken aback. “She speaks Egyptian?”

“Did you expect any less?” she asked him. “Do you think that a princess of Tyre would not been schooled in the language of the Great Kingdom of Egypt?”

He smiled with delight. “Well said, my princess.” Her answer had been intelligent and diplomatic. She was indeed a woman of rare breeding.

He nodded his head towards the palace, and together they walked through the open gates and up the marble stairs, the guards and servants falling to their knees as they passed. She kept her eyes straight ahead, taking in all the sights, the fabled glories of the Two Lands, while Menere’s eyes never left her face.

Together they walked through the columns of the great veranda and into the palace. He led her over cool polished marble floors while servants and ministers ran about nervously, all their carefully planned ceremonies and rituals upset by Prince Menere’s unexpected intoxication with the foreign beauty.

 

[McKenna]

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[dr_mabeuse]

As he had said, Prince Menere joined her for dinner. He was fresh from his own bath, oiled and scented and wearing a spotless tunic, its pleats as sharp as knives. They reclined on separate upholstered couches, nibbling at the various dishes that were brought in, tasting one wine after another as the evening wore on and the lamps burned low.

He was perfectly charming, totally enchanting and the conversation flowed easily, though Illana was careful to maintain her tone of respect, not so much out of deference to him, but because she still felt like a guest in his house. But as Illana sipped the wine and watched the stars rise above the dark Nile, she realized that perhaps this wouldn’t be as terrible as she had feared. She had her friends with her in her entourage, she had the wealth of Egypt at her command, and she had Menere, who seemed wonderfully attentive and mindful of her slightest needs. She even relaxed enough to laugh at his jokes, which pleased him immensely.

By the time they finished, it was late, and Menere had dismissed the last of the servants. He stood up and looked at her, then came to her sofa and sat down along side her. He looked at her and it was impossible to miss the look in his eyes. Illana felt herself grow nervous.

“And now it is time we became acquainted, you and I,” he said.

She smiled politely, but he heart was suddenly pounding. “But shouldn’t we wait until the wedding?”

“The wedding is merely a formality,” he said. “We were married when you came into my home. It’s an ancient Egyptian custom.”

She was going to protest, but it was late, and much wine had been consumed. Plus, the warm breeze off the river and the soft flickering of the oil lamps against the soaring pillars of her chamber did not make his attentions entirely unwelcome. Illana sank back into the cushions as he leaned over her.

His lips were warm, his kiss soft and attentive. Illana closed her eyes and let him kiss her, and when his tongue came out and played against her lips, she met him with her own curious yet tentative. It was her first real kiss, an though she’d long imagined what it would be like, she wasn't prepared for this sudden surge of excitement in her body. Menere caressed her cheek with his hand and Illana felt as if she might melt into the sofa.

The kiss went on, and Illana floated on a river of pleasure, her body dissolving. She felt the familiar ache begin between her legs, and her breasts felt heavy and full. When he took her breast in his hand, she didn’t object. She looked at him, saw his lips on her, the way he licked her nipple. The sight was terribly arousing, and, she groaned and pressed herself up against his sweet mouth.

“Disrobe for me,” he said as he pulled away from her. “I will have you this very night.”

Cold, hard reality suddenly broke in on her erotic haze. “I will not,” she said. “I’m a princess of Tyre.”

“That may be so,” he said, “But you’re also my wife.”

She had no intention of disrobing for him and letting him have his way with her. She knew her own worth, and she would wait until the wedding ceremonies were over. Besides, she did not allow anyone to command her to do anything.

She sat up, gathering her gown around her, a gown that suddenly seemed to be extremely sheer and transparent. Menere reached out and took her forearm.

“No woman has ever dared refuse me,” he said.

“Well, my Lord Prince, I am not just any woman.”

Menere took her other wrist as well, and Princess Illana found herself held in his iron-like grip. He didn’t squeeze her hard, but there was simply no way she could escape. He was very strong

“How dare you!” she cried.

Prince Menere was a warrior, and he was not accustomed to being refused by anyone. He reached for the golden cord he wore as a belt, tore it from around his waist and whipped it around the princess’s wrists, shoved her around roughly, and tied her wrists behind her back before she even knew what was happening. He let go of her and she fell back onto the sofa in shock, her hands pinioned behind her.

“You can scream if you want,” he said with a cruel smile. “But then half the town will know how the foreign princess squealed when the prince mounted her, and you will be derided in the streets. Now open your legs, princess.”

“I will not!” she spluttered. “Untie me at once! My father shall hear of this!”

Menere stared at her for a moment, then said, “It looks to me that your father has raised a spoiled child. Perhaps it’s not too late to save you though.”

With that he sat down on the sofa and easily pulled the princess up and over his lap like a child. She twisted and kicked, but he grabbed her tied wrists and held her down over his knee. He let her struggle and writhe until she was breathing hard and her hair had fallen from her elegant coif and spilled down into her face, then she felt his hand moving up the back of her bare leg: up her calf, behind her knee, up the back of her thigh.

“Stop it!” she cried out. “Stop it at once!”

His hand continued up, pausing to explore the soft flesh at the very top of her thigh, where it met her buttock, and Illana felt a lewd thrill run through her body. She felt herself grow wet between her legs.