Chapter 27

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Aran sat cross-legged beneath a palm tree, holding a bunch of grapes as he reclined on the reed mat his subordinates had spread out for him to escape the heat.

The Assyrians had made camp less than a day’s journey from the border of Lower Egypt. In accordance with their agreement with the Hittite Kingdom, they had brought enough men to defend themselves and were waiting there for the other side to arrive and discuss the alliance.

The Syrian Desert was a barren wasteland. Even the Egyptians would not casually venture across it under ordinary circumstances. Unless one came with several thousand troops and openly stationed them along the border, no one in this age would care what sort of poisonous plot you were discussing in the depths of the desert.

Even so, Aran still felt aggrieved. Perhaps it was because, before setting out, he had cursed the gods in heaven as “a load of crap.” After disguising himself as an envoy and escaping Egypt amid the chaos, he had not been fortunate enough to fish from the river the flat-chested goddess who had left everyone turning their heads. Nor had he laid eyes on Queen Isis, famed throughout the Great Green Sea for her enormous breasts, impossibly slender waist, and wonderfully soft behind. Thus, after returning to his base and venting a little of his pent-up desire on his beloved Jomari, he had been unable to summon any further interest.

A king’s favor was the foundation upon which a woman of the inner palace depended for survival. Yet there were clearly no other women beside King Aran, and still he could not bring himself to feel either lust or passion for her. Even his younger brother, formerly ignorant of the meaning of restraint, had lowered his banner. Jomari was practically gnashing her teeth in hatred.

Could the daughter of that god truly possess such overwhelming charm? Had the beast Aran, even while fully clothed, actually learned his lesson? Jomari gnawed at her fingernails, forcing herself to think of some way to make the king’s “flames of love” burn for her once more.

For the next few days, however, Aran was far too busy. At one point, bored and furious, he shouted, “That damned Izmil promised to come sign the treaty with me. How dare he be late?!”

The prince of the Hittite Kingdom had indeed arrived late, but amid the thunderous pounding of camels that seemed to shake the earth, the distinguished representative empowered to sign the treaty finally appeared.

Aran, who had been sitting beneath the tree, sprang to his feet. He flung aside the grapes in his hand and adopted the expression of a man who had just been reunited with a long-lost brother. Wild with delight, he hurried toward the camel at the head of the procession.

“Ah, Prince Izmil! You have made me wait in the utmost agony, but now that I see you, every moment of waiting has been worthwhile! The future ally of Assyria has been blessed with such a heroic and imposing appearance, a man capable of facing ten thousand warriors alone. This is surely a blessing for both our nations!”

Seeing their king produce such nauseating flattery with effortless ease, Aran’s attendants could only follow behind, bowing and nodding despite their true feelings.

Prince Izmil removed the veil that had shielded his face from the sand. Beneath the merciless desert sun, he still felt every hair on his body stand on end. The tongue at the corner of Aran’s mouth flicked in and out, creating an intensely vulgar and revolting impression. But remembering the purpose of his journey, Izmil decided to regard the man before him as a trial sent by the goddess Alina. He had to find a way to endure it.

He dismounted with elegant ease. Though he had arrived late, he assumed the air of a host. “It was truly improper of me to keep you waiting so long, Lord Aran. Tonight, I shall hold a banquet in my own tent to make amends. You must honor me with your presence!”

Aran’s mouth twitched as he cursed inwardly. Apart from this circle of tents, there was nothing but an empty desert. If he did not go to the prince’s tent to drink wine and embrace women, was he supposed to go outside and eat sand?

Speaking of women, Aran—who was more sensitive to the opposite sex than to anything else—quickly noticed that among the sturdy figures in the prince’s escort, all wrapped in pale desert cloaks, there was one particularly small and slender person.

He licked his lips, followed the prince into the tent, and felt the weeds of desire in his heart begin to grow wildly.

According to reports from Assyrian spies who had spent years lurking in the Hittite royal palace, this prince had always kept away from women, let alone taken one along when traveling. Could it be that his temperament had changed and he had finally learned to enjoy life? With that thought, Aran summoned an attendant and ordered him to inform Jomari that she must dress in her finest clothes and attend the banquet that evening.

The petite figure was naturally Inanna. After crawling out of the Nile that day, she did not know whether it was the result of some fate from a previous life, but along that vast waterway, despite the countless people who traveled back and forth, she had somehow ended up being rescued by the prince!

At that moment, she made up her mind. Since the gods insisted on toying with her, then until she found a way home, she would cling to the prince who could at least keep her from starving to death.

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When Inanna vaguely saw the prince’s figure through the muddy water, she thought of the golden solar disk of the Hittite royal family and of the Red River flowing through Hattusa, which was worth taking a chance on. She had no idea that the hungry, feverish look in her eyes resembled that of a time traveler gazing upon the key to a temporal passage—or a starving man seeing a roast duck.

And this “roast duck” had not thrown her aside when she was drenched and burning with fever from exhaustion. He had even summoned a physician to treat her.

People should not underestimate the simple act of calling for a doctor. Three thousand years ago, physicians in ancient Egypt and Babylon represented the most advanced medical knowledge of their age. Their practices were not merely the shamanistic rituals people imagined, filled with sorcery. Egyptian doctors of the time were already capable of performing primitive surgery and using more than four hundred medicinal ingredients to prepare as many as a thousand different remedies.

More often, physicians were used as a diplomatic instrument. When a neighboring country appealed to an Egyptian pharaoh, the state would dispatch such medical experts on official missions. It was considered a highly honored profession.

Inanna was fortunate enough to experience the sophistication of ancient Egyptian medicine firsthand, because the doctor advised General Hazzas to treat her by “covering her in order to induce sweating.” In a place like Egypt, however, she was already drenched in sweat without being covered at all.

After drinking bark-and-root broth for two days, she recovered quickly, though she slowed the progress of the entire army. She felt a little grateful toward Prince Izmil, but not the slightest bit guilty for holding them back. Who knew how many square kilometers of reeds the prince and his men had searched while moving at a slower pace in their hunt for Carol?

When Inanna dismounted, General Hazzas gave her a hand. Then he pointed toward a small brown tent beside the prince’s newly erected command tent.

“That one is yours.”

Compared with the opulent, magnificent tent of the hosts—so lavish that it resembled a traveling palace—Inanna’s was no more impressive than a blade of foxtail grass. Still, having a private space was a good thing. She had not expected General Hazzas to point toward the Assyrian king’s camp and say, “See that little tent beside King Aran’s? That is where his favorite concubine lives. Sukamumu, you must not disgrace the prince.”

Inanna nearly fainted. If they wanted to challenge the Assyrian king, they should not drag her into it! The other side had one large tent and one small tent, so they had arranged one large tent and one small tent as well. Heaven knew she had absolutely no relationship with the prince!

Fortunately, when the evening banquet began, the prince did not summon Inanna inside.

That night, the leaders and chief ministers of both countries gathered in the Hittite prince’s main tent. Yet the two sides were in no hurry to discuss state affairs. Before truly crossing swords, probing the other side’s depths in such an informal setting was a highly profitable undertaking.

Aran had left Izmil with the unfavorable impression of a false and treacherous man. Izmil, meanwhile, had no idea that Aran regarded him as a man of appearances only—an ineffectual scholar utterly unlike the wise and heroic figure described in the rumors.

How did he resemble the empire’s second-in-command, a man who traveled among foreign nations stealing intelligence? He was plainly nothing more than a scholar who spent all day handling papyrus and reed pens. His quiet, composed, scholarly air was particularly striking. His appearance was no less beautiful than a woman’s, and Aran could not help but look down on him a little.

The Assyrian king began to feel mischievous. Once the wine had warmed his body and reddened his ears, he summoned his beloved Jomari, who had long since dressed herself anew in preparation for a grand entrance.

Jomari came from a settlement of Akkadians along the Euphrates, and the customs of her people had made her exceptionally skilled in the art of seduction. Draped in red gauze, she approached with ornaments that chimed softly. Small golden-bronze bells hung from her bracelets, armlets, and anklets, answering one another with every step and giving her an appealingly wild air.

Before she even appeared, the sound of her bells had already reached the tent and attracted the attention of the men in this remote corner of the desert—men who might mistake even a sow for a beauty.

When she lifted the curtain and entered, the tent filled with the successive clatter of cups and goblets being dropped.

Babylonian women were the unrivaled attractions of banquets throughout the kingdoms, for they were the most devout followers and accomplished students of the goddess Ishtar. Jomari’s red gauze was thin and translucent. Her skin was a sensual deep brown, and her features were radiant and full. Her heavy breasts were adorned with nothing but two pink shells, while a red gem nestled in her small navel. Around her waist hung a tasseled skirt made of strings of pearls. The gaps between the beads were neither particularly large nor particularly small, but with a sharp enough gaze, one could see that there was nothing beneath them as she moved. She had been shaved completely smooth, then painted with red cosmetic dye in the shape of a fragrant flower.

Jomari kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. Only when she saw King Aran did she reveal the delighted expression of a woman who had found her lover. Swaying her hips, she fluttered toward him with seductive grace.

That tiny waist bent into such a beautifully sensual curve that many of the men began to imagine what sort of charms it might display in bed.

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Jomari, however, had no interest in ordinary men. Nestled in Aran’s arms, she allowed her hand to wander restlessly over the king’s waist. Aran, though, was mostly putting on a performance and felt little genuine desire for a woman. He was the sort of man who could not be aroused no matter how much he was teased when he did not want a woman, yet when he did want one, he needed no teasing at all and would have his way even if she screamed until her throat broke.

While one hand stroked her man, Jomari began studying the handsome prince whose name had long been famous along the shores of the Great Green Sea.

The sight was enough to leave anyone dazed. Even Jomari, a woman whose appetite for lust exceeded her concern for beauty, found herself wishing that when Aran rode her and brought her to climax, the face above her could somehow be changed into the prince’s. Would that not make it even more exquisite?

When Jomari entered, Izmil merely glanced at her before continuing to drink his wine.

But Aran, who understood the psychology of lust and possessed abundant practical experience, still saw the young man’s discomfort. He teased the red jewel in Jomari’s navel with one finger and asked with a grin, “A banquet is incomplete without fine wine and beautiful women. That is the greatest pleasure in life. I must confess, Prince, that I have one regret!”

Izmil assumed he was about to raise a condition. He set down his cup and listened attentively. He had not expected that nothing resembling wisdom would emerge from Aran’s filthy mouth.

“I have always wanted to see Queen Isis, whose beauty is renowned throughout the world. Then I could die without regret. And not merely see her—if I could touch her as well, heh heh heh…”

Everyone present despised him inwardly. Egypt was a great power. How could its queen possibly fall into the hands of a lecher like him?

Aran seemed completely unaware of their contempt. “Tell me, Prince, have you ever seen Queen Isis? Grant me this one small dream. It is such a pity that a beauty like her was abandoned by Menphis. I would so dearly like to comfort her wounded heart. What good does it do for a woman abandoned by her lover to hide away alone in Lower Egypt and grieve? Am I not right, Jomari?”

Jomari was a true heroine among women, capable of astonishing an entire room.

“Exactly, my king. Hiding away alone to grieve will not help at all. If it were me, I would seize that man, climb on top of him, and ride him again and again until he learned to obey.”

Women were indeed indispensable at places of entertainment. The thought of the heroic and extraordinary Egyptian pharaoh, who styled himself the sun god, being pinned beneath such a woman sent everyone into roaring laughter. The banquet’s atmosphere reached its peak, and even Prince Izmil managed a rare smile.

Then Aran’s next words made him wipe it away.

“Tell me, Prince, my Jomari is truly a treasure. What about yours?”

Author’s note: I rather like Jomari. She is a bold woman, and she and Aran are truly a perfect match.

I am preparing to unleash some melodrama. Everyone, sit tight and hold on to your popcorn. I am about to begin.

The Legend of Isis [Daughter of the Nile], Chapter 27: The full text of The Legend of Isis [Daughter of the Nile]—Chapter 27 complete!