Chapter 51

It was a pity that at this point, the lesson bought with Arit’s life could no longer salvage Isis’s declining fortunes. Two Lower Egyptians attempting to flee from the wide-open sluice gates were caught red-handed.

With such undeniable, flagrant evidence, there was no need for a trial. Memphis was so enraged that his vision darkened on the spot. Although he had previously known that his elder sister and Carol did not get along, he had never truly believed that Isis would commit such vicious and cruel deeds. Yet now, with the proof right before his eyes, he had no choice but to believe.

Having learned of the incident at the lotus pond, Isis was hurrying toward the scene as well. What she had not expected, however, was to be greeted by Memphis’s gaze, filled with both pain and hatred.

"Royal Sister!" Memphis rose to his feet, carefully handing Carol over to Nefertiti's care. When he turned back, every trace of tenderness and affection he had shown his beloved was entirely gone, replaced by a consuming blaze of fury: "I never believed you would lay a hand on Carol. I trusted you so completely—you are my only sister! How could you bear to harm the woman I love? How could you injure the daughter of Hapi, the Nile god revered and adored by the people of Egypt?"

Isis stood within the shadow of a pillar, weighed down by a sorrow she could not conceal. How was she to explain? The deed had indeed been done by Arit, and since Arit was already dead, the name of a Babylonian king who had no grievances against Egypt explained nothing at all!

Isis’s fingers trembled slightly as she gripped her fan. She felt like the sole sinner in this grand hall, condemned without the need for proof and denied any right of rebuttal. Memphis stood blocking Carol, while his ministers, maids, and guards all rallied behind him. She alone stood exposed to the cleansing baptism of those hateful glares.

The jewels on the hilt of her fan dug painfully into her palm, yet this pain cleared her mind, suddenly bringing her a sense of complete release: "Memphis, are you passing sentence upon me now? Because of this inexplicably appeared woman, you question your only sister, Isis, Queen of Lower Egypt? Have you forgotten your oath before our royal father to protect Egypt by my side? Have you forgotten the me who held your hand and guided your faltering steps when you were first learning to walk? And now you can't wait to cast me aside?"

This was the first time Isis had openly and brazenly spoken of her ambitions for the seat beside the Pharaoh. From the time she was born and old enough to understand, her royal father and mother had told her that she would marry Memphis, just as their own parents' marriage had been.

Before his death, her father had still maintained his intention for the brother and sister to jointly govern Egypt. Yet the brother she had cherished for a lifetime, for whom she had given everything, had fallen in love with another woman—so much so that he was unwilling to spare even a fraction of the space beside him to grant his own sister, Isis, a foothold. Had he never considered that if he did not marry Isis, she would no longer be able to survive within this vast palace? And how many Egyptian princesses married off to distant lands ever met a peaceful end?

For a long time, Isis had walked on thin ice, not daring to urge Memphis to marry her, reduced to bribing the temple priests to hint at it through divine oracles. At that time, Memphis was still a willful and unrestrained prince. He could dally with Tayil, and he could maintain an ambiguous, neither-active-nor-refusing, non-committal attitude toward both herself and Midawein—even contemplating securing Hatti through a marriage with Midawein. Otherwise, why would Isis have felt compelled to eliminate that princess of the great power?

Back then, Memphis was still an Egyptian Pharaoh who weighed gains and losses in his eyes. Yet now, for the sake of a swaggering woman masquerading as a divinity, he cast aside familial bonds and disregarded the nation. His actions fractured the unity of Upper and Lower Egypt, sparking successive wars with Hatti and Assyria within a mere half-year. Even though Isis could pray unceasingly for him before the gods, once the frail shoulders of a woman like Isis could no longer bear the dual betrayal of her homeland and her kin, there would no longer be anyone whose heart and soul were devoted solely to looking out for Memphis.

In that instant, Isis felt everything to be utterly devoid of meaning. Memphis’s fierce reproaches and rebukes felt as distant as the wind sweeping across the Nile, gently stirring the colorful silk gown that had been as beautiful as her maidenhood dreams, before ruthlessly carrying it far away from her.

She could accept the perfunctory treatment of her younger, boorish Memphis from days past, because he was perfunctory toward all women. Yet when he became devoted to a single woman, Isis could never endure that the woman was not herself.

Memphis had finally encountered love, but that woman happened not to be her. Driven mad by jealousy, demons of the dark night gnawed at her heart as she shed countless tears before the gods and burned countless vials of balsam, praying for the deities to return her only brother to her side.

By the end, she no longer knew whether she was grieving her inability to marry Memphis, or the shattering of a lifelong, haunting ideal.

"Royal Sister," Memphis knew nothing of how Isis's heart had been reduced to the ash of burned balsam. With a grand sweep of his cloak, resting one hand upon his royal saber, he spoke to Isis with the stern authority of Upper Egypt's ruler—or rather, the de facto ruler of all Egypt—for the very first time: "I still address you as Royal Sister out of respect for you. There are numerous witnesses to today's events; before long, the news will spread beyond the palace. Whether you did it or not is no longer important; the people will only see that a Lower Egyptian deliberately plotted to harm the future crown princess. If you still cherish our bond, you must attend the wedding ceremony in your most resplendent attire, blessing the union of myself and Carol in your capacity as Egypt’s high priestess, so as to wash away your stain."

This was tantamount to driving yet another dagger into Isis’s already scarred heart. Isis would rather be imprisoned in a sunless temple than ever attend the wedding of her lover and her rival, let alone offer them any blessing. If it were possible, Isis wished she could curse Carol to a swift death.

***

"Memphis, you may use your power to force me into doing whatever you desire. But I, Isis, Queen of Lower Egypt, tell you this here and now: the people of Lower Egypt remain forever loyal to me. If my dignity is trampled upon, even though you are the King of Egypt, my wrath before the gods will never rest nor yield. If you wish to see our royal father denied eternal peace, you may drag me to the Temple of Amun where the wedding is held, but you will never dare dream of receiving my blessing!" Isis showed not a shred of fear, radiating the full majesty of a queen. She lacked direct command over the armies and officials, yet she coursed with the most noble blood, yielding nothing to Memphis.

The brother and sister stood locked in confrontation, resembling a pair of implacable enemies. Seeing that the situation had reached an impasse, Imhotep stepped forward to inform Memphis: "Pharaoh, the Phoenician envoys are about to enter the city. You must receive them at once!"

Thinking of the envoys gathered because of his wedding, and of his royal sister—who harbored a jealousy toward Carol while possessing the influence of Lower Egypt, a power not formidable in scale yet troublesome enough to have far-reaching ripples—Memphis turned and commanded Sinuhe: "Escort the Royal Sister back to the temple."

Sinuhe was a general who had grown up alongside the brother and sister, currently serving as Memphis’s personal bodyguard and holding command over troops. In ordering Sinuhe to escort Isis, Memphis was perhaps leaving a shred of dignity and face for them both; he knew Sinuhe would not make things difficult for Isis, especially since Sinuhe had always harbored a quiet adoration for her.

Isis was already at the end of her tether. She had forced herself to endure Memphis’s interrogation while those around her had already pronounced her guilty. Arit was dead, and Nakhto was forbidden from leading troops into the city of Thebes. This magnificent city, once brimming with splendid temples and gorgeous palaces, was no longer Isis’s home. It was welcoming a new mistress, while the fallen Isis found herself surrounded on all sides by crisis and peril.

Having long since broken with Egypt and gone to war, the Hittites and Assyrians naturally had no intention of congratulating the Egyptian king on his wedding, so they chose to gather together to hatch malicious plots.

Driven by the importance they placed on renewing their alliance, Huwalli and Zannanza galloped out to the foothills on the outskirts of Hattusa by evening to welcome Arsan and his retinue who had traveled from afar. As rulers, they needed brains comparable to the greatest logicians, constantly calculating the most advantageous plans. At the same time, they had to be master actors: those who had gained an advantage dared not show triumph, while those who had suffered losses naturally could not express their anger.

Zannanza and Arsan dismounted and met, greeting each other in the rigorous manner of warriors. Amidst back-slapping and laughter, they looked as thick as thieves—though in terms of temperament, Arsan truly resembled Huwalli’s illegitimate son wandering abroad.

Only the individuals involved knew the truth: Zannanza had nearly shattered Arsan’s spine with his blows, while Arsan had nearly knocked the wind out of Zannanza.

For the arrival of the King of Assyria, the royal palace of Hattusa bustled with activity everywhere. Soldiers heightened their patrols, and maids carrying gold bowls, silver ewers, and fur cushions traversed the banquet halls, intent on making the far-traveled guests feel at home. The women of the palace grew spirited as well. The city of Hattusa prided itself on an exceptionally pragmatic and efficient ethos; in previous years, to conserve civilian labor and resources during the snow season—and because Zannanza himself disliked them—banquets were rarely held in the palace. This time, for Arsan’s sake, it was the first such event in years.

Zannanza, who had previously remained unmarried, boasted a slightly stronger lineup in his retinue this year, ensuring he would not appear out of place among a throng of ministers flanked by women.

Mura was meticulously dressing Inanna, not demanding that she dazzle the entire assembly, but ensuring she would not disgrace the prince. Fortunately, the Queen Mother, seeing her clever obedience, had bestowed upon her a wealth of fabrics and jewelry. The Lion Palace held no other women, and the prince would never proactively concern himself with such matters; otherwise, Inanna would have had no idea how impoverished her appearance might have been.

Tucking a stray lock of hair behind Inanna’s ear, Mura asked with a touch of reproach: "Why do you only have one ear pierced?"

"Mura, it is of no consequence," before Inanna could reply, the prince stepped into the room. He wore a purple Tuhukanti robe trimmed with gold. Tall and slender, he had shed the scholarly air he wore on ordinary days, nor did he resemble a warrior bathing in the blood of the battlefield; rather, he cut the figure of a truly noble, unapproachable first golden bachelor of the empire. At the moment, his expression was relaxed—perhaps deriving a bit of amusement from Arsan—and he was quite accommodating: "Sukammu looks fine this way. Whether she wears earrings or not does not matter."

Because Inanna was not his primary wife and hailed from a humble background, her attire was simpler than that of the gold-and-jewel-laden prince. Wearing neither crown nor restrictive circlets, she had a ruby pendant hanging across her brow, which made her skin appear even fairer. Her long skirt brushed the floor, and though the outer robe was not the most expensive purple, it was crafted from rare lamb's wool, embroidered with large blooms of golden highland wild daisies. It carried a tranquil yet eye-catching warmth. Though she appeared petite, once clad in such heavy, sweeping garments, the curves of her chest and waist still folded into an alluring line as she moved, which only succeeded in drawing Zannanza’s attention.

Zannanza noticed that Mura had also found Inanna a pair of pointed, curved shoes with thick wooden soles tucked inside, which made Inanna appear taller than usual, her crown rising above his chin once she stood upright.

Recalling Arsan’s complexion turning pale with fury over the harsh terms that afternoon, and his forced acceptance of reparations equivalent to five years of Assyria’s tax revenue, a sense of elation rose in his chest. What men sought were merely such moments of unbridled ambition and triumphant living. Bending his head slightly, he reached Inanna’s ear: "We shall continue tonight, and next time you will be able to wear earrings."

Though Inanna clearly intended to regard him as an ornate piece of background tapestry, she still couldn't help breaking out in goosebumps upon hearing these words, her mind anxiously tangling over how she was to survive the night.

Consequently, when Zannanza led her and crossed paths with Arsan at the entrance of the banquet hall, she remained momentarily dazed.

Arsan was likewise dressed in formal attire, though his formal attire consisted of a long tunic covered in fringes. From Inanna’s perspective, even a pair of window curtains would have looked better than what he wore. Amidst their banter, a wind laden with ice crystals occasionally swept past, fluttering Arsan’s curly long hair and revealing his ear, half of the cartilage of which had been bitten off. The uneven, jagged tooth marks still remained. Thinking of that stunningly beautiful and ferocious Egyptian queen, even Inanna could not help but sigh that such beauties were troublesome indeed.

Yet Inanna felt that Arsan resembled nothing so much as a villainous rat—the "One-Ear" whose half-ear had been shot off with a "bang" by Chief Black Cat.

Arsan brought along his dependable partner Jomary as usual, but the two women Zannanza had successively handled were the ones lingering in his thoughts. He truly had to look at this little slave girl with new eyes! Look at that attire; within a few days, she had risen to become a secondary wife. Zannanza always wore that hypocritical, hard-to-seduce deadpan expression, so this little slave girl must undoubtedly possess extraordinary skills in bed.

Although Jomary felt a pang of jealousy in her heart as Arsan repeatedly stared fixedly at Inanna, she was more than happy to stir up trouble for the other party. Finding the exact moment to add fuel to the fire, she piped up: "Last time she was merely a slave girl, and this time we meet she's a secondary wife. King Arsan, I am so envious—when are you ever going to promote me?"

She wasn't a proper princess consort, so there was no need to spare her feelings. When it came to alliances, what were women worth? Seizing the opportunity, Arsan cast a lewd, head-to-toe appraisal at Inanna, rolling his tongue out to lick the corner of his mouth as he laughed obscenely: "Whether her skills inside are better than Jomary's, I couldn't say. But if your backside is as tight and perky as hers, what problem would there be in getting a promotion?!"

Zannanza made no outward reaction upon hearing this, but Arsan had long since seen through the moment when those eyes of his froze as cold as the ice crystals outside. Delighted in his heart, he silently declared that he had regained a point: *Zannanza, I hope you choke with rage!*

***