Chapter 53

Isis naturally recognized the spineless man she had once fished out of the river. Never had she imagined that he was actually the nephew of the King of Phoenicia, the wealthy magnate who controlled the majority of the Tyrian purple cloth trade across the Great Green Sea, and the future King of Phoenicia.

Thinking of her hopeless situation back home and the fat duck that had slipped through her fingers, Queen Isis harbored secret resentment. Was that fat duck really worth only five thousand shekels of gold? She should have asked him for ten thousand at the time... no, twenty thousand!

Yet when Saru pulled out that bunch of flowers, Isis froze and stared at his hands in speechless silence.

Memphis had been assassinated and died young, throwing the court into political turmoil. She had been suppressed by priests sent by her political rivals using clay tablets inscribed with mysterious spells, and sealed alive in the secret chamber to the right of Memphis's tomb. As a proud queen of a nation, she was forced into a live burial, and the country fell into the hands of ambitious schemers. She could neither attain the eternal life of a king, nor could her resentful soul ever find rest. The final peaceful moment of her life was spent empty-handed, placing a casually picked bunch of wild flowers upon Memphis's coffin to mourn her aborted love and their shared youth with her younger brother.

Now, someone had brought flowers. That small bouquet of wild flowers awakened memories of her most innocent feelings, yet after waiting for two lifetimes, she would never receive a single word or half-word of love from Memphis.

Yet that man she had met only once, with his bright brown eyes, pierced through the bustling Egyptian court, passed through the plain bunch of wildflowers, and stared straight at her. As if he could not see the disapproving glances of the surrounding Egyptian ministers, nor Lagshu's gloomy and restrained expression, he was so brazen that it made one want to slap him, yet lacked the heart to strike too hard. Isis felt a sharp ache in her temples, so she gracefully raised her feather fan to shield her face and ignored him entirely. Ali was gone; there was no one left to whom she could pour out her bitterness, pain, tears, and worries, nor anyone left to comfort her.

Memphis knew that Lagshu might take action, and he even anticipated it. However, the Phoenician nobleman who had popped up out of nowhere forced him to suppress his desire to finalize the marriage pact immediately and instead pause to observe and analyze.

After a few days of contact, Lagshu was extremely cunning yet left no flaws to grasp; if one said he was deeply calculating, his depths could still be fathomed. Yet this suddenly appeared bearded fellow, who always looked slightly drunk and whose eyes remained glued to the Queen Sister without ever moving away, bore the name Saru—though inconspicuous, he was a pivotal figure in Phoenicia. Such depth was beyond Memphis's ability to fathom.

Carol tugged at Memphis's cloak from the side, pointing with her finger at the men who were silently contending in the arena, and smiled: "An absolute beauty like Isis is never lacking in suitors. I am truly happy for her."

Memphis was well aware of the lingering guilt in Carol's heart. He turned and pulled her close, whispering softly against her ear: "I will come to find you after the banquet."

Perhaps thinking of their rendezvous, Carol's face flushed red, only for Memphis's next sentence to pierce right through the prospective bride's rosy pink bubbles of fantasy: "I will come to find you together with Imhotep."

Isis watched their intimacy from behind her fan, the gloom in her eyes deepening by several shades. To Lagshu, it looked like schadenfreude; to Saru, it was an unspeakable heaviness and heartache.

Considering whether Egypt could profit from this marriage, and having matters to discuss with Carol, Memphis gave a perfunctory reply: "The Queen Sister is my only relative and the supreme female of Egypt. Her marriage is naturally hers to decide. King Lagshu, Saru, you might as well stay in the royal palace for a few more days. Not only can you attend my wedding ceremony, but you can also each rely on your own abilities to win the Queen Sister's heart. I presume Egypt will soon have another joyous occasion to celebrate."

The ministers were most adept at understanding intent. The moment Memphis's voice fell, they hypocritically raised their cups to congratulate Queen Isis, whose "market value" was so high. Poor Carol, despite being an American, failed to realize that Isis was actually the most pitiable of all; her choice was strictly limited to either Saru or Lagshu, much like American voters choosing between the Democrats and the Republicans. Memphis's words were sheer, unadulterated false democracy—Isis was bound to marry either the donkey or the elephant.

When the banquet finally broke up, Isis managed, under Sinuhe's protection, to draw close to Memphis's side. Knowing she had words for him, Memphis walked behind the curtains of a pillar, looked out at the brilliantly lit and bustling palace, leaned against the pillar, and asked: "Queen Sister, whom do you choose?"

There was no escaping it. Aside from Memphis, whom else could Isis possibly wish to marry? If she could not marry Memphis, her past life would be nothing more than a joke. She had no choice but to trust the guidance Ali had paid for with her life: "I do not choose Lagshu."

This was merely a reference point regarding the principal party's attitude, but to Memphis, it was only a reference. After pondering for a moment, he merely stated that he would consider the matter, and then strode away.

Isis knew that Phoenicia's territory was small and primarily commercial, and its army could hardly be considered strong or large-scale. If it were up to Memphis, he would surely choose a political marriage with powerful Babylon, using Babylon as a counterbalance and shield against Assyria. Yet why should Isis use her own happiness as the price for Egypt antagonizing Assyria, paying the bill for a mistake that was not of her own making?

Memphis and Imhotep visiting Carol's chambers in such a hurried manner naturally had their purpose. Ever since Carol demonstrated her miraculous ability to prophesy the future before Imhotep, this prospective queen consort had to serve Egypt's interests at critical moments.

The crafty and calculating prime minister asked Carol: "Daughter of the Nile, please tell me, between Babylon and Phoenicia, which nation is more suitable for a political marriage with Egypt?"

Carol looked startled, a bewildered expression surfacing on her face. She had assumed marriage was Isis's private affair; perhaps Memphis might offer his sister some advice, but certainly no outsider would meddle. Yet now Imhotep was explicitly asking her opinion on the two candidate nations.

She had no desire to recount the history that was to her simply the past to people who regarded it as the "future," but Memphis's gaze was intensely earnest. Carol muttered vaguely: "Ancient Babylon will be successively invaded by foreign tribes in the coming century, and eventually annexed by other nations. Phoenicia..." She swallowed hard: "This country is avaricious, cunning, and the fearless overlord of the seas. Their territory spans from Ugarit on the Hittite border to Tyre in the Mount Lebanon, and their colonies stretch from the dark forests in the west to the black lands across the sea. It will prosper for a very long time, and finally perish at the hands of a super-empire a thousand years from now."

To be honest, Memphis and Imhotep understood only half of what Carol said, but it was enough to make them realize that Babylon's future was bleak, whereas Phoenicia had a very promising outlook. As for an exiled queen who would marry abroad yet still retain her Egyptian right of succession, her rights would eventually pass down to her children; she could not be allowed to have an ambitious and powerful husband.

Remembering Isis's plea to him, Memphis's gaze flickered. Refusing to look at Carol's innocent expression as she stared at him, after soothing his lover, he departed with Imhotep and issued a secret instruction: "Find a way to send the Phoenician delegation away without leaving a trace."

Saru feigned falling for Imhotep's ploy, promptly leading his men away from the city of Thebes. Yet this group traveled at a leisurely pace, sightseeing along the way as if waiting for some opportunity.

Meanwhile, Sinuhe reported back that Queen Susan had let out a few sorrowful sighs upon hearing that the Phoenicians had departed. Yet out of devotion to the goddess he adored, he refrained from telling the Pharaoh that Her Highness Isis had been holding a small bunch of wildflowers, which had been placed beside the Queen's pillow the very previous night by an unknown hand. Knowing the Queen's fate of a distant marriage to Babylon, Sinuhe turned a blind eye and pretended to see nothing at all.

Lagshu took advantage of Egypt's internal strife to reap the fisherman's spoils.

Inana, meanwhile, sat upon the woolen carpet at Izmir's feet. She wore a linen dress that the maidservants had put on her after drying her body, with a cotton towel draped over her damp hair, looking as if she were sitting on pins and needles, awaiting her execution once her hair dried.

Watching her slowly wring out her damp hair while sliding his fingers back and forth across the back of her neck, Izmir asked: "How did you make the Queen Mother believe you?"

Since the prince had long since concluded that Inana was responsible for the incident, punishment required no proof. Yet asking now—whether out of curiosity or simply to ease Inana's mind and buy time through conversation—was not a bad idea. Inana readily replied: "Before Her Majesty the Queen summoned me, I bound my wrists with water-soaked ox-tendon ropes, and then used rouge to draw a few red marks on my arms and neck. They didn't need to be very distinct; as long as people caught a glimpse when I raised my arm, the Queen and the ladies would imagine the rest themselves."

"You little liar, General Hazas was right about you," Izmir said as he pulled down the linen dress from Inana's shoulder. Starting from her unblemished ear, he kissed her neck and traveled all the way down. The inception and progression of this action left no room for Inana to say no.

Only when his lips brushed against her lower back, touching that faint scar vaguely shaped like the symbols of royal authority—the man, the sun, and the eagle—did Inana suddenly stiffen and shudder. Izmir did not raise his head; his hot breath puffed against that patch of skin: "What? Sukammum, do you care about this?"

Inana fell silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was vibrant and clear: "No, Your Highness, I do not care."

She audaciously turned around, the front flaps of her dress sagging open to reveal her chest, her hem already flipped up to the top of her thighs. Yet she smiled, never before speaking in such a bold and confident manner before Izmir: "It hurt at the time, but Your Highness, to me, this is no different than falling to the ground or being cut by a sharp blade. It is merely a scar; to me, it has no meaning whatsoever!"

"Yet aren't you still serving before me now?" Izmir dismissed this defiance from a weak woman. The woman had been drinking and dared to speak thus; she would undoubtedly regret it by tomorrow.

Yet watching the person before him sitting so lazily upon the carpet, half-exposed, he suddenly felt a surge of heat: "I remember that back on the ship, you were quite pleased."

If there was anything Inana still found difficult to let go of, it was likely this matter. Her thoughts racing, she hitched her skirt even higher to prevent the narrow hem from hindering her as she parted her legs to straddle Izmir's lap: "Your Highness, how was I pleased?"

That night, after listening to Luka's words and returning to his cabin, Izmir had "kindly" made Inana sweat out the fever. Strictly speaking, during those days of wiping her down and changing her clothes, his mind had been entirely pure; women of this era wore revealing garments, holding little mystery for men, and shaved bodies exposed to view were everywhere to be seen.

Izmir had merely pulled back the blanket covering Inana's lower body, parted her legs, and used a slender, delicate little finger against that glistening slit. Finding it dry and difficult to penetrate, he had lost interest himself, nor had he sensed any favorable feedback from Inana.

He had reluctantly repeated the motion a few times based on meager common sense, a process so monotonous he had almost given up halfway. Unexpectedly, that spot gradually moistened his finger, softly engulfing him. Amidst their give-and-take, Inana was bathed in a fine sweat, while Izmir became a diligent student of knowledge, continuing until the person beneath him trembled convulsively and could no longer move.

Although the notion that a woman's path to her heart lay through such means only appeared on parchment in later eras, for thousands of years it had been revered as a classic by generations of men. Though not deeply versed in it, Izmir deeply believed it: "You were ill, and it was only a finger, but judging by your moans, you were very pleased."

Inana breathed a sigh of relief. While this man was not an absolute beast, he was certainly no gentleman. Presumably recalling the scene of that night, Inana—maintaining her posture astride Izmir's lap—realized that something about him was already aroused.

Izmir had little experience in this area and took no precautions. As Inana wriggled upon him, driving him harder and harder, she suddenly arched her waist and felt as though she had pressed against something. With a blur before her eyes, she was shoved aside by Izmir.

Miraculously, he still managed to refrain from collapsing onto the bed and clutching his crotch in agony; presumably Inana's technique was lacking and her force was still too light. Gritting his teeth in silence, fists clenched—likely afraid that standing up would aggravate the pain—he finally raised his head after a long moment to look at the feigning-alarmed Inana and commanded: "Go outside and fetch me some snow!"

Ah, time for an ice pack, she thought. Squatting outside the steps of the bedchamber, Inana grabbed a handful with her left hand, scooped another with her right, and rolled up a massive snowball with both hands.

Izmir, who knows how swollen you are? This big lump should be plenty for you!