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Had Takabuti known it was the last hour of daylight she would ever see, she would have chosen to spend it differently. She would likely have gone to the great temple of Amun Ra to pray to the Gods, where she’d have asked that they favour her in the afterlife and reunite her with her parents.
The sunset streaming through her window lit up her face as she prepared for her tryst with Meru. She knew she had better enjoy it; It was to be the last for a while, as her husband was due back from his latest excursion, parlaying with the Askumites.
Takabuti combed her short, auburn hair and washed carefully between her legs. She applied kohl powder around her eyes and a little rouge to her cheek. She looked into her mirror, powdering her chin. How strange that the word ankh meant both mirror and life, she thought. The person in the mirror was fleeting, she guessed.
She gathered a reed basket and told their servant that she would be doing the shopping herself today, then stepped out of her mansion on the western bank of Thebes.
As she threaded through the streets, people waved and called her name, and paused to greet her and enquire after her health, so that it took more than twenty minutes to reach the bustling market.
When she got there, she purchased some near-ripe-looking fruits and vegetables and a fish for her supper and packed it all into her basket.
Instead of going straight home, however, Takabuti pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and made off through the narrow back alleys of the city. Walking quickly and with her eyes to the ground, Takabuti hurried left and right, avoiding passers-by until she passed the drinking tavern and the adjacent pleasure house that sat on the street where her lover, Meru, kept his apartment.
When the door was opened, Meru was almost naked already, wearing just his loincloth wrapped around his waist. When the door closed, he drew her into his embrace, and Takabuti rested her head on his shoulder. Meru was just two years older than her, and twenty-five years younger than her husband. He was a former warrior and now served in the local police regiment. His muscular frame and the aura of power he exuded had drawn Takabuti to him like a moth to a flame. He kissed her gently on the lips and caressed her bottom.
“What do you want to do today?” he asked. She shrugged.
“I don’t know. Surprise me. Something energetic. The old man is back tomorrow.”
Meru unhooked the straps of her linen dress, and it fell to the floor. Takabuti slipped her own hand between his legs, feeling for Manu’s penis under the cloth. His cock was a decent size, but what she appreciated most was how hard he got, and the vigour with which he could take her. The old man had trouble maintaining an erection these days and grew so breathless from his exertions that he would need respite periods during their lovemaking.
Takabuti and Meru kissed passionately. She felt him unwind the cloth she wore to support her breasts, and it fell to the ground. As soon as her chest was bare, Meru crouched and began to kiss and suckle her nipples. He cupped her breasts in turn with his hand and fondled them gently. Takabuti had released Manu’s cock, and instead reached for her own clitoris. She teased and tickled herself as Manu worked her breasts. Her chest rose and fell. She was starting to feel like her body wanted support. Turning her head, she saw his familiar reed bed. She was about to suggest moving over there when Meru stood abruptly and took her by the hand.
Takabuti followed, led by her lover. She was not being led to the bed. Excitement and nerves jolted her arousal a step forward. What was he going to do? The next room was the eatery…
When he led her to the dining room, she saw his plan. There was a wooden table in the centre of the room. She walked confidently to it and knew the position that was expected of her. Takabuti bent over the table and pulled her loincloth off. She heard Meru tugging at his loincloth and heard it fall to the floor. She heard his hand jerk his cock, and then his hand was caressing her cheeks.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Meru popped his cock into her vagina. Takabuti quickly tried out a few options for bodily support, to find the most comfortable one. Leaning on her elbows gave her more confidence and comfort with moving her neck. Lying flat on the table spared her the discomfort on her funny bones, but was not as comfortable, as Meru’s thrusts rocked her thighs against the edge of the table and her head lay sideways. She took to her elbows. She felt his hand close around her left buttock and a gentle press on her back. Her juices were starting to flow as Meru found his rhythm. Takabuti knew she could come if he kept this up.
Oh, this was what she had come for! The old man used his tongue well enough, but sometimes she just longed to be fucked properly. There was an increase in speed, and her body was responding. Takabuti pinched her nipples a little, then leaned on her forearms to give her elbows a rest. She gave a gasp as a thrust produced a jolt of pleasure, followed by three more in quick succession.
“Spank me,” she whispered. A second later, Meru delivered a firm slap on her bottom.
“Yes!” she squealed, the pleasurable sting adding to the growing wetness between her legs. Meru spanked her buttocks in turn, even as he was thrusting ever faster and deeper inside her, and Takabuti’s knees grew wobbly as orgasm drew near.
“Yes! Yes!” she cried, dipping her head so that her nose was an inch above the table, which was shaking beneath her with the movement of their bodies. Another slap to her behind coupled with three more thrusts did it. Takabuti’s knees would have given way if she hadn’t flattened herself on the wooden surface as she orgasmed. Instead, she cried out shrilly and closed her eyes, rendered helpless by rapture.
Takabuti’s orgasm had made her head swim. She laid her head on the desk and enjoyed the feel of Meru’s cock while it lasted. He’d better enjoy it while it lasted too, she mused. If they were caught in an adulterous affair, they would both, according to the letter of the Pharaoh’s law, face the death penalty.
Meru’s cock gave a great quiver and, with a cry, he came inside her.
Twenty minutes later, Takabuti bade Meru farewell, and, having checked through the window that there was no one around, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and stepped out into the street. It was very dark, although oil lamps in people’s homes threw the thinnest haze of light onto the cobbles, so she could at least see her way as she hurried home.
Still thinking of her sexual encounter, she did not sense the presence of danger until it was too late. A man had stepped out just a meter behind her. She quickened her step, then started to run, but his advantage was too great. Takabuti felt a heavy blow between her shoulder blades, then an agonising pain. The blow had been of such strength and weight that she pitched forward onto the ground, and the last thing Takabuti ever saw was the dim light of a lamp through the window of the house outside which she had fallen, which glimmered like the lamp of the ferryman that would now bear her through the gloom, across the Stix to the Underworld.
*
Emily. D dropped her towel and stepped into the shower. Her girlfriend, Yeva, was waiting for her. Emily pecked a kiss on Yeva’s lips and stepped under the cascading water. She felt Yeva’s index finger run affectionately down her body, from her throat to her breastbone, between her breasts, and down to her navel.
“Mmm…gorgeous!”
“Not so bad yourself,” Emily replied, putting her hands on Yeva’s sides and pulling her closer. She knew Yeva needed to hear it said, in a way she didn’t. Yeva, who was of Chinese heritage, suffered a lazy left eye, the pupil and cornea fixed permanently to the upper left part of her eye.
The women held each other close. Emily felt Yeva’s hands caress her buttocks, while she stroked Yeva’s back with her fingertips.
“The camera is going to love you!” Emily whispered. Yeva giggled.
“Let’s make sure your hair is shiny, eh?”
Emily picked up the shampoo bottle and squeezed a generous helping onto her palm. She had Yeva turn to the left and slapped her hand gently onto Yeva’s jet-black hair.
“Should I wear make-up?” Yeva asked.
“I don’t know,” said Emily, massaging the froth into Yeva’s scalp, “But probably they’ll provide it if they want you to. They’re filming in black and white. I don’t know…do you need make-up without colour?”
“Beats me. Something tells me I won’t be too worried either way at the time!”
Emily laughed.
“I consider it my job to see that you aren’t!”
And, at that, she pressed her lips to Yeva’s neck and kissed her firmly.
“It’s such an original idea. I wonder how she came up with it?” Yeva mused.
“No idea. Let’s ask her.”
“How long have we got?”
“We need to be there in fifty minutes.”
“Shame. No time for a warm-up!”
“But enough time for some…”
Emily kissed Yeva’s mouth, and the two women both clasped the other’s body close. Their tongues met, their eyes closed, and the water ran over their skin, and they both felt as safe and loved and alive as ever they had.
An hour later, they were sitting on the sofa at number fifty-two, Donegal Street in Belfast. The artist, Mary T, placed cups of coffee on the table in front of them. Emily saw Yeva eye the camera that was set up across the room nervously. It was not on yet. Mary spoke,
“So, when you guys are both ready, we’ll set you up. Yeva, your notes are on the desk. Emily, there is a bean bag and pillows under the desk. Arrange things however you like to feel comfortable. The wand is new and unused. Yeva, we’ll do basic make-up. You don’t need to change clothes. Plain black is sexy, so what you are wearing is fine…except, the jeans have to come off first!”
Yeva giggled and blushed. Emily was still not entirely sure Yeva would go through with this.
Then again, her girlfriend had specifically said that she had agreed to participate in the ‘Hysterical History’ project because she wanted to get out of her comfort zone.
“Well,” said Mary, “Whenever you are ready!”
Emily looked at Yeva, who seemed to be hesitating. Emily reached over and took her hand.
“Pretend it’s just us. Let me make you come!” she whispered into Yeva’s ear. Yeva closed her eyes briefly and nodded. Emily stood up, and took Yeva’s hand, guiding her up. She led Yeva across the room to the desk. Emily crouched down and crawled into the space under the table. She fluffed one of the bean bags and sat cross-legged upon it. She picked up the vibrator. Yeva, meanwhile, was lowering her trousers and knickers. Emily saw her lover sit down on the chair. Her genitals were now exposed, and so close that Emily could smell them, but the camera would be filming only Yeva’s clothed upper body.
“Start the wand when you are ready,” Mary called. Emily turned the vibrator on.
“We’re on in three, two, one…action!”
Emily heard Yeva clear her throat and begin to speak.
“This is Hysterical History, with Yeva. I’m a doctoral student, specialising in Ancient Egypt. Takabuti, the subject of this talk, was a young, upper-class woman who lived in Egypt during the twenty-fifth Dynasty. That is about 755 to 656 BC, of the Third Intermediate Period.”
Beneath the table, Emily now guided the vibrating wand onto Yeva’s inner thigh.
“She died when she was in her late twenties to early thirties. Her body was mummified and she was most probably buried on the East bank of the great religious center of Thebes, which is today…”
Parting her legs gently, Emily held the wand up to her lover’s vagina.
There was a catch in Yeva’s voice as the vibrator pleasured her. Emily smiled.
“…known as Luxor. Takabuti resides in Belfast, and she…is probably the best-known mummy in the British Isles. That is for a very simple reason. Takabuti was murdered most brutally! She…”
Emily heard Yeva pause for a shallow breath. Yeva’s pussy was wet now. To tease her, Emily set aside the vibrator, leaned in, and slipped her tongue between Yeva’s legs. Mmm..her pussy juices were delicious.
“Takabuti was struck by an axe from behind. The axe that killed her was used by both native Egyptians and the Nubians who occupied the country at the…oh! At the…time.”
Emily had the wand up against Yeva’s swollen clitoris now.
“Takabuti’s grave was robbed, as almost all ancient Egyptian tombs were. Her mummy was…Ah! Oh! Oh, God! Her…”
Yeva’s bare legs were shaking ever more violently. Emily adjusted the vibrating wand a little, edging it slightly lower.
“Her mummy was brought to Belfast early…oh! In the twentieth cent…oh! Oh! Yes!”
Emily heard Yeva’s notes rustle. There was another squeal, a bang on the table, then a deep breath. Yeva was coming. There would be no more reading.
In the dying gasps of Yeva’s orgasm, Emily set aside the machine and dived back in between her legs, licking her lovingly, sucking on her clitoris, kissing her swollen labia. In time, Emily heard her lover say,
“That was Takabuti’s tale, read by Yeva.”
“Cut!” Mary cried, “That was fabulous, Yeva! Well done!”
*
The Vizier and the boatman did not speak as they rowed across the Nile. Even the children of Thebes understood the symbolism of crossing the river from the city of the living on the west bank to the land of the dead on the east. For a man in late middle age, who could be making the final journey himself soon, it could not fail to provoke somber thoughts.
The region beyond the East bank of the river was a bare, silent place where only the shunned and accursed untouchables lived, professionally preparing the cadavers they were sent for eternal life. Many of the corpse washers were leperous. Some were blind, or mutilated following enslavement in the mines. Corpse washers were not welcome in any drinking or eating establishment across the river. Behind their grim headquarters, the tombs of many centuries stood in the sere desert.
The Vizier disembarked and, taking a moment to look up on the hillside for a glimpse of his wife’s tomb, he made for the House of Death. The building sat on the banks of the river. He was met by a slave, who led him inside until they came into a wide, cavernous room with a table in the centre of it. There was a doctor standing beside the table, leaning over a pale, naked body.
“Sir, the Vizier,” the slave called out. The doctor turned and beckoned them in.
“Good evening, Sire,” the doctor said, inclining his head.
“Good evening. So it is her, then? Takabuti?”
“Yes.”
The Vizier looked over the body. Takabuti was naked and soaking wet. Her body had been kept in a solution of water and rye until the dismemberment, which preceded mummification. He shook his head. The victim was about the same age as his own daughter.
He took from his robes a piece of slate and some chalk to make notes.
“What can you tell me?”
“She was killed about a kilometre from her home. She was wearing a cloak and a hood, which was up. There was evidence of very recent sexual activity between her legs. There was semen, and there was a contraceptive shield of acacia leaves bound with honey in her vagina.”
“So, she was visiting a lover?”
“Probably, yes. Her husband is out of town.”
“He’s Ahmad, the diplomat, isn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s more than twenty years older than her, and hardly ever at home, so no wonder she’s getting her pleasures elsewhere. A courier has been dispatched to inform him, so he’ll be along soon.”
The Vizier looked down at the woman’s face, which had not been injured in the attack, and the doctor had arranged her expression so that she had kept her beauty.
“If only you could talk,” he said, sadly.
The doctor put his hand under the skull and lifted the body up to a seated position. The Vizier saw a deep wound between her shoulder blades.
“Takabuti was killed by a single blow with an axe. She probably would have died from shock and blood loss anyway, but what killed her was the collapse of her left lung. She would not have lived long after the blow. Two minutes, maximum.”
“Right, we need to find out who the lover is. I’ll put it out there that we’ll amnesty the death penalty for adultery if he can help us catch the killer. If no one comes forward after that, we have our main suspect.”
“One other thing,” said the doctor, “Keep an eye on her brother, Sinuhe. My boy tells me that he has been drinking heavily in the taverns. He’s been fighting and mouthing off, ‘Whoever did this is dead! I’ll kill whoever killed my sister!’ That sort of thing.”
“Thank you. We will. That could be anger in grief, or it could be…”
“Deflection,” supplied the doctor.
The Vizier nodded.
“If her brother knew she was unfaithful to her husband, it could be an honour killing. Then again, maybe he loved her. Maybe he does want revenge. I’ll talk to Ahmad and Sinuhe as soon as possible. Anything else?”
The doctor shook his head.
“You can stay for the dismemberment if you like.”
A grim array of surgical instruments was laid out on the table. Largest of all was the long hook that would be inserted into Takabuti’s nose to remove her brain through the nasal cavity. The Vizier shuddered involuntarily.
“No, thank you. Be well, good doctor.”
And with that, he turned and walked quickly back to the boat, anxious to return to the world of the living.
That night, shaken by the sight of the young woman’s body, the Vizier visited a pleasure house. He was greeted at the door by a fat, jovial woman bedraped in jewels.
“Good evening, Nefer!”
“Welcome, Sir. Come in! Let us help you relax.”
He was taken to a private room, given a basin of warm water to bathe his aching feet in and a cup of excellent wine to drink.
“We have a newcomer, if you’d be interested? She is getting very good reviews.”
“Yes, that sounds nice. Thank you. Send her through.”
Soon, the young woman appeared at the door. She was tall, and her skin was a beautiful shade. Her black hair was shoulder-length, and her face was made up with kohl. She was wearing two pieces of linen on her waist and chest, and showing her belly provocatively. The young woman smiled at the Vizier and began to dance sensuously in front of him.
“Hello. What’s your name?” he asked.
“I’m Asenath, sir.”
She bent close to him and turned around, shaking her behind near his face. She was so close that he could smell her perfumed body. He watched her step forward, whip her upper cloth off, and turn to face him with her breasts bare. She moved close to him again, sashaying her breasts and navel inches from his eyes.
“Would Sir like some oral sex?”
“Yes, please!”
She knelt before him and helped him remove his loincloth. The Vizier closed his eyes, feeling her lips around his cock and the first tugs of gentle suction. The warmth of her mouth and the wet brush of her tongue felt lovely on his penis. She took it out and, looking up and straight into his eyes, ran her tongue up his cock from shaft to tip, then down again. He laid his hands on her head, breathing heavily as she returned his erection to her mouth. This time, she pressed downwards, opening her throat and letting him right in. Asenath sucked it hard and the Vizier gasped with pleasure.
“That feels fantastic,” he murmured.
She made no reply but continued to suck him ever more firmly. This girl was going to make a fortune, he thought to himself.
But just then, as he looked down at her pretty face, he had a strange sense of deja vu, as if the girl were familiar to him.
“Excuse me. Have I met you before?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“How long have you been working here?”
“Not for very long. I used to work at another pleasure house.”
“Yes. That’s it. I saw you at Babu’s place.”
“I was there, yes,” she said, in a tone that implied she did not wish to continue the conversation.
“Why did you move?”
Asenath made no reply and continued to suck as if she had not heard him. Taking the hint, the Vizier gave up and relaxed to enjoy the best blowjob he had had since his wife had died. As he neared orgasm, he thought to himself that the pimp who lost Asenath as an employee had suffered a grievous loss indeed.
Asenath’s big brown eyes looked up at him as she paused for a breath. She smiled.
“Would Sir like to come, or wait?”
He knew that he would come soon if she carried on like this.
“Take it slowly,” he said. The option of taking his time was a privilege only a man in his office would be allowed. Most customers were granted perhaps ten minutes.
Asenath was stroking his balls with her finger, and sucking his penis, but slower now. He felt her lips pinch the very end of his cock.
He gave a long moan, as she dipped her mouth down his shaft again.
Immediately, he was embarrassed at having lost control, but then there was another firm suck that took his breath away. He stamped his foot involuntarily. Asenath now took him deep in her mouth, but he no longer cared who she was or for anything else but the pulling and suction on the nerve endings on his head…
“Yes! Yes! Oh Amun, it feels so fucking good!”
The Vizier bent double as he came. His semen shot out into Asenath’s mouth, and although his head was too light to notice whether she swallowed it or not, he did not begrudge her a single penny of the tip he slipped her before he stepped out of the room.
*
The sunset streaming through her window lit up Emily’s face as she set aside the razor and reached for the talcum powder. She applied a light layer to her vagina, then brushed her teeth. Already, her nipples were growing sensitive in anticipation. She could have walked out naked, but she put on her long white dressing gown and tied the tassel around her waist. Emily had always loved the moment of undressing at the last minute before making love. It didn’t matter that Yeva had seen her naked hundreds of times. The moment she bared her body was symbolic to her.
Emily applied mascara around her eyes and a little rouge to her cheek. She looked into her mirror, powdering her chin, and then she turned and stepped out into the bedroom.
Yeva was sitting up in bed, her lazy eye seemingly gazing at the ceiling. She was wearing blue and white pyjamas.
“The video just came through,” Yeva said quietly.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Once I’ve passed it, she’ll upload it to YouTube. Let’s watch it later.”
Emily nodded and got onto the bed. The two women embraced at once, their legs entwining and their chests pressed close. Emily threw herself into a passionate kiss, then whispered, “Promise me you won’t be embarrassed when we watch the tape?”
Yeva smiled sadly.
“I don’t know if I can watch it! Seeing myself orgasm.”
“You are beautiful when you come,” Emily said softly.
“So are you,” Yeva whispered, pulling at the tassel on the dressing gown. Emily felt her gown open and Yeva’s hands on her now bare thighs. She began unbuttoning Yeva’s pyjamas. Yeva’s chest was quite flat, but Emily loved her small, pert breasts. When they were exposed, she placed her lips lovingly around Yeva’s nipple.
“I missed your touch. When the vibrator was on.”
Emily did not reply to this but continued to make love to Yeva’s breasts.
“I love you,” Emily said.
“I love you too. Let me go first,” Yeva said. Smiling, Emily agreed. She rolled onto her back and was soon being kissed sweetly across her naked body. She felt Yeva’s lips pressed to her ribcage. She felt her belly button tickled by Yeva’s tongue. She grew moist as Yeva layered kiss after kiss on her inner thighs. Emily put her hands behind her head as Yeva parted her legs. She closed her eyes as the first soft, gentle licks were applied to her labia.
Opening them again, she looked down at Yeva. What would have become of her if her family hadn’t emigrated from China, she mused. Would she have had to repress who she was, and been forced to marry a man? Or had gay rights moved forward with the economy?
Well, China’s loss was definitely her gain. Yeva was a skilled cunnilinguist. Emily squirmed involuntarily as her clitoris was kissed and licked. She pinched her own nipple and inhaled deeply in response to the sensations between her legs. Yeva had been licking around the clitoris and was now sliding her tongue sideways the length of her vagina.
Looking down at her own body, she made eye contact with Yeva’s motionless pupil. Sometimes, she found it hard to believe Yeva had full vision from a pupil that never moved, but she did. Emily closed her eyes and pinched her nipple. And as she did so, she began to think about Yeva’s tale of Takabuti.
Had Takabuti experienced much sexual joy in her life? Had there been a loving husband to go down on her? Or had she just been used as a sexual vessel? A baby machine? Had she died at the hands of a husband or a lover, like so many women still do, even today?
Or had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Killed during a robbery, maybe? Perhaps she’d been killed to silence her because she’d witnessed a crime. Maybe she had been unlucky to run into a deranged, psychotic murderer, who killed for no good reason?
Emily gasped as Yeva hit a sweet spot. Takabuti fled from her mind. She was on the brink of orgasm. She felt Yeva slip a finger into her and reach up for her g-spot, still licking gently around her clit…
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Intense joy spread through her body and she kicked her left leg up reflexively. “Oh, God, it feels so fucking good!”
She pulled the pillow around her head, Yeva was still licking, she was still coming. Her whole body was trembling and then…then it was over. Her chest rose and fell. Emily was breathless. She pushed Yeva away.
“Xie xie!” Emily murmured, and Yeva smiled at being thanked in her native tongue.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting up in bed watching Yeva’s “Hysterical History” video. Yeva was practically watching through her fingertips. On the screen, Yeva’s head rolled and jerked as the vibrator beneath the table pleasured her.
“Oh God, do I always make that much noise? This is so embarrassing!”
“Yes! And it’s totally cute!”
“I look ridiculous!”
“No, you don’t, don’t be silly.”
Seeking to distract her, Emily said, “This Takabuti. She’s in the museum, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to go and see her,” said Emily. On-screen, Yeva wailed with delight.
“Ok. Let’s go tomorrow. Oh God, I can’t watch. I’m about to come…”
Through the iPad, Yeva cried out aloud, dropped her notes and thumped the desk.
Emily took her hand and squeezed it. She turned off the video and put the tablet down.
“You certainly are,” she said. Then she kissed Yeva on the lips, and crawled down the bed to go down on her.
*
Babu’s pleasure house was close to the scene of the crime. The Vizier paused on the way to look up and down the street where Takabuti’s murder had taken place. A team of slaves had scrubbed the scene of blood. The street was paved, so there were no footprints. It was as if the crime had never happened. He tried to use his imagination. Takabuti had been a well-to-do woman. She would have spent as little time as possible in these dark, dangerous back alleys. Her lover’s house must be nearby.
The Vizier tried to picture her scurrying furtively along this street, conjuring in his mind’s eye the shade of a young woman, her head bowed, her arms thrust into pockets. Someone must have seen her if she visited often…
He entered the pleasure house, which was dimly lit by torchlight. Babu, a large man with a round, hairless head who was wearing a long white apron greeted him. His voice boomed.
“Good evening, Sir. Long time no see! What would be your pleasure this evening?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions, please. As I’m sure you know, a young woman was murdered on this very street a week ago.”
Babu swallowed and set down the flask of wine he was carrying.
“Bad business. Very bad,” he said quietly.
“Yes. Did you see a young woman in the street at night?”
“I own a pleasurehouse, sir. Young women on this street at night are my business. I wouldn’t think anything of it if I had.”
“Yes.”
The man scuffed his sandals and looked over his shoulder. He seemed impatient with the conversation, anxious to get away.
“We believe she was visiting a lover, called Meru, who lives nearby. Do you know him?”
The man brightened at once.
“Meru, yes, he used to visit here as a young man. You’ll find Meru at the blue house on the corner. Now he takes his pleasure regularly with this red-haired woman. Don’t know her name. She’s married to some official, apparently. ”
“Yes. It was her that was killed.”
The man closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Bad business. Very bad business. Do you have any idea who did it?”
“We are still gathering information. But,” said the Vizier, looking the man square in the eye, “The stake and the pyre are prepared for the guilty man to suffer on.”
Babu’s expression, for a moment, fell. He gathered himself quickly.
“Bad way to go.”
The Vizier nodded. He had seen men reduced to shrieking, blubbering wrecks as they were dragged to the stake to be burned alive. He had heard tough, fighting warriors howl and cry for their mothers as their flesh was melted into the fire. Most tried to hold their tongues but all screamed in the end. The physical pain was bad enough, but the reduction of your mortal remains to ashes, when they would be needed in the underworld, was appalling.
“So you neither heard nor saw anything suspicious that night?”
Babu shook his head vigorously. The Vizier nodded.
“One other thing,” he said, “I met an old employee of yours. Asenath? You know she’s working for Nefer now?”
Babu’s whole demeanour changed. He scowled and drew himself up to full height.
“Yes, Sir. I did know that.”
“I imagine she was a good earner for you?”
“She was,” Babu said curtly.
“It must hurt, to have your best worker leave you and make money for your competitor,” the Vizier said coolly. Babu was shaking slightly, evidently struggling to control his anger.
“It’s done. Asenath has moved on. So have we. Are there any more questions, Sir, I’m a busy man?”
“No, that will do for now.”
Five minutes later, he knocked on Meru’s door.
“I know what this is about,” said Meru as soon as he saw the Vizier, “You’d best come in.”
The Vizier stepped over the threshold. Meru invited him to sit at the table. The Vizier saw, through an open doorway, Meru’s bed.
It was almost impossible to believe that the ruined body that he had seen on the table across the river had so recently been making love in this house. The walls around him had rung with her laughter and her whispered, teasing words. Seeped into the mudbrick walls were Takabuti’s squeals and gasps of pleasure. And now, she would be silent forever.
Had Takabuti been a shy, reserved lover who had made love quietly, under a sheet and on her back? Or had she been a free spirit who loved to display every inch of her naked body? Perhaps she had not been reserved at all. Perhaps Takabuti had been a wild contortionist, bending and twisting her body into every position, their lovemaking growing ever more adventurous as their passions boiled throughout the night?
Had she found joy came most easily to her on top, riding Meru’s erection? Or had she found satisfaction on her hands and knees, Meru’s cock reaching deep inside her from behind? The doctor had mentioned there was semen inside her vagina when she died. Could there have been some in her stomach, too? He found himself growing hard, in spite of himself.
“Takabuti visited you on the night she died, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think to walk her home, to make sure she was safe?” The Vizier found himself feel a jolt of anger at Meru for not having done this.
Meru shook his head.
“I used to offer to see her back. She always said no, so I stopped asking.”
Meru’s voice caught as if there was a lump in his throat. A tear trickled down his face.
“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts after Takabuti left your house?”
“I don’t think so. But I didn’t leave the house again, I swear. I just went to bed.”
The Vizier watched intently, trying to judge if the tears Meru was shedding were genuine or not. It was not easy to tell.
“Did you love her?”
Meru nodded.
“You must have been envious of her husband. Her going home to his bed every night can’t have been easy for you. I’m thinking, you couldn’t take the envy anymore. You couldn’t have her so he couldn’t either. You killed her, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. I swear! He didn’t mistreat her, and he had money, but sharing a bed with her old husband disgusted Takabuti. We were just fucking, waiting for her husband to die, and then I was going to marry her! I was going to be with her for twenty or more years once he was gone! I loved her, I swear, I loved her.”
And Meru buried his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.
The Vizier was sorely tempted to arrest Meru on the spot. But Meru’s emotion could have been genuine and his story was not incredible. Not having interviewed the husband yet, he refrained, for now.
“We’re watching you,” were his last words to Meru as he stepped out and set off home.
*
As they made their way to the Egyptian gallery on the second floor of the museum, Emily felt a sudden urge for human contact and took Yeva’s hand. Ignoring the men who were ogling them, they walked up the stairs to the room in which Takabuti’s mummy lay.
“There she is,” said Yeva.
Takabuti’s skull was as black as coal, as was her only other exposed limb, her left hand, which extended beyond a sleeve of bandage wrappings. On the top of her skull was a tangle of orange hair.
“Her hair is short,” said Emily, “You don’t think she was one of our tribe, do you?”
Yeva laughed.
“I doubt it. A lot of women wore their hair short in ancient Egypt. So would you, if you lived in a hot climate like that.”
“I guess.”
There was a long silence, and the two women circled the glass box, looking down at the body.
“I know this is a stupid question,” said Emily, “There really is no chance of finding out who killed her, right?”
Yeva didn’t look at Emily but continued circumnavigating the display case, pausing for thought before she spoke.
“No. Not for sure. Not for a murder that happened two and a half thousand years ago. The best we can do is apply the principles of modern criminology to find a list of suspects.”
Yeva was silent for about a minute, then said,
“Women who die violently are almost always killed by a man, and in most cases by a man known to them. There are exceptions, particularly in wartime, which was more common then than it is now, but that’s the rule.”
Emily thought a while, then spoke.
“So, Husband. Lover. Jilted lover. Brother. Father.”
“Yes, they are the starting points. But now we come to the main problem. Takabuti, and everybody who knew her, lived twenty-five centuries ago. These people’s lives were so long ago that their bones are dust. If there ever was a paper record of their births, deaths, marriages or children, it is long gone.
We can only say for certain that Takabuti ever laid eyes on two males in her whole life. That would be her father and her husband, who we know lived because their names are inscribed on the inside of her coffin.
Of course, she knew more men than that, but the evidence for their existence hadn’t survived. She may have had a brother and a lover, or several of both, but we don’t know that those men even existed, never mind whether they killed her or not.
Plus, if the records are right, her father predeceased her. He was a priest at the temple of Amun-Ra, and the date of his death is carved into a column that tracks the lives of the priesthood. If accurate, he died four years before Takabuti.”
Emily looked down at the young woman. Suddenly, she was struck by an image of Takabuti, alive once again, holding that blackened hand to her face, weeping quietly in mourning for her father. It was an oddly touching image.
Yeva continued,
“Furthermore, the fact that her body was properly prepared for burial, mummified, and laid to rest with dignity could be interpreted as mitigating evidence in favour of the husband’s innocence. Certainly, with a coffin like this, someone loved her. Someone made sure she was done right by, in death. It isn’t absurd to posit that a grieving husband could have done that. We can’t be sure, but it is suggestive.”
Emily shook her head and stamped a foot in frustration.
“If only she could talk,” she said irritably.
“That might not actually help. She was struck from behind. She may never have known who did it herself, if she was surprised.”
Yeva, sensing that this had not helped Emily’s mood, added gently,
“But by talking about Takabuti, we honour her.”
Emily shrugged. But Yeva had planted the seeds of an idea in her mind.
Six hours later, Emily stood by the side of the bed in her bathrobe. Yeva was already naked and was masturbating, stroking her own clitoris with her right hand, her eyes closed.
“This is nice, but I’d like some help,” Yeva said quietly, not opening her eyes.
Emily disrobed and climbed onto the bed. She gently pulled Yeva’s arm aside, and lay down onto her body. Parting her legs, and lowering her privates down to within Yeva’s reach, Emily felt Yeva pull her down to press their bare flesh together. Emily’s breasts were supported by Yeva’s belly, and she could feel her lover’s heartbeat near her navel. Yeva’s hands now rubbed Emily’s back, then pulled back to caress her bottom. The two women, with the understanding of a long-matched couple, both put their mouths to the other’s vulva.
Emily licked Yeva’s genitals up and down from top to bottom. In time, she used her fingers to part the lips a little and slipped her tongue inside, and as she did so, Emily felt Yeva open her own vagina, but it was a finger she felt enter her, not a tongue.
Emily’s body rejoiced at the intimacy of the sixty-nine. Her nipples were touching human flesh. Her tummy was touching human flesh. Her hands and legs were touching human flesh. Her tongue and lips and the tip of her nose were touching human flesh. Yeva’s warmth and scent seemed to seep into her.
Suddenly, Emily had a flash of inspiration.
“This is for you,” she whispered to the young Egyptian whose story had so affected her that day.
Stretching her tongue out, she drew a ‘T’ shape across Yeva’s vagina. Starting with the hook on top, she then rolled her tongue in a circle to make an ‘a’. A long, downwards lick followed by two brief strokes formed a ‘k’.
As she repeated the ‘a’ shape, Yeva squeaked with pleasure. Emily traced a line up to Yeva’s swollen clitoris then circled it to make a ‘b’. The ‘u’ extracted another squeal of delight. A lower-case ‘t’ was duly applied, followed by a long upwards lick to form an ‘i’.
Emily completed the name, then started again. As Emily dotted the ‘i’ for the second time, she felt Yeva cease to pleasure her own pussy.
“I can’t, I’m so close. Please let me come!” she heard her lover say. Emily grinned and re-wrote Takabuti’s name across Yeva’s pussy again. And again. As the name was rewritten for the fifth time, Yeva succumbed to an orgasm so fierce that she screamed at the top of her lungs.
All that night, Emily and Yeva made passionate love, as if gripped by a longing to experience life while it lasted. When their tongues grew weary and their mouths dry, toys were produced. The two women rolled and tumbled about the bed until what Takabuti would have called the ship of Ra had risen to illuminate their exhausted bodies, and they both fell into a sleep as deep and dreamless as the dead.
*
“You are Ahmad, Takabuti’s husband?”
The man across the desk from the Vizier was at least ten years older than him and was certainly old enough to have been Takabuti’s father.
“I am.”
“Did you kill her? Or pay someone else to do it for you?”
“No.”
“Do you have any idea who killed your wife?”
“No.”
“We have reason to think she had a lover…”
“Meru. Yes, I know.”
“You know?” said the Vizier, surprised.
“Yes. I sanctioned their affair. I am a very old man, Sir. I cannot hope to keep a young woman like Takabuti satisfied anymore. She meets my needs, Meru meets hers. She and I enjoyed each other’s company tolerably well, but I’m no fool. She needed a younger man to satisfy her sexually. And when the time comes for me to make the last journey across the Styx, they will have my blessing to marry and be together.”
The Vizier sat back in his chair, digesting this unexpected information. Almost in spite of himself, he felt a twinge of excitement at this thickening of the plot. This was proving to be a rather interesting case.
“Do you think Meru could have killed her?”
Ahmad drummed his fingers on the table.
“They’d been seeing each other for four years, Sir. And in that time, she never once returned home upset or complained of his behaviour to me. And she’d have told me, if he’d mistreated her. No, I don’t think it was him either.”
“The other person we had in mind was her brother, Sinuhe. He’s coming to speak to me tomorrow. Do you know him well?”
Ahmad’s face clouded.
“Yes. I know him well enough.”
“How was his relationship with his sister?”
“Not good at all. Sinuhe’s wife and Takabuti loathed each other from the start, and Sinuhe wasn’t happy with his sister marrying a man the same age as their father. Sinuhe and I are too far apart in age to form any kind of bond as brothers-in-law, and, naturally, I took my wife’s side in the quarrel between the sisters-in-law. There was no relationship between us and them.”
“No relationship?”
“We never saw each other. We hadn’t spoken in years.”
“Sinuhe was overheard vowing revenge on the killer.”
“He has to say that, doesn’t he?”
“Do you think he could have been involved?”
“Like I said, we kept out of each other’s way. I can’t be sure Sinuhe didn’t do it, but I don’t see why he would go to the trouble, and risk, of killing her. He didn’t need to. He wouldn’t really gain from her death. They were estranged. Frankly, he’d be more likely to kill me.”
“Thank you, Ahmad. Can I ask you to stay within the bounds of the city until the investigation is complete?”
The Vizier was not naive enough to take the, “I sanctioned my wife’s affair,” line as gospel. The husband remained very much under suspicion in his eyes.
“Of course.”
The Vizier sat late at his desk that night. The Takabuti case was now the talk of the city, and rumours were flying around. People were asking questions about when justice would be done. The Vizier knew that, soon, there would be a public clamour for someone, anyone, to be held accountable. With every passing hour, they would care less about whether the real killer was caught, and more for the spectacle of the public execution.
But what did he have to show for his interviews? The husband was an old man, so old that the Vizier wasn’t sure that he would be physically capable of striking a killer blow. He was being cuckolded by a much younger soldier. The lover was a strapping alpha just waiting to claim the victim as his bride, so why would he kill her? The father was dead. The brother didn’t have a convincing motive. He was barely a step further than square one. The Vizier rubbed his tired face despairingly.
Suddenly, he heard a commotion in the street outside. Two officers of the guard were leading a man roughly along, pinioning both his arms behind his back, bending him at the waist. The man was blindfolded.
“Sir, this man has asked to speak to you about the murder of Takabuti.”
“Let him up.”
The guards allowed him to stand straight but did not release his arms. The Vizier saw that it was Babu, the brothel keeper. He was shaking. When they removed the blindfold, Babu’s eyes were wide with fear.
“What do you want to tell me?”
“It was me, governor. I…I did it.”
“Why?”
“But I didn’t mean to kill her, governor, I swear.”
“You plunged an axe into her back, and you didn’t mean to kill her?”
“No, I mean I didn’t mean to kill her. I saw this young woman hurrying along in the dark, her head covered, and…”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“And you took her to be Asenath,” the Vizier supplied.
The man nodded miserably.
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw I’d done the wrong one. Felt terrible, I did. You don’t understand how much money I was losing, though. I had to do something. Please, governor. I gave myself up. Please, don’t send me to the fire. Anything but the fire!” he wailed.
The Vizier waited for the desperate man to calm himself a little, then addressed Babu.
“The victim’s family can show clemency and waive the death penalty, in which case you’ll be sent in chains to the mines for the rest of your life. As you have confessed and had not planned to kill Takabuti, they may be inclined to be merciful.”
“Thank you, governor. Thank you.”
*
“…so, Ladies and Gentlemen, that is all we know of the story of Takabuti!”
Emily led the standing ovation as Yeva finished her talk. It had been a triumph; the audience, who were gathered in the gallery in which the mummy was displayed, had been spellbound for forty-five minutes.
When the applause died down, Yeva said,
“My partner and I would like to conclude this event with a short ceremony. In Ancient Egypt, they believed that your name was intricately connected with your soul. Since she is here today, to honour Takabuti and to keep her memory alive, I’d like us all to stand up and, together, say her name. You may like to take hands with the person next to you, but please don’t feel obliged.”
The whole room stood. Emily got up from her seat and walked over to Yeva. They took hands.
“On three, two, one. Takabuti.”
The crowd of thirty or so people mumbled it somewhat awkwardly at first. But, led by Yeva and Emily, soon Takabuti’s name was being spoken loudly and clearly around her sarcophagus. Voices rose up in chorus, filling the room, reaching out across the centuries and reforging the link between the people in the room and that poor unfortunate who had lived so, so long ago that her true fate was lost to them in the mists of time.
“Takabuti. Takabuti. Takabuti.”
