The Twelfth Transforming by Pauline Gedge Read Free Book Online

surface of the lake, but the air remained stale, laden with the odors of food and the perfumed oil that dribbled from the melting cones tied to the wigs of the feasters.
    Between the tables crowded on the floor of the hall naked dancers dipped and swayed, their anklets clashing, the silver weights woven into their hair shining as they passed under the torches. Gracefully they bent to gather the trinkets, pieces of gold, scribbled offers of employment, or propositions that were flung at them by the company, whose ribald shouts fought with the drums and harps of Pharaoh’s court musicians. Tiye, momentarily diverted, saw Princess Tia-Ha rise from her cushions where she sat among Pharaoh’s wives and, shedding the long blue sheath that enveloped her, slide naked to the foot of the dais. Amunhotep grunted. Tia-Ha bowed to him, blowing a kiss and tossing back her hair as her body loosened and began to undulate with the swift rhythm of the music. “That woman will never die,” he said admiringly. “She is too full of Hathor’s fertile vitality. Do you like to dance, Princess?”
    Tadukhipa turned shy, startled eyes upon her lord while below her the assembly began to whistle and clap for Tia-Ha. “I have been taught the temple dances for Savriti the Many-Armed,” she said. “If Your Majesty wishes it, I will dance for him.”
    “Tonight, Tadukhipa,” he replied kindly, seeing her distress, “you have the fragile beauty of a spring cornflower, too delicate for the eyes of these drunken bees.” He patted her arm and turned his attention to Tiye. “Suppiluliumas lost no time in sending representation to me,” he said, “but the upstart Khatti prince’s ambassador is uncouth, obviously nothing but an adventuring soldier.” He nodded to where the man sat among the other foreign dignitaries, his unshod feet propped on his table, his arms around two dancers he had captured, his long, tangled hair and bushing beard flying as he talked rapidly to Ay, who was perched on a cushion beside him, listening politely.
    “The Khatti have never cared for social skills,” Tiye responded, her own eyes thoughtfully on the laughing soldier, “and they have barely learned the rules of rudimentary diplomacy. Their arrogance and their raw strength make them dangerous. Let this man be entertained by Ay, soldier to soldier. Ay speaks the language of the barracks and will discover quickly what this Suppiluliumas wants of Egypt. Apart from gold, of course. It would be wise to give audience to the ambassador from Mitanni tomorrow and learn what Tushratta thinks of them. He is directly involved.”
    Sitamun leaned forward, patting her red lips with a square of linen. “The Khatti live for war,” she offered. “Invasions keep them healthy. Palace insurrections are a cause for celebration, and killing gives them a hearty appetite. It is no wonder that they have no time for cultural pursuits. The Babylonians can at least be reasoned with and are sophisticated enough to enjoy the game of politics, but not these people. They understand only the language of the spear.”
    To a renewed burst of applause, Tia-Ha swayed back to her cushions and coolly shrugged into her sheath before sitting and calling for wine.
    “It is often the bully who can be cowed with threats and encouraged with vague promises,” Tiye answered her daughter. “Ay will bring me a report when he is ready. Until then we must see that the foreigner is given all that he desires.”
    Sitamun smiled and dabbled her fingers in the wine. “Give him Mutnodjme,” she drawled. “They are two of a kind. Is my lord retiring?”
    Amunhotep had pulled himself to his feet, and at once the revelry in the hall died to a ripple of whispers. The Keeper of the Royal Regalia rose also, lifting the precious emblems from the box he carried everywhere with him and raising them high above his head. Pharaoh nodded at his herald.
    “Mani, come forward!” the man called.
    Egypt’s ambassador to