Lion Head Mesa [m] Voice of man

He’d known from the summer prior that the Head of the Lion gleamed in the height of Ra’s sun, but the last stretch to the mesa was made at night when the sky was pitch-dark and the fellahin strode ahead to light their path. The air was warm and a saturation of energy forbade him sleep. He caught his lover’s mouth in an impassioned kiss and a promise to seek her that evening before turning to lose himself in the twist of red palatial hallways.

Here the stone was smoothed by centuries of hallowed paws, perhaps never so raven-sleek and lacquered gold as he. Rashepses loomed beneath every archway and admired each architectural detail. Passersby were favored with the glint of an eye and a rise of maw but he exchanged no causeries. Down he strode until his paws met the banks of the wellspring and he slid through the hot water. He sprawled himself out in the shallows, toying with the trim of a lilly as serving girls washed his back and gently combed through travelworn snags.

His neck arched contentedly, but his mind slipped out across the flatlands for the mountain. Sated by the newness of his bride, it was the rise of Mereo which again sifted through his thoughts.

the treasures gleaned in moontide had been organized into store-rooms nearest the chambers of pharaoh, and senmut had made a careful account of even the tiniest shell.

the Divine Consort's darkly seductive presence now filled the prince; he could hear the soft murmur of feminine voices and the gentle lapping of scented water.

"my lord." his bow was genuine and low. "i am pleased to find that we are reunited here in the scarlet palace."

"there is a vintage of pine, ripened in muat-riya. shall i have it opened?" senmut offered, wishing to make more of rashepses than he knew now.

“Senmut,” he acknowledged, damp onyx strands smoothing across his shoulders as Semer-wati turned his head. A long look savored the grace of the priest, the length in his legs. “You must be worn from your travels.”

Rashepses took the chin of his servant in hand and tickled her jaw. “A bath for the Erpa-ha,” his purr commanded to her cheek. The fellahin bowed and crossed the room to Senmut’s side as a second maid was sent away to fetch the blue palace vintage. He shifted then into a lean that centered the crimson priest within view, at his leisure.

He and Senmut were no longer men pitted in competition. His wife had a wealth of cares and it was Senmut who was entrusted to many of these matters. Doubts remained, but at present were left unspoken.

“Tell me of Moontide,” he inquired as a girl massaged the tight muscles along his back.

all this time, and still the erpa-ha did not know what to make of the glimmering prince cut from glinting jetstone. effortlessly the Consort took over such arrangements; senmut felt himself plied into the water, and went willingly enough.

it felt good upon his travelworn muscles, but it was with a man's silent comparison to self that he looked at rashepses, at the water beading upon his black coat and the gentle pull of pretty paws at his spine. he was every inch the prince he had proclaimed himself to be, and senmut was reminded with godly insistence that he himself was only a fellahin.

"moontide is well. it is placed upon the coastline in such a place that all activity passes near or through the shores kept by rodyn and heph. the land is rich from earth and sea. they are traders, and have amassed great wealth in recent years.  "

he took the wine when it was offered, sipping before he spoke again; "they call themselves a village, and they are connected with a string of other villages through blood and marriage." another drink, lingering; "it was there that i came to meet several of these relations, as well as make a formal introduction of ourselves to another budding oasis in the mountains, hearthwood."

amusement touched his scarlet face. "the man rodyn is well-traveled and powerful. i considered him for our nebet racharra. but he has lost his wife, great one, and pain exists in him. i do not believe he would travel from moontide. and she has given up her questing for the lake, which raises another matter: zharille."

briefly did senmut explain which parts of this story rashepses might not know: the rise of greatwater, the defection of the man khaba to its leader, zharille. his theft of children and the might of akashingo which had taken their traitor captive in return for greatwater's bended knee. miho and racharra, left in the warm hands of the then-girl toula, queen to the red land.

"she has returned to the lake, it seems, or intends to return." a look now, for the Consort; senmut was erpa-ha and had commanded the first assault upon greatwater. suppose rashepses had another tactic. "racharra no longer wishes to press her claim and desires only to be married."

much had been said, and now he was silent, anticipating what the Consort's quick mind might make of all this.

“You have made great progress, Erpa-ha. We will continue to nurture this budding partnership,” Rashepses offered his easiest smile. For such a pious man the priest knew how to sweeten his words and flaunt Akashingo’s wealth, and it was for this strategic mind the riverlord admired him most. Moontide with its many connections would be their key to the North.

Rashepses listened as he went on to tell the story of Great Water Lake and the role Akashingo played in its defeat. The smile was quick to fade, his lips drawn back in firm disdain.

“And how does the woman Zharille intend to pay her debts? If the lake rises again it will do so only beneath the banners of Akashingo,” for the desert realm had not freed, fed, and raised the lake woman’s children in goodwill alone. As for the girl– it was only a fool who would willingly abandon their claim.

“Should the young nebet refuse to seize her birthright, then she must be wed to a son of the moon villages,” he continued, “and give him children as soon as her first blood.” The lady Racharra was under the false impression that she had a great deal of choice in the matter. She too was indebted to Akashingo. Each had their role to play.

He sighed then and slung an arm out for a second girl to scrub the silt from his claws. “Has there been word from the man Germanicus in our absence?”

"i have had no word from the roman, great one," senmut answered in a muted tone, divining for time. racharra should have taken his carefully laid arrangement with hearthwood. as prince, and hereditary at that, his word came second to that of rashepses and third to the final say of pharaoh.

she would not enjoy the haughty, beautiful Consort to the First God ordering her future, and yet it had come to this. the scarlet priest held no more sway over this matter, and in some small way he was relieved for it.

he himself would not have considered the moon villages, and perhaps his haughtiness had made him a poor tactician. with great wealth and strong connections, protected routes and many fighters, they would be a ferocious ally to have and an even greater enemy.

he thought of nazli; ached for her.

"i will inform the nebet of what has been decided," senmut assured, letting out his breath as knowing paws began their second knead, this time upon his own shoulders. 

pharaoh had not seen fit to marry off her priest, and for this was he grateful. he wondered; at his rank, would a wife even be a right of his? many high priests could not balance both.

Rashepses nodded and loosened his shoulders which had grown tense as if for battle. He was not a man who made tawdry threats. Akashingo had no choice but to expand. His world had become fixated on Toula and when– if– she would come into season. Would their little godlings be scampering up and down the palace halls this summer? Or would Semer-wati be forced to find a lesser-noble to bear his sons?

When such a time came Rashepses would see their safety. Akashingo must be impenetrable. They could not afford a second tragedy such as the one that bloodied the palace of Muat-riya. It left Rashepses singularity motivated– they needed an army, but their Imperator had seemingly waned from existence.

“Plans for Mereo will continue in the absence of the roman,” he passed a contemplative tongue over his teeth. Senmut himself looked thoughtful. He was developing confidence in the Erpa-ha, who proved he would carry out his directives. It was perhaps within the succor of this notion that he revealed, “One day, it will be my son who will oversee the legion.” The riverking’s mouth roused into an excited smile.

“Do priests yearn for fatherhood, Prince Senmut?”

it was during moments such as these that senmut felt that fertile dirt beneath his claws, the earth of upper aswan in a nome so tiny that it was known only, and locally at that, by its eternal god: Wepwawet.

but the Sharp Eared One had not called to him, it had been Amun. and it had been the Life Spark which guided every step to this moment, where he sat in a wellspring with another man and they were both called royal.

yet, the truth of it kept the priest always humble.

the confidence shown by the Consort was so great that he could only bend to it.

fatherhood! an image of he and nazli, little children at their ankles, traveling that oasis beside the serpent where ramesses had journeyed with treva after their wedding.

"priests do not often yearn for a mortal life," senmut demurred. "i hope to be the worshipper who crowns your son as head of such a legion."

he hoped their talk would turn to things with fewer thorns for his heart.

If the priest felt the sear of his low-born origin, Rashepses saw it in the modest shift of emerald eyes and the way his throat bobbed for a swallow.  Princes were not named, they were budded from the nectar of the Gods.

But the man across the water was eternal, for he would continue to serve the imperial line as ushabti even in death.

“So you shall,” the answer pleased Semer-wati who leaned into his girl’s kneading with a pleasured sigh and quashed a berry between his teeth.

“There is another matter to discuss. My kingsguard @Mesen-ka remains unwed. For such a lionheart it would appear the fairer sex intimidates him,” a laugh rumbled. “Find a suitable noblewoman for him to wed, Erpa-ha. He will give her children this year.”

"it shall be done, gilded one," senmut answered. so much, left to him! it was not as if he feared the work; what had once overcome the prince was now a mere eyeblink of thought. 

and he was free to travel. senmut knew now that his desire for it had been kindled during the moontide expedition.

a berry for himself as well. "i know you are early into your marriage, great Consort. but i must ask: will you be collecting such beauties of various courts for your own design?"

only a child of pharaoh's body might sit upon the Horus Throne. it did not preempt a handsomely brash riverprince from gathering his own harem as children arrived and thoughts turned toward court. 

and while afield, senmut might well look for such. a bevy of foreign princesses and politically sired sons might annoy pharaoh, but it was only she who carried the Divine Spark. she must elevate herself above such matters. 

his own shoulders, caressed; he allowed tension to come away from his limbs.

“They say variety is the spice of life,” amusement passed through semer-wati’s golden eyes as he looked into the handsome face of the holy man. A laugh mingled with the sound of combing over tangled fur. There was something in Senmut’s bearing, firm and imbued with compliance, which made for no world beyond this moment’s play.

Rashepses was a king with a crown, wealth, and the favor of gods. He had his lioness and their union transcended all earthly delights. But Toula was not the first to grace his bed and she would not be the last. One day he would take other noble ladies to wife and sire her sons.

Though now–

“I have Tuna in the red palace. Eset in the blue,” he smiled and melted another berry upon his tongue. Some men sought gods, others whores. Rashepses wanted both.

“But a man’s arms can never be full.”

never indeed! senmut had been barely a boy when his life had been given to the priests, but even then he understood that men stood separate from their women. and it was so in rashepses, though more silverweb: not one but two lineages compelled pharaoh and Consort; not only subjects but the gods themselves looked with favor upon the two. the duty to produce, then, was sacred.

privately he did not think that ramesses would have tolerated any half-royal bastards running underfoot. but then again, he had been pharaoh. would toula ascend beyond these aims of her husband? or would she flash the iron of her father and put an end to rashepses' dalliance?

it was not for him to say.

"then we must keep your arms entertained at least, Favorite of Iset."

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“Rest assured, Senmut,” he laughed, bold and arrogant, “they are.” And he thought of Toula awaiting him in her chambers upstairs, her bright eyes flashing prettily in the dark.

Rashepses would not love another. Not in the way he loved her. He knew this. But it was also the custom of their kings to enter into diplomatic marriages with the daughters of allies, regardless of how Semer-wati wished only to worship one.

The concubines didn’t matter. They were objects for pleasure. They were only coyotes.

With loosened muscles and Toula dancing in his thoughts, the royal slipped into the warm waters and paddled himself over to the side of the red priest. He allowed his eyes to sweep enlivened along the profile of his slender face. He leant himself closer.

“Are your arms entertained, priest?” The obsidian whispered, lips taking to a slow grin.

rashepses was very beautiful, and such was this so visceral a thought that senmut could scarcely grasp its origin.

the reality of servant pressed against the gleaming arm of a god.

"my arms do not seek pleasures of the flesh, Gilded One," the priest murmured, mouth gone dry as he held the vision of those knowing serpentine eyes.

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Turn around.

Bend down.

Moan for me, prince of embers.

It would be so easy to take him. Rashepses would not even need to raise his voice. All he needed to do was order.

“No,” it was a whisper when his yellow eyes, implacable as a leopard’s, leaned closer still to look upon the flat, hard belly in the waters below him, “only the pleasure of the Gods. ” The look on his face was frank, then.

the god's-stare swallowed senmut and he responded to its thrum with a tautening ache which terrified and awed the man.

"only the pleasures of the gods," the high priest murmured, his heart the blazing chariot wheels which sparked Ra's light against the surface of a desert pylon.

he did not wish to be commanded.

and he did.

priest waited for the word of a god.

Rashepses smiled, unruly, as if in memory of some divine mischief. His arm, slick with bathing waters slid behind Senmut’s head and caressed the slender nape of his neck. There he watched his deep green eyes, seeing the space where thirst and reluctance intertwined– as so often they did.

He could smell him; the oils in his coat, and also the fine, powdered sand which had yet to be extracted– the same musky scent which the king’s skin also bore. Slowly, he lowered his damp chin to graze the man’s own.

“You’re a good priest, Senmut,” he breathed against his cheek, “the gods bless you.

"Now kiss me.” A command, summoned from the tongue of one.

Because he could.

senmut stiffened, in surprise as well as the quick beat of ardor; he answered at once, and perhaps clumsily, redstone meeting the black marble from which rashepses was carved.

in shocked appeal his heart thudded; he felt as if he should not raise the hand which now did so of its own accord, resting upon the fine-made shoulder;

"my golden lord," came the shaking whisper, "surely i am not worthy." he did not deserve even to touch the gilded light which poured from rashepses, let alone now know the taste of that grinning mouth, its unguents of fruited wine, mint;

his heart galloped! a runaway horse!

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Where was the man-made prince who’d once stood in hot defiance to the riverlord? Who slung words like daggers? Where was his armor, and his arms?

How delightfully pliant an ember now, who spoke of worthiness beneath the roughened paws of his king– the god drinking all hallowed gasps from such an elegant mouth. Gone were the slow explorations, Rashpeses lunged for the priest’s jaw and took his beauty within hand and teeth and possessive flecks of tongue.

“Be honest with me, Senmut,” he growled between kisses, “have you ever thought of my wife? Have you ever wanted to touch her?” He drew his mouth roughly against his own.

where was he, indeed; senmut closed his eyes in surrender, given over to rashepses as godservant was meant to be.

there was pleasure. there was fear, for senmut had never lain with a man in either role. but his skin was taut and aching beneath the searing kiss of the Consort. also new to the priest was such a connection, without emotion; he cared for legend and nazli in a way he had not yet been able to find for rashepses.

senmut chose them for he felt that beneath all the bold trappings of his station, they were his equals, sesh and mazoi and hem, all in service to a higher order.

but this! so vastly different: the servant inside senmut now plucked from its altar and forced to eager knees before the godlight of rashepses.

they would never be equals, and each of them knew it.

toula; "no, Golden One," the priest managed as his sensitive ears were teasingly caressed by tonguetip; "she holds only divinity for me, untouchable." their mouths collided; "even if she had chosen me to stand beside her, i am not sure i could have touched her without righteous fear."

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“And you will never touch her,” he scorched, mocking, clutching his holy hips and drawing them hard against his own, “she is mine. She will always be mine.”

He grabbed Senmut’s arms, turning them fast so the man was on his belly beneath him. He caught him about the waist and pinioned his iron hold. Lips went to the crest of a red ear and whispered, “as are you; as are any who walk the red sand.”

Divine and servant were joined with a push, the former taking the scruff of the priest’s neck between his fangs.

“Praise me,” through gritted teeth the command bellowed at once.

not a soul would know of this, and as time went on, senmut might find his own thoughts refusing him the memory.

rashepses reminded the prince of his origins as first-breath among the dirt of a forgotten province, grinding him down into the stones of the wellspring as scarlet and darkness mingled in damp fur.

and as senmut was claimed, he wondered crazedly if rashepses could even name the homeland of the man beneath him.

he knew well enough he was an object, to be possessed, but in this the riverprince did not even bow to the divinity of his own godhead.

senmut caught breath in his throat, fought the stifled sound of comingled shock and — perhaps the lowbred ardor possessed only by fellahin: to be wielded as object and tool by their righteous lords.

"m-my words would only curl into nothing beneath the heat of your voice, lord; you have my praise, my — supplication."

bowing now to offer the altar of himself to the lust that only a royal could touch.

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Flogged; like a tree in severe weather, bent and split and articulated by a black wind. Pushed; until any residuum of prince was forced from priest, and by the end semer-wati too would be a husk of a man, unburdened, while his disciple was made to carry him through sundown and into the oppressive heat of day.

Eyes shut and all language vanished from his mouth, where came only sated grunts. Long dark hands fell about the curve of the erpa-ha’s neck and he bent to graze the ruddy cheek with his mouth.

“The gods are pleased, Senmut,” his breath seized– then he pulled away and back into the teal-blue waters, eyelids falling to half-close.

long after rashepses drew from the water and was vigorously toweled by one starry-eyed servant or another, senmut remained. his body throbbed in a myriad ways; he turned his mind from the remembrance of these things.

and when he at last slunk from the wellspring, it was to lay out atop the mesa until Ra scalded him back to consciousness, to memory, to cleansing, to the golden whisper that now some aspect of divinity had been given to senmut, truly, fully.

he did not know if he should cling to this.