This story is imaginary, although it is based on a footnote in a history book, and a fragment of a tablet discovered during an archeological dig, backed up by a little research.
*****
Ramun drank deeply from his goblet, and looked around him: the great chamber was filled with courtiers, priests, soothsayers, generals, astrologers, wise men and councillors, all arguing heatedly. Among them moved serving maidens, naked to the waist with only a brief wisp of material around their loins, offering delicacies and refilling goblets, and giggling as the occasional hand fondled a bare breast or slid up a smooth thigh, while guards lined the walls and fan bearers tried to circulate the heavy air.
The reason for the prevailing gloom was that yet again the rains still had not come - the crops had failed last year, and the granaries would soon be dangerously depleted, while the army of a neighbouring state, sensing the weakness of the kingdom, was massing nearby, waiting for the right moment to invade.
That moment would come when the people rose up against Ramun, their king - he also enjoyed near-divine status, worshipped and revered when the kingdom prospered, but, as he well knew, he was in danger of being deposed, and worse, if misfortune befell them.
The young king sighed - he had prayed daily, following the priests deep into the vast temple, making offerings to the gods and performing the prescribed rituals, all to no avail, and no-one could agree on the meanings of the signs and omens that the wise men studied constantly.
He held up his hand, and silence descended immediately, all eyes fastened on him, waiting apprehensively.
'Clear the chamber!' Ramun commanded, and immediately the throng began to back out, bowing obsequiously as they went, leaving only the guards, fan bearers, serving maidens and the chief official, to whom the king beckoned.
'Bring my mother, the queen, to me!' he grunted, and once more raised his goblet to his lips as the official bowed himself out of the chamber, and he idly ran his hand over the gleaming black near-naked body of the Nubian serving girl standing beside him attentively with a jug held ready to replenish the goblet whenever necessary.
Ahktar had been impatiently awaiting the summons from the king, her son, for three days: she was fully aware of the crises that beset the kingdom, and the threats they posed to the king, and therefore her own position. Her son was the product of her marriage to her brother, the late king, as was the custom. Her brother had been a weak, sickly individual, himself the result of generations of inbreeding, and it had been obvious that he would not live into old, or even late middle, age - it had been rumoured that his wife's voracious sexual appetite had hastened his end. Knowing that is was unlikely that her husband, her brother, would enjoy a long life, Ahktar had teased her son with her body and lips since Ramun had reached puberty, laughingly pushing him away and telling him he must wait, but allowing him to touch her and kiss her in a fashion guaranteed to increase his desire for his mother, and bind him to her.
On the death of her husband, his son had of course inherited her as well as the throne, and she soon increased her hold on him by raising him to unimagined heights of lust. She ignored his concubines and the wives of his courtiers that he took with impunity, knowing that he would always return to her, and she constantly invented new ways to arouse him. He, too, drove her to a frenzy, and she loved the way he used, and abused, her body.
She knew him better than he knew himself, and she had been sure that in the present critical situation he would need her more than ever, but her frustration had mounted unbearably as she had waited to be called, and last night she had taken two of her guards, all chosen for their physique and stamina, into her bed, and this morning her favourite body slave had pleasured her mistress with her mouth as she took her bath.
Afterwards, her hand-maidens had oiled and perfumed her body, giggling as she responded to the touch of their hands, then stained her eyelids with kohl and painted her nipples red, before slipping an almost completely diaphanous gown over her head, admiring the way it revealed her body and legs almost as if she was naked.
Now, when the vizier delivered his message, Ahktar moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, and her hand rose to her breast, fondling it and shivering slightly at the thought of what her son might do to her. As she left the chamber her hand-maidens exchanged glances, knowing that they would have to minister to her and apply unguents, as well as their lips and hands, to the marks and bruises on her body after the king had finished with her.
Ahktar presented herself to her son, kneeling before him submissively, her head bowed; from behind lowered lashes, she'd seen him staring at her body as the light had shone through her practically transparent gown as she'd entered the chamber, and she'd smiled to herself.
