The Elected Pharaoh

By Melissa Mullen

In a modernised, alternate history rendition of ancient Egypt, the kingdom is facing its second pharaonic election after the passing of Pharaoh Ibiaow. Former slave and anti-slavery activist Ahmose decides (after initially rejecting the idea) to put herself forward as a candidate for pharaoh.

 

CW: Contains scenes of exploitation and abuse that some readers may wish to avoid.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Mullen
• Release date: May 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223395102

Book preview

Chapter II: Hold Your Breath

‘R anting FLOP GKE leader taken away in a private wheely’, read a headline of the state commissioned newspaper ‘The Kingdom’s Tablet’. Ahmose glared at the less than flattering front page which was placed on the kitchen table of her home which was located in the suburban outskirts of Luxor.

She knew reading the article would be of no value to her mood, so she turned about two thirds of the paper over and then flicked ahead another several pages, one at a time until she found the first page of the sports section.

Ahmose had a strange relationship with The Kingdom’s Tablet as undoubtedly with such a sizeable budget they offered great coverage of a wide range of topics albeit she failed to agree with their writings on many political subjects. She did greatly enjoy their sports reporting, however.

The headline on the opening page of the sports section focused on the prior evening’s boxing encounters of the men and women’s Weight 4 Semi-Finals for the Kingdom Champions Fights. Positive chemicals were sent flying through her brain as she read about her favourite female boxer Neskhon’s fourth round knockout victory over challenger Salitiyamun.

She had been too busy with socializing and eating at last night’s dinner to listen to or watch the fight live. As she was engaged by the article which began by centring in on Neskhon’s victory, her ‘wireless audio communicator’ or wiaucom for short began to alert her of an incoming connection, setting off its usual personalized song. She had the song set to ‘The flight of victory’ that accompanied any incoming connections.

Ahmose picked up her wiaucom and hit the golden rectangular button in the middle, which was decorated with several hieroglyphics (that included an upstanding bird and a pupil-less eyelid) representing the word ‘accept’. Ahmose of FLOP GKE she answered. You need to be careful, you filthy subhuman! You are a donkey’s behind. We will get you and we will slit your throat someday, you filthy....

She cancelled the connection, not wishing to listen any further, by pressing the black ‘goodbye’ button at the bottom of the wiaucom device. She placed it down and let out a heavy sigh. The media got on her nerves but the death threats from regular, yet unconvinced persons just broke her heart. Ahmose was sure she’d never get used to it.

How could an individual have such venom, blood thirst and hatred towards those wishing to simply extend the essential freedoms and rights that she and most Egyptians had to all individuals within the walls of the kingdom? She had a broad understanding of her opposition but fundamentally she could never truly grasp their state of mind although she was acutely aware that her background was comprehensively different to that of most Egyptians who had never experienced the dehumanization of being treated as nothing more than cattle, than the property of another.

The sound of the front door buzzer set off a short Egyptian melody which echoed from the front entrance beyond the kitchen door. Her home’s security guard entered the kitchen a few moments later as was the custom following a visitor arriving at the house’s front door. She had never wished to have so many security officials and guards involved in her life, but the never-ending string of death threats had left it as something of a necessity.

In fact, this had become particularly clear when an angry bankrupt former enslaver, whose already ill-health slaves had suddenly died from the flu as it spread around the factory in which they worked, sought to kill Ahmose. He had reached the gates of her home high on anger and carrying a dagger. He had then climbed over the gates only for her hound to frighten him back.

He then leapt back on to the gates only to fall and break his arm. That’s how the local authorities found him, and his plan was quickly unravelled. He got off with a slap on the wrist, however. He received a small fine and a warning from the courts that he would be jailed if he plotted to kill anyone again. This was in contrast to most murder plots which would land someone a lengthy several year jail sentence in almost all cases but when it came to attempts to harm or kill a freedom lover, judges tended to be more lenient as most of them were very much in favour of slavery.

Ahmose glanced up at her security guard and before he could speak, she asked Meru? No, it’s your brother What is he doing here?’ she wondered. The broad and balding guard stood there unsure whether to take it as a direct or rhetorical question. Well, send him in anyway" she added whilst also gesturing her approval with a hand movement.

Ahmose rose to her feet and waited her guest to enter. The guard returned to the front entrance to open the door, let him in and then performed a quick check to make sure he had no weapons on him (a mandatory check regardless of who the visitor was) before he escorted her brother Huyapali in to the kitchen.

I see you still can’t trust your own blood he stated, referencing the security check. Don’t take it personally brother. We treat all our guests the same she answered, not bothering to hide her frustration. I saw some visuals of your speech on yesterday’s news... Quite... electric he remarked.

What brings you back? she queried with a point-blank question. You are still beholden by a false belief... he explained while taking a seat at the table, two seats away from where she stood whilst the guard stood with his hands crossed over his belly, standing by the kitchen door.

More ramble she sighed while taking her seat again. Do you really, sincerely believe that this kingdom will ever grant freedom to the slave by simply asking for it? Like a child who intends to convince a parent to buy him a cocoa bar by sufficient agitation? This is not how the world works when it comes to kingdoms and politics. This is not child’s play

Do not compare our movement to a child... If you want to visit me at least have some respect. As you said, I am your own blood... And as for your disposition, you forget the fact that we have indeed been making progress. This movement brought in the slave reform agreement... We pushed the Pharaoh and the chamber to change things. And we will convince them to ban slavery... it may take many, many seasons and many, many years but it will be worth it, and it will be more than your talk will ever achieve. We are patient. Your approach is like that of a child. You throw a tantrum and demand everything now and, in this instant!

You’re deeply mistaken my sister. You hold this view that they will actually outlaw slavery. They offered you the reforms to keep you pleased, to keep you quiet, to keep you peaceful. It’s appeasement and that is all they will ever give you and once they get you in the snake’s lair, they’ll crush you like a beetle and leave you back to where you started with absolutely nothing! he argued.

No, that won’t be the case and you will see that in the... Yes, it will! Nubian nationalism is the answer!. She sighed once more. Oh, like so many men you can’t help but interrupt a woman, can you? she asked. Weapons and blood are the answer whether you accept it or not... he insisted. Look at the battles of independence during the civil war. The Europeans, the Arabs, the southern Africans, they all gained their own freedom. Many men and women died but they now have absolute freedom from the tyranny of the Egyptians!

I am Egyptian! she shouted assertively. He shook his head. The security guard was playing with his own fingers as the room temperature seemed to rise abruptly. Don’t shake your head at me she criticized. You are a traitor... But you are still my blood after all and that is why I will keep coming back until I convince you and if I do, then I will treat you only with the care he replied.

I need not any of your care. You will leave now she stated firmly. It’s your choice. And when the Nubians rise up and we gain our independence, with or without you, you will see how I was right all this time. You hold foolish and childish ideas... All because you are afraid of violence You are speaking of illegal things in front of two witnesses, I will caution you to think about the words you wish to speak in the future.... Now I will tell you again to leave or else my guard will remove you by means of force

You have changed so fundamentally sister, what a tragedy.... Do you realize that? he questioned while rising to his feet before beginning to make his way out. He said no more as her security guard escorted him back out of the home and watched as he made his way out of the gates. Close the gate as you leave! called the security guard as Huyapali opened it again but then ignored the demand to close it after him, forcing the guard to walk out and close the gate himself.

That same afternoon, near the centre of the City of Luxor, in the Royal Hospital of Luxor, which was for the treatment of first-class citizens, Pharaoh Ibiaow lay, weakly in a bed on the ‘golden floor’ where only the most important patients were being treated.

Royal Army Guards sat and stood around the room which was his alone. On a seat to the right of his bed was one of his doctors, one of two ‘on-site doctors’ who were to sit next to him continuously for half a day each at a time whilst other doctors and nurses ran various tests and conjured up ways to reverse his cancer even if in all fact everyone knew it was terminal.

No one dared to question the logic of doing all that could be done to achieve the impossible. To the left of his bed sat two individuals. Closest to the wall was the High Priest of Giza, offering spiritual energy, rituals and worship to the Gods to return health to the Pharaoh.

To the right of the High Priest sat a secret hopeful for the next pharaoh, Neferenq of Memphis. The ill-fated Pharaoh had privately ordered all those who wished to be the next pharaoh on behalf of the Historical Party to pay a visit to his bed. This was so as it was the case that any current Historical Party Pharaoh would have one third of the say for the next pharaoh if they wished to. First, he was considering the options.

Welcome young man... You need not be afraid of acknowledging... the facts he stated in a weak-toned voice, with heavy breaths carrying his words. He let out a loud cough. Clearing his throat, Ibiaow continued I am going to pass to the next life soon... and... and I have no fear of that... All of these crazy people here... he added before coughing more heavily.

They leave me with something of an amusement... Delusional is the only word I can think for them he answered with a brief smile before having several heavier coughs. Neferenq was desperately unsure how to hold his posture, so he decided to largely remain still. My pharaoh remarked the nervous Neferenq before taking the pharaoh’s right hand and kissing it I wish you only wellness in this life and the next... Tell me my son, why should you be the next leader of our...of our great land?

I offer a strong policy on economics. I am aware of the importance of the Egyptian economy. I will not tolerate the Freedom Lovers. I will reverse any legal disruptions to slavery brought in by the Liberals, but I will be smart about it, I will speak not of this in my campaign but do it anyway. However, I will never appease the Liberals, even with words, only with silence, and a false one at that... Suddenly Neferenq noticed the pharaoh appearing to nod off. My pharaoh, how do you go? The pharaoh’s eyes remained barely open. Let the party decide... None of you have gained my approval... the Pharaoh added cynically.

My pharaoh, I... The Pharaoh has spoken added the High Priest who was looking with concern toward the pharaoh. Then the room seemed to stand still for a moment as the Pharaoh’s eyes closed again.

The on-site doctor rose to his feet, his own eyes wide and his heartbeat accelerating. Everyone was thinking the same thing. He grabbed his wiaucom from his pocket and made a connection with another doctor. Here now! The pharaoh is in trouble! he exclaimed before putting the wiaucom on his seat. He held the pharaoh’s wrist to check for his pulse. What he picked up was a pulse but an erratic one at that. Everyone make way room for the doctor’s arrival now! declared the on-site doctor as the High Priest and a particularly distressed Neferenq stood up and left the room. Moments later, several doctors rushed in to deal with the situation.

The news would never make it to the public at the time, but the Pharaoh had suffered a heart attack. However, this day at least was not the end of the Pharaoh as he would continue in this life with another day awaiting to carry him on to the next life.

The intention of the Historicals to keep the Pharaoh’s health status as private as possible was in reality less so out of respect for Ibiaow and more so for the political gain of leaving the Liberals less sure of when the day would come and hence leaving them unsure about when they could shortly after, finally talk openly about the 2nd Pharaonic Election.

Indeed, several days of mourning and a funeral procession for Ibiaow would follow his death before, the day after his funeral, election talk in the open would no longer be considered a taboo. At least that was the sense in the air.

Several evenings later, as the universe remained in a careful balance, holding its breath for the Pharaoh’s movement from one life to another, Ahmose had been invited to an evening in a reserved room with other core members of the FLOP GKE at the ‘Visionary Inn’, a public house deemed to be something of a trendy, youthful and freedom loving hub near the heart of Luxor.

Much of the older generation would mock locations such as the Visionary Inn as ‘a temple of fanatics’, so it was somewhat amusing for those filling the bar to see alongside Ahmose and several other FLOP GKE members, the ageing Meru who dressed well for the occasion all the same. Ageism (even if unintended) was an issue even among the freedom loving sections of society.

Young people largely in their twenties and thirties, dressed for the most part in shiny silver, golden or white formal wear enjoyed alcohol at the bar and at tables, whilst others danced on the dance floor and more individuals played a harmless version of ‘brave ball’. In this case, they would stand about and throw a ball, trying to catch it perfectly from other members of their teams without dropping it.

The ball in this case was made from a light straw-like material in contrast to real brave ball which would often be made of steel or iron. They seemed to be enjoying it all the same and without much fear of having their skulls cracked come the end of the game (which would be the punishment for the captain of the losing team in the real game).

The locals were used to Ahmose and co. arriving and it was customary to act like they weren’t there, to give them some peace from so much public engagement that they, especially Ahmose were used to when out and about.

Ahmose, Meru and four other members of the organisation entered the private room. Ahmose had noticed, unexpectedly on entering that there was a sign reading ‘Sound-proof’ on the door. The door was closed by the final of the six FLOP GKE members to arrive and a tightening feeling of being enclosed filled the air around them as they began to take their seats at a table.

So, what is the big announcement that requires a sound-proof room? asked Ahmose. And suddenly the hustle and bustle of those in the room fell quiet. What’s wrong? she wondered. Well actually... we did have something to discuss with you explained Meru with an unsarcastically serious stature for such a lively location.

Please... take a seat he requested. Her initial amusement turned to concern tinted with curiosity whilst sitting herself adjacent to her old friend. Tonight’s dinner is more than a semi-formal gathering to discuss future events. We today wish for you to consider a run in the 2nd Pharaonic Election... whenever it may occur. All respect is due, and we do not wish to offend you as we know you do consider such talk to be unacceptable but... But we do think that you should consider how vital our cause is and that it is of a duty to the kingdom, one might say, to discuss this, even if in private quarters stated Meru.

Ahmose was left a little stunned. Her lips were gently pursed, but it seemed enough of a gap for all the air to leave her lungs. You do not have to decide tonight but... We would ask that you consider it and that you hear out our reasoning he added. Ahmose remained quiet for a few moments. She sat up a little more and rubbed her forehead for a moment. I expected this talk the least from you Meru... This is the sort of discussions that go around in the tablet. Not within our organisation, surely, I had thought she answered, keeping her cool.

But Ahmose, this is of reasoning. The Historicals are surely doing the same thing as are the Liberals. Everyone who grants society the perception that they will never discuss nor even think of the election until it is considered appropriate is a liar. We are liars collectively taking part in an unusual custom. Do not value the false virtues of the people or of the elites. It is but a show, do you not realize this? pleaded Sarapous.

I would like to believe that not so many are putting on a show... but yes, some are of course but some of us mean what we say and when I say, I will not be running in any future elections for pharaoh, I do mean it. I will work to lobby politicians. I will do my part to influence the political sphere from the outside as I have been doing for the past decade, well more than a decade by now... she explained to all those present in the room.

Tonight, feels like you have all put on a show. I will be swayed by the facts and by conscience, never by peer pressure Ahmose remarked while pressing her thumb nail behind the nail of her baby finger. This is about us making the case... Meru expressed. We all comprehend the idea of ‘the yet unconvinced’ and this need not be seen as applicable only to slavery... It can apply in all areas of life. We believe with that we can allow you to open your mind to our proposals and to realize that to be pharaoh would give you a paramount opportunity to succeed in having slavery outlawed across this kingdom and very soon indeed he continued.

There was a drop of a sense in the room that she was on some level considering Meru’s argument. However, her next response did not reflect that. Only out of respect for this wonderful organisation will I not walk out the door right now. However, I will not discuss this any further. Do I make that clear? Eyeballs darted to others, making momentary eye contact.  The other members including Meru were unsure what to say next, aware of her often-uncompromising nature.

Okay... Meru added. But in your private hours shall you allocate even a fragment of such time to consider our ideas? Your views have changed, my views have changed... but only by means of analysing the possibilities of a new stance. Is that a reasonable request? he asked. She seemed incapable of compromising and no words seemed to come to her mouth until eventually she stated, I hope I am forgiven for not giving any meaningful response.... This left a sinking feeling in the chest of Meru before she added In any scenario where my views have changed on a matter however, you would be the first to know... as always. Meru smiled, accepting her vague recognition of his final request.

The night which had been intended by the five other members of the FLOP KGE for laying out a revolutionary election campaign instead became one of eating duck, drinking wine and discussing the trials and highs of life as it was in the present moment and as it had been in years prior.

Mild to significant drunkenness allowed an enjoyable night to unfold. Somehow, even if with the addition of alcohol filling the stomachs of high-minded dreamers, none brought up the proposition again. Hopes remained inside of them regarding an Ahmose run for pharaoh and particularly inside of Meru for that as he perceived it, Ahmose would see the light and recognize the pharaonic route as the way to shatter the realm of slavery in to oblivion.

Chapter III: The Viceroy’s Announcement

Aquarter of a day after night fall during a hot crepuscular hour before dawn, half a month after the Memphis rally, Ahmose found herself sleeping atop her light bed covers in the merciless Egyptian heat. Crickets had been stridulating throughout the night and into the early hours of the new morning, as a starry over-drop had been holding its near-omnipresent gaze over the kingdom with few clouds about the sky.

Bar the sound of insects and the odd vehicle whizzing through the pre-dawn hours, it was a silent peaceful night in the Luxor suburbs. However, in the deep dreams racing through Ahmose’s mind, there was colour, noise and energy abound to a greater extent than usual. Inside her mind, a whole world scripted by the past was consuming her.

Ahmose was back on the slave site of her adolescence. During this time, she had been forced to carry heavy loads of bricks in two strong baskets, one in each arm, whilst her legs were chained with an electronic tag attached.

She and several dozen other slaves on this particular site deep in the lands of Nubia had continued the back-breaking work through the hot days of the Flood and throughout the remainder of the year. It felt a million miles from Luxor.

In a dreamy realm, Ahmose’s shoulders ached as her arms were being pulled to Earth as if being held down by the arms of a giant, leaving her to hold them up with whatever will power she could muster, even if only out of fear of punishment. Each step felt as repetitive as the last, alike each day.

In these moments, unknown to her because of their dreamy essence, the hopelessness which once filled her near broken soul was a tangible truth once more. The dead faces around her made their way from the exterior entrance of the site and back in carrying the loads being offloaded by the latest arrivals of materials. On re-entering the site, tired bodies placed bricks atop one another while others mixed and prepared cement for holding the bricks in place. Freedom was a futile ambition.

Approaching the in-construction wall at the far end of the site which had something of a U shape to it as it was in the process of being made full, Ahmose felt something trip her foot. As if from thin air a powerful object had struck her without any warning signs. Falling flat to the ground whilst dropping her baskets, she felt her knees scrape the surface of the hard concrete ground.

The ruthless voice of a man, who seemed to be one of the underworld’s destructive Earthly representatives, came to the scene without any time allowed to pass for Ahmose to return to her feet. This was the voice of Akaba. Akaba had zero tolerance for any faltering no matter how consistent the slave in their work abilities across the year.

Rise! ordered Akaba. Ahmose turned to rise and found suddenly a whip striking her face, piercing the skin of her left cheek. His ruthless whipping brought her back to the ground which only invited further punishment. She turned away till the whip was striking her back causing her to fall flat to the ground, letting out a cry of pain, not in the interest of seeking mercy but purely out of agony, whilst knowing mercy was not an understood concept for Akaba.

He spoke no more words. She knew to rise again would be futile. Instead, all she could know in those moments was thunderous pain. The end of the whip continued to pierce her flesh, etching harsh cuts and brazes upon her back, whilst breaking through the fabric of her clothing, stinging with greater intensity than she could have imagined such strikes could bring.

She had not known this suffering as a child as her master had the particle of compassion to limit such actions to those of fifteen years or more in this world for the denigrated people of slavery that were under his servitude.

Another strike hit as she felt her vision blur, climbing down a little further with her arms collapsing out on to the ground, flat and as if embracing her first step in to the next life albeit she knew the likelihood was that the Earthly torture would simply continue without the gift of death. A tear was not something she could reasonably comprehend. Nothing filled her being in its entirety and in this imaginary world, the darkest days were as real as they once were and as inescapable as the striking gaze of Ra’s most wondrous Earthly creation in mid-Harvest.

Silence seemed to fall, and she felt herself slipping in to a void, entering into an infinitely deep darkness but it was not a gateway to the next life. She knew that much. Everything seemed to sink in to a slow blackness, the world around her becoming as much a void as she had become internally.

The foot taps of chained slaves and the striking hand of the underworld-sprung Akaba dissolved into the abyss as she was swallowed whole by a deepest vacancy. The hair seemed to rise on her arms but not necessarily just out of fear as she now realized that she was immersed in an intense falling sensation. Her breathing became heavier.

She rapidly awoke to a gasp and to the lesser darkness of her room. In a near instant, she understood that she just escaped