Anna could not have said how long she had been waiting in the room. There were no windows to track the progress of the afternoon but the lamps had burned low and their dull light now flickered with the threat that they might go out altogether and leave her in darkness. At times she paced the small room with nervous energy before returning to perch lightly on the edge of the long, low couch which took up around a third of the space in the room. The couch was piled high with elaborately embroidered cushions and blankets of the lightest, softest wool, yet she could not sit comfortably upon it. For perhaps the hundredth time she slid her hand beneath the couch and felt the presence of the dagger there, held securely in place by the silken thread that bound it to the underside of a wooden slat. Her fingers closed around the smooth ivory hilt and she drew both comfort and a sense of dread from its presence. With a firm tug the blade of the dagger would cut through the thread that held it and it would be free in her hand. That was what the eunuch had told her, but still she worried that when the moment came the thread would not be cut. What if her intentions were discovered before the dagger came free? What if Kavad somehow found it?
'You must not even think to make your move until you are certain that the King is fully distracted,' Bagoas had admonished her. 'And when that moment comes, you must strike at once. Do not wait to consider if a better moment may soon present itself, for you may betray yourself in your indecision. Strike!'
Lisping, serpent-like, on that last whispered exhortation, Bagoas had given her a smile without warmth and had withdrawn. She did not know how much time had passed since then.
Anna forced herself to relax. Crossing to the bronze basin that stood on top of the plain square table which was the only other piece of furniture in the room, Anna splashed some of the cool water onto her face. She tugged at the diaphanous white gown that she had worn on the day that Kavad had come to appraise her beauty. The thin fabric was sticking to her skin in the cloying heat of the room.
Walking slowly back towards the couch, Anna once more paused to take in the subject of the embroidered hangings that covered three of the four walls from floor to ceiling. Within a border of twisting vines and roses, bright-coloured birds and curious looking beasts, each panel told of an incident from the legendary adventures of the Persian hero Rustam and his equally heroic horse Rakhsh. The stories they told were now familiar to her, as Anna had learned them for the benefit of the children she had been charged with teaching. It made sense after all, she had reasoned, for them to learn of their own heroes.
In one scene Rustam slept upon the grass whilst Rakhsh fought with an enormous tiger. In another, he conversed with a magical talking bird. In most of the other panels Rustam fought with his many enemies. Here Rustam slew a powerful witch with his sword, here he beheaded a giant white-skinned demon. On the back wall Rustam and Rakhsh fought with a terrible dragon. Its coils encircled them both whilst the great warrior slashed at its neck with his sword and his brave steed lashed out with his hooves.
All of them bled, Anna told herself as she looked at the pictures once more. Witches and demons and monsters; all of them bled and died just the same when Rustam ran them through with his sword. It was only an ordinary sword, just a sharp piece of steel. Kavad would bleed too, monster though he was. He would bleed and he would die and then all things would be possible.
Anna wrapped her arms about her and sat back down on the couch as she attempted to force those encouraging thoughts into her head. Her attention strayed however to the hanging above the couch which depicted a very different scene from the life of Rustam. Here was Rustam the lover, with his tragic love Tahmina naked in his arms. Anna was reminded of what must come before the killing and her tightly screwed up courage all but left her once more.
The thought that Kavad would touch her in places that only Theophanes had touched her, would do things that only Theophanes had done, sickened her. That it would be done not with tenderness but with a brutality that Semiramis had warned her to expect made her want to retreat into the furthest corner of the room and curl herself in a ball. A violent fit of trembling took her and an involuntary whimper of fear escaped her lips as she sought to master herself. Antonina had already suffered as she was about to, she reminded herself. Antonina had had no hidden dagger to take her revenge with, no promise of freedom to comfort herself with. She had endured in terror and pain. Now, please God, Antonina was free. Let Kavad do what he would, Anna resolved. Whatever he did would mean nothing when she felt nothing for him but hatred. And then, when he thought her subdued, she would have her revenge; for herself, for Antonina, for all of those nameless victims who had suffered his cruelty. And then he would never hurt anyone again.
She reached once more beneath the couch and her fingers found the cool hilt of the dagger immediately, so many times had she already reached for it. She ran a fingertip along the flat of the blade and felt the needle sharpness of the point. Reassurance bloomed once more and she took a deep breath and composed herself. As rapid footsteps approached outside the chamber however and the heavy wooden door was flung open, her courage seemed all at once drained away. Her resolution turned to ashes on the wind. There Kavad stood, dressed in a simple white robe. An eager, malevolent grin was upon his face and a short lash made up of thin leather thongs was in his hand. He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue as he stepped through the door and slammed it behind him.
Anna dropped her eyes to the floor and tried to stop herself from shaking with fright. She wanted to reach at once for the dagger, to lunge across the room at Kavad and strike him down before he could touch her, before he could hurt her. She remembered however Bagoas' words as he had advised her to await her moment, for it would come. The eunuch had stripped off his tunic then and had shown her the terrible scars upon his back.
'I have waited for years to pay Kavad back for these,' he had said. 'I have been patient and now my opportunity has come.'
She remembered also Semiramis' words as she had offered her final council to Anna.
'He cannot touch you, child. Not deep inside where it matters. He can hurt you yes. And he will. But you have the sharper sting. Sting him hard for all of us.'
*
Kavad liked what he saw as he entered the room. He paused to enjoy the look of fear in the girl's eyes before she dropped her gaze. He saw how she trembled. Where was her defiance now? He swished the whip in the air and saw her flinch in fright. He snorted in amusement.
'Ah, Virgin of the Tigris. Are you afraid to look at me now?'
The girl raised her eyes for a moment and then swiftly looked away as he swished the whip again. He continued to taunt her.
'You did not fear death in the river and yet you fear the touch of a man. The touch of a king?'
He moved closer to her and the girl looked up once more. Her eyes burned with a fierce hatred that excited him. Few women had ever dared to look at him in such a manner. He hoped that she would fight him. It was so much more satisfying when they fought back.
'The river is not cruel. It takes no joy in killing, it only flows.' The girl replied to him. Kavad did not know whether he was more taken aback by her boldness or by the fluency of her Persian. This time she held his gaze.
'You dare to speak back to me so?' He took another step towards her, his arousal growing at the prospect of breaking this remarkable girl to his will.
'You will hit me with your whip whether I speak back to you or not. What a brave man you are!'
Incredulous, he struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand and sent her sprawling from the couch to the floor. Grabbing her roughly under the arm he pulled her to her feet. She cried out in fear but those brown eyes still blazed back defiance, mingled with something else that further enraged him. It was scorn.
Kavad took hold of her gown about the neck and ripped it open. The flimsy material tore apart easily and he rent it from top to bottom and let it fall in tatters to the floor. She stood before him, glaring and naked. His eyes dropped to her breasts. They were firm and pert, with large, dark nipples like new rose buds. Even they somehow seemed to defy him. He flicked the whip twice, lashing it back and forth across her bare breasts as the girl cried out in shock and pain and staggered away, tumbling back onto the couch. A single trickle of blood traced a bright red path downwards over her smooth belly. The sight of it enflamed Kavad's passion.
Then he was upon her, wrapping one arm firmly about her ankles and hauling her feet first into the air whilst she writhed and struggled helplessly upon her back like a landed fish. He set to with the lash, flailing it back and forth across the skin of her legs and back and buttocks whilst she screamed over and over in pain and outrage.
'You - will learn - to speak - with more - respect - to your king!' He punctuated his words with blows of the lash. 'You - will learn - not to look - your king - in the eye!' Satisfied at last with his handiwork, a tracery of angry red lines upon the girl's skin, Kavad threw the lash aside. Clambering onto the couch he prized the sobbing girl's legs apart although she still tried with all her might to resist him and attempted to curl herself up into a ball. He would not be denied. Desperately aroused now, Kavad roughly forced his way on top of her and inside of her.
'Now, Virgin of the Tigris, you are virgin no more,' he declared triumphantly.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, their expression murderous and still yet un-subdued.
'Oh foolish King,' she spat. 'You are not the first.'
Rage took Kavad now, dark and implacable. His hands were locked about her throat, his thumbs pressing down hard upon her windpipe as her eyes widened in terror. Still he continued to thrust away inside her even as he choked the life out of her. It was his greatest pleasure to watch the light going out of a girl's eyes just as he reached his climax. He looked into her eyes intently, seeing the fear take hold. He would enjoy this one especially.
'Oh foolish girl,' he replied to her. 'I shall be the last.'
At first he did not realise that the dagger had struck him, so sharp was the blade. Only after the second and third blows of the knife did he understand what the girl had done. Even then it was the sensation of the blood pouring from his neck and the sight of it running down his arms and chest and dribbling onto the body of the girl underneath him, rather than any feeling of pain, that let him know of his wounds. Already he knew that it was too late. There was so much blood. A cold sliver of fear gripped him as he felt himself shrivel inside her. Then he saw the blade in her hand and he understood the trap that Semiramis and the eunuch had laid for him. His vision was blurring now, the blood sheeting down his front. He tried to cry out but his voice was a whisper. With his last strength he bore down upon the girl's throat, determined at least to make her pay with her own life for taking his. As his world faded into black he recalled his father's face, looking up at him from the depths of his cell and promising him oblivion.