The King’s Hypnotist: Chapter One
The room was small yet comfortable. Lit by a few candles it gave the impression that it really had no walls to limit it. The floor was covered in pillows and thick carpeting.
The woman was laying on the pillows, very relaxed, and her eyes were closed. Her breathing was slow and shallow. She was wearing a light silk dress, very revealing, but also very rich in colors. Red, green, blue, it looked like something a Princess might wear in a fairy tale.
The voice that drifted over the scene was soft yet strong and focused.
“You will start to wake up slowly,” the male voice explained. “Slowly lifting upwards, out of the depths of your mind.”
The woman, her skin a lovely shade of chocolate, seemed to shiver slightly as the voice continued.
“Higher, drifting higher, into the upper layers of the pool.”
The woman seemed to sigh and her eyes flickered.
“Slowly lifting, drifting, higher, returning to the real world. But leaving behind all those worries and problems behind. Back to the real world but feeling good and full of energy.”
The woman’s body started to fade and suddenly it seemed to disappear.
A new voice, that of an emotionless female, now stated, “Session over—interface switching off.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, my friend,” said the King with a smile, as he handed the cup of wine to Tiberius. “My sixteenth wife feels much better. You are worth your weight in gold.”
“Thank you sire,” said Tiberius Tullius the Fourth as he tasted the wine and leaned back in the plush chair. The King’s private chambers were not as stuffy as the public meeting chambers and Tiberius was happy for the moment of peace it gave him. In addition, the King’s private stock of wines was marvelous.
“I hope your stay, during my wife’s treatments, has been pleasant?” asked the King as he stroked his curly beard, sitting across from Tiberius in a chair that was a twin of the one the Roman sat in.
“Wonderful,” said Tiberius with a smile. “Your people are friendly and treat me like family, your markets colorful and full of wonders to behold, your buildings are works of art.”
Tiberius failed to mention any of the unpleasant issues he had with the city. For example, the terrible smells that seemed to pour out of the market stalls early in the morning. There was also the weird sense of fashion that made everybody put on layers of cotton and wool even on the hottest days of the year. Of course, there was the lack of hygiene of many of those around him that just added to the wonderful smells.
Yet when one grew up with members of the Roman Senate as relatives, one learned the finer points of good manners. In addition, he did not wish to offend the one man on the backwards planet who could have his penis sliced off with a snap of his royal fingers. He and his penis was very good friends.
“It amazing me that the Republic would allow such a smart, skilled and handsome man out of grasp,” remarked the King, stroking one of his penciled in eyebrows. “Yes. I am sure they would want you back.”
“I am sure,” said Tiberius with a shrug. In fact, he was sure that his family was VERY happy that he was where he was. And so was he. In fact, after that last affair he had carried out with a married woman, the last thing he needed was to be called back home. He still had nightmares about hiding under the bed when the woman realized her husband had come home early from the races.
He also hoped to end this exchange as soon as possible. The rumors that the King may enjoy the company of men as well as women were not really proven as of yet and he did not wish to prove them with first hand knowledge.
After some more chatter mostly about politics, that Tiberius had no interest in, and about faster-than-light communication devices, which confused the King no end, he was able to escape to the Palace’s courtyard. From there Tiberius was able to reach his own simple house, one among the many other residences that dotted the royal gardens.
Of course, his simple house was a Roman-style villa, with two stories, ten bedrooms, three large bathrooms, and a huge dining room with an equally huge kitchen. NOT to mention the stables, the private garden, the tall walls to keep out the unwanted, the pretty chamber maids, the native cooks, the heavily armed guards, the sweaty craftsmen, the bald doctor, the young dancers, and, of course, the food tasters.
As Tiberius handed his toga to one of the waiting servants, he could almost pretend he was back on Earth, in Rome, about to be greeted by his disapproving father, his frowning mother, and the unhappy relatives.
The illusion was broken by the pink sky, the slaves’ dark skins, and the heat that seemed to follow you everywhere. Oh well, as least the wine was refreshing and the native cooks were finally learning NOT to put dates and figs into everything. He had even had come to like statue of Hathor which had been placed in the peristyle. At least it was something he recognized on this screwy planet.
As he accepted a perfumed towel from one of the house slaves, to wipe the sweat off his forehead and arms, he could not help but find himself thinking about how better his life would be if he just acted Roman.
If he spent less time chasing after girls and more time learning about the ins and outs of modern politics he would be making a speech on the Senate floor. Not in self-exile on a far off sand covered planet, filled with Egyptian copycats, and sweating almost twenty-four hours a day!
As he plopped himself down onto a couch, allowing a slave girl to pull off his sandals to start washing and massaging his feet, he pondered how long it would be before his services were no longer needed.
King Kemet the Fourteenth was a good chap. Gentle to his wives, stern to his sons and daughters, fair to his slaves, and friendly to his people. Nevertheless, he was also a coin-pinching miser who would prefer that guests paid their own way. There were only two reasons that Tiberius Tullius was now a guest of the Royal Court of Thebes, on the planet Nile.
One reason was his family was, now, one of the most powerful in Rome. This made them one of the most powerful families on Terra and, therefore one of the most powerful families in the vast region of colonized space known as the Roman Republic.
The other reason, which was just as important, was his knowledge of how to use a Trance Induction Interface. A device that had evolved, more from accident than forethought, from the faster-than-light communication devices used by spaceports, spaceships, and government officials. The devices were designed to allow two, or more, individuals to talk to each other in style. It allowed them to see each other, to gesture, use body and facial expression. It was a wonder of Roman technology, taken from the Middle Kingdom far to the east, and mass-produced over a thousand years ago. Which was useful, as that was around the time space travel became possible.
About a hundred years ago, in trying to find more uses for the device, the scientists of the University of Rhodes found that they could use the equipment to help a person focus and allowed them to leave suggestions. In other words, it put a person into a trance, like the kind a stage performer might do on a volunteer from the audience.
Few Romans knew how to use the TII device for the same reason few Romans knew how to belly dance naked in the streets. It was not a skill they needed in the law courts, or on the battlefields, or in running their massive plantations. Moreover, it was beneath them—something weird Greeks did or maybe those tribes across the ocean in the Western Hemisphere of Terra.
In addition, it sounded a tad like magic, which all good Romans refused to believe in. Even as they bought up luck charms from weird Greek, prayed to their dozen or so house Gods, and made sure never to spill salt. Well, salt was valuable.
Before Tiberius could fall asleep, two things happened. One, the cook came in and announced that dinner was ready. Two, the door slave came in and announced that there was a guest at the door.
Tiberius stood up, slipping on a soft pair of slippers, and headed towards the dining room that branched off from the atrium. As he adjusted his tunic, which he was thinking of replacing with a lighter one, he said, “Bring the guest in. Invite him or her to dinner. Oh yes, and who is it?”
“Cleopatra the Twentieth Princess of King Kemet,” said the door slave with a bow.
“Huh?”
“You are treating her mother,” added the door slave with another bow.
“Oh, sure, that Cleopatra,” said Tiberius with a nod of his head. “Of course. Invite her to dinner. I am sure she is starving for some real civilized food. Real Roman food!”
Real Roman food, in this case, was the traditional three courses. The slaves first brought in platters of hard-boiled eggs in pine nut sauce, seasoned melon, oysters, and mushroom caps. All which reminded Tiberius of home.
Yet Cleopatra only picked at the appetizers. This was funny when you thought of some of the things the Royal family were rumored to feast on during their meals.
“My dear Princess,” Tiberius said as he used his fingers to pop a mushroom cap into his mouth, “may I ask what good fortune drives such a lovely and important member of the Royal Family into my house?”
“You don’t use couches,” said the girl, as she glanced about the chairs surrounding the table.
“Yes,” he said, using a napkin to clean his fingers. “They are used for more formal affairs. Also, I find I do not like laying in my own sweat. Would you like an egg?”
The girl poked at them and took one.
“I am here because of what you have done for my mother,” she said after chewing the egg and swallowing it. “I want to know if you could use it on me.”
Tiberius almost choked on a melon slice.
“Really?” he said with a frown. “Why do you wish me to use it on you? Do you feel…ill?”
“I plan to become the next Queen,” stated the little dark skinned girl as she wiped her hand on her own napkin. “I need to be strong. To be fearless. To be all knowing.”
“Yes,” said the Roman as alarm bells went off in his head. Normally, he paid them no notice. In this case, he was willing to listen. A Princess saying she wished to become Queen may sound harmless yet he knew better. Planets have been ripped apart by civil war and chaos by some Princess or Prince or General deciding they could do better than the current ruler could.
Tiberius gestured for the next course and added, “Tell me more.”
Cleopatra explained, as the slaves brought in the main course, that her mother was the next in line for the Crown and that many people wanted her removed.
“Her headaches you have been treating,” she said as a platter of ham pastries was placed in front of her, “are caused by black magic being used against her.”
“I see,” remarked Tiberius as he started on the guinea hen with sweet-and-sour sauce. “Why don’t you go to your father…I mean your most Holy Father, the King with this information?”
“Oh,” said the girl with shrug, “I wish her to die. So I can be the next in line.”
Tiberius pondered, as he chewed, if it would be rude for him to flee for the spaceport in the middle of the main course during dinner.