by Lady Bast
Author's Note:
This is a story set in Ancient Egypt.
Naturally, any story involving both the Gundam boys and Ancient Egypt is going to be an Alternate Universe. Nekheb, after all, was not a small city, but the capital of its province (which the Greeks called a 'nome') and while it was a rather sleepy place within the timeframe of its story, if it had actually had a ruler like the one described below, you can be sure that it would have been carved about on a wall somewhere.
Even so, I will endeavour to keep the story as historically correct as possible without jeopardizing either the characters' natures or the story itself.
Thank you very muchly to the wonderful people who have offered to be my sounding boards and to honestly tell me when the shit has gotten too deep for wading. They are the guardians of my story and it is dedicated to them: Suzene ("Anpu-nakht"); Mandy ("Seb"); Lorena ("Tetiun"); Jessie ("Het-Hori"); Maureen ("Selket-em-paf"); D ("Inuiu"); Ashura ("Meribast"); Quwinntessa ("Khemti-nub").
Thanks and dedication also to Rachel ("Miusheri") who was especially kind to Relena. A raspberry to the intolerant and a pox upon your houses. So nyah.
He was glad now for the curtained enclosure that kept the sun from his eyes.
At first, in the Delta, seeing the ridiculously fragile craft that daily navigated the wide river that was the life and blood of the Kemet [1] economy, he had scoffed and sneered and turned away. They were nothing compared to the great sailing vessels of the Mediterranean...that which Kemet called "The Great Green"...and of frivolous appearance. Only diplomatic caution had kept him from laughing at the veiled cabin, for what true sailor would wish to hide himself from the winds and tides? Even a prince such as himself had been to sea in times of war and the water held no fear for him.
But, oh...how he blessed those curtains now.
He had disliked the sticky heat of the Delta, so unlike his home. But even the capital of Pi-Ramesses had been cooled by windcatchers harvesting the breezes of the Great Green and funneling them down about the Company of Sons. Now the weeks had brought him further South and every day the heat seemed to grow drier and more oppressive. The sun beat down upon him without mercy, instilling a cautious belief in the Great God of Kemet, and he whispered prayers that he was glad his retainers back home could not hear. The Teresh [2] prince, reduced to a gibbering mass of nonsense pleas to a foreign god because he could not bear the sun.
And so he stayed behind his curtains for most of the day, coming out to breathe the somewhat fresher air of the arid outdoors only in the early morning and in the evening while his guards stood outside in rotating shifts. The heat bothered them as well and they changed places often enough, but they did not hide from the light of the afternoon and for this he envied them. Groaning softly, he pillowed his head on his arm, sheltering his eyes - and tried to sleep on the too-short pallet while the boat made its way toward his final prison.
"Will you take some water, Prince?"
He had not thought that he had slept, but the light was dimmer within his curtained enclosure. Disoriented, he masked his confusion by sitting up and stretching his stiffened limbs before turning to address the soldier in the doorway.
"When will we reach the accursed place?" he spat...and then quickly bit his tongue. A childish display was not what he wished to present. He was a warrior of his people after all.
His jailer was surprisingly sympathetic. But then, Hor-ah (now to be called Heero) had a foreign bride.
"In a few days. I am a child of the Delta, so I understand your plight," the soldier continued holding out a water skin. "My first journey South did not suit me either. The heat is different here. But I am assured that the court of Prince Katrah-en [3] is kept as cool as can be hoped for below Weset [4]."
Taking the offering of cool liquid, the foreign prince drank deeply. "Why are you so kind to me?" he said as he wiped a trickle of water away from his mouth. "You have no cause to be...and your countrymen do not hesitate to cast an evil eye in my direction."
"I have no love for your people, true," Heero replied, relaxing his stance though he did not sit or approach his prisoner. "Nor do I feel hate. I know something of your situation and the wars in your country. I did not become the second general of the Division of Horus by being blind to the world. We are soldiers, you and I, and we fight when our leaders give the order. It is right...it is Ma'at. But you are our guest here now - even under guard - and now is not the time for fighting. Why waste precious energy on hate? That is for the nobles who command from their bed chambers." He refused the waterskin when it was passed back to him. "Keep it. There is more."
"Won't you miss your home in the Delta?" said the prince.
"I have never liked the heat of the South, but I am glad to leave the North, now, when the times are so turbulent. Not for me, no...but for my wife and child." Heero's voice warmed at the words, but neither his eyes nor his lips smiled. "As long as they are safe, I am in a companionable mood."
"And as long as I do not try to escape."
"If you did, you would be dead."
"I would have nowhere to go in any case," sighed the prince. "Wasn't that the reason for sending me so far South." Heero nodded.
"The Pharaoh is no fool, may he live, be healthy, and prosper. But those are games for the gods and we are merely men. I will send a servant with food and drink shortly."
The prisoner considered this a moment. "I will rest a little longer and then I think I will eat on the deck, thank you. The day is beginning to cool and I should know something of my new home."
Heero nodded. "A good rest, Prince Terewa."
He stepped out of the enclosure and Trowa was alone.
During the last few days of the journey, Trowa began to spend more time on deck, getting to know the soldiers and the sailors. Naturally, they showed some reserve - he was, after all, both a foreigner and a prince - and yet they seemed pleased that he would have any regard at all for their station in life. He learned from them that his new home was called Nekheb and was hailed a city of sailors, an honour brought to it by a past ruler, one Ahmose Abana, a loyal and highly regarded admiral in his time. The city's patron goddess was Nekhebet, the vulture, who protected the king alongside her Northern sister, Uatchet. Even so, the temple of Amun held great power and the ruling prince of Nekheb had been initiated into that god's priesthood.
The prince of Nekheb.
The religious beliefs of the area meant nothing to Trowa who found the very concept of animal gods quite beastly, but the prince interested him. This was the man who was to be his host and his jailer for the foreseeable future, after all, and it would no doubt be in his best interest to learn as much as he could of the man. Delicately, he probed for more information.
He met a great deal of resistance. Neither soldier nor sailor was anxious to voice an opinion about the city's ruler. "He's a fine ruler," insisted one of them, an older man - nearly thirty - by the name of Mekda as his eyes glanced nervously from side to side to be sure he was not heard. "A firm hand like his father. But his laws are unyielding. You'd best remember that."
And no more was said about him.
Yet Trowa could not help but wonder. He wondered as he stretched out behind his curtained enclosure, half asleep, hiding from the afternoon sun. He wondered while he took in the sights and sounds of the riverside villages and grand estates, the former an open, teeming , cluster of humanity, the latter cool and quiet wells of tranquility behind their high walls. He wondered while he watched the constellations wheel above him at night. He tried to speculate on the nature of the man with Heero, but either the soldier was as reluctant to speak as the others or he truly knew nothing for though he could be accommodating about many things, he neatly avoided the subject of their host.
And so Trowa wondered as the crowded peasant housing gave way to the heavy walls that were the pride and joy of Nekheb. 'He must be a great warrior or mighty sailor,' he thought as the vessel approached the heavily guarded watersteps of the prince's estate. 'To rule so firmly and garner respect, he must be a man of much experience.'
His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the gentle bump of the ship against the watersteps and the organized confusion of many men securing it and its retinue. Ropes were tossed and tied and ramps settled into place. Sailors and soldiers fell into two orderly lines as an obvious honour guard for their royal prisoner. Trowa was about to step from the ship when a hand on his arm held him back. Gently, but firmly, Heero was holding him in place. He was on the verge of asking why when the gates leading to the estate's compound opened, revealing a small, dark form wrapped in a snow white kilt and shirt of pleated linen. Around his right bicep was a wide band of gold. His skin was more golden than bronzed. His eyes slanted upwards. Behind him stood a youth even older than himself.
"Welcome, Prince Trowa of the Teresh," he said, stepping forward with his arms open in a gesture of greeting. He offered a quick bow from the waist and pointed to the band on his arm as he stood to indicate his office. "I am the Chief Steward of Prince Katrah-en and in his name I bid you welcome."
"May I have your name, Chief Steward?" said Trowa carefully. He was quite entranced by the man's exotic appearance. He knew of no tribe whose eyes were so dark and angular.
"If you wish, Prince. It is Wufei."
"Wufei. That is...unusual."
The young man inclined his head in acknowledgement. "In this place, it is. But my story is not important...the prince would see you now. Normally you would be allowed time to rest in our chamber before being called to audience, but your situation as well is...unusual. This time, the prince will see you immediately." He turned to address the youth who was nonetheless older than himself. "Inuiu. Run ahead and be sure the chamber is ready. You will announce our presence. Inuiu is Chief Herald to the Prince," Wufei explained as the slim runner, resplendent in the white and gold that were the colours of prince Katrah-en, vanished into the estate. "Any messages to be conferred between this estate and its holdings or this estate and the capital will be carried by him. He arrived with news of your journey only yesterday. He is efficient and trustworthy...and he is loyal. Please, Prince, follow me. Your possessions will be taken care of."
The subtle threat was not lost on Trowa. This 'Chief Herald' would be keeping an eye out for illicit messages. Any transgression on the part of the guest would immediately be reported to the prince of Nekheb. Although it was a development that did not suit him, the knowledge was welcome. Though he had no intention of violating the treaty forced upon his father, he would need to be sure of acquiring a safe messaging relay in the event that this prince Katrah-en proved to be less honourable than his Pharaoh had claimed. In the meantime he would straighten his back and play along.
Drawing himself up to his full height, he stepped out of the boat and fell in line behind Wufei. On his left marched Heero, his face a perfect mask of alert silence, and on his right marched a second soldier by the name of Pen-ab. Beyond them stood the line of sailors and then palace guards...and beyond that line of discipline were the gawking faces of the servants and courtiers, come to catch a glimpse of the royal prisoner.
Ah, but not a prisoner...a guest! That, at least, is what they called him and Trowa suspected, from the way the crowd whispered and stared, that he would be expected to behave as such. He did not know how the minor nobility honoured their guests here, but he was not inclined to indulge them. He did not like crowds.
Thankfully, it was not long before they left the milling court behind them and entered the palace proper. Trowa found it difficult to keep his eyes fixed ahead of him. Though he had no love of the country's stylized artwork, the sheer grandeur of the design stole his breath away. The effect was especially stunning in the audience chamber where faux lapis floor tiles created a rippling pool of calm amid the painted pillars. At the end of the hall was a low dais upon which was mounted an ornate seat of gilded wood. Currently, it was empty. Other people milled about the chamber - administrators, no doubt - but they stopped and took their places in respective silence when Inuiu preceded them to the centre of the chamber and raised his arms for attention.
"Chief Steward to the Prince, Wufei. Lord Hor-ah of Pi-Ramesses. The Gracious Prince Terewa of Teresh, protected by the Pharaoh." he announced.
The assembled officials offered bows from the waist and settled themselves on low seats. The scribes among them sank to the floor and pulled their pallets across their knees, prepared to record their masters' observations on the events about to unfold. Trowa was led to within several feet of the dais when Wufei motioned for him to stop. They stood stiffly for several minutes before the small procession entered from the right. "The Prince of Nekheb, Katrah-en, Beloved of Amun, Son of Ra, may he live, be healthy, and prosper," announced Inuiu as the fan bearers and guards parted to allow the prince to approach his throne.
What surprised Trowa the most was that he was young. No older than himself, as a matter of fact, and while he could envision a skilled warrior as young as sixteen - wasn't Heero just that age? - he had never expected the ruler of a city to be so young. His skin was also abnormally pale. Tanned by the sun, yes, but not the bronze of most of his countrymen. The moment of surprise kept Trowa speechless as Wufei approached the dais and knelt to kiss the prince's sandal before taking his place at his master's right hand, sitting on a low stool. On the prince's left, a scribe sank down, crossed his legs, and anchored a fresh sheet of papyrus to his palette.
The prince smoothed the linen of his kilt and touched the golden pectoral at his chest. Then he removed the cap of stiffened cloth from his head.
This in itself was unusual. Though Trowa knew little of the ways of Kemet, he had observed in the Delta that no ruling noble was ever seen without a covering for his head. Those who attended the gods of their lands as priests were the exception, performing their rites with clean-shaven skulls. Not only had the prince Katrah-en removed his headcloth, but his hair was thick and fine and stuck out at odd angles. The shift in protocol could only be for effect. It was the only reason that Trowa could fathom. No dark-haired prince of Kemet would be seen without a covering, but Kemet bowed to the terrible sun...
And the prince of Nekheb was blond.
[1] "Kemet" is the ancient Egyptian's own word for his country. Composed of the word "khem" (black) and the suffix "-t", it literally means "The Black One" or "The Black Land" referring to the dark loam that the Nile deposited on the banks once a year and upon which the country's agriculture was dependent.
[2] Ancient name for a tribe in what is now Italy. Probably those called 'Tyrrhenians', the Greek name for the Etruscans.
[3] For those who read "Strength of One", I omitted the fact that the guardian of the Third Hour of Night is a small god named Katrah, heh heh heh. Symbolism has to be castrated sometime. And for those who are interested, "Katrah-en" means "Katrah the handsome".
[4] Thebes. I promise that there will be less of these when the story gets rolling.
"The Prince of Nekheb" copyright A.C.Smith (aka Lady Bast), 2002. Send comments to asmith@ican.net Please do not repost or print (other than for personal use) without permission. The Gundam boys and all their paraphenelia belong to whomever currently holds the rights...I'm just borrowing them for a while. No infringement is intended, really. Really really. Please don't sue me, I have no money. If, however, you have a burning desire to hire me and PAY me money to write this kinda stuff, feel free to track me down.