by Lady Bast
Afternoon in the city of Nekheb and the sun was at its peak.
While the wisest of workers slept through the heat, Katrah-en, the Prince of that city, kept his servants on their feet as he himself worked through the hottest hours. Arriving at his office, he was pleased to see that Inuiu had already returned and sat, cross-legged, in the small room that served as his work station. He had perhaps been sorting through messages delievered and replies received, filing some and putting others aside for immediate use, but now he was asleep with his back against the cool wall; his head on his chest. The Prince supposed he could not be blamed - the heat sapped the strength of the mightiest warriors - but though he felt no need to offer the herald punishment, he also felt no guilt in waking him.
"Inuiu! What is the report from the city?"
Startled awake, the young man felt a moment of wild disorientation, then scrambled quickly to his feet and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, my Prince! The heat..."
"I will forgive you...this time. What is the report from the city?"
I have spoken with each of the administrators and the mayor and they have all agreed to attend. None would pass up the invitation to dine with their Prince and all are curious about the foreign guest."
"Excellent. And are there any messages?"
"A few, my Prince," replied the herald calmly while his eyes darted from one pile of paper to the next, trying to decide which was which. Finally they lit with recognition and he bent to pick up a small stack of scrolls from a low table. "There are but six. Tallies mostly, I believe."
"And the others?"
"Duplications and and the authorizations for disbursement that you signed just before the foreign prince's arrival, my Prince."
"Have them delivered to Selket-em-paf immediately and tell him that I will see him in an hour. Send Wufei here as well, if you find him, then deliver a message to the Lord Heero," instructed Quatre, glancing at the seals on the scrolls he had been handed. "Tell him that I will see him immediately. If he argues, remind him that I am a busy man and will not be available later on. If his guards cannot be properly incorporated into our regular rotation, I will not have them at all. Remind him also that both he and his wife are expected at the evening meal tonight. It is to be considered an official function. Have them bring their own servants if they like. I will not see it as a gesture of mistrust. One does like a touch of the familiar when one is away from home."
"I will do so immediately, my Prince."
"Report back to me when you are done, Inuiu. I will have other instructions for you. You are dismissed."
The herald crossed his chest with one arm an bowed deeply. "Thank you, my Prince," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. And then he was gone. Quatre unrolled the first of the tallies, skimmed through it quickly. Then he sighed turned to the scribe who had entered and seated himself in his accustomed place without a sound. "Anpu-nakht, take a letter..."
Afternoon in the city of Nekheb and the sun was at its peak.
Wufei missed Inuiu by moments, having left the office of Selket-em-paf for the solitude of his own chamber. It did not matter much as it was a custom of his to make sure his Prince did not require his services quite regularly. He would do so in about an hour for surely Quatre had not yet finished with Duo...
The room was small compared to the those in the guest quarters, but was the largest in the servant's quarters. It was also his own for, as chief steward, he was not required to share his living space with any other. He was also blessed with a low bed of rope slats and straw mattress instead of the usual pallet. Not the luxury of his Prince's couch, but far more comfortable in his own humble opinion, though the straw required regular changing. Fortunately, that was the task of other servants.
Only one thing could have brightened the atmosphere of his room, and she was far away.
He pulled out the slip of papyrus that Duo had passed on to him and opened it to see, etched out in charcoal, the shaky characters of those symbols they had both learned from parents long dead. He touched her name.
Meiran.
The text was halting. She was forgetting...as was he...the meaning of the characters. He wondered how long it would be before all they knew were the sacred words of Kemet. Even now the writing seemed strange...alien...a thing of a place so far away that neither of them had ever seen it or could hope to see it in their lifetime. But though they seemed strange, they could still be for a time their secret language, keeping their words safe from prying eyes.
Her mistress was kind and sympathized with her plight though Meiran still did not trust her with the knowledge of their secret letters. That was perhaps the wisest. Still, it was heartening to read that even the Prince's own sisters thought his attitudes a bit extreme. If nothing else, it gave him the hope that things could change. If the Prince could realize that he was not now, nor had he ever been, his father...things might change.
But there was no sense in thinking such thoughts at this time.
Meiran was well and missing him...as he missed her as well. "Lung Yi, is well," she wrote, "and already showing the determination of a warrior. He has learned to pull himself to his feet to pummel the table tops and howls fiercely when he is not fed immediately. From what I know of soldiers, he will surely be fit to command them."
The words drew a smile. He remembered the naming. "He must have the name of a warrior," he had insisted. "These days, it is high-placing soldiers that earn recognition and land." The smile faded as he realized that the day of naming had been the last time he had seen his son. He had seemed so small and helpless then. Healthy, yes, and full of potential, but a small thing happiest in the arms of another. Now he was big enough to stand and to make known his demands and his father despaired of ever seeing him again.
"Please write as soon as you can. It seems no runner has feet swift enough to please my heart."
Soon. How could she think that he would wait?
Delving into his small stash of papyrus, Wufei placed his writing tablet across his knees, whispered his obligatory prayer to Thoth, and prepared his ink and pens. Then he began to write in tight, neat characters, trying to fill the page with as many of the foreign symbols as he could.
When he reached the third column, he was forced to blot out a few illegible words and recopy them below. A tear had caused his ink to run.
Afternoon in the city of Nekheb and the sun was at its peak.
Trowa slept on in his room, the hot light barely dimmed by the layers of beads that tried to blot it out. They clicked together gently in the crosswind of the window, the sound a soothing rhythm.
Tetiun dried his hands with a square of linen and removed the headrest which had been set carelessly aside when his master had chosen to pillow his head in his arms instead. It would never do to have someone - especially the prince - trip over the implement and injure himself.
House servants arrived then with his personal belongings and he anxiously shushed them and motioned for the items to be left in the front room. The men were more than happy to obey as the heat was already becoming unbearable and they were anxious to find their own chambers, having no other assigned chores at this time. Tetiun felt the same, but took the opportunity to move his possessions - one at a time so as not to wake his master - into the back room. It was not difficult, as they were few, and they brought him comfort. They would also be out of the way.
He checked on his master once more, both out of duty and sheer curiosity. Although he had seen any number of foreigners passing through Nekheb, the Teresh had been little more than rumour to him until this day. He marveled at the prince's skin which was, in its way, as dark as his own, but with a cast of cool olive rather than warm red. Tetiun also knew that his eyes were as green as the Nile and this too was unusual this far south. But what fascinated him most was the prince's hair.
It was a pale brown - different, but not unknown - with perhaps just a hint of red that he hoped Prince Quatre would not see. Or at least would not see as an ill omen. And it was not kept close to the skull or left full and long as the many people - native or foreign - who passed through the city seemed to prefer it. Rather it was kept only as short as the neck with an odd fall of hair in the front which shifted with his stance, alternatingly masking the right or left side of his face. Tetiun thought that such a style must make it difficult to see what one was doing...but further consideration made him wonder if it didn't also make it difficult for others to see what one was thinking.
He seemed clever enough, this prince of Teresh.
Yawning, but not quite sleepy, the body servant sat cross-legged on his pallet and arranged his few personal effects, pausing momentarily to open the long wooden case that held his most prized possession. He ran his fingers over it lightly, but did not remove it. It was useless so long as he did not wish to disturb his master, but he had wished to see it nonetheless. With a sigh, he closed the lid on the long, polished flute and tucked the box into his chest. Perhaps later he would have the opportunity to make music, but now it was time to rest.
Curling up on his pallet, Tetiun drifted off into heat-hurried slumber.
Afternoon in the city of Nekheb and the sun was at its peak.
In the Delta the windcatchers would have been far more effective, drawing the breezes from the sea and using them to cool the chambers of the Pharaoh's palace complex. Even so, the sleeping chambers were comfortable enough when the sun was blocked. And of course the heat was dryer here...a fact which did not disagree with Heero in the least.
He wished he could say the same for the Prince of Nekheb.
He was not beyond understanding how any loss of control might not sit well with a leader, but he had not been prepared for the unmovable will of the young Prince. They had barely met and already he was tense with the anticipation of many confrontations. It was not so much in the exchange of words in which they had already engaged so much as the attitudes of the people around him. There was an underlying tension here...a subtle fear that ate away at the hearts of those who worked within the palace. If he was not careful, Prince Quatre might find the pressure of this fear beginning to build until the delicate shell of his perfect order burst from the strain.
And then there was the priest, Duo.
It was odd enough that a noble who had been educated in the temple of Amun would keep a priest of Set in attendance, but why one so...so...disorderly? Especially when the Prince was so particular about everything else? He had known many people in the grand temple outside of Pi-Ramesses and despite their patron, none of these were as chaotic as Duo. If anything, they were even more careful than Quatre about keeping things in order. And why not when the slightest disturbance could bring chaos down upon them in full force? This could only mean one of two things: either Duo was very bad at his tasks and the Prince saw no threat in him, keeping him to appeal to the Pharaoh whose family shared patrons with the young priest or Duo was very good at his tasks and Quatre had ample use for him.
Judging by what he'd seen, Heero was willing to guess that the latter was true. Though disorderly in appearance, the braided youth had shown himself to be quite capable in his field of expertise. This worried Heero somewhat. What sort of Prince kept a professional assassin for a pet?
The thought chilled him and he felt a sudden yearning for his wife and daughter. The latter was surely asleep and he would not wish to disturb her, but perhaps Relena would still be awake and willing to play a game of senet [18]. He rose with the intention of going to her chamber [19], but thought better of it and sat back down on his couch. He generally felt uncomfortable around his wife. She was a strong and capable woman and he greatly admired her for these qualities. But they were literally from different worlds. She was the youngest child of an important politician from beyond the Great Green and it was Pharaoh who had not so subtly suggested that they might make a good match. Having little to do with romance, he had considered the suggestion and followed suit with the marriage.
And she had, indeed, been an excellent match. She managed well the lands his father had won before him and which he himself continued to beautify with his service. She had not wanted to come south, but he had assured her it would be a temporary position. He hoped he could keep his word. He knew she must feel useless without an estate to govern and feeling useless was the one thing she despised the most. She would let her displeasure be known in little ways that would grind into his heart until - in anger and resentment at being presented with the burden of her boredom - he fled the palace altogether for the safety of the barracks. And then she would worry and wonder what was wrong.
And why not? As far as he was aware, she never imposed her displeasure on him intentionally. In fact, she was infinitely understanding and patient...a great support to her husband. And this...this was somehow worse than if she'd ranted and screamed as he'd seen many a noble woman do, wailing and pouting and carrying on until they have finally achieved their end. For Relena was never hesitant to put her foot down, to make clear her intentions...unless she was displeased. Then he became a duty and nothing more...the attitude seeping out into the atmosphere until he could barely breath for its thickness.
Or perhaps he was being unfair. Perhaps he projected into his wife his own feelings. Had he not often felt she was his duty and not his companion? Had he not wished that he could make her see all the simple delights of the Delta that he himself had always enjoyed when her mind was forever wandering back to the Achaean hills [20] of her home? Did her really resent her because she seemed to take no interest in his homeland...or himself for being unable to express the things that pleased him in a way that she could understand?
These thoughts were deep ones, troubling, and Heero became morose. It was not the time for him to be interrupted by the announcement of Prince Quatre's messenger, but there he was, admitted on Heero's own command, making demands for his immediate presence. The young general considered arguing the point - it was the hottest part of the day, after all, and unfit for man or beast - but relented. He had nothing better to do, after all.
Donning the tight-fitting cap of cured leather that served as his helm, Heero tucked a dagger into his belt and followed Inuiu to the Prince's office.
Afternoon in the city of Nekheb and the sun was at its peak.
Duo's eyelids fluttered open and shut again, determined not to make the same mistake. He knew for a fact that however badly Trowa had felt upon awakening, this was many times worse. What one did do in the name of duty. In the name of many things.
"Pure One, are you awake already?"
Duo winced and put a finger to his lips. You are wonderful, Het-Hori, but lacking in tact, he reprimanded the servant mentally.
"I do not think your spell went very well. It seemed quite terrible," the servant continued, more quietly.
The priest offered him a wry smile. "Oh, really?" he whispered in a voice as rough as desert sand. His throat burned as badly. Struggling, he managed to sit up.
"Don't speak, master...I will give you water."
The priest barely had time to think before a cup of cool liquid was placed in his hands. This he drank greedily, spilling a little as his body trembled with fatigue though he did not allow Het-Hori to help him. He raised the bowl when he was through and was relieved when the body servant correctly interpreted the action, refilling it without a word. As he drank the second bowlful of water - much more slowly this time - Duo took in his surroundings. He was still in the Prince's chamber which meant that Quatre was not through with him and that he would have to recover his strength quickly - or at least seem to - if he was to continue to perform for his Prince. He also noted that he had been placed on the body servant's own pallet. It was a step up from the cedar chair, at least.
As though reading his thoughts, Het-Hori crouched beside him. "I am sorry to put you in my bed, Pure One," he whispered. "All my Prince asked of me was to bind your wounds, but I could not leave you in that chair. I did not know if he would mind you sleeping on his couch, but did not wish the risk of allowing it."
Wise, thought Duo. "The Prince is not here then?"
"No...he has gone to confer with Heero, Pure One. He did ask to be notified when you had awakened, however. Would you like me to send Inuiu?"
"He did not stay then. How long has he been gone?"
"Since your trance broke, master." Het-Hori checked the position of the sun. "I would think little more than an hour ago."
"Then I am still asleep." Duo's smile was wan. At Het-Hori's look of uncertainty, he added, "At least I will be soon enough."
"You would like me to fetch you some poppy then?"
"Better than poppy...for me." The priest made sure to offer the body servant his slyest look. Let him think his trove was evil...there was less chance of his ever using it. "Fetch me the flat loaf in my chest. The one wrapped in red cloth. I will also need a knife. More water too."
Het-Hori grimaced as he picked up the bundle. "Ugh...it's hard. I have walked on softer stone than this? How can you bear to eat it?"
"That is what the water is for," replied Duo as he took the knife and package from the servant, unwrapping the hard bread as his cup was refilled. He cut through the cake as though through unfired clay. The slice was removed, but it crumbled as it was cut, falling in chucks into its wrapping. This bothered the priest not at all as he soaked each piece until it had softened and popped it in his mouth. It tasted odd, that was certain, but its effects were quick and he felt his mind and muscles relax almost immediately. He ate no more than the single slice, covering the block once again and bidding Het-Hori to return it where he found it. He drained the rest of the water and lay back down on the pallet. "Do you mind if I stay here, Het-Hori? It is your bed after all."
"I am honoured to please the noble Set-Aket-Dua."
"Thank you." Duo sighed. "You are about to witness something unique, Het-Hori. I will thank you not to speak of it to anyone on pains of the death of your very soul."
The servant looked fearful, but oddly trusting. "What is it that I will witness, Pure One?"
"The agent of destruction is going to cry," replied Duo, his voice thick, as the first sob shuddered through his body.
[18] A board game of thirty squares where turns are decided via throwing sticks. Some of have likened it to chess although it's probably a lot more like backgammon.
[19] It was not unusual for noble husbands and wives to keep separate chambers for various reason. They could sleep apart or together as the mood took them. This seemed to be particularly common among those involved with the military as one could never tell when a call to arms would come or his bedchamber would be needed for an emergency council of war.
[20] Just for the record...Relena is from Southern Greece.
"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.