by Lady Bast
Duo was clean and freshly painted when Prince Quatre returned to his chamber. His meetings with Heero and Selket-em-paf had been better than expected and he was feeling quite satisfied but for the fact that Het-Hori had not sent for him. That Wufei had not presented himself did not bother him so much - he had altered his schedule after all - but that Duo had not awakened in all this time was...unthinkable. It bothered him on many levels. On the surface, where his well-being and that of his city lay, the concern was obvious...but it also touched him deeply in that part of himself where he dared not venture.
Yet seeing his priest well and decently groomed brought only the briefest moment of relief before he frowned at his body servant. "Het-Hori. Why was I not informed of the priest's awakening?"
The young man opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted. "I have only just awakened, my Prince," said Duo with a wry smile.
"You have been awake long enough to be washed..."
"Forgive my interruption, but I believe it was Het-Hori's assigned duty to bathe and bandage my wounds as I slept. If he has gone so far as to bathe and properly dress me in my sleep, why should I argue? The fact remains that I have only just awakened and would not permit Het-Hori to leave until he had painted my face. I would not want you to return only to be disgusted by my appearance."
Usually Duo kept to the shadows, but he could, if he wished, become quite an imposing presence. He was doing so now. It was a little in the look and a little in the stance, and perhaps a little in the voice. It was impossible for Quatre to escape the meaning of his words and yet, he was the Prince of Nekheb and he refused to bow to it. "My orders stand above yours, priest."
"And I say he hadn't the time. He was about to send for you even as you stepped into the chamber. How can you say differently? You were not here to judge for yourself." Duo's features softened then and Quatre realized that he was once again in control. "You were not here when I awakened."
"Ah," said Quatre softly. "And you were afraid I had forgotten you." He stepped forward and raised a hand to brush the other's cheek, delighting in the warmth of the priest's brown skin. His voice grew husky. "I only left to speak with Heero because I did not think you would awaken. I wished to free my mind of city matters so that I might fill it again with thoughts of you alone."
Duo caught the Prince's hand against his cheek and brought it to his lips. "Really?" he whispered between pale knuckles. His eyes were bright and feverish.
"Yes."
"I do not think that is entirely true," said Duo sadly, looking into the face that he could sometimes see beneath the stony exterior of the Prince's facade. Even now that air of cool superiority covered Quatre's soft and nearly child-like features like a glaze. It chilled the warmth of his blue eyes and made brittle the sunlight of his hair. "I believe you, but I do not think it is entirely true."
"What you believe is of little consequence."
"I know."
"Still..." Quatre caught Duo's hands in his own and held his arms before him, palms down. "Did it hurt much this time?"
If he had thought the question held any real concern, Duo might have described the burning agony to which he had awakened. Instead he said, "You know our kind. We have ways of making pain vanish." This was entirely true although it did return...he could feel the hot throbbing as it crept along his arms and legs. He wished for more medication. Instead, he waited for his next cue.
"Perhaps....but it is still felt. I needed to speak with my father...but it was a truly awful thing for me to do."
There was no regret in either Quatre's eyes or heart. The words were, as always, a game. "Truly awful," repeated Duo with a solemnity that was not entirely false. "You are terrible and cruel, Katrah-en. What will you say before the scales of Ma'at?" He casually pulled his arms free and hung them over the Prince's hips.
"Surely it isn't that bad. It was a necessary task! The flesh of my servant will heal."
"Hearts heal more slowly than flesh."
Quatre feigned shock and fear, pressing the flat of his palms against the priest's chest as though prepared to fend him off. "Whatever will happen to me if I am found out?"
"Your heart will be forfeit and eaten by Ammut [21], as all good Princes know," replied Duo. "And then the rest of your spirits will be flayed and burnt to ashes to be scattered in my oblivion."
"How terrible! I am truly sorry! Is there nothing I can do?"
"Oh...I suppose you could be punished. A proper punishment would lift the weight of your heart so that it might weigh easily against the feather of Ma'at."
"What sort of punishment would I receive?" wheedled Quatre, fondling the priest's nipples.
"Oh...ten lashes of the scorpion whip would be a good start," said Duo, his voice low. "Ten lashes..."
"Ten lashes does not seem so bad. I will take the punishment."
"You did not let me finish, wicked Prince. Ten lashes...and ten more for every sound you make."
"Well...it will be difficult, but I think I can still do it. Is there any more?"
"One last thing." Duo pulled Quatre close and whispered into his ear.
"Oh...I couldn't do that," he heard near his own where the Prince had rested his head against one bronzed shoulder. "Good boys don't do things like that."
"But you are a very wicked boy, Katrah-en. You must be punished. Humiliated. Made to remember this day forever."
"But it is an insult to the gods..."
"Not all gods. Not to me. But first..." Duo pushed the Prince away from him and sighed. "But first there is the evening meal and no one can begin until you arrive."
Quatre stepped back toward the priest and kissed the crook of his neck. "That is exactly right," he whispered. "They cannot begin, so they will wait."
"Mmm...but what kind of face are you showing your foreign guest if you delay the meal? A few moments is a show of power, a few moments more is weakness...especially when your hired priest is also missing."
"Do you not have obligations you can perform?"
"No," said Duo firmly. "I have no temple here. There will be no doubt in anyone's mind that we are together. Is my reputation one that you can afford, priest of Amun?"
And that was that. Quatre stepped away from his priest and offered him a look of disgust. "No. And it isn't one you half deserve. You ruin all of my fun."
"It is not a ruin. Merely a delay," wheedled Duo, reluctant to lose all favour. "Your well being is everything to me."
"My gold is everything to you," countered the Prince, but playfully. "The next in line might have no need of you."
"As you wish, my Prince."
"Oh, so we are being formal again? Very well...off with you," snorted Quatre, waving the other away. "And wear your finest jewellery tonight. Perhaps we have only a foreign prince and a complement of guards as guests, but I would still like to make a good impression."
"A good impression or a powerful one," asked Duo slyly.
"They are one and the same. Now take what you need from your chest and go!" ordered Quatre. "The rest of it can stay here as my guarantee that you will return."
"No danger of that, my Prince," grinned Duo as he bundled a few items into a square of linen. He bowed deeply and moved toward the door. "Until tonight." Inuiu was still in the front room once the priest had left. "Have Wufei sent to my chambers...I think he has had enough time to rest. When you are through, give Prince Trowa and Lord Heero their official invitations to the evening meal and then prepare yourself. I want all my my servants in their finest linens tonight."
"My Prince," the herald bowed, and was gone.
Quatre sighed. Damn that Trowa for upsetting his schedules. He could have used a few moments of distraction before presenting himself to the court. No help for it now, he supposed. "Het-Hori," he snapped, brining the servant to attention. "Have some water prepared. It will take a longer shower to cleanse my mind tonight..."
"Master...Master, it is time to wake."
The insistent whisper roused Trowa from a place so deep and dreamless that it took him several moments to realize where he was. It was all true, then...all true.
"Master, please wake up...you've nearly slept away the afternoon!"
A slight turning of his head brought Tetiun's bright eyes into view. He was crouched down to put himself on a level with his master's eyes and holding up a fresh white kilt. "Inuiu is here to offer your official invitation and refuses to see anyone but you."
Trowa flushed slightly as he remembered that he wore nothing beneath the light sheet which had been spread over him from the waist down. "Yes, thank you," he said, pulling the bedding around his waist as he stood and reached for the kilt, but Tetiun waved him off and pulled the sheet from his hand, expertly winding the loincloth and kilt around his master's body.
Filled with a mixture of embarrassment, gratitude, and more than a little arousal, Trowa offered a sardonic smile. "You are very forward for a servant."
It had been a jest more than a rebuke, but the body servant flushed deeply and fell to his knees, bowing until his forehead touched the floor. "I am sorry, Master!" he cried. "Please, forgive me! I did not mean to step above my station..."
"Tetiun..."
"I am accustomed to doing everything for my master. It is expected of us. Prince Quatre would have nothing less for you unless you desired otherwise..."
"Tetiun...I am not your Prince Quatre," said Trowa with a slight smile. "Sit up." The servant did so, looking nervous, but not the least bit ashamed. "I am rather accustomed to doing certain things for myself, but I do not want to look too weak to handle my servants. I do not know what your duties are or what to expect, but I would like to learn if only so that I am not taken by surprise when I see other lords making the request. Still, I would appreciate it if you would move more slowly! Let me know your intentions before stripping me naked at least!" His smile widened a little. "Is this acceptable?"
"There is no need to ask me, Master...what you say is what will be done. But yes...thank you," replied Tetiun with intense relief. "Many would have struck me for my insolence. I do not like that part....but that too is something you should know."
Trowa's smile became a frown. "That is something I do not agree with. Punishment for such trivial manners is counter-productive. What good is an injured servant...and you are a servant, not a slave?"
"Yes, Master," said Tetiun, "but now Inuiu is waiting. Would you like your sandals?"
"Is it customary to wear sandals in one's apartment?"
"If one desires it, Master. Most do not."
"Then I will deal with this barefoot. Follow me in case I need instruction."
Trowa stepped into the front room, hyperaware of his servant's presence a few steps behind him. "Inuiu," he said, greeting Quatre's herald as he bowed. "Do you have a message for me?"
"Prince Trowa...the Prince Katrah-en, beloved of Amun, requests your presence at tonight's evening meal. It will be a feast of welcome attended by all the administrators of the palace and the city. You would delight us with your company."
"In other words, I'd better show my face or I'll be sorry," replied Trowa with a tight smile.
"I am sorry, prince. It is my duty to repeat my master's messages, not interpret them."
"That's alright, Inuiu. I will interpret them myself. Thank you...you may go."
The herald offered another bow and left the room. Trowa sighed and collapsed into a chair. The excess of formality was beginning to prick at him like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. "Is there any wine left from the previous meal?" he asked hopefully.
"Of course, Master. I took the liberty of keeping it," replied Tetiun, pleased by his foresight. He fetched the jug and a cup from the clay case against the wall and place them on the table before seating himself on a cushion at his master's feet.
"Find a cup for yourself and use a chair, Tetiun," commanded Trowa and the servant leapt to obey. "I need to speak with you and I refuse to continually look down. I need you to tell me how the feasts of Prince Quatre progress. My father attended one in the palace of the Pharaoh, but the Company of Sons were not permitted entry. I suppose some things were discussed among rulers that were not for my ears to hear."
"Company of Sons, Master?"
"Yes," smiled Trowa bitterly. "My father was not the only one forced to abandon his eldest son in Egypt for the safety of their nation. We, the firstborn, are referred to as the Company of Sons. Before you ask, I do not know where the others have been placed. That, I imagine, was part of the contract. But that was then and there and this is here and now...it is the here and now with which I am concerned. Have you ever attended one of Quatre's feasts as a servant?"
"Yes, Master."
"Then tell me what happens there. What is expected of me?" Trowa settled back and watched as his boy servant shifted thoughtfully in his seat.
"Well...first of all, you should arrive on time...perhaps a little early. Not too early, Master!" the body servant cautioned in a voice that suggested dire punishment. "If you arrive too early you will be thought eager to please! I can show you the courtyard if you like...and when all of the dignitaries have taken their positions, we can enter. Normally we would have to wait for the priesthood to arrive as well, but that would be useless in this case as my former master, Duo, was always late. That is fine for a magician, but not for a visiting prince."
"So, timing is everything...everywhere." Trowa took a sip of wine as Tetiun nodded vigorously. "Do go on."
"As the honoured guest, you will be seated on the Prince's right hand, below his dais. As he has no wife and no children, he will be alone on the dais except for his servants. If you are not sure where to go when we get there, pretend to pause and look around the room as though taking in the seating arrangements - something that should likely be done anyway - and then walk purposefully in any direction I lead you. Then everyone will see how clever you are for figuring it out."
"And why should I observe the seating arrangements?" Trowa felt a tiny worm of fear creeping up his spine. So much decorum and he hadn't yet sat down!
"To see how your meal partners are ranked, of course! The lowest ranks will be seated the furthest away from the Prince. Heero will likely be to the Prince's left, but also beside the dais, because he is a Lord who is hear on orders from Pharaoh...he is important, but not a monarch or monarch to be as you are. His family and servants will be with him. Then you go back to the right to the next person beside you. This will probably be the mayor of Nekheb...and across from the mayor, on the left, the priest of Nekhebet, our patron goddess. The right: the palace priest of Amun...the god of our Prince's house. The left: Duo. Set does not have a temple here, but the Prince favours him so Duo is the third-highest ranking priest in the city. He seldom stays seated though so the priest of Ra might slip a little closer to the dais. But that is how the seating is arranged. The last member on the left-hand side is the lowest ranking official in the room. How you address yourself to these people will depend on the kind of strength you wish to project...but that is a decision you will have to make yourself."
That made sense enough. If he wished to promote his rank as a prince, Trowa would have to keep to the upper echelons of Nekheb's society. However, dealing with the lower ranks could be seen as mercy, amiability, or mere interest in the city's workings if he wore the proper expression while doing so. He wondered what keeping quietly to himself would project. That was how he usually handled formal gatherings. "Describe the banquet hall...how will the feast proceed?"
"Well...usually we are seated on cushions or low chairs. Sometimes both: chairs for the nobles, cushions for the servants. Each family unit has its own small table. Servants will bring around each course and you may eat what you please. Wine bearers will circulate to be signaled as needed. If there is anything you require that is not in reach, ask me and I will fetch it. The Prince prefers to use a limited number of kitchen servants and provide personal service when possible. The feast does not officially begin until the Prince arrives...when all must settle in their seats. No one eats until the Prince eats or commands the assembly to begin eating. No one leaves the feast until the Prince leaves the feast or gives orders for the assembly to meet elsewhere - in which case we always lose a few revellers along the way. Exceptions may be made for wives, child-keepers, and children by special request. There will be entertainment...probably musicians and gymnasts. Do not harass them. The Prince becomes quite upset when a performance is disturbed. Feel free to deride any presentation the Prince has dismissed for dissatisfaction...everyone else will."
Trowa frowned, his nose wrinkling in a look of disgust. "I see no point in that. There is no law against bad music. Dismissal is enough."
Tetiun smiled. "I am glad you think so, Master. I have never liked the practise. Not that my preferences have any place here," he said quickly, flushing faintly red. "That is all I can tell you of the feast. The rest depends largely on your own diplomatic abilities. I'm sure you will do quite well."
Trowa nodded, choosing not to call further attention to the servant's embarrassment. "How should I dress?"
"That would depend on the image you wish to project," replied Tetiun. "Most try to look impressive without doing so...if you understand my meaning. They will wear clothing of simple design and little jewellery, but what they do wear will be intricately patterned or accented with elaborate wigs and body painting. If you wish to wear a kilt like the others do, then a linen shirt or a wool cloak might be wise. It will likely be colder before the night is over."
"If I wish? What else would I wear besides a kilt?" Although the heat had prompted Trowa to adopt the simple linen fashions of Kemet, he had also found that the people of this country treated him better when he seemed willing to fit in. Not wanting to ruffle the wrong feathers or draw undue attention to himself, he had always found it simpler to go with the flow.
"Well you are a prince from across the Great Green, Master. If you have other official clothing that you would care to wear, the Prince could do nothing to stop you," said Tetiun, dismissing the problem of clothing with a wave of his hand. "The Asiatics often wear such heavy coverings and so I'm not surprised when those that settle here as citizens change to our more practical clothing, but as a foreign representative, you are free to wear the costume of your homeland."
A slow smile crept back into Trowa's lips. "The costume of my homeland did not seem welcome in the Delta."
"We do prefer a certain conformity," agreed Tetiun, oblivious to Trowa's line of thought. "I admit, I don't see why anyone would not prefer our simple and elegant cuts, but Duo says that each should have his own and who am I to argue."
"I doubt Prince Quatre would like it if I were to wear my tunic in his dining hall," said Trowa, his smile widening.
"No...I don't think he would. He likes everything to be neat and regular. But what would he say? It is your right, Master. I am surprised no one told you this before. Perhaps your tunic is made of wool? Many people here don't like wool," continued Tetiun, caught in his narrative. "They think it's unclean. Of course most people will wear wool cloaks if the air is cool enough, but that's alright because they are worn over the clothing. The Prince will not wear it at all, but then he should not because he has been initiated into the priesthood. Of course that means that my former master, Duo, should not either, but he does anyway when he thinks the Prince will not see him because although he is a priest, he says that he is a priest of Set and can do what he wants and anyone who says differently can kiss his sacred..."
Trowa was quite certain Duo had any number of kissable appendages and wondered if the priest had been aware that he was handing the foreign prince so talkative a body servant. Trowa rather thought he had. The methods of the Master of Chaos were perhaps not so chaotic after all. He could, of course, be a responsible individual and not antagonize his reluctant host, but how could he resist when so perfect and permitable an opportunity was presented? "Tetiun," he said, interrupting the servant's merry recitation, "I think that I will wear my native costume after all. Not always, of course, I would not want to show disrespect to the Prince, but this is an official function and I feel I should represent my people to the best of my abilities. It was very good of you to tell me so much about how things work here. Thank you." He finished the last of his wine as the young man stood and bowed, his cheeks reddening once again.
"It is my pleasure to serve such a gracious master," he replied. Then, "If you'd like to wash before the meal, it should be done now. The guest showers will be crowded soon and the showers will be more efficient at this time."
Again? thought Trowa, masking his bewilderment with a smile. "Of course, if that is what is expected. Show me these...showers."
The building was set not far from the guest quarters, overlooking the gardens. The room was large, its floor made of stone, and several round drains had been installed to siphon off the water though Trowa could not fathom where they led. The chamber was empty but for a few servants tending water which was kept heated. With great efficiency, Tetiun had him undressed and positioned near one of the drains, quickly discarding his own kilt and fetching handfuls of something whitish from a stone jar. "Forgive me," he said shyly, "but if I am to serve you in the Prince's presence, I must be clean as well and it is too far to run to the river and back." Trowa nodded his understanding as Tetiun gave some sort of signal, then yelped as mildly hot water was poured over his head.
He turned with a snarl as Tetiun tried to stop him without dropping the clumped powder he was carrying and was surprised to find that he had not even noticed one of the servants slip up behind him with a stepping stool. Still holding his clay jug, the man on the stool looked first to him and then to Tetiun with an expression of fear and uncertainty. "That is supposed to happen, Master," pleaded Tetiun. "I didn't think...well, I didn't think you would have no idea what a shower was!"
"A shower is being drowned by your servants?" snapped Trowa with irritation.
"No! No! The water coming from above washes everything away cleanly! Oil and dirt are washed away easily and go down the drain and into the garden irrigation system."
"What is that you have in your hands?"
"Limestone powder with a little natron salt...it is for rubbing on the skin." Tetiun was frantic now. "It takes away impurities."
Though fairly certain that Tetiun would not intentionally harm him, Trowa could not help being suspicious. "Give half of it to me to hold and show me," he told the young man. "On yourself."
Having no other choice, Tetiun surrendered one handful of the powder and allowed the water to be sluiced over his skin, taking care not to get the rest of the powder wet. Then he self-consciously began to rub the limestone over his body, gradually losing himself to the intensity of the process. Trowa watched as the white, chalky substance was rubbed into his servant's skin with no ill effect, becoming muddy with use, smearing his brown skin with whorls of greyish white until the whole was washed away by the water bearers, leaving the young man's body gleaming and smooth.
"You see, it is not so bad, Master," said Tetiun, shaking the water from the tight braids of his hair. "Master?"
Trowa returned to his own thoughts with a start. "Uh...yes. I see. Very well...I think I can withstand the shower."
As he stepped forward, the body servant put out his hands. "Would you like me to apply the limestone? I can reach up your back and around the back of your neck, making sure it does not get into your hair."
"I...alright," replied Trowa weakly and spent another several minutes of shut-eyed agony, praying for his body not to betray him. If he was forced to do this many times a day, Prince Quatre would not have to worry about him for long. The sheer frustration would kill him. It was a relief when he felt the water coursing over his body as he was rinsed, dried, and wrapped into the fresh kilt Tetiun had brought along. He did not see the point as he was going to change into a tunic anyway, but anything else seemed to throw his servant into turmoil and really...what sort of complaint was being too clean?
In his chamber, he rummaged through his things until he found the fine tunic he had last worn the first time he stepped before the Pharaoh. It was his finest: a deep, purplish blue edged with warm gold. He decided to include a circular cloak of the same colour although he did not think he would use it unless the night became truly cold. For a moment he considered wearing the laced boots of his homeland as well, but decided against it. His blue pair had already been spoiled by the mud of the Delta and his travelling shoes were nearly worn through. It was no unusual to go barefoot - neither here, nor there - so that was what he decided to do.
Despite his refusal to have his face painted - they'd done no such thing in Teresh - Tetiun would not give up on the issue of having his body oiled. "But you must! Your skin will become dry and itchy if you don't and will be quite unbearable." In the end, there was nothing he could do, but give in though he flatly refused the use of all other cosmetics. No kohl for his eyes - let the sun's brightness be damned - and no wig for his head. He chose instead to wind himself a crown of palm fronds, lacking the laurel he would have used back home. He refused jewellery save a few rings and a thin band of gold at his throat and used a simple leather loincloth. When the tunic was finally drawn over his head - it's fitted sleeves and flowing fabric a comfort against his skin - it was, for a moment, like coming home. The aching void of his heart much have shown plainly on his face for when he looked to his servant, Tetiun's expression was one of sadness. "I am sorry, Master," he said, giving his words a double meaning by holding up the cloak. "I do not know how to wrap this."
"Fold it and put it aside for now," replied Trowa with a wistful smile. "You can carry it and put it under my seat until it is needed. For the moment, concern yourself with your own appearance."
And, waiting for his servant to prepare himself for the evening meal, Trowa poured himself another cup of wine and sat silently, thinking of home.
[21] Egyptians also believed in a final judgment where the heart was weighed against the balance of the universe as represented by the feather of Ma'at. If the heart was full of sin, it weighed heavily and the person's soul was forfit, their seven shades and spirits being sent to the ultimate destruction one by one. The first to go was the heart, eaten by Ammut, who was a composite creature consisting of a furry hippo body, a lion's mane and tail, and the head of a crocodile.
"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.