by Lady Bast
"I can assure you, Prince Trowa, that the scribes sent to record yields for tax purposes are very accurate," said Selket-em-paf with a smile. "Some would say to the very grain."
Trowa looked bewildered. "But what of bad years? Floods? Droughts? Locusts? Do you mean to say that the portion will be taken away from the families if they do not meet quota?"
"Such things are taken into account before the growing season," replied the Chief Administrator, amused by his student's puzzled expression. After nearly three hours of explanation, the Teresh prince was no closer to mastering the systems of tithe to both temple and pharaoh. "The priests of Seshat are very accurate. They can predict to a measure the yield of any proposed crop. Other natural disasters are evaluated as needed but, yes, if there is no logical reason for a poor harvest, then the tithe may be taken from the family's share. It has happened before that a family has been too heavily taxed for such reasons and the menfolk were forced into banditry. Most prefer to go into debt, however. Better alive and owing than a dead man walking. Such is the price of civilized rule."
"This is civilized? Perhaps we should rethink the barbarian invasion then," sighed Trowa, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It might do us better to join them."
Selkhet-em-paf laughed. "Spoken like soldier! Some of us simply haven't the head for numbers. This is why princes have trusted advisors. But it will do you no harm to learn about it even if you never apply the rules yourself. If nothing else, a prince who can tell when the numbers add up will keep his scribes honest."
"Perhaps I'll track down Duo's friend, Solo," snorted Trowa. "I am told he is good with numbers. And if he is half as devious as Duo, I will have only one subject to intimidate for he will keep my scribes honest for me."
"And if his heart is half as soft, you'll never see a penny of your taxes," replied Selkhet-em-paf. He smiled fondly. "Perhaps that is enough for today. You have time enough yet and it does no good to overwhelm your heart."
Trowa nodded thoughtfully and sipped at a cup of palm wine. It was plain fare, but good, much like his surroundings. The administrator's front chamber was almost cozy compared to Duo's though it contained no more furniture. If anything, it was even less cluttered. Important scrolls were tucked away neatly in niches moulded directly into the wall where patterns in the murals allowed for them. The paintings themselves were more welcoming, consisting of school children - or perhaps apprentice scribes - gossiping in whispers beneath their teacher's gaze and of families taking inventory, each member designated the task most suited to them. "Oh, you silly cows," exclaimed the hieroglyphs of one young girl as she led the beasts in pairs. "I would draw you one way and you would walk another. Come now! Into the face of the Sun!"
"Why are there no women in Nekheb?"
The question had been little more than a thought and Trowa was surprised to hear his own voice speak it out loud. Selket-em-paf offered him a look of puzzlement, but it was the sort of expression that was carefully groomed to give an impression of ignorance while praying that the question could be avoided. "There are many women in Nekheb, Prince Trowa. Perhaps you should have followed Wufei to the market after all."
"Not the city." Trowa frowned. "In the palace. Why are there no women in the palace of Nekheb? And I am not talking about serving girls or visitors like the Lady Relena. I know there is a reason for Wufei would have told me, but he seemed so distraught that I couldn't bear to force him."
"Ah," said the administrator thoughtfully. "That is a difficult answer to give."
"So I've noticed," said Trowa bitterly. "No one seems willing to speak of it. Is it a secret then? Something to keep me wondering for the length of my stay?"
"No. It is not a secret. You would no doubt have discovered the reason on your own in good time, but..." There was an awkward pause as Selket-em-paf waited for his servant to fill his cup and Trowa's as well. Then he sighed. "It is probably better if you learn the reason now instead of in the wake of a verbal misstep. It is not a secret, but it is painful for many to discuss and there is a fine line between emotion and treason where such things are concerned. I suppose I should start from the beginning."
"Please," said Trowa, his gratitude sincere, "and thank you." Selket-em-paf waved him into silence, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. "Of all the men in the palace, I am probably the most qualified to share this information with you for I have sufficient power to know many details, but have no wife of my own to cloud my judgment. As it is best to start at the beginning, I must ask you to be patient and let me speak. Hold your questions until I have given you the base knowledge you require, then you may ask for clarification. Agreed?"
"You are the master of knowledge, Selket-em-paf," said Trowa gravely. "I am a stranger here. I bow to your orders."
Selket-em-paf smiled. "A stranger with a civil tongue, I see. Remember, as you did today, that all men take pride in their professions and you will find that your simple respect gains you greater admiration than all of Set-Aket-Dua's charm. Very well, then. Listen, and I will tell you.
"Nekheb has a long and illustrious history as a political center and the birthplace of many military heroes. Both the General and, most particularly, the Admiral Ahmose hail from her walls and both these men played great roles in liberating Kemet from her enemies, the Setiu and the upstarts of Kush. I will not go into detail for their exploits can be read in the libraries and on many stele set throughout the country, but know that such a reputation makes our city a prize for any governing prince. One day, Nekheb came into the hands of a strong and intelligent man named Amunmose. Amunmose was of pure blood and like any such blood, it ran hot and red. He kept many wives who birthed many daughters. Though he, as other men, desired a son, this lack on the part of his lesser wives bothered him not at all. His most precious gem, his Chief Wife, Nefermeri, was the only woman with whom he cared to sire though never once had she born a child. The physicians claimed that she was barren, but Amunmose did not lose hope and made many sacrifices to Amun in the hopes of acquiring an heir pure in both blood and love. But time is a powerful force and even hope must bow before it.
"Know first," cautioned Selket-em-paf, "that Amunmose was known far and wide as a great and terrible leader. He demanded nothing less than perfection in his day to day affairs. His greatest wish was that the city should run as smoothly and efficiently as a water clock, measuring time with its movements. He knew, of course, that men are imperfect and his punishments were not unjust in the eyes of Ma'at, but many found them harsh. They would not breathe a word of this, of course, but some things can be seen in the eyes if one knows how to look.
"Life might have been difficult under Amunmose, if not for Nefermeri. She too was pure of blood and beautiful, but this was not her glory. She was the kindest, cleverest woman to grace the palace since the days of Ahmose and often I think of her and wonder if the reason I never married had less to do with my need for solitude than with my certainty that I could never find another woman with the same grace and intelligence. She tempered the rule of her husband with gentle mercy and because he loved her and granted her every wish, many a costly mistake was forgiven. Or so it was for a time.
"Too soon, Amunmose began to curse his wife's barren body. Though he had sworn to love her and care for her, his own desire for an heir of pure blood did wear down his resolve. His offerings to Amun increased even as his patience lessened and his love curdled slowly and thoroughly, becoming cruel and abusive. Nefermeri rarely showed her face in the palace proper and without her presence to sweeten them, the Prince's punishments were swift and unyielding."
Selket-em-paf sighed and addressed Trowa with age-weary eyes. "It is treason to speak against a Prince's order and this is why so few care to answer your question. Nonetheless, it must be said that my heart ached to see her on those rare occasions when she left her chambers. Her inability to bear a son - to bear any children at all - had all but destroyed Nefermeri's self-worth. I think she loved her husband despite his flaws - it was not in her to hate anyone - but I think she would have been just as happy if he had divorced her as was proper for a wife who could bear no children. She might have found a man who desired none and she might have lived in peace. She might, in the end, have lived.
"The god, Amun, has an ironic sense of humour. Nefermeri did become pregnant, but not until her husband's desires had died and grown cold. Instead of his treasure, she was paraded about as his shame. He spoke of her nerve to wait so long for children, about how she would no doubt bear him a daughter as well. Her sadness deepened and she shut herself away. I think this is why she lost the child; her grieving killed its spirit. As it happened, one of the Libu concubines managed to produce a son though she died in childbirth. As Amunmose insisted on having an heir of pure blood - in law if not in fact - Nefermeri was made to adopt the child as her own.
"Now one might think that she would grow to hate the babe, but as I have said, it was not in her to hate. She loved the child and raised him as her own. He had many nurses and caretakers, but Nefermeri herself took a strong hand in raising him and if not for his golden hair and blue eyes, you might have thought she'd born him herself. A beautiful child; gentle and sweet tempered. To prepare him for a life as a palace servant, Amunmose requested that his body servant, Mao-ren, give his son, Wufei, to be the child's companion as he grew. It was a plan that went awry for little Katrah-en did not know the difference between servant and friend. His nurses were his aunts and his body servants were his playmates. Young Wufei wore less finery than his master, but they shared games, plates, and schooling and if it had not been for his father's admonishments, it is certain that Wufei would have grown to think himself a prince as well."
"That sounds nothing like the Katrah-en that I have met," scoffed Trowa, startling himself with his own vehemence. He had not meant to interrupt Selket-em-paf, but the administrator did not rebuke him.
"It was Amunmose who put such notions into his son's head, but, in the beginning, he was entangled in matters of politics and Nefermeri had free rein. Oh, he tried to influence Katrah-en's development remotely through tutors and the palace guards, but the boy managed to charm them all and those he did not were cowed by the Chief Wife whose station was high above their own.
"About the time that the young prince had reached six years of age, his father had acquired a new pet. A man from the temple of Kom Ombo, Set-Meketra, arrived with his family to take his place among the priests that thronged the Prince's throne. His son was sent to school with the other noble children and befriended Katrah-en as was hoped. Like Wufei, he was carefully groomed to defer to the young prince, but still he took liberties that scandalized the courts. Well, as much as the antics of a six year old child can scandalize. Most found him endearing and agreed that, though his father's business was suspect and his mother's punishments too lenient, Aket-Dua would grow to be a fine figure of a man, polite and respectful and winsomely clever."
Aket-Dua? Set-Aket-Dua? Trowa bit back the words before they could escape and spoil Selket-em-paf's story. He had half suspected that the family of the narrative had belonged to Duo, but hearing the name pronounced still came as a shock. Duo had claimed to have been raised by the temple of Kom Ombo as an orphan, and yet here he was placed in Nekheb at the age of six. Had he been here all this time? If not, what had happened? If Selket-em-paf's narrative did not answer these questions, he would have more to ask about than the mere lack of women in the palace. Quietly, Trowa shifted his position, held out his cup to be refilled, and listened.
"Not long after the arrival of Set-Meketra and his family, the accidents began." Here, Selket-em-paf spoke deliberately, choosing his words carefully. "We are a pragmatic people, prince Trowa. A certain amount of corruption in government is expected, even encouraged. Every nobleman has his informants and other spies to report on the performance of those informants. The higher one's position, the more one can get away with providing the correct protocol is observed. If a crime is committed for a certain purpose without excess or concrete evidence, it will go largely unnoticed, surfacing only as gossip when all other topics have been exhausted. So it was with the handful of nobles and officials who were injured or killed in accidents or died of sudden and mysterious illnesses. Nekheb had no army to send to war and a Prince had only one other use for a priest of Set. It upset Nefermeri who had befriended Set-Meketra's wife, Ba-het, and she was seen to quarrel with her husband on more than one occasion. At this time, Amunmose pressed more fervently for the opportunity to train his son in the art of governance, but Nefermeri refused to leave the boy in his care. Her rank was below her husband's, but she was adamant and spoke treason to his face, claiming she would rather die than see her son become such a man. She threatened to move him to the secondary court at Weset where her sister still lived. Amunmose was red with rage."
The Chief Administrator paused, a silence of reverence rather than a loss of words. "To this day, no one knows what really happened to Nefermeri. One morning, Ba-het came running from the Chief Wife's garden where she had gone to find Nefermeri. She wailed so loudly that most of the palace rushed to find the source of the commotion. Her husband appeared, looking wan and tired, and she pummeled his chest with her slim fists before falling into his arms and sobbing. Amunmose arrived sometime later and entered the garden with Mao-ren and a few of his guards, leaving others to disperse the growing crowd. Nefermeri was found floating face-down in her private pool. She was, as you must have guessed, quite dead. This came as no surprise to the court and with the exception of the odd rumour, it would have been dismissed as an accidental drowning if not for Jia.
"Jia was Nefermeri's personal assistant and wife of Mao-ren. The Prince and his Chief Wife had thought it fashionable to be served by husband and wife. Now Jia, too, was dead and the cause was unknown. "This unnecessary excess made the plot much less acceptable in the eyes of the court. While it would have been logical to blame Set-Meketra, no one could believe that he would be so unprofessional. While the benefits of the deaths would no doubt be reaped by Amunmose, it was more than risky for the Prince to perform such acts on his own. Though the affair had been unprofessional, it had been too carefully executed to be the work of a mere servant. Perhaps Mao-ren might have had the skill, but would he have harmed his own wife? Most thought not. In the wake of her death, he was a broken man.
"Set-Metekra, too, seemed to lose heart. There is no public knowledge of what went on between himself and Prince Amunmose, but rumours claim that there were arguments and threats and it was a weary man who packed up his family's belongings and prepared to move them back to Kom Ombo. The children, now eight, were old enough to sense the trouble, but too young to understand it and the separation was difficult. Katrah-en and Wufei were both mourning the loss of mothers and now they were forced to bid farewell to their friend. I could not tell you what was on the mind of Aket-Dua, but the tension and fear surrounding the flight of his family could not have been difficult. A month after they had left we received a report that the caravan with which they were traveling had been attacked by bandits. Among the dead was Ba-het. She had been raped, her throat cut.
A short time later a letter arrived for Amunmose from Set-Meketra. I do not know its contents, but they were upsetting for the Prince. He doubled his guards. He also took his son into his care and began teaching him the principles of leadership. His principles of leadership at least, including his fears and paranoia. They were too much for an impressionable child, I'm afraid. Our Prince - may he live long, be healthy, and prosper - has learned these lessons too well and improves upon their protections almost daily. Like his father, he has spies, but he finds sinister musings in the most innocent of their reports. Like his father, he has tasters for his food, but he goes to great lengths to eat other than what is offered to him. Like his father, he keeps many foreign guards - provided they have sworn allegiance to this, our Kemet - because they are far from home and easy to manipulate, but he holds their wives hostage on the estates of his sisters. Any man making a move that can be interpreted as treason can expect a letter from one of the princess's households telling them of an accident which has befallen their loved ones. If the Prince is harmed, the family of the man responsible will be slaughtered. If the prince is killed, both the man and his family will be put to death."
Selket-em-paf paused to sip at his wine as though he expected a question. Trowa did have one to ask, but he feared the answer. "What if the Prince comes to harm and there is no way to discover who is guilty?"
"Then every one of the hostage families will be slaughtered for treason," replied Selket-em-paf quietly. "As you can imagine, the Prince is very well protected. And that is why there are no women in the palace of Nekheb."
For what seemed like hours, Trowa sat in silence, waiting for the weight of those words to be absorbed. "I..I can almost see the Prince capable of such a threat," he began, uncertain, "but he has always struck me as being quite direct. This complex pattern of intrigue..."
"You only asked about the women, not about intrigue," said Selket-em-paf with a wry smile. "That territory is more dangerous. Suffice to say that shortly before the death of his father two years ago, Katrah-en received a visit from an old friend on his way to the Delta to celebrate the festival of Bast. It was then that we learned of Set-Meketra's death and his son's life in the temple. They spoke a long time that night and Set-Aket-Dua must have said many interesting things indeed for when Amunmose died under mysterious circumstances, he was invited to return and stay in the city."
Trowa was incredulous. "Are you saying Duo is responsible for..."
"I am saying that our friend Duo has a devious mind and that before such declarations are made, he and the Prince have often been in conference together. He seldom seems happy with the pronouncements, but I am not privy to their conversations so I cannot tell you what information they have shared."
"But these 'mysterious circumstances'..."
Selket-em-paf held up a hand to silence his guest. "Prince Trowa, I can tell you no more. The matter of the women of Nekheb is a present reality and no secret...the event of the Prince's upbringing is in the past. Though these are painful to some whose emotions might lead them to treasonous statements that could harm their loved ones, I have no wife and no children and have done you the service of providing you with this information. The affair of the Prince's father is too recent - Katrah-en still believes that his father is guiding him from the Field of Reeds - and I was not directly involved. What I could offer would be little more than rumour - painful to the wrong ears and potentially dangerous if misused. I will do us both more harm than good if I speak of it."
"Very well," Trowa relented, sipping at his wine. He sat in silence until he realized that he was sulking and mentally shook himself. What a fine figure of a prince you are, he mocked himself silently. Pouting because you cannot have a story when others work proudly while suffering far greater distress. For some reason, this made him think of Wufei and a thought came to him. "Did...did you know Wufei's wife?" he said cautiously.
"Yes," said Selket-em-paf finally. "Meiran is a strong and courageous girl. She is in the house of Iras who is one of the Prince's kinder sisters and a gentle mistress. They have a son, you know. Wufei has seen him once, shortly after the child's birth."
"I see," said Trowa quietly. "Should we discuss the tax system further, or have you decided to end my torment for the day?"
The Chief Administrator offered a knowing smile. "I think you have more than enough to keep you occupied for the next several days. Where did you end your writing, Meribast?"
"I have stopped at the recommendations for keeping one's scribes honest," replied the scribe with a trace of amusement. And while you were discussing other things, I took the liberty of transcribing the notes into Keftiu for Prince Trowa so that he might have a copy of your conversation for further study."
"Very good. You have made a copy for the files on foreign policy as well? It would do to have a record in the event that I am gone and anyone should doubt the Teresh prince."
Meribast smoothed his kilt primly. "Of course. I have used proper hieroglyphs for the official scroll while your own copy is in the shorthand script that you prefer."
"May the gods save me from clever scribes. I should have you..."
"Whipped for insolence, but you will not because you value skill and intelligence above social niceties. Plus, you are a soft-hearted old fool," grinned Meribast though he kept his eyes respectfully downcast.
"You see why he was offered to you? It is a practice of ours to make as much trouble as possible for foreign ambassadors," said Selket-em-paf good-naturedly. "If it weren't for his language skills and neat hand I'd have offered him a kick by now. Instead, I spare him for the sake of our foreign guests."
"You are most generous, Master."
"You see? He mocks me even as he praises me." Trowa smiled at the light banter as the Chief Administrator drained his cup, then rose with him. "Let me know when you desire another few hours of torment and I will be happy to oblige," said Selket-em-paf, "but now I must get back to sorting the dispatches. You are excellent company, prince, although I find anyone who will sit and listen to my ramblings excellent company. You can't possibly think the same of me."
"You're a fascinating speaker...when you're not talking about taxes," replied Trowa warmly. "May I keep Meribast for the afternoon? I would like to dictate some letters to my sister and father before it's time for me to meet with the Prince."
"Of course, prince, he is yours," replied Selket-em-paf with a brief bow. "Join me in my office whenever you wish or have a servant send for me. I am pleased to be at your service and look forward to a favourable arrangement with your people."
Mindful of his station, Trowa bowed to Selket-em-paf none-the-less. It was a brief gesture of gratitude for the answer to his question. As he had much to ponder, he wasted no time in returning to his apartment with Meribast in tow. There, he quickly dictated a few newsy letters with information regarding his well-being and the steps he had taken to learn about the rental of land. He promised his father further details as they were made clear to him and he assured his sister that a gift would be forthcoming. After a moment's thought, he asked Meribast to make a copy of his notes to be sent with his father's letter. He did not see such dry material as any form of subterfuge and he was certain that his letters would be read before being delivered. He had no doubt that any information of a questionable nature would be brought to the Prince's attention. He waited until Meribast had finished his transcription rolled the sheets of papyrus, securing them with a blob of wax. Having no seal of his own, Trowa pressed his thumb into it and traced his initial with a small knife. It looked rough and unfinished somehow, but that mattered little. It would be broken and resealed soon enough.
Feeling worn with thought and the hot afternoon sun, Trowa dismissed Meribast and took to his couch. A sudden wave of loneliness touched him - the letters had reminded him of how very far from home he was - and he resisted the urge to call for Tetiun. Though the body servant's presence would be a comfort now, Trowa could not bring himself to deprive Duo, who had cried so earnestly and with such honest pain, of companionship.
Sighing, he adjusted his pillow, drew the light sheet over himself and fell into a fitful doze.
Trowa did not mention that he was able to read that for himself. Each cartouch representing the king's name was taller than a man and not easy to miss. None-the-less, he nodded as though he had been taught something of great importance while his eyes scanned the story of a dead king's glories in dazzling colours. Even more dazzling, though Trowa would never admit it out loud, was Quatre. The Prince had opted for simplicity, his plain white kilt slung low on his brown hips, held in place with the slimmest of golden belts. Gold dust accented his navel and traced circles around his nipple below the pectoral of Nekhebet's vultures supporting the plumes of Amun. He had covered his hair with a white wrap edged in gold, its wings falling gracefully over his shoulders. His make up, too, was simple - khol, ochre, and gold dust for his eyes.
Beautiful blue eyes...
That were narrowed at him in annoyance. Trowa looked around sharply, noticed that he was being left behind and hurried to catch up.
"Good of you to join us," said Quatre in a clipped tone, but Trowa refused to be forced into an apology.
"I was thinking of the work that must have gone into the construction of this temple," he said instead. Rather than contradict him, the Prince raised a questioning eyebrow. "I am imagining the work and the effort to transport so many materials. The sweat and the blood that is in this stone."
He had not known that this was the truth until the words had slipped from his mouth. Unwittingly, Trowa recalled Duo's words about how the poor were important though no one remembered them. He was a stranger here, but Trowa was not totally unfamiliar with Kemet's ways. It was no secret that peasants were often used as labourers during the flood season when their farms were underwater. They were paid with the food and drink necessary to keep them healthy until the fields could be planted once again. He could see how they might be forgotten, drowned in the shadow of such monumental work.
Quatre looked up at the intricately carved face of the temple. A ghostly sadness flickered over his face and swiftly vanished. "I suppose," he said, "though the fellahin [35] should be glad of the work. In any event it was not built all at once. These pylons might have been commissioned by the great Ramesses, but now we enter the temple of a different Pharaoh, the second Asar-Amenophis."
This time, Trowa followed in silence through the front court and the great columned hall. He listened to the Prince's crisp descriptions of the glories and honours obtained by building such fabulous monuments to the deities and the function of each prayer inscribed upon the walls and pillars. Though his ears continued to hear the words and his lips murmured the correct responses, Trowa's mind had ceased to focus on anything but the rhythmic rise and fall of Quatre's voice. The Prince intrigued him...and not simply because he was beautiful. Here was a voice that had not deepened, the voice of a child, speaking like a man. A voice which should have still been whispering eagerly of secret duck hunts away from tutors and trainers speaking with the cynicism of an old man who had seen much and for whom the world held no more mystery.
Words of praise for the glory of Amun entered Trowa's ears as they passed from the temple of Amenophis the second into the temple of Nekhebet, but they were hollow, scoured of emotion by that childish man-voice. The Prince had trained as a priest, but he had lost his faith...if, indeed, he'd had any faith to lose. The voice passed from religious praises to mundane descriptions of offices and temple functions with frightening ease. There was none of Duo's simple joy, transforming the face of nature into a world of active spirits. In fact, there was none of Heero's controlled emotion, none of Rashid's quiet certainty, none of Tetiun's spirit, Relena's passive strength, or Wufei's pride. Despite it's pleasant lilt, the voice was dead, dry as dust.
And yet...that sadness.
"Prince Trowa?
For a second time, Trowa was startled from his reverie. Fighting the warmth he felt rising in his cheeks, he turned to face the source of the admonishment. "Yes, Prince Quatre?"
"Is my presence so dismally boring that you feel you must slip into trances to keep yourself from falling asleep?" said Quatre drily.
"No," replied Trowa. He paused to consider his words. "I was listening to voice of a ghost...and for the voices of the gods." Quatre laughed at that, a cynical, raucous sound. "The gods live in the inner sanctums of their temples," he smirked, "and why do you think they would speak to a foreigner like you?"
"Duo seems to find them quite personable." Trowa's features remained impassive as he walked a step behind the Prince. To the left and to the right of him, gaily coloured pillars towered, spilling their stories and praises in a never-ending spiral. "He believes that they are everywhere and will speak to anyone."
"He would."
The words were cold and tinged with bitterness. Quatre stopped before the enormous doors of the inner sanctum and examined a clay seal. This seal was wrapped around coloured cords that bound the handles of the heavy doors together. Satisfied that it had not been tampered with, Quatre took a step back and turned to face his guest. "You may go no further, Prince Trowa," he said briskly. "But before I enter, allow me to tell you something of Duo. The reason that he is so fond of his gods is because he is quite nearly under their special protection." [36]
Trowa could sense a general discomfort around him and saw the guards - both his own and those of the Prince - shift uncomfortably. The priests of Nekheb who were in attendance cast worried looks at one another. Apparently, Duo was a touchy subject and while none of the servants would speak out against their master, they were not entirely pleased to hear the priest insulted either. Only Wufei's face remained fixed in a vague sort of non-expression.
"If he were not so frighteningly clever, I might have had him declared mad long ago," continued Quatre, ignoring the reactions of those around him. "Do you know that he thinks he is per neter...the house of a god? He speaks to spirits as a matter of course and claims that voices tell him what to do. Ask him, one day, about the great destroyer and watch his eyes as he speaks. I'm sure he'll be pleased to tell you all about it. He does seem to enjoy prattling on. Emsef, the seal."
Nekhebet's high priest took his place before the great doors of the goddess's inner sanctum as his acolytes prepared incense and fell into formation behind their Prince. With solemn ceremony, the clay seal was broken and crumbled to dust, the sacred cords were carefully untied, and two guards pulled the cedar doors wide open, dropping their eyes as they did so. Despite his curiosity, Trowa also looked to his feet,. He was not a religious man, but he did not need the Prince's glare to tell him that respect was owed to the goddess whose city now protected him. He waited until the feet of the procession of priests had disappeared from view and the sound of great doors closing had passed before lifting his head once again.
The guards had remained behind, lined up on either side of the cedar doors. The youngest of the gathered priests had also been excluded, left to sweep up the remains of the blessed seal and store them in a small pot for later disposal. And then there was Wufei.
"If you would like to sit, Prince Trowa, I could have a chair brought for you," the steward said without emotion.
Trowa sighed and settled himself on the stone floor, his back pressed against the blessed cool of a column. "No, thank you. I'll be fine here. I've weathered worse."
"Food and drink?"
"No."
Trowa felt Wufei lower himself to the ground, a little ways around the column. "What My Prince has said...about the priest Duo..." the steward began haltingly. "I...I do not advise such questions. Duo has his eccentricities, but..." Wufei paused as though debating whether his next statement could be considered treason.
"But he is a good man?" said Trowa, smiling to himself.
"Yes," replied the steward with obvious relief. "In his heart, he is a good man. If his god speaks to him, then it is only to be sure that he upholds the laws of Ma'at as they have been dictated to him." "And to question him might endanger others if he speaks too freely? Others who are far away from Nekheb?"
Wufei's sigh was one of relief. "Yes," he whispered.
For a moment, Trowa did not speak, but looked around the shadowed depths of the temple court. The silence clung to him, but was not friendly. In it he heard the the sobs of his sister as he was led away to become the ward of Nekheb and thought of the howling desert winds. "I think," he said softly, "that Duo may not be entirely wrong. I think your gods do wander from their homes and will speak to foreigners when there is no one else to listen. The city has a goddess and the goddess is the city. She is sad for your wife and son. I'm sorry."
"I know." Wufei's words were barely audible. "Thank you."
Trowa tilted his head back against the column and breathed deeply of the oncoming night. An echo of chanted prayers and the heady smell of incense began to drift from the inner sanctum. He wondered if the rituals would do any good tonight - if the goddess had remained to watch her priests or if the whole of her was out here, beside him. He closed his eyes while the shadows deepened, breathed the incense, heard the prayers...
And, in the darkness, the city wept.
[35] Peasants, immigrants, or sometimes slaves. Generally anyone doing the lowest of menial work.
[36] Being under the special protection of the gods is a euphemism for being insane. It may mean mentally handicapped as well. It was forbidden to harm such people for fear of incurring the wrath of the gods.
"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.