If the young man was not a temple dancer, surely he could not be a well-bred akesh, for such creatures were rarely let out of doors and did not mingle with the priestly class. Whoever he is, would he bore me as Theppu and the others do, or is he more than a beautiful face and body? If such beauty could coexist with intelligence or deep introspection, Jahzel had never seen evidence of it; the youths and maidens he bedded were as transparent as the finest silk gauze and their charms were just as ephemeral.
Or perhaps I simply do not know where to find the thing I seek. All that night, the question gave him no peace. In the hazy place between waking and sleep, he imagined a lovely youth who kissed him with full lips that tasted of wine and the poetry he so loved. Robed in hair long enough to cover his nakedness, and as soft as down, when the young man spoke, his words held both a lover's warmth and a councilor's wisdom.
Only a god could be so beautiful and wise. Jahzel clung to the dream as long as sleep permitted, and afterward to the few shreds that lingered.
The following afternoon, he summoned Khemwy to his apartments. “Tell me who he is."
The stone carver blinked at him. “Who, my lord?"
"In your latest work,” said Jahzel. “The dancer on the far right, the one with the dreaming eyes and full lips. I wish to know who your model was."
"My model?” asked Khemwy. “Why, he was nobody, my lord, just some boy from the desert.” Seeing this answer was not sufficient, the old man cleared his throat and added, “I found him in an oasis halfway between Akkil and Atrija. The boy is a farmer's son whose name I don't quite remember. Maybe he was called Saril, or Sarit. I don't know. Whenever I see a face or a body that's suitable, I offer food or a few coins, and if they pose well, I do my work. He was beautiful, that I remember."
No one could argue that beauty such as that was wasted in a desolate oasis, yet even with his imagination fired by the information Jahzel knew better than to pursue the matter further. Bringing a young man into the palace to serve in the royal bed meant more than simply bathing him, dressing him in rich clothing and teaching him the etiquette of the royal bedchamber.
Expecting a farmer's son to serve the High Prince as a regular bedmate was out of the question. Royal akeshi were well born, the sons of princes or high-ranking nobles deposed in political coups or forced by circumstances to sell a child into bondage. Those biddable and comely enough spent years learning the arts of love before they went to the bed of the man whom they would serve.
At best, a lovely farm boy might spend a few years as a merchant's pet before being sold into one of the city's many bakti houses. Reflection led to a moment's regret before Jahzel swallowed his disappointment. As much as he would have liked to see the boy who inspired Khemwy's art, it was a thing best left forgotten.
Spring's fine weather did not last. Tajhaan in high summer was unbearable. While shopkeepers did their business in the cool mornings and closed their stalls in the afternoon heat, Jahzel moved his court south to Akkil by the sea and remained there until the first weeks of autumn.
Rather than return directly to the capital, Jahzel planned a leisurely progress northeast that would take him through Atrija and three other cities. It was not often that he was able to view his entire realm, and he stated as much to his wife when she complained at being sent back to Tajhaan.
"My dear,” he said, “you would hardly enjoy spending so many days on the road confined to a jolting harem wagon. Return to the comforts of the city. I will rejoin you once my business is finished."
Cherike frowned, but Jahzel knew her show of displeasure belied her relief. She endured the journey to Akkil because the city's orchards and view of the sea appealed to her, but did not enjoy her husband's company enough to want to accompany him around the realm.
Eight days northeast of Akkil, Jahzel and his party arrived at the oasis of Osharan. Framing a tepid lake bearing the same name, Osharan was the largest of the oases on the road between Akkil and Atrija, and supported many flax, wheat and barley fields. The town, nestled among the fields and date palms, was a drab collection of mudbrick tenements, but Jahzel found it clean and hospitable, a good place to rest before continuing on to Atrija.
From the reception he received, it was clear that few royal princes ever came this way. The town elders offered him their best lodgings and begged his indulgence, which he answered by hearing petitions in their court of law and touring the town. He dined at the house of the chief elder, enjoying a plain but savory meal, and the next day met with the town priests to view Osharan's shrines, including a temple dedicated to Shalat, the town's patron deity, who brought fertility to the desert. The basalt statue of the goddess looming above the altar had a familiar look about it, prompting Jahzel to inquire about its origin.
"Great prince, this is the work of Khemwy,” replied the chief priest. “This image is new to us and much prized. We were very fortunate to be able to get his services."
Jahzel nodded in admiration of the statue's plain, elegant lines. “Yes, you are most fortunate, indeed.” In his experience, even princes found it difficult to acquire Khemwy's talents.
Late in the afternoon, with a cup of the local date wine and an hour to himself, Jahzel mused over his discovery. The statue must have cost the town a considerable sum, for Khemwy was highly selective about his commissions and was not cheaply bought when he accepted. Even the frieze had required a good deal of negotiation and fussing, frustrating the officials assigned to acquire the stone carver's services; the men had finally thrown up their hands and reported to the High Prince that there were plenty of other artisans in the city who would do the same work with better grace and at a far more reasonable price.
Jahzel, however, was not so willing to employ another for this commission. His palace was filled with exquisite works from the kingdom's best artisans; he did not stint on anything associated with his name, especially his monuments or dedications made to the gods. Khemwy might be difficult, but Jahzel was now more determined than ever to have the artisan complete this frieze, even if it meant interviewing the man himself.
Khemwy's contrite demeanor during the interview did not mask his native slyness, and more than anything suggested this was what he had intended from the beginning. Jahzel did not fail to notice, or comment upon it.
"When you want something done well,” answered the stone carver, “do you get the best man for the job, or do you have some pox-addled underling do it?"
"You realize that we could employ a comparable artisan for far less effort,” said Jahzel. “One would think that in the royal presence you would grasp this very simple truth, or at least try to be more agreeable. Should you prove difficult, we can offer the commission elsewhere."
To his surprise, Khemwy laughed, drawing back his lips to reveal uneven yellow teeth. “Ah, it's the ‘we’ and ‘us’ now, is it? For all your fine schooling, you don't get what a simple stone carver is saying, do you? You want the best for the job, and so you try to negotiate, but then you send some fat, greasy underling to make the contract. I'm not doing the work for him, you know."
Stunned by the man's bluntness, Jahzel nonetheless maintained his royal calm. “Surely you know this is how the palace negotiates all contracts. We do not have time to meet with every—"
"Now there you go again,” said Khemwy. “If there's another prince that wants in on this contract, he'd better come out, otherwise it's just you and me, and not ‘us.’ You sat for me when you were still a stripling of a High Prince, so you ought to know full well what my tongue is like."
Yes, and it is a wonder he has not had it torn out yet, thought Jahzel. Giving such an order did not occur to him, however, as it surely had not occurred to his predecessors. He let Khemwy negotiate his own terms, which were not unreasonable, though he cautioned the stone carver that a royal commission meant an official would be appointed to oversee his work.
For the first time in months, Jahzel thought about the lovely youth depicted on the frieze. Khemwy said that the m
odel had come from an oasis town halfway between Akkil and Atrija. Even though he denied remembering the name, the town must have been Osharan. I am a hunchbacked dwarf if he does not remember; the statue in the temple tells me he has been here more than once. Why must the man be so secretive about his doings? Does he think I will have another artist use the boy and thus spoil the beauty and rarity of his work?
Summoning a servant to his side, Jahzel sent the man to find Saruken, the lieutenant who oversaw security in the royal household. Saruken entered, saluted, and waited at attention for further instructions.
"You have people who can find a pearl in a sand dune,” said Jahzel. “Send one or two of them into the town and ask about a boy named Sarit or Saril. When you find the boy, bring him here. I have business with him."
However odd the lieutenant found the request, he bowed and replied that it would be done. Jahzel returned to his date wine and scroll, and enjoyed the cool quiet of the chamber. The chief elder, whose house was the finest in the town, had vacated the residence to make room for the royal entourage. It was a small dwelling, though well-made and clean, and the servants Jahzel brought with him were unobtrusive as they went about their tasks.
For his comfort, they pushed the room's original bed with its uncomfortable straw mattress off to the side and replaced it with his own traveling bed, a collapsible frame of gilded ebony padded with fine linen and silk. As he waited, Jahzel found his eyes wandering to the cushions, and was surprised at the tightness in his belly. You are as anxious as a bridegroom, he thought. Do not be such a fool. Lying with a farmer's boy is out of the question, though he and his family would hardly refuse the honor. You mean only to see him and satisfy your curiosity, nothing more.
A polite knock brought two servants with a shallow basin of water and fresh clothing. He bathed, dressed and went to supper with the priests, forgetting about the boy until he returned after dark to find Saruken waiting outside his door.
Saruken saluted him. “I did as you ordered, my lord. The boy waits downstairs. Shall I bring him up?"
Lamps had been lit within, and the two body servants waited with water, linen and his bed clothes. Jahzel motioned them aside, signaling they were not to leave but wait. It is very late. I will see the boy, and if his look and manner please me I will send for him again tomorrow. He sat down in the chair near one of the alabaster lamps to wait. “Yes, bring him to me."
In those last few moments, Jahzel did his best to breathe and pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary, yet could not help but recall his first wedding night when he and Cherike were both young and full of illusions. He will be beautiful, but shy. My words will be gentle. I wish only to look at him, and talk to him. Perhaps I will kiss him, but nothing more or it will not be seemly.
From the moment the youth walked into the room, Jahzel knew his servants had made a horrible mistake. Rather than the lovely creature with full lips and lush skin he expected, Saruken had fetched him a pockmarked young man with coarse hands.
Saruken barked a command to kneel, which the young man did, turning his face aside at the High Prince's obvious displeasure.
Jahzel forced himself to remain calm. This was a large town, where a name might be shared by more than one person, and Saruken had simply brought the wrong boy. He would correct his mistake in the morning, then all would be well.
"Lieutenant, I commanded you to bring a boy named Sarit, or Saril,” said Jahzel. “Is this all you have brought me?"
Saruken saluted and nodded. “Yes, my lord. My men went street by street, but there is no other in Osharan with such a name. The boy's name is Saret ked Khamenu."
Jahzel drew a sharp breath, expelling it slowly before speaking. No, this cannot be. It cannot. He is supposed to be beautiful.
"Boy, you will sit.” He gestured for the servants to bring a footstool, upon which the young man awkwardly perched; his legs were long enough that he might have drawn his knees up to his chest and rested his head upon them. Saruken retreated to the doorway to await further instructions. “Do you know a stone carver named Khemwy?"
Almost too frightened to speak, Saret nodded. “What did I do, sir?"
For once, Jahzel did not know how to answer tactfully. You disappointed me. You should have been beautiful, not this hideous thing. “Did you work for him?"
Saret nervously licked chapped lips. “He was working on a carving, sir. I asked if I could help him."
"So you know something about working in stone?” asked Jahzel.
"No, I-I don't, sir. He sent his men out to find some boys and girls to pose for him, but he couldn't find enough that he liked.” Saret hugged his knees to his chest. “I asked him if I could pose, but he didn't want me right away. We needed the money, and the priests said the goddess would smile on anybody who helped with the work. I wanted to do it."
The notion of such an ugly creature serving as an artisan's model was so ridiculous Jahzel choked back the urge to laugh. “And how did you think you could honor the goddess?"
Saret bit down on his lower lip, and his arms tightened around his knees. “You mean why did Khemwy use somebody so ugly?” His voice was low and rough, not at all pleasing to one accustomed to the soft, almost musical voices of the royal akeshi. “At first he told me to go away, but I wouldn't until he agreed."
And the old fool never even thought to tell me. Jahzel clenched the arms of his chair in his rising anger. A colossal joke, though whether it was being played by Khemwy or the gods themselves he did not know. “Why would you even think to ask him?"
Momentarily forgetting etiquette and fear, Saret looked up at him. “But who wouldn't ask to be beautiful, if they were so ugly?"
Jahzel could find no answer to that. Already, the conversation was growing wearisome, for there was nothing the boy could offer him but his uncouth appearance and peasant's tongue. Citing the lateness of the hour, he dismissed Saret and did not send for him again.
At home in Tajhaan, surrounded once more by his flawless concubines, Jahzel summoned Khemwy. At first, the old stone carver, hard at work on a pair of statues for the temple of the Twin Brothers, rebuffed the royal messenger, but finally he came, covered in granite dust and not at all pleased at the interruption.
Servants brought in water and linens. “Wash before you sit,” ordered Jahzel.
Khemwy sniffed at the scented water in the basin, but did not dip his hands. “Then I won't sit,” he said. “As soon as I know what this is about, I'll be on my way."
Jahzel clenched his jaw. Even Cherike dared not be so forward with him. “Old man, do you know that I have executed men for less insolence?"
Any other man would have been cowering at his feet, but Khemwy brushed aside the threat like a bothersome gadfly. “If you wanted my head, you would've sent someone to the work site to do it there,” he answered, “but you didn't, which means you want something from me that I can't give you if my head is stuck on a spear."
"You are not as indispensable as you think.” Jahzel brusquely waved away the basin and servants. Normally he would have offered his guest a drink, perhaps some delicacies, but under the circumstances Khemwy did not rate such courtesies. “You did not tell me the truth about him."
"Tell you the truth about who, great prince?” Khemwy frowned, then his eyes widened with comprehension and he pursed his lips together in a tight smile. “Ah, so you went to Osharan to see him. For one who likes such fine and fancy things, I imagine you thought him the ugliest thing you'd ever seen."
This time, Jahzel decided, the old man was not going to toy with him. “You did not tell me the truth,” he said. “You lied to me and, worse, you have lied to the gods."
Khemwy haplessly spread his hands. “Oh, but how was I to know the royal mind? You asked me for his name, nothing else. As for lying to the gods, what I did wasn't any different than what any stone carver does for his patrons. Do you honestly think that's your real face on all those monuments?"
"That is different,” Jahzel answered
tightly. “Those images are for the common people who will never see my face and care nothing for what I truly look like. They need only see a High Prince towering above them. This matter is something else entirely. You told me the boy was beautiful."
"Are you displeased because you truly think I lied, or is it simply because you wanted to bed him?"
Jahzel drew a hissing breath. “You go too far, Khemwy."
"Would it have pleased you better if I'd made Saret ugly?” Smoothing his hands over his leather work apron, Khemwy sat down on the cushioned footstool the servants had brought for him. Jahzel grimaced at the dust he left on the deep red silk. “I suppose living in this golden jewel box of yours, you forget what real people look like. In a place like Osharan what they'd call beautiful you'd still call plain."
"Not even the lowliest quarry slave would have called that boy anything but ugly,” said Jahzel. “You lied to me, and you knew it was a lie. For that alone I could have your head."
Khemwy lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, but it seems the great prince only sees with his eyes, or his loins. Tell me, how long did you spend with the boy before you sent him away? Not long enough, I gather, if you're sending for me now."
"Explain yourself,” said Jahzel, “and do not toy with me this time. I want the entire story."
His command was answered by an insolent smile that said Khemwy would do exactly as he pleased in the telling. “As you wish, great prince,” answered the stone carver.
"There were plenty of pretty boys and girls I could choose from, but how many of them do you think could hold a pose? Worse, when I gave them work they strutted about and put on airs like they'd been dipped in gold,” he said. “I won't put up with such nonsense and told them so. Then along came a boy with a face that'd scare away the jackals, and he wanted work. I told him to piss off, and the other boys and girls set on him with taunts, but he didn't go. Saret kept pestering me, telling me he just wanted to help and wouldn't make any trouble."
"If he irritated you so, then why did you give him the work?” asked Jahzel.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. 5 Page 7