Kiya and the God of Chaos

by Philippa Bower

  Chapter Ninety Three: A Surprise Meeting

  The next day, Kiya sat with her mother behind the medicine stall and watched people buying and selling around her. The market was not as busy as in the old days but she saw many familiar faces and she smiled and nodded to friends and neighbours. Some offered their condolences, for it seemed that the birth and death of her baby was general knowledge.

  “How are you coping, my dear?” Ramala asked Kiya, after yet another person had sympathised with her on the death of her child.

  “I am fine. People are very kind,” said Kiya and, indeed, she found the good wishes comforting.

  Khamet came past with a sack of carrots on his back.

  “Come and sit next to us, Khamet,” said Ramala. She moved up slightly to give him room. “You can always borrow Enno, our donkey, if you have a heavy load for market.”

  “Thanks Ramala, but I can manage to carry a sack of carrots.” He laughed, unrolled the mat he was carrying and sat down beside Kiya. “How are you, Kiya? You looked much brighter today. Back to your old, beautiful self.”

  “Yes indeed!” said Kiya and smiled at his compliment.

  “I hardly expected that you would still be around. Hasn’t your husband sent for you yet?”

  Kiya felt embarrassed. “Actually there might be complications.”

  “I would have thought him anxious to see you again, you must miss him.”

  “I do.”

  “Has he made enquiries about the outcome of your pregnancy?”

  “I don’t think so, he has not sent any messengers.”

  Khamet grunted and seemed about to ask more questions when a woman interrupted their conversation to buy some carrots. More shoppers arrived and the sack of carrots rapidly diminished.

  “I will take those.” The voice was deep and commanding. Kiya looked up and saw a man wearing the jewelled collar of a high ranking official. He held out his hand for Khamet’s sack.

  Kiya leapt to her feet. “You cannot take food without paying.”

  “It is by orders of the King,” said the official. He took the sack Khamet handed to him and gave it to one of his accompanying guards.

  “That’s not fair, we pay our taxes!” cried Kiya.

  “Keep your woman under control,” the man said to Khamet. “Food is needed in the new city. You country bumpkins can always grow enough to eat.”

  “I am sorry, sir,” said Khamet and pulled Kiya down to sit beside him.

  The official walked on. Kiya watched him gather food from stall after stall and hand it to the guards, who then conveyed it to an ox cart, which was driven through the market behind them.

  “You should have fought them,” Kiya said to Khamet.

  “What me against four armed men? I would rather lose a few carrots.”

  “Coward!”

  “Mad woman!”

  “Now children,” said Ramala. “This is like the old days, when you did nothing but fight.”

  Khamet grinned. “I always wanted a sister, but Kiya is the next best thing. I am off for a beer. Despite the ravages of the Theban nome lord, I have made a nice profit on the day. Would you like to accompany me, ladies?”

  “I must tend my stall,” said Ramala.

  “No thank you,” said Kiya.

  Khamet rose to his feet, rolled up his rug and, with a final wave, he headed to the nearest bar. Kiya watched him go and wished he had shown more courage in the face of oppression.

  “We will stay a bit longer,” said Ramala. “Medicines do not sell as quickly as food, but at least the King has no interest in requisitioning them.”

  Kiya listened to her mother discuss symptoms with prospective clients and offer them the appropriate remedies. For digestive aids she suggested pills containing crushed sandalwood and juniper, for headaches there were poppy seed and aloe pills, for constipation an infusion of dill, onions, apple and parsley. Many of her customers were coming back for repeat prescriptions and were happy with the effect of her medicines.

  “Hey! You! Stop thief!” A shout from one of the farmers made Kiya look up to see a young lad dash past. Still shouting, the man leapt angrily to his feet and set off in pursuit. “That little devil has stolen a peach!”

  The youngster was a swift runner and ducked through the crowd. As Kiya watched, he passed a familiar figure. Kiya stared in amazement, all interest in the unfolding drama forgotten. Could that be Vitane? She was thinner than Kiya remembered and dressed in a ragged shift but she was unmistakable. Kiya wondered if she was seeing a vision. How could her friend be in Thebes? The last she knew, Princess Vitane was on her way back to her father in Crete.

  Vitane was looking at Kiya and, when she saw she had her attention, she beckoned.

  “I have just seen a friend,” Kiya said to Ramala. “Can I go and talk to her?”

  “Of course, dear,” said Ramala.

  Kiya rose to her feet. “Vitane!” she called and hurried towards her. Vitane turned and walked away, looking over her shoulder to invite Kiya to follow.

  What stupid game was the Princess playing? Kiya chased her through the market and down a side street. There were few people around and she hurried to catch up with her.

  “What are you doing, Vitane? Where are you going?” The princess turned and Kiya was shocked by the pallor of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. “What has happened to you? You look terrible. Are you ill?”

  “Come with me,” Vitane said, “I have been sent to fetch you.”

  “Who has sent you? Where are we going?”

  “He wants it to be a surprise,” said Vitane and turned into a courtyard.

  With trepidation Kiya followed and saw that the yard was deserted apart from a dark, cloaked figure standing in the centre.