Shabaka felt his heart race. It could be so unassuming to simply remove himself from all this. However, he knew it would resolve nothing. “Tell him I am on my way.”
“You are leaving?” the palace guard said surprised, then uncertainly shifted, almost as if he was uncertain whether he should allow for it.
“I have a message I personally wish to convey to the captain,” Shabaka said, and then turned from the messenger, in dismissal, and walked over to where his sashes hung. For a moment, he fingered the one that indicated his position with the Egyptian pharaoh, then reached past it, lifting the one that identified him as the prince. He slipped it over his head and one shoulder, rolling his shoulders. Even though his body had recovered from his ordeal, the memories thereof still lingered. He reached out and lifted the sealed summons he had written for Moses during the evening. He had needed to give the summons some considerable thought, for he knew the young man would possibly inform Yani of the matter, and he had no desire to alarm the woman, thus he had kept the summons simple.
He had tried not to think of the fact that by the time the young man arrived in Sylene, that he could know the outcome. And that Moses then might be required for something far more sinister, for he would not rest until those who harmed her were found, and taken care of . . . in the most painful manner he could conjure. After an entire evening’s pacing, it was the only tangible thought his mind had settled on
He stepped out into the early morning air, the coolness thereof indication enough that it was likely to be another hot day. He turned for the docks, a path he had walked so many times before, often with great expectation. However, that morning a heavy sensation pressed on his chest. Every step seemed difficult, and he was uncertain whether it was because he had been up all night and was just tired, or if he simply imagined all this and would soon enough wake up only to find it all a bad dream, Apep toying with his mind like he had with Aya and Dragi’s.
He moved along the short, wooden pier, toward the waiting bark, and inclined his head to the captain.
“My prince.” The captain greeted Shabaka as he halted on the gangplank.
Shabaka looked over the bark and the rowing team, taking in the number of men, before again turning his attention to the captain. He tried not to think of the cost, vowing he could validate the extravagance, although he had not thought that an entire rowing team would be readied.
“Captain,” Shabaka greeted, firmly, matter-of-factly, before extending his hand, containing the small scroll toward the man, “This is to be delivered to the prefect Moses in Thebes. After which you are to return him here.”
“A Hebrew?” the captain asked in disbelief.
“You have a problem with that?” Shabaka firmly countered the man.
“No, my prince.” The captain quickly countered, “It is just that Hebrews do not often come this way. They remain in the upper reaches of Egypt.”
“He is one of the pharaoh’s men; you are to bring him to me,” Shabaka said, then pointed to the captain’s crew. “You have men enough here to hasten the journey.”
“I was told it was of an urgent nature,” the captain countered
“And so it is, which is why you should be leaving already,” Shabaka said, before moving back down the gangplank, allowing them to prepare for cast off.
The captain nodded and called his men to attention. Two quickly undid the mooring lines and pushed the bark away from the pier.
Shabaka watched as the men maneuvered the bark toward the middle of the river. It was still low, the waters not having come through, but there was a strong enough current to carry the bark some distance before the sails were hoisted. Shabaka watched as they filled, pushing the boat forward.
Once the bark was out of sight, he turned to return to the palace, noticing several of the smaller children searching the bushes, possibly for duck or goose eggs for their first meal of the day. That thought made him realize he had best return to the palace for his own meal
He composed himself as he entered the dining hall, noticing Hassim had already arrived, as the young man would be off to training soon, especially since the approaching festival would be his first. Shabaka had not informed him of the situation and remained uncertain whether he should, at least not until he had any conformation.
The young man addressed him, however, nothing seemed to permeate his mind, which seemed set on a single line of thought. He mentally shook himself and tried to focus on what the boy was saying, however, he still found it hard. He settled on one of the pillows, not really feeling hungry but knew he had to eat. The servants placed food down before them and Shabaka failed to notice when Aya entered the room to sit with them.
Automatically he selected the same foodstuffs he ate every morning, some flatbread—although not as good as Jani’s—some dates, a pear, and a fig. Yet as he looked at them, he could not bring himself to eat. There was a heavy silence around the table, which left him uncertain as to whether it was just him, or if word of his actions the previous evening had reached them.
He fingered the flatbread, his mind filled with images of the times that Moses, Neti, Yani, and he had broken bread together. Happier, peaceful moments. He felt his throat grow thick, making breathing and swallowing hard. Never again. He caught himself though. It had not been confirmed, it was not official. He had not seen her body, and until such time there was a good chance that she was still alive.
He released a heavy sigh, as Aya’s words registered with him, causing him to turn and look at her. He knew there was considerable speculation as to the reason for her presence in the palace. He knew the reason would soon be known to everyone, and then the announcement of his impending marriage would be expected.
He doubted that any man had even been as thankful as he was for the three-moon phase that had to pass after the husband’s death, before the widowed wife was permitted to marry again. The period, imposed to ensure that she was not with child, gave him the opportunity to seek an alternative for the arrangement. Although attractive enough, taking her as a wife would mean that his people would expect him to remain within the kingdom . . . but then, considering the possible turn of events, he was no longer certain if he wanted to return to Thebes. It would feel wrong without her.
He had loved the city, granted it had taken some getting used to at first, the weariness of the citizens, the sometimes-rude behavior he had needed to deal with. There he had not been scrutinized, his every movement had not been watched, contemplated. Here, even in the palace there was no way of knowing who spoke beyond the walls, or who could be trusted, which was why he needed Moses, someone who understood how things work, someone who could think like Neti, reason like Neti . . . together they had found him, had figured it out.
One of the messengers entered the room, came to a halt within his line of sight and lowered to his knee before addressing him, “my prince.”
Shabaka for a moment looked at his uneaten food trying to determine whether he should just hand it to one of the servants or at least take the flatbread with him.
“Yes, what is it?” Shabaka flatly asked, forgoing any formalities. He had no desire to observe them, only to be further irritated when the young messenger still observed all of them, rising from his knee and formally addressing him. “I have a message for Prince Shabaka from the Shutty Gardi.”
Releasing a heavy sight, Shabaka offered a lackadaisical, “continue.”
The runner took a breath, as if knowing the message he was conveying would not be well received. “The Shutty Gardi has sent me to summon Prince Shabaka to see to the matter of the Egyptian pharaoh’s lion, which trader Dragi’s son, Rameke, refuses to release, claiming an unpaid amount.
“What amount?” Shabaka demanded, uncertain as to the reason why such a matter would involve him, other than as a matter requiring resolution.
“My prince, I know none of the details, only that your presence is needed at the holding area. Shutty Gardi can no longer delay the departure.”
; “Shutty Gardi will be going to Pi-Ramesses?”
The runner nodded, “As far as I understand it, my prince.”
“I will be sending a message with him for the pharaoh,” Shabaka said, knowing he could not delay the news more than needed. However, he would only inform the pharaoh that Neti was missing, until such time as he had confirmation of her death. Shabaka turned to one of the servants requesting a page, quill, and ink. “Just give me a moment.” Shabaka said.
The requested sheet of paper was produced, along with the official seal and royal stationery. Shabaka took a few moments to think about the message, knowing that the words would be read at court, thus not to include too much detail. He started carefully forming the symbols. He was about halfway through his message, simple as it would be, when Hassim shot up, demanding, “When? No wonder you hear nothing this morning.”
Shabaka turned to fix a severe glare on the young man, and although it fulfilled its purpose of preventing him from saying anything else, he could see the fire in the young boy’s eyes. He knew he could not disclose the details to him, until he had clarity on the matter. Instead he firmly reprimanded the young man, “Has your father not taught you that it is improper to read what others write.”
“My father taught me that it was good to be apprised of all events around us.”
Shabaka only smirked at that, they had all been taught that—only not to respond to whatever they had learned without thought for consequence. “You will not discuss what you have learned with anyone; is that understood?” Shabaka asked, as he waved his hand over the papyrus sheet to dry the ink.
“You will inform me later,” Hassim insisted.
Shabaka nodded, “As soon as I know more.” He sealed the message and then rose from his seat, indicating to the servant to remove the stationery and his uneaten meal. He said nothing to Aya on his way out.
~~~
Shabaka looked around as he made his way to Dragi’s house, having sent the messenger ahead. He had purposely not opted for his chariot, as he did not want the young man to think his matters were of such an importance that they required any haste on Shabaka’s side. He approached the high walls, with the sculptures beside the gates, with a heavy sensation in his heart. He remembered that night that had not just brought an end to Dragi’s life on Earth, it had also altered everyone who had been present.
Shabaka remained certain that Menwi had cursed them all, just as Aya had said he would. Yet he understood how Dragi could have been tempted to engage the man, entertain the belief. Given the opportunity, had the man not died the same evening, Shabaka would have been at his house, demanding answers, demanding to know. He tried to remember what Menwi had said to Neti, not that he had really listened or had given the man’s abilities much credence, unwilling to accept that one could have such a gift, bestowed by the gods. However, he also remembered Menwi’s insistence that it was a curse, that those it touched would succumb to it.
Shabaka drew in a deep, fortifying breath as he approached the gate. Ever since that night, he had avoided returning to the man’s house. The events altered everyone’s life course. He tried not to think about the current situation, for had he known what might happen, he would have prevented her departure.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door, outwardly nothing seemed to have changed. Back then, Shabaka had handed the matter over to the captain of the guard and then departed to the palace. He had no desire to return to the house ever again, confident that between the captain and the appointed scribes the matter would be resolved. The grounds had been secured with scribes from the royal palace, appointed to tend to the remaining obligations to the royal family. On completion, the grounds and largest part of the estate had been handed over to Dragi’s firstborn. The young man then instructed everyone from the palace to vacate the property.
Now, Shabaka stepped into the garden and came to a complete standstill, requiring a few moments to take in the foreignness of it all. The garden seemed alien, altered from the one he had seen during the time he had spent with Dragi and Aya.
Where the gardens had been bounteous, full of produce, there was no evidence of it anymore. The plants had all been picked clean, having been left to wilt. Everywhere Shabaka looked, the obvious signs of insensible management were evident. While he knew that Aya had paid most of the staff on the eve of Dragi’s death, Shabaka knew they would have returned to work afterward, and, if not them, others would have been willing to take their places. As a prince, as a prefect, as one with knowledge of how things work, the rationale behind abandoning a bountiful garden made no sense. Food was most important.
Shabaka proceeded toward the house, he would call on the old servant lady first to question her as to the reason for the garden’s state. As he made to knock on the door to the house, a man spoke up, “This way. Follow me.”
Shabaka turned to look at him, not having seen him before.
“Sorry, you are?” Shabaka firmly questioned.
“The person in charge of the grounds, no one is allowed in the house, by instruction of Rameke.”
“I was just calling on the house servant,” Shabaka calmly replied.
The man looked him over, and Shabaka knew how unlikely it sounded. A prince did not call on servants. The man scoffed before replying, “That worn-out woman? Rameke got rid of her.”
Shabaka remained silent for several moments, thinking it better to keep his thoughts to himself. From the man’s age, it was apparent enough he had not seen enough winters to understand the wisdom of the elders.
“Well, come then, the beast master is waiting for you.”
Shabaka nodded and gestured for the man to lead the way, having gotten the distinct feeling that he was a man who one should not turn one’s back on.
“This way.” The man said moving off.
“What happened here?” Shabaka asked, pointing to the garden, watching as the man, for a moment, looked at him.
“After Aya let everyone go, there was no one to tend the gardens,” the man stated, and Shabaka already knew what type of a person he was dealing with. “So with no one to tend the gardens, they were harvested, and then left like this.”
“But why not continue them? They were bountiful.”
The man stopped, turned to look at Shabaka for several moments, before replying, “Typical royalty, you think everything is easy. These gardens cost too much. The staff’s wages, the number of people needed to maintain such garden, there is very little to profit to be made from it. As Rameke said, we are not farmers but traders.
Shabaka remained silent for the duration of their walk, noticing that the man led him to a small room away from the holding areas. “Where are we going?”
The man continued to move toward the smaller room, and said, “Rameke has changed certain things. All billing is now done from here, and seeing as you have a debt to settle, I have brought you here.”
“A debt?” Shabaka asked, confused. “I came to inquire about the lion intended for the pharaoh, and why it has not yet been released.”
“The lion will not be released until all outstanding amounts have been settled.”
“And how do I fit into this arrangement?” Shabaka asked, as they entered the small building.
“You had us feed it a goat after its arrival,” the familiar voice of the beast master filled the room.
Shabaka looked around the small room, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. He saw the trader standing to one side, shifting his weight from one foot to another, hesitantly looking at him.
“And, as you recalled, I said I would pay for the animal, so what is the problem?” Shabaka demanded.
“The problem is you have not paid for the goat, thus we cannot release the lion.”
Shabaka thought it over for several moments before finally nodding, understanding the men’s business practice. It was not uncommon for others to leave with debts outstanding. “How much for the goat?” he finally asked.
“Five debben”
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“Five debben! And how is that?” Shabaka asked, looking toward the trader for a moment, not understanding how the charge could be so high. Certainly the pharaoh would repay him, not that he would need it, however he was not willing to foot the entire boarding bill.
“Five debben for the goat.”
“What!” Shabaka replied in response. “A goat costs no more than ten chickens, a debben at most, and that is for a decent one, not an old sinewy one.”
“That is the price,” the man upheld.
“One could feed an entire family on five debben; that goat did not even have enough meat on it to make two proper meals.
“You did not ask the price then, and the price was set by Rameke. It is five debben or the lion remains here, with its care billed to the Egyptian pharaoh.”
Shabaka knew Ramesses would not fall for such obvious abuse. Shabaka had little faith in the continuance of Dragi’s legacy, if matters like this had altered so significantly. “I will replace the animal with a younger, stronger one.”
“No barter,” the beast master stressed loudly. “Did you not read the signage on the wall?” the man asked, pointing to the wall behind them, adding, “No barter is tolerated.”
“Since when?” Shabaka firmly countered. “This is a trader, everything remains open for barter.”
“That might have been so under Dragi, but not his son. You owe us five debben, and you will pay five debben.”
“I do not carry five debben with me. You could have sent a message with the messenger that you would require me to pay such a debt, ridiculous as it might be. “
“Then take the matter up in the courts; we have no interest in excuses.”
“You forget whom you are speaking to,” Shabaka firmly reprimanded the man, who did not even have the inclination to appear chided by it.
“Master Rameke has studied the law. He knows that this matter will be referred to your father, and he will tell your father that you requested a goat without asking the price, and that you now refuse to pay for it.”
The Prince of Nubia Page 2