The Prince of Nubia

by Nathaniel Burns

  Even so another man stepped forward, an aged trader from appearances, his tunic covered in dust. “Those of us who knew Dragi, also know the indulgences his son had. He was spoiled by his mother and has never done an honest day’s work in his life. If you want to see things, you should go see Dragi’s house, it is no longer as it was. There is no more welcome for fellow traders, a place where one can sit and enjoy good conversation over bread and beer.”

  “Matters have changed?” the king replied.

  “They might,” another said, causing the attention to turn to the man, “but when I go to settle my debts, only to be told that they have nearly doubled, and I have to pay twice the amount for the same service, I have a problem.”

  Shabaka nodded, remembering his own experience with paying for the old goat. “This I understand,” Shabaka said, indicating for the men to settle, “But what does that have to do with the storage area? Did I not explain to you that it is under palace jurisdiction?”

  “But will it remain so after your father has resolved Dragi’s estate? Or will we be left to the mercy of the son?”

  Shabaka turned to his father, who spoke, “I will confess that Rameke has been to see me and that he has made a claim on the storage rooms, although I will give you the same reply I gave him. That I first have to apply my mind to the matter. And if my advisors or I think it better to pay him for Dragi’s share, then that is what will occur, but even then there is documentation that needs to be perused. Until I have had time to do the required inquiries and apply my mind, and only once I have decided on the most suitable course of action and the best people to manage those, things here will remain as they are.”

  Many of those gathered turned to one another murmuring.

  The king continued, “I will attend to this matter. Until then you are to return to your work.” The levels of murmuring increased, while torches were put out and the crowd slowly thinned.

  “If I was not of a better mind, I would say Rameke is behind all this,” Shabaka said as his father and he made their way back to the chariot.

  “I remember one of the first lessons my father taught me with managing people,” the king stated. “He said that people are too quick to listen to the woes of others and believe what they say to be the truth.”

  “You think it might be him.”

  “It might be him, or they might fear him for his sense of peddling. It does one good to remember that many of these people remain trading rivals. And we both know how people react to perceived threats.”

  Shabaka nodded as they made their way back to the chariot.

  ~~~

  Two days passed, two days filled with frustration, followed by expectation and exasperation as information slowly filtered through the networks as Shabaka pursued his official duty to the palace. Some of the names mentioned, the medjay were familiar with and the information passed on to relevant sections, although there was little that could be done. Information came through of a desert raid after the festival, something that did not appear to alarm the medjay captain, who on occasion would divert from the party and speak to people, always handing them a debben or two as payment.

  “Why do you pay them, even though what they tell you is of little actual use?” Shabaka asked one afternoon as they returned to the palace.

  “We have found that they are more willing to share information if you pay them,” the captain calmly replied. “They know that good information gets more payment, so it encourages them to seek out more relevant information.”

  “So those who receive more have actually told us something?” Shabaka asked.

  “They either have been good sources in the past or they have told us something that draws our attention to developing matters. I would have thought you would know this working for the pharaoh,” the captain said.

  “We work independently from the medjay. We seek out those who committed a crime, to ensure that they are brought before the pharaoh.”

  “While we seek to prevent it, I get it,” the man said. “Your approach is different from ours, but also crosses our path.”

  “So how do you know if any information is good or worth acting on?” Shabaka asked.

  “There is a great deal we already know about the people who practice unscrupulous dealings, yet we cannot arrest them unless we actually prevent something, we have to have proof. So what often happens is that informers will either come to us with information that we already know, names we already know, or they will come to us with details on such persons, what they are doing, planning, or where they are. That is the information we want, that is the information that we pay best for, because we can then catch them in the act.”

  “But then you also get a lot of false information also,” Shabaka said.

  “For the first few days, we rarely take any information seriously,” the captain nonchalantly replied. “It is just to get them talking. When the information starts to correlate, then it is worth something.”

  “And what information are you seeking at the moment?”

  “Anything on desert raiders, such as names, places, where they keep things, anything that will point us in a direction.”

  “But certainly everyone will know about this, if you are giving out payments for it.”

  “Yes, many do, but they don’t know what we are told, or what we do with the information. We have in the past purposely let things slip, if there was not enough information, or we thought it could be a trap, only to follow up days later and catch them red-handed.”

  “What do you know of Rameke?”

  “Rameke is an interesting one,” the captain stated. “We know that he too pays for information, how much I don’t know, but given the history of his father’s success in comparison to others, it is not difficult to conclude what he was doing with that information. That could be why his father indulged him as much as he did.”

  Shabaka thought it over for several minutes, just as they again entered the pylons that marked the entrance to the palace courtyard. He no longer had any idea as to what to trust—there were too many conflicting messages. “What about Neti?”

  The captain halted. He indicated to the others to pass before he spoke, “I will be honest with you; I do not expect any information on her whereabouts.”

  Shabaka’s shoulders stiffened at that, he could feel his anger rise.

  “From my experience, if there is not a request within a few days, chances are she was taken as a slave and will be sold as such.” Shabaka made to say something, however, the man raised his hand before continuing. “We are hoping for information on the slave traders. We know of a group that usually dabbles in that but we have heard nothing of its current location.”

  “And you have not done something about these people?” Shabaka angrily demanded.

  “You know as good as I do that it is allowed to buy and sell slaves, there is no rule against it.”

  “Not if they were captured traveling though the desert,” Shabaka countered

  “No one questions where these slaves come from, or how they came to be slaves. How do you think Ramesses paid for that fancy palace of his? He caught slaves in the conquered countries and sold them.” Shabaka made to object, but was again prevented by the man lifting his hand, “The best we can do is find who has her and buy her from them. What you do with her after that is up to you.”

  “And you are so certain that is what happened to her!” Shabaka angrily retorted.

  “If she was taken in the desert, and she was alive, then that is the only logical explanation for it. She is a Hittite; no one here will lose much sleep over her being taken as a slave. To them she is not important.”

  Shabaka clenched his fists at that, fighting the sharp retort that threatened to escape his mouth. On one side, Shabaka hoped it would be as simple as that, that although captured she was still alive and well, and he would find her. On another side, he dreaded the prospect, dreaded thinking what she might have been through before they could find her.


  Chapter Nine

  “What in Ra’s name are they doing here?” Merka exclaimed, moments before turning toward Rameke.

  “Who?” Rameke demanded, coming to the widow where Merka was keeping watch over the garden and entryway.

  “The prince and the palace guard,” Merka said, pointing toward the smaller gated entrance.

  Rameke had purposely not placed anyone at the gates, for he knew it would draw unnecessary attention to him. His heart lodged in his throat as his mind played out the various scenarios. He made his way to the window to better assess the situation, harshly demanding, “I want to know who . . .” he started as he looked out the window. Halting mid-sentence when he noticed the sparseness of the party, loudly thinking to himself, “What are they doing here?” he watched as they calmly progressed through the gardens, the prince turning to point to something beyond his immediate vision, yet Rameke knew there was little enough left in the garden to draw much attention.

  “Looks like the official party for the stick festival. Did you not say something about competing this year?” Merka asked.

  This caused Rameke to turn to him, nodding, “You’re right. I haven’t yet received my invitation, and it is only a few days to the festival. I wonder what took them so long to get to me?”

  Rameke looked around the room, “We’ll have to receive them in one of the lower rooms. You go get the door, and tell Garagh he had better keep her quiet. Tell him to gag her and for him to stay out of the way. No need to draw attention to his presence.”

  ~~~

  Shabaka walked through the dried-up garden, barely listening to the comments the others made. It was difficult enough to contemplate the changes that had occurred, both to Dragi’s house and to his own life in such a short period. Often he wished he would simply wake one morning and find it all to be a bad dream. However, bad dream or not he had a duty to perform. For several times he thought of the propriety of the invitation he had extended to Rameke, that morning they had sought more information on his possible involvement. He knew he could have retracted it, claiming there had been an error and that all the positions had been filled, yet something in him had resisted it, which was also why Rameke was the last of the invitations.

  He looked around the garden, shaking his head at the remembrance of all the greenery that had greeted him on their first visit.

  “This is the place you told me about, where it happened?” Moses asked.

  “Yes,” Shabaka answered, half in thought before pointing toward the statue, “there.”

  Moses moved off to look closely at the statue, “Interesting, I wonder if there are any Ka looming here?”

  “What?” Shabaka asked confused, and stopped for a moment to look at Moses.

  “For someone who has worked with Neti for more than two dry seasons, you can be really obtuse,” Moses stated.

  “And why would there be any Ka here?” Shabaka impatiently asked, causing Moses to tilt his head and the guards with them to shift about uncomfortably.

  “Well if Neti was here, she could give you the long explanation for—” Moses started but was cut short by Shabaka’s impatient reply.

  “Well, she is not, so get to the point, if you have one.”

  “The Ka of a person remains here if the person has not fulfilled their life purpose.”

  “I think Dragi did fulfill his purpose, he was not murdered,” Shabaka flatly replied.

  “They don’t like being here,” Moses said indicating the guards, as they shifted on their feet, seeming inpatient.

  Shabaka looked at them, shaking his head, “They still have difficulty believing in actual foretellers; they think this place is cursed . . .” he grew silent for several moments before adding, “maybe it is.”

  “But they weren’t the ones here, surely?” Moses asked.

  “I used the best of the palace guards. They talk to one another,” Shabaka dismissed, before they again started on the path to the house.

  “And it bothers you to be here also?” Moses asked, as they approached the house.

  Shabaka again halted, almost causing the guards to walk into the two men. They quickly backed off a few paces before Shabaka replied, “It is difficult to explain.” Then he looked around them. “For some reason I feel closer to her here. I can’t explain it, but at the same time the place makes me edgy. That is why I think it is cursed. It remains one of the last places where we worked together. Perhaps I’m just being sentimental,” Shabaka finished, again looking at Moses.

  “And as strange as that might sound, I understand,” Moses said, then looked around the garden, “But one could also relate your sense of desolation about matters to the air here.”

  Shabaka frowned at that. “How so?”

  “Look around you, a few moons ago everything between you and Neti was great, now . . .” Moses left the remainder unsaid, and then continued, “It is easy to draw the comparison.”

  Shabaka looked about him, finally nodding, “You should have seen it a moon ago.” Before turning his attention back to Moses. “Come, we had best get this over and done with, not that I look forward to it.”

  “I expect he will he aggravated after the other day, especially from what you have told me. You had best be prepared for some hostility.”

  Shabaka nodded, “and possibly some needling.”

  Shabaka lifted his hand to knock on the door, and they waited several moments before a young man, whom Shabaka did not recognize, eventually opened it.

  “What do you want?” the man abruptly asked, looking over the party, causing Shabaka’s brow to lift.

  “I can see why the traders talk of the lack of hospitality, “Shabaka said aloud before addressing the man, “We are here to see Rameke.”

  The man looked at Shabaka and then the guards, before shortly replying, “I don’t think he has any desire to see you, any of you.”

  “I am here on an official palace errand, and request to see him,” Shabaka firmly replied, watching as the man looked them all over again, before finally nodding.

  “Right, come with me, you can wait for him in the front room.” He called back to someone else to summon Rameke before opening the door and allowing them entry.

  The home was dark, dusty. It smelled very different from how it had when Dragi had lived here. Shabaka thought it was possibly because of the current occupants, but there was an underlying scent of beer and something he could not place. He followed the man into the front room, which he saw had also been rearranged. The chairs were still there, although more pillows had been added, as if a larger party was expected to be catered to at times. The room, although neat, had a visible layer of dust over stationary things.

  “Where is the house servant?” Moses asked, looking around, “It is uncommon for a man to keep such a house without one?” Moses calmly asked, as he stepped around the room.

  The man looked toward Moses, obviously hesitant to answer the question. Moses calmly added, “I doubt you are the servant, for with your manners I would have flogged you, were I your master.” Moses calmly added.

  Shabaka watched the interaction, saw how the man nervously moved his weight from one foot to the other.

  “I am still looking for a trustworthy servant,” Rameke’s voice came from the doorway, causing everyone to look at him as he continued, “although finding one is proving to be a challenge.”

  “I cannot see how that would be a problem,” Moses said, “I am certain there would be many young men who are willing and seeking employment.”

  “That might be so, but I require someone who is loyal to me, and only me. I do not need servants who were loyal to my father or the memory of my father. So it is difficult,” Rameke said, confidently stepping into the room.”

  “Then why do you desire to have Aya back?” Shabaka asked.

  Rameke smirked at that. “As a man, I need not tell you what interests I have in her, as you too will know the pleasures of a beautiful woman. But the pleasure an experienced woman can provi
de is so much greater. Besides, she is trained to manage a house, so I can have my pleasure at night and my house managed by day. Is that not why all men eventually take a wife?”

  The man’s words irked Shabaka, although he knew many men thought of matters like that, and many brought their daughters up to fill such a position. They would marry their daughters off young, so that their beauty could enchant men, because after bearing children they were often soured by the realities of their livelihoods.

  “My father might not have been able to get her with child, but I assure you I will not be as incompetent. Women are such beautiful creatures, they fire our desires, we want children with them, want them pregnant, so that we can boast our vitality.”

  Shabaka knew that somewhere in there he was supposed to find a reason to feel aggravated, yet he could not, for part of what Rameke said was true, he could just not see himself fathering Aya’s children.

  Moses’ brow furrowed at that, however, he remained silent.

  “But who am I fooling? You, all of you, will know such pleasures,” Rameke said. To that, Shabaka found exception, he believed that was no concern of another man. His hands clenched into fists at Rameke’s presumptuousness.

  Rameke looked past Shabaka, at those present, before he commented, “I do not see your beautiful companion here. Am I to believe that you left her at the palace along with my woman?” Rameke said, turning his attention to Shabaka. His voice was almost gleeful, something that peeved Shabaka, although he managed to maintain his composure. Moses looked at Shabaka and shook his head in an attempt to warn him, to not rise to the man’s baiting.

  “The whereabouts of one of the pharaoh’s prefects is none of your concern,” Shabaka firmly stated.

  “Ah, but then I’m not inquiring after her for her professional capacity. I would imagine that the two of you are quite close, or at least you appeared to be the last time I saw you. I would think it difficult for you to have to set aside someone you loved for another woman,” Rameke said, his voice taunting, causing Shabaka’s fists to tighten.