by Seja Majeed
‘No, we will not ignore the plan, but we shall tread with caution, for we do not wish to be stung twice; that means you will pay close attention to every matter, and you will not confuse what you think to be true with what you know to be true, for even the oh-so-honourable Marmicus is certain to have an ounce of mischief.’ He paused for a moment, staring at a garden spider that had weaved a delicate web over the stem of a white rose. He approached it, staring at it blankly; it quickly tried to conceal itself, hiding within the curls of the white rose petals. Jaquzan lifted his chalice and spilt red wine over it, watching carefully as the creature tried to save its webbed home from his callous hands.
‘How unfortunate for the Gallant Warrior,’ said the emperor. ‘For soon his wound shall itch from a far deadlier bite.’
‘What are you planning to do to him?’
Like his master, Nafridos had heard rumours of the Gallant Warrior who fought fearlessly for justice. He felt a connection with him, as if he was his living opposite, and for this he was bound by blood to kill him.
‘Patience, dear cousin … patience …’ Jaquzan whispered, as brutal thoughts of conquest entered his mind. ‘Patience … for even the spider needs time to weave its web before he catches his prey, and I shall indeed catch mine.’
7
Marmicus watched the princess play the Babylonian harp, singing along with it in her beautiful soft voice. Every time her fingertips flew across the strings of the instrument, it felt as though she was tugging at his heartstrings. He listened to her sing a verse from the story of Gilgamesh. How perfect she was; a combination of beauty, intelligence and, above all, kindness made her the angel she was. When his world seemed filled to the brim with chaos, Larsa had always brought him the peace he needed; he had been searching for it endlessly, finding it only when he met her. Larsa smiled, gazing at him with her large brown eyes, her long hair tumbling over her supple, exposed body. She cherished their moments of intimacy; how gentle and loving he was. Her skin still smelt of his passionate kisses, his embrace. She returned to the divan, lying beside him in the privacy of their chamber. Even with war so close, her world felt safe at moments like these.
‘I know my father would have been proud of you today. Every word has been reported to me. You spoke with honour and courage before the Counsel; you made me, and our people, proud,’ she whispered, resting beside her husband upon the bed. She traced his toned chest with her fingers, appreciating their time alone together.
‘I just said the truth; nothing more and nothing less.’
‘That may be, but men are often careless of truthful words … others have neglected them while you have always embraced them. That’s why the people love you, and so do I.’
‘Wars can’t be won with words, Larsa; I wish they could, maybe then I could sleep at night without seeing the faces of every man I have killed.’
‘There’s no reason for you to feel guilty for what you do; you’ve always been the defender, never the attacker, on the battlefield. There’s a difference.’
‘The actions of a soldier reflect only the orders of his leaders; those men on the battlefields are not the attackers, they are just following orders. I know this because I was one of them – I can’t blame them for the selfish acts of their kings. Before I served your father I did everything that was asked of me by my commanders. I never questioned anything when I should have, I killed men who need not have been killed, Larsa – those are the faces that haunt me, not the eyes of kings that have been killed, but theirs …’
Marmicus slowly untangled the princess’s arms from around his muscular chest, and rose from the divan; every time he thought of his past life he felt impure. He could not bear Larsa to be near him when he remembered his old way of life – how different he was now.
‘I can’t imagine what you’ve seen,’ she murmured. Sometimes she wished she could see the world through his eyes, even if it was just for one day; at least then she could comfort him properly.
‘War is a savage affair. If men are not careful, it can strip them of their humanity and leave them soulless.’
‘But I would be a better queen if I knew what my people saw, what war really means.’
‘Why do you wish for something like that?’ asked Marmicus sharply. Even though he loved her naivety, sometimes she would say things that were beyond childish. ‘Never wish for something like that, Larsa. I don’t want you to see war; it’s something that can’t easily be forgotten by the mind.’
‘You can’t protect me from what is coming, Marmicus; soon enough I shall see war, and when I do I’ll be strong like my father.’
‘No, Larsa, you won’t.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t want you to be here. I want you to leave this kingdom and head to one that can shield you from war. If our kingdom is conquered you’ll be the first in danger, and I won’t let that happen.’
‘You speak as though we’ve already lost this war! We will win so long as we have you to defend us. I know it.’
‘I am not immortal, Larsa. I’m one man, made of flesh, vulnerable to his weaknesses, just like any other. I can’t lead the army if all I can think about is your safety. I have to be able to think with clarity, to focus on what’s coming, and if you’re here I’ll put my men at danger. I need you to go.’
He could tell from her expression that she was offended by his reaction: her lips always parted slightly; it was a subtle sign that only someone who knew her intimately would recognise.
‘How can you expect me to leave? This is my homeland and soon I shall become its queen; I will never walk away freely from my people or my duty. I’ll stand and fight with our people, just as I promised my father I would.’
‘I am not asking you to go – I’m telling you to. I’ve already made the arrangements. Tomorrow you’ll leave, and journey towards the Kingdom of Aram, where it’s safe. The decision has already been made.’
‘I’m not a soldier for you to command; no order is above me, not even yours. I’m the heir to the throne and will soon be your queen!’ declared Larsa. She could feel her hands shake nervously. This was the first time Marmicus had ever commanded her to do something against her will; it was unlike him to be so forceful.
‘This isn’t the time to be stubborn, Larsa. If we don’t win this war, there’ll be no kingdom to rule over or return to. If you love me, you’ll do this for me.’
He had always regarded her resilience as an attractive quality, but not tonight – there was too much for him to think about and her stubborn attitude was not helping.
‘Why do you choose to torment me with your absence? Isn’t it enough that I have given you my heart and my body? What more can I offer you?’ she uttered in desperation, unable to understand why he was talking to her like this. Where was the man she had fallen in love with, who wanted to spend every waking moment with her?
‘I’m not pushing you away; I just want to protect you from all of this, that’s all. All my life I’ve fought in battles, knowing only hardship and pain, and your love has been the one thing that has offered me the peace that I’ve always wished for. In your hands lies my freedom. Without you, I am a prisoner of war.’
Larsa embraced him, feeling the weight of his words hit her like a pile of rocks. What she was about to say would cause her more agony than she could ever have imagined, but this was not the time to be selfish; she would endure the pain for his sake alone.
‘I love you too much to willingly hurt you. I’ll leave our homeland only because I would never want to be the cause of your unhappiness or the author of your imprisonment,’ she whispered. Her lips trembled as she spoke; it felt as though her heart had fallen at her feet. She realised in that moment that the fate of her kingdom now rested with him.
‘I’ll leave tomorrow but only on one condition – otherwise I won’t go.’
‘What is it?’
‘I need you to promise me that nothing will happen to you,’ she said, with tears in her eyes, which began
to roll down her cheeks. ‘Swear to me that our hearts will unite once again like the sea upon the shore and the moon against the sun. There can be no power on earth that can separate us from each other. I need you to swear this to me, and I’ll go willingly into exile for you.’
‘I promise you we’ll return to each other the day this war ends. I give you my word,’ replied Marmicus as he tenderly wiped away her tears. Though he had made this promise, he knew deep down there was no guarantee that he would survive; but he would rather lie and know that she was safe, than tell the whole truth and have her remain in danger. The truth was that this could be their last night together.
‘Then before I leave there’s something I need to tell you. It’s troubled me since my father died, but it’s more of a suspicion than anything else,’ Larsa said, feeling the need to free her troubled heart.
‘What is it?’
‘Before my father died he called upon me to sit by his deathbed. He was so weak, Marmicus; every time he breathed I could hear him grow weaker. I watched him dying and, all the while, I didn’t know what to say to comfort him. I alone was allowed into his chamber. If anyone else tried to enter, he would start screaming. It made no sense; even the Grand Priests weren’t allowed to pray over him. I couldn’t understand why he was behaving like that; you remember how much he loved the Counsel? He always called upon them whenever he was in need, but that night he didn’t wish to see any of them. It was as if he was fearful of them – or of someone. I can still remember the look in his eyes every time the door creaked a little; there was terror within them and it frightened me.’
‘Didn’t he mention anyone’s name?’
‘He couldn’t speak properly; he just screamed with pain. Anything he said was incomprehensible – even when I tried to talk to him, he would babble words I couldn’t understand.’
The memory of her father dying in her arms was painful for her to recall. She was still grieving for him; they had grown extremely close since her mother had died giving birth to her young brother, who had followed his mother into the afterlife a few days later. Since then, her father had raised her, offering her all his love and attention.
‘I want you to think back. He may have left you a message of some kind.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘He must have. Tell me anything – a shred of a memory, even. It’s of great importance, Larsa; a traitor may be sitting among us.’
‘I’m telling you he didn’t; nothing he said made any sense, it was just noise. By the end, he couldn’t even whisper my name, or see me.’
Larsa abruptly removed her hand from his tightening grip, feeling angered by his lack of sympathy for what she was going through. She was not accustomed to death as he was: Marmicus lived by the sword while she had only lived a life of peace.
‘Wait …’ she said. Her voice dipped in tone as her lips trembled with emotion, for what she would say would reveal more than treachery. ‘The only thing I can tell you is this: when the Grand Priest of Ursar entered the chamber, my father squeezed my hand so tightly that even I became fearful …’
8
As the Serpent sat among the Counsellors he felt sickened by their self-righteous sense of superiority. Ignorant fools! Soon I’ll slash your beards off and use them as fuel for my fire. His eyes traced their pious forms with sheer disgust. All this time he had served their gods obediently; in so doing, he had gained the greatest respect from them. But he could no longer live a lie. Within himself he felt chained to serve a false god rather than his own desires, denying himself a throne that was worthy of his name. Every time he entered the temple, he felt repulsed by the sweet, sickly smell of honey that clung to the air like a stain on the robes of an emperor. I was born to rule: no one shall stand in my way, the Serpent thought as his mind filled with venomous ideas of how he would destroy the sacred Garden of the Gods …
9
‘What beautiful pleasures you’ve indulged us with, oh King Nelaaz!’ a guest yelled.
The sound of wind instruments and heavy drums beating had made it difficult for King Nelaaz of Aram to hear his guests speak, although he cared little once the half-naked belly dancers entered the grand hall. Their exposed flesh made him drool with thick saliva: an uncontrollable reaction to their shapely figures. They shook their bodies, encircling the assembled guests.
‘No need to thank me; my women are your women, so long as we do not share them at night!’ he laughed. The King of Aram had handpicked each belly dancer himself; it was one of his favourite pastimes, along with eating and drinking.
The dancers twisted and turned like cobras, dancing to the tune played on wooden whistles and drums, and in their hands they held large swords which they then placed on their heads, balancing them as they danced. The combination of naked flesh and the risk of death was an enticing combination for any man: some were so excited by the sight that they gnawed at their lips, biting them in excitement. In a circular movement the belly dancers shook their hips and swirled their toned muscles in and out; some shook their breasts as they seduced and infuriated their audience.
‘There are three things I love deeply in this world. Can any of you guess what they are?’ King Nelaaz yelled. He wiped his ginger beard with his sleeve; it was soaked in wine and frothing saliva.
‘I can’t think what they might be,’ replied Fallus, chewing a grape with little finesse. In fact, he could not be bothered to think at all at that moment; all his attention was focused on the large thighs of the women who gyrated before him.
‘I love my wealth, my palaces, but above all, I love my women!’
King Nelaaz suddenly grabbed the closest dancing girl his chubby little hands could reach, forcing her to sit on his sweaty lap as he began to fondle her, showing no restraint at all. With his thin lips, hidden beneath his ginger beard, he smothered her neck, moistening it with kisses. It looked as if the belly dancer was actually enjoying his slimy touch – succumbing, perhaps, to the lure of wealth over intelligence.
‘To all the gods! And their women – may they forever delight us with the pleasures of their lips, and the sweetness of their hips!’
‘To the gods and their women!’ cried the guests. They all raised their chalices and gulped down the wine like uncivilised animals, the sweet intoxicant quenching their thirst, making them roar happily at anything.
‘Your Majesty …’
A servant rushed in, trying his best to dodge the dancing women and the lethal swords which moved with them.
‘What do you want? Go away.’
‘A messenger has arrived from the Garden of the Gods, Your Majesty.’
‘Let him call upon me tomorrow. I’m busy.’ King Nelaaz chuckled as he squeezed the girl in his lap, pressing her bosom close to his chest, while she twirled his ginger beard in her fingers.
‘Your Majesty, he says it is a matter of urgency, one which cannot be delayed.’
‘There’s nothing more urgent than satisfying a king’s desire, is there? Now go away. Tell him to report back to me tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that – if I’m lucky.’ He winked at the dancing girl, his gaze every bit as perverted as his touch.
Realising the situation, the servant whispered into the king’s ear. Few words passed his lips, but they were enough to alarm the king, as he shot out of his seat. The dancing girl fell off his lap; shamelessly, she crawled onto another man’s lap, and his eyes were quick to enjoy her curvaceous body, his hands to grab her tight.
Dabbing the beads of sweat from his forehead, King Nelaaz rushed out of the chamber as quickly as his short legs would carry him. Why must the gods always curse me when I am in the company of a beautiful woman?
***
‘Well, bring him in! Hurry up, boy, be quick!’ King Nelaaz demanded as he sat down, his fat bulging from either side, spoiling the elegance of his throne and reminding everyone present of his greed.
‘Yes, my lord.’
As King Nelaaz waited impatiently for the messenger to enter his ch
amber, he felt nervous; he had warned his servants never to disturb him when he dined with guests, especially when he was being entertained by beautiful women, yet they had done so. It showed a measure of courage, but they had better have a good reason …
‘Your Majesty …’ said the messenger. He bowed respectfully before the king. It was quite clear that his presence was unwanted.
‘Come on, young man, I don’t have all day. Can’t you see I have guests waiting for me? What’s this urgent news you speak of? Hurry up; be quick.’
‘Her Royal Highness Princess Larsa is travelling towards your kingdom this very moment.’
It was an unexpected delight. ‘Ah, I see she’s finally accepted my marriage proposal. Good for her. I knew she would come round to the idea. I’ve always said that a beautiful woman like her should have as many husbands as any man.’
King Nelaaz smiled while rubbing his belly in a child-like fashion. He had asked to marry the princess on numerous occasions, but her father had always rejected his proposals, knowing him to be an unsuitable spouse. The big-bellied king already had three wives of his own, and was old enough to be Larsa’s father, but even so he remained ever hopeful that she would change her mind and fall in love with him. Perhaps she has come to her senses now that her father is dead? What if she does wish to marry me? Yes, I am certain that she does.
‘Well, has the princess accepted my marriage proposal or not?’ His eyes lighting up with excitement, he could not wait to hear the answer.
‘No, my lord, the princess has not accepted such a proposition,’ said the messenger. He watched the sweaty king sink into his throne like a goat sack deflating. The news was obviously disappointing for him; no false smile could hide his disappointment. I’m sure the princess will change her mind when she arrives. I’ll try my best to seduce her with my charms and fatten her up with my food …
‘If the princess doesn’t wish to marry me, what on earth causes her to come to my kingdom? It can’t be for its beauty or my hospitality; my kingdom can’t compare to her own.’