by Jay Penner
About Apsara.
CHAPTER 24.
KALLISTU
Khaia waits for Minos in her official chamber—a cavernous hollow by the cliff near her living quarters. The room is spartan; specifically designed to echo voices and amplify a sense of serenity and piety. There is only one chair—a bamboo and silver studded design, and Khaia sits on it. All others must stand or seat themselves on the cold marble floor. The walls are stark, with no paintings or script. Servants fan the Oracle who wears a sheer drapery and no other ornamentation on her body.
Khaia anticipates this to be an unpleasant conversation. Minos is hot-headed, and he is insistent on making the case to her, using their physical intimacy as a means to gain access to her mind.
What a stupid thing to have done!
But it is too late now. Minos is clever; he knows that to influence the temperamental King is to go through the Oracle.
She hears footsteps in the corridor beyond the door. Every sound echoes.
Khaia signals her guards to stay alert but hidden in the secret chambers along the walls.
Minos charges into the room, taking confident strides of a man sure of the outcome. Two men accompany him—Phaistos, a slim, eagle-eyed commander of Minos’ security, and the other’s name is unknown. He is a large man who acts as the Governor’s bodyguard.
Minos’ loud voice booms. “Respects to you, Oracle!”
He kneels, but his face is angled up, and his eyes twinkle mischievously. He is a handsome yet dangerous man. Khaia feels something stir in her but suppresses her emotions.
“Rise, Governor.”
“I am surprised you wish to meet me in your official chamber,” he says, grinning.
Idiot!
“Matters of immense importance are done here and not at the temple or the King’s throne room,” Khaia says, deflecting the conversation. Phaistos’ eyes shine with a strange energy.
What does the brute know?
“We must speak in private.”
Khaia sighs. She dismisses the maids and instructs Minos’ men to leave as well.
They hesitate.
Minos gruffly tells them to get out.
The chamber goes quiet. There are only the sounds of two breathing souls. Khaia’s guards are hidden deeper and are invisible. Minos gets up and tries to get closer to Khaia. She signs him to stay his distance.
“State your business,” she says, coldly. Minos steps back, uncharacteristically, but it seems like he realizes this is not like any day.
“We must speak,” he says, and folds his massive arms against his chest. On this day, he wears a deep purple waist cloth that comes down to his knees. It is held by a shiny silver band. But otherwise he is bare, his hirsute chest glistening with oil and sweat.
“I know what it is that you want to talk to me about,” she says.
“Well, then you make no effort to support me!”
“The King has made his decision, Minos. And I have already said this before—we need you as defense. We cannot have you running around in Egypt.”
“You must hear me, Khaia. You know that I deserve greater glory than being a transporter and a waiter.”
“What is it that you really want? Do you think fighting there will somehow make you King of Egypt?”
Minos eyes Khaia shrewdly. “You are clever. But if I am King then you can be my Queen,” he says, as he dramatically kneels and raises his hands towards her.
Khaia smiles at the theatrics.
“There is one King. And that is Hannuruk. You have a large island all for yourself. You are important to the King though you test him sometimes. Why are you adamant about wanting him to reverse his decision?”
“Because I must make a name for myself too. Do you not see it? Do you not see my stature? My ability? Why must I be confined? His idiot son will achieve nothing, and that young general will get himself killed without me.”
“It was you who suggested we elevate him to rank of general in the first place and had the King nominate him to lead the invasion, not me!” shouts Khaia.
“He is a capable boy, but he needs supervision. He needs someone who can show him how to fight in the theater of war.”
“And you are that leader?”
“Yes, I am,” retorts Minos. “Teber will be a good military man, but he’s no strategist! He is too young. The boy is an idealist and a rule follower. That will not work for an invasion like this. And the Prince is a brainless pig in a royal crown.”
Khaia ponders Minos’ remarks. Minos’ disdain for the Prince is clear. Perhaps Minos sees himself in Teber but envious that the young general is out facing the Pharaoh while Minos rules an island.
But none of that matters.
“The gods have made their determination. But we must wage war, and we must do that carefully. You know that better than anyone here, and you know the difficulties if we are ill-prepared. If every able warrior is out in the sands of Egypt, and we lose because of inadequate backup, we will lose our empire. And with that, Minos, your ambitions, and our riches. Think about it!”
But Minos is impatient. It is in his head, Khaia realizes, that this is his chance for glory. He angles to rule a greater land.
“I have thought long and hard. My place is among the soldiers. Hannuruk listens to you. And you will do this for me, for us, for this empire.” His voice is resolute, and he stands like a statue. A gentle breeze wafts into the room, spreading the aroma of daffodils and orchids. Khaia hopes that the calming scent will quieten Minos.
“I will not speak to the King on your behalf. This is settled,” she says. She stands up; nervous, agitated. This conversation is not going as she hoped to.
“That is ridiculous!” Minos shouts. His face is red, and his veins pulse. “I have every right to be there on the battlefield, leading our men, and bringing glory to the empire. I am not a woman to sit in my house and watch!”
He paces around in the large, spacious room. It is quite a sight. Minos has a habit of stopping time to time and stomping his right foot on the ground—like a bull—before he walks again.
“Your rights are determined by the King and by my visions. Those are your rights. Do not claim authority where you have none,” Khaia rebukes him.
Minos freezes. It is as if he is controlling the turbulence in his mind. A blood vessel pulsates on his temple. He tugs on his beard. Then he turns towards Khaia, bringing himself close to her.
Towering.
Then he grunts. His lips tremble, and his jowls shake—it is the sign of a man who can no longer control what he wishes to say. He bares his teeth—his yellow, crooked teeth—like a hungry wolf by his meal.
“Your vision?” Minos scoffs. He looks away as he smoothens his unruly silvery beard and absentmindedly adjusts his genitals. “Your vision is what you make. That is all. What makes you think I believe this Oracle nonsense? It is for the idiot King and the commoners to believe that god whispers in your ear. The Divine Council is a bunch of scammers. Intelligent scammers. Nothing more,” he snarls. “And you can all suck my cock!”
Khaia gasps at the raw accusation. Her heart hammers against her chest as she ponders where this is going. Minos stares at her, smirking, unrepentant at what he just said. It is unprecedented that someone accuses the Oracle or the Divine Council in such a way.
To question her authority.
Her purpose.
“Watch what you say, Governor. You are crossing all lines laid by our lawmakers and god—”
“Lines? What lines do you speak of? When you let me fuck you on your sacred bed and moaned my name? Or when you instigated a war on Egypt because you seek power through your subversive means?”
Khaia’s cheeks feel hot as molten rock.
The insolence of this man!
“Shut up!” she says just under her breath as she lifts her hand to strike. But Minos is a quick as he is big. With the ease of handling a child, he grabs Khaia’s raised arm and springs her around like she is nothing. He pulls her towa
rds himself, pressing her back to his torso and envelopes her throat with his other hand. She can feel his hot stinking breath on her neck, and his erection against her lower back.
“You harbor great ambitions, Khaia. What man spurned you to create this fire in your breasts?” he taunts.
“Why do I need a man to be ambitious, Governor? Can a woman not have her own thoughts?” Khaia responds icily.
“You will speak to the King,” he whispers in her ear. “Your charade is over. You will speak to him. You will make your divine proclamation that you see foreboding and that I must enter the battle.”
Khaia is quiet. Terrified but letting her mind think what to do next. She breathes and exhales to calm herself.
“You will do as I say from today. Or your secrets will be out, and you will be cast away like the whore that you are,” he says as he presses himself harder on her.
Khaia is no longer afraid. Minos still needs her.
“Let me go, Minos,” she says, her voice is a hoarse whisper.
He lets her go and turns her towards him. “Do you understand?” he hisses. There is a maniacal glint in his large eyes. They are bloodshot.
“I understand. Do not do something stupid and jeopardize your chances. I will speak to the King,” she says. He relaxes.
She continues. “But you must promise me that when you win the lands, you will make me the supreme Oracle of the Atalanni and Egypt. You need me. The people will listen to me. I am a powerful instrument.”
Minos pushes his head back and laughs. “You complain about me, yet your ambition is no less!” he exclaims. He holds her by her waist and attempts to kiss her. She pushes him away in mock anger. “Not now, Minos,” she says, smiling. “Your anger has parched my throat.”
Khaia walks towards a simple rock-cut shelf. In there is a vase of fine wine and clay cups for drinking. She fills two cups and brings it to Minos.
“Let us drink to a heady future. I need to think how to engage the King,” says Khaia. Minos nods and drinks all the wine in one gulp and licks his lips. She brings him another, and he drinks that without pause.
Khaia shakes her head.
“If you are serious about this, then we must speak to the King in four days during lunch,” she says. King Hannuruk maintains a very rigid schedule—if they do not meet him by then, he retires to fifteen days of seclusion, a ritual held by generations of kings.
“Of course. Why do you think I rushed here? I know he will retire to seclusion, and the more time we wait, the harder it will be for me to change his mind.”
Khaia traces a finger on his chest. “Go back to your quarters, King Minos, it is not worth the risk for us to be seen here when we have a bright future ahead of us,” she says, and he grins.
“Let us make it a lunch the King will never forget,” she says, and smiles.
CHAPTER 25.
KALLISTU
Khaia has told the Governor that they must align on what they will tell the King at the upcoming lunch. Minos is eager. This is finally his chance to shine. He turns up at the Oracle’s chamber at the appointed hour. Khaia greets him officially. Minos maintains his decorum, knowing the importance of the day.
Together they pray to the gods. All the Daivos—Fire, Water, Earth, and Sky. Khaia asks Minos to relax and project a calm demeanor. They discuss how to reflect each other’s arguments to the King in order to convince him to change direction. Finally, just before they are about to leave, Khaia invites the Governor to cups of wine—specially made for important occasions. They drink together, relaxed, and allow the gentle warmth and headiness of the drink prepare them for the conversation ahead with the mercurial ruler.
They wait for the King’s messenger to take them to the banquet hall. Only this time, it is for a small audience. The King, the Queen, the Oracle, the Governor, Prime Minister Rishwa, Phaistos—Minos’ chief of security, and Uppiluliuma, Chief of King’s Guard. The dining hall is tastefully decorated. Bright sunlight pours in from the vaulted ceiling and the silver and gold vessels shine and glint. The dignitaries sit around the King, who is at the head of the table.
Hannuruk looks lucid today—not wobbling or blubbering.
Queen Apsara sits beside him, but Khaia notices that there is no strength in her eyes.
My words are making a mark, she thinks.
Finally, after greetings and obeisance, the King turns to Khaia. “So the Governor has a specific topic on his mind. What else is there to talk except preparation for war?”
Khaia glances at Minos who is uncharacteristically nervous, and she smiles encouragingly. “There is always something to discuss about the war, Your Majesty,” she says.
“When Minos is involved, it is never good news, right, Minos?” Hannuruk ribs Minos, and the audience laughs. Minos grins and when he tries to laugh some water spurts and dribbles over his beard. He wipes his face and grins but looks annoyed at what just happened.
“The Governor is a colorful man,” says Rishwa, with no malice in his voice. The Prime Minister assesses Khaia and raises his eyebrows as if to ask, what is it now?
“We have debated war arrangements and responsibilities, Your Majesty, and Minos is rightly insistent that we be most prepared for the major battles ahead,” Khaia says, as she watches Minos.
“Our success hinges on it,” says Minos, his voice raspy and labored. He takes a swig of wine, but Khaia hopes he does not overdo it.
“Of course. But then we have already settled all matters of war preparation and accountabilities, have we not?” says the King, tapping on the table.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Khaia, “But war is a complex subject. And sometimes the gods send messages that direct our affairs.”
Hannuruk pauses from taking the next bite of salted fish dipped in olive oil.
“What new messages do they send?”
Khaia pauses. “Let me not disturb you from your next morsel, Your Majesty,” she says and smiles. Hannuruk nods and takes his bite and savors the food. They eat quietly until the King is ready. It is a sumptuous meal—salted fish, pomegranates, grapes, bread, honey cakes, lotus water, roasted lamb, land snail delicacies, and many types of dessert.
Khaia looks at the sundials and calculates how much time it has been since they have arrived. Lunch is always slow with the King, but today it is warranted.
She takes stock of the room.
Rishwa is intent on his bread.
Apsara has her head down and has barely looked up at anyone, let alone pay attention to the conversation.
Phaistos watches everyone like a hawk.
The King’s Guard stand dutifully.
Hannuruk dabs his chin with fine cloth and picks another piece of fish.
But Minos—he is not the man who he usually is.
There is no boisterous Minos.
There is no loud and angry Minos.
There is no clownish Minos.
The Governor is uncharacteristically quiet, and he is sweating profusely. He wipes his face with a cloth and gestures two servants to fan him.
His cheeks are glistening, and his face looks unnaturally reddish.
Khaia thinks to herself that the conversation soon will get his heart racing—and it is important to get the large man’s heart to race.
Especially today.
“May I continue, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, go on,” says Hannuruk, waving to her. The group listens quietly, waiting to hear what the Oracle has to say this time. The King waves away the attendants.
“Recent omens do not bode well, Your Majesty, and as the Oracle, it falls upon me to bring these signs,” she says, fixing her eyes on the King.
He grunts. “Go on.”
“There are persistent dreams. Dreams that show a lion cub practicing its hunting skills, baring its teeth and extending its claws, but as it surveys the vast plains and the gazelles ahead, a larger, angrier male pounces upon it and breaks its neck.”
There is sudden silence. Hannuruk affixes his piercing e
yes on Khaia. Minos looks perplexed, but the Governor looks like he is about to expel the contents of his stomach. There is a sheen of sweat on his face, and he groans audibly.
“What does that mean?” the King asks.
“It means only one thing, Your Majesty,” says Khaia, her voice frosty and measured.
“And that thing is?” asks Rishwa. There is concern in the Prime Minister’s face. Khaia reckons that the clever man already knows what comes next.
“As I told you all long ago, the cub represents the Prince. The brave prince who is far away in Egypt. The brave prince on a mission to make the empire proud and bring glory to his father. The cub of a lion,” Khaia says, and Hannuruk puffs up his sagging chest in fatherly pride and his own praise.
“But?” says the King.
“But the Prince is in danger. There is another lion, bigger, angry, ambitious,” she says, and her eyes slowly track towards Minos.
The Governor looks befuddled. His eyes are frantic, and he rises from his chair, “What are you say—” he starts, but the King shouts at him to be quiet. Minos appears to be in utter confusion, and he looks around desperately.
Khaia continues as everyone is transfixed at what is happening. “Governor Minos here seeks your throne, Your Majesty,” Khaia says evenly, “But the gods told me this morning that they shall strike him to the ground.”
Khaia stands and reaches her arms as if praying to the powers above.
She then points to the Governor and shouts, “Traitor!”
Minos springs to his feet. “You fucking—” he starts, but his words stutter.
His muscular hands shake.
Copious quantities of saliva drool from his mouth.
He wobbles where he stands, and the large man crashes down on the banquet table as the horrified audience jump up from their chairs.
No one moves.
The King, livid at what he has just heard, makes no attempt to help Minos.
“Leave him!” Hannuruk orders, and Phaistos, who lunged to assist his master, leaves Minos and stands back.
Minos thrashes about on the table and rolls and falls on the floor, making the heavy sound of a large bull that collapses on a sacrificial platform. Khaia watches as the scene unfolds in front of her.