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“I...I’m sorry...” Nkosi stammered, hands clenching anxiously at his sides. “I won’t do it again. I was just...I was bored and….and I wanted to learn, like you told me, so I could….I… could…”
Nubia hushed him gently, pecking the child’s forehead and cheeks, petting his smooth head with a hand, directing the camel more with nudges of her feet than by the rein’s held loosely in her other hand.
“It’s alright,” the guard soothed gently. “I’m not mad. You just scared me, is all. When I found the room empty, I thought the worst...My heart almost stopped in my chest.”
With gently fingers, she lifted Nkosi’s chin so he could look her in the eye. “Please…” she insisted, tone almost a plea. “Don’t do that again.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Nubia drew him into a slightly awkward hug, murmuring a quiet thanks before they finally prided each other away to get settled back into the saddle properly and Nibia took proper hold of the reins once more. It would take some time to get to the next village and Nubia wanted to be sure thy could cover as much distance as possible before they had to rest. Her job in town, outside of watching over Nkosi’s task, might have been over, but she would feel a tad more at ease with that bit of distance between the city and them before night fell.
…..
A few days had passed since they had left the city and begun their travels to further regions. On the third day of traversing the desert heat, water supplies were getting low. Luckily, their destination was in sight, only a few hours travel away by camel, close to a small river that would provide adequate comfort for the small traveling party.
Even so, Nubia couldn’t help but be concerned for her young charge. while the desert had been kind enough for those used to its heat, Nkosi was not used to such times of travel in the sun, becoming easily exhausted, the dry heat seeming to sap the energy from him, irritating his soft skin as the dusty air clung to his sweating body. His appetite was practically non-existent. Even with her gentle encouragement, something that usually worked wonders on the prince, the boy picked at any food given, if he ate at all. More often than not, any time they paused for a break, he spent much of the time sleeping under whatever temporary shelter they could make, and would wake barely rested at all.
It worried her. But all they could do was push the camels just that bit faster to finally bring them to the village and, more importantly, the shelter and water the child desperately needed.
As they closed in towards the village, the desert ground became more compacketed as they joined the traders road and the traveling merchants and travelers trekking towards the town.
Were the circumstances ordinary, Nubia would have expected the boy to perk up, subtly try to peek at what the various venders might be bringing along with them. Worryingly, however, Nkosi just groaned, sagging further against the camel, swaying so precariously that, if he wasn’t sitting with Nubia, he might have been at risk of sliding off the side of the camel.
“M’tired…” the boy croaked. “W’nna sleep…S’noisy...”
Stamping hard on the sudden alarm running through her at how sun-drunk the boy sounded, Nubia quickly signalled to the other guards, barking a quick series of orders as she dismounted the camel, carefully cradling the child in her arms. She frowned. Nkosi wasn’t a heavy child by any means, but he seemed a little lighter now than he had been before they set out on the quest.
She would have to keep an eye on that. It wasn’t a concern right at this moment, but it could easily become a concern when one considered that Nkosi was on the road for long periods of time in an environment his body wasn’t accustomed to. Until he had grown used to the hard life on the road, the way she and even the Pharaoh had become, not keeping an eye on such things could soon slip from mildly concerning to dangerous. Especially when the child already seemed sun touched.
Carefully making sure that any hint of gold on his person was carefully hidden under his travel clothes, Nubia took off at a brisk pace away from the merchant’s road towards the river. Checking that there were no prying eyes, she carefully stripped him of his garments and lowered him into the cool water, cupping her hands and trickling the liquid over his hands, his face, head and skin until the boy began to stir.
“Nubi, stop it,” he groaned, trying to bat her hands away, face screwed up in a mix of confusion and irritation. “It’s not bath time yet!”
It was the most movement she had seen from him in days.
A smile touched her lips as Nkosi seemed to pick up on more details of where he was, the tired confusion and irritation fading into something a little closer to shocked relief at the chilly waters against heated skin. Even better, his eyes seemed alight with an awareness that had been hidden by heat exhaustion since they had left the city.
“I know, little one,” she assured, trickling more water over his heated forehead before cupping her hands and allowing the child to sip from the water pooled there. “But too much heat can be dangerous as a desert’s chilly nights. This should cool you for a time. While we’re here, I can refill the water skins and hopefully we can catch some fresh fish as well.”
Nkosi nodded distractedly, obviously more interested in having his fill of water down his parched throat to answer directly. She bit back a chuckle, too relieved at the way he was inching to recovery to annoy him by pricking his pride.
At the sound of footsteps, she turned to see one of the guards approaching, along with an older woman that she had not seen in some time, who bowed once she had their attention, fuirst, deeply to the young prince, before a slightly less prostrating one to Nubia herself, if only by a thin margin.
“Your grace,” she addressed Nubia once the guard motioned for her to straighten. “I received the hawk. Your letter said that the young prince was unwell. From what I can see, it is as you thought - heat stroke,” the woman approached, eyeing the boy critically, who gripped Nubia’s garments, eyeing the woman back suspiciously. However, she seemed to ignore the expression as easily as one might brush off a fly, simply observing his features, noting the flush of his cheeks and sunkissed skin before finally nodding to Nubia . A relatively minor case, for now, though considering his age and the the levels of sun exposure he is usually used to, it is best if we were to give him a rest from Ra’s gaze for a while.”
“I see,” Nubia hummed in response, carefully easing the child from his clinging, mind racing, glad that she had yet to lose the skill at picking up on the hints of Heat stroke in the years she had served the Pharaoh. “ If this is the case, then where would-”
“Nubi!” Nkosi hissed, tugging at her clothes, voice coloured by a confused suspicion. “Who is she?”
Ah, of course, The woman was not someone that Nkosi had ever seen before, having been too young the time she had seen the, at the time, Prince Amen, to recall the meeting at all. And they had somewhat skipped introductions this time.
Thankfully not annoyed by the interruption, the older woman stepped forward, eyes warm and gentle as she crouched beside the river before him, her tone sweet, but with an underlying knowingness to it, of one who knew far more than their appearance might let on.
“My young prince,” she began, “We have met long ago, though you were young and thus would not remember our meeting. My name is Mama Parame. I was once the nursemaid. Doctor and occasional tutor to his majesty, Amen. As his younger brother, please, call me Mama.”
For a moment, Nkosi mulled over the introduction. The name sounded….vaguely familiar. Though he wasn’t sure if it was only mentioned in passing or if it was a name that had cropped up in one of Amen’s stories of his time as crown prince, the name was certainly one he had heard from his brother’s lips.
Noting the hint of familiarity in the boy’s eyes, the woman, Mama, continued.
“It has been some time since I have been in the royal family’s employ,” she admitted. “Not since...well…” she trailed off, clearing her throat.
Nubia hid a wince, hoping that the prince didn’t notice. The story of what happened to the previous Pharaoh might have been somewhat vague to Nkosi, who had been too young to recall, other than Amen himself, Nubia had been there to see the aftermath that left both boys orphans and Amen himself suddenly thrust into being responsible for an entire kingdom.
Thankfully, Nkosi didn’t press for Mama to continue. Though perhaps this was because of the sleepy interest he had in what she was doing. She had pulled a vial from her bag, into which she added what smelt like honey and ripened dates. She swirled and shook the concoction before encouraging the boy to drink.
Not a fool to trust a woman just on her word that she had known his elder brother years ago, Nkosi’s eyes shifted to Nubia. It was only once Nubia had nodded in approval that Nkosi relaxed, taking the vial from Mama’s hand. He sniffed it, nose wrinkling slightly at the medicinal sweetness. It wasn’t unpleasant - he had smelt far worse - but it still smelt obviously of medicine, no matter how the sweetness of dates and honey attempted to mask it. Even as he drank it quickly in hopes to avoid tasting it, there was that herbal sour note just under the otherwise overpowering sweetness.
Satisfied that he had drained the vial, the woman exchanged it for a light meal of bread and fish. While he still wasn’t overly enthused by the idea of eating, the boy nevertheless did as silently instructed. Only once he was finished did they allow the boy to redress and head back to the camels in order to finally reach the town.
Seeing the woman walking with them, rather than heading back towards the village ahead of the group, it appeared Mama was going to remain with them for the duration.
Still a few hours to go. Ugh...He hoped it would end soon…
-----
It was dusk by the time the camels finally stepped into the town limits and almost as soon as they had, a message arrived via hawk from the Pharaoh with yet another mission to complete. Nkosi frowned as he plucked at the camel’s riding blankets. As much as Nkosi knew why dirty jobs needed to be done, he didn’t quite understand why it was Nubia receiving these jobs when she was already helping him with his mission. Was it just that they were that sensitive he could only entrust them to someone who held his utter confidence? Or...was this simply the way of the Majai and Nkosi never realised before because he had never been in the company of one outside his brother’s presence?
As the current first in line to the throne until Amen sired an heir, it was something he felt he should know. He resolved to ask more about it the next time he had to send off a letter along with his report. For now, though, he had his own mission to fulfil, Nubia or no Nubia - that and recovering from this awful heat stroke…
With nightfall fast approaching, and thus anyone of note having already left or preparing to leave for the night, they made their way to one of the local inns that the small group and ‘Mama’ (it seemed like she wasn’t leaving any time soon) would be staying for the duration of their stay. In the morning, assuming Nkosi had recovered enough to do so, they would scope the town and get a good feel for it before finding a potential match for Amen.
Considering how it felt like that Mama ledy was watching him whenever he wasn’t looking, this was going to be a long night…
While booking into the inn, Nkosi caught sight of some kind of parcel being handed to Nubia, however, she changed the subject if he tried to draw any attention to it, escorting him to their room. Only then, away from prying eyes, did she unwrapped it. Inside there was another wrapped package and a letter addressed to her.
Carefully, she read over the note, making sure to do so several times to memorise the contents, without letting Nkosi or any of the guards see it’s contents, before tearing it into small shreds and tossing it into the fire, stirling it up amongst the burning wood until it turned to ash. Once she was certain there was no part of the letter that remained for any of the maid-staff to see when it came to clearing the fireplace in the morning, she turned to the package, carefully unwrapping it. What flowed out like silken water was an elaborate garment embellished with gold and precious gemstones, along with Kohl and malachite powder and red ocher housed within a decorative box, along with high quality ivory applicator sticks.
Quickly, she dressed in the fineries. She was well aware that her features, when she used the powders to hide her distinctive scar, were those of high upbringing. Dressed in a silken dress, adorned in gold and gems, face painted, nails manicured and scented like irises, she looked to be a noble woman, or even a princess.
Beautiful, kind, strong, good with people...Now Nkosi thought about it...those were many of the features Nkosi was hoping to find in whatever woman would best match his brother as Great Wife. If he could find someone like Nubia...He was sure that not only would the kingdom be at peace, but his brother could be happy.
A gentle head pat drew him out of his musings.
“Quite lovely, isn’t she,” ‘Mama noted, an odd hint of nostalgia in her eyes. “It makes me wonder what she would have been like if the Lord and Lady were still with us.”
What was that meant to mean?
Seeing the bemusement on Nkosi’s face, she chuckled, but elaborated. “Ah, you wouldn’t know, but our dear Nubia was originally meant to be married to the Pharaoh as his bride,” she explained. “Her parents were originally favoured in the late Pharaoh’s court, her father as Viser, her mother a high ranking member of the Majai. Alas, upon their deaths, their fortunes were seized by her Uncle. Out of memory of his dear friends, the Late Pharaoh took in the girl. Unfortunately, due to her being without title or lands, the court would never allow a match with their prince, however, the Late Pharaoh refused to abandon her, training her to become an adviser and guard, as well as the Prince’s playmate. If all went to plan, once she became a woman, she would have the grounding to choose her way in life.”
Shaking her head, the woman sighed. “It’s a shame things turned out the way they did, “ she morened. “Had her parents lived, she would have been favoured as a candidate. She truly would have been a wonderful queen…”
Nkosi gazed at the form of his guard as she carefully applied Kohl to her eyes, before glancing to the elder woman. “I think so too, but...he keeps sending her on these missions...dangerous ones, and she’s gone longer and longer…” He bit his lip, not wanting to think poorly of his brother, but… “Does he...not care…? For her?”
“He cares,” Mama assured. “Oh, does he care. But, right now, our land is in the midst of change. What he cannot accomplish himself, he is forced to send her to do. Every time, he worries constantly. He eagerly awaits notice from her, to know she is well, knowing each time he reluctantly sends her out that this mission could be her last, that he could be sending her to her death. It frightens him, more than you could ever know. But he cannot trust the task to anyone else. And so, he is cursed by his own power to make the orders and wait for her signal of success.”
Mama tilted her head, thoughtfully. “Considering how much things have changed for the better, with Our Pharaoh the change in the light, while Nubia his hand in the dark...they make quite the team, do they not?”
Honestly, she wasn’t wrong. Even so...Nkosi couldn’t help but look back at his dear guard as she hid a knife within the folds of her gown. As she turned to him, adorned in all the fineries of the court, he could see her, not as a guard or Majai, but as a princess, or maybe…
Nubia knelt before him, a slight smile touching painted lips.
“I will return soon. I just need to finalise a few deals tonight and will rejoin you by noon meal at the latest. Mama Parame will guard you until I return.” She cupped his cheek and pressed her lips to his forehead. “Be good for her, alright?”
With one last hug, Nubia slipped away into the night, leaving Nkosi with the elder woman and many a thought in his heart.
---
The village was full of life the next morning when Mama and Nkosi made their way through the bustling bazaar. They had recieved word that Nubia would be joining them close to what appeared to be some kind of school. It was different from the strings of tutors and scholars that Nkosi received, however. This school was a simple building and the teachers that he noted as he watched one of the lectures were possibly some minor priestesses of Thoth, or perhaps having been taught by one themselves. They seemed knowledgeable enough on their subject, but he was pretty sure those hired for royalty would run rings around them.
As he watched, he noted that, other than those sitting in the group being taught, there were some that hung back, as if trying to listen without being noticed. He only realised why towards the end of the lecture, when the woman carried a bowl and each child in the group tossed in an amount of money.
Ah...so they didn’t have the funds to actually take part in the class, it seemed. Those children at the edges being part of the mass who had grown illiterate because of their social standing. But..the women weren’t just teaching, now. They were handing out food to the class members. Even then, those poorer children did not approach. But why?
Humming thoughtfully, Nkosi tugged at the dress of Mama, encouragement to follow as he approached the the poorer children and bowed to them.
“Why aren’t you with the others?” he asked, wanting to be absolutely sure he understood what was happening (last thing he needed was for what happened in the last city being repeated). “You could get food over there and maybe listen better”
A young girl, maybe only a little younger than him, shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You need money to be part of that. We can’t afford...so we can only listen from here.”
A boy, a little older, smiled weakly. “We’re fine. As long as we get the gist if it, we can teach our siblings. If we know at least a little, we can work good enough jobs so maybe we can join the class properly….one day.”
And how long would it take you to learn anything useful from here to get those better jobs? Nkosi wondered. From his new position here, he could barely hear a word, let alone see what was going on. There was no way that those kids were going to get anything useful, let alone accurate.
Squaring his shoulders, Nkosi headed over to where the two teachers had just finished with the payment bowl. “Excuse me, teacher!” he called, ignoring the quiet steps of Mama following close behind. He couldn’t let himself be distracted.
The teacher with the bowl turned to Nkosi, her posture the picture of elegance as she addressed him. “Good afternoon, young man. Have you paid to participate in the lesson today?”
“No, I’ve not come for class,” he quickly continued, seeing the dismissal about to birth on the woman’s face. “I already know how to read and write. Nu….Mother teaches me, you see.”
“Ah, I see,” the woman noted. “Is your mother also a teacher?”
“You could say that. She’s definitely learned,” Nkosi admitted. He wasn’t even lying. He was sure his actual mother, the late queen, would have been highly educated. And Nubia, who actually taught him many of the basics outside of assigned tutors in specific subjects, was certainly as capable. On all levels, he was being truthful. He hurried on before she could ask for details. “While I’m not here for a lesson, I have a question I would like to ask, if I may, teacher?”
The woman seemed amused in that indulgent was Nkosi had seen in other adults before/ “Well, if it is something I can answer, I would be happy to help. Go on.”
“Why is it that children are charged to learn how to read and write?” he asked, doing his best to word it in a way that wouldn’t become the sharp imperial tone of indignation. “They’re not becoming part of the temples, merely learning the basics of script, so….shouldn’t such basic knowledge be free?”
“Well, my child, I take their money to feed their hearts and minds,” the woman explained. “However, the teachers have needs to be taken care of as well, such as food which, unfortunately, costs money. Thus, a small fee. Besides, once these children leave my care, the feel they spend here will soon be repaid through the jobs and stations gained by attaining such knowledge. In the long run, such a token would mean very little.”
Well, he understood somewhat. Food cost money, money had to come from somewhere. Still… “What of the other children?”
“Other children, my dear?”
Gesturing in the direction he had come from, knowing that the teacher would see the two he had left, Nkosi explained. “There are children who wish to learn, but don’t have the means of paying the ‘token’ at the time. Could those people be taught by you and pay later, once they have the money that would make the small token mean little? Or would they be refused and forced to beg for the rest of their lives?”
The teacher was brought up short. There was something about the child’s eyes, older, wiser than his appearance portrayed. It was as if the roles were somehow revered and she was the one being scolded by a teacher, rather than her being the tutor and him the child. His gaze was stirn, almost disappointed...It made a cold shiver run through her spine and she swallowed, unable to meet that gaze. Instead, she looked to the woman with him, trying for a strained smile.
“Ah….Your...Uh...son sure asks a lot of questions, does he not?”
‘Mama’ hummed, cocking a brow at the question dodge. “My dear girl,” she purred, denying whatever escape the woman had been looking for. “Please, don’t sugarcoat what you want to say. This boy is wize for his age. He’ll understand.”
Certainly not the response she expected from a mother. And those uncomfortable young-old eyes still watched her like a jackal. She frowned. “Those children...Unfortunately, the way the world works, those unable to pay can’t attend. Its likely they won't get far in life anyway. They’d beg. Or be sold.”
“Sold?”
Gods, those eyes were like knives…
“Sold, yes, into slavery. A strong, healthy child sold could sustain a family for a few good years. Longer, if they’re careful. Other children can survive if a few extra ones are sold. It’s the way the gods intended - the lions stand proudly, while the gazelle grazes at the bottom. Some children even receive good masters and may even receive educations or apprenticeships through them, but...considering their natural places...they are wasting their time here, don’t you think?”
Nkosi saw red. What right did she have to even suggest she knew what the gods thought? Hell, to suggest that this is what Amen, the living god, thought! And about people like those kids, like what could have happened to Nubia! “You can’t know that is what anyone intended! Least of all the gods!” Nkosi snapped. “You are a teacher! Is it not your natural place to spread knowledge? What if the gods intended for you to teach even those people? Why not break the cycle when there are ways to go about doing it?!”
The teacher laughed, as if he had said something humorous. “If I taught every child for free then what would happen?” she said, as if speaking to one a tad slow witted. “Were I to do that, we would all end up poor. I will not waste my money and time on those who have no future, not if all it does is drag us all into the dirt. No, no, that is not the way things work. The way of the world can’t just be changed-”
“I would appreciate,” A new voice interrupted, tone colder than ice, “If you did not teach my child such things.”
The small group whipped around, the rage draining from Nkosi as fast as the colour drained from the teachers face as Nubia, still dressed in finery, stalked towards them, a lioness staring down a petrified gezelle.
“If money is an issue,” Nubia continued. “Then ask the villages reserve, or even the priests of the temple of Thoth. Better yet, petition to the Pharaoh himself. If the case is strong enough, delivered with passion, then that case would reach his eyes and ears. After all, Rebuilding what was lost and pathing the way for a brighter future is what he insists on.
“But you won’t do that,” she continued silkilly, as the teacher stumbled back, “You don’t have the initiative to do so. No, you just say ‘this is how the world is’ and blasphemously blame the will of the gods as it’s cause. I wonder...when it is your time to face them, what will they think of you, who threw blame unto them? And, when that time comes, how heavy will your heart weigh against the feather of truth.”
Elegantly, Nubia scooped Nkosi in her arms, a polite smile crossing her painted lips. “I do hope that you will enjoy your time in the belly of Ammit.” she purred, before, leaving the teacher to flop bonelessly to her knees, she turned around and, Mama in toe, swept away.
---
Barely able to concentrate on his evening meal, Nkosi was still amazed at how effortlessly Nubia had dealt with the situation. It was almost like watching his brother smilingly cut down an idiot official that tried to partition for an unfair tax raise. But, amazing as it was to watch, it...didn’t change the fact that the situation was sad to begin with. Children whose futures were stolen from them, simply because of where and how they were born…
“Does….does brother know of this?” He asked, subduedly.
Mama sighed, threading her wrinkled hands together. “He does,” she admitted. “But right now, with the lands still in disarray and civil unrest still rife in the land, there is little he can do until there is a working structure in place and his power is set in stone. Though even then, he is working to ensure a better foundation to begin to implement change once the lands are tamed. For the parents of children like the ones today, the Pharaoh has granted them the opportunity of employment, in stonemasonry, in craftsmanship, in the palace, both as it is being built and afterwards, and the temples. Those he has commissioned will receive grain, and their children the opportunity to be fed and educated in the new city.” She looked him over, eyes knowing. “It is not a fast plan, nor the best that can be created, but until the unrest is settled, it is, at least, a good start, though not one that will see great benefits short term. For now, getting word out is truly all that can be done.”
The boy nodded, sleepy, but determined, even as he fought back a yawn. “For now,” he insisted.
Mama’s lip’s quirked. “For now,” she agreed.
[END]
