by Jean Rabe
“Your Majesty,” General Kemani said. A note of alarm had crept into his voice. “They’re under the white flag and I’ve noticed you’ve released the safety on your rifle.”
Sahdi let our her breath, taking very careful aim at the general’s broad chest and noting the slight westerly wind. “Yes, but it is Nahktebbi.” She corrected her aim. “When he falls, send the signal for the artillery to open fire. Then contact the Meroë Cavalry Division and have them cut off any escape. Our spies must cut the telegraph lines at Abu Simbel immediately. I want the first message the emperor gets in Luxor to be Nahktebbi’s head in a reed basket.”
The general cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, please ask yourself why the emperor sent General Nahktebbi to fight this battle. He knew you would be here. He knew how you would react.” Kemani stepped closer, his boot heels scraping on the stone. “Word of this breach of protocol will reach every court in the empire. What chance will we have then against the emperor?”
Sahdi pulled away from her rifle, slowly regaining control. She was the ruler of Nubia, not some barbarian queen like Victoria from the British Isles who executed enemies with her own hands. Sahdi had studied for nine years at the Library of Alexandria with the greatest philosophers, historians, and scientists in the world, then spent a dozen years ruling her own country. The blood of Cleopatra the Great flowed through her veins. Despite all of this, Sahdi had almost taken the bait. Emperor Demetrius had known how to make her blood boil. In a fit of blind rage she had almost pulled the trigger, dishonorably killing an enemy general under a truce flag and guaranteeing a long and bloody war with her portrayed as a criminal. Her reputation would be smeared like Cleopatra’s had been by Octavian and the Roman senate.
Sahdi turned around, her long tan dress fringed with a lion’s mane swirling about her. She stood tall, a full head above most of the men behind her. Nubia’s brightest generals, ministers, soldiers, and servants would spring into action once the words of command fell from her lips. She was so proud of what they had all accomplished during her reign. These women and men had helped guide her sweeping social reforms, built up Nubia’s massive industries along the Nile, and established Meroë as the dominant center of trade in the entire Sahel. These few could accomplish anything, and Sahdi’s fierce dark eyes, full of pride, passed over all of them. Their skin was dark brown like hers, but she could see into their souls like they were wearing the sheerest linen. Not a coward or incompetent fool was among her inner circle.
How could she have allowed herself to come so close to destroying what they had accomplished together? Sahdi would speak to the leaders of the Holy Coptic Emperor’s army and give them one final chance to leave her country in peace. Words could be more powerful than bullets. Sahdi rested the butt of her rifle on the ground. She would give it up for something much more intimidating. Queen Sahdi gave her order with the confidence only someone in her esteemed bloodline could muster. “Bring me my crown.”
Sahdi strode into the shade tent near the Egyptians’ armored train wearing her double uraeus crown, the two golden cobras poised to strike. Accompanying her were General Kemani, First Minister Akar, and Sahdi’s most fearsome personal bodyguard, Shahkto—a scarified warrior from the Kush tribal lands.
General Nahktebbi, the former Marshal of the Nubian Legions, stood alone with a deferential expression on his face. He wore a tan uniform with brass buttons, epaulets, and a leopard skin belt that Sahdi remembered from her childhood when Nahktebbi had been an officer in her father’s guard at the palace in Meroë. Someone must have dusted his shiny black boots while he’d been waiting in the tent—probably one of the other three men in his party who waited several steps behind him. Two appeared to be Egyptian officers, but the third was a tall and handsome man of mixed African descent. He was in his mid-thirties and wore a bright white tunic with ornate bronze buttons and tan trousers. His skin was not as dark as most Africans, and had a golden brown glow, showing his mixed ancestry.
“Your Highness.” Nahktebbi spoke formal court Latin, and bowed at the waist.
“You will address Queen Sahdi as, ‘Your Majesty’.” General Kemani shot a withering glance at his former best friend who was obviously following the emperor’s orders and referring to her with a lesser title.
Nahktebbi bowed lower, and Sahdi could see white hairs on the back of his shaved scalp. He was nearly forty when he . . . knew her in the palace . . . and now they were both twenty years older. How many other little girls had he defiled in the past two decades?
Nahktebbi stood up and she realized she was taller than him, though not by much. He had been a giant when she was a girl, but as a grown woman she was over six feet tall, even without her uraeus crown and black mamba-skin boots.
The unknown nobleman bowed low to Sahdi and nodded to Kemani.
“General, who is this gentleman who accompanies you?” Kemani asked.
“May I present Duke Zander of Attica, the official envoy of King Antyllus Alexandros Constantius IV of Athens, Ruler of Greece and all the Coptic Greco-Russian people.”
Sahdi raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and very suspicious of the handsome foreigner. The envoy came forward and Sahdi noticed his amber eyes, the color somewhere between green and gold, so exotic. He was a hundred times more handsome than King Antyllus. The emperor had sent her a portrait of the king some years ago and the old king had a pig’s face that only his half-Russian mother could love.
“Your Majesty.” Duke Zander bowed deeply at the waist again. “I wish to convey the goodwill of King Antyllus. His Majesty bears no ill wishes toward Your Majesty, and is very understanding of your reluctance to leave Nubia and marry a man you have not met.”
The Duke had a charming northern accent and Sahdi regarded the foreigner with suspicion, wondering if he was a spy of the emperor, or if he truly did serve the Greek king.
“Your Highness—” Nahktebbi began again, as meekly as she had ever heard a general speak, “—in regards to your title, the emperor requested that I inform you that you have never been anointed as the queen of Nubia by His Imperial Majesty, nor the Pope of the Holy Coptic Church, and thus, the emperor ordered me to refer to you as, Your Highness, and most definitely not, Your Majesty. My deepest apologies.”
“General, did you come to insult me or invade my country?” Sahdi asked.
Nahktebbi’s eyes filled with pain. “His Imperial Majesty has sent me and this honor guard to remind you that your presence is required in Alexandria. Upon your arrival in the capital you will be married to King Antyllus of Athens at the earliest possible convenience acceptable to His Majesty in Greece.”
Sahdi pressed her lips together, not bothering to hide the revulsion she felt at the prospect of marrying the venerable king of Greece. For seven years the emperor had been sending the same messages via ambassadors, delegations, personal appeals letters, and even a talented poet who told tales about the beauty of Greece and the frozen mountains of Macedonia from whence Sahdi’s ancestor Ptolemy I originally came. It was no secret that the emperor wanted to use his status as her imperial cousin to exile Sahdi as far away as possible from the vast wheat fields, iron works, trade routes, and gold mines of Nubia. In the north, she would be kept busy fighting the starving barbarian hordes that were trying to escape the snow and glaciers that had migrated south across Europe for the past five hundred years. From northern France to the Alps and all the way east to the Black Sea the snow and ice had destroyed everything. Famine, plagues, wars, and the destruction of all the once-great peoples of Europe had ushered in the African Age. The Sahel had become a water rich paradise and the Sahara a verdant savannah of thriving herds and productive farmers. Nubia itself was as close to the Garden of Eden as the Coptic bible described, and Sahdi would never leave her homeland for a king with Russian blood and some frozen palace perched on the acropolis of Athens. If she ever married, the man would move to her home in Nubia.
Sahdi stared harshly at the vile man. “General, the emperor should find Ki
ng Antyllus another wife, as I will never leave Africa.”
“Your Highness,” Nahktebbi said, “if you do not consent to accompany me back to Alexandria, I have been instructed to invade Nubia and capture you as rapidly as I am able.”
Sahdi and her advisors scoffed. “You propose to invade my country with five thousand men and capture me?”
“I propose nothing of the sort.” Nahktebbi shifted his feet.
“Then what are you doing here?” Sahdi asked.
The general took a step closer to Sahdi, his wrinkled hands open in front of him. He got down on both knees, apparently not caring about his own pride or time-honored protocol. “Ehu Kandake—” he whispered “My Queen” in old Bantin, an amalgam of Bantu and Latin—a trade language few of the aristocracy outside of Nubia spoke. The three men behind Nahktebbi would not understand, and that had to be why he used the old tongue. “—I have been sent to start a war. The emperor knows you will never consent to come with me. He knows that my presence here will only infuriate you and cause a terrible battle. My army, and me specifically, are all to be sacrificed. We are to enter Nubia and wait for you to fire the first shot. The emperor hopes that you will kill me and most of my soldiers.”
“It would be a massacre,” Sahdi promised.
“Undoubtedly, but then the emperor will send his vast army from Luxor with the support of his allies in Africa and the Middle East.”
“The emperor’s ego has grown larger if he thinks all of the African kings will oppose me.”
“My Queen, few will stand against the emperor’s forces once he describes how your army ambushed and slaughtered the honor guard sent to retrieve you. You will be disgraced, outside the protection of all laws. The emperor will invade Nubia, take over the cities, seize all the raw materials and goods you’ve withheld this past year from Egypt, and spend as long as it takes to find, capture, and execute you as a traitor to the Crown.”
“I will never be taken alive.”
“The emperor counts on that,” Nahktebbi whispered, then glanced back at the Duke. “He does not want you alive. He needs you gone forever, and this battle will be an excuse to start the war.”
It was the same challenge her ancestors had faced time and time again. The Egyptian Pharaohs had always hated an independent and strong Nubia. Why would Demetrius XII be any different?
“My Queen, in the end, you will be dead,” Nahktebbi said with more sadness than she would have anticipated, “our country will be in ruin, and the king of Athens will still not have a queen—just as the emperor has planned. Contrary to what he or his ambassadors say, he does not want to bring the two bloodlines of Cleopatra the Great back together.”
Sahdi shook her head. Was the emperor that devious to arrange a royal marriage between her and the Greek king with the knowledge that it would never come to pass? She had not thought him capable of such diabolical plans. However, Nahktebbi had a point. Keeping the bloodlines of Cleopatra the Great’s twin children—Alexander Helios and Cleopatra Selene II—apart did make sense. The blood of Alexander Helios was thin after all the Roman, Nubian, Egyptian, and most recently, Russian blood that had entered into the Grecian royal line; but it was still powerful, and their descendents would have a stronger claim on the throne of Alexandria with Sahdi’s more pure blood added to their line.
Sahdi was not sure what to make of Nahktebbi now. Was he lying or was he trying to make amends? “Why would you agree to sacrifice yourself for the emperor?”
“My life means little to me. All of these years I’ve been exiled from my home, and the woman I loved.” He stared at her remorsefully, his love for Sahdi bleeding from his eyes.
Embarrassed and taken aback, Sahdi wished he would be more discreet in front of her advisors. She expected him to be contrite, but lovesick and forlorn, never.
“My feelings for . . . Nubia, have never faded,” he said.
Sahdi had no doubt that Tebbi was sincere, and was glad he had said “Nubia” instead of “woman” again.
“I am so sorry for what happened.” Nahktebbi’s eyes misted over.
Sahdi’s infatuation for Nahktebbi as a girl splashed her in the face like icy water. She had been obsessed with the dashing older man, spending every moment she could in his company. Then came the night after her thirteenth birthday feast when she had helped him back to his private chambers when he had become drunk on Judean wine. Why had she not let one of the servants light the way for him in the dark palace? Once in his chamber he had refused to let her leave. Nahktebbi had groped her young breasts before throwing her onto the bed. There was no magical kiss like she had been imagining with the handsome older man. He would not stop his advances despite her tormented pleas.
Later, in the darkness, Sahdi lay paralyzed beside the man she had once loved. He gasped in shock when he saw her anguish. Nahktebbi jumped off the bed and fell to his knees begging her not to tell anyone what had happened. After his tearful apologies he vowed to leave Nubia forever and tell no one of his crime. She had never spoken of it, but Nahktebbi’s best friend, Kemani, had seen little Sahdi slinking from Nahktebbi’s chambers.
The warm wind blew through the tent as General Nahktebbi knelt in front of Queen Sahdi again, waiting for her to reject or accept his heartfelt apology. Before she answered, she had to know one more thing.
“Did you tell the emperor?” Sahdi asked.
Nahktebbi blinked. He knew what she meant. “A few years ago, before we defeated the Ottomans outside Constantinople, I confessed to a priest.”
Sahdi removed her thin gloves and slapped Nahktebbi’s cheek as hard as she could with her bare hand.
He picked himself off the ground and bowed, eyes downcast and full of shame. “Ehu Kandake, I wish I had had the courage to end my own life so many years ago.”
“You will have your chance to redeem yourself. Now, stand up, General.”
Nahktebbi stood with his delegation as Sahdi considered her next words. She was angered beyond measure that the emperor had played her as a fool for years pretending he wanted her to marry King Antyllus. Now she would beat the emperor at his own game with a move he would be hard pressed to counter. She would consult with her advisors then set her plans in motion. She would buy her people the time they needed and Nubia’s salvation was clear to her now. All she had to do was secure an alliance with the second most powerful man in the Holy Coptic Empire, an old friend of her father’s, Pope Cyril of Alexandria. With the Pope’s help, she could orchestrate the fall of Emperor Demetrius. “Gentlemen,” Sahdi began, “I will not sacrifice the Nubian people for my own interests. There will be no war with Egypt. I will accompany you to Alexandria, where I will marry King Antyllus.”
Nahktebbi looked stunned, but Duke Zander, strangely, was smiling.
“Nubia has protected me for my entire life,” Sahdi said, “and now I will protect her. Tomorrow, I depart for Alexandria.”
And God forgive me, Sahdi thought, I go to kill the emperor.
The ironclad Egyptian war-barge Ibis carried the Nubian queen and her entourage down the Nile. She felt like she had been captured by one of the ancient pharaohs as they passed the massive statues of Ramses II and his wife Nefertari at Abu Simbel. At least she had Shahkto and a small cadre of armed loyal bodyguards, in addition to Duke Zander, who had requested to be in charge of her guard detail. She had read the secret message he’d passed to General Kemani detailing the danger she would be in if she let the emperor’s men assume control of her safety. She also took his advice and had several female attendants accompany her at all times, preparing her food from stores they had brought with them.
After midnight on the first day of the voyage a faint knock, barely audible above the loud boiler under her quarters, sounded on her stateroom door. On her command, Shahkto let the gentleman inside.
“Duke Zander, do you always call on royalty after midnight?” Sahdi asked in Latin from the divan where she reclined, swathed in Sumatran silk.
He bowed low. “To be t
ruthful, Your Majesty”—he spoke in Macedonian Greek—“I do. I have even been known to disturb emperors and their mistresses while engaged in their bedroom sport.”
Sahdi laughed, pleased to hear the language she had used during most of her schooling in Alexandria. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed the exaggerated movements her mouth had to make to form the words. She changed to Greek. “In that case, perhaps I should be honored at your visit. Now, please explain why you’re here, and worry not about formalities.”
“Forgive me then for being direct. As I mentioned in the note, the emperor does not wish for you to survive this voyage.”
“What do you suggest?” Sahdi wondered if he knew something she did not, as she found her eyes lingering on his lips, and the contours of the handsome face.
“Get off this ironclad as soon as possible. We’ll be in Kôm Ombo in the morning. We can take an airship from there to the Temple of Karnak in Luxor.”
“An airship?” Sahdi shook her head. Just thinking of the dangerous flying contraptions made her uneasy. “Someone as well-informed as you should know that I shall never ride in an airship even if I am outside my homeland.”
Zander blanched at her words. “I was very sorry to hear of your father’s accident, but that was one of the first models, built many years ago.”
“Twelve years is not so long.”
“Of course you’re right, but still, the airships today are much better. I thought it would be the safest way for you to get to Luxor. The one I flew on from Athens, Bucephalus , is ready to carry you to see the emperor and will fly you to Alexandria. It will take only a few hours, rather than the days you will spend in a watercraft.”
