by Jean Rabe
Sahdi shook her head and thought about her father. Ever since his small airship crashed in the plains while he was hunting lions he had barely been able to speak, let alone understand complex thoughts. She had been forced to return from Alexandria before her studies were complete and assume the throne—without the pope’s or the emperor’s blessing—while her father spent his days with physicians from as far as India who still said they could heal his damaged brain even after a decade of no progress.
“It’s late.” Sahdi feigned a yawn. “We shall speak of this at a later time.”
“Shall I call on you in the morning?”
“No. I shall call on you at a time of my own choosing.”
“As you wish.” The Duke bowed, his amber eyes never leaving hers. “Sleep well, Ehu Kandake.”
Later that night, wrapped in a simple servant’s cloak, Sahdi concealed herself in the darkness near the midship starboard railing. A man in soft-soled shoes, trousers, and a waistcoat approached cautiously.
“You’re late,” Sahdi whispered, letting the cloak fall to her shoulders.
“Forgive me,” Duke Zander said. “I could not decide what to wear with my bed slippers.”
Sahdi stopped herself from laughing and grinned as he stepped closer. He had put on a touch of cologne and the musky scent teased her senses. What did he think she wanted with him in the middle of the night? She toyed with the scandalous thoughts for a moment, before regaining her focus. “Do you have the time?”
Zander deftly withdrew a pocket watch on a chain, squinted in the darkness. “Three minutes to four.”
“I’m afraid we haven’t got much time.” Sahdi reached for his hand and strongly drew him toward her.
Zander did not seem surprised until she led him to the railing a few steps away and pointed at a rope ladder hanging over the side. “You’re climbing down.”
“Though I am a gentleman, this is not what I hoped for when I received your summons,” Zander said, his hand gently squeezing hers.
Sahdi lost herself in his words, staring at his face and forgetting everything until the Nile splashed against the hull, bringing her back to the present.
“Majesty, please.” Shahkto whispered from a shadowy turret overlooking the rope ladder.
“Climb down,” Sahdi ordered Zander.
Zander resisted. “You’re throwing me off the ship?”
An Egyptian colonel with a pistol drawn—though aimed at the deck—came through a metal door in the wall paralleling the railing. Another imperial officer came from the other direction and stepped in front of the ladder, guarding it with a cocked revolver. “Highness,” the captain said, “I must escort you to your stateroom. Now.”
Sahdi glanced at the officer just more than an arm’s length behind her, blocking her escape, then made eye contact with the colonel. “I need fresh air, and the Duke and I have not finished our conversation.” Sahdi stepped closer to Zander and wantonly opened her cloak with both hands, exposing what lay beneath. “You see, I did not know what to wear either.” She pushed her hips against him and put his hand on the handle of the saber hanging unsheathed from a cloth belt around her waist. Her eyes met his as she nodded her head. “You know what to do.”
Zander grabbed the handle and thrust the sword up and into the throat of the officer as Shahkto killed the surprised colonel with a throwing knife.
“Majesty, climb down!” Shahkto’s urgent plea echoed voices at the base of the ladder.
The explosion ripped through the war-barge like an earthquake as the boiler and aft powder magazine exploded at once. Sahdi held onto Zander’s hand as they tumbled over the railing and into the crocodile infested Nile below.
Three hours after sunrise a caravan of nine steam-cars and three rhino machine gun trucks rolled north on the road that followed the Nile at the edge of the plains.
“Right on time,” Sahdi said, “unlike some.” She flashed an upturned eyebrow to Zander, who was now wearing a dry set of plain clothing as they stood in the verdant hills miles away from where the Ibis had sunk and where they had left their small rowboats.
“That fool of a colonel must not have known about the bombs, how did you?” Zander asked for the second time.
“I am the Queen of Nubia.” The hint of a smile appeared on her lips as a stone faced Shahkto waved to the lead steam car.
“You could have told me when I spoke to you at midnight.” Zander was still upset. “I could have disarmed it. Saved the ship, and all those men.”
Sahdi faced him. “So could I. Better for the emperor to think we’re dead. It was his bomb after all. Let him think his plan worked.” Sahdi wrapped a scarf around her face and hair. “Now come. Content yourself that we’ve changed modes of travel as you suggested.”
She got behind the wheel of the lead car and invited Zander to ride in the front with her.
“The paint is fresh.” Zander touched the Egyptian flag painted on the door and commented on the Egyptian uniforms worn by the Sahdi’s Nubian soldiers.
“Quite fresh.” Sahdi put her hands on the wheel, loving the smell and the vibration of the rumbling steam engine.
Shahkto dispersed the royal servants, guards, and luggage into the caravan and then manned the machine gun turret in the rear of Sahdi’s armored car while the drivers poured water and shoveled fresh loads of coal into the boilers.
“Wear these.” Sahdi handed Zander a pair of brass goggles similar to the ones she adjusted over her eyes. Shahkto handed Zander the tunic and hat of an Egyptian general.
“I am quite a proficient driver,” Zander said. “Perhaps I—”
“Ready?”
The Duke nodded as Queen Sahdi released the throttle. He hung on as she accelerated to the steam car’s top speed of nearly fifty miles per hour. The bumpy road, frequent stops at water stations, and a handful of surprised soldiers at checkpoints slowed their pace, but at the end of the day they reached the emperor’s palace outside the temple of Karnak in Luxor.
Sahdi’s spies were correct. At least a hundred and fifty thousand men were camped around the city where Demetrius planned the invasion of Nubia. According to Zander, the emperor felt safe there from his rivals that were gathering in Alexandria as Actium Day approached. Representatives from all over the world were assembling to celebrate the victory of Antony and Cleopatra over Octavian on September 2, 31 B.C., which guaranteed the fall of the Roman Republic and the ascension of the modern Egyptian Empire that had lasted for more than eighteen hundred years. The empire was no longer entirely intact, but most of the Mediterranean world owed allegiance and respected Egypt’s vast wealth and power, which was second only to Nubia.
The next morning, Emperor Demetrius Andronicus Marcus Ptolemnus XII met Sahdi in his elevated palace overlooking the ancient temple of Karnak. The gigantic columns, pylons, and obelisks—all painted and re-plastered to look as they did in the time of the ancient pharaohs—were a stunning monument to the restoration efforts of the Ptolemaic Dynasty.
“Crown Princess Lumasahda Cleopatra Selene I,” the herald announced as she entered the lavish throne room filled with courtiers, guards, and various nobles. Considering how many slaves were in Egypt, Sahdi was surprised not to see any snowfaced Europeans.
“Sahdi, my favorite cousin. You are a glorious sight.” Demetrius stood from his golden throne as he called out with false cheerfulness.
She wore her ostrich feather gown, white lace gloves, and an ivory corset and bustier that kept her large breasts in their most powerful and uplifted position. She had worn her mound of dark hair inside a tall blue and gold flat-topped crown—a style made famous in antiquity by Queen Nefertiti—to whom Sahdi’s beauty had often been compared. In addition, Sahdi hoped to upset her cousin further by wearing the double uraeus circlet crown of Nubia.
“Imperial Majesty.” Sahdi bowed half as far as she should, easily keeping her balance despite the high-heeled boots she wore under the hoop dress. She was a giant among the men and women of court wi
th her tall crown, heels, and the tremendous stature she had inherited from her father.
The emperor’s four sons and three daughters stood at the edge of the aisle leading to the throne. The oldest boy was in his early twenties and oldest girl perhaps fifteen. Sahdi gave them a withering look as she wondered after Empress Galatia. There was no sign of the famously fertile and fat queen who was thought to be pregnant once again—though no one could really tell for certain.
“It is splendid to see you, dear Sahdi. I’m so relieved that you survived the accident aboard the Ibis. How dreadful that must have been.” He pretended not to see the Nubian crown, and his eyes roamed over her hips and chest. “How long has it been? Fourteen years since I visited you in the depths of that rotting library?”
The royal guards stopped Sahdi five paces away from the ostentatious throne. She smiled at Demetrius, letting the silence chill the humid air. She had nearly forgotten how boorish he could be, but it was not without purpose. He was baiting her, though she would not take the lure like she almost had at Gebel Adda.
“Cousin.” The emperor sat with a grin. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for some time and am thankful we could put our differences aside. I’ve already sent a shipment of four thousand Jewish slaves up the Nile to show the world we are trading again, and as a wedding gift I will give Nubia one thousand of them for each barge of the famous Nubian iron sent downriver. Let no one say I am not gracious to the Princess of Nubia with her dowry either. I will contribute six thousand snow-faces to King Antyllus, mostly Franks and Spaniards, some Jews. He can use all the chattel he can get in his coal and silver mines.”
“No thank you, cousin Demetry.” A scandalous murmur went through the court at the use of his familiar name. “The laws of Nubia and its trade policies have not changed since I’ve left, nor will they.” Slavery hadn’t been permitted in Nubia for more than two years and any country that wished to trade with the Nubians without paying excessive tariffs had to abolish the practice as well.
The emperor shook his head. “Well then, it is good to see that you have not lost your spirit. I do not envy the task of King Antyllus.” Some nobles in the court chuckled softly. “Your upcoming wedding will take place on Actium Day, thirteen days hence. His Majesty will be in Alexandria for the festivities and I’ll send a telegraph to Athens immediately confirming that there will indeed be a marriage. I shall hold a gala the likes of which no one has ever seen. Does that please you, dear cousin?”
Her mouth twisted in a mock smile. “Does it matter if I am pleased?”
Demetrius cleared his throat and looked at his courtiers and family. They all looked away, mortified at her monumental impertinence to the most powerful man in the world.
“Oh Sahdi, I’m certain we’ll have much more time to speak after the wedding, and of course before your husband whisks you off to glorious Athens. I’m sure he’ll take you in style. He’s so fond of his airships, though mine are still the best in the empire. You will take one of them to Alexandria, avoid the mosquitoes along the riverbanks.”
“No.” Her tone was as cold as the frozen Black Sea, and much more treacherous.
“Ah, yes,” Demetrius said. “You are still quite afraid after what happened to your father.”
The way he said “happened” made Sahdi want to pull the revolver strapped to her right thigh. She had a secret slit in her gown that would allow her to draw the pistol and shoot it without pulling the weapon from her dress. Though it wasn’t part of the master plan, she had considered shooting Demetry since entering the room, and now she had a strong suspicion that her smug cousin had something to do with her father’s accident. There had always been suspicions, but never a shred of proof.
“How is my addled uncle?” the emperor asked. “Is he still drooling most of the day?”
Before Sahdi realized it, she had reached into her gown and locked her hand on the pistol. She regained control of her senses as the guards flanking her came closer. “I’ll give my father your regards,” Sahdi said, releasing her grip on the weapon, “when I return to Meroë.”
“Still thinking about being buried in one of those pagan pyramids?” the emperor asked. “What a quaint practice. I should think that the next time you’ll be in Meroë will be long after your death. The Athenians will have to mummify your corpse in the old way so it won’t putrefy as they transport you across the Mediterranean. I suppose they could pack you in Macedonian ice and fly you over on an airship.”
The throne room went silent as the emperor glowered at Sahdi, daring her to respond.
Sahdi made the sign of the cross on her chest. “I shall have a Christian burial, Demetry. Have you considered what kind of funeral you will have?”
The emperor pulled back in his throne.
Sahdi strode out of the chamber without bowing and kept a haughty grin plastered on her face for all to see. She entered the private waiting room where she had prepared for her meeting and locked the door. General Nahktebbi stood stiffly in the back of the room wearing a parade uniform thick with medals and ribbons, probably from the Egyptian campaigns in the New World to conquer the Sioux tribes in Mexico.
“No one knows you are here?” Sahdi whispered in Bantin, noticing he had shut the discreet door that adjoined the waiting room where he had been sequestered.
He shook his head and bowed to her. “Your Majesty, you wished to speak with me?”
Sahdi drew the pistol she had kept under her gown. Nahktebbi’s eyes went wide. The assassination attempt on the Ibis had changed everything, and she handed him the gun handle first. Sahdi would strike now as the circumstances allowed. “Tebbi, make yourself useful for once and all is forgiven.”
Nahktebbi looked stunned as Sahdi opened the adjoining door to his waiting room, and waved for him to go.
She waited for several moments until Nahktebbi was brought into the throne room. She listened for the sound of a gunshot, and the screaming that would follow.
“General Nahktebbi, our Nubian worker of miracles!” the emperor bellowed, preempting the herald. “Name your reward, General. I am a man of my word.”
“Imperial Majesty, I wish only to serve at your side,” Nahktebbi said.
There was no gunshot, and Sahdi clenched her fists, enraged that Nahktebbi had betrayed her trust yet again. How foolish she was to believe he would help her.
Moments later, she composed herself and exited the waiting room. She walked quickly, unable to listen to the pompous emperor or endure the gazes of his sniveling sycophants scrutinizing her in the hall. She would have her revenge, but not today.
Alexandria was larger than Sahdi remembered, and the harbor smelled much worse. Fisherman from all across the Nile Delta were ordered here with their catches to feed the sudden influx of visitors. The city had grown to almost twice its previous size since she had attended the university, and the streets were packed with tens of thousands of citizens from all over Egypt, plus countless foreigners attending the Actium Day celebrations. Just getting into the capital proved to be challenging, as the roads were thronged with travelers—and according to Duke Zander’s contacts and Sahdi’s spies—a small army of assassins hired by intermediaries of the emperor bent on ending her life long before she arrived in the capital.
The Duke of Attica was determined to please his king, and deliver Sahdi to the wedding unharmed. Taking an airship from Luxor seemed the best course of action, but Zander never once tried to convince Sahdi to take Bucephalus, and instead helped arrange for two separate steamships on the trip from Memphis, then a train conveyed them to Kanopus where they “became separated” from their imperial guards during what was to be a brief horse ride. The horses carried them to the coast where they took a short voyage on a leaky Athenian submarine called Triton, which brought them into Alexandria’s harbor. Sahdi had doubts about the health, intellect, and age of King Antyllus, but his most trusted servant, the Duke of Attica, was a man as clever as Odysseus.
A day after arriving in the
capital, the emperor’s informants found Sahdi, Zander, and a very belligerent Shahkto hiding in Alexandria’s vast library complex. Much to the disgust of the scholars who had come to study there, a small army of Egyptian soldiers proceeded to clear any floor where the Nubian queen wished to go. To remove any potential witnesses, Shahkto had said. Despite that fear, the guards set up an armed vigil around Sahdi.
The emperor and his family would arrive the next day, just in time for her afternoon wedding at Saint Mark’s Cathedral. The emperor would save a lot of coin holding her marriage feast on Actium Day—blending two expenses into one tremendous celebration for all the dignitaries and nobles in the Coptic Empire. Dozens of airships, including Bucephalus, and King Antyllus’ airship Achilles Revenge, had arrived. Several more were anchored around the colossal Lighthouse of Alexandria, which sat on the concrete island at the mouth of the harbor. Cleopatra the Great had rebuilt the lighthouse and each generation had added to or renovated the gigantic structure. The current emperor’s father had scrapped the old stone building and constructed the modern lighthouse using the design of an immigrant engineer. Alexandre Gustave Ivvel had been delivered to the Egyptian court, and his masterpiece was the tallest building in the world, a phallic symbol of steel girders topped with a light that had no equal.
Sahdi left her brilliant view of the Ivvel Lighthouse from a balcony of the library and drifted through the stacks of scrolls and books with Zander and Shahkto in front and behind her. She wondered how things would have changed if the fire that started when Julius Caesar came to Alexandria in 48 B.C. had spread beyond one small shelf.
The section where Sahdi eventually found herself after wandering for some time with a well-armed Shahkto and Duke Zander, as well as the emperor’s minders, was of course in the specialty stacks dedicated to Cleopatra the Great. In the seventy-four years of her reign, Cleopatra VII wrote many books and three memoirs . . . the first a few years after Antony had destroyed Rome for good; then after Antony’s death from an excess of wine when Cleopatra was in her fifties; and lastly in the final years of her life when her power was at its zenith, just before she abdicated all her duties to her son with Julius Caesar, Caesarion.
