by Max Overton
"Why haven't you told him, dear one?"
Tomyra scowled then relented, stroking Bithyia's face. "I am afraid," she said simply. "I fear that he will leave me when he finds I bear another man's child, or if he does not, that he will grow away from me."
"You could tell him it is his. He is a man and will readily believe you."
"I will not lie to him. Yet I fear he will draw away from the truth."
"He would not," affirmed Bithyia fiercely. "He loves you too much. Timon has often spoken of the great love he has for you." She gripped Tomyra's hand and squeezed it hard. "Oh, I dare say he will be shocked at first. He is a man after all." Bithyia snorted. "Men seem to think women are their property and that another man's attention somehow taints us. Never fear, mistress, he will stop and think. He knows Dimurthes forced you..."
"Do not name that man," snarled Tomyra, her eyes flashing. "I would that all parts of him might die from this world." Her hands crept over her belly as she spoke.
"Anyway, lord Nikomayros knows your heart is his alone. He risked death to find you; he will not turn you away."
Tomyra smiled wanly. "You are probably right, Bithyia. It is just the fear of a young girl thrust into womanhood before the time of her choosing."
"So tell him, my lady. Put your mind at rest."
Tomyra shook her head. "He has enough to worry him. He works so hard, planning and training the army, consulting with his generals, talking to spies. He comes to bed late and rises before I wake. I do not want to put an extra burden on him."
"Timon says the plans are going well."
"Yes. The army will set out within five days if the rain lets up. They plan to force my half-brother to battle within ten more. Then it's in the hands of the gods."
"They will prevail, Tomyra. I know it. You can take your place in the tribe once more, with your lord by your side."
"As what, Bithyia? As the secret lover of the priestess? As a kept man? He has too much pride."
"Why, as war-leader. Perhaps as chief of the tribe. The people love him. They will accept you as his wife when they see he has the favour of the Mother."
"Yes, they love him but as a talisman, as the luck-bringer. If they stopped to think about it they would not accept him as their leader. He is not of the People. Besides, some would dispute his elevation. Parasades, for one." Tomyra shivered and drew the goatskin tightly about her. "What is it about that man, Bithyia? I thought he was a friend. He is strong, capable, well liked but there is a thread of violence and treachery within him. Remember how he tried to leave Niko behind?"
"He's being watched, dear one. I have instructed Prithia to keep her ears and eyes open. She is seeing a lot of Certes these days." Bithyia laughed. "The poor man is besotted with her."
"Speaking of Prithia," said Tomyra. "Where is that girl? I am thirsty."
Bithyia got to her feet and sauntered over to the tent entrance. She looked out into the rain for a few minutes before ducking back in again. "She is coming," Bithyia said, shaking the water from her long black hair. "And she has company."
"Oh? Who?"
"Your Egyptian friend with the unpronounceable name," laughed Bithyia. "At least I know you will be in a good mood for the rest of the day."
Dolra looked up from where she sat carving on a piece of bone. "An Egyptian? Who is he?" she asked.
Bithyia grinned. "That's right; you haven't met Ket, have you?" She laughed at the puzzled expression on the young girl's face. "He is an old slave of the Jartai, but apparently he saw the lord Nikomayros in Egypt many years ago. We met him last year, just after we defeated the Jartai."
Dolra gaped. "Lord Nikomayros has been to Egypt?"
"Of course he has," snapped Bithyia impatiently. "Nikomayros was a lord in the Macedonian army. He has been everywhere. Anyway, this old man Ket saw him there and prophesied he was of the blood of kings."
"Kings..." breathed Dolra, her eyes wide.
"Our lady here dotes on the old man and has missed him almost as much as she missed her lord," interrupted Bithyia, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Although I dare say, for different reasons."
Tomyra stuck out her tongue at the other woman and hefted the cushion at her. Bithyia ducked and laughed again as the tent flap opened. Prithia staggered in, breathing heavily. She placed a large hide flask of koumiss on the floor and straightened, massaging the small of her back. A young Scythian boy followed her, carrying a large wicker basket. He placed the basket on the ground near Tomyra, bowed, and quickly edged out of the tent as Sarmatia entered, along with a very old man.
Tomyra scrambled to her feet and bobbed her head courteously, giving the newcomer a broad smile. "Ketherennoferptah, you are welcome," she said, speaking slowly and with great care. She grinned. "There! I managed it without a slip. I have been practicing."
The old man blinked and turned his ancient rheumy eyes at the young girl. His already profoundly wrinkled forehead furrowed further in concentration and he cleared his throat. "Where is Bubis?" he asked querulously. "I have been looking for him all day. I am sure this rain has made him run away."
Behind him, Sarmatia and Prithia dissolved into fits of giggles. Dolra stared at them then at the old man in wonder. Bithyia stifled a grin and pointed at the basket. "He is here Ket-herongfer..." She shook her head and smiled. "He is here, Ket, in the basket. See?" She bent and took the lid off the basket.
A deep rumble echoed from the depths of the basket and a large black cat raised its head above the rim. It looked at the women standing around and yawned widely, unconcerned. Then with a lithe fluidity it leapt out and butted itself against the legs of the old man, its purring reaching a crescendo.
"Ah, Bubis!" exclaimed Ket. "There you are. You have been hiding in this tent with this young girl, have you?" He stared vacantly at Tomyra. "I have seen you before, girl."
"I am Tomyra, dear Ketherennoferptah. I am happy that you have come to see me again."
Ket's dreamy stare suddenly focused and he straightened, adjusting his robes. "Well, of course you are, Tomyra, honoured priestess of the Massegetae." He bowed and smiled around at the other women. "Bithyia too, and Sarmatia and...Prithia is it not? This other young lady I do not know."
"Dolra," whispered the young girl.
"Will you be seated, Ket?" asked Tomyra. "Your presence and your conversation is a delight on such a dreary day."
"Thank you, Tomyra. You do an old slave much honour." Ket folded himself carefully into a cross-legged sitting position and lowered himself to the ground.
Tomyra sat down beside him and took one of his wrinkled hands in hers. "You are no longer a slave, dear Ket. I have told you this before. You are an honoured guest until such time as you can return to your own land."
A dreamy look overtook Ket once more and the muscles of his face relaxed, his gaze becoming unfocussed again. "Ah, the sunny climes of the glorious Double Kingdom," he muttered. "Will I ever see thy face again?"
"Curses!" whispered Bithyia. "Just when I thought he had a hold on things. You never know what is going to set him off."
Bubis walked over to Tomyra, tail cocked firmly upright and pushed his way into the young woman's lap. He butted her in the belly with his great black head and yowled softly. Pummeling her thigh briefly with his front feet, he settled down and closed his eyes, purring loudly. The old man looked across at Tomyra, his eyes wide open in shock.
"He has never done that before," he muttered. "What is it he sees that I do not?" He stared at the cat asleep on Tomyra then up to her smiling face. "Ahh!" he nodded, his whole scrawny body rocking as his eyes drifted, unfocused.
"It almost never rains in my land, you know," said Ket in a sing-song voice. "Yet the river rises just the same. The god Khnum raises the Nile and spreads his seed over the land, making everything fertile once more." Ket looked up at Tomyra with a sudden smile. "It seems other seed has been spread."
Tomyra flushed, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her koumiss cup. Her hand shook as sh
e set it carefully on the ground. She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. "What do you mean, Ket?"
"The field has been planted, has it not, child?"
"Who has been speaking out of turn?" Tomyra's eyes flashed as she looked round at her companions.
Ket shook his head, his straggly white locks falling over his face. "No one, child." He brushed his hair aside. "It is obvious if you know what to look for. My Bubis here spotted it immediately." He smiled and shrugged. "I am an old man and slower. Do you deny it?"
Tomyra sat in silence for a long time. Finally she whispered "No," in a small voice.
Ket nodded solemnly. He scratched the carpet with a long fingernail. Bubis opened his eyes and stared at Ket's finger. His tail twitched and his feet bunched up under him. The reverberating purring grew louder. "You are not happy, Tomyra. Why, I wonder?"
The silence drew out, the drumming of the rain on the taut hide tent and the thunder of the black cat filling the hollow between words. Finally, Tomyra stirred and looked Ket in the eye, a defiant look in her eye.
"The child is not my lord's," Tomyra said quietly. "When I was carried off I was raped."
"Aaah..." Ket nodded sagely. "And Lord Nikometros takes this amiss?"
Tomyra blinked in surprise. "He doesn't know, but if he did then...yes, I fear he might."
Ket started rocking gently backward and forward, humming softly to himself as he did so. A tiny thread of saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth and his hand stopped scratching the carpet.
Bubis' eyes flicked up at the old man and he stared up at him with obvious disapproval. He got up, stretching and bared his sharp teeth and pink tongue in a wide yawn before settling back down to sleep.
"Lost him again," muttered Bithyia. "Shall I fetch his servant?"
"Most men treat women as property," Ket said suddenly. "Yet in any civilised land a woman is regarded as the equal of a man. My own people are quite civilised in this regard. The Sauromantians and other tribes of Pontus have even reduced men to a lower status, using them to father children when the women desire them."
Tomyra frowned. "I know this, Ket, my mother was of the..."
"The Trocmi of Cappadocia..." interrupted Ket, "...allow a woman to take a lover provided she is discreet. If she is not, they put her and her lover to death. On the other hand, the Mtelabi of Nubia encourages women to have relations with any man if it will produce a baby. All children are held in common regard and treated equally." A smile flitted across the old man's face and he winked at Tomyra. "Many men are narrow in thought but some are worth the effort. I think you misjudge your man, Tomyra."
Tomyra smiled wanly. "Few men will accept another man's bastard."
"We shall see, child. Your Nikometros deserves the title of 'Golden'."
Bithyia gasped and pressed forward, gripping Tomyra's shoulder as she peered into Ket's face. "You think Nikomayros is the Golden King of your prophecy?"
Tomyra kept her face expressionless, though her hands clasped each other tightly in her lap. "I never named him the one," she whispered.
"No," agreed Ket amiably. He looked around at Prithia and held out his cup. "Pour me some more of that sour milk, my dear. I must admit the flavour does improve with experience." He waited while she sloshed koumiss from the skin flask into his cup, spilling as much as she poured. Ket raised the milk to his mouth and drank thirstily, the thin nutty-tasting fluid dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he gulped. His hand shook as he set the cup down.
"My hand is cramped," he complained, massaging it with his other hand. "Too many maps to draw."
Bubis opened his eyes again and leapt down from Tomyra's lap. He leaned forward to investigate the drops pattering down on the old man's stained tunic. He sniffed delicately then drew back with a faint look of disdain on his face, turning to stare at the tent entrance hide flapping in the breeze.
"You never did like koumiss, did you Bubis," chortled Ket. "Though you like milk well enough before it sours." He looked up at the young women and adopted an air of pedantic seriousness. "My Bubis likes cow's milk better than mare's milk you know. He will not drink goat's milk though. I have often wondered why." He cocked his head on one side as if listening and nodded. "Perhaps it is because the cow is sacred to my people. What do you think?"
Tomyra sighed. "Yes, Ket. That sounds right."
Sarmatia edged forward and plucked at her mistress' sleeve. "Do you think he's right, my lady?" she asked. "Could Nikomayros be the Golden one?"
"Oh, it would be wonderful if he was," breathed Prithia with a dreamy expression. "He would be king and rule over the plains bringing riches and gold to our people."
Tomyra gave her a sharp look and slapped her arm lightly. "Stop that, Prithia. I never saw my lord as the one, only that he is bound to the Golden One somehow."
"I have given this much thought," mused Ket, his eyes still unfocused. He picked up Bubis and settled him on his own lap. "And I must admit I am undecided. A case could be made for Nikometros actually being the Golden King. His hair is gold, a colour strange in these lands. He rides a great stallion, the colour of gold. Further, the Jartai described him as flaming as he led the charge against them last year. He has power, and with it riches if he desires."
"A real king," breathed Dolra.
"Then you do think he's the one," cried Prithia excitedly.
"No." Ket smiled and set down his cup. He patted his damp chin and tunic with a scrap of cloth then went back to stroking Bubis. "There are other possibilities much more likely."
Tomyra and her women waited, but Ket's attention remained riveted on his cat, his fingers seeking out the animal's pleasure spots behind its ears and under the chin. Bubis resumed his thunderous purring. At last Tomyra could bear the silence no longer.
"Well?" she demanded. "What are these possibilities?"
"Eh?" Ket looked up, startled. "Oh, just that you should consider the words you actually prophesied." He patted his tunic and drew out a small scrap of parchment. Ket unfolded it slowly and scrutinised it, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Prithia peered over Ket's shoulder at the scrap of parchment. "What are all those little lines and squiggles?" she asked.
"Writing," muttered Ket. "Have you not seen writing before?"
"Of course I have seen writing before," retorted Prithia. "But none of it looked like little pictures of eyes and hands and ducks and...what is that one?" She pointed at a symbol on the parchment.
"It is a uraeus, child. A symbol of royalty. Now be quiet and let me remember exactly how the prophecy was uttered." Ket's lips moved as his finger traced over the symbols. "Ah, yes...'From the blood of kings comes a warrior of the People. Great glory. A golden king lies in his future. Death, and...'
"And what?" asked Sarmatia.
"You must ask Tomyra that," said Ket. "She ended the prophecy there, though from what I have heard from those who were present, there was more."
"My lady?" asked Dolra. "Was there more? What else did the Mother say?"
"Dolra!" snapped Bithyia. "Remember your place. It is between the Goddess and her priestess. If she feels others should know, you will hear it."
Tomyra nodded. "Those were the words, Ket. How do you interpret them?"
"Nikometros is descended from royalty, we know that." Ket smiled. "You really should remember that your lord is a bastard son of a bastard son, grandson of Philip of Macedon and nephew of the Great King Alexander."
"You are joking?" Dolra gaped at Ket. "Nikomayros is related to Alexander?"
"He will not be acknowledged," said Tomyra, waving her hand dismissively. "Go on, Ket."
"Not only will Nikometros not be acknowledged," added Ket, "But he could be in danger should Alexander die. He could be used by others. Courts are full of power-hungry men."
"That is not likely, though," put in Bithyia. "Alexander is only some thirty years old and by all accounts loved by his people."
"Enough!" said Tomyra impatiently. "Go
on, Ket. Tell us who the Golden King is."
Ket chuckled. "Think about the wording of the prophecy. 'From the blood of kings comes a warrior of the people.' This is obviously Nikometros himself. He is royal and he became a great warrior in your tribe."
Bithyia nodded. "Yes, and 'Great glory' came next!" she cried. "It came true. Nikomayros brought great glory to the Massegetae."
"Which brings us to 'A golden king lies in his future'," said Tomyra.
"And 'Death'," added Prithia with a shudder.
Bithyia shrugged. "Death is always with us, Prithia. He is a warrior and fights battles. Of course death will follow him."
"What about the deaths Lynna foretold when she cast the sticks for Nikomayros?" Prithia said. "She talked about three deaths for Nikomayros and death being all around him."
"That part is easily understood," replied Tomyra quietly. "She talked rather of the three lives my lord will lose, meaning times of great danger." Tomyra counted off on the fingers of her hand. "One life was 'lost' in the past, when Nikomayros first came to us. He died to his former life and was reborn as a Massegetae warrior. The second is now. He almost died from the wound received in Serrata. There will be a third, I am sure, but that is the death all men come to."
"And her next words confirmed he is not the Golden King." Ket stretched his arms over his head then pushed one scrawny leg out straight, massaging his thigh muscle. "A cramp," he muttered. "This rain and cold is making me old before my time."
Bubis slid off his lap and landed on the rug. His eyes flew open and he turned an aggrieved stare at the old man. Seeing no apology forthcoming the cat stretched and stalked over to Tomyra and settled down on the ends of her robe.
"What did she say next?" asked Prithia. "I could not make it out as Certes was making some comment about the three lives."
"I think it was 'yet shall he live long in the land of the Golden King.'" Tomyra looked at Ket inquiringly.
"Just so," nodded Ket. "He will live in the lands of this king, not be him."
