by Jay Penner
Minos’ face is turning blue.
The Governor clutches at his throat and flops on the floor like a dying fish. He is struggling to breathe, and hoarse sounds emanate like fingernails on a stone wall. Foam pours out Minos’ mouth, and his eyes are now red like a demon owl’s and his eyelids fill with blood. The grunting and gasping for air continue for several minutes as his large body thrashes about on the pristine floor.
The Governor is strong.
His life clings to him like an obedient dog to its master even as he kicks at it in anger. Even in his throes, his hands lash out to grab those around him. The gurgling and gasps begin to abate, and the Governor’s body shudders and shakes in its final desperate throes. The loose ceremonial garment rips away, and he is shorn of any dignity. He urinates, and his bowels lose control.
Those around him step back from the stench.
Minos’ frantic eyes open and the bloody red orbs stare into Khaia’s eyes. But his mouth makes sounds that no one can hear.
Finally, he expels a great gush of blood mixed with vomit, drenching himself and the floor around in filth.
He shudders violently and finally, the great Governor of Kaftu, loved and feared, twitches and takes one last breath. His eyes roll up his lids, and his head flops lifelessly to the floor.
As the audience stands in silence, Khaia walks slowly to Minos’ body and kneels before him as if in prayer. She leans close to the tortured, grimacing face and whispers, “The poison in your mind is weaker than the poison in my wine.”
She feels a presence by her head and turns to find Phaistos staring at her with his soulless eyes.
Minos receives a hasty, yet respectful burial at sea with full honors. King Hannuruk determines, with Rishwa’s advice, that it will do no one good to speak of Minos’ deception at these times of war. After swearing everyone to secrecy, the news to the people is that the Governor, amidst heavy responsibilities and continuous effort, suffered great pain in his chest and became a beloved of the gods. The messengers also relay to the citizens that the Oracle had received warnings of Minos’ health and that the gods were pleased with his service and saw no danger with his passing.
In only fifteen days, the empire is calm again. Messengers are dispatched to Kaftu and also all other islands and the local governors to quell any unrest and speculation.
Minos is suddenly only a footnote in Atalanni history even if remembered in his homeland of Kaftu.
CHAPTER 26.
KALLISTU
Our journey to Kaftu is mostly uneventful. The winds favor us, and the gods have blessed the return with no untoward surprises.
I wonder if the Atalanni gods hold power outside their dominion and if the gods of Egypt reign supreme in their land. I have made an uneasy peace with the Prince—for both of us stand to lose much, including our lives, if our stories do not portray the mission in a kind light.
The Prince acknowledges that I have saved him more than once in this journey and have been loyal despite his misgivings. I recognize that I am alive after the meeting with the Asiatics because of the presence of Royalty. We share disdain for each other, but I know that we cling to each other for self-preservation.
We share a meal and go over the strategy when facing the King. But we worry about the Oracle and the Prime Minister; their mental alacrity far surpasses the aging King’s.
“You are certain that someone high enough told the Asiatics about our mission?” asks the Prince.
“Yes, I am, Your Highness. To bring that up would alarm whoever it is that works against our interests. We should stick to our original plan. That the Asiatics are distrustful and lack the intelligence to take on our offer.”
“And then we iterate their barbarian ways to illustrate the point?”
“Yes. The uncouth behavior in the court, the dried severed palms, the killing of prisoners—”
“You made your point about killing prisoners, let it go.”
“Yes, Your Highness, I speak only of the Asiatics. Of course, we tell the court that the Asiatics seek absolute supremacy over Egypt and are loath to make any arrangement that creates an obligation.”
“No other justification?”
“No. If we keep it simple, then we escape from being caught in a lie.”
Nimmuruk smiles and nods. The Prince becomes thoughtful.
“Unless we have mass production of our weapons and have a large army, there is not much of a chance of success in Egypt, is there?”
I am surprised at his acceptance. Most of my war strategy comes from education and knowledge shared from our history or from travelers from other Kingdoms. But all those tales tell of the fundamental need for successful wars—people and materials. And we are blessed with plenty of neither. We have great intelligence, but we have too few men. It is like a lion being attacked by many wild dogs—no matter how majestic, powerful, or intelligent the lion is, it cannot withstand the attack of a hundred dogs.
Nimmuruk continues. “We have to wait until we are sufficiently prepared.”
“Governor Minos will rise up to the task and give us an unbeatable army.”
Nimmuruk scoffs with irritation. “The only thing that bastard will rise up is to rape goats. I will have my father teach him a lesson.”
I choose not to respond. The Prince has still not forgotten their dispute in Kaftu where Minos almost got the Prince killed.
“But I agree with your assessment, Your Highness, that our invasion cannot be hasty. You have an astute understanding of military matters,” I say, hoping to inflate the Prince’s ego.
Nimmuruk nods as if accepts my praise. “The question is whether my father has the patience to wait, or if the Oracle has messages that urge no more delay.”
“We cannot guess the will of our gods.”
“But the events in Egypt give me another reason to believe what the Oracle said,” says Nimmuruk.
“How so?”
Nimmuruk leans against the bench and looks out to the sea. The skies are spotless, and the blue waters calm. The Atalanni vessels move elegantly in formation behind the Prince’s boat. It is a scene of tranquility.
“Look around us, Teber. Once we got back to the boat and were on the seas, we are safe. But Egypt held many unpleasant surprises.”
“That is true, Your Highness.”
“The Oracle saying that our gods are displeased because we have not won them greater dominion is evident in that the gods of Egypt hold sway over their land and our gods were quite helpless.”
I am surprised again—the Prince’s thinking is like mine.
“Perhaps they need our help just as we need their blessing?” Nimmuruk says.
“That might be so, but is that not what the Oracle said? That they need us to expand their dominion. Our experience supports the Oracle’s messages,” I say. The divine beings work in mysterious ways, and their demands are difficult to explain.
Nimmuruk looks unconvinced. “I should have been more diplomatic,” Nimmuruk says, reflecting on his actions in the court.
“We learn from our experiences, Your Highness.”
“You gloat from my failure,” Nimmuruk says glumly, avoiding my eyes.
“No, Your Highness, your father gave me his confidence to serve you, and I am your loyal servant. We will win Egypt together,” I say, “They will not surprise us the next time.”
Nimmuruk looks satisfied with the answer. He stops talking and watches the water as the navy progresses slowly back towards Kaftu, our first stop before sailing onward to the capital.
I walk to the bow.
The gentle breeze whispers that the days ahead are full of peril.
When the navy approaches the harbor in Kaftu, there is no big welcome party, and Minos is absent. He was to receive the returning force. But we quickly learn of the Governor’s death.
I am shocked, but Nimmuruk sniggers and says it is good for everyone that the Governor is dead. I am skeptical of the death. A robust man full of life just collapses and di
es?
The army is still in preparation under the control of Phaistos, Minos’ security chief, one of the few men with experience in leading the military.
I know little about Phaistos—he is a mystery. But currently, the equations of power and control over the island is unclear. The King has ordered that governorship of the island is to be resolved after the Prince returns.
We spend two days inspecting the preparation. What we find is not very assuring—it has not been too long since we left, and Minos had his mind elsewhere other than polishing the sharp edge of the fighting force.
There is much to do.
Eventually, we leave to Kallistu when the winds favor us; the time to face the King has arrived.
CHAPTER 27.
KALLISTU
The King is furious. “Those wretched bastards!” he shouts. His eyes are bloodshot, and he is very unhappy at the news from Egypt. Rishwa is trying to keep the King calm and attentive. The Supreme Council is in full attendance.
We keep our heads low, and the Prince is happy to let me do all the talking. We have an understanding, and I hope there are no missteps.
“What exactly did Khamudi say, General?” asks Rishwa.
“They believe they have the situation under control, Prime Minister, and refuse to engage with us. We also noticed that they are truly barbarous in their nature—”
Prince Nimmuruk scoffs loudly and rolls his eyes theatrically. “They are disgusting. Sewers right beside the palace. Severed hands of their enemies inside their houses! They even bury the dead below their living rooms. They are truly wretched.”
I nod fervently at the Prince’s account. This is all going well, so far. “We believe they lack the intelligence to understand our proposal,” I say, feeling confident at how this is progressing.
“Is it because of lack of intelligence, or are they astute and understood our true intentions? A muddy river may look shallow, but beneath may lie crocodiles,” says Rishwa. The Prime Minister’s gentle demeanor hides a sharp mind. Rishwa has held his title for over forty summers, indicating his formidable knowledge of the Palace politics and methods to remain in the good graces of the rulers.
I glance at the Prince, who keeps his mouth shut.
“At no point did they show great intelligence, Prime Minister,” I say, “All we saw was juvenile, immature responses to our proposals.”
“Does that mean our assessment of the Pharaoh’s rise was inaccurate?” asks the King, directing his attention to Rishwa.
“I do not believe so, Your Majesty. It might just be that the Asiatics are wary of introducing another party to the equation of their ambition,” says the Prime Minister, his eyes still on me.
“You disagree with the general’s assessment?”
“Even the hungriest beast is suspicious of unfamiliar feasts. I question the absolute certainty of their assessment. The General and the Prince have been in a foreign court for the first time in their lives. The King of the Asiatics is an old hand, his forefathers fought the great Egyptian empire and held their own, and they do not always reveal their true intentions.”
Hannuruk nods. The Oracle is present, but she is uncharacteristically quiet. She fidgets with her drapery and watches them intently and finally speaks. “But it could be that they are correct, Rishwa,” she says, taking our side. The Prince nods appreciatively at Khaia.
“They could be. I am only pointing out that Khamudi has not survived this long against Egypt and maintained peace with Assyrians and the Mitanni by being stupid.”
Hannuruk looks unconvinced. “There are rumors that Khamudi’s father picked up a fight with the boy Ahmose’s father because he did not like the grunts of their strange beast called the Hippopotamus.”
“I would lend some credence to fantastical stories, Your Majesty,” says Rishwa. “There may be some truth to it, but the true reasons may be unknown.”
Hannuruk nods with agreement. The King finally looks intently at his son and asks, “How did we lose our men?”
Nimmuruk looks flustered, and my heart skips a beat. “Disease. Father. We lost many to wretched illnesses in Egypt—their air and water is poison, just like their souls.”
The King shares glances with the Prime Minister. “If you were not my son, I could put you to death for lying,” Hannuruk says. His voice has a hard edge to it.
It is now the voice of a King.
Not that of a father.
But that of an angry King.
“No father, I—”
“Be quiet,” he tells the son and turns to me, “How?”
Blood rushes like a roaring river in my ears. I glance frantically at the Oracle, and she nods, imperceptibly.
What is she saying?
“We were ambushed, Your Majesty.”
“By whom?”
“By the Pharaoh Ahmose himself,” I say, feeling defeated.
Hannuruk leans back to the throne and looks accusingly at his son. Nimmuruk shrinks in his seat and Rishwa nods reassuringly at me.
“We know the challenges of a new mission, general, but let this be a lesson—do not lie to the throne. Trust is like a fragile clay pot; once broken, it can never be repaired. Yes, you feel shame and fear, but you are both home. And you escaped. Tell us the truth,” Rishwa says and adjusts himself comfortably on his cushion.
This time, I decide to be truthful and explain the ambush and the escape. I leave out the execution of the prisoners, deciding to let them ask questions rather than volunteer information.
Nimmuruk looks almost grateful.
But they do not ask about prisoners. Instead, the topic shifts quickly to implications.
“We are far from being prepared for an invasion without the support of the Asiatics,” says Rishwa. Khaia looks irritated but says nothing.
“Our preparations have taken a hit with the loss of the Governor, but we are working with great urgency, Your Majesty,” says Phaistos. The new leader is already exerting his influence in the court and making his voice heard.
“What is the latest assessment for our readiness to begin an invasion?” asks Rishwa.
“Six moons at least to have an army of forty-thousand ready, Prime Minister,” Phaistos says.
I realize that to be quiet would mean gradual erosion of my authority.
“What is our situation with armaments? And I do not speak of swords and arrows, but the Daivoshaktis,” I ask.
Phaistos shoots an irritated glance at me. But before I answer, Rishwa speaks up. “How important is it for us to have the Daivoshaktis deployed in large numbers?”
I gamble. “May I speak freely, Your Majesty?”
The King grunts and Rishwa nods encouragingly.
“Egypt is much larger than our lands. They have a great number of people to deploy. We also do not know if the Asiatics will fight against us or stay defensive, and yet if we were to conquer the empire to satisfy our gods, we must fight both the Asiatics and the Pharaoh,” I say, looking around. I strain not to look at Apsara, who has so far not spoken a word and is withdrawn.
My beautiful Apsara has lost weight.
Rishwa looks at Hannuruk and nods his agreement. It is important to have the Prime Minister on my side. Feeling confident, I move from where I am directly to the front of the throne, facing the King. “There is something else to consider, Your Majesty, so far we have only spoken about the Asiatics and the Pharaoh in Egypt. What we do not know is how the others will react. What about the aggressive Northerners? Will they see this as a chance? What about the Mitanni? We have to be confident that they will not interfere.”
Apsara looks up sharply but does not comment. Rishwa holds up his hand. “Wise words, young general. We have sent word asking them to stay away.”
I return to my original concern. “You asked if our Daivoshaktis must be deployed in large numbers. Yes. I strongly believe we should. Khamudi made it clear that they have far more men than we have our weapons. We also have a logistical problem of moving supplies across the g
reat sea while they must only fortify their defenses and fight a battle of attrition. Our invasion will fail if we are arrogant.”
The King turns to Khaia. “You have been quiet. Are there any new signs?”
“The hints have changed. The cub has grown his mane roars. The claws on the attacking hawks grow sharper. And a majestic mountain rumbles louder with each passing day,” she says and clasps her hands to her chest.
I think I can interpret the signs but decide to let someone else ask.
“What does that mean to you, Khaia?” asks the King.
“The Prince is becoming a lion. The Pharaoh becomes stronger. And the divine expresses impatience.”
Rishwa smoothens the fabric on his thigh and leans. “Egypt grows stronger as we wait, and the gods grow angrier with our delay?”
“You are astute, Prime Minister.”
This is ridiculous!
Why are the gods nudging us towards disaster, for how can we win without adequate preparation? Hannuruk leans towards Rishwa, and the two confer for several minutes in hushed tones.
The Oracle joins them.
The Prince strains to hear their conversation. They discuss animatedly and eventually Nimmuruk joins them. Phaistos and I eye each other from across our chairs; I do not like this man, but there is not much to go on except a feeling. Perhaps Phaistos is a capable commander.
The King suddenly stands up and asks most of the council to leave, except a few of the most senior members. He then turns to his wife and orders her to leave. Apsara gets up and walks by me. She pretends to survey the room, and for a brief second, her gentle, wet eyes land on mine. There is an almost imperceptible smile; it is as if she radiates great affection that is unseen by all except the recipient. I control myself from running to her and sweeping her in my arms.
And then she is gone.
Then inexplicably the King orders that everyone enjoy a meal. There are refreshments—bread, beer, wine, olives, meat, pomegranates, watermelon, cool citrus water—and we eat quietly without much talk. Eventually, after what seems like an hour, the King resumes court.
