“I cannot,” were his words once again. His eyes were moist and pleading as a child’s, though he had seen twentyeight years. Ravi leaned with his back against the chamber wall, lowering his gaze to the floor and was filled with much sadness, “Father, I beg of you.”
“I am not your father!” Esdena’s words rang out harshly. He dared not look at Ravi for fear that his own tears would begin to flow. “We both knew this day would come . . . I have told you from the very first.”
Ravi nodded in sorrow. He lowered himself to the ground; he wrapped his arms around his legs and hugged his knees to his chest, trying in vain to console himself. He sat submissively against the chamber wall, “But I have called you father.”
A long heavy silence filled the air before Esdena, one of the oldest high priests in Egypt, dared speak his own words, “ . . . and I have called you son.”
“Does this mean nothing, then?”
The old man nodded sadly, “It means that which must follow will be all the more difficult to bear.”
“I shall lose the land I love.”
“ . . . and gain one that has great need of thee.”
“I shall lose the heritage from a millennium!”
“ . . . yet show forth the direction of the one to come.”
“I shall lose a father!”
“ . . . but gain a people in his place.” Esdena paced back and forth collecting his thoughts. They did not come easily for his heart was heavy, “The desert cries out for a leader. Between wars and rumors of war, petty battles and border disputes, these wandering tribes are destroying themselves. Even disease and sickness, and the constant threat of Croesus and his Lydian Empire have done nothing to bring these people together. This madness must stop.”
Ravi looked up from where he sat, finally catching the old man’s gaze, “These people mean nothing to me.”
“Then look at them once again, my son, but use the eyes of your heart and not of your head, for your mind would deceive you.”
“What are they to Egypt?”
“A future yet to be written.”
“I dare not think of a future ruled by desert dogs!”
The high priest eyed him suspiciously. “Would you label as such all those who live amidst the plains . . . what of the one who gave you suckle?”
“What memories I possess continue to fade,” Ravi said slowly, “she is the woman who gave me birth.”
“She is your mother and yet lives!”
Ravi nodded in disagreement. “The Nile is my mother. This desert woman has her people and I have mine.”
“You have no idea of the love this woman bears for you,” Esdena replied angrily. “Out of her love for you, she sent you to me. With these people,” he paused only momentarily, “lies the next hope of the world.”
Ravi appeared shocked; his surprise overcame even the sadness, “How can this be?”
“I have witnessed it,” the old man spoke softly, “before my mind’s eye with sijda, the vision, I have seen it. If the tribes are not brought together, then as surely as I stand before you, Croesus will defeat them.”
“What is that to us?” Ravi shook his head sadly. “Under Croesus these people’s lives could be little different then they are now.”
“Perhaps . . . for a time,” Esdena’s eyes became glazed as he reflected upon what he had seen, “but the day would come not too far distant, when Lydia rules not only the plains of Araby but Assyria . . . and Babylonia, Chaldea, Mesopotamia, Aram, Cush, Media . . . even Ra Ta’s Egypt . . . ”
“Croesus does not possess such power,” Ravi interrupted.
“To be sure,” Esdena acknowledged, “but evil left unguarded spreads like an autumn’s fire. There are those who would be only too eager to join with Croesus. Should that happen, even Egypt will be threatened.”
Ravi felt the ache of defeat churn in the pit of his stomach. “But why must I follow this path? Surely there is another?”
“My son,” the old man replied with compassion, “it is because of your love for Egypt that you chose what is to come. It is the reason you were born to the desert tribes. It is the reason you shall return to your mother. I have told you this story from the very first . . . ”
“I would choose not to hear it again.”
“And I, your father, with heavy heart and words of love that dare not be spoken, would beg to tell you just one more time. Surely you will not deny me this?”
Ravi bowed his head in submission and began to cry, “I can deny you nothing.”
“Then hear me,” Esdena replied hoarsely, “knowing this to be the very last time . . . ”
It was the occasion of her marriage and with her whole heart, mind, and soul, Sumi was in love. Her handmaidens helped her dress and together they listened to the throng of a thousand voices assembling on the plains outside her father’s enormous tents. The day of the ceremony had finally arrived and her excitement and nervousness had grown so intense that she didn’t think she could stand still for another moment. Since first spotting Joell riding past her father’s settlement, she had dreamed of this day. She knew how lucky she was to be able to pick her own husband. A khudrazan they called her, for seldom would the daughter of a great tribesman even see the man she must marry before the wedding, let alone choose him!
She imagined some of the wondrous changes that came with being a wife. She would experience what it meant to have a man—things whispered in giggled secrets among young girls when they were alone. She would have her own home, perhaps not as majestic as her father’s but it would be hers and each morning she would dust limestone upon the threshold, providing a pleasant scent for all who entered, and begin the tasks that awaited a desert wife. She would become a woman’s equal, for a female without a husband remains ever a child. And one day, should her guardian spirit see fit to grant her wish, she would have children of her own who would never have to face the pain of losing their mother.
Her long white garments hung loosely from her shoulders and Margi, the most round of her handmaidens, provided the finishing touch by fastening a golden cord about Sumi’s slender waist. Finally, the bride’s hair was pulled back beneath the silken headscarf and she was completely robed in her ceremonial attire. All that could be seen of her olive-brown skin was her gentle hands, her forehead and the uppermost portion of her nose.
All at once the sounds of cymbals and the jingle of brass bells rang out above the noise of the crowds. Sumi knew the time had come. A celebration unsurpassed in the history of the settlement was to bring together the destiny of two warring tribes. Even a high priest from Egypt, one of her mother’s own people, had arrived to perform the ceremony.
Beneath the veil she smiled at her handmaidens, slowly turning about upon her sandals, and then peered at the women once again. The two smiled in return and then bowed to their mistress. Thoughts of the wedding and the feast to follow were as exciting to the servants as to Sumi herself. For at least one day the plains’ problems would be forgotten—the celebration, the food, and the rejoicing would last well into the night.
Her father, Remai, had ordered every delicacy for the occasion. Already the wondrous smells of roasted goat and spiced lamb taunted her nostrils. Honey cakes and melons had been imported from Egypt. Wine and plump grapes had arrived from merchants near the Great Sea. Olives and nuts and perhaps even oranges from the East would adorn the tables of their repast. Her own people had prepared great mounds of flaked rice and cactus