Silken draperies from the East hung upon every wall of Croesus’s fortified palace. Polished gold and silver fineries adorned waxed tabletops for mere decoration, or created scenes in miniature of tiny castles, armed soldiers and slender maidens for Croesus to grasp in fascination and imagine as part of his widening influence. The scent of spice and fine incense lingered throughout hallways, keeping the smells of desert sweat, parched soil, and diseased alleyways nearly imperceptible. Within the center of the throne room two ivory tusks stood side-by-side, displaying the emperor’s growing appreciation for the arts of craftsmanship. In spite of such vast riches, thievery within the castle was unknown. There were far too many eager to tell Croesus of some real or imagined deceit.
Suddenly, Bestreld entered the chamber with much dignity and far too much calm.
“Your life hangs on your first utterance!” Croesus shouted angrily.
“Has my lord forgotten all that was to be accomplished before my arrival? There was much to be done.”
“Your presence was requested immediately!”
“Sometimes even an emperor must wait for the timely execution of his commands. Were it not so,” Bestreld shrugged helplessly, “much preparation would be wasted.”
Croesus came around to the front of his throne and sat down just as Bestreld moved closer. The emperor’s face remained hot with anger but he motioned the exchequer to continue, “What have you learned?”
“That much might be had for a price in Araby,” Bestreld replied, “and that even a servant’s lips might be loosed for a sum.”
Croesus nodded in agreement, and with a wave of his hand dismissed Eliot and the other guards. When the two were alone the emperor voiced the question that had been on his mind all morning:
“So tell me,” his eyes glowed with eager excitement, “how might Lydia defeat the scattered tribes of the plains?”
2
In spite of the marriage of Sumi and Joell and the hope promised by the union of two tribes, peace continued to elude the desert sands. For a time, the people had come together as one but the novelty of the arrangement had long worn off. All the merger had accomplished was the combining of two tribes into one enormous settlement—one filled with great mistrust. Sumi’s father, Remai, had assumed leadership of them all, for even a great many of Joell’s own people believed he was prone to war. In the intervening years, Ravi, the couple’s first-born child, had been sent to Egypt. But much time had passed and after more than twenty years the few who still anticipated his return no longer held much hope that even he would have the skill to set things right.
Sumi knelt beside her father’s cot and listened to the harsh sounds of his struggling breath. The old man was dying and they both knew it. His eyes, once bright and hopeful, had sunk beneath his noble forehead. His skin was loose, hanging limply from weary bones and his bent, spotted hands were those of age, hurting with the simplest of movements. The few strands of hair he still possessed were pressed down by the moisture of sweat. His blue robe of leadership lay carelessly upon the floor. Many months had passed since Remai had even found the strength to stand before an assemblage of his people.
In so many ways he feared he had failed in his role as ruler. In addition to the continual fighting between his people, there was the fever, the wandering bandits who roamed the desert, and such a lengthy period of drought and poverty that even the eldest had difficulty recalling their last time of prosperity. A shortage of water, rations and women had become the norm. Remai sighed with the thought that he had been unable to solve these problems and he knew that his opportunity to do so had come to an end.
“How are you feeling, Father?” Sumi took a woolen cloth and gently wiped his forehead. She remained beautiful, although silver strands now glistened throughout her hair.
The old man shifted ever so slightly before looking up at the face of his only remaining child. His had been the fate of one who lives too long, for he had seen all of his sons taken, either by the fever or slain in battle. He had lived to see his brothers all dead and most of their children as well.
With the death of Remai, many believed that the two tribes would simply separate. Beyond the fabled return of Ravi, there were few candidates who might be accepted in the role of combined leader. To be sure, the union of Sumi and Joell had produced three children in addition to Ravi, two boys and a girl. Oman, Ravi’s younger brother by five years, held the allegiance of warriors from both tribes. However, others believed Oman’s thirst for battle might endanger the entire settlement. Jenda, the other son, was only fifteen and lacked any position of power. Years before, Remai’s ruling council had announced Ravi as the leader to follow but with the intervening years the story of Ravi had become a fable told among old women. Few believed that Ravi would ever return to the poverty of his native desert. After so much time, some even doubted whether the youth had existed at all.
And yet, a fortnight previously a solitary messenger from Egypt had arrived with the amazing news that after more then twenty years, Ravi, the firstborn child of their combined peoples was returning home.
Jenda scurried from one place to another, anxiously waiting to look upon the brother he had never seen. His bare feet ran past a group of Bedouin children and around the gathering of the old men who constantly grumbled between themselves. He passed by small tents and crumbling lean-tos, while skinny goats wandered freely about, waiting patiently for refuse to be discarded onto the sand. The smells of things inedible to even half-starved creatures clung to the air. Piles of filth lay just beyond the tribal boundaries, providing ample breeding ground for all manner of sickness. Finally, he came to a halt near a group of warriors gathering around Oman. Some of the men wore short turbans on their heads; others simply tied leather bands about their scalps. Many prized mighty blades sheathed about their waists and all looked very much alike with short dark beards and thin mustaches, save for one who possessed a deep, ugly scar on the side of his face. Jenda stepped directly behind his brother and listened.
“We must stand and make our claim now!” said the scarfaced Chochi. “We wish to follow you. This Egyptian brother of yours means nothing to us!”
Oman lifted his hand in protest, “It is our duty to follow him, this brother I do not remember. Remai has ordered it and Remai commands us still.”
“If this Ravi fails as warrior,” Chochi growled, “we shall all be beaten. We need not a high priest for guidance, but a soldier to lead us into battle. What if this Ravi is unable to fight?”
“Then we will fight his battles for him,” Oman said positively.
“But you have proven yourself. You deserve to rule!” one of the others demanded.
“Enough!” Oman finally said.
Suddenly, one of the riders galloped back into the settlement screaming with excitement, “Ravi is coming. Ravi has returned!”
The man carried his message throughout the crowd with such excitement that even those who hoped for a different leader were moved in anticipation. People from all parts of the settlement strained their eyes in the direction that the rider had come. All hoped to catch the first glimpse of this man of legend. When the news reached the central tent, Sumi called two of the counselors to assist Remai. The old ruler insisted on being present when Ravi rode in to greet them.
It was not long before a lone traveler appeared on the horizon. The Egyptian people who had