“Would my lord but let me finish I indeed have your plan, but surely,” Bestreld’s response was calm and his smile of great confidence, “the emperor wished to hear of the entire problem before being handed a solution?”
“Your love of intrigue may yet be the death of you. What is the plan?”
“We must win the support of the people—merchants and Lydians alike. If we had a real need for the moneys, one that even the merchants could accept—say the kingdom required a battle—these tradesmen would be satisfied for a time.” The exchequer rubbed his hands together as he saw the plan come together before his mind’s eye, “and if we had need of this battle, your people would understand your actions. With the support of both you could, indeed, overtake dominion of the plains.”
“What is this plan?” Croesus’s impatience grew.
“We must have a reason to go to war—a reason that all will support.”
“The plan!” Croesus was ready to rip the arms off his chair.
“What if one of the settlements attacked us? And what if they violated, let us say, the Temple School, taking with them a few of the maidens, perhaps even Lila among them?”
The emperor’s response was immediate. Croesus threw his head back with laughter, pounding his fist against the chair with excitement, “The people would demand war!”
“And then we,” the exchequer feigned helplessness, “would be forced to give it to them.”
When Croesus’s laughter had its fill, he suddenly appeared confused, “Where in the desert is a tribe so foolish as to attack?”
“Leave this to me,” Bestreld urged. “Oh, and one more thing,” the man replied as he watched the emperor’s eyes closely, “I can assure you, your niece, Serena, will not be harmed.”
Her name was Aithea, though the man beside her had not spoken it once throughout the night, nor had he accepted her determined advances. With the dawn, she would be shamed for not having been found desirable by her own husband. The thought humiliated her, though she had no doubt she could win Ravi over before too many nights had passed between them on the desert sands.
She turned angrily from him and stared blankly at the ceiling of their tent-chamber. There was nothing to be done, just yet. He had been so very determined in his refusals that she had wondered, though only briefly, if he might not be more inclined toward other diversions. Yet her own intense passion at the mere sight of his body denied the thought. Perhaps he had left behind a female in Egypt—one whose own flesh had frequented the soothing waters of the Nile and had never known the harsh cruelty of a heated sandstorm.
Still, she was not without her own charms. In fact, Remai’s council had chosen her only after much deliberation. It was hers to provide the man with many heirs. One day she would be the mother of kings and revered in her own right. She would make certain that her husband accepted her.
After all, Aithea had nothing to gain by choosing someone else and so very much to lose if Ravi desired another.
Slowly the days passed until the encampment had witnessed an entire week of a new leader and Ravi gradually grew accustomed to governing a tribal people. Nothing had really changed with Remai’s death, as the settlement continued as it had been. The stench of baking refuse still clung in the air, and bony-legged creatures (human and animal alike) spent long-hungered days watching for the setting of the sun, or waited in wearied boredom for an hour that might somehow be different than the last. Citizens from both tribes fell back into their comfortable pattern of relative indifference.
Ravi retained Remai’s council of ten advisors even though it soon became clear that the council was much more responsible for the settlement’s overall problems than it was at finding any hope of solution. Already various council members had vied to secure the new ruler’s favor. Ravi listened patiently to their problems and inspected first-hand most corners of the city of tents but he remained haunted by thoughts of Egypt and found the memories of the past more satisfying than the realities of the present.
Scenes of bloated animals and children much-too-thin for the rigors of stickball were common. His explorations inevitably uncovered ragged tents worn from the all-but-unending regularity of Bedouin wanderings, and people too weary to do much but live from one day to the next. The hot, nauseating scents of tribal life left him wondering how he himself might survive.
The livestock were sickly. Goats’ milk smelled foul, and dead creatures that should have been quickly discarded were left to rot. The camels were too old and the horses too few. Children found themselves permanently dirtstained, and hardened bites of sand fleas were more common than patches of clean flesh. Almost from birth, throats of animals and humans alike became accustomed to the dryness of attempting to swallow. The few surviving crops were wilted because of the windstorms and the lack of moisture. And it was certain the refuse needed to be dealt with more effectively for the stench of the city invaded even the privacy of Ravi’s own tents. Of greatest concern was the need for food and water.
The tribespeople were nomadic and their settlement moved with them. Ravi realized their need was to find a permanent location, although they lacked the water supply, and to be more active in trade, although he knew not what they would bargain with. Without ample water they could hardly grow crops, or cool hot tempers, or promote health. It rained infrequently and then only to be absorbed into the desert sands.
Esdena had told him of several oases scattered among the encampments many locations—all generally within a day’s hard journey of the settlement’s various sites. But an oasis could not sustain an entire populace. To make matters worse, it was not uncommon for an oasis to be destroyed in a desert sandstorm.
Egypt had been so very different. Ravi had seen wonders that would defy explanation to these desert people. He had watched rain fall from a cloudless sky and crops spring forth from bare ground. He had seen the high priest Esdena cause water to erupt from a bed of stones with a single command. The Persian desert seemed so far removed from the wonders of Egypt.
Ravi sat quietly in Remai’s tents immersed in his thoughts when Jenda burst loudly into the room.
“Brother, I want to speak to you!” Jenda was stern, with his arms folded tightly in front of him, “I request an audience today!”
Though surprised by the outburst and the youth’s seriousness, Ravi retained his composure. He nodded and acknowledged the boy’s presence. “What is the trouble, Jenda?”
“You have forgotten me.”
“In what way?”
“You have given everyone in the settlement important duties. Oman leads the warriors; Esi, Midias, and Jeuen are on the council; Joell and Astrides are talking about trade possibilities. Everyone has been given something to do, except for me! Even mother and the old woman, Margi, have been sent throughout the camp to see what the women and children are in need of . . . ”
“You are correct, Jenda,” Ravi interrupted with a wave of his hand, “there is much to be done.”
“Then, what am I to do? I have been given no task although I am brother to our ruler.”
“I have not forgotten.” Ravi said softly, “What do you wish to do?”
Jenda paused before stating what had been on his mind, “I wish for a position of responsibility!”
Ravi rubbed his forehead as if in deep thought. After a moment the thought came to him, “At this time,” he said truthfully, “there is but one position of leadership available, yet I am afraid you would not like it. The job is hard and requires much strength. You would be forced to