Chapter 3: An Issue of Trust

NOW

For two days, the camp was sullen and quiet. Conversations were hushed, and rare was laughter to be heard. To have lost one patrol in one big sweep was dreadful, and yet it was the men's captain that was ever in the camped soldiers' minds. The priest Mahado's physical recovery was rapidly gaining pace, and although it was cause of relief to the worried-frantic healers, it was another thing for the warriors, altogether. There was a bond between a captain and his men, and to have lost so many lives, many doubted if the priest would be able to get over this obstacle easily. But they were not to be given chance to think deeply of their concerns.

Priest Seto kept activity bustling despite the dampened mood in camp, and launched a manhunt for Kisara and the bandits. His orders were many and demanded most of the soldiers' time spent on doing his every command that they were worn down by each as the days wore on. If this was the priest's way of ensuring that his soldiers were alert and ready, none could tell. He was ever elusive to their sight, appearing only when he awaited a progress report or to send out another patrol, and his intentions never really brought to light. But they were loyal to him, still, and none of the men questioned when they were deployed no sooner after they had finished their meals.

One hot afternoon saw the Priest Seto attending to his mare, lost in his thoughts. His posture was straight, but his senses were blunted as one of the healers approached him and had caught him unaware. Seto jumped at the man's call, turning around and glaring at the one who dared bother him.

"Sire—"

"Speak quickly; else I will have you flayed for your interruption."

The priest had also gotten even more short-tempered lately.

"Priest Mahado is not doing well, sire."

Seto's eyebrow arched, and the healer gulped. Why, oh why, did Baraka leave him the task of talking to the priest?

"He does not eat. He does not take the herbs that would heal his wounds. He refuses to sleep. He has sent us out again, my lord. He will not see reason," Thutmose, the unfortunate healer to be assigned this task, tried. The glare that was directed at him was menacing and he hesitantly took a step forward. Despite his fear of Priest Seto, he had the Priest Mahado's welfare to think about. Able they might be, the healers could not allow the wounded priest to stay in the place that reminded him most of his grief. "My lord, Priest Mahado must be returned to the palace."

"And this is your expert prognosis, healer?" Seto challenged. Oh, what a stubborn man he was!

"Sire, he does not recover here. Everywhere he looks, he is reminded of his perceived shortcomings!"

"Get. Out."

"My lord..." Thutmose pleaded.

"Get out!"

He was done for, Thutmose thought, for there was no mistaking the fury in the priest's voice. He was out of line, yet beyond that, his courage failed him. Even with good intentions, Thutmose dared not disobey the Priest Seto now. With a barely concealed sigh, he bowed respectfully and made his leave, unable to witness the Priest kick the nearby pail hard, seeing it fly with mad satisfaction.

Seto was livid. In fact, he could kill a person in his anger. But contrary to popular belief, it was neither aimed at the other priest nor the healers, who at every possible opportunity suggested that Mahado be sent to the palace. It would ruin his plans. It would ruin his and Mahado's reputations to have the deaths mark their mission a failure when it has not even started yet. With a grunt, he gave the pail another kick before stalking towards his tent.

While Mahado bore the guilt of abandoning his men, Seto bore the guilt and humiliation of sending them to their deaths. It hung over him like an ever present thundercloud, foreboding and relentless in reminding him his shortcomings.

Mahado was not the only one who found the nights terrible, and the mornings a pain. Sleepless were Seto's nights, and combined with the stress of running the entire operation alone, his body demanded a reprieve. He was pushing it too hard! But he would not rest. He could not afford to, and in his tent, Seto exhaled a weary sigh. How could he have been so foolish!

"Has the lair been discovered?" Mahado's voice froze his heart with surprised terror. With a gasp, Seto clutched at his chest and glared at the other priest, hating the distraction that had caused him to not hear Mahado's approach. But his retort died quickly in his lips as Mahado regarded him with a serious look. He was compelled to answer, and in a civil manner.

"I have dispatched men." He did not voice what he knew were Mahado's suspicions. There were too many lairs and with Kisara apparently betraying them, they had no inkling as to which of the many identified lairs was truly the mercenaries' hideout. Mahado frowned.

"Has Kisara been located?"

"Have you applied the healing salve that the healers left for you?" Seto countered, scrutinizing the man closely. Traces of blackened veins were evident in Mahado's arm, and it bothered Seto that the other man would not even exert any effort to conceal his rebellion. If Seto was expecting an angry retort, he was disappointed. Instead, the other priest sighed heavily and shook his head, his voice losing the edge it had assumed a while ago.

"She led us there, Master Seto. Like lambs waiting to be slaughtered as she 'scouted ahead'. What fool am I to believe her? I should have known. Yet all I ever think about is avenging my men," Mahado admitted. "And until she does not prove her innocence, I shall strive to exact upon her justice. That is all I think about now, not my wounds."

"You couldn't have known," Seto consoled, admitting to himself that if he were in Mahado's position, he would be promising the same thing.

"And you?" Mahado said, looking at him suspiciously. "Why do you readily believe me? Have we not been incessantly fighting since we left the palace? Why this change of heart? I would expect at least half an effort to defend her honor! Yet I hear none. Why is that, Seto?"

Because the truth was, there had always been an innate wrongness with Kisara's helplessness. It felt too artificial. Even on their first meeting, Seto had his doubts. Kisara made it too easy to save her, and yet he quelled down his instincts, preferring the comfort of having appeased his conscience temporarily. It was exhausting to always be on guard, and so he had forgotten about it. Now look where it got them.

"Why not? Can I not afford to put my trust on you now?" He replied defensively, instead.

Mahado threw his head back and laughed; a dark, half-crazed, half-sobbing sound that was painful to Seto's ears.

"Have you not heard, Seto? I carry with me a death contract! A contract you sign with trust to no doubt follow the fate of those have left behind, preyed by vicious foes. No, Seto, you cannot trust me," Mahado ranted. There were tears in his eyes, and hastily he averted his gaze to wipe them away. "I will no longer keep your men fretting. I will come out tomorrow, do not worry, and appease their concerns. That is what this is all for, is it not?"

"Mahado..."

The priest would not listen to him. Rather, Mahado gave him a curt nod and left.

Seto pulled a face. Oh, this was such a frustrating scenario!

THEN

The initiation of a new Guardian was always a grandiose event, only paling in comparison to the birth or anniversary of any royal and of the gods. But as celebrations dwindled down, the Guardian would automatically assume his duties and be expected to perform them without hesitation or much questioning.

All the Guardians were, following initiation, accorded the privilege of ten men serving under him. Ten men for each guardian, they were expected to do his bidding, all in the name and glory of the living Pharaoh. Normally, the Chief Advisor, Shimon, would assign the men already, sparing the Guardian the task and thereby saving his time. But when Mahado was newly inducted, he had denied Shimon's recommendation and instead asked for the chance to choose his men.

The reaction to his unorthodox request was mixed, and initially, the response to it was not in his favour. But he had reasoned out and to the Pharaoh, he had made a convincing argument and so his request was granted. He would, in the future, do justice to the favour he had received and several times, his men would consistently prove their loyalties true.

The only downside to this was the volatile relationship that he had with another Guardian, the High Priest Seto, who until his induction was the youngest and most favoured.

"Surely you expected that to happen? Why, Mahado, he had always dogged your steps since you were chosen to train for this position!" Saini replied over a cup of wine as Mahado relayed to him his recent disagreement with the other Guardian. Saini had served in the army as a healer and in several occasions, had treated Mahado's wounds when he was still in training. He was a man of short but stout stature, with a deep voice that resonated and was a balm to many a soldier's hurts, Mahado included. Through thick and thin, as was often said, Saini had been there. And now, he was to be Mahado's second-in-command. Quite frankly, the priest could not think of anyone else better suited for the position, and together, they scoped the marketplace for nine more people to recruit.

Mahado had the twins, Mhotep and Mdjai, and their friend, Nemti, in mind. Those three were proven to be exceptional scouts and archers... and they had been his peers, undergoing the same hardships he had when they were all still vying to enter the Pharaoh's army.

"I don't understand Master Seto's antagonism towards me. It's been like that since the beginning. But yes, I suppose I've grown to expect it at every turn," Mahado tardily replied, going back to their original conversation. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of two familiar figures and without warning, stood up, calling their names.

Two similarly-looking men turned around at the noise, but it was Mhotep who was first to identify him, with his far-seeing gaze. He pulled his brother's arm and together, approached the priest.

"If it isn't our favourite priest!"Mdjai greeted.

"He's the only priest we know," his twin corrected. The brothers had pale brown locks, carelessly tied into a loose ponytail, and mischievous brown eyes. Mhotep's eyes were of a darker shade, though, than his brother. He was the more serious twin, who spent more time in gaining military knowledge and strategies, while Mdjai, the more carefree one, honed his fighting skills. Given the opportunity, Mahado thought Mhotep would do well as a diplomat, in spite of his skills in battle.

"Have you been terrorizing the marketplace again, Mdjai?" Saini greeted in Mahado's stead, in tune with the young priest's tendency to grow quiet and reflective. He darted a glance at the brunet and shook his head in fond remembrance of the times when Mahado, at a younger age, would foolishly challenge him to spar. That young man had gotten far, he admitted to himself and he could not deny the pride that he felt for the man, who although not of the same blood was almost like a son to him.

"Why do you always accuse me of so, Saini! I have behaved!" Mdjai protested, earning a chuckle from his twin. "Oh shut up, Mhotep."

"It is nice to see you again, my friends," Mahado belatedly greeted. Mhotep's gaze fell on him as it was his turn to be introspective. Yet Mahado beat him to it, smiling as he said, "I have a proposition for you both."

Mdjai had reacted to the news with excitement. His agreement was warm and a comfort to Mahado's worrying, for although he had considered the twins in an instant, he also could not wholly guarantee that they would immediately like his proposal. Mhotep followed suit, but he was perceptive as usual and he asked, "You could have accepted Master Shimon's recommendations and spared yourself this inconvenience. Yet you did not. Why?"

Now clearly, the curiosity in the twins' eyes was reflected in Saini's as well. Mahado did not tarry in answering, to their satisfaction. "I needed people I could trust, and who else would I consider if not those I've fought and bled with?"

There were no questions after that, except for mundane ones that Mdjai jokingly raised. They got to Nemti then, who only needed to see the twins to agree, before they went to Benipe, a soldier known for his skills with the chariot and to them, for constantly looking out for them in skirmishes. They did not even have to talk any longer. As soon as Benipe saw Saini, he readily accepted.

With half of the group already formed, Mahado headed then to a place to eat, the twins, Naimi and Saini in tow. Benipe had opted out, planning to visit his wife's ailing mother.

"We always knew you'll go far, Mahado," Nemti shyly said. "You were too skilled to remain a foot soldier in the Pharaoh's army."

"I wasn't—"

"If Master Shimon never saw you that day, you would've been conscripted into the army like the rest of us," Mdjai clarified before grinning, "Although that's not exactly as bad as you think! We're more... relaxed than you priests!"

Shaking his head, Saini quickly talked about recruitment plans, diverting their attention to the task at hand. They needed five more, and the first he wanted to approach was Ibenre, the blacksmith. Mhotep suggested Anemro, a fellow soldier who was knowledgeable in warfare and languages. But it was Sinulie that was recruited first. Sinulie had passed by their table unexpectedly and Mahado had called him out, recalling the many times they had tried to outrun each other in training. After Mahado vouched for him, he was in. In less than two hours, from five, the quota of ten men only needed two more.

They were walking down one of the least crowded streets when someone shouted, demanding their attention.

"Master Mahado! Master Mahado! Wait, please!"

The priest turned around and saw a teen, perhaps 17 years of age, running towards him enthusiastically. Behind him, his friends snickered and while Mahado retained an impassive expression, the others were not as... astute. Ibenre had reprimanded the boy as soon as he stopped to catch his breath while the twins readily welcomed him with slaps on the back. Sinulie shook his head and Saini laughed. Suffice to say, their reactions confused Mahado. What was up with the boy?

"You know me," Mahado said, his voice betraying his wonder. The boy nodded happily. "What is your name?"

"Mkhai, Master."

"Meet your biggest fan, Mahado," Sinai deadpanned. Indeed, Mkhai seemed to admire the very ground the priest stood on. His eyes shone brightly and his enthusiasm radiated from him in heaps. But to accept Mkhai, at a young age, did not seem wise and to this thought, Mahado frowned.

"I cannot guarantee your safety always, Mkhai," he warned. They go wherever the Pharaoh sent them to, and not all those places would be safe all the time.

"I have been trained, Master. I know how to defend myself, or others, if need be," Mkhai replied.

"He will not go unprotected."

All heads turned to the newcomer, and with masked awe, observed a Nubian approach them. Nubians were far and rare sights in the army; even so, in good company with an Egyptian foot soldier. The Nubian bore many scars on his body, evidence of his experience in war, and Sinai's eyes adopted a glimmer of an idea as he looked at the priest. Mahado met his eyes and nodded.

"You will guarantee this?" Mahado asked of the man, who grunted his affirmation. "What name do we call you?"

"Kawenwati. I have sworn to protect Mkhai, and by extension the men he chooses to affiliate himself with. But do not question his skills for I have personally seen them to be sufficient," was the quick reply.

Mahado sighed and casted a long glace at the Egyptian youth. Mkhai steely looked back, hoping to show his determination through it to win the priest over. When Mahado seemed to give in, his lips broke into a triumphant smile and he turned to Kawenwati, who nodded to give his approval. With ten men under his command, Mahado looked at each one. Most of them were his friends, and now, he would strive to keep this small group tight. They would be brothers-at-arms, and that was his silent vow.

To be continued...