Author's Note:

As I wrote this, the question struck me: What did Ancient Egypt model itself after? Did its great civilisation materialise itself out of nowhere? Surely not, I thought. But there's been way too much liberty taken in this story already, so what the heck.

I agonised long about it -how to make a ruthless man realistic. And the truth of the matter is, I still do not know. May Machiavelli and Dante forgive me. Am somewhat afraid that you guys might not understand what is really going on so no offense if I try to explain it a bit -This scene opens some months later (yes, we jump the gun a bit!) after Ramses had left, after Yuya' funeral, leaving the rule of Egypt in the hands of Viceroy Sahure. Political instability threatens to tear things apart, the scrolls have been completed, and the Medjai are being slowly wiped out.

Chapter 21

I will lay you to rest on a bed of loving care
And will let you stay in a restful dwelling, a dwelling of the left
Princes of the earth will kiss your feet
I will make the people weep for you, mourn for you
I will fill the proud people with sorrow for you
And I myself will neglect my appearance after your death
Clad only in a lionskin, I will roam the open country.

- Sin-leqe-unnini, The Epic of Gilgamesh

The Interim Rule of the Viceroy Sahure, 19th Dynasty, Egypt

The spreading discontent in Egypt was of no consequence to him, Sahure thought as he sat flamboyantly upon the throne of Ramses, vacated so that he might ascend it in the Pharaoh's absence, after months of serpentine scheming.

He was, after all, indirectly ruling in the name of Ramses; his actions were covered and protected under the inheritance and the heritage of the Pharaohs and all the favour that the gods had lavished upon them. Power was the intoxicating drug that he had not gotten his sufficient fill of; only after strong persuasion was Ramses II able to find his feet again, to become a shadow of the great conqueror he once was, to lead his armies out in the final attempt to recapture their Hebrew slaves.

Four moon cycles after Yuya's funeral, Sahure measured. Enough time given for Ramses to ride out to the Red Sea with half of Egypt's cities emptied of its male population.

They weep for you, Ramses, just as they weep for themselves. They mourn all of Egypt's loss, but I will restore Egypt's glory, which you were not able to do, he smiled. Right now, I rule in your name. But in time, they will remember me as the restorer of Egypt, the insignificant Viceroy who outdid Ramses II.

We bring a townsmen, Viceroy.

The Medjai had returned, flanking the sides of a common Egyptian, seeking an audience with the Viceroy.

My Lord, blessed was Ramses' rule, and may yours too, be blessed, the Egyptian bowed low, faltering with his next words. But my Lord, villages north of Thebes have been drying with thirst ever since the plagues had afflicted us, the locusts had eaten our crops, and no regeneration has taken place. I beg of you my Lord, to aid us in your splendorous riches.

Were not the barns filled with grain, and the waters of the Nile drenching the fields with their life? Sahure asked, blinking his eyes. Do you dare insult the gods of Egypt by saying otherwise?

I do not dare, my Lord, the man had fallen to his knees in terror.

I would not place great worry on your troubles, if I were in your place, the Viceroy returned calmly. Take him away, Medjai. Why do you not move? I tell you this under the decree of Pharoah Ramses II himself!

Ramses' council of governance had been made available to Sahure; the council that had been already deeply divided during Ramses' administration now threatened to fall apart without the orders and tight fist of the Pharaoh. But it was necessary that the sustainability of belief could only, and inevitably come by force; liberty had become so precious that it had to be carefully rationed. Great and remarkable men came to be such through means better left unexamined.

The court awaited Sahure's decision, fearing the worst, as the viceroy yielded to the desire of the moment, consuming himself within his growing rage.

Burn that village, Medjai, all the men, women and children; do what you want with them. Take the crops and whatever you may find useful, Sahure ordered loudly. Circumstances must be created such that Egypt has a need for a leader. There must be, after all, an affliction for people to realise the glory of Egypt.

You misunderstand, Viceroy, Aretas spoke when no one else dared to. The Medjai are also the protectors of our own, half of us warriors are away with Pharaoh defending the cause of Egypt, while the remaining of us are here as scribes. We cannot do such a thing as you have said.

The fury of the Viceroy was not unprecedented; Ramses had given spectacular displays of wrath to his court before; a mimic of his actions and emotions would serve Sahure well, should there be someone needed to emulate Egypt's leader.

Are you not warriors as well? Did I not forbid you to record the plagues and the afflictions of the Hebrews? Did I not tell all from the start that I wanted and Egypt who could remember herself only gloriously and majestically? Were you not warned adequately?

Aretas knew; the memory was ugly in his mind, painful on his heart. Khamet had been far too careless; his scroll, written of the plague of the locusts, had been discovered by the guards who were loyal to Ramses and the Viceroy. His Medjai brother, dragged from his quarters and tortured hideously, had refused to reveal where the Medjai kept the rest of the scrolls.

It was Aretas who had found him in the torture cell, half-dead, with his skin and back beaten out, unrecognisable after the cruelty meted out to him. Bound, imprisoned, with already torn feet and hands in shackles, he was immovable and prostrate, for the cause that had bent him only downwards, watching the end of his life approach.

Protect them well, Aretas. I am not deceived, he had murmured without strength before he slumped into the arms of Aretas.

Khamet fell face forward into the Underworld then, without hesitation, with his bloody teeth biting the ground, relieved of his duty, sense of honour not unstung, the first of the Medjai to be vanquished.

He had been wordless as Khamet died, not unaware of the punishment that awaited the warrior-scribes should the rest of them be discovered, yet nonetheless paralysed with dread and fear at Khamet's state.

The systematic torture and death of the remaining scribes had continued, for after Khamet, was Pakharu, and then came Besenmut, the scribes who wrote of the plagues of water that turned into blood, and the hail sent from the heavenlies. The raid had come by night, by soldiers of a new breed, those whom Sahure had rallied himself around, those who had no regard for the royal guards of the Pharaoh.

The gods be thanked, that they had not lived through torture as Khamet did, although he wished that they had died a more painless death.

The records written by Pakharu and Besenmut had been discovered after the raid initiated by the Viceroy, and had burned together with their bodies publicly, a warning of Sahure to the Medjai and the commoners of the fate of those who defied the crown.

There were hardly Medjai left to bury their own dead, Aretas thought. By the luck of the gods had he and Djosyn and a few others remained in the shadows, their own scrolls hidden tightly away. But no hiding place was forever secure; it felt as if the time was coming, where death might soon stare him and Djosyn in the face. But until Sahure found the incriminating evidence, they were momentarily safe.

Three papyrus scrolls were already found, Sahure had warned. I have all reason to believe that there are more to root out. You are safe now, only because I have not found them.

Djosyn had returned to the Medjai camp for the purpose of relocating the camp, securing the young Medjai boys who were to take on Egypt's future safety while Aretas had remained in the palace, taking charge of the scribes, overseeing them till the scrolls were completed. Now that they were, added care had to be taken that the remaining did not fall into the wrong hands.

Djosyn's and Aretas' scrolls were one of the most important records -that of the actual Exodus of the Hebrews and that of the Passover, significant enough to bring Sahure on the hunt for them. Hasty word was sent to Djosyn and Nefertiri, warning them of the impending danger that faced the Medjai, the grimness of the domestic situation paralleling that of the civil wars that Egypt had fought during every intermediate period.

There was an obstinate silence that presently permeated the palace hall; the silence spoke of uncertainties felt about the Viceroy's boundaries of power, but also torn with the need to look to a leader as magnificent as Ramses had been.

Very well then, Medjai, Sahure said, angered. You disobey the king when you disobey me. Think you that Ramses did not rule by such principles? Away now, Medjai. There are many others who do not present shifting loyalty to the throne as you do.

Viceroy, the Medjai are loyal to -

But Sahure had already left in contempt, his courtiers at his tail.

The rule of the Viceroy was very troubling, Aretas thought as he walked down the corridor that would lead him to the secret chambers where the Medjai scribes had feverishly recorded the occurrences of the plagues and the mysterious power of the Hebrew God that had taken Ramses himself into the desert.

So preoccupied was he with his thoughts that he jumped at the hand that grabbed him from behind pillar, the hand that swiftly moved to cover his mouth lest he shouted in alarm. He turned sharply, other hand on the hilt of his blade, his grip loosening when he saw the woman that had grown to become the centre of his cosmos.

Do not do that, Rai! He whispered loud enough for her ears, before turning his lips on them, making her desirous of him with that single, fluid motion.

His attentions were too welcome; they were too bold for her to resist, too sweet for her to turn down, despite the public place they were in. He had become an addiction, the way she had become his, not realising that the thirst and hunger for him only grew as they were caught feverishly in each other, as they consumed more of each other.

I need to speak to you, he rasped against her, feeling her plaint body held to his against the pillar, the comfort of the world made his.

Aretas had initially thought otherwise, had thought that a swallow of her might have cured him of her, yet he had watched his own need of her grow in frightening proportions, until she had obliterated all that stood in his path, and he gladly crowned her queen of his heart.

Then say it, she replied, stilling under his attentions. The accumulation of sensations that accompanied the nights with him had released the wretched bonds of human woe, even as they had been rashly importunate with each other.

I am gladdened by your face, that is all. The tempest that is Egypt matters little when you are here.

Medjai, you are not telling me something, she frowned, looking deep into his eyes, seeing the uncertain flecks that had appeared in the deep brown.

I tell you the truth, he said solemnly, unable to muster a smile for her.

You make me glad too, Aretas, she sighed, and you give me pleasure with more splendour than the rising or setting suns that bathe Egypt in great glory.

Then come with me, come away with me, Rai, a thought suddenly occurring to him, where taking flight with her appealed suddenly much more than labouring for an absent Pharaoh, a King who had unwittingly become his adversary simply because he coveted and wanted his royal and forbidden concubine.

Had Djosyn encountered such stark emotions or had he stumbled onto them as well when Nefertiri had bewitched him?

She was watching him with no small measure of misery.

Where can we go where we will not live in fear? Where can we go, how far can we run before we are caught up with, and humiliated in public? She argued painfully, looming threats and circumstances nevertheless eclipsing passions that already ran deep, knowing instinctively that they had been running ever since they started their illicit trysts, fire conducted on the fringes.

Want has made me a selfish man, he confessed heavily. Forgive me, Rai, I lost myself then and did not think as a man.

Aretas, she breathed, and then covered his lips desperately with hers, telling him without words how she wanted the same, that there surely existed a place where sorrow was banished from the filthy world that Egypt had become. I would follow you if the days allowed us!

He returned her kiss with the consistently ravenous hunger he had shown with her, excellently ardent and excruciatingly conscious when it came to the physical arts.

The time is coming, Rai, where, I see my end, he told her with no mince of words, holding her shoulders with strong hands, not knowing if that action was a comfort he tried to offer her, or if she was in fact, the support that he clung to.

She did not know how to respond, not with the man who told her the utmost truth, even if it meant bad tidings.

No, you fight, Aretas. You fight, she told him urgently in turn. Or we must go, as you have spoken. We will go, we run in the cover of the night!

It is the final turning, he said finally after a long pause, and the pathway right or left leaves us no escape. I cannot deny it any longer, Rai! The Medjai are dying, and all we have now are - he gestured helplessly with his left hand, I do not even know what we have left.

Your honour, she said not without a tinge of bitterness. Is that all that means to the Medjai? That they will willingly clear all that lies in the path to honour, even if honour demands sacrifices that wither the inner spirit?

By the gods, he had never thought about honour that way, never expecting that he had to, during his lifetime, choose between the Medjai and the woman he loved.

I do not know how to answer you, Rai. It tears me apart.

Aretas, awake! Her voice speared through the thick haze that was forming around his consciousness, rousing him with visionary gleams, and there and then he felt that he could conquer the impossible, thousand valleys far and wide, the overflow of the Nile and all of Egypt's enemies that had grown dangerously in power.

We have not wasted our days, he continued quietly, nor will we waste our days in the time that will come.

He hummed a prayer litany, then, softly, soothingly to her, as they stood in full view of anyone who passed by, proclaiming that they were together, in inviolable quietness that lovers command.

At the feet of Isis
We lay the twin price of the pearls of Heaven
At the feet of Isis,
We kneel, we cannot see
Her feet are darkness,
But her face is in High Heaven,
For he towards the vision gazes up,
Finds first his life's blood in her cup!

We are held fast by longings and by other sentiments, she sighed. The greatest tragedy is not doing what we wish to do. Aretas, somehow I do not believe that all of us are destined to live happily.

The soft echoes that their voices produced seemed to snigger at the doubt that had fallen on them, telling them in a rising cadence, and in unarticulated words that they now stood on perforated ground that would be suspended in pleasure no longer.

That, we will leave in the bosom of the gods, he affirmed, if not wanting to convince her, wanting to reassure himself.

My speech is never as rich as my imagination, but I still see you with dazzled eyes, she teased then, looking at him coyly.

You are so beautiful to me, Rai. You make me forget all that is rotten in Egypt, and you heal that sickness that has begun eating at my soul.

She could not bear to hear him much longer; it seemed that each progressive word that fell from his lips brought them closer to an abyss that they had not yet bring themselves to envision.

Their lips met again and again, searing, torturing, reaffirming all that they had of each other, all that was familiar to them, all that they wanted to be real.

Hands that searched out the hidden contours of each other were sometimes as light as gauze, as heavy as weapons of war, pressing, gripping, caressing, moulding, uncontrollable.

The struggle not to unleash their overwhelming passions then and there was eventually conquered, its temporary repression a looming bastion of firearms fringed with fire, promising explosiveness that would annihilate later.

Not now, he rasped against her, but soon.

Yes, soon, tonight, she whispered back, breathing erratically, flushed from the erotic manner of his strokes.

I have peace with you, Aretas, even though temporary, when I lose myself in you, undone by you. Let us stay this way, if not forever, only now.