Disclaimer:
Sadly, I do not own any of the characters in this story except the ones you've never heard of. Which is quite unfortunate really, as if I owned the ones you had heard of, I would probably be quite wealthy and could sit on some beach all day writing this kind of thing. Which, come to think of it, from your perspective is probably something of a relief.

Undoubtedly some small liberty taking with history, ancient mythology, the bible (yes I know some people would regard that as the same thing), and with a take on some characters history that may clash a little with the novels but not (I hope) with the movies. Apologies to those any of that might annoy. But then this is only a story.
____________________________________________________________________



Chapter Three

'In The Midst of Strangers'



The City of Giza, Egypt, 1291 B.C.

Rameses, Prince of Egypt, named for his illustrious grandfather, and next lord of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms kicked the sand at his feet in disgust, sending up a shower of dust over the poor merchants currently prostrated at his feet.

The market places and shops of Giza had proven to be a sore disappointment to him. He and his retinue were on their way home from their long tour of the upper and lower kingdoms on the business of the Pharaoh.

The business of his father, Seti, living God, favoured of Ra, King of all Egypt and lord of all he surveyed. Business that had seen him re-writing the history of Egypt to their house's satisfaction, tabulating the wealth and prosperity of the nation, overseeing the building of great works in his father's name, and collecting tribute from their border subject countries.

They had been a long time away from Thebes, from home, and Rameses and his lieutenants were all eager for the comforts of home and family.

But as any good husband, son and brother knew, you must never return empty handed. His father would be best pleased by his eldest sons fine work, and would require no more gift than that, but he had other family members to attend to.

Or to be more accurate, at this stage, one in particular. His most favoured sister, Nefertiri.

He had purchased, or taken, gifts for the others, including his two wives, along the journey, but nothing had struck him as right for his beloved little sister. Giza was their last city stop on the way to Thebes and he had pinned all his hopes on finding something for her here. But the famed wares of the port of Giza had not lived up to his expectations.

He was surrounded by the wealth of the world, sweet smelling cedar from Palestine and Sheba, jewels from Ethiopia, silks, spices and perfumes from Kohr, Persia and other far flung lands. But nothing seemed right for her.

He wanted something unique for her, something rare and unusual.

He looked around at his friends and courtiers, all of whom were either watching him or involved in purchases of their own with merchants who were desperately trying to tread the fine line between self preserving, live saving obsequiousness and honour preserving, face saving haggling.

"Nothing!" he announced bitterly with a shrug of his shoulders and another flurry of sand from his feet. His princes lock flew back as he turned in a whirl of sheer linen cape from the flattened and dust covered merchants behind him, and strode on through the stalls and tents, followed by a contingent of his bodyguard and some of his retinue.

Everywhere, people dropped to their knees and prostrated himself as this tall, and immensely athletic figure approached them. As a man Rameses was imposing enough. Tall for one of his people, he towered over most of his compatriots, sallow skinned and hawk eyed. Robustly built like his father, he retained the fine boned structure of his mother and the combination made him an immensely handsome man. His musculature was taut and highly defined, thanks to a love of sport and his father's insistence that he run every morning before he breakfasted.

His eyes shone with intelligence and the confidence born of knowing that the people worshipped you. And he was worshipped. Rameses was beloved of his people, not just as their future king, or even as their future god, but as a man, a hero, a warrior.

A man fit to lead Egypt, and them.

The hubbub of the marketplace had quietened considerably upon his arrival, continuing only as a distant hum in those places he was furthest from. To look upon the Pharaoh and his best and brightest without permission was forbidden, though of course sneaking a peak was generally overlooked if done with discretion. The royal family of Egypt may have been Gods, but their people were only human after all. If you were not of a sufficient social level, however, speaking without being spoken to was tantamount to murder in levels of crime and was dealt with swiftly by those entrusted with maintaining the safety and honour of the highest members of the ruling family, the Medjai.

The only other sound in the vicinity that was apparent as Rameses arbitrarily stopped by a shop displaying magnificent gold working by a master craftsman, was the sound of a slave labour gang out of sight on the edge of the marketplace digging a new cistern.

Rameses, perused the glittering wares through narrowed eyes, finally gently fingering a necklace displaying the image of the goddess Bast, patron of love, femininity and fashion, made from interwoven threads of gold, and hung on a thread that was strong, but so fine as to look as if it might break if you picked it up. So fine, that if worn it would disappear against the skin, and give the impression the image of Bast was simply floating there as if by some divine magic.

"It's beautiful." A voice from beside him interrupted his admiration. Rameses turned his head to his left to see the son of his father's youngest sister, his 16 year old cousin Tuthmose gazing at the piece. Tuthmose, almost as tall but slenderer of build than his older cousin, turned his unusual hazel brown eyes to Rameses's typically Egyptian black brown ones, "It would look beautiful on her." He smiled. Rameses nodded in silence.

It was exquisite, Rameses admitted, and would look even more so around the slender neck of his sister, and by Pharaonic tradition, eventually, his wife. He looked down at the merchant, by his feet intending to ask the price.

"But my lord prince," a voice came from his right shoulder, and Rameses swivelled his head across and down to the early middle aged visage of the man, who though some 10 years younger than Seti was like a second father to him, his friend, physician, and advisor, the priest of Isis, Sekhnet. "Beautiful as it is, the reflection of the sun that is your sister, Princess Nefertiri, has many such trinkets. Recall the Eye of Horus given to her by your father, blessed be his name, on her last birthday?"

Rameses hesitated, recalling the gasps that had gone up around the court at the magnificent artistry of the gold, sapphire and precious lapis lazuli necklace that Seti had had made for the apple of his eye. He nodded.

"I know, my priestly friend." The prince sighed in resignation, his face the mirror image of all men stuck trying to find the perfect gift for a woman, "But, there is little else to choose from and I can afford little further time to this pursuit if we are to finish our work here, and then travel on to Memphis and Lisht, and still return home to Thebes in 30 days at the hour appointed by my father."

The priest acceded this point, pulling his white robe more firmly about his shoulders. "Indeed my lord prince, but there is time still yet this day and many more vendors, surely there must be something more unique and exotic...."

The priest stopped suddenly, as an uproar just beyond their line of vision caused all heads, even those pressed to the ground to turn in the direction of the edge of the marketplace.

Rameses let go of the necklace and strained his head towards the sound of shouting men and clanging metal.

"Sounds like trouble." Another voice said from behind him, sounding the little the worse for wear for wine. The good natured Akehton, Rameses half brother and closest friend approached them, a frown on his face. Rameses smiled at him.

"Always the master of summation, my brother." He joked. Akehton inclined his princely locked head graciously, despite the gentle jibe.

"Thank you, my brother." He smiled at Rameses and Tuthmose, and placed his hand on the ornate gold handled, brass sword by his side. "Shall we investigate?"

As one the 3 young men, hands on their weapons, started at as a fast trot, causing consternation all about them. Dismayed Medjai scrambled after them as the 3 men headed for trouble. Prostrated men and women scrambled to get out of the way of their lords and masters, while those behind them dove to the ground on seeing their approach.

On reaching the edge of the market place, they immediately saw the trouble. One of the members of the slave labour gang had attacked a guard and was currently trying to make a run for it.

It was a futile chase, even if he were to escape the guards into the market place and out of Giza, alone and on foot he would be recognised by his clothes as an escaped slave and would either be killed or returned to servitude. But, still, the vigorousness with which the individual in question was pursuing this vain quest for freedom was quite impressive, and he was well served by the arrival of the royal party.

A goodly contingent of the chasing pack saw the royal group and immediately dropped to their knees in supplication, and pushed their foreheads to the ground, taking almost half of the men off the fugitive's heels.

Akehton rolled his eyes.

There was pandemonium everywhere as stalls and goods and guards were laid out all over the streets as the man tried desperately to get away, armed only with a wooden hoe. Only 10ft away from them, and ignoring their arrival completely, he clambered up on a stall and from it's wooden awning leapt mightily towards the roof of the shop it fronted, and then heaved himself up onto the flat roof above. A couple of guards clambered after him, only to be knocked back by a couple of accurate swats with the hoe.

The princely trio all strained to see the man in question. After despatching the two guards he straightened up and looked around him, allowing them a good view of him, and him of them. He looked down at them for a moment, before dodging a weakly thrown spear and racing across the roof.

Rameses raised his eyebrows and looked at his companions, who wore similar expressions of surprise.

Dressed only in the leather skirt of the slaves, with old sandals on his feet the man was easily taller than Rameses, his muscle mass bulkier and better defined than even the crown prince's. But it was his colouring that most fascinated them. Despite the sun's attention to him during his labours under it's gaze, it was clear that his skin was fair, far fairer than even the most Northerly Hittite's they had ever encountered.

His long tangled hair and matted beard was the colour of the lightest mahogany wood, and the sun had caused it to streak fair in a manner none of them had ever seen before. And then there was his eyes. They were blue.

"What is he?" Akehton looked at Tuthmose, who shrugged and looked at Rameses, who simply returned his blank look, before looking around him, searching. His eyes alighted on what he was looking for, the red banded black head dress of the foreman. He approached the prostrate form.

"Up." He commanded. The foreman leapt to his feet, eyes downwards, averted from the princely gaze. "Go after your men, tell them the fugitive is not to be harmed and have him brought to me immediately on his capture." The foreman nodded and went to race after the pursuing guards, only to be stopped by the hand of the prince on his arm. At being touched by the royal personage the man looked up in shock, straight at Rameses, then, in terror at that breach of protocol, immediately averted his gaze again.

Rameses sighed "You might find it easier to catch him, if you take all your men?" he suggested lightly, looking around at the still prone half of the labour gang.

Head still bowed, the foreman's eyes took in his underlings still bowing forms.

"Up! Up! UP! Take him!" he yelled with all the anger, embarrassment and terror currently coursing through his veins. His foot lashed out hard, booting his men after the fugitive. "The Prince commands it!" Not daring to look back at Rameses the foreman chased after them as they chased their escapee.

Rameses looked over his shoulder at his Medjai captain.

"Take some of your men and help them...I have a feeling they may need it." The Medjai bowed and moved to go. "Make sure he is unharmed." Rameses commended him forcefully, and let them go.

Tuthmose walked to where one or two of the local women were attending to the stricken guard. He cast a glance sideways at the remaining slaves who flinched under his look as they would do under a whiplash. Most of them were Hebrews, a large number of whom still dwelled in the region of Goshen despite the mass Exodus generations before, there was a sprinkling of Nubians, Libyans and Hittites amongst them, but no other like the fugitive.

"What happened?" he queried of the women. Their eyes flickered back and forth from the wounded guard, blood flowing from a deep gash on his forehead, to the prince before them, not knowing whether to look at him or not.

"We do not know, Lord." One woman finally managed.

"We heard the cry and saw this man fall, and the slave standing over him." The other explained. Tuthmose looked around, there were still two guards watching over the remaining slaves, keeping them in line with their whips.

He asked the same question of them. Their heads bowed, they were silent. Finally one muttered.

"He tried to escape, he...."

"That is a lie." A deep voice interrupted the guard, and those within earshot stared at surprise at the group of slaves from whence it came. For an Egyptian to speak unbidden to one as high born as this prince was rare enough, for a slave it was unheard of.

The guard's whips were up in a flash, and came down heavily on the back of one of the Nubian's, an old man whose back bore the marks of many whippings over the long years but whose skin was already raw from a clearly fresh application of leather. But still his eyes shone defiance at their inflictors.

"STOP!" Tuthmose roared, inflicting yet more surprise on the surrounding group, Rameses and Akehton included, their quiet and introspective cousin rarely raised his voice in anger. The guards blinked at him in shock. Tuthmose turned his attention to the old man.

"What do you mean it was a lie?" he said coolly "Speak."

"2 of us, myself, my friend" he indicated the rooftops and the escaped man "and that guard," he looked at the guard on the ground "were sent to fetch our water ration." Tuthmose moved closer, nodding, and the man stopped speaking, the realisation of who he was talking to, suddenly hitting home and overwhelming the courage he had found in the break by his young friend.

"Go on." Tuthmose encouraged, his voice warmer than before.

"My lord prince," the old man continued "The guard thinks I am old and should not live. On our way back, the guard decided that I had not worked hard enough and did not deserve any water, and tripped me. Causing me to fall and spill half our water ration. When we returned he told the foreman that I was old and weak and had fallen and spilled the water. The foreman ordered him to beat me." His tone though supplicant once more hinted at defiance. "My lord, the guard was right, I am old, and lord, even though I am still strong enough to work, I knew that when the guard was finished I would no longer be fit to do so...my friend knew this too and...."

"....and your friend stepped in?"

"Please, my lord." The old man said quickly trying to plead for the man who had saved his life "He is not like us. He is new and young. He does not speak and understand us well. He..."

"Where is he from?" came the voice of Rameses from Tuthmose's side.

"Yes, where?" Akehton echoed his brother.

The nervousness returned to the old mans' voice as he was faced by the inquisitive Royal triumvirate.

"I know not precisely where, oh princes." He swallowed, and spoke carefully so as not to cause offence. When you spoke to princes, death hung off every wrong word. "I have been teaching him to speak as we..." he winced "...that is, as I do. His language is passing strange sires, and he has difficulty with...forgive me...our...tongue."

The nodded understanding but impatient. He continued.

"He comes from a country far to the North and West he says." Looking away from the Princes towards the direction his friend had run, a wry smile crossed the old man's features "He says this land is cold, far colder than here, but that the land is all as if the blessings of the Nile covered it all year. Fertile fields and great forests, all green." He spoke in a kind of disbelieving hopeful way. "I am not sure I believe him, great ones. And yet I have never seen one like him before."

Rameses was momentarily distracted by the sudden realisation that Sekhnet had joined them. The priest saw his prince's quizzical glance.

"I have heard, oh great prince," he informed him in educated tones "that much of the land far to the North across the sea is indeed green and fertile and much forested, but none live there but savage tribes known as the Celtoii."

"Savage?" Akehton echoed, and smiled grimly "It would seem, given his size and strength, that we should thank the Gods that they do live far to the North then."

Rameses gave him a look of impatience. "Not that we could not master them of course." Akehton continued on his brother's look.

A shout in the distance went up, and was echoed around the surrounding streets where it originated, bringing the words closer to the assembly. They had caught him. Akehton grinned at his brother.

"See?" Despite himself, Rameses laughed.

"Can you speak his language?" Tuthmose asked of the man, who shook his head.

"No, lord prince. He speaks it only to himself in the mornings and evenings as Ra moves his chariot across the sky. But he learns the words of our tongue quickly." He hesitated. "Forgive me, lord...but if you speak slowly, he should understand."

A moment or two later a mass of men, some Medjai, some slave guards poured back into the opening on the edge of the square. The middle of this group opened up and the man was flung forward, falling and landing heavily on the ground, winding him.

Other than that, as per Rameses orders he was unharmed.

The 3 princes and the priest moved forward, mirrored edgily by the Medjai, uncomfortable at the proximity of such luminaries to the prisoner.

They waited in silence until the captured man looked up, trying to gulp air back into his too rapidly emptied lungs. His eyes met Rameses'. And did not look away.

The butt of a Medjai spear was thrust hard into his back, and the air he had managed to return to his lungs emptied again in a cry of pain, which rapidly became an animal snarl. He moved towards the one causing him pain, only for the Medjai to flip his spear around so that the man was met by the sight of the tip of the spear in his face. He halted, but still growled something up at the man.

None of them recognised his words. Rameses looked around his retinue, which had fully joined him now, from their faces none of the learned men who travelled with him seemed to understand the tongue. He looked at Sekhnet, who, unperturbed, silently indicated that he was not able to comprehend the language.

"You are fortunate you are not dead." Rameses commented in a slow matter of fact tone.

The man's attention returned to the crown prince, and his gaze was again direct, even evaluative. Another Medjai pushed his head to the ground and went to punish his impudence again with the butt of his spear, but Rameses held out a hand to stop him. The man on the ground looked from the guard to Rameses, or at least his feet, before turning his head sideways. Then he spoke, his speech slow and heavily accented.

"He is dead?" he indicated the guard on the ground. This time two or three spears rose up, forcing Rameses to stop them vocally.

"Hold! No one touches him save on my say so!" he glared angrily around him "I think I am the best judge of who impugns me and who does not!"

"Why hit me?" the slow halting voice struggled for the words "Not...attack...you."

"Do you know who he is?" Sekhnet spoke quietly to the man about Rameses.

"I know not." He answered in the well practised phrase of the stranger in a strange land. He paused, then unexpectedly continued albeit painfully slowly. "Nor ever know, if not allowed look!"

There was silence at this unexpected indirect attack on convention. Rameses blinked, and looked at Tuthmose, Akehton and Sekhnet, all were similarly surprised, but all too betrayed the slightest of smiles around their mouths and the Prince of Princes started to laugh. A broad smile on his face he beamed at his closest companions.

"He has a point." He conceded. He looked down at him. "Up." He commanded "You may rise up."

The man looked from side to side warily, as if expecting the next painful blunt thrust any moment, then gingerly he pulled himself upright, to face the next King of Egypt. By the time he had finished that feat, Rameses, for the first time in his life since he was a boy, found himself looking up at the face of a man.

Again the royal companions exchanged looks. He was young, quite young, but fully grown and close up he was quite the sight, huge, bearded, covered in dirt and dust, his strangely coloured hair dishevelled, his sky blue eyes flashing, he looked every inch the 'savage' type Sekhnet had spoken of. Rameses betrayed no loss of composure.

"Do you know what the punishment is for a slave striking a guard?"

The man's brow furrowed as he tried to follow the words. He glanced at his older friend who said the middle word again for him, with gestures. He nodded and straightened.

"I know not." He said again. "I care not." His tone was indifferent but the slight swallow after the words betrayed a tinge of fear, but no more than that. Rameses smiled slightly, knowingly. Perhaps because of that smile, the young man spoke again, surprising him. "He...earned...it."

Rameses inclined his head at his words "How so?" he enquired, though he knew the story.

All could see the man considering explaining what happened, but realising he didn't have the words. Finally he chose a phrase.

"He is....he is..." again his brows furrowed and he looked at his friend. "The word?" he asked. "The word for when a man is not...true?"

"Honour." Rameses surprised him by supplying it. The man blinked at him, unsure. "When a man is not true to himself and to what he believes?" Rameses offered. Slowly the blue eyed slave nodded.

"Honour." He repeated slowly, savouring it, and Rameses could see the word being filed away for future reference, an important one in his lexicon obviously. The man might be a savage, but he was obviously intelligent, the prince noted to himself. The slave spoke again, his vocabulary enhanced, his eyes fixed on the sky.

"He is not honour."

Rameses nodded. He was fascinated. "Still." He said pointedly "To strike a guard is death." The young man didn't flinch this time.

"Life without...honour...is death." He stated flatly. Rameses looked at his 3 companions who were, he saw, all as fascinated by the man as he was.

"Honour." Rameses said slowly "Means much to you." He commented.

"Life without..."

"...honour is death...I know." Rameses held up his hand and finished for him. Rameses looked at the old man. "Why did you risk your life for this man?" he asked the young man curiously. The young slaves eyes finally left the sky and returned to his friend with a gentle regard.

"A friend. A...." he lapsed suddenly into his own words "An cara mhaith, an fear mhaith...." He smiled "Help me ...teach me. Honour is due to him." His words were firm. "I honour him."

Rameses was impressed. He may have sounded like a pre-school infant, but he was brave, and of course, honourable, to the death. Just like the Medjai.

A thought occurred to him, and his mind began to sift through the possibilities here. He was immensely strong, agile...there was time yet before returning home, and with a little training maybe...he looked at Sekhnet, his mentor,

"Unique and exotic." He commented. Sekhnet, inclined his head in agreement, but said nothing. Rameses looked back at the man, who was still looking at his friend.

"If I set him free, gave him money. Would you honour me?"

The young man looked at him startled. Albeit no more than everyone else bar Sekhnet.

"Free?" he repeated, with the same reverence he did for the word honour.

Rameses nodded, and gestured towards the group of slaves. "Yes. In fact, I will set all these men free, and give them enough money to support their families or leave Egypt. If..." he paused, as much for dramatic effect as anything, "...you will swear to serve me."

A murmur of disbelief started with the slaves and moved throughout the crowd at the prince's words. The man didn't quite grasp all the words, but the look of surprise on his face showed quite clearly that he had gotten the gist of it.

"Serve?" he repeated hesitantly. Rameses nodded, a mild smile on his face.

"Were you a King at home?"

"King?" he echoed, then shook his head "No."

"A Prince then?"

That word missed completely, he looked at his friend, who pondered a moment.

"Son of a King." He said quietly. The slave nodded understanding.

"Mhac an Ri..." he whispered, before returning his attention to Rameses "No...Prince."

"Then you served a King." Rameses stated as if this must be a fact.

"Served. King." He tested the words out loud "Yes. Mo Tuath, Mo Clann, Mo Ri." He nodded vigorously. "I Served King."

"Good." Rameses smiled. "Then," he said slowly. "I will be your master, your..." he hesitated "Mockonri?" he attempted, to repeat the slaves words. The slave looked at him sharply to see if he was being mocked, but Rameses only looked at him expectantly.

"Mhac an Ri." He repeated for him, his tone one of curiosity, as if he was unsure of the man who stood before him. He looked around at the guards, then gingerly raised a finger "Mhac an Ri?" he asked pointing at Rameses, who nodded.

"That is why they hit you." Sekhnet said slowly to him. "He is the Prince of all this country. All Egypt. When you look at him, when you speak to him without per..."he hesitated "his...wishes...you do him no honour. Our country no honour."

The man followed the words slowly then nodded. He was a slave here, far from his home, baked alive under a sun hotter then he ever would have believe possible, worked to dropping and beaten if he did. But these people had not enslaved him, others had done that, slaughtered the members of his clann he had been travelling with and taken him prisoner, then sold him on.

He understood slavery, there were slaves at home too, but there were differences, confusing ones.

He had at first hoped to be able to work his freedom, earn his blood price through valuable service, and then he would go looking for the ones who killed his clann brothers, and would return home. But his new masters had taken him far away, to strange places, and then they had reached this sun blasted place, teeming with more people than he had ever seen in one place, where he had been put to work with these men.

Here, once he had learned a basic grasp of the language, his friend had explained to him, there was no earning your freedom. Here he would be a slave forever, unless his master wished otherwise.

It was dishonourable, he thought. You may kill a man, but do not take away his hope for freedom. His only hope as a slave was a master, and as part of a labour gang he had no master. No hope. Therefore he had had nothing to lose by attacking the guard, only regaining his honour and dying a free man while defending his friend.

But now this man, this 'Prince' offered him a chance of a master. A chance of freedom. He seemed an honourable man, his eyes, when at last he'd been able to see them, had spoken of that. He tested his theory. Looking at the small bald man in white who had spoken to him last, he asked.

"If No?"

"Then..." Rameses answered for himself, weighing his words carefully, knowing he was being tested and finding he rather enjoyed it. "...then I will simply set your old friend free and allow you to live and work on here." At this generosity, there were more murmurs from the crowd, both noble and common alike. "What the guard did was wrong. I free you from your death sentence, it is in your hands to free the others. It is my offer. It is your choice."

Without looking at Rameses, the man nodded. There would be no punishment. It was his choice. He was an honourable man this...prince. He remembered the words of the small man in black about dishonouring the Prince. Their ways weren't his ways or the ways of his people. But if he wished to leave here and return home, they would have to become his ways, and he would have to honour them.

He looked once more at Rameses by way of apology then dropped his eyes. He moved his hand in the direction of his fellow slaves.

"All?" he asked.

"All." Rameses said firmly "I will set them all free. Give them money, and take you from here, if you will swear upon your honour to serve me as your Prince. By your own free will."

Eyes averted, he gazed once more at the sky. The choice was obvious. It was generous. Yet he knew he had to ask one more thing, and could lose all by asking it. He opened his hands, palm up, in what he had discovered to be the universal form of supplicant request, be it to a Clann Chief or to women at a well who might take pity on a thirsting slave.

"Despite your startlingly generous offer, it seems that he has something else to ask you, my brother." Akehton informed him.

"Speak." Rameses indicated.

"Get my freedom?" the stilted words came out painfully slow. He risked a glance at the prince. "Blood price. My country, work hard..." He explained as best he could, trying desperately to think of words that would help him.

Sekhnet smiled understanding, and decided to step in. "It would appear my lord prince, that where ever he comes from they practice the idea of a slave working to his full potential and paying in work what he is worth, his 'blood price' obviously, thereby garnering his freedom."

"Really?" Akehton commented wryly. "Thank the Gods we don't do that here. If I gave freedom to the value of the slaves I have I'd have to let them all go the day after I bought them."

Rameses nodded at his brother. "Interesting, but you are right, we could not afford to do it here." He looked speculatively at the slave before him, and considered. "Very well." He conceded. And once again the ripple of disbelief moved around him. "But." He said loudly and those around him fell quiet.

"...I warn you. I may not be the one who decides your worth...." Something basic suddenly occurred to him. "...what is your name?"

"Name?" the blue eyed slave echoed again, before drawing himself up proudly "Cian Mac Concobhair." He declared of his heritage.

Rameses drew a blank. He looked at the others, who were similarly trying to mouth the strange words.

"Keeee.....ahn?" he tried, looking at his brother, who shrugged helplessly. Rameses came to a decision.

"Keeahn." He placed a hand on the slave's shoulder, conferring the name on him. Cian looked up. "Keeahn." Rameses said again making it clear to him. The blue eyed man hesitated, then nodded his agreement both to the name and to the deal,

"Swear." He pledged.

"Good!" Rameses exclaimed, pleased with his days work. He looked at the Medjai Captain. "Have him escorted back to our dwelling." The guard bowed and indicated for two of his men to take a firm hold of the looming newcomer, and the three of them lead him away.

Rameses looked to his mentor. "You know my thoughts as always, good Sekhnet." He smiled. "Do you think I am foolish?"

"Only if it doesn't work, my lord prince." The priest smiled at the younger man.

Rameses chuckled.. "And do you think then, that it will work?"

The priest's eyes rested again on the retreating form of the newly named Keeahn, and his smile became more distant. "Only time will tell, my lord prince." Sekhnet replied.

_________________________________________