Lament of Times Past

Abdul sliced the long loaf of bread filling the basket as he went. His wife Hema bustled about putting more dishes on the table for the evening meal. Piers poured them all some apricot juice.

"The potion will be ready by tonight, Piers."

"That's ahead of schedule isn't it?"

"I feel that haste is of the essence, my friend."

Hema stopped moving long enough to make her feelings known. "You should not have left her with that ... that man."

"Hema helped me with preparing the potion while you were resting."

"And the charm?" Piers slathered butter on his bread.

"It will be ready late tomorrow afternoon." Abdul took a long drink of his juice.

"Good. I can return tomorrow night."

"I suggest waiting until the following morning, Piers. The potion is delicate and must be treated with great respect."

"Enough about this unpleasant business. We are dining and should speak only of joy." Hema took her seat at last. "What are your plans for after you and Minerva are married, Piers?"

"Yes, I have been rather curious myself. Will you both be continuing your research work here?" Abdul asked.

Piers took his time before responding. "We would love to stay in Egypt but other matters call us away."

"If it is not prying -"

"There is no prying among friends," Hema teased her husband.

"I stand corrected."

Piers laughed softly. "I hope Minerva and I will be just like you two some day."

"You are not nearly as impossible as Abdul is." Hema pointed out.

"If I were not so impossible you would have grown bored of me a long time ago." Abdul retorted.

Hema gave her husband an amused look. "So, you are not staying in Egypt, then?"

"No." Piers served himself some more food. "You see there are properties and business interests back home that were bequeathed to Minerva as the sole heir of her parents. She's been studying or doing research for so long that they have not been tended to as they should have been."

"Minerva once told me that on her parents' death, her grandmother was given charge of the estate." Abdul said.

"Yes, that's true. But her grandmother died unexpectedly last year so now it falls on Minerva to deal with things."

"Minerva is very lucky to have someone like you by her side." Hema noted. "She is a strong woman and her man needs to be stronger if he is to take good care of her."

Piers declared, "I want nothing but Minerva's happiness."

In a car skimming at great speed along the surface of the desert, an elderly passenger drank hot tea from a small thermos. Without warning, he clutched at his chest. Sharp claws of pain ripped through his body. Beside him his companion became frantic watching as his friend and superior writhed in the back seat.

"Professor! What's wrong? Professor!" cried Griffith.

Professor Hammadi hunched over in his seat. His gnarled hands grappled uselessly on his chest. "Forgive me, Nadia. I did love you in my ... my fashion."

"Where's your medication?!" Griffith asked. "You must have some!"

"Bag ... in my bag."

With great care, Griffith laid the ill man flat on the back seat. He ordered the driver to stop the car. As Griffith rummaged through the professor's small bag, he noticed that the sick man had stopped clutching at his chest. His head swayed from side to side. His fists clenched and unclenched. The professor began to rave softly; his voice changing now and again as if he were relaying both ends of a conversation. Occasionally, Griffith would catch a nonsensical phrase or word.

"Home, we must go home. Fight, old one, fight!" This voice was deeper with a harsh raspy edge.

"No more. Please." This voice was weak, plaintive. "Let me die."

"My time will not end like this."

"All things must end ... even you."

Concerned by the strange ramblings, Griffith took a long look at Hammadi's face. The habitual sharpness in the old man's eyes was now absent replaced by confusion and fear.

"For all I have granted you, you will live!"

"So tired ... no more please."

"Frail, useless vessel. Must I do all for you?"

The professor's world narrowed to a kaleidoscope of memories too long suppressed; far too many for just one man, one lifetime. The memories were of a time long past.

The almost comforting presence of the deep desert's heat as it enveloped him in its embrace at every rising of the sun.

The first grudging praise given to him by the wizened elder Nazoor upon completion of his adept studies. "You have done well, young Abraxos. Never stop learning for that is the secret to true wealth."

Days and nights spent in the company of the elders learning all he could. The other adepts snubbed him as often as they could outside of the elders' notice. He grew indifferent, even disdainful, at their petty jealousies.

The elation at being singled out by the elders and appointed a clerk at the Pharaoh's court. True, it was a minor position but the position paid well. He would be able to continue with his research on his own.

The respect accorded to him by the Pharaoh Akhenatan when he had created a potion that eased the Empress' labor and delivery. For that act he was handsomely rewarded and admitted into the Pharaoh's trusted inner circle.

The first searing touch of first love when he grew enchanted with a young handmaiden serving the Empress. He had nervously asked for her to become his wife. The Pharaoh graciously granted his permission.

A young woman with a warm smile greeting him at court then holding his hand as they walked home together every night.

His desperate fury at the death of his wife. He knew it was no accident. He had many enemies and they would pay for her death. No one would be spared.

Griffith cradled the old man in his arms. "I have your medicine. Can you hear me? I'm going to put the pill in your mouth then give you some water. You'll be good as new again. All right?"

He took Hammadi's quiet moan as a positive answer. Carefully, he administered the pill. He placed a small cup full of water to the professor's lips. At first, it seemed he refused to drink. Then, after a few heart-stopping seconds, his lips moved and he sipped.

Griffith unfolded a blanket and lay it about the vulnerable man. "Driver, get started again. The sooner we reach Abu Sindel the better."

Back in the camp, Khalil was helping his father clean up after the evening meal had ended. Mr. Hamdi noticed that his son did not chatter happily as he normally did. In fact, Khalil had seemed almost sad most of the day.

Mr. Hamdi waited until Khalil had finished clearing off one of the table before asking him to come to him. "I have been watching you, my son. You seem sad. I do not want your mother to see you like this. You know how she worries."

"I will be happy when I get home, Papa. I promise." The young boy said the words with great solemnity.

"You have been working here almost every day. You are only a boy, you must be tired. Stay home tomorrow."

"No, I cannot. I would lose a day's pay. That is a month of school."

"Khalil, I am not blind. I am proud of all the things you do here. But you must not overtax yourself."

"What work? I fetch things, clean a little and help you at meals. The work does not tire me."

"Then why do you seem sad and tired tonight if not the work."

Khalil sighed. "Albus is leaving tomorrow."

"I see." He motioned for Khalil to sit beside him on the bench. "Of which are you more sad - Albus himself leaving or the loss of his books?"

"Both." said the young boy honestly.

Mr. Hamdi chuckled and ruffled his son's hair fondly. "Albus has been very generous to you. What do you need to do?"

"I should go and thank him before he leaves. Perhaps, he will leave me a book and I can-"

"Khalil, you are to thank the man and expect nothing in return."

"But he has so many books in his trunk, papa. He can hardly miss one." Khalil protested.

"Khalil, he is an honored guest not a customer." Khalil's little shoulders drooped at this rebuke from his father.

After a full minute of thought. "I will not ask for anything."

"Very good. Go see him now. You may not have an opportunity tomorrow."

Khalil paused at the entrance to Albus' tent. Mentally, he rehearsed what he would say. By his side, he carried a book he had just finished. With one hand he parted the tent flap. There was no light within the tent but he could hear movement so he knew Albus was within. Khalil moved in carefully. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Something he saw brought him up short.

Silhouetted in shadow and moonlight were entwined two forms he knew very well. Their sighs and whispers were not for his ears.

Silently, Khalil turned away and closed the flap a little more securely than the way he had found it. He would say his own goodbye to Albus tomorrow.