Nubian Queen, White Slave

Kingdom of Nubia, Meroe

300 B.C. — Kandake Lateefah’s Court

Set tossed the bloody dagger onto the stone floor before his sister. He bent his knee and lowered his head with utmost respect.

"My queen, kandake."

Rise, Set.

He raised his head, keeping one knee plastered to the stone.

What is this you have placed before me?

I used this dagger tonight to stop an assassination attempt against your life, dear sister.

Oh?

My advisors discovered a letter written by the Kushite infantry general regarding a plot to re-establish the Kemetic Dynasty on the throne of Meroe. The author of that letter was none other than the city’s accountant and second cousin to your advisor. 

Where is the man?

I handled him, my queen.

Set took her hand and kissed it. Lateefah pulled her hand back, settling it on the lap of her cotton shift. Gold bangles jingled over the length of her arm, reflecting light off Lateefah’s obsidian skin. 

Set, you are not authorized to conduct executions on my behalf.

Bilal shifted uncomfortably behind his queen’s throne, his hand clutching at the staves that rose from the bronze throne behind her. Lateefah leaned back, waiting for her brother to justify the actions he’d taken.

I apologize. Since the coronation, there have been far too many attempts on your life. We cannot allow the dynasty to appear weak. Already we face devastating attacks in the land of the Jews, and from the Greeks.

I do not fear attacks from the Greeks… nor the Jews, who are currently without a king and scattered throughout their lands.

I did not mean to imply you were fearful, Lateefah.

Stand up, Set.

Set rose, a strong proud man with obsidian skin that matched his sister. His hair twisted into thin dreadlocks that fell to the middle of his back. He wore a white linen sheath around his waist, his chest exposed and scarred from battles he’d fought as a general in the north of the Nile.

"Do not perform executions on my behalf again without consulting me. These actions undermine my power as kandake. You are my younger brother and the custom of this court is for you to show respect."

Set bowed his head.

My apologies.

Apology accepted. You were only trying to keep me safe.

Lateefah squeezed the arms of her throne and gestured with her chin to the dagger.

Bilal, take the dagger and bring the blood to the court healer. She will fix an offering to the goddess Mehit and our enemies will pay for their arrogance.

Bilal left his position at Lateefah’s side and took the dagger, bowing before his queen and leaving her in the throne room alone with her brother. Lateefah eased up once Bilal left. When he was there, along with the rest of the court, she hardly felt as if she and Set were siblings.

Since her coronation, her relationship with her brother and the entire kingdom changed. Papa’s death hadn’t been difficult. Lateefah never spent much time with him — more time with governesses and advisors and with aunties. As the eldest child remaining in the capital, she’d been the heir to the throne, even above her brother, Set.

A formal coronation hadn’t given Lateefah all the lessons she needed to make an easy rule. 

At ease, brother.

Set bowed his head respectfully.

What news do we have from the battle of Memphis?

We lost 200 archers from Meroe and another 100 infantry from the Lower Nile region. However, our generals consider the campaign victorious. 300 Greek prisoners are sailing toward Meroe as we speak.

Lateefah’s stance eased once more. 300 prisoners meant mighty spoils.

Set continued proudly, The slaves will be destined for five years of hard labor before we allow their return to Greece. We have already negotiated the terms with the general and drawn up the conditions for their defeat.

Good.

The battles may have been won dear sister, but it is my belief we should advance to the North East. Do not allow our victory in Memphis to be enough. We have the power to conquer Palestine in a few years if we begin to raise an army.

Our people have known peace for the past twenty years. The battle of Memphis was fought to prevent a war, not launch another campaign of conquest, Lateefah insisted.

Her brother could get like this sometimes, so involved in the glory of victory that he forgot both his place and theirs. Nubia was the cradle of civilization and only fought wars to establish the boundaries of their territory and fend off the savages from across the sea. Across the desert where lay the kingdom of the Jews, Lateefah had no interest. Battles against them had been won and slaves were taken, but she had no interest in continuing the campaigns of her ancestors and encroaching on their lands.

This wasn’t the Nubia she intended to build. Detecting her inhibition, Set approached the throne, poorly disguising his frustration with Lateefah’s reluctance towards war.

Dear sister, if you do not establish the kingdom of Nubia as powerful, by the time word is sent to our enemies of your rise to power, they will presume your weakness and launch their conquests of your land. I do not wish to see the kingdom of our ancestors fall.

Your words trouble me, brother.

They should. Your position in the kingdom is already weak, with assassination attempts on your life daily. We must protect what is ours.

Your words border on treasonous, Set.

I meant no offense, he replied, bowing his head.

None taken. However, I advise you not to question the strength of my kingdom again. You are still my brother, so consider yourself forgiven. I will consider your counsel but under no circumstances are you to order the soldiers to the North. We will build a strong Nubia from within, not through conquest. Is that understood?

Yes.

You’re dismissed.

Slaves From Greece

Temple of Mehit

Lateefah kneeled before the gold altar in the temple of Mehit. A short walk from her court, she entered the temple attended by four servants. A gold choker held her slender obsidian neck straight and a linen scarf covered her smooth, perfect skin from the Nubian sun. Beads of sweat gathered on her brow and Lateefah’s most trusted servant girl, Mariam, rushed to her brow with a white cloth steeped in bay rum. 

Lateefah’s eyes fluttered closed. Bay rum dripped down her temple, through her thin braids, cooling her scalp as she clasped her hands and pleaded with the goddess for wisdom. Blood from the dagger that Bilal collected congealed in the solid gold offering plate. Lateefah pleaded for wisdom, for victory in battle and for the strength of her people — the strength to know what came next. 

Heat stuck the linen of her robes to her neck and Mariam dutifully wiped away sweat as her Kandake prayed. When Lateefah was finished, she opened her eyes but remained on her knees.

Mariam?

Yes?

Send Isak to Bilal and get word of the ships from the North. They should be arriving today.

Yes, my queen.

Mariam kissed the tops of her hand. Mariam had been her oldest friend. They’d grown up together. Lateefah was uneasy at the deference expected of her friends now. Through her coronation, her status in the court had changed. She’d never expected to become queen. But she was the eldest unmarried daughter when her father died, and she’d come to a position that might have been her brother’s had her father decided any man was worthy of his most beautiful daughter.

Before Mariam could leave the temple, Bilal stood in the doorway, his shadow cast over the altar.

Am I interrupting?

No, Bilal. Come. I was just asking Mariam to fetch you.

Very well.

Bilal entered the temple and dropped to his knees instantly. Lateefah wondered when she’d get used to this — the subservience from the people of her court.

The slaves have arrived and Set has selected the strongest ones to serve in the palace. He requires you to approve his choices.

Where are they?

In the courtyard of the South Wing. Shall I bring men to carry you?

No, Bilal. I can walk. Mariam, ladies, come.

Mariam sponged more sweat off her queen’s brow and bowed her head low before taking her position with the other women behind Lateefah. Bilal stood to Lateefah’s right, careful to remain a few steps behind his queen.

Kandake, are you willing to listen to my counsel regarding the Greeks.

I believe handling them will be simple. We draw up the contracts of their enslavement and we will send word to the north.

Bilal’s white and black hair, the color and texture of soft wool was cropped close to his head. He wore a skull cap that covered most of his hair and kept the sun from beating too heavily on his dark, thick brows.

Yes. Then there is the issue of payment.

Right. I am in need of a new accountant.

I have several recommendations from the Upper Nile willing to make the journey to Meroe. They’ve studied at the university in Thebes.

Tell me their names. Perhaps I’ve heard of them in another report.