The Pharaoh's Guard: 5

Egypt, 2510 B.C.

Vizier Bakari sat on the floor of his chambers, scrolls scattered around him, as he poured himself into his work. His days had been longer since the death of his son. So much longer. Radames had been the only family he had left and with him gone the Vizier had two options to fill his day with; work and thoughts about the burial he wished wouldn’t have come until long after his own death.

The older man, with age lines and dulling eyes, gave a hearty sigh and let the scroll he was holding slip from his grip. What was the point of his work? How could he expect to get anything done when he had yet to mourn properly? But, there was still the threat on the Pharaoh’s life. The previous assassin may have been thwarted, but there were always threats. And now, more than ever, Pharaoh Khafre had been worrying about a prophecy that had been foretold to him after the death of his father; and the Pharaoh expected him to find a way to cheat the prophecy. Yet, one does not cheat destiny. So it had been spoken, so it would happen. A foretold prophecy was a ticking time bomb with no way to dismantle it. But not all hope was lost, as Khafre was constantly reminding him.

“Vizier,” a tall man strode into the elderly man’s chambers without so much as a request to do so. He stood tall with the same golden skin his people possessed, and dark eyes. Across one of his eyes, however, was a scar. Along with it, were many other scars littering his bare torso and arms. In one of his large hands, he held a spear, in the other he held an amulet.

“I don’t recall granting you entrance into my chambers, Yafeu,” the Vizier spoke from his spot on the floor.

“I’m sorry, but I come with a request from the Pharaoh,” Yafeu, the Captain of the Pharaoh’s Guard, spoke softly to the other man. There was softness to his normally harsh eyes. A softness that had been there since Radames’ death. Bakari knew that the younger man partially blamed himself for the other’s untimely death.

Yafeu had been the one to train Radames. Not only that, but he had also been the one to recruit the boy. Though his recruiting had been unintentionally. As a teen, Yafeu had joined the guard to follow in his own father’s footsteps. With the Vizier’s wife being deceased, he had to often bring Radames –then a young boy –to meetings with him. Radames would sit near the teen, and the older one would forsake his duties for a few hours to keep the child entertained. Babysitter wasn’t a title Radames had ever give the Captain, though. Hero, though, was one that spoke through his eyes whenever he saw the other. The child looked up to the teen so much that it was no shock that Radames has enlisted in the Pharaoh’s Guard as soon as he reached his twelfth year.

“What does Khafre want?” the Vizier spoke with sagged shoulders. He really didn’t need any more worries placed upon him. He already had so much to solve.

“He has ordered that your son be buried within his tomb,” Yafeu informed.

The Vizier’s jaw clenched and he stood. Though old, he was blind. He could see through the stitches of the Pharaoh’s orders and straight into the fear they had sprouted from. “Where is he?”

“In the throne room.” The older man was already on his feet and heading out of the chambers before Yafeu had the chance to finish saying, “he’s with the Seer.”

“Of course he is,” Bakari muttered as he made his way through the palace. He found the Pharaoh just where the Captain had told him he’d be. The ruler sat upon his throne with a maiden fanning him with a palm branch on either side of him. A man with soiled skin and dressed in raggedy robes stood before him. Bakari knew the man with glazed over eyes and rotted teeth. He was had been a seer of Ra’s temple, before its closing. He had been the one to speak the prophecy that had haunted Khafre. And thus he was the reason behind Radames burial site being moved to the pyramid of the pharaoh.

“You!” Bakari declared upon seeing the seer who more resembled a dried prune than a human man. “What divination have you been sprouting today?”

“He’s come with no prophecy,” Khafre interrupted his advisor. His voice was dull, like the entire situation bored him, “but with answers to an old one. Though his divination taints the air we breathe, he believes he can save my so called lost afterlife.

“Twice I have spoken prophecies to your blood line,” the seer stated venomously. “And twice I have been banned from these courts with the threat of death blocking my way back in. Once have you yourself summoned me, until this day. So do not speak as if I am a snake in your court, Pharaoh, for if I am you are the one who opened the door for me.”

“So the snake hisses, but I have yet to hear words of worth flow from its split tongue,” the Pharaoh sneered. “Speak at once, fool, or I shall make good upon my threat of your death.”

“Your lack of faith in the prophecy and in our gods worries me. For it is the foundation to the very prophecy that clings to you,” the seer stated harshly.

Bakari having been present when the seer had first spoke his prophecy to the pharaoh, rolled his eyes and cursed those whose temples had been sealed. When would the seer ever learn that his words were not welcome in the palace? They hadn’t been when Khafre’s father –Khufu –or his older brother –Djedefra –had reigned, and they would never be while Khafre sat upon the throne. Perhaps one of Khafre’s children would break the trend, but until then the gods and their whisperers were banned.

“Why summon one whose faith is inconsequential to your rule?” Bakari asked, though he knew the answer. Despite the Pharaoh’s insistence that the gods were nothing but fairy tales and that prophecies were nothing but ghost stories, there was a part of him that feared that they may be true. And, if they were true, then his afterlife looked grim. For, it had been told that he would be murdered after death. Forgotten by all and lost by the living. That he would never complete his journey in the afterlife and that Ra would sway the gods of death to give him eternal torment. It was because of that fear that he now sought out the seer who not only foretold of his damnation but of a hero –a loyal and valiant servant –that would save him.

“Your son, was a trusted servant,” Khafre continued on with no intention of answering the Vizier’s previous question. “He placed his life in harm’s way many times over the years and died honorably in a fight against our enemy. I believe he could be trusted to save me from the prophecy my kingdom believes will fall upon me.”

“That is why you wish to have him buried within your pyramid,” Bakari spoke, “as insurance that if the prophecy comes true then there shall be one to save you.”

“You cannot choose your savior,” the seer spoke up. “It is the gods who choose him.”  

“Only a few moments ago you were blabbering about my rescuer having died and reminding me that in order to save me he first must be dead,” Khafre hissed.

“The young guard who has fallen has been marked by Ra as your savior. He shall rescue you amongst the living, but it is not because you wish it, but because the gods demand it,” the seer stated pointedly.

“The gods be damned!” Khafre declared. “It is not them who control’s a man’s fate, but the man who does. I am the Pharaoh! I have the power! If I declare something then it shall be done!”

“The gods are displeased with you,” the seer spoke sadly, “and I do not envy you for the wrath you have called upon yourself. They do not take kindly to prideful mortals. And even less kindly to prideful mortals who rule. You may see yourself above them because you rule a kingdom but they see you as nothing more than a bothersome bug.”

“Speak one more ill word my way and you shall meet your precious gods face to face,” threatened the Pharaoh.

“Tell me, Vizier,” the seer turned to Bakari, “what god does your house serve?”

The vizier was taken aback. “We serve the Pharaoh.”

“And your son followed in the ways of your house?”

“He is loyal to his ruler.”

“And to no god?”

The vizier hesitated. For years his family had secretly worshiped the gods. He had raised his son to do so as well, but he could never speak of these things for he was the trusted advisor to a Pharaoh who hated such beliefs. “We serve no one but our Pharaoh,” the Vizier spoke with a finality that came from years of practicing the same lie.

The seer frowned. “Ra has chosen your son. Whether you and he believed in the gods or not, I suggest that you take the pharaoh’s offer and have your son buried within his pyramid. It would be a shame if a robber found him before the appointed time of his rising.”

“That is enough out of you,” the Pharaoh declared. He waved his hand and two guards had a hold on the seer’s arms. “Throw him amongst his fell dogs. I have heard all I wish to from his lying mouth.”

As the seer was dragged from the palace, the vizier turned to his pharaoh. He may not admit it aloud but he believed the prophecy and if the seer said that Radames was destined to be the loyal and valiant servant prophesied to save the pharaoh then he would grant permission for the boy to be buried within the ruler’s great pyramid. “My son may be laid to rest within your tomb.”

Relief flooded the Pharaoh’s features as his mask slipped. He thanked the older man with his eyes and a nod before saying, “Did Yafeu give you the heart amulet I instructed him to?”

“I saw it in his hand,” Bakari answered, “but I did not give him time to pass it to me once I heard of the seer’s presence.”

Again the pharaoh nodded. “Go to him, and retrieve the amulet. I have requested a spell of protection to be engraved upon it. If the gods be real, then know that your child will be protected in death for the loyalty he showed in life.”