Sample Chapter For THE GIFT OF SUN: HAMET'S AWAKENING – BOOK 1 by Lee Ann Ward

“The sun’s up, Hamet. You must go. Pharaoh’s waiting for you.”

“He can wait a little longer for his morning toilet. He likes the handmaidens better than me anyway. You should see the way he pushes out his chest after being close to them, Keati.”

“Our good king may cut out your tongue for speaking about him that way, Hamet.”

“Pharaoh has no use for my tongue.”

“I agree.” The young woman laughed. “It’s much too sharp.”

“Well, what about you? Do you have any use for my tongue?” Hamet scooped her into his eager arms and playfully kissed her throat.

“I suppose your tongue can be useful.” Keati giggled and laced her arms around Hamet’s bronze neck, giving in to his shower of kisses.

“I have an idea,” Hamet schemed. “I’ll send word to Pharaoh that I’m ill, then we can try to find more uses for my tongue.”

“I see,” Keati replied, “and will you also send word that I’m too ill to prepare his bread today?”

Hamet sighed, pressing a final kiss on Keati’s red, powdered lips. “No, I suppose no one would believe us.”

“I think you’re right, Hamet. But, I’ll be waiting for you tonight when you return.”

“Then, the day will be long and torturous for both of us.”

Keati brushed her cheek along Hamet’s callused hand and pressed her lips into his palm. “Just go, and may the god Amon-Ra find favor with you today.”

“Ah, find favor with me,” Hamet winked, tugging at the right side of his ill-fitting loincloth and dragging a clean, heavy basin behind him. “I’m off to the quarters of the king. Another day of washing the divine flesh of Seti, as the great Amon-Ra laughs at my indignity.”

* * * *

“Your Majesty,” Hamet called into the entrance of the pharaoh’s quarters, “I’m here at your service.”

“Come in, Hamet,” a stolid voice commanded, “and open your ears to the heart of your king.”

The images of enemies gazed at Hamet as he scanned the paintings of battle scenes etched deeply into the stone walls of the palace. The faces examined him daily as he stood before the barefoot king and prepared him for another day of divinity.

“Is something troubling you, Pharaoh, if I may be so bold to ask?”

“Ha! May you be so bold? It’s your boldness I love, Hamet. Why do you think you enter my chambers each day? Why do you think you live in my palace? Chance? I don’t shelter every orphan in Thebes, do I? No, you delight me with your boldness and your words.”

“Keati thinks my tongue is too sharp from words, Your Majesty,” Hamet replied. “She fears you may order it cut out very soon.”

“That desert flower is wise to you, Hamet. I may need to replace her soon.”

“No maiden could replace my Keati. She’s too fair.”

“I agree. She’s lovely and quite bold as well—your match in every way. You made a grand choice when you selected her. Keati’s been a fine wife to you, hasn’t she?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“How old are you now, Hamet?”

“Seventeen.”

“Ah, seventeen. What beauty in youth! The only thought that troubles Pharaoh is that he’s not seventeen, running 180 stades before eating each day and feeling no soreness in the flesh. Now, attend your duties and prepare your king.”

The king’s rising was almost a ceremonial occasion, and Hamet was graced with the pleasure of being the first person to greet the pharaoh and to help him wash. The royal barber, manicurist, and chiropodist soon joined them. Eventually the room filled with the king’s family, servants, and the governing officials, including Ramses, the pharaoh’s son, co-ruler of Egypt, and heir to the throne.

“Good morning, Hamet,” Ramses said as he crossed the room to greet his father.

“Good morning, Sire,” Hamet replied.

“My father is practically glowing this morning,” Ramses said, turning to Hamet. “You’ve performed your duties well.”

“You flatter your tired and dying father.” The pharaoh smiled, slapping Ramses’ golden pectoral. “I’m wrinkled and weary and have no glow left in me, my son. Aye, your Seti is old—”

“And, wise,” Ramses interjected. “And, mightier than any god in Egypt. You will live forever.”

“Our lord Ramses is correct,” Hamet said. “You will live forever. With that said, may I go now? You did have a nice wash today.” Hamet paused to grin mischievously. “And your attire is stunning, Your Majesty.”

Pharaoh looked fondly at Hamet. “Yes, you sly little jackal. You may go. But, keep your feet planted firmly in the sands, and your ears dry.”

“I will, Your Majesty,” Hamet winked as he collected his basin. “Will I see you in the palace today?”

“No. Today I will hunt elephants in the Euphrates, or perhaps rhinoceroses between the third and fourth cataracts.”

Hamet helped himself to one of the pharaoh’s fresh dates as he left the anxious clan behind. In his swift departure, he accidentally bumped the arm of Throut, the king’s vizier.

“I beg your pardon, Throut. I’m a clumsy clod this morning.”

“Yes,” Throut agreed. “But, you are pardoned, boy. Just go.” Throut wiped the sleeve of his robe as if Hamet’s touch had soiled it.

“He’s a spirited boy with quick feet.” Seti smiled and winked at Ramses. “Don’t be upset with him, Throut.”

“Throut must be upset,” Ramses added, “or he wouldn’t be Throut. Am I right, Father?”

The vizier’s gray eyes dismissed Ramses’ remark. Throut was lanky and thin with a sharp glance to match his sharp temper. His face was pitted and ruddy, as if acne had been a problem in his youth. But, the scars on his face matched the scars that seemed to paint his hollow heart, making one wonder why Pharaoh trusted the counsel of the gruff Throut in governing Egypt.

“Most powerful Seti, descendant of Ra,” Throut asked, “who is this young man to speak to you in such a casual manner? You are Pharaoh, the highest god in Egypt, yet he speaks to you like a peasant.”

“He’s just a boy,” Ramses mumbled.

“Aye, Throut,” Pharaoh affirmed. “Ramses is right. Hamet means no disrespect. He’s only a boy, and he offers his loyalties to me daily. He’s a child I saved from the grips of savages. I simply delight in his free spirit, and he listens to my old and tired heart. What’s so wrong with that? Throut, you are my vizier, my trusted companion and official; surely you know how fond I am of the boy.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Throut answered. “But I’m only trying to protect your honor.

The boy speaks to you as if you were his father.” Throut shifted his glance in Ramses’ direction but didn’t receive the reaction he’d desired. “And, yet,” Throut continued, “Hamet is no better than the slaves making bricks in the courtyard. He’s a servant in this palace, performing your duties, yet he’s treated like a guest, coming and going as he pleases.”

“I am like his father, Throut, but more his god and yours. Hamet listens to his master’s call, and he pleases me. You’re my vizier, and I know your concern. Don’t let Hamet be your concern again. Understand?”

“Yes, Sire,” Throut answered, his skinny fingers unrolling a fresh papyrus scroll to dictate the day’s agenda. He glared at the pharaoh as he straightened his headdress, and at the empty hallway the carefree Hamet had exited moments earlier.

* * * *

“Our team’s stronger than yours! Hold on!”

Hamet threw down the basin and joined a group of teens huddled outside the palace. Young men linked arms and hands in a desperate attempt to ‘pull the other man down’.

“Hold him! Hold on! Secure your footing! Our team’s better than yours!”

“May I join in?” Hamet asked as he rubbed his arm muscles and found his footing.

“Join our team, if you’re brave enough,” a voice answered.

Hamet linked arms with a lean, muscular young man from the opposing team and pulled with all his strength. A crowd of adoring children cheered as Hamet dragged the young man to the ground. Hamet lifted the basin with a proud smile and left.

“You!” the young man called after Hamet. “You work for Pharaoh?”

“Yes,” Hamet answered, “I do.”

“Do you wash him from that basin?”

“Yes.”

The young man darted quickly over to Hamet, his bare feet swirling dust. He caught hold of the basin and rubbed his hands inside its depth, then glided them over his smooth face.

“You may have just caressed the king’s basin, boy,” Hamet said with a snicker, “but you’re still a peasant.”

“Yes, I am,” the boy replied. “And so are you.”

They both laughed.

“May the gods be with you.”

Hamet smiled, then swatted a fly that landed on his bronzed arm. “And also with you.”

* * * *

“You’re late, Hamet.”

“The night’s still young. And, I’m never late. I arrive precisely when I desire to.”

“You and your wisecracks.” Keati slid into Hamet’s awaiting embrace. “And, do you do everything according to your desire?”

“Yes,” Hamet whispered, his breath hot on her ear. “I do everything as I desire, including this.”

Hamet covered her mouth with his and drove his fingers into her thick, black hair. Cradling her head in his hands, he stared intently into her brightly painted eyes. He loved the way his shadow completely covered her small frame.

“You’re beautiful, Keati. Tell me this: just what did I do with my nights before I found you?”

“I don’t know. Only you can answer that question.”

“Well, I won’t. I don’t care to think of those lonely nights again. I’ll only think of you and this night. But, I need to bathe now. It’s been a long, hard day. Maybe you can make us something to eat while I wash? I’m starving.”

Keati smiled as she caressed Hamet’s bare chest. “My tired hands cooked our meal earlier, Hamet. You bathed your king today, so perhaps I’ll assist in bathing my king tonight.”

“Your mind works as beautifully as those hands.”

* * * *

Gentle drops of water trickled down Hamet’s chest. Keati used a soft, linen cloth to dab the water from Hamet’s taut skin. His feet pushed hard into the floor each time her hands brushed his flesh. It was hard to restrain himself from her and she knew it. Keati used the last of the water from the clay jar to wash Hamet’s hair, then she dried it with the cloth.

“I’m finished, Hamet. We can eat now.” She reached for his loincloth to cinch it at his waist once more.

“No.” Hamet grasped the wrist that held his garment. “I don’t need it yet.”

“But, you said you were hungry.”

“Yes, there is a certain hunger I wish to satisfy.” Hamet scooped Keati into his arms and carried her to their bed. “Let’s make this a night we’ll remember for many days.”

Keati sighed, breathing in Hamet’s words of love like sweet perfume. She wasn’t sure why fate had awarded her the fortune of Hamet’s affections, but who was she to question fate? This young man made her happier than she had ever thought possible, and she would embrace his love this night and every night for the rest of her life.

“Hamet,” Keati asked, his hot kisses flooding her neck, “do you remember the first time we met?”

“Yes,” Hamet replied, forcing himself from her neck for a moment. “We met on a late-winter’s day that warmed so suddenly it tricked the flowers into blooming. You were gathering a flower offering for your mother. She was upset with you about something. I forgot the reason.”

“So did I.” Keati laughed. “I forgot everything else about that day after I saw your face.”

“So, are you saying you have no regrets?”

“Regrets? Never ask me that question, Hamet. I’ll never regret being your wife. I love you.”

“And, I love you, Keati, but enough talk. I’m still hungry.” Hamet found her neck again and rested in the familiarity that was his comfort—his strength—his Keati.

* * * *

The night visions invaded his mind again. His eyes jerked and bolted under his lids like swords through a raging lion. Ramses knew he was dreaming and begged his eyes to open, but they refused. The revelations would play out until their end once more, and Ramses had no choice but to watch. Why did these dreams haunt him almost nightly now, and why did he see the servant boy, Hamet?

Ramses woke in the wee daylight hours. He knew morning approached, but he kept his eyes tightly shut. His night visions had frightened him badly. Why did he keep dreaming about Hamet? What was this gift the gods taunted him with? Ramses’ dreams cried of murder, but the villain was too close to his father’s heart. It couldn’t be true. His dreams had to lie this night, but why? Nothing about the visions made sense. Why did the nightmares rule his nights?

“Ramses,” a soft voice whispered, “is something wrong?”

Ramses forced his eyes open and looked at his drowsy-faced wife. “Yes, Nefertari. Something’s wrong, but nothing can be done about it at this hour. Go back to sleep.”

Nefertari ignored his command. “Do your dreams vex you again this dark night?”

“Aye, they do.”

“But, they’re only dreams, Ramses. They mean nothing. Don’t let these visions trouble you so.”

“You’re wise, Nefertari, but you’re wrong. All kings have a gift from the gods. It’s what sets us apart from common men. My gift is foresight, the revelation of things to come. The future is revealed in my night visions. They’re more than mere dreams, you see. They are prophecy.”

“Then, why do the dreams frighten you?”

“It’s not my dreams that frighten me. It’s knowing they will be revealed in due course that frightens me so. Evil resides in this palace, Nefertari. I’ve seen it in my dreams.”

Nefertari placed her arms around her husband’s shoulders and whispered, “You’re a mighty warrior, Ramses. If there’s evil in the palace, then you’ll defeat it. You’re a conqueror. I’m safe in your arms, and your people are safe in your palace.”

Nefertari ran her finger along his long, narrow face. She kissed his prominent nose and then brushed her smooth lips on his.

Ramses returned her kiss, but his mind still dwelt on the dream. How could he fight an evil he didn’t understand? Why did these visions mock him and not reveal the reasons behind the evils that raged in his brain? What was the meaning of the golden amulet gracing the neck of Hamet, a mere servant boy? How could a wash boy possess a God-given gift worthy of warriors and kings? Ramses would watch the boy, seek him out and dig for the answers he so desperately desired.