Level: Attendant

It took more years to complete Om’s new town than he could have guessed, five in total. But when a dark-skinned traveller turned a bend in the river four years later and saw it for the first time, his mouth fell open. Four, white towers at the corners of the high, encompassing wall shone like marble columns, and the temple against the cliff seemed to him like a crown on the head of a marble king. At each point of the city flew yellow pennants, sewn from such fine cloth that they were lifted by the merest zephyr, whispering in from the desert. And amidst it all, behind a beautiful, white Citadel, noisier with exuberant life than he had ever heard before, stood a colonnaded building to rival the old Palace of Det Tasi. He looked to his course, for a zephyr had taken hold of his black sail and brought his boat too close to the shore, but he wondered what sort of people he would meet when he landed.
Now, Pamiu was a wise and very determined sort of fellow. He had not become wealthy without learning that one must find the way to a man’s heart if you wish to profit by him.
Before he had left Zawty, he had learned from Nehi, who had some of his father’s slyness, that Anen had grown fond of his youngest sister, Teo. Pamiu had made it his business to get Anen drunk and make a proposition.
“You are fond of my youngest daughter, Teo, are you not?”
“Yes. I suppose that is true.”
“She would make a fine wife … . Girls with such light-coloured hair are rare in Egypt.”
“Hm. Perhaps in one year, I might make you an offer.”
“But perhaps within that same year, I might get a better offer.”
“That may be so. But I must first find out what has happened to my father, brothers and uncle. They were in Det Tasi.”
“Ah! I see. But I have the solution. A simple piece of information would secure her hand for your ring.”
“Such as?”
“My daughter Merti has been deeply upset by something.”
“Oh?”
“She has become fond of Om, but he says he will not marry her. I don’t know why, but she says he has told her secretly what he desires most. I know, if I can give him this thing, he will make Merti happy, and as you know, I’m a very wealthy man. Do you see my dilemma? The girl is too fond of him and won’t reveal his secret desire.” Menkhaf shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, the loyalty of women can be hard to fathom. But I cannot think what this thing might be! Unless … .”
“Yes?”
“He has mentioned a dream to me. Something about a cup, a very special cup. That is all he would say.”
This information was enough for Menkhaf. When he returned to Zawty three years later, he not only kept his promise to Anen, but he also carried with him a very special gift for Om. On the shores of the Red Sea he had purchased a very rare cup, made from the finest Onyx and lined around the base and rim with silver bands. He hoped it would be precious enough, but not too ostentatious, to please Om.
The traveller in the boat drew level with the great citadel walls, shining white in the morning sun, and waved to men on the wooden pier that ran along the base of the wall. They pointed to a manmade channel, just to the right of the Citadel’s south wall.
With difficulty, the stranger hauled down his sail and used his paddle to propel the large boat into the channel. It bumped against the end of the pier, whereupon he threw a mooring rope to one of the smiling citizens of Zawty.
“What brings you here stranger!” the man cried, not out of caution, but keen curiosity.
“Everyone has heard how prosperous Zawty has become. I bring frankincense, good for incense, perfume and cosmetics!”
“I’ve heard of it! I’ll guide your boat to the harbour. No charge.”
With the dark stranger using his great oar to steer the boat and the Zawtian towing along a narrow footway, they made good progress along a narrow channel beside a white wall, nearly twenty cubits high. The stranger looked in awe at the glistening, white bricks and craned back his neck when after what he estimated to be about 2000 cubits, they passed under a great arch. Soldier’s leaned over its parapets to watch the boat pass underneath.
Once underneath the arch, the Zawtian led the boat under a portal in the wall. The stranger’s eyes were transfixed by the white, colonnaded Palace, high to his right, and above even this, hugging the cliff, sat a glistening white temple, complete with carvings, depicting the sun and lions.
Ahead the stranger saw a long row of warehouses on his left and huge, municipal buildings on his right, but the Zawtian led the boat to the left again, into the main basin of Zawty’s harbour, and to the quayside.
“This is Harbour Square,” the Zawtian said. “To the right is Market Square and plenty of merchant’s stalls. The warehouses are beyond. But first you’ll need to visit the customs house, there!”
“Is it safe to leave my cargo!” the stranger said, tying his painter to a post and climbing onto the quayside.
“New trader!” the Zawtian shouted, toward the door of the customs house.
A head poked out, disappeared for a moment and reappeared upon the bustling shape of a fat man, bejewelled and covered from head to foot in bright crimson robes. His unctuous smile only widened against his fleshy cheeks, as he drew closer and held out a pudgy hand to the stranger.
“Welcome to the city of Zawty. What is your cargo sir?”
“Frankincense. Forty-one sacks.”
“Good, good. Name? City?”
“Chen of Ubar.”
“I’m Meketre. Who’s your supplier?”
“An-uwar.”
“Ah, I know of him. I have travelled widely. Docket?”

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