Shiri by D.S. Page B

die by his prince’s side and even in defeat he had intended to keep that oath. But when he arrived beneath the corpse he’d laughed in coughs of blood and laid down his head waiting to die, content that he had failed to keep his pr omise. He opened his eyes again. “Yes ... was a good man.” The smile was broad and wide.
    Not more than a few minutes had past and Solon was nearing the end of his work on the man’s leg w hen he heard a voice behind him, “What’s going on here, bowyer?”
    “I’m tending to the wounded. I’d have thought that plain enough.”
    “This man is a rebel,” The tone was that of someone correcting a misunderstanding. “He will be taken outside and dealt with in a manner more fitting to him.”
    “He will remain here.” Solon answered without turning from the patient.
    “You dare defy me! You impudent whelp! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
    Solon turned to face the man who had disturbed him. Amenhotep glared back at him. His hand was bandaged and held in a sling. The Prince had spent much time displaying the wound to all and sundry, describing how despite the injury he fought on until his foe was defeated. “My father has been too soft on you, Solon, letting you come and go as you please, doing and saying whatever you want. I think it’s time you were taught a lesson in humility, now stand aside.”
    Solon was unperturbed. “It seems then, that the father’s wisdom has not graced itself upon the son. Now, how about you trust a man who knows his business to do his job and leave him at it in peace?”
    “I trust my blade and my wits, naught else.”
    “I wouldn’t trust them beyond half, Sire ... neither are over sharp.”
    Amenhotep struggled to contain his anger. “You would speak thusly to the slayer of the Shepherd King?”
    “I was speaking to you not your ghaffir .”
    Amenhotep inhal ed, but managed to hold himself. “Aye, there’s been a deal of rumours about that but I tell you now, I slew the King. Do you proclaim me liar?”
    Solon bowed . “Not I, Sire, I’ll listen not to rumour in future.”
    The Prince gazed imperiously at him. “It was a close run thing true enough, for he was mighty. But for all his strength I gave him better than I got, ‘ere the end he scratched me, but I took his head an instant later. Isn’t that so, Narmer?”
    Narmer who had returned to the Prince’s side after a successful day in th e slave markets wagged his tail. “Aye, that’s how I recall it, Your Grace.”
    Amenhotep turned back to the old man and offered him a friendly smile, “You’re a man of knowledge rather than wit, friend Solon, for if you had wit you’d be aware that I could make a powerful friend or ... a most unpleasant foe.”
    “Unpleasant? Aye, you’re that alright.”
    Amenhotep’s eyes flared. He jerked his head and Narmer grabbed Solon from behind, his blade instantly pres sing against the old man’s neck. “What should we do with him, Narmer?”
    “Cut his throat and have done with him I say.”
    Amenhotep feigned surprise and glanced almost sympathetically at the old bowyer. “Oh dear, it seems young Narmer has strong opinions on this. I fear that in my weakened state I may lack the debating skills to convince him otherwise.” He waved his good hand in a helpless gesture. “What say you to that?”
    Solon steadied himself, the blade was pressing hard against his throat, but he would not give them t he satisfaction of showing fear. “That I’m surprised to learn young Narmer is capable of forming an opinion.” An instant the blade pressed harder. “But ... I was long since aware that your majesty’s debating skills are lacking.”
    Amenhotep’s eyes blazed. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t gut you right here, you treasonous dog!”
    “I could give you a hundred if you like.” A trickle of blood wound its way down Solon’s neck. “But suffice it to say, I’d rather die here by your hands, than be in your place, as you