Chapter 4
“I feel you deserve my personal treatment.”
I must have dozed off to sleep because the next thing I know servants are aiding Makeda with her night clothes. Realizing that Makeda will be moving through distinct stages of undress, I force myself to close my eyes and dare not look.
She is my royal highness. She is also not my wife. Makeda is also giving up her own comfort to make me more comfortable in my healing. For those reasons, I show her respect and refuse to look although every carnal desire wants to do the opposite.
I hear her dismiss her servants. As I hear them leave, I hear Makeda’s footsteps move closer to where I lay. I brush away the lustful wish that Makeda crawl inside her bed beside me. I can feel her presence beside me as I clearly assess that she comes to check on me.
I do not want to deceive her by pretending to be asleep, so I open my eyes towards the canopy overhead.
“I am sorry Emon, I did not wish to awaken you. I just wanted to make sure you are comfortable.”
In the days of my service as her bodyguard, I cannot recall her voice being so tender. I realize I have been treating her as an admirable object, not a caring and vulnerable human being.
I cannot fathom the rationale for why I lie on this royal’s bed and not a military commissary. Makeda and not doctors and nurses are personally attending to me.
“Your majesty is too kind to this undeserving servant.”
I grasp how undeserving a servant I am. I am here in part because of the selfish, prideful way I treated this most deserving creature of God.
“You performed your duty today, Captain. I find that deserving of proper treatment. And since it is my life you saved, you deserve my personal treatment. It is a Sheban tradition.”
“Thank you, your majesty.”
Makeda’s hand gravitates toward my hand but then it draws back to clutch her other hand resting upon her bosom. I close my eyes before I make eye contact.
“I will be just over here in the sitting room if you need me.”
Her chamber is so much larger than my chamber, but it seems so inadequate for the daughter of the king. This is my last thought before I fall asleep once more.
When I awake again, the diminutive nurse is on one side of the bed and Makeda is on the other.
“I am going to check your wound and redress it,” the nurse who Makeda calls Saghir instructs.
Saghir is very gentle and very thorough. She examines the wound by dabbing it with something and poking around it in many places.
“It heals very nicely, Captain Emon. I do not see why you cannot get out of bed and continue as normal.” Saghir gathers the filthy bandages up into a singular wad and disappears beyond the curtain.
I begin to climb out of bed opposite of where Makeda is standing when I feel her hand reach across this large bed to touch my arm. I cannot see her, but I know her body stretches across the bed. I can feel where her other hand lands somewhere behind me as she must balance herself to keep from falling onto the bed.
“Wait, Emon and I will help you.”
“That will not be proper work for your majesty and quite unnecessary. See.” I stand to my feet and whirl around to face Makeda being careful not to make eye contact.
Makeda muffles a giggle as she recognizes from the redness of my face that I just realize I am standing before her at attention dressed in nothing more than a loin cloth.
“Would you like your military garments?” Makeda’s face still adorns a slight grin.
Only a few times in the past few days have I seen her smile. She has little contact with other females her age except her servants. She spends much of her time here in her chamber, in the throne room conversing with her father and occasionally other members of the royal family, and in the banquet hall for meals. Of course, every day, in the morning, she picks fresh flowers for her chamber and for her father’s chamber.
“I will dress quickly, and we can go to the garden for some flowers.”
The words no sooner tumble from my lips that yesterday’s near-death experience may changed Makeda’s fondness for the garden. I do not have to look at her face to know her countenance drops as I can sense the air in the room grow stale.
It is the air of fear. I felt it once. Faced with returning to battle after I first experienced the horror of my first battle.
I need to encourage her to go back to that place that once gave her happiness before danger attacked. I want to give her the same advice I received. It is not the place but the one incident that is bad. But it is not my place to do so. I am the bodyguard. That is all I am. I am a mere servant, not a friend or confidant.
“I thought we might stay close to my chamber today. That way you can have more time to gain strength,” Makeda’s voice loses her usual air of confidence.
“So that I can gain strength or she can gather courage,” I wonder silently.
“I am strong enough to go to the garden or go anywhere you wish, your majesty. Just give me a few moments to dress.”
Makeda does not argue but dismisses me to my chamber to dress. I return to my chamber. I find a clean pile of folded garments lying on my pallet. As I dress, linen inner garment, wool outer garment, military red tunic, and finally my white captain’s sash. I tie my sheath to my sash and then my sash around my body. I draw my sword and return it quickly to sheath it, again. Everything is ready. I am ready.
“Your majesty, I am dressed and ready to escort you to the garden,” I let her know as best I can that she should return to her normal routine.
Makeda joins me but she is not dressed for the garden. She wears the garments for addressing the King and the other royals in the throne room.
“I do not want to go to the garden today. I sent Fata to gather flowers for King Abati’s chambers.”
“May I speak boldly, your majesty?”
“Only if you do not make something significant out of not going to the garden, today.”
I know better than to appear to disagree with her majesty. But I know that if she does not return today to the garden that it will be easier to avoid it tomorrow and even easier the next day until that becomes the new routine.
“It is a crucial decision you are making, your majesty. I think of all days, today is the most important day to gather flowers in the garden.”
I feel her eyes glaring at me. I am sure I have overstepped my authority. Something inside of me tells me to fall to one knee and bow.
“Forgive my boldness, your majesty. But know my words come from a heart of devotion for you.”
“Arise, Emon. Before yesterday, I would have found your words arrogant and disrespectful. But yesterday, you proved your devotion, so I will forgive you.”
“Thank you, your majesty,” I stay kneeling.
“Arise as I have commanded you and know that if you mention the garden again to me today, I will not be forgiving.”
As I stand, I stand to a military stance of attention, “Understood perfectly, your majesty.”
The rest of the day continues as every other day before, except for the gathering of flowers in the garden. I stand alert as instructed by her majesty. I scan the vast expanse of the throne room from my position standing at the foot of the platform where King Abati sits in his magnificent and high-backed ornately decorated mahogany throne.
His children, twelve in all, sit on the floor at his feet. Beside him is another beautiful mahogany throne reserved for one of his three queens. I have yet to see one sitting there. Others say they live in other cities in our kingdom. Some have said that one of them still sits on the throne in the capital city of one of the nations with which King Abati has allied. This is rumored to be Makeda’s mother and where she gets her honey eyes.
I continue to stand watch, but my mind dwells on the interaction of the king’s children. Some of the smaller children play running and chasing each other throughout the throne room. Some of the older siblings tell the younger ones and each other tales of adventures. Makeda mostly converses with her father about serious political, governmental, and sometimes even military strategies.
I also wonder if Makeda will ever take a trip to one of the other cities or the countryside or go riding at the stables found on the grounds of the castle like some of her other siblings have done. Her trip to the garden is her stress relief.
We move to the banquet hall. I see that today some of the Lords of the kingdom join the royal family for the first time. I hear that the three Lords, their wives and children own the farms and businesses that supply the resources for the king and his subjects. I notice their children interacting with the king’s children.
One young man seems fascinated with Makeda. She does not seem to notice or show any interest in him or interact with the Lordships’ families.
We go back to her majesty’s chamber. Several servants join her behind the curtain. They bring with them colorful garments and jewelry. I can hear busyness and chatter, but I do not hear laughter which usually happens on similar occasions.
I wonder why with the freedoms the royals enjoy why Makeda takes no advantage of them. I wonder if she has ever traveled outside the capital. For that matter, I wonder if she has ever traveled outside the castle. I know we have not at anytime during my few days here.
The day continues with frequent visits between the throne room, the banquet hall, and Makeda’s chamber.
I used to envy the royals, but my experience so far causes that envy to wane toward pity. I wonder what Makeda has seen or where she has been. I wonder if I will spend the rest of my service here in this castle. The thought causes my stomach to churn.
When I fought as a soldier, there were days I was terrified. There were incidents where I thought I might die. There were also days and nights where I watched amazed at a sunrise or sunset. I enjoyed the vastness of a plain or the majesty of a mountain range. The gentle flow of a brook calmed me. I thrilled at the rush of a rapids and splash of a mighty waterfall.
I gazed at the wondrous beauty of a starlit night while out scouting or at the end of a battle. I felt at times underneath the starry night that I could almost believe in the one God of my ancestors, the God of Melchezcedak taught to me in my Jebusite home.
I could look skyward and wonder how much existed beyond my visibility, my imagination, my experience.
It occurs to me in this semi-spiritual state of mind that there are no idols in her room. Neither have I seen her worship or pray or ever speak to or acknowledge a priest.
Some believe King Abati to be the offspring of a god, but there is nothing about him that portrays godlike character or visage to me. On the other hand, I could believe Makeda a goddess.
Categories: Adventure Arts & Entertainment Parable
Douglas Knight
Struggling to surrender “my right to myself” and identify completely with Christ.
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