Morning in the Oasis
I woke to the sound of birdsong, the kind I had not heard in the desert for many days. The water shimmered between the palms, and the sun did not yet burn—it only caressed.
Cleopatra sat on a stone by the pool, her fingers trailing in the water as fish darted beneath the surface. Her hair dried in the morning breeze, and on her face was a smile I had not seen since her childhood.
"Mehet," she turned to me, "I could live here forever."
I smiled, though only within myself. "An oasis is the desert's gift. But the desert always takes its gift back."
---
Their day
We spent the day in peace. She gathered dates, laughing when her hands grew sticky with sweetness. I searched for herbs along the water's edge, storing them for the journey. Later I played the flute for her, and she lay down in the grass, closing her eyes, letting the melody drift into her dreams.
No one disturbed us. There were no guards, no priests, no courtly intrigues. Only a princess—and her shadow.
---
Her words
Toward evening, as the sun began to sink, she came and sat beside me. "You know, Mehet, I have never felt so free. As if, at last, I belonged to myself."
I looked at her, but gave no answer. For inside me rose a voice that must never be spoken aloud.
---
Inner monologue
Perhaps she is right. Perhaps this is the only time I can have her just for myself. Not as a woman—that must never be. But as the child I once protected, the princess I once taught, the companion I have guarded all these years. One day she will be taken by a husband, by family, by duty. But today… today she belongs only to me.
I will not grieve. Not today. I must not. Today I allow myself to believe that even a slave may have a moment that belongs to him alone.
---
Evening
Cleopatra fell asleep beside the water, her head resting on my cloak. She breathed peacefully, just as she had when she was still a child.
I sat above her and gazed at the stars. In them I saw the faces of the gods, testing my loyalty. And for the first time, I felt not only fear—I felt gratitude. For this day was my gift
The coming of the shadow
The oasis was quiet. Water reflected the stars, palm leaves whispered like a prayer. But the air changed—heavier, taut, as if something that did not belong had entered.
I rose, knife ready in my hand. Then he appeared—tall, armed with spear and bronze shield, his face carved like stone. His eyes burned with a fire that was not human.
"Amenemhet," the voice boomed, like metal on rock. "If you wish to be the princess's shield, prove you are worthy of her protection."
---
First exchanges
He struck without warning. The spear whistled through the air like wind through reeds. I stepped aside, sand splashing around my ankles. The weapon passed a breath from my side.
I did not stay in defense—I moved to the flank and slashed with my knife, grazing his shoulder. Just a scratch, but his eyes flared with anger.
"Wisdom… instead of brute strength," he hissed.
---
Using the terrain
He lifted the spear again, this time overhead. I waited for the swing to commit—and at the last instant, I slipped aside. The tip buried itself deep into the trunk of a palm.
I didn't hesitate—my foot swept sand at his legs. It dragged him down, unbalanced, forcing him to a knee.
I could not overpower him with strength, but I could slow him with sand, with water, with whatever the oasis offered me.
---
The second onslaught
He tore the spear free and hurled it at me. I ducked, the weapon driving into the earth behind me. At once he charged with the shield.
The pool was at my side—I retreated into it. The sand beneath was soft, the water slowing his steps. As he reached me, I dropped low and splashed water into his face.
For a heartbeat he was blinded. I struck—pressing my knife against his flank.
---
A duel of wits
"Why don't you fight me face to face, like a man?" he roared.
"Because I am no soldier," I answered. "I am a slave. An architect. But I learned from the desert—she does not strike head-on. She waits, she watches, and then she consumes. I do the same."
He slammed me back with the shield, but I was already drawing him into my trap. I had scattered stones beneath the sand earlier. He rushed forward—and stumbled over them. He fell to his knees.
In an instant, I was at his throat, knife pressed firm, my breath ragged but steady.
---
The trial's end
"Would you kill me?" he asked, calmer now.
"No," I said. "I do not need to kill you. It is enough that you know I could. My weapon is not strength, but reason."
The shadow of the warrior smiled—no longer fierce, but with respect. His body dissolved into sand, carried away by the wind.
---
After the trial
I stood by her side. Cleopatra slept peacefully, unaware. Her breathing steady, her brow untroubled.
I looked at the water, still rippling from the fight. And I knew: I will never be a hero with a sword, but my weapon is wit—and it is enough to guard her.