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sounds from the courtyard died away. The palace was quiet. Even the palace ferrets had stopped scurrying after mice.
    But he couldn’t sleep. It was partly hunger, but it was more than that. His brain kept buzzing like a wild beehive.
    Had Nitho wondered why he wasn’t at the banquet? Had his father explained that it was a punishment? Or did she think he was avoiding her? He wasn’t sure which was worse.
    For the first time he began to understand what it must be like for a girl with a scarred face and crippled limbs. What use was a girl who would never be married?
    But she was useful, he realised. She was a translator. Narmer spoke no other language himself, but he had some idea of how difficult it must be to speak another’s tongue. And not just one. She had said that she spoke many…
    He was still angry with her. He was still embarrassed, especially after his punishment.
    But for some reason he still wanted to see her again…
    Finally he slept.
    He still hadn’t decided what to tell his father when Seknut came to take him to the King the next morning. How could he explain that Nitho had warned him about the People of the Sand without revealing how she had deceived him?
    No, it would be best to wait till the Trader had left. Then he could pretend that it had been the Trader who had spoken to him, not the Trader’s servant.
    Seknut had brought him barley bread studded with raisins, and a glass of sour milk and honey. With her was a servant carrying fresh water for Narmer to wash in and a clean linen kilt, a good one.
    ‘Hurry,’ Seknut said, muffling her cough behind her hand.
    Narmer gulped down the bread. ‘Is he still angry?’
    Seknut shrugged. ‘He is the King. He doesn’t tell me his thoughts.’
    Narmer snorted. Seknut knew everything. Or did she? he wondered.
    He drank the milk quickly, changed, then slipped his jewellery on as well, as though he were dressing for a feast.
    For the first time since he had met the Oracle he suddenly remembered that soon there would be an even greater feast, for his bride. But now the thought brought no excitement. It seemed to belong to another world.
    When Narmer entered the Royal Courtyard the King was seated on his ceremonial chair, with Hawk on a cushion at his feet. Hawk gave his brother an almost imperceptible smile, as though to say, I’m on your side .
    Narmer didn’t dare smile back, but was grateful nonetheless.
    ‘Well, my son?’ said the King.
    Narmer knelt low, his face against the tiles, as though he were a servant, not a prince. ‘I’m sorry, Father.’
    ‘Are you? You may get up,’ the King added impatiently.
    Narmer got to his feet and shook his head. ‘I am sorry to have angered you, Father. It’s just that…I need to be alone sometimes. It’s hard to think, sometimes, with others always around you.’
    ‘But that’s what happens when you’re king. Do you think there aren’t times when I too long to be alone in the hills?’
    ‘I…I never thought,’ stammered Narmer.
    The King said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded to Hawk. ‘Leave us,’ he said shortly.
    Hawk’s face stayed expressionless as he made a deep bow to the King, then a smaller bow to Narmer. He backed out of the room, politely keeping his face towards his father.
    The King gazed at Narmer before speaking. ‘Do you know what it is to be king, Narmer?’ he asked at last.
    ‘Of course,’ said Narmer, surprised.
    ‘Do you really? The king is the bridge between men and the gods. That is why men bow to us. Not because we are greater than they are. But because we have to be greater than they are to do our duty. If it is ever easy to be a king, then you know you have failed.’
    ‘I think I see.’
    ‘I hope so. There is never a moment when a king can say, “I want to do this.” A king can only say, “This is what I need to do for my country.”
    ‘I didn’t make you my heir because you are my beloved son. I chose you because when I looked at you, I saw a king. Was