The rain that had caused us to remain in the palace and play shatranji had marked the beginning of the rainy season. It usually lasted for a couple of months, but the rain typically only came in the afternoon or evening. Mornings were usually bright and clear.
One morning when Zwahe entered my room, he said, “Come with me. We are going on an excursion. You will need your protection from the sun.”
Curious, I donned my hat and cape and followed him through the palace to the front door. There we were met by two guards who fell in behind us as we entered the forecourt. The prince never spoke to them nor did I, but they followed closely behind us for the entire morning.
Walking down the wide boulevard toward the city square, we stopped in some shops along the way. Zwahe examined various items and spoke to a few of the vendors, praising some for their goods and scolding others for their shoddy workmanship.
As we strolled he said, “I know I am perfectly safe in the city, but my father requires the guards whenever I leave the palace. Of course, people know who I am, but it is an unspoken custom that they do not acknowledge my presence unless I speak to them. I can go through the entire city and nobody will speak or even nod to me unless I make the first move. Yet I know that I will be the subject of much gossip over dinners tonight. Especially because you are with me, a strangely clad, pale young man whom nobody knows.” He smiled his impish smile adding, “I wonder what they will make of this.”
He was right. As we strolled along, nobody paid any obvious attention to us. A few times the prince smiled at somebody or greeted them by name. Only then did they return the smile or greeting before moving on.
Arriving at a large intersection, we turned right and walked up a hill to an enormous white-stone building. In some ways it resembled the palace, but unlike the palace it had giant columns across the front which supported a porch roof. We entered through huge gilt doors, and Zwahe motioned for me to remove my sandals.
“This is the foyer,” he said. “We remove our sandals before entering the temple itself to show our respect for our gods. We also always enter bareheaded.”
Removing my hat, I followed him through another large door and into the largest chamber I had ever been in. Rows of majestic columns stretched the length of the temple. Between them, enormous arches appeared to be holding up the ceiling, which must have been incredibly heavy.
Pointing to the arches and the ceiling I asked, “How does the ceiling stay up?”
“Our architects had some problems with the arches at first,” Zwahe responded. “In fact, the first ceiling fell, killing fourteen workers. But they now say it is strong and stable and we need not fear for our lives.”
I observed that, like the palace, there was a faint aroma in the air, but here it was of incense. A pale yellow light glowed softly throughout the temple, although, as in the palace, there was no visible source.
At the far end of the temple was an immense, golden, ornately carved table with a similarly decorated golden wall behind it. On the table were many candles, all lit and flickering gently in the air that entered through the openings between the walls and the ceiling.
Along the walls were beautifully sculpted, larger-than-life stone statues. The prince took my arm gently and led me to the first of them, which appeared to be a man with the sun on his head. He was driving a chariot pulled by two sturdy, straining steeds. “This,” he said, “is our sun god. During the rainy season, as you know, he takes some afternoons off and relaxes from his exertions of the dry season.”
Moving along, he pointed out statues of a tree god, a war god, a fertility god, a water god, and many more.
Stopping before a pair of statues, a man and a woman in very plain dress, he said, “These are your gods, Ammirus. The gods of slaves.”
“They are not mine,” I retorted hotly. “My gods are of the forest and the animals. And we have no war god, either,” I added pointedly. “We knew nothing of warfare until your ancestors came to our land. We do not believe in killing people to gain our ends. We have a god of peace, and we have a god of reason, but no violent gods at all except for the gods of thunder and lightning.”
He nodded. “I think your people may be wiser than mine in that respect. I know that I shall need to go to war one day, and I accept that I could be killed then, but I believe that peace and reasonable discussion are much more important and powerful.”
Feeling bold, I asked, “So who do you pray to? I have seen the small shrine in your chamber but have never seen you praying. How do you pray?”
“That’s really two questions, Ammirus,” he retorted, smiling. “In the palace I pray to the god of families. I pray for my father and also for my mother.” Pointing to a cushion before a god, he continued, “When we pray we kneel, hold our hands thus,” and he clasped his hands together, “bow our heads, and speak silently to the god.
“Here in the temple I often pray to the god of peace.” He led me across the chamber to a beautiful statue of a young male, naked, wearing only a wreath of leaves and holding out his hand on which perched a dove. “This is one of our oldest and most revered gods: Concordius. We have borrowed the name from another people, but this is our god. We too value peace more than war, but we also know there are times when we must defend ourselves. That is what your people did not know, and it has cost them dearly. Here we have lived at peace for many, many years, but in other parts of the world our people are often forced to fight.”
“And when you pray, does the god answer?”
“Some say they have heard the gods speak. I have not, except occasionally a god will come to me in my sleep and speak. Would you like to pray to the god of peace with me?”
I nodded, and we knelt side by side, silent, each praying his own thoughts. I know I prayed not only for peace but for the freedom of my people. I know not what the prince prayed for.
We rose together and continued our walk around the chamber. “You mentioned the shrine in my chamber,” Zwahe said. “I have not told you previously, but we also pray to our ancestors. At that shrine I pray to my mother for guidance and wisdom, and more recently, since you have taught me the meaning of the word, for love.”
“And does she answer?”
“Perhaps. I often dream of her. When I see her, she is smiling and reaching out to me, I believe now, with love. But she never speaks.”
“Tell me about your mother,” I suggested. “You have mentioned her a few times but never really told me of her.”
We walked in silence for a time. Finally, he said, “I barely remember my mother. I remember her holding me, and I remember thinking she was beautiful. She used to sing lullabies to me with a voice as sweet and clear as yours.” He smiled at me ruefully. “I’m a little embarrassed to say so, but your singing reminds me of her.”
“Do not be embarrassed,” I replied. “You have just complimented me.”
“I remember that she was going to have a baby,” Zwahe continued, “but one day my father came to me with tears in his eyes and said that she and the baby had both died. After that, he left me. I did not even see him again for years until I became of an age and was expected to attend audiences in the throne room.” He was silent for a moment before continuing, “Ammirus, I envy you your parents and the fact that you know them and love them. Since my mother died I have been very alone.”
I could see there were tears in his eyes. I wanted to put my arms around him and hug him, but I knew the guards were watching at a distance, so I refrained.
At length we departed the building and made our way back to the palace. From there we went into the garden and sat by the fountain. Zwahe was very quiet. Tentatively, I reached over and put an arm around him. He turned to me, and leaning on my chest, he sobbed and sobbed. I stroked his head gently and made soothing sounds, trying to comfort him.
“Finally he asked, “Can you imagine having Hiwah for your only companion?” He giggled through his tears and asked, “Who could love him?”
“I am very sorry,” I said, knowing how I loved my family and my friends. “Is that why you call me Ammirus? You told your father that you loved me. Is that really true?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “You have no idea how much I love you or how much you have changed my life. I want to be with you forever.” He thought a moment and then continued, “You said once that if you had the chance you would run away back to your family. Please, please promise me that you will not do that!”
I shook my head sadly. “I cannot do that, Zwahe, for it would be a lie. I do like you, and I think of you now as my friend, but if I could rejoin my family I would do that without ever looking back.” I didn’t tell him that I often thought of him now as “Ammirus.”
He nodded sadly. “Then I shall simply have to see to it that you do not escape,” he said. “If you did and you were captured, my father would have you put to death, and I could never bear that. It would be the death of me, too.”
He gave me a hug; then to my surprise, he kissed me on my cheek before he rose and entered his own garden.
That night I dreamed of him. He came to me, hugged me, and said, “I will never let you go. I need you and love you too much for that.”
I replied, “If you really loved me, you would let me go.”
“I am not strong enough to do that,” he answered. Then he kissed me again on my cheek and walked sadly away.