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Papa crinkled his eyes at her as he sat backwards in the litter while Heba faced the front. Behind her, the newly purchased slaves followed on foot.
Shai’s arms were bound tightly behind him, making it difficult to cause more trouble. Though, she didn’t think he would.
He dutifully trudged behind the litter, the leash around his neck tied to one of its posts. His bare feet were blistered and bloody, but he didn’t so much as wince, his expression grave and focused.
She’d ordered loincloths to be tied around all three slaves. They were not animals led to slaughter, after all. They would become part of her household soon. At least some dignity must be preserved for the property of the royal princess.
Behind Shai, his parents followed, their hands bound in front of them, allowing more comfort if not freedom.
Heba studied them, somewhat perplexed.
The elderly man and woman possessed similar skin tone and foreign features as did Shai, but she could not see any other resemblance between them and their son. They were of average stature; the man stalkier than Egyptians, the woman slightly taller. Their hair looked finer, and their eyes were light-colored.
Their son, on the other hand, stood head and shoulders above even some of the stalwart soldiers who guarded the litter. Despite being still a boy, not quite a man, his shoulders were far broader, his chest wide. Instead of a narrow, tubular frame, his shape was more of an upside-down trapezoid, sitting atop long, leanly muscular legs.
He probably hadn’t even stopped growing yet, she thought. She’d acquired a veritable giant to be her personal slave.
“Remember,” Papa said, “Shai could mean different things in different tongues. Think of the languages you know, what else could it mean?”
Heba considered this, nibbling on her lower lip as she was wont to do when gathering her wits.
When she could not find the answer, she asked the slave directly, swiveling around in her cushioned seat to look behind her.
“Does your name have meaning where you come from, boy? Will you tell me?” she both asked and commanded in his language.
He did not raise his eyes to meet hers, keeping his dark head bowed. As the seconds dragged on, she thought he might not answer her.
This small hesitation, perhaps a defiance, irked her.
He was hers now. He promised. She was his Master, and he must obey her in all things.
Just when she thought he wouldn’t reply, he murmured:
“It means Gift.”
This realization lit Heba’s dark eyes with delight.
She turned back to the Pharoah and said, “What a coincidence! Did you hear that, Papa? His name has the same meaning as my own!”
Papa stroked his smooth jaw and mused, “Perhaps our god Shai had a hand in this intervention after all. It is Fate that you are the gods’ Gift to me, and the slave is my Gift to you.”
Heba beamed.
“I shall cherish your gift, Papa. I will treat him well—”
“He is a slave,” the Pharoah broke in sternly.
“He does not need to be treated well. It only matters that he obeys you and only you. That he grows up strong and invincible, the better to protect you, my child.”
She wrinkled her brow.
“But you taught me to always treat my possessions with care,” she reminded him. “Loyalty cannot be beaten or coerced into being. Even slaves have free will, even if they are not free.”
The Pharoah was rendered speechless for some moments as he digested Heba’s argument.
Instead of debating further, he said, “There are still ways to exert better control, especially over males such as these. When we return to the Palace, we will have him castrated directly—”
“No!” Heba cried.
