Sadau had never been inside the palace, and had only ever glimpsed the king from afar, riding the Swan Boat along the Luan at the time of the spring floods.
The soldiers said nothing as they walked. Sadau trudged along beside them, glancing up, every now and again, into the stern faces of his guards. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ he said. But they did not respond.
The Red Palace loomed before him. High columns of fluted sandstone skirted the building, which had been constructed of mud-bricks from the red clay of the upper Luan. There were no statues around the palace, though it was said that Ammon had commissioned two likenesses of himself from the city of Egaru and these had been covered with gold. Sadau was not thinking of statues, however, as the soldiers paused before the huge double doors of the main entrance.
Two of the king’s guards marched down the steps to take charge of the little potter. They were burly men, dressed in tunics of black silk, over which they wore breastplates of bronze. Upon their heads were long, black conical caps of lacquered silk, emblazoned with a silver star.
Sadau was led up the steps and through the doors. Inside there were lanterns set in bronze brackets on the painted walls, and scores of servants moved purposefully around the great hall. Nobles lounged on couches, or sat on cushions, and the floor was covered with delicately fashioned rugs. At the far end of the hall was a golden throne flanked by two life-size golden statues, showing Ammon standing, arms folded across his chest, a stern expression on his androgynous face.
The royal guards pulled Sadau towards the empty throne then pushed him to his knees. He gazed up at the faces of the statues, seeking some sign of gentleness in the features.
A slim young man moved across the hall and sat down upon the throne. Sadau blinked and flicked his gaze back to the statues and then to the young man. There was no mistaking the resemblance. Sadau looked deep into the man’s face. It was strangely beautiful. The eyelashes were darkened with lines of black ochre, the eyelids dusted with gold. The young man’s hair was dark and long, the temples shaved close and stained with gold.
‘You have a message for me?’ he asked, his voice light. Sadau looked into his violet eyes and felt a shiver of fear.
‘I was too frightened to deliver it, lord,’ he said, his voice breaking.
‘Deliver it now.’
Sadau closed his eyes. ‘The Avatar said to tell you not to raid his lands again.’
‘His exact words, potter. I require his exact words.’
Sadau felt a hot flush in his stomach and sickness rising in his throat. He swallowed hard. ‘He said that if you raided his lands again he would ride into … into …’
‘Go on.’
‘… the hovel you call a palace and would rip out your entrails and make you eat them.’
To Sadau’s surprise the king laughed, the sound rich and vibrant. He opened his eyes and blinked. The king rose from the throne and walked to where the potter was kneeling. ‘And my brother’s head?’ he asked.
‘I threw it into the Luan.’
‘And what do you think should be your punishment, little man?’ asked the king. He was so close now that Sadau could smell the jasmine perfume he wore.
‘Please don’t impale me, lord,’ wailed Sadau. ‘Kill me cleanly. I did not mean to cause offence.’
‘Would you consider it justice if I removed your head and threw it into the Luan?’ asked the king.
Sadau nodded dumbly. Anything was better than being impaled. ‘Send for the headsman,’ ordered the king. They did not have long to wait and a huge man strode down the hall to stand alongside the potter. Sadau glanced round and saw that the man carried a huge cleaver with a curved edge. The potter began to tremble. ‘Never delay a message to a king,’ said Ammon. ‘It is well known that kings have terrible tempers, and a great lust for blood. Now bend your neck.’
Sadau began to weep, but he leaned forward, exposing the nape of his neck to the headsman. The king gestured and the cleaver swept up. Sadau could see its shadow stretching out before him.