old woman waved her hands. ‘Oh! Some are the children of people taken in battle. Some are presents given to the King. Many are given to the temples, simply to get rid of them. Most are attached to the land, like cows.’
The woman had a face as hard and polished as wood furniture. Taken in battle? Given away? Do they know their families did not want them, did not love them?
The other six- and seven-year-olds were corralled together outside in the shade of the enclosure temple. There was to be a great procession soon, and they would have to learn their parts.
The royal temple of the Aerial Palace, Vimana-akasha, rose as a holy mountain in stone and stucco layers. Painted red, black and gold, the temple baked in the heat. Birds landed on the steps and hopped away back into the air, the stones were so hot. The palace children roasted inside their quilted jackets.
The Prince demanded, ‘If I wanted to find one of the slave girls, how would I do it?’
‘Oh!’ The nanny showed her false teeth, which were made of wood. ‘You are too young for that, young prince. That will come later.’ She beamed.
‘If I want to be friends with one of them now, how would I find her?’
The smile was dropped suddenly like an unleashed drapery. ‘You have your cousins to be friends with. Your destiny is to lead troops for the King. I should not grow too attached to the slaves of the royal household. You will not always live here. Your family lands are off in the east.’ She looked suddenly grumpy, and for some reason wiped the whole of her face with her hand.
The children, seated in ranks, stirred slightly with the light breeze of someone else getting into trouble.
The nanny’s face swelled. ‘You will be turned out of this house. You forget your real situation. The time has come to stop being a child.’
Before he thought anything else, the Prince said aloud, ‘Then we are all slaves.’
The nanny’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh! To say such a thing!’ She gathered her skirts and stood up. ‘It shows your foolishness, Prince Whoever-you-are. Slaves work, while you sit still in your jacket. You will be at the head of the troops so that the enemy will kill you first, and that is your destiny!’
She started to strut. The thin line of her mouth began to stretch into a smile. ‘You think you are a slave? We will call you slave, ah? Khnom! Or are you a hereditary slave, a nia? Shall we call you Prince Hereditary Slave?’ Her voice was raised. Some of the Prince’s cousins, rivals, giggled. ‘Children, children listen.’
The nanny grabbed Cap-Pi-Hau’s shoulders and pushed him in front of her, presenting him. ‘This young prince wants to be called Nia. So will we call him Nia? Ah? Yes?’
This was going to be fun. The children chorused, ‘Nee-ah!’
The Prince tried to shrug her off, but she held him in place.
‘Nia! Ni-ah-ha ha!’ chuckled the children of other royal wives, other royal uncles, other royal cousins. They had already learned they had to triumph over each other before they could triumph over anything else.
The nanny settled back down onto the ground, full and satisfied, as if she had eaten. The laughter continued.
Cap-Pi-Hau also knew: there are many princes, and I will be nothing if no other princes follow me.
He strode to her and faced her. She was sitting; their faces were level. His gaze was steady and unblinking.
Seated, the woman did a girlish twist and a shrug. What of you?
The Prince felt his face go hard. ‘I am studying your face to remember you, so that when I am older you will be in trouble.’
From a prince of any degree, that was a threat. She faltered slightly.
The Prince turned his back on her. He said to the other children. ‘This woman is a slave. This is what we do to slaves who mock us.’
Then he spun back around and kicked her arm.
‘Oh, you little demon!’ She grabbed him.
Cap-Pi-Hau sprang forward and began to rain blows about her face. Each time he struck her he called her, accurately, by the name of her own lower category. ‘Pual!’ He said it each time he struck her. ‘Pual! Pual! Know your place!’
‘Get this monkey god off me!’ she cried.
Perhaps she had also been hard on the other women, because they just chuckled. One of them said, ‘He is yours to deal with, Mulberry.’
Her legs were folded, tying her to the spot. She could hit back, but not too hard, even if this was a prince far from the line of succession.
Finally she called for help. ‘Guard!’
The bored attendant simply chuckled. ‘He’s a prince.’
‘Nia! Nia! Nia!’ the other children chanted not knowing if they were insulting him or cheering him on.
The nanny fought her way to her feet. ‘Oh! You must be disciplined.’
‘So must you.’ The young prince turned, and stomped up to the guard. ‘Your sword.’
‘Now, now, little master …’
Cap-Pi-Hau took it.
The woman called Mulberry knew then the extent of her miscalculation. She had imagined that this quiet child was meek and timid.
‘What are you going to do?’ she said, backing away.
He charged her.
She turned and ran and he slapped her on her bottom with the flat of the sword. ‘Help! Help!’ she was forced to cry.
The children squealed with laughter.
The tiny prince roared with a tiger-cub voice. ‘Stop, you pual! Talk to me or I will use the blade.’
She yelped and turned, giving him a deep and sincere dip of respect.
‘Hold still.’ he ordered. ‘Bow.’
She did, and he reached up to her face and into her mouth, and pulled out her wooden false teeth. He chopped at them with the sword, splintering them.
‘These teeth came to you from the household. For hitting a prince, you will never have teeth again.’
She dipped and bowed.
‘Now,’ said Prince Hereditary Slave. ‘I ask again. How do I find a particular slave girl I like?’
‘Simply point her out to me,’ the woman said, with a placating smile. She tinkled her little bell-like voice that she used with anyone of higher rank. ‘I will bring her to you.’
The guard was pleased. He chuckled and shook his head. ‘He’s after girls already,’ he said to his compatriot.
The next day, Cap-Pi-Hau found the girl for himself.
It was the time of sleep and dusting. He bounced towards her. ‘We can play slippers!’ he said, looking forward to fun.
She turned and lowered her head to the floor.
‘Here,’ said Cap-Pi-Hau and thrust a slipper at her. She had no idea what to do with it. It was made of royal flowered cloth, stitched with gold thread. She glanced nervously about her.
‘You do this!’ said the Prince. He flicked the slipper so it spun across the floor. ‘The winner is the one who can throw it farthest.’ He stomped forward and snatched up the shoe, and propelled it back towards her. She made to throw it underhand.
‘No, no, no!’ He ran and snatched it from her. ‘You have to slide it. It has to stay on the floor. That’s the game.’
She stared at him, panting in fear. Why was she so worried? Maybe she