Sundele a Prince of Kush, Lord of the Olmec: A Historical Novel

By K. G. Bell

This novel is a passionate, intimate journey into a classical world of intrigue and courage. It explores the desolation and beauty that encompassed human life in the nations of the Near East and Africa during sixth century BC.

It expresses glimpses of harmony among the peoples that created alliances and possibilities for new life in distant lands.

The hero, Sundele, is caught up in the clashes of empires that are full of blood-thirsty, loathsome endeavors who prevailed to extend their challenging powers.

The novel is a bold, exciting saga of a proud, flamboyant, courageous prince who rises above the thundering turbulence of international conflicts in search of his love woman, Quinoxa.

He searches far and wide for ten years, engaging in struggles and mind-bending horrors on battlefields that force him to wonder about and envision a more beautiful world, one that is enwrapped in peace and human kindness.

When he found his beautiful Quinoxa, he journeyed to that world of peace and comfort in the Americas and became a dedicated leader of a people called the Olmec.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503563889

K. G. Bell

K.G. Bell is an educationist, US Army Veteran (Paratrooper), Writer and Poet who has explored many cultures to engage the truth and beauty expressed in the styles, substance, and passion of poetry. His inspirational insights have forced him to examine the social, historical, and spiritual behaviors of different peoples within the conditions of humanity. Mr. Bell believes that humanity should continuously strive to be better always rising to that higher realm. This belief is profoundly noted in his poetry that creatively displays a magical seriousness. His poems stir the imagination of his readers, taking them along a fantastic journey of curiosity that they may embrace diversity with peaceful hearts, and enter that divine awakening.

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Copyright © 2015 by K. G. Bell.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5035-6389-6

                eBook         978-1-5035-6388-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/07/2015

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Contents

Dedication

The Preface

About The Book

Chapter I The Exposition

Chapter II Rescue From Kush

Chapter III In The Court Of King Cyrus

Chapter IV The Invasion Of Babylon

Chapter V Wars Against Tomyris

Chapter VI Sundele And Cambyses In Egypt

Chapter VII Quinoxa, Radiance Of The Nile

Chapter VIII Invasion Of The Indus

Chapter IX Darius Confronts The Greeks

Chapter X Enriching The ‘Farlands’

Chapter XI Sundele Develops The Olmec

Chapter XII The Fall Of The Olmec

About The Author

Dedication

This volume is dedicated to the following persons whose creative support assisted me in the completion of this work. Debbie Strickland, Rhen Bass, Idamay, John Hudson, Bobby, Nicky, Carletta, Don Thomas, Basil, Kjiana and Aundra, Mike Walker, Hazel, Cleo, Dr. S. Moore, Reggie, Ricky, Carlton Belle, Frank Jones, Ruskin, Unguzi, Janet Eastmond, Tony Scroggings, Tony Goodwin, Margueritte, Sam Vance, L.J. Vaughn, Marshall Elo, J.R. Godfrey, Oscar Thomas, Bellita Berry, Velma Hogue, Tammy, Dr. Ed Davion, Clyde Phillip, Dr. George Fayson, Dr. Al Agard, Dr. David Brizan, Peter Burke, Natalie John Perry

The Preface

In this Novel, K.G. Bell, brings the readers face-to-face with human tragedies as Empires labor to dominate each other. The hero, Sundele, becomes embroiled in the circumstances while searching for his beloved Quinoxa.

He is encouraged to wonder about the value of war and the bitterness of deceit. The type of deceit that made his step-brother, Cambyses, banish him from the realm just to steal his woman.

Mr. Bell places his characters in a world full of triumphant, tragic and dignified moments, telling a colorful, fascinating story that highlights the brutality and brilliance of the ancient world and its peoples.

The novel tells of benevolent, glorious rulers like King Cyrus, and wicked, iron-fisted leaders like Cambyses, Amani and Rajpur who grounded their enemies in the dust and built Empires from the horrific bloodshed and human sacrifice.

Mr. Bell expresses in Sundele, the romantic man, a lover of life who chooses a world that pours joy into the realities of life, birth, relationships and death; a world of spiritual solitude and penetrating tenderness; a world that embraces quiet patience, sexual desires and other thrills of humanity.

The Novel forces the readers to become keen observers of human existence that gives confidence to understand, more clearly, human behaviors.

Mr. Bell pushes the readers to delve into the minds of men who yearn to fulfill dreams and unfold destiny; men whose desire to love and be loved forces the elements to blossom. This attractive, lucid, epic human story expresses the dark corners of classical history, stressing the problems of Empires struggling to sustain or expand their prosperity and greatness, and the costs and conditions that created their downfall.

by Mel J. Waithe

About The Book

This novel is a passionate, intimate journey into a classical world of intrigue and courage. It explores the desolation and beauty that encompassed human life, in the nations of the Near-East and Africa, during the sixth Century B.C.

It expresses glimpses of harmony among the peoples that created alliances and possibilities for new life in distant lands.

The hero, Sundele, is caught up in the clashes of Empires that are full of blood-thirsty, loathsome endeavors which prevailed to extend their challenging powers.

The Novel is a bold, exciting saga of a proud, flamboyant, courageous Prince who rises above the thundering turbulence of international conflicts in search of his ‘Love Woman’, Quinoxa.

He searches far and wide for ten years, engaging in struggles and mind-bending horrors on battlefields that force him to wander about, and envision a more beautiful world, one that is enwrapped in peace and human kindness.

When he found his beautiful Quinoxa, he journeyed to that world of peace and comfort in the Americas and became a dedicated leader of a people called ‘the Olmec’.

Chapter I

THE EXPOSITION

My African spirit is woven into the mysteries about the history of the areas around the Gulf of Mexico and the Yucatan, and about the mighty tribes that built empires that stretched from Mexico to Panama.

I have seen Copan, Tikal, Chicken Itza and the relics of other mysterious places where lofty temples tower over burial grounds, and I have stood in places where once beautiful cities like La Venta and Monte Alban showed off their colorfully painted buildings. Now, these wonderful places are consumed by Nature and Time, and abandoned by humankind.

Yet, in certain seasons, hurricanes would expose the secrets of some sacred, ancient cities that were sheltered by the darkness of thick jungles allowing me the chance to look into the souls of the people who once inhabited these lands, helping me to understand their scribes, priests, astronomers, medicinemen and women, their warriors, architects and their rulers who, in search of greatness, gladly offered up the blood of their citizens to open the doorways to the gods.

The events in these lands, in these times, were very similar, offering great connection with the events occurring in Africa, India, Persia and Phoenicia.

However, the time came later, one summer, when a monstrous hurricane struck the Yucatan region, flooding much of the land and laying bare, hundreds of square miles of thick jungles that covered parts of Mexico, Guatemala and Honduras. The destruction was vast, and some survivors, fleeing the rising waters, found refuge on high places, hills, mountains and on the stairways of ancient ceremonial pyramids.

The powerful winds and heavy rains had battered the region: a place where frequent hurricanes issued a sense of dread and were taken seriously. Major destruction and heavy loss of life were always the expected results. The rapid intensity of the winds allowed little time for smooth evacuation, and the coastal areas were ruined to the point that there were few places to evacuate to. Yet the people, descendants of the ancient tribes, remained vigilant, striving to store up food and water, using the old ways of their forefathers.

Some survivors, mostly women, children and the old, huddled in make-shift places beneath the grim, gray, dismal morning that followed the terrible hurricane. They seemed prepared to endure the hardships without water, food or sleep. They had lost everything, yet they remained hopeful, thankful for life. The old ones had suffered much abuse and slaughter in struggles with the new master, now they put their fates in the hands of the gods.

Disaster was everywhere. In some places, hills and mountains came rushing down, causing gigantic mudslides that covered entire villages. The heavy rains that pelted the land erupted floods that washed many cities and villages into the salty gulf. The tumbling mountains and hills exposed their bosoms that were full of caves, alleys and long-buried ancient places. Places that once made a difference in the spiritual wellness and creativity of the inhabitants.

In one of those places, buried deep into the mountain, an ancient village, thousands of years old, was exposed and the ‘lady of mountains’ showed us her splendid womb, and gave us full views of an ancient, marvelous city: a grand city of the Olmec. This was once an environment of great appreciation by the tribes, who made this once untarnished land their home. It was a place where brightly colored flowers bloomed in clusters, and joyful people labored, worshipped and played.

Now nature’s rage has taken away the splendor and the joy, leaving silence to subdue hope and melt away the courage that dwell in the hearts of the people. Gone are the horns and the songs. Only grief blended with the roaring waters can be heard intermingled with the horrible noises of falling muds that willfully yielded up many ancient artifacts of empires long vanished. Sad eyes penetrated the gloom, giving the impression that rebuilding was impossible. A few, deep in despair, welcomed death.

And the mud-filled rivers consumed the torrid jungles where once a dark-skinned tribe developed a high standard of living and created wonderful temples to worship their Jaguar God. In many ways, their behavior and culture seemed to be a composite of the cultures of Persia, Egypt, Kush, Punt, Phoenicia and Greece.

I tried hard to imagine those ancient people building their pyramids and temples, their hunting parties, their beautiful attires and celebrations. I tried to imagine every inch of their grandeur before the volcanoes, tidal waves, wars, diseases and hurricanes wreaked havoc upon them.

But soon my imagination was wrapped in mystery and fortune, because days later, as I stumbled through the disaster, helping survivors whenever and wherever I could, I met a man named Lulan, a collector of ancient artifacts, who knew intimate things about the long-lost people, the dark skinned, illustrious Olmec. He told me that when he was a boy of twelve years old, during a vicious hurricane, he was rescued from death by a Shaman, who told him many secrets about the ancient Olmec. I lost my parents in that hurricane, continued Lulan, "And that teacher became my father and my friend. During the years, I listened to him with devotion as he poured his spiritual experiences into me. I believed him when he told me that I too came from an ancient spiritual stock: that I was from a priestly blood-line of the Zapotec. Lulan excitedly told me that through his forefathers, he has lived many lifetimes and carries within him all their wisdom. He also told me that while the Shaman was walking on the beach one day, he was struck by lightning, and was jolted into a field of wisdom that guided him to treasures of ancient artifacts and enlightened him to the fantastic story of a Kushite Prince named Sundele.

He made me benefactor of all his artifacts before he died; and I am also keeper of the fantastic story, related Lulan, The name ‘Sundele’ means ‘place of knowledge’. Tomorrow I will show you some of the artifacts that bears his name and his spirit, he continued.

He also promised to take me to a place where, for many years, people have visited on cultural pilgrimages curious to know more about the ancient Olmec people, hoping to feel their spirits among the ruins. He mentioned that getting to the sites was very difficult. Often it was a three-day expedition on buses or carts traveling on bee-line roads from the seaside to the various ruins: a trip that would be much more intense and difficult in the aftermath of the hurricane.

Now the only way to travel was by donkey or on foot through the disaster and thick mud. Yet I was excited to be in his company and could not wait for the morrow.

We passed the night in a makeshift tent erected by Lulan, and in the bleak of daylight began our journey into the interior, eating and drinking what we could find along the way. We by-passed abandoned, fishing villages, rock-bound inlets, and tired-looking roadside vendors. We had one donkey, so we took turns riding or trudging through the mud at intervals. We journeyed into a valley below the volcano, where according to Lulan; lay a city full of sacred relics. It was deep beyond the overgrown jungles now beaten by the vicious hurricane where we were forced to endure biting flies and bugs.

The journey was sweaty and by evening the hot sun had thickened the mud. The way was dotted with several wind-beaten huts built of poles and thatched with palm leaves. Everything everywhere seemed uncivilized. The ground was littered with fragments of boats and fishing equipment presenting the strangeness of a place forgotten by time- a place devastated by nature’s storms, floods, mudslides and more.

The sweltering heartland that once produced empires now lay smothered in jungle and mud. As evening fell, we stopped at a fresh water well to drink and rest. As we settled ourselves, Lulan dipped into his large canvas sack and pulled out a roll of parchments which he anxiously unfolded to show me some maps. They were very ancient maps on which he pointed out locations where the Shaman had discovered monuments and artifacts. Again he dipped into his sack, this time; he pulled out, figurines, gold plates and tablets, and coins with the inscription ‘Sundele’ on them.

I quickly recognized the objects to be African and became full of excitement and amazement. How did they get this far? I wondered, and as if reading my mind, Lulan responded, They were brought here by Africans, the first people to civilize this place. That is the main part of the story that the Shaman told me. He talked about long ships ferrying thousands of dark-skinned people here, Lulan continued, tracing over the maps with his boney, sun-burnt fingers. I was anxious to know more, since I had heard so many stories about these people: men and women who sailed these waters long before the Vikings or Columbus and his Spaniards.

As an African archeologist, searching for the souls of all my people, I was very curious to know more, to dig deep into this mysterious place to find answers. Lulan sensing my anxiety tried to quiet my racing mind. The sun is falling. We can’t go any further today. The way will be too dangerous, and we are not equipped for any night-time hazards. Rest my friend! We will spend the night here, and tomorrow, I will take you to that place where the Hurricane has exposed thousands of years of Olmec glory. Now it is open for the world to see, he said in a strong voice. Excitedly I had to explain to Lulan that I, Keba, son of the Taureg tribe, had taken the magical journey across Africa to witness the vast, beautiful continent and heard the wonderful, inspiring stories of courageous, creative men who developed trade routes between Africa and Europe, Africa and Arabia, and India and Persia, trading ivory, spices and precious metals.

As evening fell into night, Lulan insisted, Get some rest. Tomorrow you’ll get the chance to see Africa in this land. You’ll see the collection of giant, black heads made of stone, with faces just like yours. You’ll see large tablets of flat stones with markings that came from another place.

According to the Shaman, they belong to an intelligent people who originated from far away: perhaps from Africa, since the men were tall and dark with wooly hair. Some had curly hair and wore helmets, and all the women were dark, buxom and beautiful." Lulan explained that in this once-beautiful place, the strange dark-skinned people blended with the natives who had come across the Northern straits from Siberia in search of a new home. This blend became the Olmec who courageously braved hurricanes, tidal waves, other elements of wrath and tribal incursions, and changed the swampy lands into shining cities. Now only sand and clay and scattered relics remain.

The Olmec built splendid places like Monte Alban, a serene, well-ordered center dedicated to education, arts, science and games. They built their centers with vigor, using social-religious organization to construct their power. They carried the spirits of the master builders from empires far away who had a taste for austere lines and awesome distances. They too worshipped the sun, moon, rain and animals. They too revered their gods whom they believed gave them knowledge and prosperity.

The Olmec ceremonies were grand and inspiring, and thousands of pilgrims came from distant places to attend the majestic occasions that were presented with pomp and solemnity by finely adorned priests.

The processional rhythms were set by drums that fired the imagination and fervor for worship, and many would weep joyful tears, others would make enormous efforts to humor the gods with an array of ritualistic activities. And, on the temple grounds, surrounded by beautiful gardens, exotic wares were displayed.

As I listened to Lulan, and observed keenly everything around me, I could not help comparing this land and its ancient peoples with the peoples of Africa: The Mother country with its high, rolling plateaus that extend to cliffs overlooking the sea, a land where rivers formed beautiful falls and rapids.

My archeological passion took me on many journeys across Africa. I have walked the equator, enjoyed the Congo basin, felt the hot, humid East Coast, danced in the pleasant climate beneath the Plateaus, and laid upon the vast grasslands. I have seen the ‘Rift Valley’ and survived the monstrous desert storms of the Sahara. I crossed the Kalahari, journeyed down the Zambezi River and tasted the beauty of Zanzibar. I ate with the Bushmen, consumed the Tom-Tom music, saw the copper mines of Zambia and the long Congo River flowing towards the Atlantic Ocean.

I observed Gambians who live along the river, trading with the people of Senegal. I saw the diamond mines of Sierra Leone and the iron mines of Liberia. I visited Guinea and Mali, and swam in Ghana’s Volta River. I witnessed the powerful rhythms that embraced the coffee plantations of the Ivory Coast, the large lagoons, the tropical forests, the grassy plains and the beautiful people of Dahomey, Cameroon, Niger and Chad. I dined in Mauritania and Morocco, and along the trade routes that led caravans to ancient Timbuktu. I inhaled the spices of Algeria and stood where the mighty Phoenicians, masters of the seas, built once glittering Carthage. I imagined the ancient wisdom of Libya, Tunisia and Egypt. And I wondered about the powerful Nile River flowing from the South to quench the thirst of so many great people.

The Nile, river of many mysteries, queen of lofty waters, endures. For thousands of years, this mighty river has flowed through a vast desert without rains and streams to feed it, yet it carried enough rich, fertile soil to offer prosperity to the creative people at its mouth.

Every year, in late summer, it flooded its valley when the sea pushed back the water and forced the river beyond its banks. Also, its tributary rivers offered much nourishment from rain forests, enriching the Delta where mighty civilizations arose.

There, the industrious Egyptians built pyramids, temples, cities and the Sphinx. Near the second cataract, close to where the Blue and white Niles meet, Nubia and Kush built splendid civilizations.

From landlock Ethiopia with its high mountains, east of Nubia, Lake Tana feeds the Blue Nile.

I embraced the restless beauty of Africa when I saw Somalia, Kenya, Rwanda and Uganda, observing intensely the wonderful animals, jungles and mixtures of tribal peoples.

I view Africa as the light of mankind’s journey, and I am always aware of the painful awakening in a land so steeped in contrasts: with its richness, sadness, history and booming spirit. It is the tarnished jewel that gave us the mighty seafarers who braved the seas to enlighten mankind.

Lulan fired my curiosity when he spoke of the dark-skinned people who settled this land thousands of years ago. Like the people of Egypt, Nubia and Kush, they too built splendid pyramids, temples and brightly-colored cities. They lived in highly decorated houses and wore richly ornamental clothing. They created effective systems of management and law, and farmed birds and animals. They also fished and planted large fields of grain. They worshipped at ‘Fire Altars’ and followed the Egyptian idea of 365 days in one year. They knitted much of African culture into their lives. Even their military units, mass wedding ceremonies, rituals and manner of dress had semblances of African traditions.

Many ancient writings tell stories of African sailors using the Guinea and Canary currents to travel from Africa to America which they called the ‘Far-lands’. Their lateen, square sails would trap the powerful winds that effectively and continuously push them in one direction. The blending of the Canary and North equatorial currents and the Northeast trade winds took the adventurous sailors into the Gulf of Mexico, where many settled and helped to build the Olmec Empire.

The Africans needed Iron ore, and their search took them to many distant lands where they traded food plants, grain, animals, minerals, dyes and knowledge. They taught the natives language, writing, styles of building and religious worship. They taught them how to mix gold, silver, copper and other minerals to create weapons and ornaments; and how to maximize the use of obsidian. They showed them efficient ways to plant cotton, bananas, jack beans, maize and yams, and they created a numbering system similar to those used in Egypt, Nubia, Kush and Persia.

Throughout the still night, we rested and when morning came, we anxiously gathered ourselves and resumed our journey. Our donkey seemed ready for the harshness of the trip. Soon we came to a deeply shaded area with occasional flacks of sunlight, where the ground was soft with damp, rotting humus, and tall trees with broken branches and thick vines stood dripping. Further onward, we came to wider, more lit areas that the strong winds had cleared. There, we saw people with burdens of corn and other crops; mainly fruits. We bypassed make-shift marketplaces and religious gatherings, and Lulan informed me that we were close to our destination.

Overcoming many challenges and hazards along the way, we arrived at the place of wonder: a mysterious find. People were busy, milling around curiously, many were emergency workers, soldiers and other officials who seemed to be protecting the area. However, they knew Lulan and respectfully allowed him to enter the area. I situated the donkey and quickly hurried on behind him. Briskly, he went into one of the caves as if he knew where he was going. Within the cave we met scholarly groups who greeted us warmly in different languages and manners. Lulan seemed to understand them all; and we proceeded deeper into the cave until we reached a spot where the walls were painted with figures and writings. The bright colors illuminated the cave; and Lulan excitedly lit his lantern exclaiming, Look at this Keba! Look at this beautiful wall. It tells so much of the people who once lived here. Just like the Shaman told me. These walls were painted during the time of Lord Sundele. Lulan began to walk along the wall reading its inscriptions. He knew the language well. About fifty feet along the wall, he stopped and pulled from a deep crevice a bundle of folded parchments. The gods are with me! shouted Lulan. This is why I was guided to this place. We sat on a nearby rock as Lulan excitedly unfolded the parchments. This is the story of Sundele and the Olmec people, he proclaimed in an anxious voice. Lulan collected and inspected the parchments, then rolled them into a huge bundle, and when evening came, we gathered ourselves and journeyed down into the village, where we found a small hotel to reside in for the next few days while Lulan translated the parchments. Each day, we prepared our meals then excitedly returned to the parchments which Lulan read with much intensity.

Lulan reads:

It was a turbulent time in the empires of the world, when many royal houses struggled valiantly, against enormous odds, to hold on to the gifts of their ancestors. The times were unforgiving, full of intrigue, treachery and violence, when some usurpers, driven by greed and the need for power, or by dreams and visions, lit the fires of war in once peaceful places. It was in such a time, in the temple of Kush, that the high priest announced to the royal house that an awesome child will be born; a fearless warrior-prince who will bring glory to Kush and shape the destinies of other empires. This child, this warrior-prince will be called Sundele. Later, in the year of the Sun, the child was born to Aspelta, King of Kush, and Akina, his third wife. It was a time when Kush had joint rulership, Aspelta ruled in Meroe and his cousin, Aramalelqo ruled in Napata. This arrangement, however, kept the nation in a state of uneasiness for eight long years, until Aramalelqo fell ill and was removed from rulership.

Kush had become a powerful kingdom 200 years earlier, and standing at the southern end of Nubia, it was forced to fight many wars with Egypt to protect its resources and control its section of the Nile Valley. Surrounding nations who called the Kushites, the burnt-faced people, were always seeking explosive opportunities to expand their status and meet their insatiable needs by posing threats to the Kushites. These foreign forces strove for superiority with violence to dominate Kush and steal its resources, such as gold and diorite, a bluish stone very precious for making jewelry, statues and pottery.

The constant potential threats faced by the Kushite population, along its vast frontier, forced the rulers of Kush to build strong fortified battlements and garrisons along possible invasion routes, along the Nile as a precaution.

This mighty civilization, south of Egypt, was a great trading center for many nearby nations, especially Egypt. Near the sacred mountain, many of the people of both nations, Egypt and Kush, blended to become one.

Meroe, the capital from which Aspelta ruled, where Sundele was born, sat between the second and third cataracts where the Nile and Atbara rivers meet. It was an industrial city where leaders developed efficient, knowledged workforces to keep the city flourishing, and the nation was prosperous. It was a place of excellence that revered women for their courage, beauty and abilities.

Striving alongside Egypt, the Kushites were continually developing new ways to enhance trade and their livelihood, and at times, since the cultures were so similar, Kushites behaved like Egyptians, placing their pyramids and noble tombs, side by side, in the sandy vastness along the Nile River. They too had a preoccupation with life after death, and serving their gods. Death consumed their lives and they colored ‘living’ with an unknown, eternal richness. They were seduced by immortality and lived in a state of constant lust, with the mystery of death controlling their beings, giving rise to grand obsessions. Preparing for eternity, they gave all, generously furnishing their tombs with all the comforts of daily living, hoping to create the ‘eternal home’.

The deep sincere, devoted imaginations of the Kushite rulers and their master-builders aided by the massed efforts of the population, effected the construction of gigantic, impregnable tombs, temples and monuments, containing richly decorated, magnificent chambers.

The Kings of Kush, supported by the priesthood, had to balance the activities of the nation in order to achieve ‘MAAT’-the divine order. This process guided the kingship in methods of keeping order along the journey of goodness, and when the time came, kings who were deemed unfit to rule were killed in grand rituals to show respect for life.

It was imperative for Kushite kings to possess the greatest life force and energy. When the force fell too low because of age, illness or disability, the rulership was ended. Many rulers fled before being killed, others joyfully accepted their fates hoping for a glorious afterlife. This vital Kushite tradition was at its peak of acceptance when Sundele was born. Regicide and infanticide were in order, greatly enforced by the powerful priests who, after choosing the crown Prince, the next in line for the throne, would have all his brothers and cousins put to death in order to avoid future conflicts regarding rights of rulership. This sad predicament befell Sundele because the son of Aspelta’s first wife was named crown-prince. And so Akina, a strong-willed, ambitious woman, realizing that her young son would soon be murdered, plotted his rescue. She was keenly aware that, within nine days, all the royal princes, except the crown-prince, would be dead.

Akina was terrified, her mind racing day and night without sleep. She knew this moment would come if Sundele was not chosen; but she was not emotionally prepared for it. She, like all women and mothers, was held in high regard in Kush, because women played an important role in the decisions of ritual killings for divine kingship. This meant nothing to Akina, she was willing to risk everything even banishment and death to save her son.

Every evening, a long procession of priests would pass by the palace promenade chanting praises to womanhood, in preparation for the divine killings. They chanted: Oh Mother! Oh woman who bore me that I may see into the face of ‘Amon-Re’, and placed me on the journey from life to death, I praise you. With a joyful heart, because of your devotion, I am in the god’s dominion. You have given me life that I may endure eternity. I praise you. Those moments only increased Akina’s fear. Surrounded by her personal guards, she kept her son closeby; and yet, as time sped onward, gloom and dread descended upon her.

She had prayed sincerely, with great expectation, that her son would become king of Kush someday, to rule as a master of ideas, a champion of unique, valiant skills and courage, who could crush his enemies with ease as he protects the land of Kush with his universal love, kindness and strength.

She was a Phoenican princess, full of passion and fire, of the bloodline of Huram master-builders of Tyre; but she loved Kush and viewed the Kushites as the remarkable people of the Nile which collected the waters of many rivers and settled them in one place. To her, they were the favorite children of ‘mother nature’- MAAT, so full of abundance and wonder. They were the burnt-faced, beautiful people of a thousand dreams to whom the gods of Punt gave their secrets. They were the people who turned the nations of the Nile into places of sweeping magnificence and paradise, the people whose lives were flavored with magic and mystery. She admired their confidence, for they were comfortable in themselves.

Sundele was seven years old when his mother, Akina hoping to save her son’s life, plotted with a group of priests to stage a coup to disband the laws of divine kingship. The coup was put down and civil and religious strifes broke out in the cities of Meroe and Napata. Meanwhile, Akina remained in hiding with her son, guards and attendants.

Then, when a dreary, black night fell upon the city of Meroe and surrounded it with intense gloom, Akina gave money to her cousin, Mordrianne, her chief attendant, and commanded her to take the boy to the Phoenician ships docked along the Nile, and pay the Captain to take Sundele to safety. What about you? questioned Mordrianne. Don’t worry about me. Akina replied, I have sent messages to my family in Tyre to aid in securing my escape from this land.

That night, few citizens ventured into the streets and alleyways where, at intervals, sentries in swift chariots would rush by as the heavy aromas of incense being burned in the temples awakened the senses. Fear followed every sound about the sprawling city and around the dimly lit Palace grounds, where the moving shadows of guards and the rhythms of their sturdy footsteps were the only expressions of life.

It was a night when few stars dotted the sky and the grand palace stood, showing off its enormous power over the land. That night, the royal household, the nobility, the priests and all their servants did not sleep: but chose to remain awake, whispering their fears, spirituality and curiosity to each other.

Mordrianne hastily took the boy down to the river where many Phoenicians ships fully loaded, were making ready to sail. Their destinations were many. They were sailing to Tyre, to Greece, to Italy, to Persia, to India, to Punt and many other distant places.

In a loud, anxious voice Mordrianne called out to one of the captains. She knew him. He was Prince Magolal, son of Merbaal, the King of Tyre. He recognized her and quickly welcomed her on board. Please Magolal, save this child. I will pay whatever you wish. He is a prince of the royal house of Kush; but soon he will be killed if he remains here. Our families have been linked for many years, and this child, son of Princess Akina, my cousin has Phoenician blood. We must rescue him from the terrible fate that lingers for so many other princes. Calm yourself, my lady, replied Magolal in an assuring voice, We will save the boy. We are on our way to Persia, but we will care for him until we return to Tyre. He will be safe, because he is a favorite of the gods who has been chosen from among us. Thank you! exclaimed Mordrianne in a humble voice, Akina will be grateful. We must protect these children from the useless slaughter. Given the chance to live, in time, they will be the ones to shape the destinies of the nations of the world. Well said my lady! Magolal acknowledged, as other sailors situated the boy in a comfortable place, Come have a drink with me. He offered her a warm drink. She accepted calmly and slowly allowed herself to relax as she sipped the exotic drink. Do you want to sail with us and free yourself from the dangers of the royal court? Magolal inquired, showing deep concern from her safety, knowing that, at present, Kush was a strife-torn nation with a large, troubled army of divided loyalties, and while loading his ships in port, he became aware of the high tensions among the swordsmen, lancers, archers and horsemen. "Come

with us! he continued, I can take you safely home to Tyre. This is no place for you now. No! she hastily replied, I must return to my lady. She needs me now more than ever, and I must inform her that her son is safe." Then she quietly disembarked as the ships made ready to sail. Looking back, for a moment, she smiled, waved goodbye to Magolal, and disappeared along a narrow street into the busy port of Meroe. The companion ships formed a straight line behind; some were very armed with a mix of elite soldiers from many nations. Magolal then instructed his chief crew members of the secrecy of his important cargo, and commanded that two Tyrian ships remain closeby to rescue Akina and her attendants when the moment comes.

Later, as soon as the ships vanished into the darkness, upon the vast sea, he took a quill and wrote a note on a sheet of papyrus. It was an urgent note to his cousin, Abdastra.

The success of Mordrianne’s bold expedition was well received by her noble cousin, Akina who, for many years, have been proud to proclaim that kings will sprout from her womb. We women have led battles, negotiated war and peace, ruled nations, developed trading systems and controlled large, magnificent temples, she constantly preached. We are wonderful and important. Because of us, Kush is a greater nation; the envy of many others. We, women have made Kush a glorious and noble culture. These things she said, with passion, to many groups of women, believing sincerely that women, being rich in all things, shape the world and protect its life.

Secluded in her hiding place, Akina stated to Mordrianne, The Prince who would be king has been chosen, and the people prepare to worship and honor him, while my son is a fugitive. I have failed my son! I am a failure. No, my dear cousin, replied Mordrianne. You are not a failure. The people of Kush have learned so much from you, and you have given so much of yourself to us. It is possible to fail at some things in life and yet not be a failure. Your son will be a great prince some day. The gods will guide his way. Mordrianne consoled her and tried to make her open her mind to gain a greater understanding of the gods’ relationships with mortals. The journey never ends for people like us. Akina explained, There is always something to pursue: that everlasting dream. Then she covered her face, with her hands and, as if in deep thought, remained silent, until a loud noise erupted from the far end of the city near the palace grounds. People scampered in many directions. Some shouted Fire, fire in the sacred house! Soon palace guards and attendants were running towards the commotion, hoping to offer their services.

However, this was just a diversion set by King Aspelta, his henchman, and his conniving priests to offer them the time to invade all the bed chambers of the palace, and quickly murder all the young princes that were not in line to become ‘King of Kush’.

Suddenly cries of agony escaped across the city breaking the uneasiness, and setting fire to the thick gloom. A maddened order of bloodletting had begun, and gross brutality poured innocent blood into the Nile. The throats of whole families, that did not obey the laws of divine kingship, were slashed.

King Aspelta, a tall, sturdy man with strong features, stood on his veranda sipping a goblet of wine in the midst of all that terror. He was unmoved, being a member of the stone-hearted bloodline, that years ago, usurped the Kushite throne. His dynasty had given the priesthood much power over the land, and order was maintained through the edicts of the Temple. Strict religious order kept the population underfoot, except the elite nobles who managed to fatten and enrich themselves at the expense of the broken supplicants. Many of whom fell victim to the unscrupulous priests who did every imaginable deed to secure the favor of the king and hold on to their power.

They had pushed the nation to worship the king as a god, and overtaxed the worshippers to enrich his coffers and build golden statues in his name. However, as time passed, the population, burdened under the sting of oppression, became restless, and many regions rose up in rebellion. Akina was an underground agent of that rebellion, always wanting changes that would foster greater justice. But that rebellion was viciously crushed and many who rebelled were murdered.

Some with poisoned water, others slaughtered with knives, swords or spears along darkened streets or in temple chambers where some rebellious priests met their doom.

This night, the heartbeat of the nation sped furiously under the dreaded eyes of the king, his helmeted assassins and the temple priests in their bejeweled robes. And the pale moon showed her face, and the waters of the Nile became rough and angry as if they felt the injustice being put upon the Kushite people.

Sundele was born into a world that was striving for discipline and order, in the fields of trade, intellectual exchange, religion and warfare. This world struggled to explain the strange, curious rituals and the erotic behaviors of many exotic sects within the nations of the region. The people possessed a fierce dedication to their gods and an exhaustive thirst for food, music