Urhi-Teshub, Crown Prince of Hatti, pulled his horses to a halt and eyed the imposing stela set in the center of Kadesh's palace square proclaiming Pharaoh Seti's triumph over Hatti. His father, Muwatallis, stared, rigid and expressionless at the bombastic thing. Urhi-Teshub knew his father would not accept the loss of Kadesh, not after everything he had done to prepare for this battle, or everything he had had to leave behind unfinished in Tarhuntassa, Hatti's capital.

The date on the stela was more than a month old. Pharaoh Seti and his son Ramesses would be back in Pi-Ramesses by now, celebrating. Urhi-Teshub bit back a curse. He had been anticipating drenching his blade with Egyptian blood, to prove to his father his last year campaigning against the Kaskans with his uncle Hattusilis had been well spent. But now, after two months of preparation and one of hard marching, his sword would remain dry, just as it did two years ago when Pharaoh Seti claimed the city states of Amurru; his sudden, unexpected predations catching Hatti off guard.

But the pharaoh had been a fool to leave Kadesh undefended. For two years Hatti's king had seethed over his Amurrite losses to Egypt. And now, to find this? Urhi-Teshub shook his head, grim. Kadesh would pay.

His father's voice boomed across the square, where the city's assembled officials, nobles and royal family stood waiting, pale and trembling; their thin faces betraying the extent of their long wait for assistance.

"Tear it down," his father bellowed, putting his back to the offending stela. "Kadesh belongs to Hatti, regardless of Egypt's pathetic scribblings."

A gesture from Hattusilis, and orders went down the lines. Soldiers came forward bearing mason's tools. They surrounded the edifice, glistening like beetles, the thudding of their mallets loud in the still, oppressive heat of the square.

His father pulled the reins from his arms and left his chariot, watching as the men labored to break the stela apart until only a jagged lump remained. A thick haze of dust billowed out, making Urhi-Teshub's throat itch. His eyes watering, he suppressed a cough. The soldiers stepped back, panting, their bodies drenched in sweat.

His father made a wide circuit around the stump, stepping, disdainful, over its broken pieces. He stopped and looked over his men, his eyes glittering.

"Everything of value is to be taken." The King of Hatti's voice carried across the square, echoing over the soldiers and down into the city. "Every animal, every store of provisions, every bolt of material, every hoarded ingot of gold and silver. Spare only the image of the goddess herself. You will leave them nothing but the stones we stand upon. If anyone resists, put them to the sword, be it man, woman or child. By my command, you will show Kadesh no mercy."

The pleas began, quiet at first, soon escalating to desperate wails as the soldiers stripped the nobles of their gold, jewels and embroidered tunics. Some of the women were left wearing nothing, their thin frames and slack skin exposed for all to see. Several of the soldiers laughed, mocking them. Urhi-Teshub shook his head, glaring at them, disgusted.

His father turned his attention to Amunira, Kadesh's king, and gestured for Urhi-Teshub to join him.

"Prince of Hatti," his father began as Urhi-Teshub navigated his way around the broken remains of Seti's stela, "how shall we punish our disloyal vassal? Think well, for one day you shall be Hatti's king, and the lessons you learn today will be of great value to you then."

Urhi-Teshub caught the vindictive glint in his father's eye. He would not do his father's dirty work for him.

"My lord king and father," he answered, choosing his words with care, "you have taken all Kadesh has left to be taken after having endured a long siege. There is nothing left to them now save their lives."

His father smiled, cold, as he pulled his daggers from their sheaths. "Shall we take their lives as well, my son?"

Urhi-Teshub looked at Amunira, stripped of his finery, waiting, stoic. Behind him, his queen, Azfara, stood wearing only a thin linen shift. A beautiful woman. Her gaze met his, pleading. He turned his attention back to Amunira, trying to gauge the man, his worth as a king. Amunira met his eyes, courageous, honorable, ready to die.

Urhi-Teshub recognized in him the many qualities lacking in his father. Here stood a good and noble king who had suffered much, who had been forced to make a terrible choice to protect his people. Urhi-Teshub would not sacrifice this man just to gain his father's approval. A thought crossed his mind.

"Is there not another way?" he asked, his eyes on Amunira. "To kill them would only give rise to a new nobility, perhaps ones chosen by Pharaoh Seti. We have the perfect opportunity to ensure King Amunira's continued obedience, despite his treachery of having allied himself to Egypt."

A soft hiss filled the quiet as his father slid one of his daggers back into its sheath. A creak of sun warmed leather followed as he rested his hand on the dagger's pommel. "I am listening."

A flicker of gratitude flared in Amunira's eyes. Urhi-Teshub ignored him. "Hostages," he said, gesturing along the line of nobles. "Just as Lord Hattusilis takes the Kaskan children from the conquered tribes, let us take these children with us to Tarhuntassa to educate under your command. Once they are grown, send them back to Kadesh to serve as your loyal administrators."

His father rubbed the pommel of the other dagger against his jaw, its fluted edge rasping against his stubble as he looked over the children among the nobles, unimpressed. His gaze moved to one of the young women standing near the queen, stopping to linger on the faint curves of her body. He nodded at her. Urhi-Teshub turned. A little girl, a pretty, dark-haired thing, peeked out from behind the woman's shift.

His father pointed his dagger at her. "The girl," he said, his voice taut. "Bring her to me."

With a cry, Azfara rushed over to the child and put her behind her, out of his sight. "Your Majesty," she pleaded, her face tight with fear, "I beg you, not her."

"Ah, the desperate look of a mother," his father smiled, slow. "So, I have flushed out Amunira's brat."

Before Azfara could answer, the young woman who had first hidden the child brushed past Azfara as though the queen were of no consequence.

"Your Highness, of what use is a child?" she asked, soft and enticing, bowing low. "Such a burden. Take me instead. I am Lady Rhoha, sister of King Amunira. Allow me to devote my life to your pleasure as your concubine."

Urhi-Teshub looked from his father to the woman, who could be no more than twenty. Even in her diminished state, there was no doubt the woman knew her beauty was astonishing. With a few weeks of feeding, her body would once more be ripe and full, ready to give great pleasure. Her thick, dark brown hair fell to her waist in rolling waves, unbound without its jewels. Dark and sultry, she would be a match for any of his father's most exotic concubines. She licked her lips, slow, seductive. Urhi-Teshub raised his brow. Was she trying to seduce his father here?

"I have concubines enough," his father grunted. "The girl, Urhi-Teshub."

Rhoha opened her shift, exposing the curve of her perfect breasts. She stepped toward his father, her eyes wide and trusting. "Then, instead of the child," she breathed, "take my life. To be killed by one's king--a god--there can be no greater end."

His father narrowed his eyes. "You dare try to divert me? You are no one, worthless. Beware I do not send both you and the child to the gods today." He shoved her aside, pointing once more at the girl. "I will not ask again. Bring me Amunira's child. She will be the price for Kadesh's crimes. My blade awaits."

Her eyes bright with tears, Azfara clung to the child, her knuckles whitening, shaking her head, defiant.

"Lord King of Hatti," Amunira cried out, his voice ringing across the square, "it was I who opened the gates. I knelt before Pharaoh Seti. If it is blood you seek, take mine. The child is innocent."

An ominous silence fell, in the midst of it, footsteps approached.

"Brother," Hattusilis murmured as approached, his voice, as always, soothing, reasonable, "none doubt your judgment against Kadesh. But, if you kill the child, how could you hope to retain the loyalty of this kingdom? As soon as we leave, Kadesh will rally once more to Egypt."

"And?"

"Instead, let us expand on the prince's suggestion," Hattusilis continued. "Take this child, along with these others to Tarhuntassa, as hostages. So long as Kadesh remains loyal to you, Amunira's daughter will live."

A long silence stretched. Urhi-Teshub could hear the girl's shallow breathing, hidden behind her mother's shift. He hoped his father would see sense. He wanted no part in the murder of a little girl.

His father grunted. "You speak sense as usual, Brother, but my blade will taste blood this day. Who will stand in her place, since my son has convinced me to spare the king?"

"Take Queen Azfara," Hattusilis answered without even a heartbeat's hesitation. "Forbid Amunira on pain of his child's death, from taking another wife. Then you shall hold the only heir of Kadesh in your hands to be raised as you see fit. When she is of age, marry her to a man who is loyal to you, and through her he shall be king, guaranteeing Kadesh's continued loyalty to your throne."

His father scratched his chin with the dagger's pommel, his gaze on the queen. "The woman will have to suffice," he sniffed. "Urhi-Teshub, bring her to me."

Reluctant, Urhi-Teshub took hold of Azfara's arm. She shook him off and knelt beside her daughter.

"Istara, my love," she said, her voice shaking, "because the Egyptians came into Kadesh, Ama must go to the gods. Be a good child. Learn your lessons, and be faithful to Baalat. When I am gone, she will watch over you. Never forget I love you."

Urhi-Teshub sensed his father's impatience. He took hold of Azfara's arm once more. She rose, trembling in his grip. Confused, Istara looked from her mother to his father, who flexed his fingers on his dagger's hilt. Comprehension, then horror, filled her eyes. Urhi-Teshub couldn't bear it. He looked back at Hattusilis, desperate for his intervention. His uncle shot him a cold, warning look. He had to sacrifice the mother to save the child. Urhi-Teshub felt sick. It was enough to take everything in the city. There was no need for blood, either of children or of queens.

Istara fell to her knees, sobbing. Her little hands clung, desperate, to her mother's shift. "Ama, don't go. Ama stay . . . Ama . . ."

Azfara shuddered and shook her head, pulling against Urhi-Teshub, trying to free herself. All around him, noblewomen erupted into wails, begging for mercy. Rhoha sank to her knees, prostrating herself, clutching his father's feet, kissing them, pleading with him to take her life instead. He kicked her aside, his face dark with anger, bellowing for someone to get rid of the girl.

Soldiers rushed forward. Urhi-Teshub pushed in front of them. They would not have her, not like this. They fell back. Sick with guilt, he let go of Azfara and took hold of Istara's shoulders. Screaming for her mother, she fought him, the material of Azfara's shift tearing free in her fingers. He tightened his grip, cursing, frustrated. She was strong, like a wild piglet. He pinned her between his legs, forcing her to hold still, holding her head in his hands, turned away, so she would not see what was to come.

Amunira took hold of Azfara. "Had I not allowed the Egyptians in," he spat, clutching his wife against him, protective, "you would have arrived today to a city of rotting corpses, of no use to Hatti. If it is blood payment you seek, take my life, as accorded by law. As is right!"

"Enough!" Urhi-Teshub's father bellowed, furious. "It matters not what you bleat at me. If you had had enough faith, the gods would have protected you."

He drove his dagger into Azfara's back, twisting the blade, vicious. Her eyes widened. She juddered, her legs giving out as he yanked the dagger free. Blood and gore splattered onto his chest. She cried out, a high, thin wail. Amunira scrabbled to hang on to her, even as she slid to the ground, already dead.

The child thrashed, crying out for her mother, frantic. Urhi-Teshub tightened his hold. He couldn't let her see. There was blood everywhere, pumping out of Azfara in massive gouts. Istara's teeth clamped onto his finger. She bit him, hard. He swore and shook himself free. No more. It was enough.

He picked her up and pressed her face against his chest. The place stank of hot blood and fear, reminding him of temple sacrifices. Men and women wailed, their cries escalating, spreading across the square, their horror washing over the city, filling the air with grief. Ignoring his father's shout to remain, Urhi-Teshub left, stumbling over the broken stela fragments in his haste to get Istara away.

His father shouted again, furious. Urhi-Teshub pressed on, determined, knowing he would pay dearly for his disobedience as he continued to stride past the soldiers in the square, past the market stalls and lanes and down through the city, Istara's small fists beating against his chest.

He did not stop until he came to the river outside the city's walls. Setting her down on the riverbank, he dipped his hands in the cool water and cleaned the dried blood from his finger. Cupping some water in his hands, he brought it up to her lips and offered her a drink.

She looked up at him, fearful, her face swollen and blotchy. She hiccupped. A tear, stuck to her eyelashes, slipped free. His heart ached for her. At times, he hated his father. What he had done today, out of vengeance for Amurru was unforgiveable. For the hundredth time, Urhi-Teshub vowed to be a better king than his father. He would start by taking responsibility for this little waif on the march home, watching over her until she was safe in Tarhuntassa.

He waited, patient, as the water trickled out between his fingers. Istara licked her lips. She had to be thirsty. Heat radiated up from the hard-packed earth, broiling hot. He lifted his hands closer and nodded at her, encouraging her. Her eyes never leaving his, she leaned forward, slow, and sipped, wary, a lamb before a wolf.