by Gary Corby
“Are you all right, Nico?” Diotima asked. She had changed into local Egyptian dress when we were in Memphis, discovered she liked it, and had worn nothing else ever since. She was already on her camel and looking comfortable.
“Never been better,” I said, rubbing the damaged parts. They were still bruised from landing on the crocodile. Before we left I would have to tuck some material between me and the camel, or that part of me might wear away.
Herodotus, needless to say, wouldn’t get on until he’d taken endless notes. He too had changed to Egyptian clothing and didn’t seem to have my problem as he rose into the air.
“Do you think we can make good time?” I asked.
Djanet looked at me oddly. “These are camels,” she said. “They come in two speeds: very slow, and way too fast. You don’t want way too fast unless you want to eat sand.”
“Right. Got it.”
Djanet handed out sticks.
We were on our way, to the Oracle at Siwa.
The Pyramid Plan
If there is anything slower than long-distance travel by camel, I don’t know what it is. We could have walked faster, except that we would have died of exhaustion before a day was out. What the camel lacked in speed, comfort, agility and manners, it made up for in its ability to walk on, and on, and on.
As we rode, Djanet told Herodotus a story of a man who died on camel back while crossing the desert. Nobody knows how long the camel carried him, but when it finally halted on the other side his corpse was mummified. Herodotus listened politely, but he didn’t write down her tale. It was the only time I ever saw Herodotus not credit a story.
The ambush against us had taken place south of Memphis. It had to be plotted that way, because Inaros’s army was to the north, and apparently not far away. Barzanes had hinted as much when we first met.
That meant Memphis was between us and our destination. It was impossible that we should go through the city. I couldn’t begin to imagine the chaos that would ensue if Barzanes, Markos and the Public Service all suddenly saw us ride into the marketplace. Barzanes surely must know by now that we had skipped town. The Public Service would want to know why we were still alive, and would probably try to correct that error. Perhaps scariest of all, Markos would want his crossbow back.
All in all, there was a fair chance that if they knew where we were, there would be at least three collections of annoyed people chasing us.
Accordingly we detoured far inland. It meant an extra two days in the terrible heat, but we simply had to endure it.
Our path therefore took us to the great tombs of the ancient pharaohs. We arrived in the morning, when the sun shone off them in all their glory.
“Dear Gods. They’re enormous.” I couldn’t keep the awe from my voice. “Did people build those things?”
“Of course people built them,” Djanet said derisively. “When was the last time you saw gods do manual labor? No, Nicolaos, these are the product of tens of thousands of hard men, laboring for years and years of their lives.”
It was mind-boggling.
Djanet tapped her camel on the backside with her stick. The camel walked on, and ours followed behind. We entered the most astonishing graveyard.
“There can’t be too many kings buried here,” Herodotus commented.
“Only one per pyramid,” Djanet said. “Plus attendant slaves of course.”
“Never have so few been buried in so much, by so many,” Herodotus said.
I didn’t even try to think my way through that. Instead I thought of Tutu the embalmer. He had spoken of this place with reverence. I said, “I can understand why Tutu came here to admire the works of his forebears, and then wept. It makes perfect sense to me now.”
“Why?” Djanet asked.
“If I knew that my ancestors had been capable of such magnificence, if I had this daily reminder that they were so much greater than me, if I lived in an age where my country was a puppet in world affairs, like you Egyptians are—sorry, Djanet, but it’s true—then I think I’d . . . I don’t know . . . maybe I’d stop trying.”
“I’m not offended,” Djanet said mildly. “Perhaps someone in that position wouldn’t try to achieve glory. Maybe they’d simply work to their own advantage.”
“You don’t do that,” Diotima said. “You’re working for Egypt.”
Djanet shrugged. “I’m unusual in many respects. But I admit I know many people like Nico describes. They think only of their own comfortable lives.”
“This pyramid is different from the others,” Herodotus said. He pointed to one of them.
He was right. All the other pyramids were . . . well . . . pyramids. In fact, they were the same shape as the wheat cakes we ate back in Athens. They had smooth sides, or as smooth as you can get from worn stone. But the pyramid that Herodotus pointed to seemed to be made of giant steps, not smooth at all.
“It is the tomb of the Pharaoh Djoser,” Djanet said. “Legend says Imhotep himself designed it, that when he built that tomb Imhotep invented the pyramids.”
I’d heard that name before. Then I remembered, the Tjaty had talked about Imhotep in worshipful tones.
“Yes, he was a real person,” Djanet said in answer to my question. “Prime Minister of Egypt, architect, doctor, mathematician, philosopher. His own tomb is probably close by, but no one knows where.”
“How come I hadn’t heard of him before I came to Egypt?” I asked. “In Hellas, all the great men of past times are famous.”
Djanet gestured to the pyramids. “Right in front of you are the largest buildings ever built by the hand of man. He didn’t need any more fame.”
“We have to camp here tonight,” Herodotus said.
“Is that a good idea?” I asked.
“This could be my only chance to see the pyramids,” Herodotus said. “If you think I’m passing through here without doing a thorough survey, then think again.”
In all fairness I had to grant him the point.
Herodotus spent the rest of the day scouring the burial ground. He questioned Djanet mercilessly.
Diotima and I used the opportunity to spend some time together. Though there’s not much you can do when the only places to sit or lie down are either hot sand or hot rock. At least we could be alone for the first time in days.
We camped against the base of one of the big pyramids. I thought it would block the light of the campfire from at least half the ground.
As we sat about our campfire, Herodotus said, “I suppose you realize that tonight we’ll be sleeping in the world’s largest graveyard.”
“You have the nicest way of putting things,” I said.
“It’s a knack,” he said modestly. “But you must admit the idea is rather macabre.”
Herodotus’s observation stayed in the back of our minds. Our conversation was muted, lest we disturb the spirits of the dead.
Thus it was that when dark shapes appeared out of the night, the women screamed. I almost screamed too.
Silhouettes stood beyond the edge of the light of the flames. They looked like men, but could equally be evil spirits, for they watched us in silence.
I stood up to confront them. “Who are you?” I demanded loudly.
I tried to count them, but they were too many. If these men—or spirits—meant us harm, then we were doomed.
A form pushed his way past the silhouettes to step into the light. It was the man who had coshed me in the streets of Memphis, and then carried me to the secret chamber beneath the Temple of Bast. The same man who distributed the orders of the Public Service.
“The Tjaty wishes to speak with you,” he said. “Come.”
We were in the greatest danger.
“Stay here,” I said to the others. Not that they had any choice.
In the distance set upon the sand was a palanquin, a large one
, which I could see by virtue of the men with torches standing about it. Other men sat on the ground. They were the bearers. They wore nothing but loincloths. They rubbed their muscles and looked tired.
We stopped alongside the palanquin, which was richly painted. The door slid open to reveal the Tjaty, the Prime Minister of Egypt and head of the Public Service.
“We meet again, Nicolaos,” he said smoothly. “You have proven remarkably difficult to kill.”
“Sorry about that.”
On his lap lay the white cat that I had seen in the chamber beneath the Temple of Bast, and then later at the gates to the temple’s grounds. The Tjaty stroked the cat as he talked. The cat purred contentedly and stared at me with complete disdain.
“There is no need to apologize. I admire a man who excels at his profession. I myself am the best Public Servant in Egypt. Since Egypt has the best bureaucrats in the world, it follows that I am the world’s best bureaucrat.”
“I’m sure you are. May I ask a question?”
“Please.”
“How did you find us?”
He smiled. His fat fingers didn’t stop stroking the feline. “When I heard that my men had failed their assignment, it was clear that you would make for the north. You could not travel through Memphis. The other side of the Nile is filled with troops loyal to the government. Thus it was inevitable that you would pass this way, and with that historian you have in your party, that you would stop here for the night. It was only a question of setting observers and awaiting their report. I was very happy to come here to meet you. The trip to the pyramids is pleasant at this time of night.”
His bearers might have felt differently about that.
“May I ask another question?” I swallowed my fear to ask, “Do you intend to kill us?”
“I am sorry about your friend. You were the intended target, not him.”
“That is my point,” I said. “If someone must die here, let it be me. Let the women and Herodotus go.”
“No one will die tonight, unless you make it necessary.”
“What?” That wasn’t the answer I’d expected. As soon as those men had surrounded the campfire, I had seen my own death. My only concern had been for Diotima to escape.
“There have been developments since we last spoke,” said the Tjaty calmly. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely indifferent to my distress, or quietly enjoying it. “I’m afraid your death is no longer required. Quite the reverse in fact.”
My jaw dropped. “Do you mean Maxyates died for nothing?”
“There lies an interesting philosophical question. We must discuss it some time. But in the here and now, let us consider more pressing matters. The last time we spoke, I asked you not to find the insignia. Alas, too many people are now aware of the crook and flail. Word has spread, largely I must say due to all the questions you’ve been asking. I personally know of two private expeditions that are being organized. Neither is anywhere near as advanced as your party.”
“Private expeditions?”
“Treasure hunters. They do not care for political symbolism. They care only for the treasure that invariably accompanies a Pharaoh’s sarcophagus.”
“Ah.” That made more sense.
“As a result it is now impossible that the crook and flail not be found. Failure to produce them when their existence is generally known would be a sign of impotence on the part of the Public Service. People might even question our credentials. That would never do, for if there is any rule to which Egypt must cleave, it is that what is good for the Public Service is good for Egypt.”
“I’m sure no one would question that.”
“And yet, somehow I have a feeling that you do,” said the Tjaty drily. “I see that I must explain myself, for it is important you understand the vital nature of our work. We of the Public Service have been the government of Egypt since the Two Lands were united. Do you know how long ago that was?”
“No.”
“Nor does anyone else. It was that long ago. Egypt was already ancient when my predecessor Imhotep built that first pyramid you see beside us. Today it looks like weathered stone. Have you wondered how long it takes for blocks of stone that big to wear away?”
“Er . . .”
“Pharaohs have come and gone, good Pharaohs and bad ones, great men and shocking fools—I may say, without fear of contradiction, that Psamtik was just about the worst of the lot.”
“So I gathered.”
“And yet, Egypt endured even that disaster, because for thousands of years the Public Service has given our people continuous, consistent government.”
“I thought the Pharaohs did that?”
“Pharaoh graces us with his godlike presence. From time to time he issues commands. We of the Public Service interpret Pharaoh’s words and execute the plan. In those rare circumstances where Pharaoh’s wisdom is less than godlike, the Public Service has been known to be flexible in its interpretation.”
“Sensible of you.”
“We take the long view, and I am a very flexible person,” he said from beneath rolls of fat. “I am therefore revising my approach to you, Nicolaos. You are no longer a source of anxiety, but rather the solution to another, perhaps larger problem. I previously offered you a substantial sum to fail to find the crook and flail.”
“I turned you down.”
“I now offer an even more substantial sum to find these implements and bring them to me.”
“You’re not going to claim to be descended from the last Pharaohs, are you?” I said.
“I confess we did have a strategy team look into that option. There have been countless long meetings.”
“I can imagine.”
“It was decided in the end that it would be better if Pharaoh Psamtik bequeathed the crook and flail to his brother and conqueror, the Great King of the Persians. Unfortunately, during the confusion of the times, the items were mislaid. That is how the story will be represented to the public. But now, thanks to careful research and an expedition funded by the Public Service, the crook and flail have been discovered.”
“I’m beginning to see your plan,” I said.
“I was sure you would. We are already composing the invitations for the handover ceremony. Pure white best-quality papyrus with nice bordered edges sounds about right, don’t you think? Great King Artaxerxes will be invited to visit this loyal satrapy to receive in person the crook and flail of the Two Lands. I will make a long speech. It will be a fine event with many opportunities to ingratiate ourselves to our normally distant ruler. A most satisfactory situation all around.”
“Aren’t you forgetting Inaros’s army?”
“When news spreads that the crook and flail are in the possession of the government—indeed will soon be in the hands of our rightful ruler the Great King—opposition will crumble, and this bunch of deluded rebels who support the Libyan will drift away.”
“Hmm.” I wanted to be non-committal, but I was afraid the bloated bureaucrat was right.
He continued. “In addition, I’ve become aware of yet another foreigner in my country. This is starting to become annoying. Don’t you Hellenes have anything better to do than invade Egypt?”
“You mean Markos?”
“He indeed. The Spartan assassin threatens to upset the balance.”
“What do you mean? What balance?” I asked. Then I realized the implication of the Tjaty’s words. “You’ve had a run-in with Markos, haven’t you?”
“I don’t have run-ins with anyone. We had a civilized discussion, to the extent that such is possible with a Spartan. Incidentally, I thought the Spartans called themselves laconic.”
“Markos talks more than most of them.”
“So I discovered. His plan to kill the Persian Barzanes would not be beneficial to the Public Service. Our relations with Persia are of the utmos
t importance.”
“Did you do something about it?”
“I warned Barzanes of his imminent danger. But the Eyes and Ears has proven strangely reluctant to adopt certain actions that would be in his own interest and that of his king.”
“That can happen when you’re dealing with an honest man,” I pointed out.
“Yes, it’s unfortunate,” said the Tjaty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “What Barzanes lacks in corruption he makes up in ruthlessness. The moment Markos breaks his oath, Barzanes will destroy him. Come to think of it, why aren’t you talking to Barzanes about the crook and flail, and not me?”
“Ruthlessness is an admirable quality, to be sure. Yet for the two missions I have in mind, I require a man of more, shall we say, flexible temperament. Athenians are renowned for their flexibility when it comes to matters of their own advantage. In your own way, you Athenians would make good public servants.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Also, the manner in which you retrieved the weapon from the Spartan speaks of a certain originality.”
“How do you know about—” But I didn’t bother finishing the question. Of course he knew about the crossbow.
The Tjaty wiped his brow, where a slight trace of sweat had appeared. “This Spartan is beyond the skill of my own people. In any case it would not be propitious if Egyptians were to eliminate the Spartan. It might prompt Sparta to invade. The last thing this country needs is more Hellene invaders. No offense intended.”
“None taken.”
“Thus we have a limited number of people with the skill to take care of this Markos. The Eyes and Ears refuses to move. The army of Inaros might achieve success, but they are singularly unlikely to stop a Spartan from killing a Persian.”
“No. Barzanes’s death would be a present from the Gods for Inaros,” I said.
“Your Admiral Charitimides probably feels the same.”
“I imagine so.”
“That leaves you. The only person who can deal with the Spartan for me is you.”
“You want me to kill Markos?” I said, aghast. “He’s a trained assassin. How in Hades am I supposed to do that?”