Soldier of Sidon l-3

by Gene Wolfe

  I could not tell him those things.

  He sighed. "In which case nothing is sure. You will find your sword, but from what I saw you will not find it in the place in which you look for it, since the Sky-Hunter has his back to you. As for when you will find it, the stars declare that you have never lost it."

  I shook my head. "I don't understand."

  "Neither do I, Lucius. When you have your sword again, I hope you will tell me how you regained it."

  The second person to interrupt my sleep was a lovely woman; she touched me in a place in which I would hesitate to touch any woman save my wife. "You have waked me," she whispered, "thus I wake you. Whom do you trust?"

  "No one," I whispered in reply, "not even myself-though I would trust my sword, if I had her. That's one reason I'm trying to find her."

  "The lying woman beside you does not trust you. Too many men have played her false. She expects it from you each time you speak to her."

  "Nor do I trust myself," I repeated.

  "So you say. But you do. I trust you also. Do me a small favor, and I will tell you much that is to your advantage to know."

  "Tell me now," I whispered, "if you trust me. Tell me, and if what you say is to my advantage, I'll do the small favor you ask."

  "Will you?"

  I rose as quietly as I could. "You have my word on it."

  "Have you forgotten Sahuset?"

  "The wise man of Myt-ser'eu's nation? I have forgotten his appearance, but before I slept I read that he would search for my sword by magic."

  "He is doing that as we speak, but you must believe nothing he tells you. He lies to enlarge himself in his own sight; and if he finds your sword, you will never regain it."

  "You seem to know him well. Are you Neht-nefret?" I had read that name in this scroll before I slept, and I knew that the woman beside me was Myt-ser'eu.

  "I am Sabra, his wife." Sabra laughed very softly, but her laugh made me wish my spear were in my hand. "I know him better than any. I am he, in a way that you will never understand. I am also the woman who aided you against King Siaspiqa's soldiers. You have forgotten it, but they would have killed all of you if it had not been for me. Now you are returning to Siaspiqa's realm to seek the sword you left there. You may have need of me again."

  "I hope not." I forget quickly, I know; but I had not forgotten her laugh as quickly as that.

  "I said that I would tell you something of value. I have warned you against my husband, which may save your life if you will heed it. Now I will tell you something more, and claim the small favor you promised. I am Sahuset's wife, but I would prefer to be yours."

  I shook my head. "That is of no value to me. I would never take another man's wife." A step or two away, Myt-ser'eu stirred at the sound of our voices.

  "Am I nothing?" Sabra stroked my cheek as she spoke, and her hand was smooth and cold.

  "You are beautiful," I whispered, "and have no need of the jewels you wear to tempt any man. If you were mine, I would rejoice in you. You aren't, and if your husband found us together he might kill you."

  "He will not. He has spells, but I have his and my own."

  A beast snarled as she spoke, and I turned to see burning eyes behind me.

  "Beteshu will not harm you, but you need not fear Sahuset as long as Beteshu is with us. Listen to me. You say you do not trust that woman, and you are wise not to. But you love her. Deny it if you like-it will remain true through you deny it with every oath."

  I shrugged. "Go on."

  "She wears an amulet my husband gave her, a bull's head. Sahuset is the bull-it will draw her to him. That is the last coin in my hand. If it is of no value to you, you owe me no favor."

  I was kneeling next to Myt-ser'eu before Sabra finished speaking. The cord that held her amulet snapped between my fingers and I threw both over the side. "You deserve whatever favor you ask," I told Sabra. "What is it you want?"

  I could see the gleam of her teeth in the dark. "You have given the favor I intended to ask. May I have another?"

  I rose again. "What is it?"

  "A kiss."

  When our lips met, it seemed I held a score of women in my arms. Myt-ser'eu was one, the queen another. The rest-and there were many more-I did not know.

  When we parted, I whispered, "You are-are not as other women."

  She laughed as before, chilling all my ardor. "I was a crocodile once. Perhaps you tasted it."

  I watched her go toward the stern and vanish into the darkness. It may be that the panther went with her. I do not know. SOMEONE ATTACKED THE queen last night, cutting her thigh without waking her. Qanju-our leader, Myt-ser'eu says, and the oldest man on the ship-is trying to discover the culprit. The tall man Myt-ser'eu swears is a warlock was talking to the carpenter when I began writing this. He wanted the carpenter to lend him his hammer and give him seven nails. The carpenter would not lend his hammer, but offered to nail down the lid of the box the tall man wishes to close. They have gone into the hold, and I hear the blows of the carpenter's hammer.

  The warlock told the king he knew the queen's attacker and would see that she was not troubled again. The king raged, wishing to kill the guilty man with his own hand; but the warlock said he could not speak the guilty name. The king would have broken his arm, and Qanju ordered me to prevent it, which I did.

  This has made the king my enemy, though I know he was once my friend. I am to paint myself as his warriors do no longer. WE ARE AT Naqa, and thus in Nubia. So says my friend the captain. My men and I went through the market and the shops in search of the sword the river god tempered for me. Myt-ser'eu came too, but did not search on her own because she has forgotten my sword, to which she says she paid little heed when I had it. (She thought it large and heavy.) More signally, this is not a place in which women alone are safe.

  We will sleep ashore tonight, and everyone is delighted. There is a big public building here in which travelers may stable their horses and store their goods. It has small rooms to which we must bring our own bedding. Nights on the ship were cold, I know, in spite of the day's heat; and with so many on board we slept in each other's armpits, as the captain says. Here each couple will have a room. The walls are thick mud brick, and there is a little fireplace in each. We will buy charcoal in the market, and be private, snug, and warm.

  Myt-ser'eu says these people are barbarians, and that everyone not of Kemet is a barbarian. Thus I am a barbarian myself, which explains why I like the people here so much. Some are of Alala's tribe, some of another; but the men are as large as the king, and from their scars, brave. The women smile, laugh long, and flirt without shame. They seem a good people to me. *The narrator uses the word stola here, in place of his usual vestis. The stola was a woman's garment fastened at a shoulder that left the other shoulder bare.

  34

  I AM ALONE

  NOTHING COULD BE more useless than continuing this scroll, though I have been reading it ever since the baboon untied its cords. I sprang for it, catching it as the baboon dropped it. Its cords were tied again, and I felt the baboon had been a dream. Untying them, I began to read and saw that I had seen him before, and learned much else.

  The man with my sword was Sabra's husband. I feel sure of it after reading what I just did.

  We did not find Falcata in Naqa. Myt-ser'eu and I ate fried fish at a cookshop (very good) and tried the local beer. I thought it too sweet. She said it was like that we got in the south. When she had drunk all she could hold, we returned to the room we had rented earlier, I built a fire while she dozed, and we made love. I lay awake long after she was asleep, thinking how miserable I would be if I remained behind to search when she went north with the others. I do not know how I knew she would leave me and go with them, but I did, and found it bitter. Perhaps some god had revealed it to me. I resolved to reclaim Falcata before we reached the first cataract. No excuses would do. Falcata was here, her new owner had no reason to hide her, and I would find her. At last I slept.

&nb
sp; The ringing of her blade woke me. I rose and unbarred the door. A tall man, older than I, stood outside holding Falcata. I gaped at him. He rang her blade again, striking it with something in his hand, perhaps a coin. I tried to explain that I wished to buy her from him, speaking as Myt-ser'eu did. He vanished, but I caught sight of his head and shoulders over the stalled horses.

  I ought to have followed him naked into the street, but I did not. I went back to get the burse I had been given on the ship, putting on the tunic I had bought earlier and taking up this case that holds my scroll, too, when the baboon signed that I must. I might have killed the baboon with my club, but it was easier and quicker to do as he wished.

  Outside I searched the dark streets. Once, when I was about to give up, I saw him. I ran after him shouting and he vanished. I have not seen him since.

  The sun rose. I set out for the place where Myt-ser'eu and I had stayed but became lost. I asked several people where it was. Perhaps they misdirected me or I misunderstood them. Certainly the streets were crooked, and I did not know what many of the places they spoke of were.

  When I found the building in which we had slept at last, Myt-ser'eu was gone. I asked the old man who rented rooms, and he said she had left some time ago when another man came for her. I did not recognize this man from his description-a young foreigner, smaller than I.

  The old man had my shield and spear, which he handed over readily to me. Myt-ser'eu had them, he said, and he had made her surrender them because he thought she might be stealing them. She had told him I was already on the ship, but he had said that I must come back and claim them myself if I wanted them. He told me all this at length, speaking in the tongue used here. How angry she was, and how eager to be gone the man with her seemed.

  I went to the docks. There was no ship, and Myt-ser'eu was not there. I asked a man fishing from a pier, and he said that the big foreign ship had sailed not long after sunrise. It was the Gades, he said. I cannot remember the name of our ship, but I believe the one he described must have been ours.

  It will stop for the night at some city or town, I think, as it did at Naqa. With luck it may be delayed, and I have seen that ships going downriver move but slowly-the current carries them, but the wind is against them. They may be rowed, but rowing tires the crew; they row only enough to give the steering oar bite. If our ship ties up at a place on the other side of the river, I can pay someone to row me across.

  I have walked and even run today, but that was foolish. Tomorrow I will buy a small boat. Let it carry my spear and shield, and my club. I will row hard, and not tire. I FEEL WEAK and ill, hot at times and chilled at others, so that I huddle near this fire, which does not warm me. He makes me write this. IT IS NEARLY noon. I am stronger, but not strong. Last night I was terribly sick, shaking when I was not burning with fever. Perhaps I only dreamed of the woman who burned, yet I hope not. Is there any use in writing of such things? The baboon would say there was, I know. He would make his meaning clear by signs.

  Which is what I do here with my slip of frayed reed.

  I feel I may die. If I do, the rain will come, my scroll will fall to bits, and no one will ever read the record of so many days of my life, days of interest to no one but myself in any event. If I do not die, I will find a way to protect it from the weather and deposit it in a safe place. There is only a single sheet left. Then the stick. The Hellenes have a name for that final sheet, I know. I wish I could recall it.

  My fire is dying amid greasy ashes, but I no longer require it. The sun is high and the land is warm. I will rise and walk until I find a place where they will feed me. Then I may write more. THESE PEOPLE FOUND me on the road. They had many questions, of which I could answer only a few. They are the Medjay, they say, the Lion People. We talked of horses, I thinking that I might buy a horse if the price was not too high. They asked whether I could ride. Feeling it to be true, I said I could, which surprised them. They think me a man of Kemet, and say few of us can ride. They invited me to their camp, where I am now, to see more horses. I agreed, and walked beside them as they rode. None had been to Kemet, but they talked of going there, where the satrap might hire them as he has others of their nation.

  They warned me of the Nehasyu, the Men of Kush, with tales of their dishonesty and cruelty. Kush is the nation I call Nubia, it seems.

  Here we looked at horses, and they shared their food with me. They had fresh beef and cheese. It has been a long time, I think, since I have eaten either. They measure their wealth in cattle and horses. THEIR CHIEF HAS come. He is older than my new friends, and has been to Kemet and many other places. He fought, he says, for the Great King. When I could not answer his questions, I explained that I forget and showed him this. He said I had been touched by a god, and that I am a holy man.

  I said, "If I have been touched by a god, it was only to curse me."

  He nodded. "All who are touched by gods are holy."

  "I would rather remember, as other men do."

  "There are many things it is better to forget." He laughed. "Women!"

  "There is a woman I must write of here before I forget her," I told him.

  "Tell me," he said, "if you forget I will tell you."

  I agreed. "Last night I camped alone. I have no cloak to sleep in, but I made a little fire and lay down."

  He nodded. "I have often done the same."

  "A woman came to my fire, a lovely woman with bracelets, a fine necklace, many rings. She said she was my wife, that she loved me and would always care for me and serve me. I was cold and asked her to warm me, but she said she could not do that."

  "She was a ghost," the Medjay chief declared. "I have met many, and there is no warmth in them."

  I shrugged. "She begged me to accept her, to love and cherish her. I said I would, and we kissed. When we parted, there was a man behind her, tall and angry."

  The chief laughed aloud. "Her husband. I have been caught like that too."

  "I agree, but he did not say he was. He did not speak at all. He only advanced toward her, scowling. She argued with him, retreating step by step, and at last drew a crooked knife. By then she stood very near the fire, and I saw that her back was melting as ice does, running like water into my fire, which leaped in triumph."

  "This is a good story. Go on!"

  "They spoke more, and he pushed her into the fire. For a moment nothing happened. I tried to stand, steadying myself with my spear. It was hard because I was so ill. As I stood, my little fire burst into a ball of flame that blinded me and singed my hair. When I could see again, both were gone."

  The Medjay chief nodded. "Your face has been burned on one side, I see. Your hair is singed, as you say."

  "I thought it was a dream," I told him. "Was it?"

  He sighed. "You have been touched by a god."

  "I looked in the ashes," I told him, "and found these." I showed him two of her bracelets. "Do you like them? I'll give both to you for a good horse. Not just any horse, a good one."

  He returned them to me. "I will show you a wonderful horse tomorrow," he promised, "a horse you may have as my gift, if you can ride him." I HAVE NOT yet caught the stallion the Medjay chief showed me as the sun rose; but I have come to know the marks of his hooves, and will track him again in the morning. He is bigger than most, and as brown as a chestnut. There is a light in his eyes. If some god were to transform one of the Medjay warriors, he would be as this stallion is, I think.

  He looks at me in fear, and I at him in desire. If he were to seek to master me, I would look at him as he does at me, and he at me as I do at him. Or so I believe. What is the life of a horse but slavery? I would treat him well-if I could. As I am, I cannot even treat myself well.

  There is gold in the bag at my belt, but it buys no food here. He crops the fresh green grass. Which of us will tire first?

  WHEN I UNROLLED this to read what I had written last night, there was a curved pin of bright gold in it. It melted as I held it in my hand, and was gone. Then I t
hought the sun had brought a waking dream. It seemed to me that a great lioness paced beside me, and afterward that a tree-tall woman walked there. When I turned to look, there was no one.

  Now I write, though there is so little space left. She led me to her temple. There was an antelope there, dead upon her altar, a large one and very fine.

  I drank from her spring, cut flesh from the antelope's flank, and cooked it over a fire of brown grass and dried dung. She is Mehit; she sat with me and shared my food. She laughed at me, and her laugh was forgotten gold shaken in a cup. "Can you who caught me not catch a stallion?" She told me that I would never catch him, but that he would catch me. I RODE TODAY, north because I did not know in which way to go and it seemed best. A lively boy driving cattle said that in the city men would fill my hands with gold for my horse. I told him about the lions, and how my horse Ater had come to me for protection.

  "Does that name mean something?" he asked.

  "Darkness, gloom, ill luck."

  "He's not! He's beautiful!"

  "He is," I said, "and I am his ill luck."

  The city, the boy said, is on a river island. If my own luck is as bad as Ater's, the ship will have passed it already. But where there is a city there are many men, and one may have the blade the river god returned to me.

  I WONDER WHERE I got the bridle I have taken from Ater? Did I write of that here? I tied him by the reins, but a moment ago I set him free. Beasts prowl the night-lions and worse. I would rather he escape me than that he fall to such a beast.

  There are horses too bad to be ridden. It may be that there are horses too good to be ridden as well.

  For a time I heard him not far off. I no longer do. I sit before my little fire, my own protection from the beasts we both fear, with only the baboon for company. He prompts me to write again and again-to write smaller and smaller. There is little fuel for the fire, and so small a fire cannot be a great protection. The lions roar. I have heard them twice. A madman laughs, not far from my fire. THE BABOON LEFT while I read. Who was Mehit, who sat at meat with me? Surely she was a friend, and I wish she were here with me. I am alone with the night, and shivering in a wind that will soon be cold.