by Andre Norton
There was a saying of the peasants—the rat cannot call the cat to account. But it was also true that if the moon moves but slowly, still it crosses the city. Who holds the whip today may not curl his fingers about its butt tomorrow.
Kneel he would, but they could not force him to measure his body on the bricks with those laboring slaves. And perhaps they dared not extract full punishment for his stubbornness in the presence of the lord who came, for he did not feel the whip again.
The Nubian had learned enough of his owner’s tongue during the long trip from Napata to understand most of what was said to him. But the rush of chanted words he heard now was a meaningless gabble. First came a guard of soldiers, walking stiffly in their overlapping scale armor, their curled beards forming a second breastplate across their chests.
Then followed a chariot with a driver and a passenger, and youthful men in rich dress flanking it on foot. Sherkarer peered sideways to see, though his head was bowed. There were two plumed fans held behind the man who rode in the chariot.
But he was no fine figure of a warrior. Rather, he was small and fat, so that his bloated stomach was thrust out before him to make a mound of his rich robe. His beard had been carefully curled and shone with oil, as did the long ringlets which fell to touch his shoulders, held in order by a broad gold band. His robe was yellow, the shawllike cloak over it red, fastened upon one shoulder with a brooch which flashed gem-fire.
“A hundred lives to the favored of the King!” Sherkarer was now able to understand that. “May Ashpezaa, Favored of Mardek, live long!”
The guardsmen spread out in a line as the chariot came to a halt, and the young men who had walked on foot beside it gathered in a close knot. Ashpezaa, the Chamberlain, made no move, but his driver raised a whip to beckon imperiously.
The merchant Cha-paz hunkered forward on his knees, not rising to his feet. The courtiers made way for him as he so crawled to one side of the chariot, where the driver gave some order.
Cha-paz backed away in the same awkward fashion, to make a gesture of his own to the man who was overseeing the slave laborers. On his hands and knees the overseer went to the side of the covered cage and loosed the ties of the matting screen, his efforts matched by those of the second-in-command on the other side of the shrouded box.
The matting creaked, wrinkled in pleats, as they drew it aside. There was a strong whiff of the evil odor of the lau, and a strange noise as daylight reached into the cage, for the lau was a night creature and resented both light and heat.
That shadowy form moved, rattled the cage, as a horn-nosed head struck against the thrice-reinforced bars. Cries of alarm arose from the slaves, startled from their abject abasement before the official. And the guards swung up their stabbing spears at the ready, as if they feared the monster would break free.
Even the lord shifted his position as he stared at what he could see of the captive. Then, at a second sign from the driver, the matting fell back into place and was knotted down. Cha-paz once again was summoned closer.
This time Ashpezaa spoke, though he did not turn his head to look at the man waiting so humbly. Then the merchant squirmed away in a hurry, saving himself from being trampled on as the chariot, guards, and followers started off.
Those withdrew toward the city, for this was the wharf which served the temple. That much Sherkarer already knew. In this land the temple had its own merchants to buy and sell afar, and its buildings sprawled as wide as any Nubian town of good size.
Now the whips of the overseers cracked once more and the cage on its rollers began to edge on at a very slow pace. Sherkarer got to his feet. Between his ankles was a bar of bronze to keep him hobbled, just as his hands were joined by a loop of rope.
“You, offspring of a braying jackal”—the lash, used by an expert, flicked him between shoulders already tender from such attentions—“go!”
Thus urged, he joined the line of march, though ahead of the unwieldy cage. Its stench gathered force in the heat, setting a cloud of evil odor about them. Cha-paz, on his feet now, strode with pride and importance as if he had never groveled before the official. Boxes and coffers, some of which Sherkarer recognized as part of the loot from Napata, were being carried by other slaves. A gilded statue wearing Amun-Ra’s ram head, and a decorated chest—these could only have come from the palace of the Pharaoh.
The slaves who bore this loot were not Nubians. Sherkarer was the only one, and for that he was as humbled as if he had crawled on his belly before the white skins. He, of the Royal House, one wearing the Serpent, a slave to such as these! He was as one of the lions of the temple of Apedemek held by the triumphant enemy.
Sherkarer was startled at his thoughts. How dared he, one who had failed the Great God, who had not died bravely in battle but had come under the slave yoke, compare himself to the servants of Apedemek? Thoughts such as these might bring upon him the greater wrath of the Lion One! More words from the morning hymn came to him:
“The one who hurls his hot breath against the enemy
In this his name of great power.
The one who punishes all crimes committed against
him—”
Those of Napata must have committed some great crime or Apedemek would not have turned his face from them.
The blaze of the sun, the pain in his shoulders where the whip had scored, his own hopeless fate, combined to make Sherkarer sick and dizzy, so that now and then he stumbled. Still he fought to keep on his feet, to march proudly as became a prince of Nubia in the hands of these barbarians.
As he went Sherkarer took less and less notice of his surroundings, until, at last, he was shoved into a room so dark that when the door was closed he could not see. No longer having to display pride, the captive fell to his knees and then lay upon the floor, staring up into the pressing dark. The walls must be thick, it was so cool here.
He wondered dully what would become of him now, whether he would end as one of the laborers who unloaded the ships. The slaves in Meroë, Napata—he had never considered them as people. They labored in the fields, or helped herd the cattle, or fetched and carried in the houses. But they had just been there, not of as much interest to their owners as a good hunting dog or a fine horse.
Had those slaves—the Egyptians taken in earlier wars, the wild black men from the south, the handful of captured mercenaries (strange, with fair hair and light eyes)—had they hated his people as he hated his present captors?
Far away was Napata, even farther Meroë. Perhaps he would never see them again, would be forced to live out his years in this hot, flat land. He closed his eyes and willed fiercely not to feel tears gather in them. He was Sherkarer, eldest son of the Princess Bartare, of the blood of the great conqueror Piankhay, Pharaoh of the Two Lands, a noble of Nubia. But all that made no difference now. He was not a man grown, he was a boy who had not yet confronted a lion to be killed by his spear—and he was very much afraid.
He started out of a half-doze of misery as the door scraped open and the brightness of sunshine cut across the floor. A young man stood there and Sherkarer had to look at him under a shielding hand against the glare which hurt his eyes. He was no guard, he did not even have a knife in the folds of the soft sash around his waist.
On his cheeks was the beginning of a soft, curling beard, and his hair hung to his shoulders after the custom of these people—an unclean custom, for all men knew that it was better to shave head and body, and so keep fresher in the heat. The visitor was light of skin, too, lighter than an Egyptian. On his upper arms, between elbow and shoulder, he wore broad bands of silver. His sandals had colored toe and tie thongs, and his robe was blue, the sash woven of stripes, blue, green, yellow, with fringes at its ends.
Sherkarer rubbed one hand about the tattooed Serpent on his wrist, his one remaining sign of what he was, for his body was only scantily covered with a slave’s waist-cloth. He stared defiantly up at the young man in that rich dress. What was he doing here?
“
I am named Daniel.” The young man spoke slowly, a little too loud, as if by that tone he could make a stupid stranger understand. Sherkarer did not resent his tone; he was too busy wondering if that odd name was really a name or some title among these barbarians. Did the newcomer expect him to throw himself on the floor and crawl?
The young man had turned, was taking a bowl and a jug from someone behind him who was too much in the glare of the courtyard for the Nubian to see. With these in his hands he came farther into the room, holding them out to Sherkarer.
“This is good.” Again he spoke slowly, distinctly. “Eat and drink, brother.”
The Nubian made no move to accept what was offered. “I am not your brother.” He shaped the words with care, they were so different from either the Egyptian of the court or the Kushite tongue of the commoners. “I am Sherkarer, of the House of Piankhay!”
“Of Piankhay I have heard,” the young man said. “He was king in Egypt once—”
“Pharaoh of the Two Lands! As his kinsman is now in Napata, in Meroë, in Nubia.” Then he remembered only too well that in Napata there was now only death left.
“In Babylon there is only the Great King, Nebuchadnezzar,” Daniel answered. “Though once in Jerusalem there was Jehoiakim of Judah, and then Zedekiah, who is now blind and captive here, to be mocked by the Great King. Kings are not always blessed with good fortune by Jehovah. But why do we speak of kings gone, brother? You must hunger and thirst, and this food is good. I have stood where you stand in this dark hour, and yet I still live. By the Lord God’s favor, I have suffered no great ill, and have even won to some authority.”
Sherkarer listened. Whether he could believe was another matter. It seemed that this Daniel meant good, and there was a deep hunger in him which made him tremble a little when he looked at the food. Still, he did not reach for the bowl, but looked searchingly at Daniel.
“Why do you come to me?”
“Because you are one taken from his home by war, even as I was. And—” He hesitated, and then spoke what Sherkarer thought to be the truth. “They say that you came with the dragon that has been given to the priests of Bel, and that you know much of it.”
Sherkarer now took the food. He could more readily believe that it was brought in payment for information than because this stranger had merely shown general good will.
“I know of the lau,” he answered shortly, determined that what he did not know he would invent, this being his only weapon against the city and its people.
“Lau—” Daniel repeated. “So do you call it in your tongue? Here they name it ‘sirrush’—dragon. Men liken it to those demons seen only in evil dreams. Though there is an old, old tale that once such did abide in the river marshes, known to the priests of Bel, but that was in the far past.
“Now that Cha-paz has brought this sirrush-lau to the temple, it is taken to be a mighty omen in favor of Bel. It will give his priests even greater power—”
Sherkarer had been busy spooning the stew in the bowl into his mouth. It was good, far better fare than any he had had since the fall of Napata. But he was listening, too, for it is through the eyes and ears that one learns. A spiderweb of facts can tie up the lion of action; not to know is bad, not to strive to know is worse.
“Soon comes the time,” Daniel was continuing, “when the great king Nebuchadnezzar himself must surrender all power to Marduk-Bel for a day, receiving it back only if the god chooses. To bring forth the sirrush-lau at such a ceremony will give the priests even more control.”
“You speak of these priests and their god,” Sherkarer interrupted, “as if they were not your priests, or your god.”
The young man smiled. “There may be the chains of slavery on your wrists, brother, but no bonds lie upon your mind. No, all within Babylon know that I do not bow knee to Marduk-Bel, but serve the true God.”
“Apedemek?” Sherkarer did not believe him.
Daniel shook his head. “The Lord God Jehovah, who made strong covenant with my people. We bow not in the temples of idols and false gods. And even here the Great King has listened to our words and has begun to seek for greater light than he can find on these cursed altars. But with the coming of this monster Marduk-Bel’s priests wax stronger.”
“The teeth smile, but what lies in the heart?” Sherkarer returned. “I eat by your favor, stranger, but wood may remain ten years in the river and still not become a crocodile. I do not see that I should take up sword in your war. What matters it to me what god this king calls upon?”
Still Daniel smiled. “You are weary and all is strange to you, even as it was when they brought us from Judea into Babylon. Perhaps I have been in too great haste in this matter. But you, even more than Cha-paz, know the nature of this sirrush. And the priests”—he lost his smile now, wearing the grim face of a warrior—“talk of giving a man as sacrifice to it. Do you not think that the first such offering might be you?”
“Thunder is not yet rain.” Sherkarer tried to keep his voice steady. Some things he did know about the lau, and it could be that these priests could carry out such a sacrifice, though perhaps not just in the manner they intended. He was tired, and more than a little afraid. It was hard to play the warrior. Only let this stranger go so he could rest!
Then it was almost as if Daniel could read the thoughts in the Nubian’s aching head, for he picked up the empty bowl, though he did not take the jug.
“Think on what I have said, brother. Time grows short. If you know anything concerning the sirrush which would be of aid in time of danger, you will do well to speak of it. The priests are the enemies of all who are not as they judge Bel’s true sons. Times before have they tried to finish me, but by the power which lies in Jehovah’s hand they have not triumphed. Nay, it has been made plain to all that Bel is the lesser. So now the priests look afield for aught they can summon to impress upon those here the greatness of their god. This dragon, they think, can be used thus. I have the favor of the Great King at present, but such is short-lived, and one must make the most of it while it lasts.”
He went out, leaving the door a little open. Sherkarer could see the shadow of a guard standing there. Not that he could hope to escape with the hobbles upon him. Raising the jug, he drank. It was thin, sour, barley beer and he made a face over it, though it was good to have something to wet his dry throat. He fingered the tattoo of Apedemek’s sign on his wrist. This Daniel with all his talk of strange gods—It was plain that though he walked free in this mighty temple he was not one with those who held it, but also a captive from another land, though he had won to some favor with the King.
That such favor could be fleeting he did not have to warn Sherkarer. In Nubia that was also true. Men rose by the smiles of the Pharaoh and the Candace, or fell by their frowns. This Daniel, he must be a brave man to do as he was doing, to come into the house of his enemies, seek out a captive there to ask for help in the undoing of those same enemies—for he was sure now that that had been Daniel’s purpose.
A man with too much ambition does not sleep in peace—was that it? Was Daniel moved by ambition? Sherkarer closed his eyes. He had been an unscarred boy when he went to Napata, now he looked back at those days as if they were years away. Though he did not wear the marks of the lion claws on his face, he was now a man, and one who needed to use all his wits in order to live.
Was life as a slave worth the living? Better it would be to face the lau after all—if the lau still lived. Cha-paz had had a hard enough time keeping the creature breathing during the journey. Water it needed, and the green stuff to fill its belly. For though the creature looked like an eater of man and beast, it did not mouth meat. However, it would kill—horribly—even the hippopotamus or the lion were it angered.
Its strong hind legs were clawed with talons like a bird’s, its shorter forearms were able to rend and tear. The lashing tail could sweep a man, or horse, or lion, off his feet. The long neck supported a serpentlike head, frilled as a lizard’s, but with a horn on the
tip of the nose, which it used for rooting out the swamp plants it craved. Kept too much in the sun, or too hot, it became feeble and near to dying. When they had taken it to Napata they had had to wet down the reed mats hung about its cage. It appeared that in the day’s heat it was used to taking to the water, coming forth only at night.
Cha-paz had been in Napata before the Egyptians had come. Sherkarer suspected that when the merchant came out of hiding to bid for the spoil looted by the mercenaries, he had acted as a spy. It was not the first time that the King of Kings, the lord of Babylon, had reached greedy fingers into Nubia. But before, when his own army had marched that way, they had found the journey such that not even a remnant of them had been left to cross into Kush.
It was Cha-paz who had prevented the slaying of the lau by the enemy’s archers, who had been ready to shoot it as a demon. He must have given a small fortune to bring it hither. Likewise, he had sought out Sherkarer among the captives when he learned that the monster had been brought to Napata by the men of Meroë, and that the boy was the only one left of that band.
So far had the Nubian traced his way into the past when another visitor arrived. This time it was Cha-paz himself, flanked by two of his overseers.
Sherkarer was given no explanation as he was brought forth from the room and taken across the courtyard into another building, where other slaves took charge of him, wrenching away his waistcloth, standing him on a runneled square of tile, pouring jars of water over his thin body, rubbing him with oil and sand. Then they threw him a single short garment, waist-belted with a strip of scarlet cloth.
During the journey from Nubia his hair had grown into a short, fuzzy bristle on his shaven head, but they did not offer him the comfort of a fresh shaving. And certainly he had no wig of ceremony.
He was taken forth and shown to Cha-paz, who walked about him, staring him up and down as if he were not alive, or a man, but a thing of the merchant’s own creation. The Nubian balled his fingers into a fist, but willed himself as best he could to give no sign of the hate within him.