The Lost Army Of Cambyses

by Paul Sussman

  His voice dropped off and he lowered the torch.

  'The rest is just prayers from the books of the afterlife.' He shook his head, pulling on the cheroot, its tip glowing bright orange in the darkness. 'What an incredible story, eh? A lowly Greek mercenary who marched with the army of Cambyses, came back from the dead and rose to become the friend and confidant of kings. Like something out of a Homeric myth. I could spend the rest of my life—'

  There was a clatter of stones from the gully outside. Daniel looked at Tara, eyes wide, and flicked off the torch, grinding his cheroot out on the floor. Blackness smothered them. There was a muffled whispering from the top end of the passageway and then a scrabbling sound as someone climbed into the tomb. They shrank back into a corner, pressing themselves against the wall, Tara clasping Daniel's shoulder, wanting to scream but unable to summon any sound from her throat.

  There was more scrabbling and then a pale beam of light lanced down the corridor and into the chamber. The whispering grew louder and there was the slow thud of approaching feet. Twenty metres, ten, five, and then they were at the chamber entrance. There was a pause and then a black-robed figure leaped from the passageway into the room.

  With a cry Daniel charged at him, knocking him to the ground.

  'Get out, Tara!' he cried. 'For Christ's sake . . .'

  Two more figures leaped into the chamber, punching him to the floor.

  'Daniel!'

  She rushed forward, screaming his name. Someone grabbed her and threw her to the ground. She struggled to her feet, lashing out with her fists, but was knocked down again, harder this time, so that the breath was driven out of her. There was shouting and movement and then, suddenly, the chamber was filled with searing white light. Unaccustomed to the brightness, her eyes clamped shut.

  'So,' laughed a triumphant voice, 'the rats are caught in a trap!'

  She blinked. Four men were standing in front of her, two holding machine-guns, one a rifle and one a cudgel. Above, in the entrance to the corridor, a halogen lamp in his hand, was Dravic. Several other men were crowded into the shaft behind him. Tara clambered unsteadily to her feet. Daniel too was getting up, his nose streaming blood. He came to her side.

  'Are you OK?' she asked.

  He nodded. Dravic cast his eyes around the floor of the chamber, then handed the lamp to the man beside him and jumped down.

  'I see our friend the cobra is no longer here,' he remarked. 'Obviously not as effective a guard as we thought. A shame. I should have enjoyed watching you die slowly from his venom.'

  He came towards them, his huge frame seeming to fill half the chamber, blocking out the light of the lamp. Tara shrank back against the wall, her cheek burning from where she had been hit.

  'How did you know we were here?' mumbled Daniel, voice thick, mouth smeared with blood.

  Dravic laughed. 'Did you seriously think the only thing we'd do to protect the tomb would be to put a fucking snake down here? You stupid idiots! We had a lookout hidden at the top of the gully. When he saw you he called us and we came straight back.'

  'What are you going to do with us?' asked Tara, her voice unsteady.

  'Kill you, of course.' The giant's tone was matter of fact. 'It's just a question of how and when. And what I do to you first.'

  He looked down at her, smiling, his lips glistening moistly, like long pink worms.

  'And be assured, there are things I want to do to you first.'

  He reached out a hand and ran a finger across her breast. She swiped it away, a spasm of disgust pinching her face.

  'You killed my father,' she hissed.

  'Oh, I wanted to,' he laughed. 'I would have enjoyed it. Unfortunately he dropped dead before I had the chance. I was as upset as you were about it.'

  He noticed the pain in her eyes and his laughter redoubled.

  'He went down right in front of me,' he said, goading. 'One minute he was standing, the next he was wriggling around on the floor like a stuck pig. I've never seen anyone die so pathetically.'

  He turned and said something in Arabic to the men. They started laughing too. Despite her fear, a wave of fury surged through Tara. She drew her head back and spat as hard as she could in Dravic's face. The laughter stopped abruptly. She braced herself, ready for the inevitable blow.

  It didn't come, however. For a moment the giant stood where he was, a wad of spittle inching down his purple cheek and then, raising a hand, he scooped it off.

  'Have you ever been raped?' he asked quietly, staring down at the liquid on his fingers. 'Violated? Your body used as a plaything by others, quite against your will? Vagina, anus, mouth? No? Then, believe me, you have something to look forward to.'

  'Don't, Dravic,' growled Daniel.

  'Oh don't worry, Lacage. You won't be left out.'

  He flicked the spittle away and, reaching into his pocket, drew out a small metal trowel, the edges gleaming sharply in the light of the lamp.

  'Not all violations need be of a sexual nature, after all.'

  His arm whipped out and the blade of the trowel sliced across Daniel's arm. He winced in pain as a line of blood swelled up beneath his shirt.

  'Those pleasures, however, are for later.' The giant returned the trowel to his pocket. 'We have certain things to deal with first.'

  He turned and looked at the wall of hieroglyphs, motioning to the man with the lamp to come closer.

  'So, at last we have the final piece of the jigsaw. A shame it was ever removed in the first place. If things had been left as they were we might have saved ourselves a lot of time and trouble. And pain.'

  He glanced across at Tara, grinned lasciviously, then went over to the wall and squatted in front of it, examining the text.

  'Normally if a new tomb is discovered in these hills, we are the first to hear about it. The locals know it is in their interests to come straight to us. Otherwise they risk incurring the wrath of Sayf al-Tha'r. And of myself. And they know that's not a good thing to do.

  'In this case, however, it was found by someone who decided to go it alone. He paid for his greed, but not before he had removed certain objects. Including, of course, this one vital piece.'

  He plucked the plaster fragment from the wall and turned it over in his hands.

  'Ironic that he should have hacked out this particular part of the text. He had no idea of its importance, of course. He simply wanted a bit of decoration to sell. Given time, he would have stripped every wall in the place. Unfortunately for him, he started with the one piece that pinpointed the precise location of the army, thus condemning not merely himself but several others to a most distressing end.'

  Even from three metres away Tara could smell the thick, sour odour of his body. It made her want to gag.

  'None of that matters now, however,' he continued. 'We have the piece. And this time tomorrow we will have the army too. And then . . .' Again that mocking, lascivious look at Tara. 'And then the fun really begins.'

  He shouted something in Arabic and two men with sledgehammers jumped into the chamber. He nodded towards the section of text Daniel had translated earlier and, coming forward, they raised the sledgehammers and flung them against the wall, shattering the plaster, knocking great holes in it, ripping it from the rock.

  'Oh Jesus!' cried Daniel, leaping forward. 'No! Please God, stop!'

  A gun barrel was jabbed into his stomach, pushing him back.

  'You can't destroy it!' He was choking. 'For God's sake, you can't!'

  'An unfortunate but necessary precaution,' said Dravic. 'The rest of the decoration can stay, but we cannot risk someone else finding the tomb and reading about the army. Not yet.'

  Broad slabs of hieroglyph-covered plaster were crashing to the floor in an explosion of white dust. While one of the men continued to hammer at the wall the other began pounding the pieces on the floor, breaking them into hundreds of tiny fragments. Daniel lowered his head in despair.

  When the entire section of wall had been destroyed Dravic waved
the men away. The atmosphere in the chamber was heavy with dust. Tara began coughing.

  'So what now?' whispered Daniel, unable to take his eyes off the heap of crushed plaster.

  Dravic moved towards the chamber entrance, the piece of text in his hand. He passed it to one of the men, and was hoisted up into the mouth of the corridor.

  'Now,' he said, turning to look at them, 'something rather unpleasant is going to happen to you.'

  He signalled with his hand and disappeared up the shaft. The man in front of Daniel raised his gun.

  'No!' screamed Tara, thinking he was going to shoot. Instead he swung the weapon so the butt was towards Daniel, and smashed it into the side of his head. Daniel crumpled to the ground, unconscious, a trickle of blood running down his neck. Tara went down on her knees beside him, touching his face. She heard movement behind her, something coming down through the air, and then, suddenly, she was falling very fast towards what seemed like an immense ocean of still black water.

  NORTHERN SUDAN

  The boy sprinted through the camp with the radio message in his hand. A herd of goats, startled by his approach, sprang to their feet and scattered before him, but he ignored them and continued running until he reached his master's tent. He threw back the flap, panting with exertion, and stepped inside.

  The interior was dimly lit by a single kerosene lamp. Sayf al-Tha'r was sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor, a book held up close to his face, so still he might have been a statue. The boy came towards him.

  'They've found it!' he cried, unable to contain his excitement. 'The piece. Doktora Dravic has found it!'

  The man rested the book on his lap and looked up at the boy, face expressionless.

  'It is written that we should be moderate in all things, Mehmet,' he said quietly, 'both in our joy and in our despair. There is no need to shout.'

  'Yes, Sayf al-Tha'r.' The boy lowered his head, crestfallen.

  'It is also written, however, that we should rejoice mightily in the goodness of Allah. So do not be ashamed of your joy. But control it, Mehmet. Always control it. That is the way to God. By becoming master of yourself.'

  He held out his hand, and the boy passed him the message. He inclined his head and read. When he had finished he folded the message carefully and slipped it into a pocket of his robe.

  'Did I not tell you we were God's chosen?' he said. 'So long as we stay true and trust in his greatness, all things will come to us. And now they have. This is a great day, Mehmet.'

  A huge smile suddenly broke across his face, like water over parched land. The boy had never seen him smile like that, and his heart leaped at the sight. He wanted to fall to his knees and kiss his master's feet, tell him how much he loved him, how grateful he was for all he had done for him.

  He fought the urge, however. The way to Allah is by becoming master of yourself. His master's words still rang in his ears. The lesson had been learnt. He allowed himself a smile, but no more, even though his chest was bursting with joy.

  The man seemed to understand what was going on in his head, for he came to his feet and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.

  'Well done, Mehmet,' he said. 'Allah will always reward the good pupil. Just as he will always punish the bad one. Now go and tell our people to make ready. As soon as we know the place we begin flying in the equipment.'

  The boy nodded and stepped back towards the entrance.

  'Master,' he said, turning, 'will all bad things stop now? Will the Kufr be destroyed?'

  The man's smile grew even broader. 'Of course they will be, Mehmet. How could they not when we have an entire army to help us?'

  'Allah u akbar.' The boy laughed. 'God is great.'

  'He is. Greater than any of us could ever understand.'

  When the boy had gone Sayf al-Tha'r returned to his place beside the kerosene lamp and retrieved his book. Its leather binding was worn and tattered, and he cradled it gently in both hands. The text inside was in neither Arabic nor English, but Greek, as was the title on the cover: HPOΔOTOY IΣTOPIAI – The Histories of Herodotus.

  He turned up the kerosene lamp slightly, and lifted the book to within a few inches of his face, sighing with pleasure as he lost himself within it.

  30

  LUXOR

  Khalifa's train pulled into Luxor just before eight a.m. After his nightmare he hadn't slept again and he now felt tired and heavy-eyed. He decided to go home and freshen up before going into the office.

  The town was already busy. The Feast of Abu el-Haggag was due to start that afternoon and even at that hour crowds were gathering in anticipation, jostling around the brightly coloured roadside stalls piled with sweets and cakes and party hats. Normally Khalifa would have been looking forward to the festivities. Today, however, he had other things on his mind and, lighting a cigarette, he set off down al-Mahatta Street, oblivious to the bustle around him.

  His flat was fifteen minutes' walk from the centre of town, in a drab concrete block wedged like a domino in the midst of a row of other drab concrete blocks. Batah and Ali had already left for school when he got in and baby Yusuf was fast asleep in his cot. He took a shower and Zenab sat him down and brought him coffee and bread and cheese. He watched her appreciatively as she moved to and from the kitchen, her hair falling in a black cascade almost to her waist, her hips slim and provocative. Sometimes he forgot how lucky he was to have her as his wife. Her family hadn't wanted her to marry him, a penniless student from a poor family. Zenab, however, was a wilful woman. He smiled at the memory.

  'What's funny?' she asked, carrying through a plate of sliced tomatoes.

  'I was thinking of when we first got married. How your parents were dead against it and you told them it was me or nothing.'

  She handed him the tomatoes and sat down at his feet.

  'I should have listened to them. If I hadn't been so stubborn, I could have had my very own Hosni by now.'

  Khalifa laughed and, leaning forward, kissed her on the head. Her hair was warm and scented and, despite his tiredness, he found it distinctly arousing. He laid aside the plate of tomatoes and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

  'How was Cairo?' she asked, kissing his arm.

  'So-so. I saw the professor.'

  'Is he well?'

  'Seems so, yes. He sends his love.'

  She shifted slightly and hooked her arm over his knee. Her dress had slipped down slightly, revealing her shoulder, and the top of her chest, just where her breasts started to swell. Khalifa lowered his elbow and nudged the plate of tomatoes further away.

  'What's this case you're working on, Yusuf?' she asked gently, drawing patterns on his thigh. 'It's important, isn't it?'

  'Yes,' he replied. 'I suppose it is.'

  'Can you tell me?'

  'It's complicated,' he said, stroking her hair.

  She knew this was his way of saying he didn't want to talk about it and she didn't push him. Instead, she moved round some more and, lifting her face, kissed him softly on the lips.

  'The baby's asleep,' she whispered.

  Khalifa caressed her neck, breathing in the perfume of her hair.

  'I should be getting down to the office,' he said.

  She kissed him again and, coming to her feet, allowed her dress to slip off her. She was naked underneath.