Stealing Fire

by Jo Graham

  I had not quite seen it that way before, but now I saw it was so. Artashir and Amina, his first wife, were of different houses, and their son of both. Who could he serve without wrongdoing besides Ptolemy of Egypt?

  Many of them seemed to agree, for almost half of them signed with Ptolemy, to serve beneath Artashir, a nobleman of their own people.

  The infantry were a tougher case. Many of them had been long years under their officers and had families in Babylon. Most of them chose to go.

  All in all, it was nine days before they marched northward up the eastern bank of the Nile. Artashir and an escort rode with them, ushering them to the ancient boundaries of Egypt.

  Seleucus, Polemon, and a Companion named Peithon had sworn their service to Roxane, to support the claims of Alexander son of Alexander above all else. Seleucus and Peithon shared the Regency, until such time as all the other players could meet together and elect a new Regent, as they had the first days in Babylon.

  I did not go, as I had far too much to do in Memphis. I found some old abandoned barracks buildings along the river outside the city walls to the south and set about buying the site for the crown. It would be a good place to keep the elephants, though the buildings would need a lot of repair.

  From the walls Glaukos and I watched them go, a long column snaking its way northward beside the swollen river.

  Glaukos leaned over and put his elbows on the wall. “How long do you suppose the boy will last?”

  “I don't know,” I said, looking where the banners at the center of the column marked Roxane and her son. “But longer than he would have a few days ago. Ptolemy's given him a chance. And I wouldn't underestimate his mother.”

  Glaukos spat over the walls, then looked down to make sure it hadn't hit anyone below. “The one he ought not underestimate is Seleucus. He shouldn't have let that snake go. Mark my words, there will be trouble from that.”

  “Maybe so,” I said. I looked out over the valley of the Nile from the walls of Memphis on a beautiful day in the summer, and it was hard to think of anything terrible. “But we can't foresee all ends, Glaukos.”

  Glaukos looked at me sideways, a rather keen expression on his bearded face. “And what do you see?”

  I flinched. “See?” I asked.

  Glaukos grinned. “Do you think I don't know you're god-touched? Serving under you as long as I have? Do you think I didn't notice? Especially when you did things like tell us to stand to receive before the enemy was in sight?”

  I opened my mouth and then shut it again.

  Glaukos shrugged. “My old auntie back in Macedon had a bit of it. Could tell you what the weather would be, and whether a babe was boy or girl. It's not so strange as that. So what do you see, Lydias? Come on, man. It's for a friend.”

  “It is at that,” I said, and leaned beside him on the wall. I should know better, I thought, than to hold back from old friends. I had done that too much, these past years. I looked out over the river, the sun catching fire like sparks from the surface of the water. The sparkles danced, the memory of fire. I had not tried to do this before, but it was easy. It was simply knowing.

  “It's not over,” I said quietly. “We'll fight and fight again. But Alexandria won't burn and Ptolemy won't be Great King. If he had taken the throne he couldn't have held it, and in reaching for more would have lost all we had.”

  Glaukos sighed. “Pity. He'd have been a damn fine Great King.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But it's like a dice game, Glaukos. There's a time to walk away from the table with your winnings.”

  He nodded. “And if you stay too long, you'll be worse off than you started. Myself, I'd rather keep my winnings than gamble on a better pot.”

  “Ptolemy too,” I said. “Men will ruin themselves grasping for Alexander's empire. Best not to crave that.”

  “And what's to happen to us?”

  “I don't know,” I began, but I could see Glaukos then, silver threads in his beard, rushing ashore in a beleaguered town, his men fighting their way through to mine to relieve the siege. I saw the sea before me, white mountains capped with snow, green rolling plains under a golden sunrise, caves beneath the earth in far-off lands. And I knew in that moment that our stories were not over. We stood at the beginning of the rest, not at the end of Alexander's world, but in the beginning of a new world.

  “We go home to Alexandria,” I said, and clapped him on the shoulder. “We go home, Glaukos.”

  WE DID NOT go just yet. There was one more thing to do.

  At Saqqara a special temple was erected just beside the tombs of the Sacred Bulls. It would hold Alexander's body for now, until the sea defenses at Alexandria made it safe to bring him there. The gilded hearse was dragged there one last time, and then its wheels removed so that it could remain as the innermost shrine. About the outside plinths were to be erected so that a full circle of the greatest men of any age, Greek, Persian, and Egyptian sages alike, would surround the King.

  The statues were not done yet when I walked that circle with Bagoas. Inside, in his golden coffin, Alexander rested, the uraeus still upon his brow. I did not need to open the sarcophagus to see him. He was not there any longer. Wherever he was, in Amenti or the lands beneath the earth, or walking once more behind the eyes of an innocent child, Alexander was not here. No daimon answered any call.

  Bagoas seemed tranquil, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes that he did not speak of. I flexed my hand and rubbed it where it ached.

  “How is your hand?” Bagoas asked, a frown between his brows.

  I stretched my fingers, still knobbed and bent. “Better,” I said. “But I do not think it will ever be completely whole.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry,” he said. “But it is not as though Ptolemy is going to turn you off. Not with the things you have done. You are not a horseboy anymore, who is worth no more than the work of two good hands.”

  I nodded. “I know.” I raised my hand, trying to close it. It did not, quite. “And if this is the price for it, then I am content. Not many men can say that they have stolen a god.”

  I heard a step behind me and turned.

  It was Ptolemy who stood in the entrance of the tomb. “Oh, Lydias. I didn't expect you here. I was looking for Bagoas.”

  “I am here,” Bagoas said, stepping forward. “Do you wish to visit with the King?”

  “No, I wanted to talk to you,” Ptolemy said. He hesitated. “I know that I promised you that you could serve the King forever, and that I would never part you from him or from his service. So I am reluctant to ask something as a favor of you, and I will completely understand if you refuse me.”

  Bagoas’ face was bland. “What does my Pharaoh desire?”

  “Would you be willing to come to Alexandria for a while? I am in dire need of a chamberlain who understands how palaces are run and who can make things work. I would be happy to give you the title of Master of the Palace or any other you prefer, and to pay you well for it. You made Alexander's court run more smoothly. Since I seem to have a court now, I would like you to do the same for mine.”

  Bagoas said nothing, apparently struck dumb.

  Ptolemy looked almost sheepish. “Of course if you'd rather not, if you'd rather stay here in Memphis with the King, I understand that. I just thought that I would ask.”

  Bagoas found his voice. “I will come,” he said. “It will be an honor to serve you.” He glanced at me, then back at Ptolemy. “I can serve my Lord best by making sure he is well remembered, and that those futures he desired do not die with him.”

  “Alexander will lie in Alexandria, the city of his founding, when his great tomb is ready,” Ptolemy said. “You only go ahead of him to prepare his place for him, as you did so often in life.”

  “And to serve his brother and his nephews who will come after,” Bagoas said. “I will come to Alexandria, Ptolemy of Egypt.”

  SO IT WAS that we sailed down the Nile in the end of the Inundation, b
ound for Alexandria. Beside us on both sides of the river the water was receding, leaving a layer of rich brown silt. In the upper fields farthest from the river farmers were planting grain and other things. They stopped and waved as we passed in a great ship painted gold and red, like that of the pharaohs of old. Egypt had a Pharaoh again, this quiet man of forty-four, born in the mountains of Macedon. A strange fate, but it seemed to be working so far.

  A new beginning, I thought, watching the first seedlings quicken in the fields. Ptolemy has changed, and so will Egypt. Alexandria will change her forever, Black Land, Red Land, and the City. A thousand strands of the future stretched before us on this morning, a thousand dizzying possibilities of all that could be.

  I lifted my head and felt the sun on my face. Egypt had kept her promise to me. When I had crossed her borders she had promised that I too would be changed. I had not feared it, having nothing to lose, but now standing beside Bagoas on the ship I found myself wondering about the future for the first time in years.

  “What are you thinking?” Bagoas asked, looking out over the greening land. The wind of our passage teased at his hair, a few strands blowing about his face, beautiful still for all that he was twenty-eight years old.

  “That I should find out what number they have put on my lot in the city,” I said. “And find out where it is. I suppose I will need a house.”

  BUILDING ANYTHING WOULD take time. We came back to an Alexandria full of scaffolding, buildings half raised, the foundations of a few temples laid and the work on the great public markets begun.

  The squat, stoalike building that had been serving for the palace was being expanded. Two stories with a colonnade faced the sea over a long terrace covered in sandstone pavers. It looked stark, but more elegant than previously. I thought that maybe some plants would help. And the view of harbor and sea was amazing.

  Out on the breakwater a wooden watchtower had been built with a beacon to warn ships that they were coming into shallow water. I thought that was a good idea, though it was very vulnerable in wood alone. If it could be fortified and armed it would be a good way to put any unwelcome ship entering the harbor into a crossfire.

  One more project, I thought. It would take a lifetime to get to them all. More than a lifetime.

  I HAD ONLY been back a few days, staying in the palace for want of anywhere else to stay yet, when I came down to breakfast in the morning to meet Artashir on the stairs.

  “Artashir! When did you get back? I thought you had escorted Roxane to Pelousion?” I asked.

  “I did,” he said. “But she's away, so I came back to Alexandria as quickly as I could. I got in yesterday. And I was looking for you, actually.”

  “You've found me,” I said.

  “I've got something I want to show you. Are you busy, or can you come outside for a minute?”

  “No, I'm not busy,” I said. I followed him downstairs. “What is it?”

  He turned at the bottom under the colonnade at the terrace. “This,” Artashir said cheerfully.

  A beautiful chestnut mare stood by one of the columns, her scarlet leather reins looped around it. She was small-boned and high-crested, so dark she was almost black, with a white star on her forehead. Her ears pricked forward and she looked at me with her intelligent dark eyes, lifting her head curiously.

  I laughed. “Oh, she's a beauty!” I came out and walked around her to have a look at her, stopping in front of her. She snuffled at the front of my chiton hopefully, one delicate leg forward. Her coat shone with glossy health, and her mane was braided into tiny plaits, each decorated with red ribbon. She was built for speed.

  “Her name is Desert Wind,” Artashir said, lounging back against the column with a grin on his face.

  “She's gorgeous,” I said, letting her mouth at my palm and then raising my hand to her warm neck. Her coat was like silk. “Your new horse, Artashir?”

  Artashir shook his head. “No, she belongs to the widow of one of my men who was killed at Memphis. I said I'd help her look for a buyer who would give her a fair price.”

  “You ought not have trouble getting that,” I said, walking around her and admiring her again. “By all the gods, she's built to run! And young enough from the look of her to have several foals ahead of her, if a man wanted to breed her.”

  Artashir nodded. “She's eight years old, an archer's horse, not one of those big stubborn stallions you cavalry ride. She's completely trained to knee commands. You don't have to touch her reins in battle.”

  I looked up at him sharply. “What?”

  “I said, she's completely trained to knee commands.” Artashir looked pleased with himself. “How do you think we do it, firing a bow from the saddle? They have to be trained not to need the reins. You can loop them over your arm, or lay them across her back. Makes no difference to her. She'll answer to your knees like an absolute professional. I put her through her paces this morning, and there's nothing I'd ask for except maybe a little more power in the jump.”

  “Artashir,” I began, and was embarrassed that I was blinking back tears. I stood beside her, swallowing.

  Desert Wind looked round at me, her beautiful ears pricked forward.

  “Think she'll do for you, Lydias?” Artashir asked.

  “I think she's wonderful,” I said.

  I woke in the hour before dawn and knew I could rest no more. I left Bagoas sleeping, curled like a cat in his warm bed, while I stood and dressed.

  No spirits, no nightmares moved, no creatures out of the Red Land troubled our dreams. Egypt had a Pharaoh, and the last hour of the night held no terror. I went down and walked out onto the terrace.

  Before me the sea piled against the breakwater, sighing softly against the rocks we had placed there, dark and restless under the moonless sky. The harbor was a curve of white sand. Only a few lights showed here and there in the city, where some tradesman rose before dawn to begin his work, and along the harbor where three fishing boats were setting sail so that they would be well out to sea before the sun rose. On the island the beacon shone faintly, warning them away from the shallow water.

  Above, the sky stretched clear and cloudless, more stars than there are numbers glittering in sooty darkness. On the eastern horizon Sothis rose pale and bright, following in the Hunter's track, heralding the dawn.

  I took a long breath and let it out, pierced to the core.

  I did not have a libation, and the words were hard to find. “Lady of Egypt, Gracious Ones. I am not a priest nor a healer nor a magician. But what I have, I place in Your hands. Help me to live, and living be Your instrument.”

  I closed my eyes and heard Her voice, as though She stood behind me with Her hand on my back, as though it were my mother's voice, filled with pride and love. My dear boy, you always have been.

  I felt peace steal over me, not victory, not respite, but the bone-deep peace of the Black Land, still and sure as the bones of the earth. It filled me, and I rested upon it like a child at his mother's breast. Peace is not without, but within.

  I do not know how long I had stood there when I heard footsteps on the terrace behind me and turned. Ptolemy came and stood beside me, his dark-colored chiton blending into the shadows. For a long time he said nothing, just stood beside me looking out at the waves. In the east there was the faintest flush of pink, the stars paling. The fishing boats were rounding the island, their sails glimmering against the dark water.

  At last he spoke. “Lydias, have you thought about getting married?”

  “Not really,” I said. “Bagoas thinks I should. But I haven't considered it much.”

  “I'd like you to marry Chloe.”

  I turned and looked at him. “What?”

  “Marry Chloe,” he said. “You're an honorable man and a kind one. And you're strong enough to protect her. You know what kind of prize she would be for an ambitious man. He could marry Chloe, proclaim her Alexander's daughter, and go after a throne.”

  “She's not Alexander's daughter,”
I said. “That's ridiculous.”

  Ptolemy sighed. “But we were all friendly in Persepolis. Yes, Thais sat on my couch and Bagoas on his. But Thais is a hetaira, and if Alexander had asked for her she would have gone. It didn't happen, but as Aristotle taught us, you can't prove a negative. I know Chloe is my daughter, and I know why she looks like Alexander, but a man with Chloe in his power, the father of her children, could make whatever claims he liked and there would be plenty who would believe him. Nor can I give her to some green boy her own age with powerful kin of his own who might do the same.”

  “I have no kin,” I said slowly. “And I am the last man who would seek your throne, Ptolemy, much less Alexander's.”

  “And I want her to be happy,” he said, his eyes straying again to the beacon, which winked out, the light extinguished as the dawn light grew. “I want her to marry someone who will cherish her, and who will love her children and treat her with respect and friendship. Of course she's still too young, and I wouldn't want you to bed her right away, but I trust that you will wait until the proper time.”

  I blinked. “You would trust me with this? You would trust me with Chloe?”

  Ptolemy shrugged, but there was something deeper in his eyes. “I trusted you with her before, didn't I?”

  I closed my eyes. I remembered a wild flight from Babylon under Ishtar's moon, that fearless child held before me on my horse as we fled from death and chaos into the unknown, from Alexander's bier to a fortress that might be held by friend or foe. She was that child no longer, of course, but a girl on the edge of womanhood, with her father's quick wits and her mother's courage. A dynastic prize for a noble companion. A child of the baggage train. A hetaira's daughter now a princess of Egypt. She was herself, a story that was only begun.

  Ptolemy put his hand on my arm. “Lydias,” he said, “this is as close as you will come to stealing fire.”

  We had all sought it through these years, some remnant of the divine spark, some touch of grace, some breath of destiny from beyond the world, sought it like a man seeks a dream after he has awakened. We were building it here, in walls of stone, a city where none had been before, Ptolemy and I, and Thais too with her bower of transplanted roses. Fire had touched, like a purifying bolt from heaven, searing everything in its path. And in its wake, the flowers bloomed.