Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  “And kill me?”

  “Go and wait for me,” he answered.

  The slave followed her to her tent, and in a few moments Conops came.

  “The priests are here, master. Eight of ’em, hairless as sharks. They’ve turned to with the wounded. May I fetch one to dress that scratched leg?”

  “Later. Little man—”

  “Oh Apollo, I know what’s coming! Not the woman, master! You and I, since you were knee-high to your father’s cabin-lad, we’ve got on famous without tying up to women. Time we had a woman, we were in and out o’ trouble on land like a pair o’ soldiers at sea!”

  “You dock-side lecher! You shameless brothel-rat! You impudent, ignorant drunkard!”

  “Yes, master.”

  “You presume to criticize me?”

  “No, no. But as I was saying—”

  “Pipe down!”

  “Aye, aye, master.”

  “I go alone to Alexandria.”

  “Alone?”

  “Oh, I will take two of the Jews and a boat-crew. You are to take the flotilla down the eastern branch of the Nile to Pelusium, and await me there. The ladies—”

  “You mean the Queen Arsinoe?”

  “She is not a queen.”

  “Then the Princess.”

  “She is not a princess. I will give her a new name.”

  “Chronos!”

  “I will name her Hero. Henceforth you will know her by no other name.”

  “Aye, aye, master.”

  “She and her two women are the wives of Memphis merchants, visiting Esias’s partner’s wife in Pelusium. You know Esias’s partner. You will take a letter to him, from me. Do as he tells you, even if he should order you all into hiding until after I have cleared up matters with the Queen of Egypt.”

  “Watch out, master! Cleopatra’s another woman. And she’s jealous. She has her spies everywhere. She’ll know what we’ve been up to. She’s as like as not to hand you over to the rack-and-pincer-crew, to be finished off.”

  Tros snorted: “Idiot! Has she a use for me dead, do you think? The Queen has too few friends to kill men who cannot be bought to betray her. Have you understood your orders?”

  “Aye, aye, master.”

  “Then obey them.”

  Tros let a priest come and bandage his leg. Then he bathed in the river, talked with the wounded, inspected the camp, checked the provisions the priests had brought, and at last reached Arsinoe’s tent. She arose beneath the awning and stood waiting for him.

  “Well, girl — ?”

  “Lord Captain?”

  They eyed each other.

  “What shall I do with you?”

  “I am your prisoner. What do you wish?”

  “I re-name you Hero.”

  “I accept it. — And — ?”

  He put his arm on her shoulder. He and she entered the tent. One of her women closed the flap behind them, smiling, and then ran, because Conops pelted her away with lumps of hard Nile mud.

  CHAPTER XXI. “You will obey me”

  I trust or mistrust, having found no middle course worth following. But the chartless zone between those courses is a wilderness wherein another’s treachery by no means can be hold to justify my own bad faith. A man must stand or fall, judge and be judged, by his own faith, always.

  — From the Log of Lord Captain Tros of Samothrace

  They came out of the tent at midnight and lay side by side on cots, under the stars, in mid-camp. Neither of them felt, yet, that they really knew each other. Tros’s wound was too painful for him to make the rounds unless absolutely necessary; but from where the cots were placed he could hear the pickets calling to each other, and would be able to spring to meet emergency.

  Hero fingered and caressed Tros’s gift, a big gold buckle, curiously wrought and set with gems, that he had cut from his sword-belt.

  “Tros, why did you name me Hero? It is a wonderful name. I love it. But why did you choose it?”

  “Reasons within reasons, that will take years for us each to reveal to the other. But I have always thought of that name for the imagined woman who was to sail with me around the world.”

  Jackals whimpered. A lion roared. Hippopotami blew in mid-river. The pickets called their numbers. Conops snored, curled like a dog in a cloak where Tros could waken him without raising his voice. A wounded man cried to be killed. Tros limped across the camp to talk to him, examined the wound again by lantern-light and gave permission. A decurion did it. Tros returned to the cot.

  “Tros, if I conceive a man-child, what will you name him?”

  “Caswallon.”

  “What a strange name! And if a girl-child?”

  “Fflur.”

  “Still stranger! But good names — I like them. Whence had you this buckle?”

  “It was a gift to me from Fflur, the wife of Caswallon the King. She was a daughter of Mygnach the Dwarf, who was also a king of a part of Britain. She had second sight. She said the buckle would serve a purpose in a day of danger.”

  “You lord her?”

  “Not as you think. She and Caswallon and I were friends.”

  “And in Britain are kings not cuckolds? Kings’ wives were Caesar’s favorite amusement.”

  “I have never emulated Caesar. Girl, remember this: hitherto I have never lied to you, but that was as it happened. I would have lied to you, if I had thought a lie advantageous. Henceforth, we are on different terms. I demand faith to the last breath. But I give it. You may know my inmost thoughts. You, and you only may know them, to the extent of my ability to tell. When I say nothing, know that I am pondering, or ignorant, or baffled. But what I say to you will be the truth; and when you ask, I will answer without evasion. If a day should ever come when I withhold from you one thought that speech or deed can properly explain, then know that you have sinned too utterly against our mutual pledge to be forgiven. Let us not lie to each other.”

  “I suppose that’s why I love you,” she answered. “You are full of guile as well as valor, but I have always known I could trust you. Even in Rome I loved you.”

  “In Rome?” he said. “We hardly spoke to each other in Rome. You were Caesar’s prisoner, and too well guarded. I saw you led through the streets, and pitied you. But I only saw you once after that before Caesar sent you to Cyprus. I remember you stared. I remember wondering how soon you would be again in trouble.”

  “Guarded, yes. But not secluded. Plenty of people came to see me. Do you know why Caesar made me Queen of Cyprus? There were at least a dozen men in Rome who made bids for me. One was Herod. It was supposed then that Caesar intended to proclaim himself king of Rome with Cleopatra on the throne beside him. They said he would divorce Calpurnia, and have the Roman law changed, to make it legal for him to marry an alien or perhaps to have two wives. There were plenty of princes who would have liked to be Caesar’s brother-in-law, but none of them met with Caesar’s approval. Caesar was already planning for the conquest of Parthia, India and beyond. He sent for me and lectured me like a kind old uncle. I was careful to be deferent and to seem grateful, but I laughed behind his back because I knew what a lecher he was. He told me to keep myself unspoiled until he should find me a husband worthy to be Caesar’s friend and ally. And after that he let me have my bow and arrows. One of his favorite freedmen set up a running target for me in a garden. It was pulled by a man on horseback. Caesar said if girls of my age weren’t kept exercised we would think about nothing but men.”

  “He had reason to know,” Tros answered. “I heard him speak of it with Cleopatra.”

  “One of the hardest things I ever did, Tros, was to hold my tongue in those days. I burned to ask Caesar to give me to you. But it might have put you in danger of Caesar’s enmity.”

  Tros laughed. “Had Caesar offered you to me, I would have said no.”

  “Why? Were you, too, afraid of him? Or didn’t you like me?”

  “You were only a child. I hadn’t thought about you. I didn’t know
you. I wouldn’t have accepted a girl as Caesar’s gift, not even if I wanted her.”

  “If I had escaped to you, and begged you, would you have taken me? I could have done it. I thought of doing it. Would you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I saved you from that danger.”

  He laughed again. “Girl, do you think we are not in danger now?”

  “I know we are. I love it! What are we going to do, Tros? Tell me your thoughts.”

  “They are these: Cleopatra’s spies will tell her, with a thousand invented details to boot, every move I have made since I started on this expedition. She never tells anyone all she knows. I don’t think she would have sent me, if she had known you were in Egypt. I think she knew all about Boidion’s masquerading as you. She probably believed the rumor of your having been murdered in Cyprus. But her spies will have told her the whole story of you and Boidion, long before I can reach Alexandria. I think she counted on my disgust when I should learn what she thought were the facts, to make me pitiless. She expected me to kill Boidion. When she learns I let her keep your name and go to Cyprus, she will call me the worst traitor in Egypt, even though she will be clever enough to understand my motive. She will despise me for not having killed Alexis and Tarquinius. And she will hate me for having taken my Northmen without her leave, even though the Northmen have fought gallantly against her enemies. But all that is nothing compared to my great offense. She and Charmion will hate me soul-deep and forever, for having taken you to wife.”

  “Yes,” she said. “There is no doubt about that.”

  There came a messenger from Memphis — secretary of the City Council, two parts Greet, the remainder of him mongrel. He was rowed across the river in a boat that Tros sent in response to his shouts. Tros sent Hero to her tent, but he had little to say to the messenger. Memphis was none of his business; let Memphis await the Queen’s officers, whom she would doubtless send to investigate.

  “Such orders as I have, are secret. Mind you own business. No, I need no supplies from Memphis. No, I need no money. No, I need nothing from you. To the devil with you. Waste no breath on me, and there will be the fewer lies on your conscience. Return to those who sent you. No, no message for them.”

  “What do you think the Queen will do?” asked Hero, when the man from Memphis had gone.

  “I suspect her first move will be to send troops up the Nile to Memphis. Now that the rebellion has been nipped in the bud, she will feel she can trust a captain and a thousand men to come and punish.”

  “Do you think her soldiers will attack us?”

  -”Nay, I think not. They would be more likely to beg me to lead a new rebellion. Cleopatra’s throne depends on nothing but her own wits, and she is nearly at her wits’ end. She will wait for me to make the next move, knowing I must return to Alexandria.”

  “Must?”

  “Yes. My trireme is there, and it needs repairing. All my money is there, in Jew-Esias’s keeping. More than half my men are there, and she knows I won’t desert them.”

  “If you go within her reach, Tros, she will kill you. If I were in her shoes, I would!”

  “Charmion would,” he answered. “She not.”

  “Why not?”

  “In the first place, she enjoys a long revenge. She is not so bloody minded as cruel; not so cruel as intellectually ruthless. She likes to feel her power. And she learned from Caesar the dangerous trick of making men, whom she hates or no longer trusts, destroy themselves and serve her purpose while they do it. But if that were all, I wouldn’t trust myself within her reach. It is not so simple, to rule Egypt from a weak throne. One third of the Alexandrines are Jews, and I have studiously won their friendship. She won’t dare to offend the Jews too much. Even Caesar didn’t dare to do that. It was I who urged Caesar to give them citizenship. But again, that is not all. A Jew is human. He is like you and me. He has his limit, beyond which neither gratitude nor anger can compel him to accept another’s danger as his own. I have no right to impose too great a burden on Esias and his friends.”

  “Then on what do you count? Tros, if she should kill you, do you think your men would follow me in a rebellion against her?”

  “She won’t try to have me killed — not yet. I will tell you why she will not, Cassius!”

  “You mean, it would offend Cassius?”

  “I mean the opposite of that. Cassius is at the bottom of all the plotting, and she knows it. She knows I keep the spirit of a promise, even though its carcass is a broken litter of shards. And Cassius knows as well as Cleopatra that she hasn’t a competent man, except me, whom she feels she can trust not to turn his sword against her, given opportunity. That is why Cassius demanded she should proscribe me as a pirate. But Cassius hadn’t the wit to perceive that as an outlaw I can’t be said to represent her. So she can use me against him without his being able to denounce that as an act of war.”

  “But will she trust you again, to lead another expedition? If I were she, I wouldn’t. She will think you would go over to Cassius’s side.”

  “She knows better,” he answered. “I cannot be bought by such as Cassius or Brutus. Neither can she buy me. But she can force my hand, and she knows it. She has my Basques; they were sent to the Red Sea Coast Patrol. She has my trireme, and all my wealth is within her reach. My thought is, that she will at first pretend not to know about you. She will try to catch you while she cat-and-mouses me. That failing, she will offer me immunity for you—”

  “But would you trust her?”

  “Listen! She may offer me immunity for you, provided I obey her commands and they will be stiff ones. She isn’t likely to denounce Boidion until she can first catch you. Not fewer than half her ministers are intriguing with Cassius, and if they knew you are in Egypt they would rally to you. Cleopatra doesn’t dare to accept the gauge of war with Cassius and he knows it. There is nothing on earth more certain than that Cassius will make another secret move — aye, and swiftly, if only to cover up Boidion’s tracks. He would look like a fool if the story of that should become known. Boidion is now Arsinoe, the Queen of Cyprus, and he may make another attempt to foist her upon the throne of Egypt. But if he could catch you, he would probably have Boidion murdered and try to use you instead. Cleopatra’s spies are watching Cassius; Charmion is a very competent spy-master. Charmion will have the information, and Cleopatra’s genius will guess fairly accurately what Cassius’s next move will be. She will wish to send me to prevent it.”

  “And will you go?”

  “The alternative would be death for treason.”

  “You will go in your great ship?”

  “No, it badly needs repairs. Besides, she wouldn’t trust me to that extent. She will consider the ship, and my wealth that is in Esias’s keeping, a sufficient pledge for my good behaviour. And if Cassius doesn’t kill me, she will try some other means of sending me to death.”

  “Tros, why won’t you go to Cassius and make terms with him?”

  “I saw him kill Caesar. He and I are enemies.”

  “You needn’t be his friend. You needn’t trust him. You can pretend to want to see me on the throne of Egypt.”

  “Do you want the throne?”

  “I want you, and you only, wherever you may be and whatever you may become.”

  “Then don’t talk nonsense. Forget who you were. Remember who you are. You must trust me, and go into hiding, quickly, before Cleopatra’s agents begin to look for you — somewhere near the border, ready to escape across the border at a moment’s notice. I will go to Alexandria and outwit the Queen. There is nothing else to be done.”

  “Tros, I will go with you. If it comes to the worst, let us die together. I am not afraid of death. But to lose you, after all this—”

  “You will obey me.”

  She was silent for about a minute. Then, quietly:

  “Suppose I refuse?”

  “You will obey. This night’s doing was no error of judgment. You are not a mere light o
’ love. You are a woman, fit to be the mother of my sons. I trust you.”

  “I obey, Lord Captain!”

  “You, and nearly all our men, will follow the eastern branch of the Nile, toward Pelusium. I will carefully instruct Conops, whom I also trust, and I will send him with you. He will be respectful, but in any crisis you are to obey him. You will be safer with him than with any other human being whose loyalty is at my disposal.”

  “When is this to happen?”

  “As soon after daybreak as we can load the wounded and the stores into the boats.”

  “Is the night spent?”

  “Not yet.”

  The tent loomed black against the star-lit sky. Tros glanced at it.

  “You could lean on my shoulder,” she said, “if the wound hurts.”

  CHAPTER XXII. “What burns?”

  I know the Secret Teaching too well not to understand, in part at least, the reason why I have had to watch my pride burn. Time and again, beneath a mask of admirable manners, I have inwardly laughed at another’s downfall. Aye, I know it. But I know no law that binds me to betray my grief when destiny permits another’s malice to inflict a penalty I owe.

  — From the Log of Lord Captain Tros of Samothrace

  Alexandria lay serene and lovely beneath the midnight moon. From the Queen’s balcony there was a view of the whole harbor and half of the city. The great Pharos beacon glowed like a ruby, and the anchored shipping seemed aswim in a silvered lake. Over to the westward, at the shoreward end of the flickering lights of Rhakotis, were two big basket-flares that Tros knew were the watch-lights where his trireme lay awaiting orders for repairs.

  The Queen rebuked him for pacing the balcony.

  “You irritate me. And besides, your leg is not yet healed. You will hurt it. Be seated.”

  “Egypt—”

  “So you say they fled by camel toward Palestine. On whose camels?”

  “How should I know?” He was angry. He had answered her questions again and again. “Perhaps someone in Memphis.”

  “Perhaps. I have laid a fine on Memphis that will not encourage them to play again with treason! Why did you send all your men to Pelusium?”