Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile

by Steven Saylor

  “You thought it was me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Yet you didn’t come running to rescue me.”

  “I was drugged, Djet, just as Obodas was.”

  He smirked. “I suppose I should spin a long, hair-raising story about the tortures to which he subjected me, and all the terrible things I was made to do, just to watch your face. But it would be a lie.” He threw back his head and laughed. “How great this goddess Fortuna must be, and how she must love you!”

  After my foolish behavior at the inn, and with Bethesda still gone, I judged myself the most wretched of men, not the most fortunate. “Why do you say such a thing, Djet?”

  “Think about it. If you had won that final round, and with it all the coins and the ruby necklace, then the Crocodile and his sons would have come to kill you in the night—and me as well, since I would have been in the room with you. Instead, the Nabataean is dead, and you’re alive, and here we are, happily on our way, with more treasure than you could dream of. Had you won, you’d have lost everything. By losing, you won.”

  I nodded, then gave a start.

  “What did you just say about the treasure?”

  “More than you could dream of!”

  I peered across the river, scanning the distant bank. I walked up to the road and looked in all directions. There was no one in sight. I retrieved the sack from the camel’s trappings, then hurried back to our secluded spot by the water’s edge. I untied the rope and looked inside the sack.

  I drew a sharp breath, then groaned with dismay.

  In my addled state, and in our desperate rush to escape from the inn, I had failed to understand exactly what the sack contained. For some reason, I had thought there were only coins inside. Indeed, there were a great many coins—but that was not all.

  With trembling fingers, I reached inside and pulled out the ruby necklace. It had been dazzling by lamplight; it was even more so by daylight. The crimson stone glittered in the dappled sunlight, so brightly that it seemed to contain a dancing flame within.

  I peered inside the sack and saw more jewels—lapis and turquoise, carnelian and sapphire—mounted in the rings that the Crocodile and his sons had pulled from the dead man’s fingers.

  I sat down on the riverbank, shaking my head. “Disaster!” I whispered. “Doom and disaster!”

  “What’s wrong?” said Djet. “Why are you not happy? You’re a rich man!”

  “A dead man, more likely.”

  Djet frowned.

  “Don’t you see, Djet? If I had taken only the coins, that would be one thing. Any man might have a bag full of coins, even me. But a ruby? And all these rings? They mark me as a thief, as surely as if I had a brand on my forehead. Men have their hands cut off, or worse, for stealing nothing more than bread. What will become of me if an agent of the king or of some local magistrate should stop us and find the jewels?”

  “You didn’t worry about that when you wagered me for the ruby.”

  “Because I wasn’t thinking straight. These treasures are a curse, not a blessing!”

  I drew back my hand to cast the ruby necklace into the river, but Djet grabbed my forearm with both of his small hands.

  “Give it to me, then, if you don’t want it!” he cried.

  “And pass the curse to a child?”

  “Why do you say that it brings bad fortune?”

  “What sort of luck did it bring the Nabataean?”

  Djet slowly released my arm and stepped back. From the look on his face I knew he was thinking of Obodas as we had last seen him, lying naked with his throat cut beside the grave being dug for him.

  “But why should any agent of the king stop and question you?”

  “The Crocodile may set them on our trail. With the money and jewels gone, what’s to stop him from reporting the theft to the authorities, showing them the dead bodies and blaming me for the murders?”

  “But … he doesn’t know where you’re headed.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But…” I felt a prickle of dread. “He knows my name! Don’t you remember? I introduced myself to him at the front door.”

  Djet frowned. “Yes, I wondered about that at the time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, in all the legends and fables, a traveler at an inn always gives a made-up name and a false account of himself. Even a child and a slave such as I knows that. Don’t ask me why, since I myself have never told an untruth, but that’s how it always goes in the stories. So when I heard you say, ‘My name is Gordianus, and I come from Alexandria,’ I thought: That is very strange. I wonder if this Roman has any idea what he’s doing? But of course, I didn’t say anything. Who am I? Only Djet, a child and a slave, as you keep reminding me.”

  Not for the first time on our journey, I felt an impulse to strangle him.

  For a long moment I sat on the riverbank and stared at the ruby, fascinated by the dancing of the red fire inside as I turned the stone this way and that to capture the glittering sunlight on the water.

  I narrowed my eyes until I saw only the fiery scintillation of the ruby, and suddenly I had a vision of Bethesda wearing the necklace, a fantasy so beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes, and so compelling that I wondered if it might be a premonition of the future.

  I made up my mind. I would bring the ruby to Bethesda—or let the ruby bring me to her.

  I put the necklace in the sack, tied the rope, and returned the treasure to its hiding place amid the camel’s trappings.

  *

  Thus did we arrive, a short while later, in the sleepy town of Sais. Did we look like two desperate outlaws in flight, carrying jewels stolen from a dead man? Or simply like two weary travelers, a slightly bemused young Roman and an even younger slave boy? I had nothing to feel guilty about, I kept telling myself, and I tried to compose my features accordingly while we shopped for food and provisions in the market.

  When it came time to find lodgings for the night, I chose the most unfrequented-looking inn I could find, at the far end of town. It was a modest structure made of clay bricks daubed with mud. To my relief, the woman who answered the door more closely resembled a friendly hippopotamus than a hungry crocodile. The widow Teti was a woman of middle years with a toothy smile. Since the day was drawing to a close, and it appeared we would be her only guests for the night, she invited us to make ourselves at home. The only other person in the inn was a young serving girl as slender and silent as her mistress was plump and talkative.

  Mindful of Djet’s observation, I introduced myself not as Gordianus but as Marcus Pecunius, youngest son of a Roman businessman in Alexandria, and I told her I was on a pleasure trip, traveling upriver to see the pyramids. If you must pass yourself off as something you are not, my father once told me, make your story simple, plausible, and easy to remember.

  “Why ‘Pecunius’?” whispered Djet, as we led the camel to its sleeping place for the night amid the pens for sheep and goats and a small chicken coop behind the inn. Flies were everywhere.

  “It’s a name I just invented, from a Latin word for wealthy.”

  “You made it up?”

  “If you must give a false name, my father once told me, make sure it doesn’t already belong to someone who might be in even more trouble than yourself. What could be safer than a name that doesn’t exist? No Egyptian will know the difference, I should think. And Pecunius makes a good name for the bearer of that ruby. Which raises a question: what should I do with this sack tonight? It might look suspicious if I carry it with me at all times. I suppose it can stay in our room while the widow feeds us, and when I go to bed I’ll use it for a pillow, though I usually prefer something softer.”

  “I should think such a pillow will give you beautiful dreams of the goddess Fortuna,” said Djet. “You must tell me more about her, and how I should go about worshiping her.”

  “You, Djet?”

  “Did she not save us both from the Crocodile, and me from the clutches of—”

  I raised my fin
ger to shush him, for the widow was coming toward us. Her ample breasts swayed in one direction while her hips swayed in the other. Dangling from one of her fists was a dead chicken. Teti came to a halt in front of us and proudly displayed the carcass. Flies swarmed around her.

  “This one’s stopped laying, so it was time to put her to rest,” she said.

  “Did you wring its neck yourself?” said Djet.

  “I did. I’d have let you watch, little boy, if I’d known you were interested. Which do you prefer, Marcus Pecunius, the succulent thigh or the plump breast? I promise they will be equally moist and delicious.” Teti gave me a coy look and began plucking feathers from the chicken.

  “Whatever you prepare, I will gratefully receive.”

  “Oh, what a way you have with words! I’ve heard about you Romans and your slippery tongues.”

  “We are known for giving speeches,” I admitted.

  “Well, let me go see what I can conjure up for you and the boy.” Feathers flew this way and that. “My late husband always bragged that I was the best cook in Sais. A young fellow like you must work up quite an appetite, seated high atop that camel all day, gripping its hump with your strong thighs.”

  “Yes, I’m quite hungry,” I said.

  “A good meal will give you back your strength. You just might need it.”

  “For what?”

  She threw back her head and laughed, then waddled away amid a flurry of feathers and swarming flies.

  Djet gave me a sidelong look.

  “What?” I said.

  “I escaped from Obodas, thanks to Fortuna. But I’m not sure that even Fortuna can protect you from Teti.”

  I frowned. “What are you suggesting? The widow is old enough to be my mother.”

  “Have you never known the touch of an older woman?”

  “As a matter of fact…” I recalled my visit to Halicarnassus, and the time I spent with another widow; but in no way did Teti resemble the beautiful and alluring Bitto. “What would you know about such things, anyway?” I smacked his head. “Now keep quiet and help me tend to the camel. An awful lot of flies around here, aren’t there?” No sooner did I wave one away than another took its place.

  “Yes, when you return me to my master and he asks for my report, I shall call this the Inn of a Thousand and One Flies.”

  I laughed and lowered my voice. “I was thinking we might call it the Inn of the Friendly Hippopotamus.”

  Later, Teti joined us in the small common room of the inn while the silent girl served us the chicken, which had been cut into small pieces and smothered in a delicious sauce of ground dates and almond paste. Teti asked me a great many questions. The more personal of these I deflected as best I could, keeping in mind my guise as Marcus Pecunius. Having never stepped foot outside Sais, she appeared to know little of the world, and it seemed that virtually anything I said about myself, true or made up, was likely to satisfy her.

  She did, however, know a great deal about the royal family, and was eager for any news or gossip I could give her. Was the king really as fat as everyone said? Had the people lost all love for him? Was it true that his son on the island of Cos had been kidnapped by their cousin Mithridates? Had I heard the rumor that there existed a member of the royal family brought up in secret who might any day now present himself to the people and stake a claim to the throne? I finally confessed that she must know far more about the Ptolemies and their doings than did I, an inattentive and not particularly observant foreigner.

  After the meal, Teti offered to have the serving girl sing for us—apparently she was not always silent—but I pleaded weariness, and with Djet headed straight for our room.

  I threw off all my clothes and reclined naked on the narrow bed, covering myself with the linen sheet and using the treasure sack for a pillow. Djet took the real pillow and slept on the floor, directly in front of the door. So it often happened in stories, he told me, that a slave would serve to block the doorway. This simple precaution struck me as quite sensible.

  And yet, somehow, at some dark hour of the night, another person joined us in the room. I woke from a troubled dream, my forehead beaded with sweat, to see a hulking silhouette looming over me.

  XIV

  “Teti!” I whispered. “What are you doing here? How did you get in? Where is Djet?” I tried to sit up, but felt strangely lightheaded.

  “I don’t know where the boy has gone,” she said. “But I saw him leave the room a few moments ago—and I took that to be my cue.”

  “Your cue?”

  “To join you, Marcus Pecunius. Or should I just call you Marcus? Is that not the Roman custom, to use the first name when two people become … close friends?”

  As far as I was concerned, she had already come close enough. Again I tried to sit up, and again I was thwarted by an odd sensation in my head and a weakness in my limbs. Had I been drugged again, this time by Teti? Was it a standard practice for Egyptian innkeepers to sedate their guests so as to take advantage of them?

  “Teti, I’m not feeling well.”

  “Ah, you’re tired, that’s all. Some fresh air will revive you.” She walked to the small window, unlatched the shutters, and pulled them open. By the moonlight I saw her more clearly.

  She was completely naked.

  I swallowed. My throat felt dry and scratchy. “I closed that window to keep out the flies,” I said.

  “Flies?” She laughed. “The flies are all asleep, silly man.”

  “You’ll let in the damp night air.” I was used to sleeping in a city by the sea, refreshed by salubrious sea breezes. The air of the Delta was sultry and humid, especially at night, when oppressive vapors rose from the riverbanks and marshes. Was that why I felt so sluggish and out of sorts?

  Despite my objections, Teti left the shutters open. She stepped away from the window and drew relentlessly closer.

  To be honest, and to be fair, I was not entirely put off by her advances. The sight of her naked figure by moonlight had in fact stirred something in me—if not exactly lust, then at least a quiver of curiosity. Teti was no Venus, at least not as Greeks and Romans like to picture the goddess of love, with a slender waist and elegant breasts. She more closely resembled those archaic images I had seen in certain temples in my travels, goddesses of fertility who were all voluptuous hips and breasts and buttocks. Seeing Teti unclothed, no one could say she was not a robust specimen of womanhood. And if one liked that sort of thing, there was a great deal of her to like.

  But what she had in mind was simply not possible. There were two reasons for this.

  The first reason was Bethesda.

  Like an actor in a play, I had an impulse to clutch the thin coverlet to my chin and cry out, “No, Teti! I cannot do it! My heart belongs to another!” While I did cover myself with the sheet, I kept my mouth shut. Staid Roman that I was, all my instincts cried out against making a public declaration of my feelings for a slave, even if the only person present to hear it was Teti.

  From whence came this impulse to be faithful to Bethesda? To be chaste is hardly a Roman virtue, at least not for a man; to be faithful might be, if the woman is one’s wife, but Bethesda was not and surely never could be that. I was a man—a freeborn, unmarried citizen of Rome—so what was there to prevent me from indulging in a bit of harmless sport with an available female, if I desired to do so?

  There was the problem: I did not desire it, and would not have done so even if Teti had looked like Helen of Troy. Indeed, the more beautiful the temptress, the more I would have shrunk from her. Such was the state of my manhood. Whatever stirrings I felt at the sight of a desirable female—I had seen quite a few in Canopus—became transmuted at once into thoughts of Bethesda, and those thoughts brought not pleasure but pain.

  Was she remaining faithful to me during our separation? Even if that were her desire, had some brute forced himself on her? Had more than one brute done so? Had Bethesda forsaken me? Had she forgotten me? Was she making any effort to return
to me? Would I ever see her again? Was she even still alive?

  One tortured thought led to another—all beginning with the sight of an attractive woman. Thus did the faintest quiver of desire lead me not to lust but to misery. I could no longer even please myself. My natural instincts had become perverted, and all because of something the poets call “love.” Love had made me a eunuch.

  There was no way I could explain all this to Teti as she stood there naked and grinning at me. So I simply said nothing.

  There was a second reason why the union Teti desired could not possibly be consummated. At any moment, I was going to be violently sick.

  More beads of sweat erupted across my forehead. The veins at my temples pounded, and a million flies buzzed inside my head. My hands felt clammy. My belly stiffened with cramps. My chest heaved. My throat began to spasm.

  As waves of nausea surged through me, I knew that I must have been poisoned. Had Teti put a love potion in my food and mistaken the dose? Was she a cold-blooded murderer and a thief, like the Crocodile?

  More likely, I thought, the chicken was to blame.

  Never eat chicken from a stranger’s kitchen: so my father had told me. It seemed that the longer I was away from him, the less I heeded his wise counsel, and the more trouble I got myself into.

  I threw back the linen sheet. Seeing me naked and covered with sweat, Teti mistook the gesture for an invitation. As she attempted to climb onto the bed, I struggled to slip past her, and our limbs became entangled. Any god who happened to be looking down at us must have had a good laugh at such a grotesque parody of the act of love, all flailing flesh and desperate grunts.

  At last I extricated myself and ran to the window. I stuck my head outside just in time. My whole body heaved and convulsed.

  From directly below me, I heard a wail of distress. It was Djet. He scampered out of the way on all fours. When he was clear, he looked up at me with a miserable expression. “You, too?” he said. And then, as if to mock me, he likewise began to vomit.

  So that was why he had abandoned his post at the door—the malady must have struck him only moments before it struck me.

  For quite some time the two of us were gripped by nausea. Djet stayed where he was, on all fours, while I leaned out the window. Gradually, the paroxysms subsided, then returned, then subsided again.