Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile

by Steven Saylor

  His unblinking stare caused me to shiver. Young he might be, and also pretty, but I could see that Artemon was not to be trifled with. I was also puzzled. A young Egyptian who spoke Latin, and who could frame his arguments in such elegant terms, must surely have received a formal education. How had such a youth come to be the leader of the Delta’s most notorious gang of bandits?

  Artemon saw the consternation on my face and seemed to be amused. “Don’t worry, Pecunius, I’m not going to stand here and press you with awkward questions. If Menkhep vouches for you, that’s good enough—for now, at least. In this place, you’ll find that we don’t ask too many questions. Here, it’s what a man does that matters, and how he gets along with his comrades—not where he comes from, or what language he speaks, or who his parents were … or whether he did or did not kill some people. But I will want to have a look inside that bag you’ve brought. If it’s full of loot, as Menkhep seems to think, you’ll be allowed to keep a portion of it—by Isis, you’ve earned it, if you’ve run all the way here from Canopus with a mob breathing down your neck! But you’ll be expected to share. That’s the rule here: share and share alike. If you want to step foot on this pier, you must accept this.”

  I shrugged. “I understand. If it weren’t for Menkhep, I’d be a dead man now. I’m grateful for your hospitality.”

  Artemon nodded, then looked at Djet. “What about the boy? Is he your son?”

  “No.”

  “Your slave?”

  “No.”

  “What is he to you, then?”

  “That’s … a bit complicated.”

  Artemon pursed his lips and shrugged. “About that sort of thing, also, we don’t ask prying questions. Still, it’s not a good idea, bringing a boy into a place like this. For one thing, a boy can’t do the work of a man.”

  “What he lacks in size and strength, the boy makes up in cleverness,” I said.

  Djet nodded and grinned, but Artemon looked dubious. “Also, some of the men might be distracted by such a pretty face.”

  No prettier than your face, I thought. “His name is Djet. I’ll take full responsibility for him.”

  “See that you do. Well, then, Pecunius—and Djet—welcome to the Cuckoo’s Nest. Step out of that boat. We’re about to eat. You’re welcome to join us, as my personal guests.”

  Djet nimbly leaped onto the pier. As I rose to my feet, the boat rocked, and I swayed unsteadily. Artemon took hold of my arm and pulled me onto the pier beside him. He had a powerful grip and stood a full head taller than I.

  As we approached the crowd at the end of the pier, I took a closer look at the faces staring back at me. Most of the men looked normal enough, but were these not the most dangerous criminals on earth, the scum of society, the lowest of the low? I felt a sudden thrill of panic. What have you gotten yourself into? I thought. What in Hades are you doing in such a godsforsaken place?

  Then I caught a glimpse of a figure who stood a little beyond the crowd, alone and apart. I couldn’t see her clearly, but from her hair and clothing and the way she carried herself I knew it must be a woman.

  Could it be Bethesda?

  My heart turned upside down in my chest. I wanted to push Artemon aside and run ahead of him, elbow my way through the crowd and stand before her. Instead, I caught my breath, clenched my fists, and walked as steadily as I could. Gazing beyond the crowd, I tried to get a better look.

  The woman had vanished.

  XIX

  I followed Artemon—and my nose—to the roasting pit and clay ovens located in a clearing some distance from the huts, where the crowd lined up to be fed.

  I had thought that Artemon would be served first, but there seemed to be no rule about this, except that the first to arrive were the first to be served. Fallen tree trunks provided places to sit. Since these were gathered in a circle around the periphery of the clearing, there was no place of honor, and everyone seemed to sit wherever he wanted. The spot Artemon chose did have the advantage of being upwind from the roasting pit, away from the smoke.

  The meal was far better than I expected. There was freshly caught tilapia from the river cut into pieces and roasted on skewers, a porridge made from a bean unfamiliar to me, generous pieces of flatbread, and even a relish for the fish made from pickled hearts of palm, all served on smoothed sections of bark from a palm tree.

  All the food was delicious, but I had little appetite. I was too excited at the possibility that Bethesda might be nearby. How and when was I to reveal my purpose in coming, without putting us both in even greater danger? For the moment, it seemed wise to keep my mouth shut.

  “He eats like a grown man, I must say,” said Artemon, taking note of Djet’s hearty appetite.

  “I don’t think either of us has enjoyed a meal this good since we left Alexandria,” I admitted.

  “We happen to have some very good cooks among us.”

  “Nor do I think I’ve ever eaten off a plate such as this. Rather ingenious.”

  “We also have some very skilled craftsmen.”

  “If these men are so skilled, then why…?”

  “Why are they here, instead of living a normal, law-abiding life, plying their trade in a normal village? Is that what you’re wondering?”

  I nodded.

  “But you caught yourself before you finished the question, so I hope you understand: this is not the sort of thing you should ask any particular man. But I see you have an inquisitive mind, Pecunius, and curiosity, in moderation, is a virtue.” He paused to eat a bit of fish, then resumed. “You and I are young, Pecunius—younger than most of the men here. They’ve seen more of life than we have. Whether free or slave, the life of every man is full of perils—sickness, the death of loved ones, hardship, hunger. When a man falls on bad times, his best choice may be to leave his old life behind and see what a different sort of life might offer.”

  This was as neat an excuse as I had ever heard for falling into a life of banditry. I was skeptical, but kept my mouth shut. Djet, on the other hand, suddenly squirmed with excitement.

  “But what man wouldn’t be curious about the bandit life?” he blurted. I noticed the awestruck way he looked at Artemon.

  “The boy’s head is full of stories,” I said.

  “As is the head of every boy, eh?” Artemon tousled Djet’s hair. “But the boy is right. Not every man joins us because he’s run away from heartbreak or hardship. Some join us simply because they want to. They’ve had enough of the law-abiding life and thrown it off, the way you might discard a pair of shoes that pinch your feet. The life we lead wouldn’t suit every man, but for those it does suit, no other life will do.”

  He was silent for a while, sitting upright on the trunk next to me and eating his food, taking small bites and chewing thoroughly before he swallowed. I looked around the clearing and saw that many of the men had manners no better than swine, but those of Artemon were quite elegant—almost ludicrously so, I thought, considering the circumstances.

  “What about you, Pecunius? From what Menkhep told me, you didn’t exactly choose to come here, did you?”

  I was reluctant to lie to him outright. “I arrived here by an odd chain of circumstances, to be sure. I think perhaps the goddess Fortuna guided me here.”

  “Really? Most of the time the gods have nothing to do with us, or we with them—an arrangement suitable to all concerned.”

  “You speak like a philosopher, Artemon.”

  “And what do you know of philosophers, Pecunius?”

  More than I do about bandit chiefs, I thought. “A wise man tutored me from time to time when I was growing up in Rome. That’s how I came to know Greek. He was more a poet than a philosopher, if there’s a difference. What about you, Artemon? How is it that you speak Latin? Or is that a forbidden question?”

  He made no answer. Instead, he put down his empty plate, rose to his feet, and looked north.

  “That’s a storm,” he said.

  The sky above our heads wa
s blue, but dark clouds were heaped along the northern horizon.

  “Those clouds weren’t there a moment ago,” I said.

  “No. They’re over the open sea, beyond the mouths of the Delta. Storms can come up very suddenly at this time of year.”

  I shrugged. “Your huts look sturdy enough to me. The wind and rain may not even reach this far.”

  Artemon smiled. “I’m not worried about the storm, Pecunius. Quite the opposite.”

  I noticed that several of the men had joined Artemon in gazing toward the north. Some nodded gravely. Some nudged their comrades, pointed at the sky, and grinned.

  I shook my head, not understanding. “Is it an omen?”

  “What do you think, Pecunius? Aren’t you Romans always reading the sky for signs and portents?”

  “The men who do that are called augurs. They train for years.”

  “So you have no skills at augury?”

  I shook my head.

  “Ah, well. Fortunately, we already have a reliable soothsayer among us.”

  I looked around, dubious that any member of this motley band might possess even a sliver of divine insight. Hadn’t Artemon just admitted that his gang had nothing to do with the gods?

  “You’ve eaten hardly anything, Pecunius. I thought you liked the food.”

  I shrugged. “The excitement of the day…”

  “Well, if you’re finished, don’t waste the food. Menkhep is over there, eating with friends. Give your portion to him. Djet, come with me. We’ll rinse our plates in the river and return them to the stack. Then I suggest we withdraw to my hut.”

  From the outside, the hut of Artemon was indistinguishable from the rest. Inside, on a dirt floor, a raised pallet held a straw mattress. Next to this was a trunk with a lock on it, which for all I knew was crammed with stolen treasures.

  The rest of the hut was different from the others, I suspected, for every bit of available space was crowded with what we Romans call capsae, portable leather drums for storing scrolls. On every flat surface I saw a scroll, unrolled and held open by little lead weights. Most of these scrolls were covered with Greek writing, but some appeared to be maps.

  I stepped closer to one of the maps, which lay open on a low table beside the bed, and saw that it depicted Alexandria. I gazed at the symbols for familiar landmarks—the Moon Gate and the Sun Gate, the Temple of Serapis, the Tomb of Alexander—and felt a stab of homesickness.

  Even Djet, who could not read, recognized the map. He put his finger on the image of the Pharos Lighthouse and said, rather astutely I thought, “I wonder if that storm will reach as far as Alexandria?”

  “Probably not,” said Artemon, following us inside and tying back the piece of cloth that covered the doorway so as to let in more light. “The wind appears to be blowing more east than west, and mostly south.”

  I looked down at the map again. Someone had drawn a red circle around the Street of the Seven Baboons, and a red dot marked the exact location of the house of Tafhapy. My breath quickened and my heart pounded in my chest. Surely this meant that Tafhapy’s supposition had been correct—this was indeed the gang that had attempted to kidnap his beloved Axiothea, but had taken Bethesda instead. Was she here among them or not?

  “Are you a reader of books, Pecunius?”

  “When I can get my hands on one.”

  “You sound quite breathless! It’s good to meet another man who gets excited at the mere sight of scrolls. It must be frustrating for you, living in Alexandria. No city on earth has more books, but only those permitted by the royal librarians are allowed to see them. Still, there’s quite a trade in bootleg copies turned out by royal scribes eager to earn a bit of extra money. A man can find just about anything in Alexandria, if he looks hard enough.”

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Most of these scrolls are just boring old documents—administrative letters, tax records, travel permissions … the kinds of things you find when you raid a caravan or scavenge a shipwreck. Still, I never throw any scroll away, at least not until I’ve had a good look at it. You can learn some interesting things from those boring old documents. And sometimes you find a real treasure. The complete poems of Moschus are in that capsa at your feet. But speaking of treasure … let’s have a look inside that sack you carry.”

  He removed the map from the low table, rolled it up and put it away, then held out his hand and took the sack from me.

  He sat on the bed and opened the sack, then peered inside and let out a low whistle. First he removed the coins and sorted through them, dividing them into neat piles. Then he removed the rings, one by one, and carefully examined each, like a jeweler assessing its value. All this he did without comment, but when he pulled the last item from the sack, the silver necklace with the ruby, he let out a gasp. He held the jewel in a slanting sunbeam from the doorway, causing the stone to glow with a smoldering red light, like a hot coal.

  “So this is why the old coot from Sais followed you all the way here, and all the way to his death. Truly, it’s magnificent.”

  For a long time, Artemon seemed unable to take his eyes off the ruby. At last he took my hand and pressed the jewel into my palm.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to give up the rings, Pecunius, and half the coins. But the ruby necklace you can keep.”

  “What?”

  “You object to giving up the rings?”

  On the contrary, I was shocked that he was permitting me to keep the ruby.

  He misunderstood. “Think, Pecunius! Next to the ruby, the rings are trivial, and so are the coins. Their greatest value is the goodwill they’ll buy you when you share them with the others. No one is more beloved than a generous thief.”

  “Well … if you insist.”

  “I assure you, it’s the right thing to do. But don’t flaunt the ruby. All the men like to wear their booty, but no one here owns anything remotely like this. The mere sight of such a treasure might drive one of the men to do something we’d all regret.”

  I clutched the ruby in my fist. If Artemon considered it so rare and valuable, then surely I could use it to buy Bethesda’s freedom—if indeed she was here. Had the time come to ask Artemon about her? Should I be circumspect, and begin by asking about the woman I had seen when we first arrived, or simply ask if any women at all resided in the Cuckoo’s Nest? Or should I be more direct?

  While I was mulling this over, and before I could reach a decision, Artemon stood and indicated that it was time to leave the hut. I scooped up my half of the coins and returned them, with the ruby, to the sack, then tied the sack securely around my waist. Artemon, I noticed, took one of the rings—the smallest, set with a sapphire, which Obodas had probably worn on his little finger—and tucked it inside his tunic, but the rest of the rings and coins he left in plain sight on the low table. He didn’t even bother to cover the doorway with the cloth. His trust in his fellow bandits astounded me.

  He showed us a nearby hut. “You and the boy can sleep here.”

  “It’s empty?” I said.

  He nodded. “The men who used to sleep here are no longer with us. Sometimes, as today, our numbers increase. Sometimes, we suffer a loss.”

  Any further explanation was interrupted by the appearance of Menkhep.

  “You’re needed, Artemon.”

  Artemon let out a sigh. He suddenly looked older than his years, a man with many demands for his attention. “What now? Another fight?”

  “No. She’s calling for you.”

  I drew a sharp breath. Artemon seemed not to notice. “What’s it about, do you think? The storm? The newcomer?”

  “I don’t know. But she insists on seeing you.”

  Artemon nodded. He seemed to forget about me as he followed Menkhep.

  “Artemon!” I called.

  He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable in the hut, Pecunius, or feel free to explore. There’s a bit of sunlight left.”

  “Can I come with you?”

&
nbsp; Artemon thought this over. Finally he nodded. “If you wish. You’ll have to meet her sooner or later.”

  My heart pounding, I hurried after him, with Djet at my heels.

  XX

  I followed Menkhep and Artemon through the little village of huts and across the clearing with the roasting pit. A narrow, winding trail led down to the water’s edge and then through thick brush along the riverbank. At last, ahead of us, through the greenery I caught glimpses of a lone hut, situated far away from the others.

  Menkhep had dropped a little ways behind Artemon. I touched his arm and spoke in his ear.

  “This woman—who is she, Menkhep? What is she called?”

  Despite the fact that I kept my voice low, Artemon overheard. He stopped and turned, allowing us to catch up with him.

  “Her name is Metrodora,” he said.

  My heart sank. I had been hoping to hear him speak the name Axiothea, or perhaps even Bethesda. I tried to hide my disappointment. “Metrodora? A Greek name.”

  “Yes. She’s not Egyptian. She comes from Delphi. When she was a girl, she trained to become the Pythia. Do you know who the Pythia is, Pecunius?”

  “Of course. The priestess of Delphi, who utters the prophecies inspired by Apollo. Even in Rome, everyone has heard of the Oracle of Delphi.”

  “So I thought.”

  “Are you telling me a priestess of Delphi is living here, in the Delta?” The idea was absurd.

  He smiled. “Stranger things have happened. But in fact, Metrodora never became a priestess. The journey of her life took a different course. She’s lived in many places, done many things. But as with the men who come here, we don’t press her with too many questions.”

  “I thought you allowed no women among you,” I said.

  “Metrodora is different. She possesses special gifts. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  “When you said you had a soothsayer among you, you were speaking of Metrodora?”

  “Yes.”

  “She sees the future?”

  “Sometimes. And sometimes she sees far-off events, as they happen. She heals the sick. She casts spells for good luck, and puts curses on our enemies.”