“No!” she whispered, pressing her mouth close to my ear to be heard above the rising wind. “You can’t go to her now. Artemon might yet come back. You’ve seen what you needed to see. Come back to my room. Come, Roman! Follow me!”
She clutched my arm, as a hawk clutches its prey, and pulled me back. Her strength was uncanny. Or was I weak, drained of my will by what I had seen? I allowed her to draw me through the cluttered passage and back into her room.
The lamp had burned low. The room was darker than before. The wind howled outside.
“Do you see now why I couldn’t take you to her?” said Ismene. “Do you understand why you can’t go to her, even now? If Artemon were to realize the truth—that you’ve come here to find Bethesda and take her back—there’s no telling what he might do.”
“Artemon is a boy!” I said. “A lovesick boy.”
Ismene nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But if you think that’s all he is—if you think that makes him ridiculous, and harmless—then you’re a greater fool than I imagined. There is much more to Artemon than you seem to think.”
“But once he realizes that Bethesda isn’t Axiothea, that she’s merely another man’s slave—”
“He’ll lose interest in her? Do you really know so little of love? No, Roman, as far as everyone here is concerned, you must be Pecunius, and she must be Axiothea, and the two of you must never have met before.”
“What about Bethesda? Does she know I’m here?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you tell her?”
“I suppose I must, if only so she won’t be startled and give you both away the first time she sees you.”
“When will that be? When can I see her?”
Ismene shook her head. “I don’t know. Not yet. For now, you must keep your distance.”
This was not the answer I wanted. I began to object, but a rapping at the door interrupted me.
Artemon called out. “Metrodora, are you done with the Roman? We need to get back to our huts.”
“Go,” Ismene said, pushing me out the doorway.
Suddenly I faced the prospect of standing face to face with Artemon. Would I be able to hide what I felt? I braced myself, but before our eyes could meet, he turned away and headed back the way we had come, walking very quickly. Menkhep, Djet, and I followed.
Above our heads, glowering clouds were faintly lit with the last gray glimmer of twilight. Scattered raindrops pelted my face. The vegetation all around us shivered and thrashed like frenzied Bacchantes performing some ecstatic dance. Even the waters of the Nile were churned into a frenzy. Foaming waves splashed against the muddy shore, and when we reached the huts, I gazed between them to see little whitecaps dancing on the surface of the lagoon.
Artemon turned his face to the sky, narrowing his eyes against the wind and rain. “Metrodora predicted the storm would reach this far south. She knew there would be strong winds and rain.”
“What else did she tell you?” said Menkhep. “Will there be an expedition?” His eyes lit up.
“We’ll see about that tomorrow,” said Artemon. “For now, take shelter. Get a good night’s rest—if you can sleep amid this din.”
As if to make his point, a blinding flash of lightning ripped across the sky, followed shortly by a crack of thunder that shook the ground.
Menkhep hurried off. For a brief instant, Artemon’s eyes met mine, then he retreated into his hut.
Suddenly, above the sound of the rising storm, I heard again the animal’s roar that had startled me when I first arrived. Or did I only imagine that sound amid so many noises? I thought I had already seen or at least been warned of all the dangerous creatures that resided in the Delta, but none that I knew of could produce such a blood-chilling sound.
“Did you hear that, Djet?”
“Hear what?”
“That roar. Some sort of animal—”
“It’s only the storm. Come on! Hurry!” Djet took my hand and pulled me to our hut.
Fumbling in the darkness of the little room, we found our beds. I sat to take off my shoes. I pulled off my tunic, but left on my loincloth. I lay back, pulled the thin coverlet over me, and listened to the storm outside. Nearby, in his own bed, Djet began to snore softly; the boy could sleep anywhere. I remained wide awake, staring into the darkness, sensing the shivering and shaking of the hut as it was buffeted by the wind, seeing glimmers of lightning through tiny openings in the thatch, clutching the coverlet as thunder pounded the earth like a mallet. Though he mumbled in his sleep, nothing seemed to wake Djet.
Time passed. Minutes, hours—I had no way of knowing. The storm showed no sign of relenting.
At last I threw off the coverlet and rose from the bed. I put on my shoes, but not my tunic. I walked to the doorway and stepped outside.
Rain fell steadily, but it was lukewarm, not cold. I looked about and saw no sign that anyone else was awake. The huts were all shut up and dark. If the Cuckoo’s Nest had sentries, surely even these had taken shelter. Except for the foliage that danced all around me, I was the only living thing that stirred.
What of the roar I had heard earlier? What sort of wild animal was lurking in the woods? Was it awake and watchful, ready to stalk and slay any man who dared to venture out? Or had that creature, too, taken shelter from the storm? Or did such a creature even exist? Djet thought I had merely imagined the sound of its roar, and perhaps he was right.
I took a deep breath, left the safety of the hut, and set out into the wild, wet darkness.
On the way back from the visit to Ismene, I had paid close attention to the twists and turns of the path. Even so, it was hard to find my way. A few times I took a wrong turn and found myself at the water’s edge, or facing an impassible wall of vegetation. At last I came to the little clearing and saw the joined huts before me. Every part of me was soaked with rain. The loincloth around my hips was heavy and sodden.
I studied Ismene’s doorway for a moment. I saw no glimmer of light or any other sign that she might be awake. Then I walked around the structure, to the entrance at the opposite side. That doorway, too, was dark.
The storm raged as wildly as ever, yet I heard nothing but the beating of my own heart and I saw nothing but the curtain that covered the doorway. After so many days of alarm, confusion, despair, searching, and hope—always hope—that curtain was the only thing still separating me from Bethesda.
I pulled it to one side and stepped into the hut.
The room was dark, but just before the curtain fell, lightning flickered behind me. I saw the room for only an instant—just long enough to glimpse a stark, dreamlike image of Bethesda sitting upright in her bed, facing me. She was awake, with wide-open eyes, no longer wearing the many-colored garment in which she had received Artemon, but a simple sleeping tunic.
What did she see? The figure of a man in silhouette, soaked with rain, wearing nothing but a loincloth. No wonder she gasped.
The flicker of lightning passed. The room became a hole of darkness. I stepped toward her.
“Stay back!” she said. Her words were echoed by a peal of thunder.
I tried to speak, but couldn’t find my voice. The image of her on the bed remained imprinted on my eyes, unchanging as I moved forward in the darkness. My knees struck the bed. I groped the air. My fingertips touched warm flesh. I blindly reached out, captured her, and pulled her toward me.
Fists pounded my chest. “No, Artemon!” she whispered.
I opened my mouth, but something thick and heavy seemed to be lodged in my throat. I couldn’t speak. Nor could I let go of her, no matter how she twisted and turned in my arms. The more she struggled, the more desperately I held her.
My lips found hers. I covered her mouth with a kiss. She resisted, but I held her fast. The taste of her mouth, so longed for and sweetly familiar, sent a quiver of delight through me. In the same moment, I felt a stab of pain and tasted blood from my broken lip.
My limbs acted of their own volition. I hardly knew how we came t
o be horizontal on the bed, her tunic torn, my wet loincloth cast aside. At every point she resisted me, and at every point I overcame her, until I found myself holding her down and poised on the verge of entering her.
It was then that my senses came to me—slowly, as if I emerged from a stupor. I remained as I was, motionless above her, gasping for breath. In that same moment, somehow—by taste, smell, touch, the sound of my breathing?—she realized who I was.
“No!” she whispered. “This can’t be real. This is a dream.”
“Not a dream,” I said, finally able to speak.
Bethesda drew a sharp breath. Her hands, gripping my arms to hold me back, relaxed for a moment, then gripped me harder than before.
“Didn’t Ismene tell you I was here?”
“Who is Ismene?”
I almost laughed. In a world where everyone seemed to have two names, no wonder there was so much confusion!
“Never mind,” I said. Then I did laugh—a laugh of sheer joy as Bethesda suddenly took advantage of the lapse in my concentration and broke free, only to reverse our positions. Suddenly I was on my back and she was on top of me.
In the next instant, ecstasy swallowed me and held me in its grip, so firmly and completely that I thought it would never let me go.
We took a long, tumultuous ride into the vortex. At the end, who cried out the loudest, Bethesda or I? Outside, the wind continued to howl and the thunder to crash. Otherwise, Artemon and the others would have heard us all the way to the lagoon.
XXII
“Where have you been?” said Djet when I returned to our hut. The storm had relented a bit, but the world was still dark. “You’ve been gone half the night.”
“Never mind.” I fell onto my bed, utterly exhausted. I fell asleep at once.
*
“Wake up!” said Djet.
It seemed to me that only a moment had passed, but now bright sunlight entered around the curtained doorway.
“Wake up,” Djet repeated, poking me in various places with his forefinger in a most irritating way. “Menkhep says you have to come at once.”
My head was so muddled with sleep, for a moment I wondered if the events of the night before had been only a dream.
I sat up. No, it had not been a dream. No dream could have been so strange, so perfect—so dreamlike.
“What are you smiling at?” said Djet. “And where did you disappear to last night?”
“That is none of your business.” I reached out and mussed his hair.
He drew back and frowned. “You’re in a very strange mood.”
“Am I? I’ll tell you what I am: hungry. There’d better be some food out there.”
“You’ll have to hurry if you want any. The rest have already eaten. They’re all busy getting ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“How should I know? That’s why Menkhep says you have to come, and quickly.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and stood up. My arms and shoulders were stiff from rowing the previous day, and my back was stiff from certain other exertions, but no amount of physical discomfort could spoil my mood. I dressed myself and followed Djet into the bright sunshine. The cool, moist world around us seemed to have been scrubbed clean by the rain. The beads of water that clung to the tips of a nearby papyrus plant were turned into scintillating crescents by the slanting sunlight. Steam rose from the earth, and a veil of mist hovered above the lagoon.
“There you are!” Menkhep appeared and slapped me on the back. He was in high spirits. “Here, I saved you a bit of flatbread. Eat up! We’ll take some food with us of course, but we won’t break for a meal until—”
“Who are ‘we’ and where are we going?”
“Ah, you weren’t awake to hear Artemon’s announcement. As you know, Metrodora saw the storm coming yesterday…”
“Didn’t we all?” I muttered under my breath.
“… and last night, amid all the thunder and lightning, a vision came to her. It’s what we hoped for. The wreck should be waiting for us when we get there.”
“What wreck? And where?”
He shook his head and laughed. “It’s a good thing you won’t have to do much thinking today—just lots of rowing. Don’t worry, you’ll be in my boat. I’ll look after you.”
Some of the men had already boarded the long, slender boats tied at the pier. Others were pulling more boats from the foliage along the bank of the lagoon.
“Is everyone going?”
“Almost everyone. Artemon will leave sentries, of course, but those men will also be given a share of the booty.”
“Is it a raid?” said Djet. “Will there be a lot of bloodshed? Do I need to carry a weapon?”
Menkhep smiled. “I’m afraid you won’t be coming, young fellow. This is work for men.”
Djet crossed his arms and stuck out his chin. “But I—”
“Quiet, Djet!” I frowned. “Will he be safe here, on his own?”
“Don’t worry. Artemon has instructed everyone to leave the boy alone. No one disobeys Artemon. Now eat that flatbread and come along. Don’t forget to bring a hat with you—and a knife. And a scarf.”
“A scarf?”
“To cover your face, like this.” He demonstrated by pulling the cloth tied loosely around his neck up to his nose. “So that no one will recognize you. It’s for their own good. Otherwise, you’ll have to kill them.” He pulled the scarf down.
“I don’t think I have one.”
“Never mind, I have a spare I can give you. Now come along.”
Moments later, I joined twenty other men in one of the boats on the lagoon, seated at the rear next to Menkhep, from whom the others took orders. Some of the men were to row while others rested, and for the moment I was among the latter. With Artemon’s boat leading the way, one by one the vessels headed into the mist, leaving the Cuckoo’s Nest behind. I turned my head and saw Djet standing at the end of the pier, looking forlorn, and then the mist swallowed him up.
“How can anyone see where we’re headed in this mist?” I asked Menkhep.
“Don’t worry, there are men in each boat who know the way. We could take this route in the dark, and sometimes we have. The mist is actually a good thing. It hides us from anyone on the shore. It’s all right to talk, but keep your voice low.”
“Are we going far?”
“We’ll be traveling most of the day. Enjoy the rest while you can. Soon enough it’ll be your turn to row.”
“I’m already stiff from all that rowing yesterday.”
“Lucky you! The best way to work that loose is more rowing.”
We headed downriver. The boats glided almost silently through the water. The quiet splashing of frogs along the bank made more sound than we did. The mist was so thick, I could barely see the boat ahead of us, or the one behind. Occasionally instructions were conveyed from the front of the convoy to the rear, with the man in charge of each boat calling quietly to the boat behind.
A thought occurred to me. “Will you not be missed at the trading post, Menkhep?”
He shook his head. “My brother runs the place with me. We take turns.”
“He’s also a member of the gang?”
Menkhep nodded. “Happily for me, I get to go on the expedition today, while he stays behind and plays shopkeeper. He’ll have to look stupid and keep his mouth shut while everyone jabbers about the terrible fate of that old coot from Sais and his mob.”
The mist gradually cleared. The rays of the morning sun grew steadily warmer as it rose, but passing clouds provided shade. At times we passed through channels so narrow I could touch the foliage on either side. At other times we crossed open water, so far from land that the distant banks were mere smudges on the horizon.
We passed flocks of ibises and flamingos, small herds of hippopotami, dancing dragonflies and dozing crocodiles. When we weren’t busy rowing, Menkhep was happy to converse.
“I’m thinking of something you said this morning, abou
t Artemon,” I said.
“Yes?”
“‘No one disobeys Artemon.’ Why is that? Why do the men fear and respect him so much? He’s so…”
“Young?”
“Yes. Even younger than I am.”
“Alexander was young, wasn’t he, when he led his men all the way to India and back?”
“Are you comparing Artemon to Alexander the Great?” I tried not to sound sarcastic.
“Some men have a certain quality. They were born to be leaders. Other men see that and respond to it. Age doesn’t matter.”
“But Alexander was born a prince and raised to be a king.”
“Do you think only those of royal blood can be leaders of men? I thought you Romans got rid of your kings a long time ago. Don’t you vote for the men who lead you? So do we bandits.” Menkhep hummed and nodded. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe that explains it.…”
“Explains what?”
“No one really knows where Artemon comes from. The same could be said of many of us, of course, but in Artemon’s case…”
“Yes? Go on.”
He shrugged. “As I say, none of us really knows the truth. Except perhaps Metrodora…”
“What are you talking about?”
“They call him the Cuckoo’s Child. There must be a reason.”
“You speak in riddles, Menkhep.”
“What does the cuckoo do? It lays its egg into the nest of another bird, so that when the egg hatches, the unsuspecting mother bird is fooled into raising the chick as her own.”
“Are you saying that Artemon was a bastard? Isn’t that what’s usually meant when a man is called a cuckoo’s child?”
“Sometimes. When a child never seems to fit with the family, people think an outsider must have fathered it. But ‘cuckoo’s child’ can mean something else. There’s an old story told by the Jews, about one of their leaders here in Egypt, back in the long-ago days of the pharaohs. He was called Moses.”
“I’ve heard of him,” I said, and almost added, from Bethesda. Her Jewish mother had taught her many stories about the old Hebrews, just as my father had told me stories of old Rome.
“Then you’ll know that Moses was born to a Hebrew mother, who set him adrift on the Nile when Pharaoh ordered that all Hebrew newborns should be killed. But Pharaoh’s daughter discovered the baby and raised him as her own. Moses was a cuckoo’s child—a slave raised to be a prince.”
Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile Page 18