Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile

by Steven Saylor

  Was I to follow my own instincts, and attempt to traverse the tightrope above the crocodile’s pit? Or was I to obey Ismene’s instructions, and walk above the monster’s lair? As if to make the choice even harder, both creatures suddenly became active. The crocodile thrashed about. The monster paced back and forth below me, threw back its head and released another bloodcurdling roar. The hot, foul stench of its breath rose up to envelop me like a noxious cloud.

  Did it really make any difference which route I chose? I was no tightrope-walker, and either beast was surely vicious enough to rip me to pieces.

  The strange detachment that had so far insulated me from fear suddenly evaporated. I was afraid—very afraid. My legs trembled. My chest grew so tight that I could hardly draw a breath.

  “You can’t stop now!” yelled Artemon.

  “Go on!” called Menkhep.

  “Go! Go! Go!” The men chanted and clapped in unison.

  Ismene stared at me and soundlessly moved her lips.

  I placed one foot onto the rope to my left.

  Almost imperceptibly, Ismene nodded.

  The rope under my foot gave just a bit, but seemed secure enough to hold my weight. I judged the distance to the edge of the pit to be no more than ten or fifteen feet. How hard could it be to walk across a rope? It would best be done quickly, I told myself. I looked ahead and saw the men crowded along the edge of the pit draw back, so as to allow me space when I reached the other side. They clapped and chanted and stamped their feet to encourage me.

  “Go! Go! Go!”

  I glanced at Djet and saw a look of sheer terror on his face. He covered his eyes.

  I did not walk across the rope. I ran. It was easier than I had anticipated. My balance was perfect.

  Then, a few steps ahead of me, I saw a place where the rope was badly frayed. Even as I watched, the strands unraveled. It occurred to me that such a weak spot in the rope could hardly be there by accident. More likely, someone had deliberately cut the rope nearly through, so that it would give way if any fool tried to walk across it.

  The rope snapped.

  An instant later, I struck the ground. My ankles gave way and I landed hard on my backside. The stench of the monster filled my nostrils. The horrible roar rang in my ears. Above me, the men clapped and cheered and laughed harder than ever.

  XXVII

  I scrambled to my feet—no easy task, for the palm leaves were slippery underfoot and my legs had turned to jelly. The monster was so close I could have touched it. I frantically stepped back, slipped on more palm leaves, and fell on my backside again.

  I braced myself, expecting the creature to leap atop me, but instead it bolted back. It seemed that monsters could be startled, too.

  I took advantage of the creature’s momentary consternation to roll onto all fours, turn about, and race to the far end of the pit. I stood and turned and braced my back against the earthen wall. The monster stood at the opposite end of the pit, swishing its scorpion-like tail and baring its fangs.

  Directly above the monster, looming at the edge of the pit, were Artemon and Ismene. The men who had been crowded along the right side of the pit, above the crocodile’s enclosure, now rushed to the other side, so as to have a better look. Some laughed so hard they were doubled over, barely able to stand. Artemon also laughed, but was more restrained and controlled than the rest. Ismene stood stiffly upright and expressionless, looking down her nose at me.

  Above the raucous laughter, I heard the high, shrill voice of Djet.

  I located his face amid the throng. He was frantically pointing at something very near me. I scanned the ground beneath my feet, then looked at the section of the ramshackle wooden wall directly to my right. I still couldn’t make out what Djet was saying, but I saw what he must be pointing at. Cut into the wall was a small door mounted on crude hinges with a simple latch to keep it shut.

  The door would take me out of the monster’s enclosure—and into the adjoining enclosure with the crocodile.

  I stared at the monster, which now faced me head-on so that I confronted the full splendor of its flaming red mane and the terrible threat of its fearsome tusk. Recovered from the surprise of my fall, the monster peered back at me with its catlike eyes. It snarled and took a deliberate step toward me, then another.

  I put my hand on the door latch and crouched low, preparing to push it open and bolt through. Then I heard a rustling noise from the other side. Was the crocodile already waiting for me? Could I reach the cudgel in time to make use of it?

  I remembered the second half of Ismene’s advice: Don’t flee, but fight.

  I glanced up at her face. Again, I saw her move her lips, as if to remind me of her parting words.

  I shook my head and clenched my teeth. I had just followed the witch’s instructions, going left instead of right, and where had that gotten me? What was I to think, except that Ismene was deliberately trying to get me killed? And yet, if that was her intention, and if my sorry plight was giving her pleasure, she had a strange way of showing it. I saw no satisfaction on her face, only a keen, unflagging insistence that I do as she had told me to do. Again I heard her words in my ear, not as one hears the echo of words in memory, but as if she were actually beside me, speaking aloud: “Don’t flee, but fight!” Was this an audible act of witchcraft, or was my mind playing tricks on me?

  If I were not to flee, how was I to fight? With nothing more than my bare hands against a creature with claws and fangs, not to mention a tusk and a scorpion’s tail? With so many ways to kill me, perhaps the monster would at least give me a quick death, whereas a fight against the crocodile might be long, bloody, and horribly painful. Was that the purpose of Ismene’s advice, not to save me but to guide me to a more merciful end?

  In that moment I made my choice. I would not seek to escape into the adjoining enclosure. I would stand my ground and confront the monster.

  I stood upright. I drew back my shoulders. I clenched my fists.

  The monster cocked its head, as if surprised at my arrogance, then took another step toward me. The swishing of its scorpion tail made a clacking noise that set my teeth on edge. When it opened its mouth to roar, the horrible odor that spilled forth was almost enough to bring me to my knees.

  I decided there was no point in waiting for the monster to attack. As I had seen, the creature was capable of being startled. If I made the first move, perhaps I might at least have the advantage of surprise.

  I rushed toward the monster. To my amazement, it took a step back.

  The horn was my chief worry, and grabbing hold of it was my goal. A bite or a scratch I might survive, at least for a while; even the sting of its tail might be mild enough to allow me to keep fighting. But if the monster managed to gore my belly with that horn, all would be over for me.

  Above me I heard a sudden uproar from the men. In the blink of an eye, cheering replaced laughter. I had never heard such cheering except in the gladiator games at Rome, when a fight reached its climax and the audience erupted with excitement.

  Before the monster could react, I grabbed hold of its tusk with my right hand. At the same instant, because I realized it was just within reach, with my left hand I grabbed hold of its tail, near the stinger. If I had the strength to hold fast to these two deadly weapons, and the dexterity to avoid its claws, perhaps I could somehow swing myself atop the creature and ride or wrestle it to the ground.

  That, in retrospect at least, was what I may have intended. Or perhaps I acted purely from instinct and impulse, with no plan whatsoever.

  Whatever I may have hoped to accomplish, nothing of the sort transpired, for in the next moment I found myself tumbling head over heels past the monster and onto the palm-strewn ground, clutching in one hand the monster’s horn and in the other its segmented tail. Both had come loose from the creature with hardly any resistance.

  Above me, the roar of cheering changed back to a roar of laughter.

  One voice carried above the others. It wa
s Menkhep: “This is our best initiation yet!”

  He was shouting across the pit to Artemon, who was now directly above me, peering down with a serene smile and a sage nod of his head. Next to him stood Ismene, whose countenance at last betrayed the faintest trace of emotion, a look at once smug and satisfied and ever so slightly sympathetic to the confusion that overwhelmed me. When she stepped back from the precipice and vanished, somehow I knew that she was leaving the gathering, as if the drama—or comedy—had come to its conclusion.

  I turned to look at the monster, which in the blink of an eye seemed to have transformed itself into a simple lion.

  The unnatural colors—orange limbs, purple trunk, red mane—were exactly that, unnatural. Someone had dyed the creature’s fur, and had also trimmed and arranged its mane, stiffening it somehow so that it held its radiant shape. The segmented tail was nothing more than a prop fashioned from hollow gourds and attached to the lion’s real tail. The horn seemed real enough, but it had been hollowed out so that it weighed very little; what manner of beast it came from I didn’t know, but the lion certainly never grew it.

  I was trapped in the pit not with some hideous creature of magic, but with a lion. That fact should have been terrifying in itself—but what sort of lion was this, that allowed itself to be dyed and coiffed and fitted with a false tail and horn?

  As the laughter died down, Artemon addressed me from the edge of the pit. “I see you’ve made the acquaintance of Cheelba.”

  The painted lion sat back on his haunches and gazed back at me with an air of offended dignity. I kept my eyes on the beast, not yet ready to let down my guard. I threw the false tail aside but kept hold of the horn, which might yet serve as a weapon.

  “The lion has a name?” I said.

  “Most certainly. Cheelba has been with us for well over a year now. He was among the booty we took from the caravan of a Nubian merchant. The merchant intended to give the beast as a present to King Ptolemy. A lion as tame as Cheelba is rare indeed—a worthy gift for a king.”

  “But—the stench from its mouth!” I pinched my nose, for at that moment the lion gave a great yawn that sent a noxious breath in my direction.

  Artemon sighed. “Cheelba seems to be suffering from a rotten tooth. It puts him in a cranky mood—thus that plaintive roar he utters from time to time, not at all like his usual roar. Tame Cheelba may be, but so far no man among us has displayed sufficient bravery—or foolishness—to reach into the lion’s mouth to pull that rotten tooth.”

  The lion settled, retracting all four limbs. It continued to gaze at me with a quizzical expression.

  “Those colors … that absurd mane … the false tail and the horn—”

  Artemon laughed. “You’re wondering about Cheelba’s disguise? That idea came from one of our confederates, a man with considerable skill at creating such artifice, who works to a very high standard. Even under daylight, the illusion was quite convincing, wasn’t it? The artificer is no longer among us—he’s off in Alexandria—so be careful how you handle that horn. I fear you may already have damaged the scorpion tail, throwing it aside so carelessly.” He saw my peeved reaction. “Don’t feel foolish, Pecunius! Every man here who met Cheelba under the same circumstances was fooled by the lion’s … costume, if I may call it that. And most of those initiates made bigger fools of themselves than you did, I daresay.”

  Looking up at the crowd, I noticed a few cracked smiles and red faces amid the general merriment.

  The lion blinked. It gave another yawn, filling the air with stench, then rolled onto its side, rested its head on one paw, and shut its eyes. Only its tail moved, stirring the air and rustling the palm leaves.

  I drew a breath, and realized it was the first full breath I had taken since the ordeal began. My shoulders slumped. I suddenly felt exhausted and as weak as a child. Even the hollow horn felt heavy in my hand. At last I turned my back on the lion so that I could look up at Artemon, craning my neck to do so.

  “What about the other side of the pit? What if I had chosen to walk across the crocodile’s enclosure?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Others have done so before you.”

  “Is that tightrope also rigged to break?”

  Artemon shook his head. “No, the rope above the crocodile is intact. If a man can manage to cross it, he’s passed the initiation. But very few men have managed to do so.”

  “They fell into the crocodile pit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did any of those men survive?”

  “How inquisitive you are, Pecunius! But since you ask, I can remember only one such candidate. He survived, yes, but he wasn’t allowed to join us. We patched him up as best we could and sent him on his way. Ismene said he would bring bad luck. Of what use is a bandit who’s lost his hands?”

  I shuddered. “The crocodile isn’t a pet, then?”

  Artemon laughed. “Mangobbler is no one’s pet, even though he’s been with us longer than Cheelba. Mangobbler seems always to be in a bad mood.”

  As if to demonstrate the point, there was a sudden banging noise from the other enclosure as the crocodile furiously lashed its tail against the wall.

  The racket set my teeth on edge, but had no effect on the lion, which seemed to be fast asleep. Even its tail had ceased to move.

  One end of a slender rope abruptly fell at my feet. I looked up to see that Menkhep held the other end, which was coiled several times around his fist. “Time for you to climb out,” he said.

  I looked at the rope, then at the lion. The beast began to snore. It whimpered and twitched its paws, as if dreaming.

  Bethesda loved cats. Not huge cats such as this one, but the much smaller variety that one encountered everywhere in Alexandria and in all the other cities of Egypt I had visited. To the people of the Nile, cats were sacred animals, protected by law and custom against all harm. They were allowed to come and go as they liked, living in temples and public arcades and even in people’s houses, where families venerated them like little gods and goddesses. As a boy growing up in Rome, I had seen lions at a distance in gladiator shows but had never encountered an Egyptian housecat. I had never imagined that people could coexist and even cohabit with such creatures, but Bethesda had taught me that one could not only approach them safely, but could even handle them in such a way as to bring pleasure to human and feline alike.

  An idea occurred to me. A mad idea, surely, and yet …

  Perhaps I was giddy from the ordeal I had just experienced, drunk with relief, and like a drunk man, suffering from impaired judgment. Or perhaps the experience had cleared my head, and my mind was sharper than ever. Whatever my mental state, once the idea occurred to me, I felt an overwhelming impulse to carry it out.

  With my fingers I frayed the end of the slender rope, so that it terminated in a number of strong but pliable strands. When I was satisfied with this work, I slowly approached the sleeping lion.

  I squatted beside the beast and cautiously laid my hand on its side. The beast responded with a sigh. I felt the rise and fall of its rib cage as it breathed. Though its mouth was closed, the odor from its rotten tooth at such close proximity made me wince.

  Above me, the men grew quiet. “What’s he up to?” Menkhep muttered.

  I slowly stroked the lion’s chest, then its face, feeling a thrill of fear and excitement. The dyed fur was coarser than that of an Egyptian housecat.

  “Cheelba—is that your name?” I whispered. “Beautiful Cheelba. Good Cheelba.”

  Moving very slowly, I touched the lion’s jaw, then its dark lips. Its eyelids flickered, but still it dozed. I pressed my fingers between the lips and made contact with the teeth, which felt hard and huge and very sharp beneath my fingertips.

  I swallowed hard and took a quick, deep breath. I set the end of the rope beside me and used both hands to pry the lion’s jaws apart. To my amazement, the beast let me do as I wished, though it snorted quietly and its eyelids flickered.

  I spotted a sharp
fang with a gaping black hole. It was this cavity that emitted the terrible stench. I took hold of the tooth and felt it move in its socket, as if it were nearly ready to come loose from the gums.

  Holding the jaws apart with only a forefinger and thumb, I reached for the rope. At this point I could have used a third hand, but nonetheless I managed to slowly, carefully tie several of the stringlike ends of the rope around the damaged tooth.

  Above me, I heard the men whisper and gasp, but no one laughed or raised his voice.

  When I was done, the rope was firmly attached to the tooth.

  I slowly rose and stepped back from the dozing lion.

  “Menkhep,” I said, keeping my eyes on the lion and my voice low, “can you give me enough slack so that I can climb up without disturbing Cheelba?”

  He lowered more of the rope, then the men to either side of him joined him in holding fast to the other end. I took hold of the rope and walked up the earthen wall of the pit, using the last measure of my strength to put one foot ahead of the other. At last I reached the top, where helping hands lifted me up and over the rim.

  Without a word, Menkhep and the others relinquished their grip on the rope and stepped back, so that I alone still held the rope.

  I looked down at Cheelba, who still dozed, and then across the pit, at Artemon. He no longer smiled; his expression was hard to read. Was he impressed, or displeased by my initiative? It occurred to me that I might give the rope to him, so that he could execute the next step, but when I raised it slightly, as if to make the offer, he seemed at once to understand the gesture and rejected it with a small shake of his head and a very slight wave of his hand.

  Menkhep patted me on the back. “Let’s see you do it, then,” he said. A murmur ran through the crowd like an echo.

  “Yes, do it!” said Djet, who now stood close beside me, gazing upward. His eyes were bigger than ever.

  I looked at Artemon. He slowly nodded.