Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile

by Steven Saylor

  I coiled the excess length around my forearm, slowly pulled the rope taut, and gave it a gentle tug. The knots I had tied around the tooth held firm. Cheelba wrinkled his nose and squeezed his eyes shut and reached up with one paw, as if the movement of the rope tickled his lips.

  “Best done is quickly done,” I whispered, quoting the old Etruscan proverb. “Stand back, everyone.” For the span of several heartbeats I held the rope taut, then gave it a hard yank.

  The tooth did not come free.

  Instead, in an instant, Cheelba was on his feet, roaring loudly and swiping at the rope with his forepaws. The rope was coiled fast around my forearm; it wouldn’t come free. Cheelba backed away, pulling hard on the rope. My only choice was to pull back, but I quickly learned that a lion is stronger than a man. I tottered at the edge of the pit, about to fall in.

  Menkhep grabbed one of my arms. Djet grabbed both of my legs. Others moved in to grab hold of me, and then, in the next instant, we were all tumbling backward.

  Djet scampered out of the way—a good thing, or else I would have crushed him. I landed hard on my backside.

  Like a snapped whip, the far end of the rope came hurtling out of the pit. The lion’s tooth, still attached, shot toward me like a missile. I saw it coming, and thought it must be headed straight between my eyes, but it struck a bit higher than that.

  The pain was so sharp I gave a scream and reached up to clutch my forehead. The fang was only slightly embedded in the flesh. It came loose at my touch. I held it before me and wrinkled my nose at the smell. There was blood on my fingers, whether from myself or the lion or both, I couldn’t tell.

  The concerned faces of Menkhep and Djet hovered over me, then both withdrew as Artemon took their place. His smile had returned. He pointed at my forehead.

  “That’s going to leave a scar, I’m afraid. Ha! You can say a lion bit you, and you’ll hardly be lying.”

  He grabbed one of my hands and pulled me to my feet. I swayed unsteadily.

  “And that tooth should make a fine trophy, after it’s been cleaned up a bit. Here, Pecunius, let me take it. I’ll have it mounted for you and hung from a chain. You can wear it around your neck as a souvenir.”

  From the pit I heard Cheelba roar—a very different sound, more robust and less plaintive, now that his tooth had been pulled.

  The roar of the lion was drowned out by that of the men, who lifted me up and carried me on their shoulders all the way back to the Cuckoo’s Nest.

  XXVIII

  The rest of my initiation day was marked by the consumption of a great deal of wine and beer. My memories are hazy. Ismene was nowhere to be seen. Nor, of course, was Bethesda, the person I most longed to see and to touch after experiencing such a close brush with death. Even in a drunken stupor I managed to restrain my urge to go to her and I said nothing that would give me away.

  I was taught a number of secret greetings that were used by the Cuckoo’s Gang. Some were snatches of doggerel—I was to say the first half of a certain nonsensical phrase, and if a stranger also happened to be a member of the gang he would say the rest of the phrase back to me. Other greetings involved secret hand signals, some rather broad but others quite subtle. These were useful, so I was told, if I were to meet another member in a crowded place, or if I needed to signal across a room.

  The more I drank, the sillier it all seemed, especially a hand signal that involved poking my little finger into my ear, first on one side, then the other. The proper response was to tap one’s thumb to one’s chin three times. After performing this signal back and forth several times, Menkhep and I were reduced to tears of laughter.

  At some point, Cheelba entered the clearing. It seemed that he was just as tame as Artemon had indicated, for not one of the men drew back. Several of them dared to pet and stroke the beast, as one might an Egyptian housecat. Cheelba paused obligingly to submit to these caresses, but steadily made his way toward me. Had I been sober I might have bolted, but in my inebriated state I merely marveled at the lion’s stately progress through the crowd. When he reached me, he stared into my eyes for a long moment, then nuzzled my hand. I felt his hot breath on my palm, and then the roughness of his tongue as he licked my fingers.

  Djet looked on in wonder. The others gave a cheer. Even Artemon applauded. Cheelba raised his head and released a mighty roar.

  Thus ended the day I became a member of the Cuckoo’s Gang.

  *

  In the days that followed, I fell into the routine of the Cuckoo’s Nest, insofar as a lair of outlaws and vagabonds can be said to have a routine. I confess that I took part in some petty acts of brigandage, but by the grace of Fortuna I was able to tread a precarious middle path: I neither caused injury to any innocent victim, nor did I break my oath of loyalty to my fellow bandits.

  With Menkhep and a few of the others, I let down my guard sufficiently to reveal bits and pieces of my true past, such as the fact that I had traveled to all of the Seven Wonders of the World. A man who has seen the Wonders never lacks for an audience, even among criminals.

  For the most part, those were miserable days for me, as I pretended to be something I was not and all the while watched and waited, in vain, for an opportunity to rescue Bethesda and escape. Had I been willing to attack and overcome the guard posted outside Bethesda’s hut, I might have liberated her and fled the Cuckoo’s Nest at almost any time, but we wouldn’t have gotten far. Artemon’s interest in Bethesda was too great, and his reach was too vast.

  During this watchful period, I noticed that visitors arrived in the Cuckoo’s Nest almost every day. From their hurried and secretive manner, I presumed these men were messengers, and some of them were, but others, as I was later to realize, would better be described as co-conspirators. On some days, two or three such visitors arrived. These men were escorted straight to Artemon, with whom they conferred in private. These visitors usually stayed no more than a night. Often they left only hours after they arrived, rushing off as if Artemon had charged them with some urgent mission.

  I asked Menkhep if all this coming and going and secretive communication was customary. He shook his head. “Artemon’s always been a planner and a schemer, always thinking ahead, but this is different. There’s something big afoot. Just what it is, I don’t know. The biggest raid ever, some of the men say—a raid so big, it’ll change everything.”

  “What could it be?”

  “Only Artemon knows. When he’s ready, he’ll tell us.”

  I felt a prickle of dread. Would I be coerced to take part in some terrible ambush or slaughter? Or would this scheme of Artemon’s so disrupt the regular order of the Cuckoo’s Nest that I might yet have a chance to escape with Bethesda?

  *

  One afternoon I caught a glimpse of one of Artemon’s visitors just as the man was boarding a boat at the pier, preparing to leave. I saw only the back of his head, but that was sufficient for me to recognize him. How many men have a white stripe running down the middle of their hair?

  The appearance of Lykos the artificer—the member of the Alexandrian mime troupe who took credit for making Melmak look as fat as the king, and for transforming beautiful Axiothea into an old crone—so surprised me that I thought I must be mistaken. I stepped toward the pier, hoping to get a look at his face. But when he turned about in the boat, I skittered back and hid myself. Somehow I realized that if Lykos were to see me the consequence would be disastrous—not for him, but for me.

  Menkhep happened to walk by, and saw me skulking. “Playing hide-and-seek with the boy?” he asked.

  “Something like that. Did you see that fellow who just sailed off?”

  He nodded.

  “Another of Artemon’s visitors?”

  “Arrived early this morning, before daybreak. He’s been in Artemon’s hut all day. The two of them must have had plenty to talk about! Now he’s off in a rush. Heading back to Alexandria, I suppose.”

  “Alexandria?”

  “‘My eyes and ears i
n the capital,’ Artemon calls him. But he might better call the fellow his hands—hands that make such clever things!”

  “What’s his name?”

  “He’s called the Jackal.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought perhaps I’d seen him before, in Alexandria. But the man I’m thinking of had a different name.”

  Menkhep laughed. “You should know by now that the men of the Cuckoo’s Gang go by many names, especially when they’re out in the regular world. Too bad you didn’t get a chance to meet the Jackal while he was here. You could have congratulated him.”

  “On what?”

  “On doing such a good job with Cheelba’s costume! It fooled you, didn’t it? It was the Jackal who came up with that idea. He concocted the dyes and fabricated the false stinger and the tusk and all the rest. Very clever at making one thing look like another, that fellow. He specializes in forgeries and disguises.”

  “Does he indeed? What about kidnappings?”

  Menkhep gave me a shrewd look. “You always seem to know more than you let on, Roman. How could you possibly know that the Jackal was behind the kidnapping of that pretty girl in Metrodora’s hut?”

  “Is that why he was here to talk to Artemon, about the ransom we’re still waiting to receive?”

  He laughed. “Eager for your share, eh? Yes, that’s one of the things they talked about, I’m sure.”

  “Was it the Jackal who brought her here?”

  Menkhep shook his head. “No, that was done by other agents of the gang, taking their orders from the Jackal. He himself could never be seen by the girl, because the two of them know each other.”

  “I see! So if this girl—Axiothea, she’s called?—were ever to see the Jackal, and realize he was behind her kidnapping, that would compromise his secret identity in Alexandria. Therefore, since the time she was kidnapped, she has never laid eyes on the Jackal—and he has never laid eyes on her.”

  “Exactly. I do believe you’re beginning to get the hang of this bandit business, Pecunius. Though sometimes I think you might be too curious for your own good.”

  I left him and went into my hut, needing to be alone and think.

  The last time I had seen Lykos was the day I came upon Melmak in the tavern in Alexandria. Lykos had joined us toward the end of our conversation. “What news of Axiothea?” he had asked Melmak, sounding utterly innocent. The man scoffed at actors, but he himself was quite a performer. He had fooled not just me, but Melmak, as well.

  What if Lykos had seen me during his brief visit to the Cuckoo’s Nest, and had recognized me? Just as his presence there was no coincidence, so he surely would have realized that my presence was no coincidence, either.

  I recalled our last, brief exchange in the tavern in Alexandria. Lykos had said, “You have that lovely slave girl—what’s her name?”

  And I had whispered, “Bethesda.”

  And Melmak had said, “Only she’s gone missing, too.”

  I could imagine Lykos understanding the situation in a flash, realizing that the wrong girl had been kidnapped—a suspicion he could easily confirm by taking a look at the false Axiothea. Lykos would have told Artemon, and my purpose in coming would have been exposed. I would have been dead before nightfall.

  XXIX

  From that day on, I lived in fear that Lykos might come back. But soon enough, other events swept aside that worry, for at last came the day of Artemon’s announcement.

  Everyone was called to the clearing. An air of excitement hung over the assembly. This was the day everyone had been waiting for. When Artemon mounted the dais and raised his hands, we all stopped talking and fell silent.

  “Men of the Cuckoo’s Nest, a great change is coming. We can do nothing to stop it. But we do have a choice to make. We can either be destroyed by this change—or find a way to profit from it.”

  Artemon let this sink in for a moment, then raised his voice above the excited murmurs set off by his comments.

  “You know that the Cuckoo’s Gang has eyes all over Egypt. That includes our confederates on the easternmost branch of the Nile, in Pelusium. Those agents report alarming news. An army is about to march across the Delta. When I say an army, I don’t mean an exploratory party or a small detachment, such as we’ve seen and dealt with before. I mean a true army—a disciplined, well-armed force of thousands of war-hardened soldiers who are determined to destroy or conquer everything in their path—including the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

  “Whose army is this?” a man shouted. “Why are they coming here?”

  “The men of this army serve Soter, the brother of King Ptolemy, who until now has been in exile. The purpose of this army is to sweep across Egypt, throw the king off his throne, and install Soter in his place. On their way to Alexandria, they will eradicate all resistance and deal with any other problems they encounter. Banditry is one of those problems. The new king wants to boast that he put an end to lawlessness in the Delta. That means the eradication of the Cuckoo’s Nest and the execution of every man here.”

  “What can we do?” someone shouted.

  “We can fight them!” said another. There were scattered cheers.

  “Or perhaps … perhaps we can join them?” said another, a bit timidly. Jeers and catcalls followed.

  Artemon raised his hands. “We are hopelessly outnumbered. To fight means certain death—death by the sword if you’re lucky, death by crucifixion or hanging if you’re not. Fighting is not the answer. Nor could we join this army, even if we wished to do so. Soter has vowed to take no outlaws into his ranks. He doesn’t want his claim on the throne to be sullied by enlisting the likes of us.”

  “Soter was already king once. Egypt deserves a new king!” someone shouted. Many others grunted agreement and nodded. Were they thinking of Artemon?

  “What are we to do?” said one of the men. “Are we to flee, and abandon the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

  “That’s exactly what we must do,” said Artemon.

  “But where can we go? How are we to get there?”

  “I have a plan—not a hurried, makeshift scheme, but a plan that’s been a long time in the making. Months ago, I saw this invasion coming—”

  “Metrodora foresaw it, you mean!” said one of the men.

  Artemon cracked a smile. “Perhaps. The important thing isn’t who foresaw the danger or how, but that it was foreseen, and that preparations have been made for all of us to survive. We’re not alone, we lucky few who live here as free men in the Cuckoo’s Nest. We’re not without resources. We’re not without friends. The Cuckoo’s Gang is more than the Cuckoo’s Nest. The Cuckoo’s Gang is a net thrown across the whole of Egypt, and beyond—a net large enough and strong enough to catch every man here and hold him safe. Never have we faced a greater threat, but if you agree to follow me, to carry out my orders, to obey without question, then every man here has a good chance to survive—and not merely survive, but to come out of this predicament richer than ever! We shall turn disaster to our advantage. We shall laugh in the face of misfortune. But for that to happen, you must trust me. Every one of you must put your trust in me, completely and without reservation.”

  “Of course we trust you!” shouted Menkhep. “There’s never been a leader to match you. We’ll do whatever you tell us to do, Artemon. Won’t we? What do you say, men?” Menkhep turned about and pumped his hands in the air to rally the others. There was a flurry of foot stamping, clapping, and cheering.

  I cleared my throat. For better or worse, I was now a member of the gang and had as much right to speak as the others. “What happens next, Artemon?” I shouted, but my words were lost in the din. As the commotion subsided, I shouted the question again, louder, so that my voice rang in the air.

  Artemon searched the crowd to see who was asking. He saw me and gave me a nod. “Today we make preparations to abandon the Cuckoo’s Nest, forever. Tomorrow, we’ll depart in the long boats, and never look back.�
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  As the others absorbed this in silence, I thought of Bethesda. What were Artemon’s plans for her? “What happens after that?” I shouted. “We leave in the long boats, and then what? Where do we go? What happens when we get there?”

  Artemon smiled. “It seems that our newest member is also the most eager to press me with questions. I’ve asked you all to trust me, but Pecunius can’t stifle his Roman curiosity.”

  The men around me laughed. I could see they were caught up in a rush of excitement. Everything in their world was about to change. With Artemon to lead them, they were ready to take a desperate leap into the future.

  “Call me nosy, but I’d still like to know where we’re going,” I said. “Why can’t you tell us more, Artemon?”

  From his place atop the dais, he looked down at me. “Why must I be secretive? Because among us there may yet be spies, men who would betray us to our enemies. You Romans are such famed strategists, Pecunius, surely you understand the need for secrecy, especially at such a juncture.”

  This statement prompted grunts and nods of agreement.

  “For now, I can tell you this much,” said Artemon. “We’ll travel downriver to the inlet where we scavenged the shipwreck. A ship will meet us there—a large ship, big enough to accommodate every man here and all the treasure we can bring. There’ll be a crew of sailors and rowers already on board, men who’ve taken the same pledge that all of you have taken.”

  “We’re sailing away on the open sea?” I said. “Leaving Egypt?” Where would such a journey take me? What did it mean for Bethesda?

  “Too many questions, Pecunius!” said Artemon. “That’s all I can tell you for now. What do you say, men of the Cuckoo’s Gang? Are you with me? Will you follow me? If any man here opposes the idea, now is the time to—”

  Whatever else he might have said was drowned out by a roar of acclamations. The rootless, restless men around me were ready to follow Artemon anywhere.

  *

  For the rest of the day, the men of the Cuckoo’s Gang were consumed with the work of dismantling their stronghold and sorting through their valuables, deciding what to take and what to leave behind. As much booty as possible was stowed in sacks and trunks and loaded onto the long boats. The excess was stored in crates and buried underground, to be retrieved at some future date. Artemon himself oversaw much of this work. The men were constantly pressing him for guidance.