My head pounded. The wharf seemed to sway beneath my feet. I made my way to the doorway he had indicated and walked down the long hall. How was it that Artemon, so boastful of planning ahead for every contingency, had failed to foresee the obvious complication of a passageway almost too narrow for the wagon?
I shook my head, thinking that Artemon was not half as smart as he wanted the others to think.
I reached the end of the long hallway and saw, to my left, the end of the passageway through which the wagon needed to go. Artemon was probably right that it would be easier to pull rather than push the wagon, using ropes tied to the yokes.
I was about to hurry on when I heard something—a rustling noise, then the clanking of metal, then a sound like muffled voices. Where did the sounds come from? With its high, raftered ceiling, the acoustics of the customs house deadened some sounds and caused others to echo. I looked above me, and thought I saw a movement amid the rafters.
Was some frightened clerk hiding up there? Or did the sounds come from some chamber hidden in the walls around me? The blows to my head made everything uncertain.
I hurried on—not running, because running caused a painful pounding inside my skull—but moving as quickly as I could.
Away from the others, finally on my own, I suddenly realized that Artemon had just given me my best chance to escape from him. I had only to find a hiding place and stay there until the Medusa sailed.
But where was Bethesda? Ismene had told me that under no circumstances should I reboard the Medusa. Did that mean that Bethesda, too, would have left the ship while the raid was taking place? Or had Ismene given me a serpent’s advice, acting on Artemon’s behalf and scheming to separate me from Bethesda forever? The throbbing in my head made it impossible to think clearly.
I decided to return to the ship. Without knowing Bethesda’s whereabouts, I had no other choice. If I hurried, and if she was in the cabin, perhaps I might somehow be able to see her before Artemon and the others arrived. Despite the pounding in my skull, I ran all the way.
Captain Mavrogenis saw me approaching and lowered the gangplank. He scowled at the sight of my bloody face.
“What news, Roman?”
“They’re on their way. They’ll be here any moment.”
“All went well?”
“They have what we came for, but a lot of men died.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see blood on your sword.”
“I missed the battle. I was struck on the head—”
“But Artemon is well, yes?”
“Artemon is unharmed.” I stepped past Mavrogenis. He called to his men, telling some to ready the cargo hoist and others to prepare the sail.
Djet was nowhere to be seen. I crossed the deck and stared over the water at the Pharos Lighthouse and the harbor entrance. In a matter of moments, Artemon and the others would arrive, the treasure would be loaded, and the Medusa would be on her way.
I turned my gaze to the cabin at the stern. All the men were busy. No one was guarding the door. I quickly walked toward it, my heart pounding. I put my hand on the latch. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open.
The cabin was dimly illuminated by light that leaked from small, shuttered windows set high in the walls. The room was more comfortably furnished than I had imagined. There were hanging lamps, cabinets, rugs, and sleeping couches. But there was no one inside.
I stepped out of the cabin. Mavrogenis was standing nearby, his hands on his hips, overseeing the hoisting of the sail. I grabbed him by the shoulders of his tunic, taking him by surprise. He was a big man, but I lifted him clear off the deck. His face went pale and his eye grew wide. The power of the Furies possessed me.
“The girl!” I shouted. “Where is she?”
“What girl?” he sputtered.
I shook him violently. “You know who I mean. The girl who was in the cabin with Metrodora. Where is she?”
He pointed toward the customs house.
I let go of Mavrogenis, ran to the gangplank, and hurried down, just in time to meet Artemon and the others arriving with the wagon.
XXXV
A rope for pulling the wagon was slung over Artemon’s shoulder, and he was soaked with sweat. He had led the others at a furious pace. They dropped the ropes and staggered away from the wagon, gasping for breath. Ujeb looked ready to collapse.
Men from the ship hurried down the gangplank and pushed past me. They readied the hoist that would lift the crate from the wagon onto the ship.
The madness that had possessed me began to fade. My head throbbed with pain. The wharf seemed to sway. If I ran toward the customs house, would anyone bother to pursue me? Artemon had said that any man could leave the ship if he wanted.
For a moment, I was too dizzy to move. I could barely stand upright. I found myself staring at the crate in the wagon. I noticed something very odd about the crate.
“This is not the same crate,” I said, so quietly that only those nearest heard me.
Among them was Ujeb, who cocked his head. “What did you say, Roman?”
“This is not the crate that we took into the Tomb of Alexander. This is not the crate that was in the wagon when I came to my senses.”
“What? That’s impossible!” Ujeb made a rude noise with his lips. “I’m the one who makes stupid jokes here, Roman, not you.”
“It’s not a joke.” Others had overheard and were paying attention to me now, including Artemon, who had a very strange look on his face.
I stepped closer to the wagon. “When the stone struck my head, I fell into the wagon. I struck the corner of the crate, here.” I touched the place with my fingers. “There was blood on the wood, and plenty of it. My blood. The sight of it made me queasy. Yet now … there’s no blood at all.”
Artemon shook his head. “You’ve mixed up the corners, Pecunius.”
“There’s no blood on any of the corners. See for yourself.”
Ujeb frantically circled the wagon. “He’s right! The Roman is right! What does it mean?”
“It means nothing,” said Artemon. “This is the wagon and this is the crate that we took from the tomb.”
I shook my head. “No, it can’t be. Something strange has happened. Look inside the crate.”
“The lid is nailed shut,” said Artemon. “We don’t have time for this. Soldiers may come at any moment. We’ll open the crate after we sail.”
“No, we must open it now!” cried Ujeb.
“He’s right,” said Captain Mavrogenis, watching us from the rail of the ship. “Open the crate, Artemon. Quickly!” He tossed an iron crowbar to Artemon, who deftly caught it but shot a furious look at the captain. They locked gazes for a moment. Then, his jaw rigid, Artemon jumped into the wagon and set about prying off one of the planks of the lid. I winced at the cracking of wood and the shrieking of iron nails.
Artemon tossed aside the plank. The very bottom of the sarcophagus was revealed, the part that was molded to show the outline of feet within. By the light of the late-afternoon sun, I saw the shimmer of gold and a cluster of emeralds that sparkled with green fire.
“There, do you all see?” said Artemon. “Now hurry up and get this thing aboard!”
Mavrogenis shot me a withering look, certain now that I was completely mad. The others got back to work. But I was not convinced.
I climbed into the wagon. I stared at the gold and the emeralds that were revealed through the break in the lid. Something was not right.
“Get him out of there!” shouted Artemon.
Before anyone could stop me, I drew my sword. I pried loose one of the emeralds and threw it against the wooden floor of the wharf. It shattered into pieces.
“Glass,” I said. “Nothing but green glass. And this…”
With the point of the blade, I scraped the golden surface. The thin foil ripped and wrinkled, revealing something gray and soft beneath.
“Lead,” I said. “The thing in this crate is nothing but lead, covered with gold
leaf and pieces of glass.”
Everyone looked at Artemon. His face showed no emotion. He stared at the crate in the wagon with the absorbed, abstracted look of a man performing multiple calculations in his head.
“Someone has betrayed us,” he finally said.
“No, never!” said Ujeb. “We took an oath. We all took it. Every man of the Cuckoo’s Gang took the oath, from Artemon down. No man would betray the oath!”
“How were we betrayed, and when?” I said, ignoring Ujeb. “The sarcophagus I saw in the tomb was most certainly genuine. It can’t have been a fake. We all saw it. We touched it.”
“Yes, the sarcophagus we loaded into the wagon was most certainly genuine,” said Artemon. “Which can only mean that somehow, somewhere along the way, this crate was substituted for the other.”
“Not just the crate, but the whole wagon,” said Ujeb. “Look, there’s not a drop of blood anywhere on it. Pecunius remembered seeing his own blood on the crate, but there must have been some blood on the wagon, as well. There had to be, after the battle we fought outside the tomb. This wagon has no blood at all on it.”
“This is all a fake?” said Mavrogenis. “The wagon, the crate, the sarcophagus? How is that possible? Were you not with the wagon at every instant?”
“No,” whispered Ujeb. “We left it for a just a moment, after we pushed it into the narrow passageway and circled around. It must have happened then. But how?”
We all looked at Artemon again. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again it seemed to me that a profound transformation had taken place, that he had almost become a different man. I could not have explained what was so changed about him, yet I hardly recognized him. There was a cold, flinty determination in his eyes.
“The same trusted confederates who supplied us with the crate and the wagon must have planned for this deception all along,” said Artemon. “How they did such a thing, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out later. But if the substitution took place in the customs house, then the genuine sarcophagus will still be inside. We must go and get it.” He looked up at the armed men who had been left to guard the ship and now stood crowded along the rail. “All of you, come on!”
The men on the ship jostled one another as they streamed down the gangplank.
Mavrogenis stamped his foot. “Hurry, you fools! Go back and get the thing! Otherwise we’ll leave here with nothing. Quickly!”
Artemon, his sword drawn, was already halfway back to the customs house. The others followed as quickly as they could. Even Ujeb took a deep breath and ran after them.
I stood where I was and watched them disappear into the customs house.
Mavrogenis glared down at me. “What do you think you’re doing, standing there? Go help them!”
I shook my head. “Something isn’t right.”
“Of course it’s not right! We’ve been betrayed. Why am I not surprised? Over and over I told Artemon, ‘Your men in Alexandria must be absolutely trustworthy, or else—’”
“What makes you think they weren’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“What makes you think they weren’t trustworthy? What makes you think Artemon’s accomplices didn’t do exactly what Artemon told them to do?”
Mavrogenis shook his head and scowled. “Cowardly Roman!”
A few moments later, from the customs house, we heard the sound of shouts and the clash of weapons. The battle continued for quite some time.
Then the men of the Cuckoo’s Gang appeared, pulling the exact twin of the wagon beside me. Some limped and staggered, but others seemed invigorated by the thrill of battle. When the wagon reached the end of the wharf, even as Mavrogenis’s sailors prepared to load the crate, the captain himself descended from the ship, leaped into the wagon, and with a crowbar set about prying off the lid. Quickly he ripped off one plank after another, until the whole lid lay in splinters on the wharf.
Slanting sunlight reflected from the gold of the sarcophagus onto the captain’s face. His eyes flickered with the green fire of many emeralds.
I leaped onto the wagon beside him. Before me I saw the solid gold sarcophagus of Alexander. Of its authenticity there could be no doubt. The beauty of the thing, seen in daylight, was breathtaking.
Then the crate was hoisted into the air, and Mavrogenis’s men set about loading it into the Medusa’s hold.
Mavrogenis looked about. “Artemon’s not here. Where is he?”
I looked toward the customs house. A moment later, Artemon appeared. He was not alone. In one hand he held his bloody sword, and with the other he gripped Bethesda by the wrist, dragging her after him. She wore the green gown I had given her on my birthday, and her arms were outstretched in opposite directions, for clinging to Bethesda’s other wrist, trying to hold her back, was Ismene. Artemon was stronger than both women combined. He pulled Bethesda steadily onward, toward the ship.
As if this sight were not startling enough, trotting up beside the trio, oblivious of their tug-of-war, was Cheelba the lion, with his head aloft and his leash trailing behind him.
Ismene suddenly released her grip on Bethesda. She turned back and disappeared inside the customs house. Bethesda’s resistance was no match for Artemon’s strength and determination. He began to run, dragging her behind him.
Even as they arrived at the ship, the sarcophagus was lowered into the hold. The Medusa’s sail snapped in the breeze. Mavrogenis ran up and down the deck, shouting orders at the rowers and sailors.
Eager to cast off, some of the men began to withdraw the gangplank, but Artemon yelled at them to leave it in place, and bounded toward it, pulling Bethesda helplessly behind him as if she were a doll. I attempted to tackle him from the side, but his momentum was too great. He knocked me aside, so that I almost tumbled into the gap between the ship and the wharf.
By the time I righted myself, Artemon and Bethesda were aboard the Medusa.
The men would almost certainly have pulled up the gangplank then and there, leaving me behind, except that Cheelba, who had been bounding after Artemon, suddenly balked at boarding the ship and drew back. The men along the rail called out to the lion, and left the ramp in place.
“Pull up the gangplank!” Artemon shouted. “Never mind the lion! Pull it up now!” There was an unaccustomed note of fear in his voice.
For a moment I thought he was frightened of me, and that he wanted the ramp to be pulled up at once so that I couldn’t come after him. Then I heard a commotion from the direction of the customs house, and turned to see that soldiers had emerged from the building and were racing toward the ship, their helmets and weapons glinting blood red in the slanting sunlight.
Where had they come from, so quickly? It seemed impossible that so many men had emerged from the royal palace and run all the way across the shoreline and up the wharf without being seen by the lookout posted atop the mast of the Medusa. Had the soldiers come from inside the customs house? Had they been there all along? If that were so, how had we failed to see them, and why had they not opposed us at the outset?
Cheelba still refused to board. The men handling the gangplank finally gave up on the lion and moved to obey Artemon. But the ramp was heavier than they realized, and the task required more men, who came running to help. The gangplank began to lift off the wharf. At the same time, the Medusa pitched slightly and began to move slowly away from the wharf.
At the last possible moment, I leaped onto the gangplank. My weight wrenched it free of the men who were raising it, and the ramp slammed back onto the wharf, allowing me to scamper on board.
I ran headlong toward Artemon, taking him by surprise. He was bigger than I, but still I managed to knock him down, and the two of us went rolling across the deck. He must have been very weary, almost exhausted, for otherwise I could never have taken him down. As it was, we fought like men who were evenly matched, trading blow for blow and grappling at close quarters.
Some of the men around us began to hoot and chee
r. Any fight, no matter what the circumstances, thrilled them.
But not everyone was amused. I heard Ujeb shout, “Stop them!”
“Why?” said one of the men. “It’s the Roman’s right to challenge the leader.”
“Anyone want to bet on the outcome?” asked another, laughing.
“Where’s Metrodora?” shouted another. “Why did she turn back?”
I felt the ship lurch beneath us. From the corner of my eye I saw a blur of green—Bethesda, who was watching the combat with wide-open eyes. The sight of her distracted me, and Artemon was able to land a blow against my head.
“Run!” I shouted to her. “Get off the ship!”
“No! Stop the girl!” yelled Artemon.
Before Bethesda could move, Captain Mavrogenis gripped her from behind. The sight of her struggling filled me with rage. I struck blindly at Artemon and the two of us went tumbling in the opposite direction. Somehow we ended up at the top of the gangplank, and then rolled downward, off the ship and onto the wharf.
Even as my stamina began to flag, Artemon seemed to find fresh strength. He rolled me onto my back, pinned my arms beneath his knees, drew a dagger, and raised it above me. Already smeared with blood, the blade glinted in the lowering sunlight.
My head pounded. Spots swam before my eyes. I had no strength left. Artemon had bested me. I had failed—failed utterly, for I had not even managed to rescue Bethesda. The bandits would sail off with her, and her last sight of me would be of my useless, bloody corpse lying on the wharf.
Then I heard a roar, saw a blur of movement, and felt a shuddering impact from one side. Artemon was no longer atop me. Instead, in the next moment, it was Artemon who lay pinned on his back on the wharf, with Cheelba atop him. His blade went clattering across the wharf and disappeared over the edge. Cheelba roared.
The soldiers converged on us. They were so close now that I could see the blood on their weapons and the fierce determination in their eyes—these were no weaklings such as we had encountered at the tomb—but the sudden, horrifying spectacle of a man fighting a lion with his bare hands stopped them in their tracks.
Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile Page 29