Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile (21 page)

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?”

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.”

“She’s a witch?”

He shook his head. “That’s too simple a word to describe Metrodora. When we reach her hut, you’ll wait outside. Enter only if I call for you.” Artemon turned and walked on.

The secluded structure sat in a small clearing beside the water. It was twice the size of the other huts I had seen, and appeared to be made of two huts built back to back and joined by a connecting room or passageway. Artemon stood before the cloth that covered the nearest doorway and called the soothsayer’s name.

When she called for him to come inside, I gave a start. The woman’s voice stirred a distant memory, tantalizing but too faint to grasp. One thing was certain: it was not the voice of Bethesda.

Artemon stepped inside the hut. The rest of us waited. Menkhep sat on the stump of a tree nearby and closed his eyes. Djet amused himself by studying a frog at the water’s edge. As the sun sank behind the trees, casting sidelong rays, the wind began to rise, carrying the scent of rain. The sky to the north grew darker. The dense greenery around us was suffused by a peculiar twilight.

At last Artemon emerged from the hut. He gave me a quizzical look. “She wants to speak to you, Gordianus.”

I nodded and stepped to the doorway. It was only as I let the cloth hanging drop behind me that I realized he had called me by my real name.

The circular room was dimly lit by a single lamp hung from the ceiling. A woman sat cross-legged on a small rug. A hood obscured her face.

I looked at the clutter around me. By the faint light I saw the gleam of gold, silver, and jewels. Precious objects crowded the room. Were these the offering left by the bandits for her services? I also saw various implements of sorcery—lamps and incense burners, vials of liquids and powders, bits of bone, lead tablets for scrawling curses. Behind the woman I saw a curtained doorway that I presumed must lead to the adjoining hut.

The woman spoke. “You look perplexed, young Roman.”

“How did Artemon know—”

“Your true name? Gordianus
is
your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” I saw no point in denying it. But how could she have known?

“Don’t worry. Artemon won’t hold it against you that you gave him a false name. Most of the men who come here do so. He’ll continue to call you Pecunius, if that is your wish.”

“And you?” I peered at her hooded face, but saw only shadows. “Is Metrodora your true name?”

She laughed. Like her voice, her laughter was naggingly familiar. “You’ve come through many dangers to arrive here, Gordianus.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think you were finally out of danger, now that you’ve reached the Cuckoo’s Nest? Your greatest peril is just beginning!”

Despite the dank warmth of the room, I felt a chill. “How do you know my name? How could you know anything about me?”

“I know you came here seeking the thing dearest to you in all the world.”

I gasped, for she seemed to have penetrated my deepest thoughts. Or had she? Might she simply be guessing, using the tricks known to every street-corner soothsayer in Alexandria? Didn’t every man arrive in this place seeking his heart’s desire, whether that desire was freedom, or adventure, or a new life?

“Will I find the thing I seek?”

“The thing you seek is very near.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Very near,” she said again.

“How near?”

The woman gestured to the doorway behind her. “Just beyond this curtain. Only a few steps away—and yet, still very far from you.”

What did she mean? Was Bethesda in the next room? My heart gave such a lurch that I thought my chest would burst. My head felt light. My breath grew short.

I stepped toward the curtain. The woman remained on the floor, but waved me back with a hiss.

“If you go to her now, Gordianus, you will surely die!”

I trembled with frustration. “Is Bethesda here or not?” I said through gritted teeth. “Why can’t I see her?”

She held a finger to her lips. “Lower your voice, or else they might hear you.”

“Who might hear?” I whispered. “Why are you tormenting me?”

She peered up at me, holding her head in such a way that for an instant the lamplight clearly illuminated her face.

“Ismene!”

There could be no doubt. The woman who sat before me was the witch of Corinth.

In my travels to see the Seven Wonders, I had taken several side trips. One of the most memorable had been a visit to the ruins of Corinth. When I first met Ismene, she seemed to be nothing more than a serving woman at a tavern, but subsequent events revealed her to be a practitioner of witchcraft. Many men died at that tavern during our stay, by the hand of a culprit other than Ismene; nonetheless, her sorcery seemed to have played a role in the murders, and when last I saw her, she was fleeing from Corinth, weighted down by a great deal of treasure scavenged from the ruins.

We had gone our separate ways, and I had whispered a prayer that I might never encounter the witch of Corinth again. By some strange twist of fate, our paths had converged in the Egyptian Delta.

“That was you I saw when I first arrived—the woman who stood behind the crowd,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She nodded.

“You must have seen me too—and more clearly than I saw you, for it seems that you recognized me. How else could you have given my name to Artemon?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure I would have known you, Roman, after all this time. But the arrival of the Roman named Gordianus was not entirely unexpected.”

“You foresaw my arrival? How? By sorcery?”

“That’s what Artemon thinks. He’s quite impressed that I was able to tell him your true name.”

I nodded, finally glimpsing the truth. “But in fact, you know who I am, and you expected me to come, because of…” I caught my breath, sudden unable to speak her name.

“Yes, because of
her
. Yes, Gordianus, Bethesda is here.”

I felt such a flood of emotion that I couldn’t speak. Ismene pulled the hood back from her face. She extended both hands, indicating that I should help her stand. She was a short, unremarkable-looking woman, no longer young but not yet old, neither ugly nor pretty, but her features were burned in my memory by the extraordinary events that surrounded our first encounter. Her manner was gruff, and her powers frightening—if they truly existed—but as far as I knew, she had never deceived me or done me any harm.

“On the day Bethesda arrived, Artemon put her under my care. He called her by another name: Axiothea. He told me that she was his prisoner, but that she was very precious, very valuable. He asked me to look after her, and to see that no harm came to her.”