Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile (26 page)

To chop off Hairy Shoulders’s head was easier than challenging Artemon, surely. Or was it? To kill a man I hardly knew, before a crowd of onlookers, in cold blood—the idea sent a wave of revulsion through me.

I reached for the axe, but my hand stopped short. My open fingers trembled, frozen in place. I felt the eyes of Artemon and all the others on me.

“Let me do it!” said Menkhep. He stepped forward and gripped the handle of the axe.

Artemon kept his grip on the axe and gave Menkhep a questioning look.

“Hairy Shoulders arrived in my boat. It should be my responsibility.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way among us,” said Artemon. “We aren’t King Ptolemy’s army, with everyone sorted into ranks and some men lording it over others.”

“Even so, I’m willing and ready to do it.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Besides, the Roman isn’t yet one of us, not fully. The men haven’t yet voted to accept him. He hasn’t undergone the ritual of initiation.”

Several of the men muttered and nodded to show their agreement with Menkhep. Seeing my chance, I lowered my hand and stepped back. Artemon relinquished his hold on the axe and allowed Menkhep to take it.

“Menkhep speaks wisely,” he said. “Do it quickly, then.”

I had been spared the gruesome task, but to avert my eyes would show too much weakness. I forced myself to watch as Menkhep took a firm stance, secured his grip on the axe, raised it above his head, and brought it down.

There followed a series of sounds I would never forget: the whoosh of the axe, a sharp thud as it struck flesh, the crackling shriek of severed bone and flesh, the thump of the head striking the soft sand, the squish of spurting blood, the chorus of men groaning and gasping despite themselves.

Another man might have botched the job, failing to sever the neck or missing the target completely, but Menkhep’s aim was true and his strength sufficient. The amount of blood that gushed onto the sand was ghastly, but the cut was cleanly made. The life of Hairy Shoulders ended as quickly as any man could wish. I decided then and there, if I should ever face a similar fate—and as long as I remained among the Cuckoo’s Gang, that possibility would be ever-present—I would ask for Menkhep to carry out the task.

Once the flow of blood had subsided, some of the men carried the body to the funeral pyre and laid it beside that of the dead girl. Artemon himself picked up the head, gazed for a long moment at the lifeless features, then carried it to the pyre and positioned it above the body, reuniting the severed parts.

The men resumed the task of scavenging the ship and stripping the corpses scattered up and down the beach.

The sun was still up, with perhaps an hour of light remaining, when Artemon declared that our day’s work was done. The boats were loaded and ready to embark. The funeral pyre was stacked with the bodies of Hairy Shoulders and the girl and several of the dead passengers and crew who had paid for the privilege by securing their valuables to their bodies before they died.

Artemon struck a fire. The men watched in silence as he set the pyre alight. No prayers for the dead or propitiations to the gods were offered. As Artemon had said, the men of the Cuckoo’s Gang were not soldiers. There were no officers or priests among us to perform such rites.

The boats were so stuffed with valuables that the men could barely fit, and we rode so low in the water that great care was required of the rowers. We left the inlet just as the sun was sinking, and my last glimpse of the desolate beach was of the wrecked ship and the pyre, from which the flames now shot high into the air. Then we rounded the bend and headed back the way we had come.

Even as the twilight faded and the water turned black, we continued to row. The men in charge of each boat were so familiar with the route that they could navigate in the dark.

But the men were too weary to row for long. As the moon began to rise, we came to a secluded spot, pulled the boats ashore, and made camp for the night. The men ate cold rations while they talked and joked about the events of the day, then spread blankets in whatever spots they could find and fell asleep.

I dozed for a while, but only fitfully. I woke from a vague dream of fire and blood and found myself wide awake.

I stood and stretched, feeling stiffer in every limb than I had ever felt before. I followed the sound of croaking frogs to the water’s edge, where I came upon Menkhep. He sat on the trunk of a fallen palm tree, gazing at the moon and stars reflected on the water.

“Do you mind if I join you?” I said.

He gestured to a spot beside him on the log.

“Can’t sleep?” I said.

“Killing a man always has that effect on me.” He looked at me sidelong. In the uncertain moonlight, the two points of light that marked his eyes looked as distant as the stars.

“I can’t sleep, either. I thought I might volunteer for sentry duty,” I said.

He shook his head. “You won’t be asked to do that until you’re truly one of us.”

“When will that be?”

“After Artemon puts it to a vote, and you’ve undergone the initiation.”

This was the second time that day he had spoken of such a thing. I didn’t like the sound of it. “What sort of initiation?”

“You’ll find out, in due time.” He stared at the water. “After what I did today, I think you owe me another favor, Roman.”

“Do I?”

“I saw the squeamish look on your face when Artemon offered you the axe. You, the killer of all those men in Canopus! I asked myself: what sort of killer is this Pecunius, anyway?”

I shrugged. “Perhaps the cowardly kind, who prefers his victims to be asleep.”

“Is that it, Roman? Or did something else make you hesitate? I thought I saw something like pity on your face—pity for that wretch Hairy Shoulders! For a moment there, I thought you were going to refuse to carry out Artemon’s order. I thought you were about to challenge him. I believe he thought so, too. You weren’t the only one who looked relieved when I took hold of the axe.”

“Artemon was relieved?”

“I could see it on his face.”

“Artemon, relieved, because he was afraid to fight
me
?” I felt flattered for a moment, until Menkhep let out a harsh laugh.

“No, stupid! Because he didn’t want to have to kill you. Not yet, anyway. I think he likes you.”

Menkhep had been tense and moody when I joined him. He now seemed more relaxed. I decided to venture a question.

“When we went to see Metrodora yesterday, I got the idea that there was another woman sharing the hut with her.”

“What makes you think that?”

I shrugged. “Something Metrodora said.”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, there’s a young woman there. Now some of the men call that hut ‘the women’s quarters’—as if such a thing could exist in the Cuckoo’s Nest! I remember a time before Metrodora came, a time when no woman of any sort would have been allowed to reside among us, not even a witch.”

“Metrodora has made a place for herself among you, but surely the young woman isn’t here of her own free will.”

“She’s a captive, being held for ransom. Artemon says there’s a rich man in Alexandria who’ll pay a fortune to get the girl back, but so far, the rich man hasn’t even bothered to reply to Artemon’s messages.”

“Is this girl the rich man’s daughter?” I asked, making a show of my ignorance.

Menkhep shook his head. “His mistress, they say. An actress with a mime troupe.”

“A rich man’s mistress? She must be quite beautiful.”

“She certainly is.”

“You’ve seen her?”

“Only a couple of times, and then only for a moment. From the first day she arrived in the Cuckoo’s Nest, Artemon has kept her hidden from the rest of us. He says it’s better that the men don’t see her at all, lest they be tempted.”

“Tempted to do what?”

“What do you think? Hairy Shoulders wasn’t the only randy goat among us, though I’d like to think he was stupider than most.” Menkhep shook his head. “A girl that pretty could cause all sorts of trouble, even if no one lays a finger on her.”

“How so?”

“Bat her eyelashes, flirt a bit, act all helpless—imagine the fights that might break out if she decided to play one man against another. Soon enough she’d talk some starry-eyed fool into helping her escape.” He sighed, then lowered his voice. “I only wish that Artemon had followed his own rules, about not seeing the girl. I wish he’d never laid eyes on her!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Do you know the story of Alexander and the King of Persia’s wife?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“When Alexander killed King Darius and conquered Babylon, everyone expected him to call the wife of Darius before him, because her beauty was legendary. But the most important thing to Alexander was that the Persians should love him, and to ravish their queen would get him off to a shaky start. He also wanted to keep a clear head, and feared that her beauty would muddle his senses. So, even though the queen wished to meet him, Alexander refused to allow her into his presence, fearing that what he touched with his eyes he would be compelled to touch with his hands. He behaved like a king, not a conqueror, and he resisted temptation.”

I nodded. “They tell a similar story about Scipio Africanus.” Menkhep gave me a blank look. “You must have heard of him.”

Menkhep shook his head. I sighed. Surely I was a stranger in a strange land, to find myself among men who had never heard of Scipio Africanus. “He was merely the greatest Roman general who ever lived, the man who outfoxed and outfought Hannibal of Carthage.”

“Hannibal—now
him
I’ve heard of.”

I grunted. “That’s all very well, but the story is about Scipio. When he was fighting in Spain, Scipio conquered the city of New Carthage. The daughter of his enemy was brought before him. Her beauty took his breath away. He could have taken her then and there, but instead he averted his eyes and returned the girl to her father. Poets have sung his praises ever since.”

Menkhep nodded. “So far, Artemon has resisted this girl—but who knows how much longer he can do so? If only he had never fallen under her spell!”

“Are you saying this girl is a witch, like Metrodora?”

“Ha! It wouldn’t surprise me if Metrodora has taught the girl a few spells since she’s been in her care. But Metrodora’s sorcery is child’s play compared to the magic of Hathor.” This was the name by which the Egyptians worshiped Venus.

“If Artemon wants her so badly, and she’s his captive, at his mercy … what would happen, if he were to take this girl by force?”

“That would violate his most important rule, that captive women and boys must not be molested. Every one of us must obey that rule, on pain of banishment or death, and that includes Artemon himself. Otherwise he’d show himself to be a hypocrite, and the men would turn against him.”

“What if it wasn’t rape? What if he was to win the girl over, with sweet words?”

“Some of the men might be happy for him, but many more would be jealous. Why should our leader have a lover or a wife living with him in the Cuckoo’s Nest, when we have none? And if he takes her for his own, that means the gang will have to forfeit the ransom, which the rich Alexandrian may yet be willing to cough up. Artemon knows all this, yet he can’t seem to shake her spell. Yesterday, while you were with Metrodora, he was with that girl.”

“Trying to seduce her?” I clenched my teeth, remembering the kiss.

“Probably. But without success. Just before Artemon left her, I heard a loud slap. And when he came out of her hut, one of his cheeks was as red as a hot coal.”

“The girl struck him? And he let her get away with such a thing? Is her beauty so great?”

Menkhep smiled. “I’m not a rich Alexandrian, or a eunuch from the royal palace. I don’t see beautiful women every day. But by any standard I can imagine, yes, the girl is exceptional. No wonder she’s called Axiothea! But more than that…” He fell silent for a moment, searching for the right words. “There’s a kind of fire in her. She’s special. Anyone could see that at a glance. In fact…”

“Yes?”

“She reminds me a little of Artemon himself. She even looks a bit like him. She’s much shorter, of course, but even so, when I first saw them side by side, I might have taken them for brother and sister—the same dark hair, the same fine features. They do make a lovely couple.”

If only Artemon could love her like a sister!
I thought.

Suddenly I yawned, and realized I was sleepy again. I left Menkhep and returned to my blanket.

I thought about all I had seen that day, and what I had witnessed of Artemon’s abilities as a leader of men.

The journey to the inlet had taken place without incident. The interlopers at the shipwreck had been dispatched immediately and without any losses by the Cuckoo’s Gang. The ship had been stripped of its valuables as quickly and thoroughly as anyone could wish. When one of the men violated the common law, Artemon ordered the culprit to be executed on the spot, without so much as a grumble from any man present. At the end of the day we made a clean escape, loaded with spoils. At every turn, Artemon had been in complete control of all that transpired.

His strengths as a leader were indisputable. He seemed to have only one weakness: his desire for Bethesda. As far as I was concerned, that made him the most dangerous man on earth.

XXV

The men who had stayed behind at the Cuckoo’s Nest greeted our return the next day. They stood on the pier and along the shore, cheering as each boat sailed into the lagoon laden with booty. Djet stood at the very end of the pier and waved wildly when he saw me.

When all the boats were moored, the men who had stayed behind were tasked with unloading the booty and carrying it to the clearing next to the roasting pit, while those of us who had gone on the expedition stretched our limbs and rested.

This division of labor helped to spread the work among the men, but it had a purpose beyond that, for in this way everyone in the Cuckoo’s Nest had a chance to see the booty and touch it with his own hands. Thus each man had an idea of what might constitute an equal share when the treasure was divided among us, as happened later that day.