Stealing Fire (26 page)

At last I put the bowl down. “Bagoas,” I began. “I had no idea that would happen. Please believe that.”

He looked at me clear-eyed, an earring dangling in one ear despite the white Egyptian shenti he had worn for the rite. It looked well on him, showing off the fine muscles of his arms and chest. Persians were more modest. I had never seen him out and around without a shirt before. “It wasn't your fault, Lydias.”

“He wanted to speak,” I said. “And I would not refuse him. How could I?”

“Of course you should not have refused him,” Bagoas said.

“I would not have hurt you for all the world,” I said.

Bagoas shook his head. “Lydias, I already know he's dead. He's been dead three years. Believe me, I already know that.” He stood up, pacing over to the door and back. “He is gone, and I must find something else to do with the rest of my life, or else die. And I have little taste for death. I do not want it, not now.”

“Bagoas,” I said, and did not know how to continue.

“There was a time I wished to die,” he said, his back still to me. “When I was young and thought that death was my only release. I was not born a slave, you see, nor gelded as a child too young to remember. I knew, and I mourned the life I should have had, the man I should have been, even more than I detested my lot. But time passed, and if I did not die then I must live. And living I must find some pride and some hope.” His shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug. “All that was long ago, before I came to Alexander with the rest of Darius’ trappings. Like you, I invented myself, created someone entirely different from the man I was born to be, the man my father would have called his son, a man more like Artashir.” Bagoas raised his head, and there were no tears in his eyes. “I am not a man, and I am not that man. I am Bagoas who was Alexander's. But now I must be something else again, something more besides, and I do not know how to go on.”

“Let me speak to Ptolemy about coming to Alexandria. He needs a chamberlain, a master of the palace. Come to Alexandria, Bagoas.” I had not thought that he might consider death. But that arrow had passed before I even knew it was there. “You are needed. And it is not your beauty or your grace that are needed, but your wits and your diplomacy. Ptolemy needs such as you, the one you are now, not some dream of who you might have been, or who you were to Alexander.”

He hesitated, and I thought I knew why. “I am not doing favors for you, Bagoas. You are truly needed.”

I saw him weighing it. He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I will come to Alexandria if…” He held up a hand. “If you win and there is still Ptolemy to serve. If you win, I will come if Ptolemy wants me. But he must ask me, not you, Lydias. I do not want that between us, that I owe you my livelihood.”

“If we lose we'll probably all be dead,” I said.

“Well, yes.” Perdiccas would not be happy with him either, since Bagoas had betrayed the hearse into Ptolemy's hands. He came and brought a blanket, which he tucked around me. “Then you will have to win.”

I
N THE MORNING
we faced Perdiccas.

At Memphis the Nile is a formidable river, even shrunken in the dry season as it was. Even now, just before the Inundation, the river remained perfectly navigable to all except the largest and heaviest of craft. We had borne Alexander's hearse to Memphis during the flood because the barge was exceptionally big and unwieldy, but normal river traffic did not cease in the dry season. Directly opposite the walls the river was still wider than the best archer might shoot, and the water was easily over a man's head.

However, just upriver of Memphis there was an island anchored by palm trees that cut the Nile in half. The westward side was shallower, and in the dry season boats stayed to the eastward side where even then the water came to a man's neck. Also, the westward bank was broad and flat, divided into rich fields that surrounded the city. In a few months those fields would be green with grain, but now they lay fallow waiting for the flood.

When I came onto the walls the next morning, it was already clear what Perdiccas was doing. Sheltered from our side of the river by the island, he was trying to cross his troops over to the island. Twenty or thirty cavalry had already crossed over by swimming the horses, and now several officers were dismounted, examining the banks of the island on either side and poking at the river with the poles of a couple of sarissas.

Ptolemy was on the walls with Artashir, who was shaking his head.

“We would have to be in the water to hit them,” Artashir said. “There are too many trees on the island. If we go out on the western bank we still won't be able to hit them crossing over to the island from the eastern side.”

“On the other hand,” Ptolemy said, “that means they can't hit us. Would you agree?”

Artashir lifted his hand to his eyes to shade them from the rising sun and looked east again. “No, they can't hit us from the island either. If they massed on this side they might get a few arrows in the bank, but it's extreme range. They wouldn't hit anyone. This isn't an archery duel, sir. Our best bet would be to stay on the western bank and cover the water between the island and us. We could hit targets in the water easily.”

“When they try to cross from the island to our side of the river,” Ptolemy said, nodding.

“Good morning,” I said.

Ptolemy looked around. “Good morning, Lydias. Feeling better?”

“Entirely myself, sir,” I said.

Ptolemy laughed. “That's almost a pity. We could have used you the other way!”

Artashir looked from one of us to the other.

“I'm afraid that's not an experiment to be repeated,” I said. “Even for the tactical advantage. All you have is me.”

“Then you'll have to do,” Ptolemy said.

I thought that he looked rested and confident, more so than I had seen the last few weeks. If the ritual had done nothing else, it seemed to have put Ptolemy on his best form.

“Artashir was just saying that he doesn't think he can hit them from the shore while they're crossing over to the island,” he said.

I nodded. “I see that. So what's the plan then?”

“They're looking for a place to cross and they'll probably find one. That's the shallower side and the river is all the way down.”

I looked across again. The river was all the way down, low and relatively slow between its banks. Now was the time. The river was supposed to be rising. But there was no sign of anything happening. It looked just as it had every other day, and not even my most fervent hopes could imagine that the waterline was higher on the opposite shore. I did not see a miracle.

Ptolemy put his hands on the parapet. “We're going to have to resist him on the riverbank. It gives us enough of an advantage. They'll be wading out of the Nile and won't be able to keep in formation. And they'll have to go straight into massed infantry. That's a tough fight.”

“And we can hit them with arrows as soon as they get in the water,” Artashir said. “I can bring some of the Egyptian archers down off the walls and put them behind our infantry.”

“That's a tough crossing for them,” I agreed. “But they've still got most of their elephants.”

“That's a job for you and Artashir, isn't it?” Ptolemy said.

I winced. “I was afraid you'd say that.” Cavalry on elephants was the worst imaginable scenario from my point of view, but heavy cavalry was about the only thing that could deal with elephants. Elephants would tear through a packed phalanx doing an incredible amount of damage.

Artashir nodded grimly. “If we shoot for the handlers and the elephants’ eyes, we can do it. But I've only got about thirty horse archers left.”

“I'll hold you in reserve, then,” Ptolemy said. “And send you after the elephants when they come ashore. Lydias, you do the same. I need you both on the elephants. Artashir hasn't enough men.”

I nodded. “We're ready.”

Of course there would be enemy cavalry too, but if they had to wade out of the river through a formed-up phalanx that was less pressing. If we had cavalry already through the phalanx then we had worse problems than elephants.

“We need to make it hurt,” Ptolemy said. “We can retire on Memphis if we need to, but we can't afford to do that unless we've hurt him too badly for him to make a serious assault on the city.”

“And he doesn't have anywhere to go,” I said. “While we have supplies and walls at our back.”

Artashir nodded. “We can do this.”

“Then let's go. Make sure everyone gets a good meal now. Perdiccas won't be over on the island until noon, and I don't want everyone standing around for seven or eight hours without having eaten. We've got time. Let's take it.”

As I went down the stairs from the wall to brief Glaukos and the troop leaders about the plan, I reflected that this was just like Ptolemy. Younger, less experienced commanders would rush everyone onto the field in harness to stand in the sun from dawn until afternoon growing restive, tired, and hungry. Ptolemy would mosey onto the field at the point where it was necessary, as though he were in no hurry at all.

B
Y MIDMORNING
P
ERDICCAS
had moved all of his men except the rearguard onto the island. We saw when the elephants crossed. Though the water was high enough that horses needed to swim, the backs of the elephants stayed dry. From the walls I saw one with its platform decked with scarlet curtains. I had seen that before, in India.

“Ptolemy,” I said, and pointed.

He nodded. He had seen them too, steeds for great princes or more often queens.

I thought I saw the curtains move, as though a curious child tried to look out. He is there, I thought. Alexander's son. Perdiccas does not dare leave him behind.

“To arms,” Ptolemy said in a conversational tone. “It's time.”

I
HAD MY
new horse, Perseus, and together we stood behind the cavalry formation on a little hillock, where a few almond trees marked the edge of the farmer's field. The sun beat down in the hottest part of the year. The Black Land baked under the sun.

Glaukos sat beside me on his horse. When the time came he would take his place at the front. To my right were Artashir and his horse archers, and to my left the Egyptian archers in their linen stood impassive behind our massed infantry.

Ptolemy came along the front of the lines at a walk, his horse perfectly in hand, his helmet off and his forehead reddening with sun.

“Time for the speech,” Glaukos said wearily.

“He'll be short and sweet,” I said.

“Men of Egypt! Companions all! We stand together before Memphis, before Alexander who lies in state. But we stand before more than that. We stand before Alexandria, and our homes, our families.”

Our lines were silent. No one shouted. In that moment I realized the genius of him. Alexander had promised glory. He had promised an adventure the like of which the world had never known. But in the end we were all tired. In the end, the ends of the earth were too far for our mortal feet. Ptolemy did not promise us glory. He promised home at the end of the road. In giving land in Alexandria he had taken the temper of his men exactly. They could see themselves citizens of a proud new city, fathers and men of substance, not forever questing after some far horizon. He gave them a future to fight for.

“We stand before our own. Together.” Ptolemy's voice carried, not beautiful but serviceable, like the rest of him. “Let's do this. And then go home.”

The roar began at the back of the infantry, but it swelled, rising into a loud cheer, the banging of sarissa butts on shields in counterpoint.

Ptolemy rode down the line and passed through, and we cheered him as never before, as though he were Alexander.

As though he were Pharaoh.

Blessed Lady of Egypt, I prayed, keep him safe. Let us win.

Ptolemy came back to where we were, his face flushed.

“That went well,” I said.

He looked surprised and pleased. “Thank you.”

“Ah-ha!” said Artashir, looking out over the river. “They've found something.”

“A shallow place, I think,” I said, raising my hand to my eyes.

They were sending a line of elephants into the water a little way upstream of us, each right behind the other, seven of them, while downstream from the elephants a troop leader waded out. The water was only waist deep.

“They've found a sandbar,” Ptolemy said. “And put the elephants upstream to break the current. I wonder if—” He broke off. “Yes, there.”

Downstream of the place where the troop leader stood, ten or twelve horsemen waded out into the water. To catch anyone swept away, I thought, as they must cross in full armor with sarissas leveled. I did think the river was running faster, the current stronger.

On the opposite bank the first phalanx formed up and began to wade into the water.

“Artashir,” Ptolemy said.

Artashir nodded to his men and began directing them around, getting into position to cover where they would come.

Knee-deep in the water as they waded out, the first of Perdiccas’ phalanxes raised their shields above their heads.

“Ready,” Artashir said.

As one every bow was drawn.

“Fire.” Black arrows swooped across the sky and the battle was joined.

RIVER GODS

T
he first volleys were not effective. With their shields over their heads the arrows that dropped down upon them largely clanged off the steel. Here and there one slipped through gaps between shields, but did little damage. Still, there was the effect of being under fire, which was not something to underestimate.

Artashir called hold after the third volley. They were coming close to the shore, and the first lines of our infantry stepped forward to meet them, sarissas leveled. Like two enormous crashing behemoths, our infantry and theirs locked together. The noise was tremendous, the clash of steel and the shouts of men, the grunts and groans as they strained with main force to push the other back, sometimes literally shoving shield to shield.

We had the advantage. Our men stood on solid ground, while the back of their phalanx was knee-deep in water with a sandy bottom. Slowly, a handspan at a time, we began to push them back. Our first ranks splashed into the river.

A second phalanx was crossing, trying to swing into position upstream to the right of the first, and Ptolemy shifted the line to meet it.

They locked shield to shield, struggling at the very edge of the Nile. And our men began to push.

I gentled my restive horse. He smelled blood. “Not our turn yet, boy,” I said. I waited, cool and collected as Ptolemy, watching the battle. Above, people had gathered on the walls of Memphis. I wondered if Bagoas were there. I thought he probably was. He would want to see, would not be able to bear sitting quietly somewhere while everything unfolded.

Step by step, our men were forcing them back, pushing them slowly into the river. Muscles strained, and from where I sat I could hear the groans of men and metal as our men shoved with all their strength. The first two ranks were in the water now, the river running around their ankles, carrying their blood away. The fallen lay trapped by the feet of their comrades. The current could not seize them yet.

“Form up,” I said to Glaukos.

He looked at me questioningly.

“He's got to break through, man,” I said. “That means either cavalry or elephants. And either one is our job.”

Perdiccas chose cavalry. Almost before Glaukos got to the front of the formation, his horsemen were in the water, wading through the river that came up to the horses’ chests.

“Stand to receive!” Glaukos shouted, glancing back over his shoulder at me.

What? I thought. Wait for them to come out of the water and form up before we hit them?

I had my reins in my right hand, and raised my left, catching Glaukos’ eye. “Form to the right!” I ordered. “Get around the right end of our infantry!” I pointed to the troop leader of the farthest left file. “Go down to the other end. Get on the far right.” There was no point in having men who were behind our own phalanx. “Get round the flank.”

I trotted along the back of the line behind them. Out in the water, the men of Perdiccas’ cavalry were halfway across. We wanted to hit them just when they started to form up. And from what I could see of the speed of the shallow water, they wouldn't get into anything approaching formation until they got almost ashore.

“Form up!” I shouted, and the Ile responded. The horses were restive, ready to go.

Glaukos looked relieved.

I raised my empty left hand again. He kept his eyes on it.

Almost to shore. Almost. The first ones of them were knee deep in the water, the rest of the cavalry strung out across the river on the sandbar. Almost.

“Forward!” I shouted. “Ptolemy and Egypt!”

With a spring, all Ptolemy's Ile leapt forward.

Perseus took off too, and I lurched at the unexpected charge. “Oh shit,” I said, fumbling with my left hand trying to get my sword out and hauling on Perseus’ head at the same time. He was a trained warhorse, and he'd been in charges before. He knew his place was in the middle of the fray and he wasn't going to hang back.

I pulled him up, swearing, just short of the river, right behind the last of my men. It took all my strength to hold him in, turning his head sharply so that he wasn't facing the same direction as the other horses. Which left me broadside to the battle.

“You stupid ass,” I said, as he sidled around to the right, trying to get back into it. “Cut it out.”

Too close. I was in too close, and my men had opened gaps in their ranks as they engaged in groups. I barely got my sword in hand and the reins transferred to my bad hand before the first of the enemy was upon me.

He came in against my right side, any momentum he might have had blunted by the water. His horse couldn't charge, and coming at me at a walk didn't give him much. I met the first blow, then disengaged below his guard. My thrust hit him in the fleshy part of the shoulder just below the harness, digging into the muscle as he tried to turn his horse away.

And then he was past me and I was facing the next one, guard and thrust, guard and thrust, the rhythm of steel on steel. I finally got in, hitting the back of his hand hard enough to break fingers and knock his sword from him.

Perseus lurched, and I barely held on with my left hand. In the process I lost the opportunity. My opponent got clear.

I pulled Perseus around, facing the river once again. “You idiot. I'm beginning to change my mind about you,” I said to him. Perhaps he was too much horse for a man with a bad hand. I should have to have some gentle beast suitable for an invalid.

The thought made me snarl. I put my heels to his side and urged him straight into the fray.

Guard and cut and slash, the familiar dance, with Perseus beneath me and the world narrowing to the length of my sword, death blossoming where I was. For a few moments there was nothing else.

And then I was clear, standing with the water about Perseus’ knees. I could not do this, I thought. I needed to see better, to be more than a soldier. I could not simply surrender to battle madness and forget all else. I was responsible.

I backed Perseus a few paces and looked about.

To my left, their infantry was locked with ours in the water just short of the riverbank, our front lines completely entangled. We were pushing them back slowly and surely, the water almost to the waists of the men in our front rank. They struggled in the water, chest to chest, shield to shield.

Before me, our cavalry had engaged theirs in the water upstream of the rest. The bottom was farther here and the water more swift-flowing. As I looked I saw a soldier, one of ours or theirs I could not tell, fall from his horse. I did not think his wound was mortal, but the water drew him under and away, the current running strong and hard.

For a moment I stared, and then I realized what was happening. So many men and animals on the sandbar were destroying it. Horses and elephants were stirring up the bottom, and once disturbed the sand was carrying away in the swift current. The Nile could not be trifled with, and She fought for Egypt.

At that moment Perdiccas ordered the elephants forward.

Elephants do not mind deep water. Indeed, in India where they live one may see whole herds of elephants bathing and playing like children in water that a man would be foolish to dare. Perdiccas’ elephants plunged into the water, twenty of them, bearing straight down upon our infantry lines. His own men were entangled with ours and doubtless could not get free, but that didn't matter to Perdiccas. He had never shown much concern for lives when victory hung in the balance.

To my left, behind the infantry lines, I heard Ptolemy shouting, but could not understand his words.

“Lydias’ Ile,” I yelled, “form up!” We must disengage as best we could. Elephants are almost impossible to fight from the ground, and our men would be up to their necks in water that would not bother the elephants at all.

“Form up!” I heard Glaukos’ voice echoing mine.

All our men would not be able to disengage, but those who could needed to now.

There was a buzzing overhead, and the first flight of Artashir's arrows passed over us. His thirty horse archers were drawn up in a tight formation on the riverbank, targeting the drivers of the first elephants. Their horses stood as though they had been carved from stone, trained for years thus so that they will not twitch and spoil their riders’ shots. But there were so few. There were only thirty of them left.

There were ten of my men about me now, forming up as though I were the troop leader. And the first elephant was almost upon us, plowing through the water, great plumes of spume flying from his feet.

“All right, men,” I said. “You've done this before and you know the drill. Get the drivers. Or go for the eyes. And keep loose. We have to confuse them and stay out of their way.”

“Easier on dry land, sir,” one wit said.

“So's fucking,” I said, “but you take the opportunity when it arises.”

They laughed, as I meant them to. It takes nerve to stand when elephants charge down upon you.

And then they were upon us, the lead animal plowing through the river, his long tusks held high.

I dodged to the right with the wit, Perseus plunging through the water. Most horses will not abide elephants, though our more experienced warhorses had seen them before. I was glad to know that at least he wasn't going to pitch me off and run away.

As I passed the elephant's side, I slashed at it, but my sword did no damage to its thick hide. Which was, of course, the trouble with elephants.

We had opened, as we should, letting them pass between us and taking what blows we could land. Now we closed behind them, trying to get around them and get at the drivers.

I nearly fell as the elephant swung about, his tusks passing just over my head as Perseus plunged beneath his nose. The elephant trumpeted in anger.

Well enough, I thought. While he is playing lion baiting with me, he is doing nothing else. I had the reins in my good hand, and did not try to strike, just ride like a spirit about and beneath him, bedeviling the animal.

The elephant wheeled about, more angered by our attacks than hurt. He turned, lowering his head like a bull.

Not too far away, Artashir sat on his horse like a statue, only his arm moving as he drew and released, drew and released.

The elephant came down upon him.

He held the arrow at the notch, and even his horse did not flinch, her ears forward and pointed at the elephant.

I shouted. I kicked Perseus hard and we took after the elephant, driving hard through the sheets of water the mighty beast threw up.

He was waiting too long. He was waiting too late, waiting for the perfect shot.

And then Artashir released. The arrow flew straight and true, catching the handler in the throat. Blood fountained from severed arteries, and he pitched backward.

At last Artashir moved as the vast unguided beast bore down upon him, his little horse struggling in the mud of the riverbank. She slipped, scrambling, and stumbled to her knees.

“Faster, boy,” I said, digging my heels into Perseus so that we were right beside the elephant, and I struck with all my strength at him.

Time elongated. It seemed forever, the lift of my arm, the brave movement of Perseus’ legs. Ears, Sati had said. Something about ears. She had said it long ago, but I heard her again, as though she said it now, just behind me, a smile in her voice.
Their drivers strike them on the ears to direct them.

I hit the elephant's left ear as hard as I could with the flat of my sword.

Raising his long trunk, he veered off to the right, plunging past Artashir and his horse where they floundered in the water.

I pulled Perseus up just short of Artashir. He was out of the saddle, trying to coax his mare to rise. From the way she moved, favoring her right foreleg, I thought she had definitely sprained something.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I said. “That was quite a shot. Once in a lifetime.”

“Let's hope,” Artashir said.

I turned Perseus about, looking out over the river. Several other elephants were engaged by my men, weaving and splashing in a wild melee in the river. Off to my left, our infantry was still fully engaged, though on the far end an elephant had broken through and was creating havoc in our lines. Ptolemy was down there. I saw the red crest of his helmet.

The sandbar must have been nearly gone. Men struggled in water chest deep. Bodies swirled on the current or, dragged down by armor, bumped along the bottom, pulled toward Memphis and the distant sea beyond. As I looked, I saw a man suddenly scream and disappear under the water.

I blinked. No arrow had hit him. No soldier of ours had been near him.

The water roiled. Beneath its surface churned a long, reptilian shape, gray-green and three times the length of a man.

“Oh Lady of Egypt,” I whispered, looking frantically toward the walls of Memphis.

The grate was up. They had released the sacred crocodiles. And the water was full of blood.

“Everybody get back! Everybody back!” I shouted. “Men of Ptolemy's Ile! Get out of the water! Everybody back on the bank!” I rode through the water toward my men, shouting at the top of my voice. “Form up on shore! Everybody back!”

We had a riverbank to retire to. Perdiccas’ men had only the island, and the way there was deeper now, and much more deadly.