The Blood Star (26 page)

Such was the garrison at Tufa, guardian of
the eastern approaches to Egypt. Given ten days, I decided, five
hundred good men could crack it open like a pea pod—and this took
no account of the fact that it was garrisoned by Egyptians, who did
not seem a race very gifted as soldiers.

Their talents seemed rather to lie in
cruelty, an impression formed at the oasis at Inpey and confirmed
here at Tufa. Even the men of Ashur, whom all the world feared,
would not have thought to adorn their own city walls with the
corpses of their victims, and yet on my tour of the fortress
perimeter I counted no less than fifteen hanging from the walls,
some quite fresh and some rotted almost to skeletons.

Who were they? I wondered. And what crimes
had they committed to be punished thus? Perhaps some had been
thieves or murderers or spies, or perhaps this was how the
Egyptians punished serious breaches of discipline among their
soldiers. One or two wore the tatters of what might once have been
uniforms, but the rest gave no clues to their identity.

Save one. Hanging from the northeast corner
of the fortress wall was the body of a man who, from his general
condition, looked as if he had been dead no more than a month.
There was a wind that day to carry off the stink of putrefaction,
so I had no hesitation in venturing quite close—one will take an
interest in anything if there is little enough else to do. I had a
good look at him. It was difficult to tell for certain, but he
might have been fairly young when he died. His head was shaved,
like an Egyptian or, perhaps, one of my own countrymen who has
taken a vow of atonement to some god.

On his left hand, the last finger was
missing.

IX

In my dream there had been five. Five eagles
swooping down for the kill. But now three were dead, and I was
still alive. That left but two. Where were they waiting for me?

I now understood the vanity of imagining I
could escape this. The dream would assume flesh and find me out—it
did not matter where I hid myself.

This time I made no inquiries. I spoke of it
to no one. The corpse hanging from the fortress wall at Tufa would
remain that of a nameless traveler executed for an obscure crime,
or perhaps merely because he was suspected. There was nothing the
Egyptians could tell me I did not know already.

I tried to turn my mind into other paths.

Fifteen days later a supply train arrived
from the coast, and with it traveled Prodikos, merchant of
Naukratis, carrying with him several leather purses filled with
gold and silver coins, a cedar chest containing new garments of the
most elegant linen, a large basket of fruit preserved in honey, a
calf just weaned for fresh meat, and two vast jars of the finest
Lebanese wine.

This Prodikos, though he shaved his head and
face and dressed after the Egyptian fashion, even to painting his
eyelids, was a Greek, born in the City of Megara, who as a young
man had settled in one of the Greek colonies in the “Duck’s
Foot”—which he called the Delta of the Nile—and there made his
fortune in the dye trade between Egypt and the Phoenician cities of
Tyre and Sidon. Although very fat and much troubled with the gout,
he was an active man with a happy temperament, a lover of money and
luxury and, in his youth at least, a great traveler who had been
west as far as Carthage and east to Meskineh on the upper reaches
of the Euphrates. They had never met, being known to each other
only through business correspondence, but he and Kephalos fell in
together at once, as if they had been intimate since childhood.

“The dealings I have entered into on behalf
of Master Kephalos and yourself have prospered exceedingly,” he
told me at dinner that first night, when he had grown a little
drunk and thus was disposed most generously to let that intimacy
embrace me as well. “So much so that the few talents of gold you
will distribute among the soldiers here, that they may buy their
way out of Pharaoh’s army and set up with a wife and a hundred
plethra
of muddy land and thus consider themselves rich men,
are as nothing. You will be like a great noble, living in a palace
with fine gardens, with slaves beyond numbering and pretty,
fair-skinned women for your bed.

“Only follow the advice I give you as if you
were my own son and always study to keep yourself clear of the
intrigues of these Egyptians. Sleep with their wives if it amuses
you and let Master Kephalos tease them out of their money, for they
are a light people, without morals or wisdom. Live only for your
own amusement and you will die an old man full of pleasant
memories. But do not meddle with their priests or interfere with
their statecraft, for these are troubled times along the Mighty
Nile and not all the crocodiles are in the river.”

“Then perhaps I should make my home in one of
the Greek settlements of the Delta.”

“No, My Lord, for you would find it a
constraining existence. The merchants who abide in a foreign land
may hoard up great wealth, but they live modestly lest they excite
the envy of their neighbors. Such is not for you, who was born to
another way. Were I a young man, with such wealth and liberty as
blesses you, I would dwell in Memphis, which is perhaps the
greatest city in the world and contains all that can bring joy to
the heart of youth. Visit Memphis and gorge on it. Afterwards, have
a good vomit to purge your bowels of such follies and then continue
on with the rest of your life.”

“Very well then, Master Prodikos, it shall be
as you say.”

And so it was. Kephalos saw to bribing the
garrison commander and even distributed small sums of money to the
common soldiers, in case any man should feel himself ill-used
through our having escaped execution as spies—a fugitive from a
powerful king, he argued, must take elaborate precautions.

When the supply train set out on its return
journey, we accompanied it, arriving three days later by the shores
of the Northern Sea, which the Greeks call merely “the Sea,” as if
there were no other. From there we took ship to the second mouth of
the Nile and then upriver to Naukratis, altogether a journey of
some eight days.

We traveled under sail, since the winds blew
quite steadily from the sea and the river seemed to have almost no
current. At that time, at least, I cannot claim to have been much
impressed with the Mighty Nile, which was narrower in its banks
than the Tigris and slower than the Euphrates is even in
mid-winter. I had to remind myself that this was only one of many
branchings and that to be fair I would have to reserve judgment
until we broke out of the Delta and encountered the main river on
our passage up to Memphis.

Still, it was pleasant enough to stand in the
prow of our little ship, which was carrying wool from Joppa, and to
watch the countryside floating by. Egypt seemed a rich land, a land
of date palms and thick green fields, a land of sunshine and water.
I remembered the words of the Arab sailor, who had said a man might
live all his life here and die content.

Yet even here there were indications that we
had not left the world’s cruelty behind us. Once I saw an ox, which
must somehow have gotten loose, wandering into the water up to its
belly. The crocodiles, which seem to be cunning brutes, came in
behind it, cutting it off from the bank, and within a few minutes
there was nothing left but a red stain on the water.

“Not all the crocodiles are in the river,”
Prodikos had said.

. . . . .

Naukratis, where we arrived in the middle of
the afternoon, was a busy mud-brick town, very hot and swarming
with flies. Our ship tied up barely long enough to let us off and
then was on its way south again, as if there could be nothing in
such a place to hold it. Yet, as my travels among the Arabs had
taught me, the outward signs of wealth are not everywhere the same
as at my father’s court in Nineveh, and it was obvious that vast
quantities of money changed hands along this crowded harbor, where
cedar wood, bales of cloth, crates and wicker baskets of every size
and containing the gods and their owners only knew what treasures
almost crowded one back into the river. Here there was the shouting
of many voices, but loudest and most often in Greek. And every word
of the tongue I had first heard from my mother’s lips quavered with
the excitement of unsatisfied greed, for the purses of merchants,
it seemed, are never crammed quite full.

“That man has tired of life who says, ‘Yes, I
have enough,’” said Prodikos, smiling with pride as with his arm he
made a gesture that seemed to take in the whole wharf. “Whether he
seeks pleasure or land or wealth or glory in battle or knowledge of
the world or simply of his own nature, no Greek is ever entirely
satisfied. That is our glory and our curse, My Lord Tiglath. That
is what separates us from the other races of men—as doubtless the
promptings of your own heart have brought you to understand. Come,
let us make our way to my poor house, where at least I can offer
you a decent dinner and a comfortable bed after our journey.”

And indeed it was a very decent dinner,
consisting of wine from a place called Buto, reputed to possess the
finest vineyards in all of Egypt, fruit, emmer cakes and pork
roasted in honey—“Enjoy it while you may, My Lord,” Prodikos told
me, “for you will have nothing like it in Memphis. The Egyptians
regard pigs as unclean and will neither eat their flesh nor allow
them to be slaughtered or cooked anywhere within the walls of their
cities.”

Our meal was a leisurely affair. We ate
reclining on couches, after the Greek fashion I had first learned
in Kephalos’ house in Nineveh—all except Enkidu, who crouched in a
corner and, when invited to join us at the table, answered our host
with a mute glare, as if he hated him. Prodikos, of course, had by
then grown used to the outlandish ways of my follower and merely
directed one of his serving girls, a pretty, dusty-skinned little
creature with fine breasts, to provide him with food and wine in
proportion to his great size.

This she did, at first with some show of
reluctance, but at last, recognizing that she was in no danger and
convincing herself that this great golden-haired giant was merely a
man like other men, she began favoring him with becomingly timid
smiles. Perhaps she took his mirthless indifference as a challenge,
but in any case it was not long before Enkidu had absorbed all her
attention and the rest of us were in danger of starving.

“Iuput, you lazy slut!” Prodikos shouted at
last, “shall we be left to perish of thirst while you disport
yourself with the Lord Tiglath’s servant? Be about your duties,
girl—I trust you can wait so long as the conclusion of our meal
before you entice that great wad of muscle to your sleeping
mat?”

The girl, with many blushes and murmured
apologies, hurried to us with her wine pitcher and then rushed off
to the kitchen to bring more plates of meat and fruit.

I do not believe, however, that our host
could have been of a jealous temper, for that night, when I
retired, I found Iuput waiting in my bed—perhaps this was her
punishment, for Enkidu, as usual, slept stretched across the
doorway to my room. Yet, as I had not had a woman since leaving
Arabia, I did her more than justice and she seemed pleased enough
with the exchange.

The next morning, at breakfast, Kephalos
announced his intention of journeying on ahead to Memphis.

“There is much business which needs my
attention,” he said, dipping a piece of flatbread in honey. “You
are now, My Lord, a man of princely wealth, and the merchants to
whom you have advanced gold with such generosity must be called to
account—you they will cheat, but me never. Also we must purchase a
house, which I prefer to do myself, since I do not share your
soldierly disdain for comfort. And then, of course, there are the
household slaves to be selected and various officials to be bribed
and many other matters to deal with for which your upbringing has
left you ill equipped. Remember, the Egyptians, like all men, judge
from appearances. We must have a decent regard for your position as
a man of substance and importance.”

After Kephalos had left for Memphis, and the
Greek quarter began to seem as cramped and stifling as a prison,
curiosity and boredom combined to drive me out. At first
cautiously, and then with the confidence of greater experience—yet
always with Enkidu, like a dog that does not trust its master with
his own safety, only a few paces behind—I began to venture into the
Naukratis of the Egyptians, where I learned my first lessons about
that land upon whose shore Shamash, Lord of Destinies, had set me
down as lightly and carelessly as the sea does a piece of
driftwood.

Their writing is impossible, yet a man may
learn to speak the Egyptian tongue quickly enough. Within a month I
had some few hundred words, although I hardly needed them. I rarely
met anyone who could not stumble through a little Greek, and this,
so Prodikos led me to understand, would be the case everywhere
except the dustiest village—“Here they are used to doing business
with us, but even in the great cities upriver, Greek is quite the
fashion. Poor simple souls, it makes them feel part of the
world.”

Yet men may dwell together in something
smaller than a world and not know it for the same place. Even this
little town, built upon an island in one of the lesser channels of
the River Nile, the Egyptians knew by a different name, calling it
Piemro, and there they lived as separate an existence as if they
had raised their houses beyond the dome of heaven.

At first I imagined I must have come among a
race of women, for the men are slight and smooth-limbed and shave
their faces and even their heads, preferring to wear wigs rather
than their own hair. A beard, prized by all other races as the
symbol of manly authority, is regarded with disgust, as both
unclean in itself and a disfigurement to the beauty of the face. As
a mark of rank sometimes a high official will wear a false beard, a
few strands of hair glued to the chin, or perhaps only a lacquered
wooden box to represent one, but even this very unwillingly. And
all, men and women alike, paint around their eyes—this not only
from vanity but as a sovereign protection against infections, which
are common among them.