The Blood Star (38 page)

He knew he had been observed, no matter that
the shutter remained half closed. He raised his eyes to me and made
a curt gesture inviting me to join him. I found him studying the
fountain, dried up now and the flagstones around it drifted over
with fine sand—it had seemed an indecent luxury to keep a fountain
running while farmers struggled to find water for their
crops—frowning as if he had discovered some secret flaw in my
character.

“You will forgive this intrusion,” he said,
without looking at me, his attention apparently still held by the
fountain. “I did not care to send a servant ahead to announce me. I
did not wish to give the impression. . . You will understand, I
wish this meeting to seem quite casual, a matter of the merest
chance.”

I nodded, although I was not sure if he
noticed. I waited without speaking, for what seemed several minutes
but was probably only as many seconds, until he chose to
continue.

“My Lord Tiglath, my wife the Lady
Nodjmanefer has asked me to divorce her.”

He turned to me at last, smiling his tight,
meaningless smile.

“I see I have surprised you,” he said. “You
and I have always treated this matter with a tactful silence,
assuming that each knew the other’s mind and that, finally, there
was nothing to be said. Yet now all is changed, and I must know, My
Lord, whether this news is agreeable to you or not.”

“It—yes, it is agreeable,” I answered, hardly
knowing where I found the words.

“Then I am prepared to release her—provided,
of course, that the two of you leave Memphis and undertake never to
return during my life. I will mourn the loss of you both, but you
must understand that otherwise matters would grow awkward. . .”

“Yes. . . Of course.”

“And there is one further condition.” He
smiled again, as if at last he had closed the trap on me. “My Lord,
I would have a favor of you.”

“Anything—I. . .”

Even as the words left my tongue I could hear
a warning whispered in my secret soul, yet I would not listen. If
the man wanted my arm at the shoulder he was welcome to it,
provided I had Nodjmanefer in return.

Yet I knew, even then. . . Knew what? I could
not have said, except that there was no innocence.

“My Lord, you are not blind,” Senefru began,
turning away from the fountain and pointing to the sky above the
garden’s northern wall, where a cloud of gray smoke was gathering.
In the distance, if one listened carefully, it was just possible to
pick out the murmur of human voices—raised, it seemed, in panic.
“The people are not content to starve quietly. It seems something
must be done.”

“I gather something is being done,” I said,
my voice sounding flat and harsh, even to myself. “From the sound
of it, the militia is out clearing the streets again. I wonder how
many corpses the crocodiles will have to feast upon tonight, and if
they will ever again be content with any other diet.”

We both listened for a moment. Yes—it was
unmistakable. Not four hundred paces from the street where we two
lived, prosperous gentlemen, safe from the wrath of the world,
there had risen a settlement of miserable reed huts, the refuge of
potbellied children who by now could hardly stand and women with
withered breasts, farming families, driven from the land by
want—driven out now again, it seemed, only this time the goad was
smoke and fire and the sharp edge of a soldier’s sword.

“Yes.” The Lord Senefru spoke quite calmly,
like a priest explaining a point of ritual. “The prince has adopted
a new policy of burning all the encampments within the city walls,
even if plague has not yet broken out. These beggars can set up
their hovels by the riverbank, where they will not have such easy
access to the bazaar squares. He hopes thus to reduce the rioting,
as well as the outbreaks of sickness.”

“And do you share this hope, My Lord?”

Senefru turned to me speculatively, as if I
had said something remarkable, but at last he only shrugged his
shoulders.

“The hope, perhaps, but without much
confidence. Yet he must do something, for if he does not Pharaoh
will come with his armies. And the blood that will be spilt then. .
. You see, Pharaoh has sent word that he has heard what his priests
have suffered at the hands of unruly mobs and that in his realm he
will tolerate no disrespect for the gods—it is a pretext only, but
I fear it will serve. Pharaoh wishes to remove the prince, saying
he cannot keep order in his own city. Yet how is he to keep order
while people are starving?

“No, I fear the only thing that can save us
from disaster—and that for perhaps only a brief time—is bread. When
the people’s bellies are full there will be peace once more in
Memphis. At least for a while. Lamentably, the prince has no more
silver with which to buy grain.”

“If he wishes a loan from me, My Lord, he
shall have it.”

“A loan, yes, but not from you.” Senefru put
his hands upon his knees and looked up into my face, squinting as
if the light hurt his eyes. “The prince knows you have been sending
your wealth abroad—for which he does not criticize you, My Lord,
since as a foreigner you must be careful and such precautions are
wise in a time of trouble. Besides, the sums he requires are beyond
the powers of any one man. What the prince wishes is to avail
himself not of your purse but of your good offices. You have many
friends among the Greeks of Naukratis—he wishes you to go there and
to secure pledges, in his name, for at least five million emmer of
silver.”

I was staggered, I admit it. Such a sum took
my breath away—it was enough to beggar a king. For the moment I
could not think beyond it.

And perhaps the Lord Senefru took my silence
for reluctance.

“The prince will, of course, secure the loan
in whatever manner your friends think fit.” Having spoken thus, he
retreated a little into his natural dignity, like a man who expects
to be rebuffed.

Yet he needn’t have worried, for I knew what
answer I must make.

“And to show my confidence in him,” I said,
“I will pledge my house here in Memphis and whatever else I can
raise. I cannot guarantee success, My Lord, for I cannot speak for
others. Yet if it depends solely on my voice, the prince shall have
whatever he requires.”

Senefru rose and placed his hands upon my
shoulders, as if he meant to embrace me. This he did not do,
however, but turned away, as if in embarrassment.

“I ask no more,” he said. “Yet remember that
in these matters appearances are all. It would be as well if your
friends in Naukratis received no exaggerated accounts of conditions
here. And say nothing of Pharaoh, for their tenure in Egypt depends
upon his patronage. Prince Nekau would have money to buy grain,
that his people might not perish from want. So much is the
truth—and as much of the truth as the Greeks need hear.

“Nor must word of this reach Pharaoh. At
present, no one except you, myself and the prince have knowledge of
your commission—let it remain so as long as possible. Let it be
thought that you journey to Naukratis on private business, and once
there speak only to men you trust—and to no one before you arrive.
I have come to you privately, and so must you go to them. Make
haste, that all this may be settled quickly, and use cunning. I
think you may have a talent for that, My Lord.”

He did not even wait for my answer but turned
away, planning, it seemed, to return to his own house. Then he
paused, and stood not quite facing me.

“I do not reproach you because of the Lady
Nodjmanefer,” he said, raising a hand to forestall any reply. “I do
not reproach you.”

He departed in silence, the gate swinging
closed behind him.

“I think you have gone mad, My Lord. The
summer sun has baked your brain as soft as fresh camel
droppings.”

“Nevertheless, Kephalos, I wish you to hire a
barge with a team of strong rowers. I wish to leave for Naukratis
before dawn.”

I did not keep my appointment to dine that
night. Instead, I went to my former slave and told him all that had
passed between myself and the Lord Senefru. He was not pleased.

“My Lord, you have lived in safety here in
Memphis these three years. Here no one would dare raise his hand
against you. When we leave this place, let us go with a proper
retinue. I would not have you slinking off like a thief, exposing
yourself to every danger—or have you forgotten you have
enemies?”

“My friend, I will be well enough. I go only
to Naukratis.”

“Have you forgotten what happened to Prodikos
in Naukratis? Be so good as to furnish me with a towel.”

Kephalos, naked and gigantic, was standing in
water up to his knees in the center of the great green stone tub in
which he was fond of bathing. I had chased his women from the room,
so there was no one else to attend him.

Hanging on a hook near the door was a piece
of heavy linen which would have served some fisherman quite well
for a sail. This I took down and held out to him. He snatched it
angrily out of my hand and wrapped himself in it, its edge trailing
in the water as he stepped out onto the floor.

“You have no consideration,” he stated
flatly, sitting on a stool to dry his feet. “I had not even had my
back oiled yet—do you have any conception how irksome the sun of
this country is to me? How my skin cracks like old leather unless
it is kept properly oiled? No, I thought you had not. I suppose it
is a mark of your princely rank that you are mindful of no one’s
convenience except your own.”

“Kephalos, my friend, what is the danger? If
I leave at once, while darkness still covers the face of the earth,
who will regard it? No one knows of it except Prince Nekau, my Lord
Senefru, and now you.”

“My Lord Senefru?” He looked at me sidewise,
raising his eyes from his foot, which rested on his left knee, to
my face. His mouth was a crooked, disdainful line. “Your mistress’s
husband, and you trust him? Where have you lived your life, My
Master, that you have grown into such a fool?”

“Kephalos, will you arrange the barge?”

“Yes, of course. But take Enkidu with
you.”

“And Selana—I do not want her here if real
trouble should come. I will say I take her to Naukratis to find her
a husband.”

“An excellent idea. And along the way, be
sure to take pity upon the crocodiles and drop her into the
Nile.”

Selana herself was less enthusiastic.

“I have told you, Lord, I will not be married
off to a ship’s clerk. If you force some man upon me, I will only
run away. If I cannot escape, I will school myself to make his life
a misery.”

“Why should you not wish to be married? You
are old enough—almost.”

I hardly believed it myself, seeing her as
she stood before me, a thin little figure in a linen tunic that hid
nothing while it showed how little there was to hide. She would be
thirteen that year. Half the girls in Egypt were married at
thirteen, but perhaps not Selana.

“I will not trade a master who is a prince
for one who deals in hides, that is all. Your sleeping mat, at
least, will not smell of onions and ox tallow. When it is time for
me to spill my maiden’s blood, I will let you know and we will
settle the matter between us.”

She crossed her arms over her meager chest,
her eyes narrowed, daring me to try to compel her to anything.

“Then I will strike a bargain with you,” I
said, knowing in advance that I was defeated. “I ask only that you
bring yourself to reason. I will force you to nothing. Come to
Naukratis with me. If we find no man there who pleases you, we will
let the matter drop for another year.”

“I have found already the man who pleases me,
and in Naukratis. It is he, and not I, who must be brought to
reason. Yet it is clear you serve some purpose of your own in going
to Naukratis, and I will go as well if it is your pleasure.”

Did this child really find me as transparent
as that? So it would seem.

“It pleases me,” I said, pretending to be the
master. “Go and ready your things.”

She left my presence, and when I opened a
window I found it was dark night already. In a few hours I would be
on the river, setting out to free Nodjmanefer from the
entanglements that held her from me. Yet now it was dark and cold
and the hours were empty. I felt a strange sense of desolation. I
went up to the roof of my house to look out over the quiet world
and find my peace again.

In the northern quarter of the city there
were still fires burning with a reddish light, revealing little
except black smoke that boiled thickly skywards like mud stirred up
from the bottom of a quiet pond.

To the indifferent stars this must seem a
wretched place, I thought. More barren than any desert, a scene of
suffering and little else.

Some said the wicked suffered thus when they
died, in a world the gods had reserved for their punishment, but I
did not believe this. Men suffered enough in the world they knew,
wicked and good alike.

Yes, I was sick of Memphis. What had Prodikos
said?
“Go to 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.”

He had given me good advice. I was ready to
leave Memphis—to leave Egypt. It was no longer enough.

It was perhaps a feeling that comes to all
exiles. I was weary of living as a spectator, of being amused by
the folly of other people, of being wise at their expense, of
risking nothing, of caring for nothing, of being empty. In Egypt I
felt myself hardly human.

And there was Nodjmanefer—this twilight
existence with her, this stealthy love affair which everyone
pretended to ignore, it was a game that was no longer amusing. I
wished to marry her. Whether I loved her or not I hardly knew—it
hardly mattered. I wished to marry her.