Raiders of the Nile

XXXIII

Just before sunrise, I was awakened by a woman’s scream.

I thought of Bethesda and was on my feet in a heartbeat.

But the scream did not come from Bethesda. It came from Ismene. By the faint predawn light, I saw her atop the cabin at the stern, in the place where Artemon had stood to address us. Her eyes were closed. She held her hands above her head, palms pressed together and pointed skyward, like those of a diver, and then she began to whirl around, faster and faster. The loose cloth and tassels of her cloak whipped through the air.

Those who were awake roused those who slept, and soon we were all staring at Ismene as she whirled. It hardly seemed possible that a mortal could move in such a manner of her own volition. Some outside force seemed to control her, spinning her as a child might spin a doll.

As she whirled faster and faster, Ismene produced weird ululations that raised hackles on my neck.

“Some demon’s taken hold of her,” said Djet. He clutched the blanket to his face and peered above it.

“Stupid boy!” snapped Ujeb. “This is what happens when a prophecy grips her. When she comes to her senses, she’ll tell us what the dark powers have shown her.”

The ululations ceased. The whirling slowed and finally stopped. Ismene staggered but did not fall. She opened her eyes.

“Ananke has lifted the veil! Moira has blown away the mists! Egyptian Ufer of the Mighty Name has shown me the book of what is to be!”

The men cried out. “Tell us what you saw, Metrodora!”

“Metrodora, what will happen today?”

“Metrodora-”

“All of you, be silent!” she wailed.

Some of the men lurched back, as if she had struck them.

“There must be a sacrifice! For all to go well, a blood-red sacrifice is demanded!”

The men glanced at each other anxiously. Some of them looked at Djet in a way that made me uneasy. I pulled him close beside me.

Artemon appeared on the steps leading to the cabin’s roof, but he stopped short of joining Ismene. He looked vexed and bewildered. “What are you saying, Metrodora?” he asked. “What do the dark forces want from us?”

“Blood-red sacrifice!”

Artemon turned pale. “Someone must die?” he whispered.

Next to me, Ujeb began to blubber. “This has never happened before! There’s never been human sacrifice among us! Why now? Why now?”

“The curse!” Ismene cried. “All curses must be cast away! All must be purified!”

Artemon shook his head. “What curse, Metrodora? What are you talking about?”

“The curse of the ruby!” She thrust her fist in the air, then opened it to reveal the ruby I had given her, removed from its setting in the Nabataean’s necklace. At that instant the first ray of sunlight shot across the horizon and struck the jewel. It seemed that Ismene held a little ball of fire.

“What curse do you speak of?” Ujeb’s voice cracked. “Where did this ruby come from?”

“Stupid man!” shouted Ismene. “Your questions are pointless. All that matters is that the curse be cast away. Unless that’s done, this ship will never reach Alexandria.”

Men jabbered and dropped to their knees. Artemon looked taken aback. This, clearly, had not been a part of his plans.

“Who must die, Metrodora?” wailed Ujeb. “Is it me? Oh, please, gods, let it not be me!”

“Be quiet, you fool!” Ismene gave him a withering look. “No one has to die. But every man here must touch the ruby. The ruby already holds a curse. The ruby can take upon itself more curses-all the curses among us, large and small. For all to go well, the whole ship and everyone on it must be purified. All must hold the ruby!”

She approached Artemon, stared at him until he held out his hand, then pressed the ruby into his palm.

“Every man aboard the ship must touch it!” she cried.

Artemon descended to the deck. He passed the ruby to the first man he came to, Menkhep. Menkhep held the stone at arm’s length, then passed it to the next man.

From man to man the ruby was passed. Some gazed at it in awe. Some averted their eyes in fear. Some fondled it with a kind of lust before handing it over. Others trembled and squealed when they touched it, as if it burned their fingers.

When it came my turn to hold it, I took a good look at the jewel that had once been mine. Was it truly cursed? Its previous owner, the Nabataean, had certainly come to a bad end, as had Harkhebi and the others who chased after it. But my possession of the ruby had bought the respect of Artemon, and by giving it to Ismene I had gained the chance to see Bethesda.

“The boy, too, must hold it,” said Ismene, who had slowly made her way through the crowd until she stood before me.

I passed the ruby to Djet. He stared at it cross-eyed for a moment before he passed it on.

Ismene stepped closer. The others drew back. As all eyes followed the ruby, she stepped so close that when she whispered, only I could hear.

“There is another who touched the ruby, before I woke you.”

“Bethesda!” I breathed the name, barely moving my lips.

Ismene nodded.

“Let me see her!” I whispered.

“That is not possible,” whispered Ismene.

“But when-?”

“Follow Artemon today. Go on the raid. But do not return to the ship. Stay in Alexandria. Whatever happens, do not reboard the Medusa.”

“And Bethesda? How will she-?”

Ismene abruptly turned and walked away.

From hand to hand the ruby passed, until every man aboard had touched it. The last to hold it was Captain Mavrogenis, who peered at it with his good eye, turning it this way and that. At Ismene’s approach, he stiffened and handed it to her.

Ismene held up the ruby. It glittered in the light of the rising sun.

“Accursed thing!” she cried. “Thing of beauty that now holds within it every curse and particle of ill fortune from every mortal aboard this ship! Be off with you! Let Poseidon swallow you! Only all the waters of the sea can wash you clean!”

She drew back her arm and threw with all her might. A crimson streak hurtled through the air and disappeared amid the waves with a tiny splash.

Artemon looked aghast. Then, slowly, a smile lit his face. I think he anticipated the reaction of the men. For a moment they all stood dumbstruck, as shocked as Artemon, then some began to shiver and gasp, and some to weep. All their unspoken anxiety seemed to pour out of them in that moment. All night they had suppressed their fears, shunning words of ill omen, speaking only of success and glory. From what dark dreams had Ismene’s scream awoken them? Still half-asleep and befuddled, they had been drawn by her into a ritual that none expected, yet all longed for.

We had been cleansed-not by water or by prayer, but by magic. Gone was the detritus of every man’s offenses against gods and mortals. Gone was doubt.

We were ready for the day ahead.

As the anchor was hoisted and the Medusa set sail, Artemon announced who among us would go ashore and who would stay behind to guard the ship. I was in the first group.

Every man was issued a weapon. Those going on the raid were given shields and armor. Some of these items we had brought with us from the Cuckoo’s Nest, but the best pieces came from a cache on the ship. The style and craftsmanship of these objects resembled the armaments used by King Ptolemy’s soldiers. Where had so much equipment, of such high quality, come from? I wondered if Artemon’s confederates had raided a royal armory.

Artemon unrolled a large and highly detailed map of the city of Alexandria-one of the treasures he had chosen to bring with him from his library. Upon it was marked the wharf where the Medusa would dock, and the route we were to take to the Tomb of Alexander and back. All the men were encouraged to study the map and acquaint themselves with the landmarks. Thanks to the rigid grid laid out by Alexander for his city, even the dullest among us were able to grasp the layout of the map. When it came my turn to look, the names and markings evoked a flood of memories and a rush of excitement. In a matter of hours, I would be in Alexandria again.

Artemon explained his plan for the raid. Some of the men asked questions, which he answered at length. He seemed to have thought of every detail and anticipated every eventuality. Even the most hesitant were won over.

The men of the Cuckoo’s Gang sailed toward Alexandria in a buoyant mood. The weather was mild, the spume from the prow gave the air a salty tang, and the seagulls overhead seemed to beckon us onward.

Even by day, the beacon atop the Pharos Lighthouse shone brightly, thanks to huge mirrors that collected and cast back the sunlight. As we neared the city, the beacon grew larger and brighter.

The first time I had sailed into the harbor of Alexandria, some years before, I had been awed at the splendor of the city. I was awed anew. What visitor, no matter how familiar with the sight, could fail to be amazed at the world’s tallest building, the lighthouse, rising from the waves? Beyond the lighthouse lay the islands of the harbor, glittering with temples and palaces. Along the waterfront stretched the bustling port and the splendid balconies of the royal palace.

As we passed the lighthouse, I gazed ahead at the distant waterfront and saw the very spot where Bethesda and I had eaten with Melmak and the mime troupe on my birthday, where I had fallen asleep and then had awakened alone, with Bethesda gone. That fateful day seemed a lifetime ago.

Every ship that enters the harbor must first be given permission, and we were no exception. With the Pharos Lighthouse looming to our right, a small boat came out to meet us. It was rowed by slaves and carried a single official, who looked slightly absurd in his elaborate costume, which included a helmet too large for him and a great many leather straps and brass buckles that appeared to serve no practical purpose.

Had the official been bribed ahead of time? Were the documents shown to him by Captain Mavrogenis genuine, or a convincing forgery? I was not close enough to observe their conversation, but a few moments later the small boat rowed away and the Medusa proceeded toward the largest of the wharfs that projected into the water.

I had never seen the harbor so empty. Mavrogenis had plenty of room to maneuver, but still showed impressive skill as he brought the big vessel to rest with our port side parallel to the wharf.

Before the Medusa entered the harbor, the men had hidden their armaments under the sleeping blankets. Now, very quickly, we threw the blankets aside and strapped on whatever armor we had been issued, took up our weapons, and assembled on the deck. Menkhep moved among us, making sure every man was properly outfitted.

I felt an insistent poking against my thigh and looked down to see Djet.

“What about me?” he said. “Where is my armor and sword?”

I was glad for the laugh he gave me, a distraction from the butterflies in my stomach. Menkhep, who happened to be passing by, also laughed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, boy,” he said. “You’re to stay on the ship until we get back.”

Djet looked dejected, then smiled. “I could climb up to the top of the mast and keep watch!”

“We already have a lookout posted up there,” said Menkhep. He gave Djet an affectionate rap on the head and moved on. I peered down at the boy, realizing I had given no thought as to what would become of him. I squatted beside him and spoke in a low voice.

“You’ll stay here on the boat when we leave, Djet. But if you see a chance-if it’s safe to do so, if no one is watching you-get off the ship. You’re good at that sort of thing. Good at hiding, too. Get off the wharf if you can, but otherwise, find some nook or cranny in that customs house over there and conceal yourself until the Medusa sets sail.”

“And wait there for you?”

“No. Maybe. I mean…” I shook my head. “If you see me come back with the rest, don’t reveal yourself. Don’t call out or come to me, even if I get on the ship-especially if I get on the ship. Stay hidden. Then, as soon as you’re able, make your way to the Street of the Seven Baboons.” I managed a rueful smile. “Tell Tafhapy that you’ve finally returned from the very long errand on which he sent you.”

“What about you? What shall I tell the master about you?”

I sighed, and again felt butterflies in my stomach.

“Tell him that you served me well, Djet, and I was very pleased. Tell him I gave you this, as a sign of my gratitude.” From the coin purse tied around my waist-for I had decided to take with me all the wealth I had accumulated since leaving Alexandria, leaving none of it on the ship-I pulled a silver shekel from Tyre, a beautiful thing with an image of Hercules on one side and an eagle clutching a palm leaf on the other, and pressed it into his hand. I felt an impulse to hug him, and did so, so hard that I squeezed the breath out of him.

“Now isn’t that touching?” said Ujeb. I looked up to see a smirk on his face. “The Roman is saying a heartfelt farewell to his pretty Ganymede!”

Before I could answer Ujeb, Artemon appeared atop the cabin. He wore a silver-plated cuirass that caught the sunlight, and carried a beautifully crafted sword. When he placed an equally magnificent helmet on his head, an antique thing of Greek design with an ornate nose guard and flaring cheek plates, he looked like an image of Achilles.

The helmet also served to hide his face. There were no helmets for the rest of us, who had to make do with the traditional disguise of bandits. Along with the others, observing the ritual that marked the commencement of any raid, I tied my scarf across the lower half of my face.

Like a general before a battle, Artemon stood before us and delivered a short speech. At first, my mind was so agitated and my heart pounded so loudly I could hardly hear a word he said. Presumably he was trying to rally our courage, or arouse our greed, or both. But as I grew calmer, I heard him clearly, and realized that the speech was not at all what I expected.

“What sort of man is this King Ptolemy? Why should we fear him? A fat buffoon, some call him. The shame of Egypt. Now the people are ready to get rid of him, and their only choice to replace him is his brother, a man who already had his turn at ruling and was driven into exile. That’s what comes of letting blood determine who should be king. Men are born to the throne instead of earning it, and there’s no good way to be rid of them.

“Far better to be a king of bandits than the king of Egypt, I say! Their sort of king begins life on a bed of purple pillows, playing with golden rattles, surrounded by fawning slaves. They possess everything from birth, and know the value of nothing. Better to begin as the bastard son of a whore, I say, and become a brigand in the wild along with twenty or thirty sworn companions, men who are absolutely trustworthy and full of spirit and afraid of nothing. Let that company grow to a hundred free men, then two hundred, then thousands, spread all across Egypt. Someday their number will be in the tens of thousands! And the man who is honored to lead them will be the greatest king of all, because he will be their chosen leader, a man who earned his crown not by inheriting a thing that was earned by his ancestors, but by his own hard work and merit.

“I told you last night that what we do today will make us legends. But the Cuckoo’s Gang is already the stuff of legend. There is a not a man in Egypt who does not know of us, and envy us-our freedom, our boldness, our fearlessness! But time moves on, and so do we. Yesterday we closed the scroll of the past. Today we unroll the scroll of the future-and that future will be a story etched in golden letters and spangled with jewels, filled to bursting with glory!

“Last night I said that any man who wished to do so might stay behind, and leave the ship when we return, to take his chances as a free man in Alexandria. Does any man choose to leave us? If so, lay down your arms and step aside now.”

No one moved. For once, Ujeb had no ready quip. Instead, his chin quivered and a tear ran down his cheek. I looked at Menkhep. He did not weep, but his eyes glistened.

Even I was spellbound by Artemon’s words. I cared nothing for the bandit gang and all their false glory, yet I stood rooted to the spot.

I looked at the cabin. The door was shut. Was Bethesda inside? Would she be there when I came back-if I came back?

Artemon looked from face to face and nodded, as if to acknowledge and record the choice of every man present.

He turned and descended the steps to the deck, and then, to my amazement, took hold of a long leash, at the end of which was Cheelba. Artemon intended to lead us through the streets of Alexandria with a lion at his side-and why not? Cheelba’s roar would send even the bravest opponents scattering in terror.

Outfitted, armed, and ready, with Artemon and Cheelba leading us, we filed down the broad gangplank and proceeded at a quick pace up the wharf.