Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile (13 page)

“Could I have some more?” I said, meaning more to eat. One of the sons brought another minuscule portion of food while the other insisted on refilling my cup.

Meanwhile, I watched the others play. The game was called Pharaoh’s Beard, because the playing board was carved to resemble one of the long ornamental beards that one sees on old statues of the pharaohs. Each player let fly a pair of dice—not the Roman sort made from sheep bones, but cubes carved from wood, with markings on each of the six sides—and then moved his peg up or down the playing board a certain number of spaces; odd throws moved the peg up, while even throws moved it down. The rules allowed a player to disregard a certain number of throws and either pass or recast the dice. One could also displace an opponent’s peg by landing in the same hole; this was sometimes desirable and sometimes not.

The game did not appear to be particularly complicated—at first. Gradually I began to perceive that there was indeed some strategy involved, and that some of the participants were better players than others, not because of anything to do with Fortuna, but because of their own skill.

The longer I watched—and the more beer I drank—the more fascinated I became by watching the others play. Certain moves were so clever and unexpected that everyone clapped and jabbered with excitement. Other moves were so boneheaded that we all groaned and shook our heads. At critical moments we watched with bated breath, or laughed with nervous excitement.

Each time a new round began, I was invited to join, and each time I declined, until there came a round when I said yes. To play I had to place a wager, but the bag of coins tucked inside my tunic felt reassuringly heavy.

I looked down at the full cup of beer beside me. When had it been refilled? Was it my fourth cup? Or my fifth?

I shook my head to clear it of all extraneous thoughts, for the game—my very first game of Pharaoh’s Beard—was commencing.

XI

I won the first game. The victory gave me a heady feeling. From each of the other four players I took a gleaming Alexandrian drachma. It was no great amount, but the coins made a nice addition to my purse.

I won the next game as well, and tucked away another four coins. I silently congratulated myself for wisely sitting out so many rounds while I watched the game and mastered its strategy. If my first two games were any indication, I was simply a better, smarter player than the others—and why not? Was I not the son of the Finder, one of the cleverest men in Rome? And were not Romans the master strategists of the world?

As the players took a break before the next round, Djet whispered in my ear: “Raise the stakes!”

“Don’t be silly. And don’t snatch any more olives off that plate. Those are for me.”

“But tonight Fortuna smiles on you. You should take advantage of her favor.”

“What do you know of Fortuna?”

“Isn’t that the goddess who looks after Romans like you?”

“Sometimes she looks after us. Other times not.”

“But tonight is one of those times. Can’t you sense it?”

Djet was right. Listening to the twanging music played by our host’s daughter, nibbling the scarce delicacies and drinking the never-ending beer provided by his sons, I savored my small victories at Pharaoh’s Beard and felt a sense of well-being such as I had not felt in quite some time. After all, what did my father know about gambling, since he never did it? If a man kept a cool head, and more importantly, if he had Fortuna on his side, where was the danger? And if a small win could bring such pleasure, would not a larger win bring even more?

For the next round of play, I proposed that we double the stakes. Obodas and Harkhebi and the others agreed. And again I won.

Then, on the next round of doubled stakes, I lost. Ah well, I told myself, I was still ahead of where I started, and not even the best player could win every round. It also occurred to me that if we tripled the original stakes, in a single round I could make back the money I had lost and more. And so I did.

Little by little the stakes grew higher. Sometimes I lost. More often, or so it seemed to me, I won. I basked in each victory, and discounted my losses as mere accidents. Even a lamp brimming with oil may flicker from time to time; so it is when the glow of Fortuna lights a man’s way, I told myself, as occasionally my luck faltered.

At every turn I felt myself to be in control, not only of my own actions but of the overall course of the game, as we progressed from round to round, wagering ever greater numbers of coins. Why did I become so greedy? It was for Bethesda, I told myself. The fatter my purse, the greater the chance that I could ransom her, no matter the cost.

Then I began to lose.

I lost one wager, then another, and then another. As each new round began I thought that surely my luck would correct its course and return to me the winnings that had been mine only moments before. Like a leaf on the tide, I could not stop. It seemed for a while that I had controlled the game; now the game took control of me.

Suddenly, almost all my money was gone.

I held up my bag of coins and saw that it was sadly deflated, almost weightless, so empty that when I shook it I heard only a thin, pathetic tinkling, not the rich metallic music of the bulging coin purse that had been mine when I left Alexandria.

When I left Alexandria … how long ago was that? It seemed a lifetime ago. In that windowless room underground, time had lost all meaning. And I had lost almost all my money.

My face flushed hotly. My heart pounded in my chest. I suddenly felt wide awake. Had I been asleep before? I blinked and looked around. Clearly now I saw the dimensions of the room, which was smaller and shabbier than I had imagined. The discordant twanging of the so-called music was suddenly intolerable. The beer I had drunk turned sour in my belly.

The city fathers from Sais looked as dazed as myself. They too had lost a great deal. Their leader, Harkhebi, fussed with his long beard as they whispered among themselves, then he waved his hands dismissively to show that the three of them wished to play no more.

The Nabataean had a thin smile on his face, as did the bearded bodyguard sitting behind him. In front of Obodas was a great pile of coins—many of which, only moments before, had been mine. Pressed close beside Obodas, looking sleepy, was his young traveling companion. With one hand the Nabataean idly fingered a stack of coins, while with the other he fondled the boy’s thick locks of jet-black hair.

I had lost virtually all my money, and I had no way to win it back, for I had nothing left to wager. The few coins I had left probably would not even pay for my night’s lodging. I groaned and hid my face in my hands.

Djet leaned toward me, as if to whisper something. I recoiled, then reached for one of his ears and twisted it sharply.

“Don’t dare speak to me, you little whelp!” I whispered. “This is all your fault! Curse you, Djet, and curse your master for sending you with me!”

My face flushed hotter still, for even as I blamed him and cursed him, I knew that what had happened was no one’s fault but my own. Yet Djet surprised me by agreeing that he was to blame.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “It
is
my fault. I’ve watched my master gamble, and I’ve seen how he wins, and I thought it would be the same for you. But you are not Tafhapy! I should never have told you to wager more. Who knew your Roman goddess would be so fickle?”

“It’s not Fortuna’s fault, either,” I said, shaking my head and feeling impossibly stupid. I released his ear.

“But we still have a chance to make it right,” whispered Djet, rubbing his red, swollen ear.

“How?”

“Wager
me
.”

“You?” I snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. A tiny slave like you is hardly worth a fraction of that pile of coins. You’re little and weak and unskilled—”

“But the Nabataean desires me.”

I made a dubious face.

“Have you not noticed, Roman? He’s been watching me all night, like a hawk watches a sparrow. I thought that must be why he was losing for a while, because he was paying so much attention to me and so little to the game.”

I stole a glance at Obodas. Even as he fondled the hair of the boy beside him, his heavy-lidded gaze was fixed on Djet—who fluttered his eyelashes and smiled demurely back at him, then abruptly drew his eyebrows together, as if wincing at the pain of his swollen ear. The Nabataean pouted back at him in sympathy.

I frowned. “I think you might be right,” I whispered.

“Of course I am. Do you think a messenger like myself, who goes everywhere in Alexandria, doesn’t learn to notice who watches him, and how long, and why? Little and young I may be, but not stupid, or blind.”

His tone clearly imputed the latter two qualities to me, but I ignored the insult. “Very well, I see that you may be right. But of what use is this to me?”

“I told you. Use me for a wager.”

I sighed. “In the first place, you are not my property, Djet—”

“The Nabataean doesn’t know that.”

“And in the second place, what if he wins?”

While he considered this question, Djet made his face a blank and stared at the Nabataean. Obodas stared back at him. Like a hawk watching a sparrow, Djet had said, and truly, so concentrated was the man’s gaze that I think I could have scooped up half the coins and made off with them before he noticed. But there was the bodyguard to contend with.

Djet at last turned back and whispered in my ear. “He won’t win.”

“How do you know?”

“I can see it in his eyes. He cares nothing about the money, and so he was able to play without effort, and win. But he will want to win me, very badly. And so he will lose.”

“That makes no sense.”

“What do you know, Roman? You’re not a gambler.”

That was true. And if I wanted to get my money back—without which I could hardly hope to reach the heart of the Delta, and Bethesda—I would have to do something bold.

The Egyptians from Sais had withdrawn from the circle, but were still in the room, eating and drinking and watching to see what would happen next. The girl continued to play, and the serving boys moved about the room. The Crocodile stood in the shadows, his strange, unsmiling visage impossible to read. Obodas made a signal to his bodyguard, who stood and then reached down to help his master to his feet.

“This boy,” I said, gesturing to Djet.

Obodas was halfway to his feet. “What did you say?”

“I’ll wager this boy.”

Obodas peered at me sidelong, then waved back his bodyguard and slowly resettled himself on the rug.

“His name is Djet. He’s my slave,” I said, trying not to choke on the lie. “And a very talented slave he is. Very talented and clever, and … pleasing … if you know what I mean. He’s yours if you win the next round.”

The man looked at me shrewdly.

“And if I don’t win?”

“I get the entire pile of coins … and…” I watched his face carefully. “And … the ruby necklace you’re wearing.”

The three Egyptians laughed. The Crocodile made a hissing sound. The girl’s strumming fingers went astray, assaulting our ears with sour notes. Even Djet must have thought I had misjudged the moment, for I heard him draw a sharp breath. But the Nabataean’s bodyguard, who knew his master best, shot me a curious look, raised an eyebrow, and pursed his lips.

Obodas glanced at Djet and then at me, then at Djet again, then at the pile of coins. He pulled his fingers from the curly locks of the boy beside him and touched the ruby at his breast.

“What are coins?” he finally said, and shrugged. “And what is a ruby?” Everyone in the room drew a sharp breath. He had accepted the wager. “But you must send the boy from the room while we play.”

“Why, Obodas?”

“Because he distracts me. Send him from the room.”

“No.”

Obodas frowned. He was not used to being challenged. “What did you say, young Roman?”

“The boy stays. Would you send the coins from the room, or the ruby? When men gamble, their wagers remain before them, clearly in sight. Is that not the rule? So Djet remains. Besides, it would be unfair to change the course of his life in an instant, and prevent him from seeing how such a thing occurred.”

“Unfair?” Obodas glowered at me. “The boy is your slave. How can you speak of treating a piece of property
fairly
?”

For a moment I thought he had realized that I was deceiving him, and that Djet was not my slave to wager. But he was only scowling at my inscrutable, foreign way of thinking. At last he nodded curtly to show that he agreed. He spoke to the long-haired boy, who reached under Obodas’s headdress to unclasp the silver chain. Obodas himself removed the necklace and placed it beside the stacks of coins. The ruby glittered brightly beneath the hanging lamp.

“Very well, Roman. The boy for the coins and the ruby necklace. Shall we begin?”

While the others looked on—even the Crocodile’s daughter stopped her strumming to watch—we began the game.

At first, it seemed that Fortuna smiled on me. My throws were good and my progress on the game board steady, while the Nabataean had a slow start. Beside me, Djet squirmed with excitement. The Crocodile hissed and nervously clapped his dark, scaly hands. The three Egyptian travelers, safely out of the game, drank more beer and cheered me on, glad to see the Nabataean bested.

Then everything changed. I threw the dice, and the worst possible sum came up. My progress on the board was reversed, while Obodas swiftly passed me. Each time I threw the dice, Djet moved his lips, muttering a silent prayer or incantation, but to no avail. I suffered one terrible throw after another, as the Nabataean sped toward the finish.

One throw remained. I cast the dice. Disaster! Obodas took his final turn and won the game.

With a lascivious smile, he crooked a finger and summoned Djet toward him.

“No!” I cried. But as I began to rise from the floor, the two sons of the Crocodile restrained me. They were stronger than they looked, and probably used to dealing with troublesome guests.

Obodas stood up, yawned, and stretched his arms while the bodyguard and the long-haired boy collected his takings. “Come, boy,” he said, for Djet, frowning and shaking his head, had not budged.