Soldier of Sidon (17 page)

THERE IS LITTLE
light and less comfort. Our friend Kames brought me this scroll, with the reed brushes and a block of ink, all in a leather case. I wet the brush with my drinking water, of which we have too little, and write so that he can watch me. He is rarely here, but Myt-ser'eu has told him I wrote so often, and wrote everything on this scroll. He tells me much of her and says this. So does the man who comes and goes, and Thotmaktef.

MYT-SER'EU CAME. SHE
is my wife, Thotmaktef says. He had told me something of her before, but neither how beautiful she is nor how young. She kissed me, after which we spoke in whispers. She is very frightened. She has been taken by force more than once, and talks of killing the men who did it. I told her she could not, that it was a man's work and I will do it.

As I will.

She brought more water. We thanked her, and asked for more. I asked for another lamp, too. It is dark here,
save when they bring torches and make us dig. I am able to write these things because the man who comes and goes brought more oil for the lamp he brought us before. He wants me to read this. I have read of a plumed god and many other things.

KAMES CAME TO
warn me. He says one of my men has told them about the bald man, saying he is my servant. He says they will question me about him. While he was with us in the mine, the priest's wife came. They forced her, she says, but fear her because she is of the Medjay. I asked about these Medjay, and they are the herdsmen I read of in this scroll. The prince said this, and that they were his forefathers' people, long ago. Now he digs like the rest of us.

Soon guards came and brought me to this hut by the smelter. They asked me about the case that holds this, and when I showed them what was in it they tried to take it. I killed them, striking them with my chain and strangling them afterward. I have their daggers now--two long blades. If someone else comes by day, I will kill him as well. When night comes I will go out, and we will see.

THE MAN WHO
got away came. He is so silent that he stood before me before I knew he had come. They are looking for the two I killed, he said. Soon they will look here. I will fight until they kill me.

THERE WAS NOISE
outside and much excited talk. I heard Kames's voice. He was speaking, first in one tongue and then in another. A woman spoke. Perhaps she was the Myt-ser'eu I have read about. She was not the priest's
wife--I remember that voice. This woman spoke loudly, and her tones were less soft.

It is nearly dark. Someone plays a lute.

URAEUS AND I
carried away the dead men and hid them among the rocks. These Nubians do not keep good watch. He wished to steal horses and go for help. I said I would not leave the others. I told him to steal a horse and bring whatever help he could. He did not wish to leave me, but I ordered him to go. He is my slave, he says. He said there would surely be a guard on the horses and asked whether he might kill him. I told him to kill anyone who tried to prevent him from carrying out my order.

URAEUS RETURNED. THERE
are no horses. There is little grass here, he says, and they may have been taken where there is better grazing. Shortly before sundown he left me to look.

The sun set, and I went out. Four with spears came to this hut, and there was much loud talk. I wanted to go back into the mine, but there is a fire before it and guards with spears, shields, and swords. The new woman was talking at the big fire. I crept nearer to listen. She spoke the tongue of Kemet. Then Kames spoke as Nubians do. Another spoke, and Kames told her--and me--what had been said. So it went.

The woman:
"It is a great treasure, I tell you! A magical treasure. It is a woman of wax who will become a real woman at my command. You will have four women then instead of three."

Another woman spoke as Nubians do, and they struck her.

Kames:
"Piy asks if you think they are to be lured
away so easily? If they go, your friends will come to free Prince Nasakhma."

The woman:
"Give me one man and three horses, and I will bring you this treasure in a day, a magical treasure for which your king will give a sack of gold. Then you will marry me, Piy, and we will be happy forever."

Kames:
"He says you only wish food, rest, and a horse. Then you would escape from him. It would be easy to escape one man. He says, tell us where the treasure lies. I will send soldiers to get it. They will bring it here, and when they do, you must show me your magic. If you cannot, so much the worse for you."

She told them where it was, and Uraeus and I left so as to be there before they came. We have found the box, and the dead horse that carried it. Now we three wait for them.

I hear voices.

PIY HAD SENT
four of his dark soldiers with five horses. We waited to let them find the box and find it held no woman. Sabra went to them, showing by gestures that she was the one who had been in the box. They did not believe her. She lay down in the box, and when one bent over her to see, she stabbed him in the throat.

Uraeus bit one. He fell in convulsions, which I do not understand. I killed two with my daggers. We took the box, their horses, and their spears and rode to this place, where we have built a fire. I ate food from their saddlebags, but not Uraeus, who hunts among the rocks. Sabra says she does not eat, but needs a woman's blood. I did not believe it.

"Neht-nefret would have smeared me with her blood and uttered the spell to awaken me," Sabra explained. "That was what we planned. Love wakes me now."

"I do not love you," I told her. She is very beautiful, but I know that I could never love or trust her.

"No, you love your little singing girl. That silly lute player."

Now I know who played the lute I heard, and that I love her. I have written very much so that I will not forget. Uraeus insists that I must do this. Sabra is a woman of wax, lying in her box; and I must sleep.

SABRA, URAEUS, AND
I talked this morning of how we might free Myt-ser'eu and the others. I did not believe Uraeus could do as he said, but he called cobras from the rocks. He said I was to take up one and Sabra the other two. We did, and they were gentle in our hands. After that, Sabra and I rode here to the mine.

"This is a prisoner of yours," she told them. "I have recaptured him for you."

She spoke to me as she lay down in the box we had brought. "Go back to the mine, fellow!"

I did as she bid, still wearing the chain that had made it so difficult to ride.

The others welcomed me, having feared I was to be killed. "I escaped," I told them, "and we will all be free shortly. I've arranged it."

The prince--Nasakhma is his name--said, "But you have been retaken!"

"Only because I wished to be. I have these for you." I began taking the knives and daggers from under my tunic. There were six. Kames was above; thus I gave one to the prince, one to Thotmaktef, and one to each of my soldiers. One I kept for myself.

"Should we charge the guards?" asked Baginu.

I shook my head. "Charge when I give the order. If you fight bravely and skillfully, we'll be free. Now be silent a moment, all of you."

They were, until Thotmaktef whispered, "A lute ..." His ears are better than mine.

"Then she has begun to dance," I said.

"My wife?"

I shook my head. "Sabra. She says you know her."

Thotmaktef stared.

"A woman called Neht-nefret brought her. Sabra says you know her, too."

"So do we," said Baginu. "She's the captain's woman."

"Sabra returned to wax when I left her," I explained to Thotmaktef. "Neht-nefret must have gashed her arm and smeared Sabra's face with blood, as they planned. When she stooped to whisper the spell, Sabra was to whisper to her, telling her what Kames and the women must do to be safe. She dances now to give Neht-nefret time to speak to them."

Vayu muttered, "I do not believe any of us understand you, Centurio."

"Soon the bracelets will fall from Sabra's wrists," I explained, "then it will be seen that they are not ornaments but living cobras. A great cobra has been coiled tightly about her waist, under her gown. It will fall to the ground and call others from the rocks. We hope--"

Baginu had snatched my arm. "That's a lion! Hear it?"

"We must fight too," I said. "Follow me!"

Our guards had left the entrance already. Fighting against men so disordered, many of whom had been bitten, was hardly fighting at all.

We have cleared the bodies from this place, loading them on horses and throwing them into the wadi. We will start back to the river tomorrow, but first it must grow dark, and Myt-ser'eu and I do many pleasant things. Thotmaktef and Alala, too, I suppose.

Myt-ser'eu had a hundred questions, but there is no need to give them all here.

"Where did the big cobra come from, Latro? I'd never seen one half as big as that."

"Uraeus produced it for us by magic. He left Sabra and me, after warning us that it would come and telling us what we must do."

"What did you and Sabra do when you were alone?"

"Talked," I said. "She told me everything she and Neht-nefret had planned, and we planned what we would do that day."

"Only talk?"

"Only talk," I said.

"I was hoping you had her then. No?"

I shook my head.

"Six of them had me," Myt-ser'eu said. "If I screamed or struggled, they struck me." She showed me the bruises on her face, and her eyes filled with tears. "Will you send me away?"

"Of course not."

"They had Alala, too. Eight or ten of them had her." Seeing that I did not credit her, she added, "They liked her better!"

I shrugged. "Perhaps Thotmaktef will send her back to her father. That's up to him."

"I don't think so. How did you get the lions?"

"I didn't." I shrugged again. "I didn't even know they were coming, and neither did Uraeus or Sabra. But I've been reading this, and I think a goddess must have sent them. Is there one called Mehit?"

"I've heard of her," Myt-ser'eu said, "but I don't know much about her. She's an Eye of Ra, and a moon goddess who lights the way for travelers." She paused, thoughtful. "Perhaps that's why Mehit favored you. You're from a faraway city called Sidon. That would make you a great traveler."

"I didn't know."

"Well, it's what Muslak says. Sidon's one of his people's towns."

I had forgotten who Muslak was, and made her explain.

Only a moment ago, Myt-ser'eu came with a new question. "Neht-nefret said we had to climb up on things and stay there, and if we did the cobras wouldn't bite us."

I nodded.

"So we did--Neht-nefret, Alala, and me. I stood on a stool, and they left me alone. Neht-nefret and Alala got up on the table, but we were afraid it would break if I got up there too. Neht-nefret couldn't find Kames to tell him, but he wasn't bitten anyway."

I shook my head.

"So how did they know? Why didn't they bite him when they were biting the other men?"

I said, "Why didn't they bite Baginu and me when we came up out of the mine?"

"Don't smile like that!"

"I'll smile any way I want to. Uraeus had seen that all of us were barefooted--Piy's soldiers had taken my boots and your sandals so we couldn't run away. Thotmaktef's wife says the Medjay never wear anything on their feet, but there are many sharp stones here. They will soon cut the feet of anyone accustomed to sandals. Piy's men wore sandals, so Uraeus told the cobras not to bite bare feet."

"He can do that?" Myt-ser'eu wanted to know.

"He did," I told her.

She is quiet now, and I must think back to the mine. I forget quickly, she says, and I know that it must be true. Before I forget the mine, I must be properly grateful to the gracious goddess who favored me there.

THEY TOOK HER
from me tonight, and left me here. I showed my guards this scroll and asked whether I might write. They said I might, but how long will they permit it? Other guards will come, and soon this will be taken too. I have read much, and will try to remember. Surely I can never forget the golden lioness!

Their horses were better than ours, but the men of Parsa plied the bow well and kept them off for a time, turning in the saddle and shooting behind them. They were fine bowmen and dropped man after man until their last arrow had been spent.

I told them to ride hard and save the women, that I would fight and delay our pursuers. They would not obey, but followed me with their war axes while the rest rode away.

How much blood Falcata drank then! It is a terrible thing to kill a woman's son, I know. Yet it does not feel terrible to me when he has come to kill me. Falcata caught the arm as the great sword went up, again and again until my horse fell.

They came with bows and Myt-ser'eu when their dead lay thick before me.

I cannot write the horse's name. That is the thought that returns and returns, no matter how often I send it away. It is all around me, like the flies. The horse could not tell me his name. I feel sure I must once have known it, but I have forgotten it. Poor horse, with no one but me to grieve for him!

I wet the reed in my blood, hoping it makes good ink. So I will write of him.

He fell, and I knew it meant he was dead. He was a fine horse, brown with a black mane, like many horses, but spirited and eager to obey. I had ridden him to his death, and I could not save him or save myself.

I killed a great, strong man with many scars. It was like killing the night, but a man. The look of surprise as Falcata caught his shoulder and bit to the heart. He had fought many times, no doubt sometimes in great battles. Twenty-to-one now against we four soldiers, yet it was his last. He had never thought to die so. I would rather have had those broad shoulders and mighty arms for me than against me, but he fell to my sword, and I was glad of it.

Then my horse fell beneath me. What was his name? As it was for him, so it is for me. I had thought that horse would never fail me. Nor had he thought to fail me, I know, nor any rider. We had taken him from someone, I feel sure. I wish I knew from whom, and how we came to take him.

I recall the little house, and the household god squatting by the hearth, ugly and good. My father bringing dried vine dressings to feed our fire, my mother stirring soup. How did the boy become the man who rode beside the lovely brown woman in the black wig? When
we turned to fight, she shouted, "Myt-ser'eu! I'm Kitten!" lingering too long before turning to flee as I had told her, turning to wave from the saddle, so slender and beautiful.

I told the soldiers from Parsa to protect her, but they would not obey me. Kakia was stirrup-to-stirrup with me when the arrow pierced his throat. Never did I trust his courage until the moment he died.

IF I WERE
a god, my horse would live again, and speak to me. I would call him by name, and mount, and ride away. We would ride through the sky, far away to another, better land.

They held a knife to the kitten's throat, and I handed them Falcata.

Now my guard has cut my ropes, letting me write as I do. He could see I was too weak to stand. What danger am I to him now? To anyone? I thought to find no such kindness from his hard, dark face, no kindness from anyone. I do not believe I have ever been cruel, and wish I had been kinder.

If I had not surrendered Falcata, I would have been pierced by a score of arrows, long arrows with iron heads or stone ones. What harm in that? Am I better off as I tremble here, writing by firelight with a brush wet with my blood?

GEESE FLY OVERHEAD
, flying by night, calling like new boots across the sky to their fellows. It may be the last sound I hear. Every man hears a last sound. For many it must be the clash of arms. That is a good last sound, but the shouts of geese in flight is a better one. We sink into the earth, down into the shadow lands of the dead, where
I shall drink from Death's river to forget a life I cannot remember.

MY GUARD HAS
been speaking to me. There is a tongue he speaks well that I barely understand. He can speak as I spoke to Myt-ser'eu, although less well, I think, than I. I asked him the name of my horse, but he did not know it. He said I must lie down and sleep so I may live. He tied my hand to his so he might sleep himself. The cord is long enough to let me spread this and write as I do. I would rather write than sleep tonight.

What if I die?

Soldiers fight, and kings take the spoil. What does a soldier get? A few coins, perhaps, a ring from a dead man's finger, and many scars. What does a horse get? Only death. We ride them, and they--our kings--ride us.

I remember the hot, bright sun, and others I hoped to save. These men have Myt-ser'eu. She was guarded when last I saw her.

This fire lights my scroll but does not warm me.

I told her to run. I wanted her to gallop away while I fought, wanted all of them to gallop away while I fought my last fight. How is it they have her? Are there two Kittens? I remember her smile and her eyes, so wide and so full of terror. The horse my legs held, his rippling muscles.

If a lion were to roar, I would be well, my wound healed. I told my guard this. There is no lion, only another flock of geese, geese flying by moonlight, tracing the distant river through the hot, still air. The Realm of Death is dark and cold--Mother told me. Death's name is Dis Pater, and he is the richest of all gods, with more subjects than any other, and still more arriving daily to people a dark, dank land so broad that it is never full.

Who will welcome me there? I have forgotten all the names, even the name of my horse. I sweat, and fear my sweat will make this ink run. Is it not my blood? Why should it not run now?

We saw them coming over the dry plain, riding hard behind us and faster than we. There was wind, a wind that stirred the dust and sent small white clouds scudding across the bright blue sky, hot clouds that never dimmed the sun. Can any sky be bluer than the sky here? Can any sun be harsher? More blinding? This sky never stretched above our little house. Ours is surely another sky, another sun.

"Ride!" I told the soldiers of Parsa. "Ride! Keep her safe. I'll kill the leaders and the rest will stop to kill me."

I drew Falcata. Oh, her bright blade flashing in the sun! Who is the man with the silver sword? If my foes did not speak so, I did.

I reined up and swung the mount, my strong, brown, black-maned stallion, to face them. How bravely he answered to the reins, galloping to his death!

He reared with flashing hooves when I pulled him up. I waved Falcata aloft and charged them all. If he impaled himself upon a lance, he lived long afterward. How long does it take to reap men like grain? A dozen breaths? A hundred?

But first, oh, first how we roared across the plain, Baginu to one side, Kakia to the other, and I saw Kakia die. Had I a shield? I remember none, or only Baginu's.

I took a shield from a dead man when my horse fell. I remember that, ducking, dodging, Falcata biting deep into the legs, red blood on black skin, Falcata biting through the blanket and wounding the mount.

They drew off, save for one crippled man, a cripple for life now, who dragged himself toward me. I struck his hand with the back of my blade, and his long dagger went flying.

Then they brought Myt-ser'eu with the knife at her throat.

I AM WEAK
and sick, and cold. So cold. The fire came. I spoke to so many others, a crone, a cow with the body of a woman, an eagle on a staff. "Follow me," the eagle said. "Follow me!" But he has gone where I cannot follow. How I thirsted then, who shiver now in this cold!

There is no warmth in this fire. None. Only burning.

My wounds ache and bleed. Soon I will die. Tell Mother I fled no fight. Tell them in the Forum. I came and have gone. I am ...

My name is ...