The Blood Star (40 page)

“Perhaps she has to give half to the
landlord.”

“I think the landlord, and you, and all men
are great fools.”

She was angry now, coiled up inside like a
little viper. I was considering how best to praise the landlord’s
wife—after all, how often did I have such a chance to annoy
Selana?—when I found that the subject had been abruptly
changed.

“The foreigner said he would be back this
evening,” she said, taking back the wine cup while it was still
half full. “He said it was a matter of business. He said it was
important.”

“If then it is business, he had best not find
me in the company of children. Go to bed, Selana.”

She scrambled to her feet, leaving the cup
and the wine jar behind her.

“And what of the landlord’s wife? Will you
sleep with her? She is certain to ask me.”

“I might—if only that you can earn your two
silver pieces. I will decide about that after I have spoken to the
foreigner.”

This answer was not very agreeable to her and
she fled the room in a high rage, making me feel a certain pity for
the landlord’s wife.

Not half an hour had passed when Khonsmose, a
great lump of a man with huge, muscular arms and incredibly hairy
shoulders, presented himself at my door, bowing meekly.

“Begging Your Honor’s pardon, but the
foreigner has come again,” he said, his sad eyes seeming to
acknowledge that he must accept the full measure of blame for this
intrusion—since for all his obvious size and strength, it was clear
he was one of those whom the gods mark out to be the victims of the
whole human race.

When he saw I was not angry, a faint glimmer
of hope lit in his eyes.

“Shall it please Your Honor that I send him
away?”

“No—I will see him now.”

Disappointed yet again, Khonsmose shuffled
off. He did not return, but a minute later another man appeared in
the doorway—light skinned, spare of build, in stature a little
under the average for that part of the world, his head and beard
shaved and his eyes painted after the Egyptian manner.

Khonsmose had been right, however, for he was
“from the Eastern Lands,” from Sumer, I would have wagered much,
although how I could have been so certain I could not have
said.

“I am in the presence of the Lord Tiglath
Ashur?” he asked, in Aramaic—it was not merely a good guess, since
my name, if nothing else, marked my origins. He smiled, as if we
shared some secret.

“Then we have not met?”

I did not rise, but gestured for him to sit.
Neither did I offer him wine, for I did not like this stranger.

“No.” He shook his head—why did I imagine he
was lying? I would almost have said I knew his face from somewhere,
but that is a common enough mistake. “I have not had that honor.
Had our paths crossed before this, I would have remembered.”

“And certainly we are both a long road from
home,” I said, in Akkadian.

There was just an instant of hesitation, and
then he cocked his head a trifle to one side and regarded me
questioningly. It was perhaps even possible that he had not
understood me—could I have been mistaken?

I repeated myself, this time in Aramaic, and
he smiled again.

“I am a Hebrew,” he said, as if in answer to
a question. “Born in Jerusalem, but raised up in Tyre. Egypt is an
uncomfortable place for a foreigner—yes, sometimes it seems a long
road home.”

It was a safe story, for who in the wide
world knows anything of the Hebrews? A man might be from anywhere
and make such a claim.

“You have lived here long?” I asked, letting
the matter pass. After all, who should understand better than I
that a man may have very good reasons for wishing to make a secret
of his birth?

“Only a few years, in Saïs until now. This is
my first visit to Naukratis.”

During our conversation he had sat with his
hands folded in his lap, the right over the left, but suddenly he
raised his right hand and smoothed down the breast of his tunic
with it. There seemed no particular reason for the gesture. Then
his hands returned to his lap, the left once more hidden by the
right.

Yet I had seen that none of his fingers was
missing.

“It is from Saïs that I have come, My Lord.
And with no purpose but to see you.”

There was a certain tension in his face, but
I had a sense it was probably habitual with him—all sharp lines and
abrupt angles, it seemed the sort of face that never relaxed. I had
the impression he was waiting for some reaction, as if I should
have known from the beginning what he wished of me.

When at last I said nothing he made a small
dismissive gesture, perhaps to indicate that he claimed no virtue
from the journey.

“I have come with another man, a noble of
great wealth who in this instance has entrusted me to speak for
him,” he went on. “It is my lord’s understanding that you are in
quest of loans on behalf of Prince Nekau. Is such the case?”

“If it were true, I would hardly declare the
fact to a stranger.”

I smiled, without much warmth, wondering why
this man and his rich and illustrious patron should interest
themselves in my mission for Prince Nekau—and, more immediately,
how they had found out about it. There were only a limited number
of possibilities.

There was a faint flash of anger in his eyes,
instantly controlled. He knew I was baiting him. He was not a
fool.

“You wish to know the source of my patron’s
information. Your caution is admirable, My Lord; however, in this
instance it is also misplaced. It only matters that he does have
such knowledge and that he is prepared to make such a loan to the
prince. Nothing else need concern us. We have only to discuss the
terms and the rate of interest.”

“And, of course, the amount of the loan,” I
said, struggling hard to keep down a rising sense of
excitement—Glaukon, I thought. He has arranged this somehow. I
should have guessed.

“Yes—of course.” The man drew back his lips
in an unconvincing grin, as if I had made a joke. “The
amount—whatever the prince requires, I should think.”

“The prince requires a great deal.”

“How much would that be?”

“Five million emmer.”

“Five million. As much as that, you
think?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips, but no sound escaped
them. He seemed to be considering the matter.

“My patron may wish to limit himself to three
million,” he said, raising his eyes questioningly to my face.
“Would that be acceptable, or will only the full five million
serve?”

“It is possible that even five million will
not be enough, but the prince was licensed me to borrow as much as
I can, and on whatever terms I find reasonable. I will be happy to
discuss this matter with your patron.”

This pleased the man who claimed to be a
Hebrew from Saïs, who might be anyone from anywhere. Nevertheless
his eyes narrowed slightly, as if the conversation had suddenly
taken a painful turn.

“There are, of course, certain matters which
must be agreed upon in advance of any such meeting,” he said. “The
prince’s credit is not very high—and of course my patron, as a
nobleman of Saïs, is his subject and understands quite well the
embarrassment of his circumstances. Any loan made to the prince
would naturally require that there be certain guarantees. You would
of course have to offer your own fortune as security. The rate of
interest, by the way, would be two parts in three of the whole—to
be paid back within the year.”

“My wealth is now almost entirely invested
abroad. Nor does it approach such a sum as three million
emmer.”

“My patron is aware of this, and has factored
the risk of default into his requirements by way of return.”

“That risk is very great,” I said. “Your
patron must know what everyone in Egypt knows: that Pharaoh plans
to move against the prince. If that happens, or if there is another
year of famine, or if the prince finds himself too pressed by his
creditors and simply repudiates the debt, I would be left with
nothing.”

“You must decide for yourself, My Lord, how
much you wish to interest yourself in the prince’s affairs. I can
only repeat my instructions.”

Still, it was clear that those instructions
were not entirely displeasing to him. We had taken a dislike to
each other, I and this man whose name I did not know, whose origins
I could only guess at. We might find ourselves doing business, but
the animosity would remain permanent.

“I shall need time to consider the matter,” I
said. “I will give you my answer at this time tomorrow evening, if
that is convenient.”

“It is quite convenient, My Lord. I shall
wait upon you then and, if we can come to an understanding, I shall
arrange a meeting with my patron.”

“Does your patron have a name? Do you?”

“My patron wishes, for the present, to remain
anonymous. My own name is Ahab.”

“And your patron would not by any chance be
missing the least finger of his left hand?”

Ahab of Jerusalem looked perplexed for a
moment, as if he wondered whether some insult was being
offered.

“My patron is an elderly gentleman, Lord,” he
answered finally. “He is plagued by many infirmities, yet such a
loss is not among them.”

“Then I bid you good night,” I said. “I will
see you again tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

He bowed and departed. I was left to consider
the matter in solitude.

Ruin—that was what it would mean. I had no
faith in Nekau’s chances in this crisis. And even if somehow he did
survive, he was not a man to have any scruples about abandoning his
friends. Should the prince default, I would not have enough for
bread to eat.

Could I face that? I was the son of a king.
All my life I had been surrounded by wealth and power. It is
nothing to die a beggar, but could I live as one? I did not
know.

And then there was Nodjmanefer. I had to
think of her as well.

Glaukon had brought this upon me—I was sure
of it. I was half angry with him, although certainly he had acted
as a friend. Knowing that no one in Naukratis would give me decent
terms, he had come up with this Ahab of Jerusalem. If that was who
he was.

I did not believe he had come from Saïs only
to discuss this matter with me, as he claimed. Glaukon had seen me
only that morning, and Saïs was a day’s journey. The man must have
been in Naukratis to begin with, but why lie about it?

Nothing made any sense.

I sat in my tiny room drinking wine, I do not
know how long. Certainly the street had been dark for some hours,
and the tavern must have been closed, when the landlord’s wife
entered my doorway. In her hand was a small papyrus scroll, sealed
with wax.

“A sailor brought this for you, My Lord,” she
said, offering it to me. “His ship landed only half an hour ago, he
told me to tell you. He came from Memphis.”

I took the scroll, broke the seal, and
read:

“Tiglath, my love, there are terrible
disorders in the city. A mob broke into our house this morning, and
Senefru had to call soldiers to disburse them—many wretched people
were killed. Senefru is half distracted in his mind and utters many
frightful threats of what will happen if Pharaoh comes. Please
return soon and take me from this city of death. For the first time
I am really afraid.”

The writing was Greek, but the name at the
bottom was that of Nodjmanefer.

So at last, it would seem, I was to have no
choice. Suddenly the future stretched before me as a black, empty
pit. A grave.

“Will you require anything more, My
Lord?”

At first I did not even realize that she had
spoken. Then I looked up and saw her smiling at me—she was thinking
of twenty silver pieces. No doubt I looked a favorable chance, for
I was drunk enough.

But in that instant I hated her with a blind
rage.

“Be gone, harlot!” I shouted, throwing my
wine cup at her so that it shattered not a handspan from her head.
“Go and sleep in your husband’s bed for a change!”

She screamed in fright and ran away. The
whole house must have heard her scream—it seemed to echo in my mind
as if it were trapped inside me. At last I covered my face with my
hands to make it stop.

XVI

In the end, wrath is its own punishment. I
slept but fitfully that night and woke up with a bad conscience and
a worse head. In the morning Selana brought me breakfast and a
small jug of very cold wine.

“Drink this first,” she said, pouring me a
cup. “No—I do not care if it does taste like pond water. You must
drink yourself sober again before you will be fit for anything. You
should be content to live a strictly temperate life, Master, for
you always pay much too dearly for your debauches. The landlord’s
wife, by the way, has been in a fearful rage all morning.”

“I have no doubt of it.”

The very smell of wine produced in me an
almost overpowering impulse to vomit, but when I managed a few
swallows I really did feel better. It was several minutes, however,
before I could even look at the food.

“It is safe to assume, then, that she did not
collect her twenty silver pieces?” Selana raised her eyebrows in
mockery. “I can almost pity her, since it must have been a great
shock to her vanity. But at least I am consoled by the knowledge
that I am not the only one whom you punish with your disdain.”

“Damn you, you little bitch.”

This, however, only made her laugh. I reached
into my traveling chest and pulled out a small purse of coins.

“Here—pay her her twenty pieces of silver.
Pay her thirty. Tell her anything you like. Tell her I will sleep
with her tonight if it pleases her. Better yet, tell her that as a
boy of six I fell astraddle a wagon tongue and have been of no use
to women since. Give me some more wine, Selana, and kindly school
yourself to witness my discomfitures without such obvious
relish.”