by Gary Corby
“When you sit around here begging all day, all you got to do for entertainment is look at the coins people drop. I see all kinds,” he said, then added, “In low denominations, of course.”
“I can imagine.”
“That third coin you gave me’s got no moon. All the coins you Athenians make have got an owl, but only the really old ones got no moon beside the owl.”
“Getting back to Inaros—”
“I got interested in coins, you know? Not just to spend, but coins are like art. I keep the unusual ones for my collection.”
“You collect coins instead of spending them. And you’re a beggar?” I said.
“Best way to get more coins!”
“I’m sure.”
“If you’re interested in coins, you should talk to the other collectors. They all know me. I keep an eye out for them. Whenever I find something unusual, I sell them the coins.”
“You sell money . . .” I repeated. I had some trouble with that idea.
“Yeah. There are guys who will pay good money for this money.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “That one drachma piece is worth more than one drachma?”
“Right. Because there’s no moon beside the owl, that means you guys minted it before the Persians attacked you, which was—what?—thirty years ago? This coin is old. I could get maybe five drachmae for this.” He tucked the one-drachma coin into a leather bag beneath his clothing, a bag rather like my own.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
The beggar shrugged. “He’s over there.” He pointed.
“Who is?”
“Inaros. You kept asking about him. I don’t know why you’d bother talking to him though; he’s not interested in coins.”
•
The man whom Athens was backing to be the next Pharaoh of Egypt had taken residence in a mansion just off the agora.
Inaros held counsel before a group of fifteen men. He sat upon a large, straight-backed chair, his arms lying perfectly parallel on the unpadded rests, his spine flat against the wooden back. Whether it was subconscious or by design, he already sat like a Pharaoh. So much so that I felt like we had entered a throne room, though we were in a mere merchant’s house.
One of the men who stood before Inaros was holding forth.
“. . . and I say to you, Inaros, that the news is pleasing, up and down the Nile. Here in the north, in the Land of Papyrus, you are Pharaoh in all but name. It is as if the Persians never existed. To the south, in the Land of Reeds, the governors of the nomes await your coming and that of your armies. Soon, Inaros, you will wear the Double Crown of the Two Lands.”
“Hardly soon,” Inaros said. His voice was mildly ironic, and deep, with a pleasant timbre. “What of Memphis?”
“There is Memphis,” the advisor admitted.
Another man spoke up. He was gray-haired and looked a hard man. I guessed he was an officer. “The army cannot march south to liberate the Land of Reeds while Memphis remains under control of the Persians,” he said crisply.
“I understand this, General,” Inaros said. “Does the enemy weaken?”
“If anything, the Persian grows stronger in his fort,” the General said. “They have been given far too much time to rest and recuperate.”
“The people of Memphis feed the enemy garrison,” the advisor said glumly. “They prefer Persian rule.”
“In the name of all that is holy, why?” asked another man.
“They do not accept Inaros as a true incarnation of Horus,” said the political advisor.
“Of course he is,” the man said. “The God has chosen Inaros. How else could he have won the astounding victories that he has?”
Heads nodded about the room.
“The city dwellers are less sure of the God’s intention,” the advisor said.
“Or else they’re less pious,” the hard-bitten military man added drily. I saw Inaros hide a smile at those words.
“Inaros is a true descendant of the Pharaohs,” the third man insisted. “He said so.”
There was general silence to this remark.
The silence was finally broken by the military man. “Let me assault the city, Inaros,” he said.
“No!” The advisor held up his hands in horror. “Think of the civilian deaths.”
“So?” replied the officer. “Have you ever known a war when people didn’t die?”
“The Pharaoh cannot kill women and children!”
“The Pharaoh will not be Pharaoh if he doesn’t!”
The two men were shouting at each other.
“Gentlemen,” Inaros said.
They turned to him.
“You are both right,” Inaros said.
“We cannot both be right,” said the advisor, and the military man nodded. They had found something they could agree on.
Inaros said, “General, you are right that Memphis must be taken. By assault, if no other way can be found. But if another way can be found, we must try it.”
“We need an answer for Memphis,” the General insisted.
“There will be an answer,” Inaros said.
They ceased speaking when we were noticed. Every head turned our way. Inaros’s eyes swept over us, then he said, “Here we have friends from Athens, I take it.”
Diotima and I hadn’t yet said a word. He must have deduced it from our clothing. I wore my best chiton, which Diotima had made for me using quality linen. It covered me from my arms to my legs; the material was key-patterned in bright blues. Diotima wore a dress of rich red to set off her long, dark hair and silver earrings. All of this was quite different to what the Egyptians wore, which for the powerful men in this room meant voluminous clothing that hung loose and flowed with every movement.
Diotima and I stood out more than I had realized. I made a note that we would have to buy some local clothes.
“Greetings,” I said. “I bring a message from Pericles to the esteemed . . . er . . .” I trailed off in confusion. “I’m sorry, do I call you Pharaoh?” I asked. Pericles hadn’t bothered to mention that detail.
Men laughed. The political advisor scowled.
The man on the throne said, “I am Inaros, the chosen of Horus to assume the Pharaohship. But for the moment, my highest title is Prince of Libya.”
The Prince of Libya held out his hand.
I handed over the letter of introduction that Pericles had written. Inaros read it. When he finished, he said to the assembly, “Gentlemen, our answer may have arrived. I invite you to welcome Nicolaos and Diotima, sent by our ally. They are . . . diplomats.”
“These two are diplomats?” the General said. “They make them young these days.” He looked Diotima up and down. “And a damn sight better looking than the ambassadors we used to get.”
Inaros mentioned that dinner was long overdue for his advisors. They took it as a polite dismissal.
When they had left, Inaros asked, “Are you hungry?”
We hadn’t eaten since lunch on the boat. Diotima and I said yes.
“So am I. Come this way.”
Inaros stood. Two guards fell in behind the Prince of Libya. They were tall and thin, and stood straight as the spears they held in their right hands. They wore nothing but loincloths.
They were also bright red. Not sunburn red. These men had coated their entire bodies in a dye so loud that they looked like they’d been dipped in artists’ paint. That alone would have grabbed my attention, but there was more. The hair on the right side of their heads hung all the way to their waists. The hair on the left had been shorn to the scalp.
They looked totally lopsided. I almost expected them to fall over sideways. But they didn’t. Instead they stared at me.
“Don’t mind them,” Inaros said. “They’re from my homeland.”
Th
e Prince of Libya led us into a back room where there was a table and chairs. He invited us to sit. One of the slaves brought beer, another carried food.
This gave the rebel leader plenty of time to inspect us.
“The commander of my armies is right. You appear to be young for this assignment.”
“I am twenty-five—”
“As I said, young.”
Inaros himself could not have been older than forty-five by my reckoning. I decided not to mention that.
“Hmm, well,” Inaros said. “If Pericles sent you, then you must be the best that Athens has.”
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of confidence.
“So, what do you think of me?” Inaros asked as he sipped his beer.
I choked on the apple I was eating. How was I supposed to answer that?
“Your approach is refreshingly informal,” Diotima said.
Inaros laughed. “I have no delusions about being anything other than a man with the ability, perhaps, to take control of a country.” Inaros ate dates and cheese from the plate before him as he spoke. “You listened in on the conversation. There has been a great battle, which we won with the excellent help of your Admiral Charitimedes and his fleet. I rule all of Egypt from the capital Memphis, up the Nile, through the Delta and on to the sea.”
“You rule with a light touch,” I said. “Naukratis seems barely to notice you.”
“Nor do I want them to,” said Inaros. “It is in my interest that they be undisturbed.”
“It is?”
“Every man, woman and child in this city is a trader. Traders don’t want to be governed, Nicolaos and Diotima. They want to be left alone to make their profits.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mind? Are you insane? Have you ever noticed how cheap it is to rule a law-abiding citizen who just wants to be left alone? I love citizens like that.”
“So you deliberately moved the army out of Naukratis,” Diotima said. “We wondered where they were.”
“I had somewhere else to send them,” Inaros said. “After I conquered Bubastis and several other cities on the Delta, I discovered the people there have a problem with crime. So I flooded the streets of Bubastis with my troops.”
“Did it work?”
“After I impaled the more egregious offenders, the crime level reduced markedly.” Inaros sighed. “But there are always the dumb ones, and the overconfident. So it is that my soldiers patrol the streets in those places, and the people are pleased to see them and greet my men with kind words. In Bubastis the citizens are safe and the crocodiles grow fat upon the flesh of miscreants.”
“Whereas here you leave the people to make money,” Diotima said.
“Which can only be good for Egypt. Precisely. And then among the farmers along the river I take a more paternalistic approach. Men of the soil do not always plan well. There I exact a tax of one tenth of all grain.”
“To feed your troops?” I raised an eyebrow.
“No, to store against time of need. Have you ever known a farmer to think more than one season ahead? Nor have I. We would all starve in a poor year if I didn’t force them to save.”
It all seemed mind-bogglingly complex. I said as much.
He gestured at our plates. “Must every man like the same food? No? Then why should he like the same government?” Inaros shrugged. “I give to every citizen the rule that he wants, or needs.”
Charitimedes had told me that Inaros was very able. He was right. This man was a genius.
“Why are you doing this?” Diotima asked. I knew what she was thinking. The way he planned to rule, this talented man was setting himself up to be a virtual slave to his subjects for the rest of his life.
“You ask why, young lady?” Inaros leaned forward and looked into her eyes. His voice became intense. “For power, of course. I lust for power as the traders in this town lust for coin. You see, I am like all the other tyrants, all the other kings you have heard of. But the difference is, I know the price I must pay for power, and that price is good government.” Inaros leaned back in his chair and relaxed. “Fortunately, when it comes to that I have the coin to spend,” he said immodestly. “I need not offer the people a counterfeit.”
“What about Memphis?” Diotima asked.
Inaros frowned. “In Memphis we have a problem. What the people of Memphis want is rule by the Persian overlords. I’m afraid there we must disappoint them. That’s the problem.”
“Is this why you wrote to Pericles, asking for our help?” I asked.
“It is. Some months ago, my army and that of the Persian met on the sands at Pampremis. At the same time, Charitimedes took on the Persian fleet anchored in the Nile. We won mighty victories, both on land and at sea. With their fleet destroyed, the enemy had no line of retreat. The remnants of the Persian withdrew into a citadel within Memphis that we call the White Fort. There they await the coming of a relieving force.”
“Are they so sure the Great King will send one?” I asked.
“Yes,” Inaros said with complete assurance. “Egypt is a rich province. Also, during the battle the enemy was commanded by their Satrap, a man named Achaemenes. He was the brother of the Great King’s father.”
I didn’t like that past tense. “Did you say was?”
“Achaemenes died in the battle,” said Inaros calmly.
“You killed the uncle of the Great King?” I said, aghast.
“I might point out that he was trying to kill us,” Inaros said.
Beating a Persian army was one thing. Slaughtering a member of their royal family took the insult to a whole new level. Dear Gods, the Persians were going to come down on these rebels with an iron fist.
“This is where we need you,” said Inaros. He paused to drink his beer. “With the Athenian fleet controlling the sea, the only route for an attacking army is the very hard journey across the desert.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“If by that time the Persians have been cleared out of Memphis, then my army can safely face the new attack on the East bank of the Nile, with no fear of an enemy at our rear. These new Persians will have no access to the Nile; their supply line will stretch across the desert and we can wear them out with ease. They’ll have no choice but to turn around and go home.”
Suddenly an Egyptian victory looked possible. Maybe this crazy rebellion would succeed after all.
“I see your plan,” I said. “This will work.”
Inaros smiled. “I am pleased you agree, and that’s why I need you to capture the White Fort for me.”
The plan suddenly went back to being impossible.
“I’m an agent, not an army!”
It was the second time I’d had to say that. The first had been back in Athens, to Herodotus. I wondered how the historian was getting on with his women, while I sat here discussing suicide missions with a Prince of Libya.
“Hear me out.” Inaros barely seemed to have noticed my outburst. “The situation is more fluid than my advisors would have you think. I have been in contact with the leaders of Memphis. They have certain . . . concerns about my bid to supplant the Persians. Most of these involve their personal wealth and safety. When I raised the rebellion, you see, there were more tax collectors in Egypt than there were teachers for our children. The tax was intended for the coffers of the King.”
“So the Persians were sucking the life out of Egypt,” I said.
“Graphic, but accurate. My simple policy of executing every tax collector I came across did much to endear me to the populace.”
“I can imagine.”
“All that tax money used to pass through the capital, Memphis, on its way to the Great King. A certain amount of it stuck to the Egyptian bureaucrats who collaborated with our overlords.”
“Ah ha! No wonder the bureaucrats in Memp
his are resisting you.”
“Indeed. In the normal course of events I would impale these creatures, but expediency has forced me into negotiation. I have guaranteed them their lives and their fortunes if they submit. They might even retain their government jobs.”
“That’s immoral!” Diotima blurted.
“I would not be the first politician to buy a victory, don’t you think?” Inaros said gently.
Diotima nodded.
“It is not as bad as it sounds,” he went on. “A corrupt man is like a drunkard. Once he has sipped from that cup, he cannot stop himself. Sooner or later these bureaucrats will embezzle from the state again, and then I will have them.”
“More fat crocodiles?” I suggested.
Inaros smiled. “I may hire you for my justice department, Nicolaos. Your thinking agrees with mine.”
“Then you have everything under control, Inaros. I don’t see where we can help.”
“There is another condition to be met, the most important of all. These men in Memphis will not bow to anyone but a child of their royalty. They require proof that I am a true descendant of the Pharaohs of past times.”
I remained studiously silent on that one. For although Inaros was clearly the best man to be leading Egypt, he was also a man of notably dark skin who resembled the Aethiopeans, while every powerful Egyptian we had seen notably was not. He didn’t look like any Pharaoh we’d ever heard of. Diotima also held her tongue. Despite which, Inaros had no trouble divining our thoughts.
“My father was indeed related to the last family to wear the Double Crown,” Inaros said. “The royal lines of Egypt, Libya and Aethiopia have sent their daughters to marry into each other’s families since time immemorial. It is one of the ways we keep the peace. The farmers, the merchants, the artisans . . . everyone who was under the Persian thumb has accepted my claim.”
“I’m sure.”
“But not the bureaucrats of Memphis. They demand that I produce the insignia of the Pharaoh.”
“What’s that?”
“They are the crook and the flail. The crook and flail are passed down from one ruler to the next. The crook symbolizes the Pharaoh’s role as a shepherd to his people. The flail embodies his responsibility to—how shall I put this?—to encourage good behavior.”
