by Scott Oden
"Soldiers to the fore," Barca ordered. Squads of spearbearing Egyptians in golden-scaled corselets and plumed helmets hustled down the gangplank and took up defensive positions around the Atum. Barca followed them down, pausing at the base of the plank. The onlookers pointed, chattering amongst themselves.
The small man pushed past the soldiers and inclined his head in greeting. "I am Merodach, chancellor to his Highness, King Qainu of Arabia, overlord of Kedar and protector of the peoples of Edom. Who commands here?" He looked past Barca, expecting to see a high-born Egyptian materialize at the head of the gangplank.
Merodach moved in a manner that reminded Barca of the sandpipers he had seen on the beaches of Pelusium — small, brown birds forever flitting between waves, fearful of the water but knowing their next meal would come from the silvery surf. Merodach's features added to the avian caricature: he was small and dark, his wiry muscle hidden by a smooth layer of fat; he had no chin or forehead to speak of, only a long, hooked nose, like a bird's beak, and small darting eyes the color of wet mud. He kept his head shaved, and above his left eye he displayed the faded bull tattoo of a former Babylonian slave. Barca ignored him, addressing an old soldier who stood at the head of the Arabian troops.
"We require an encampment, a defensible position, preferably to the south of Maiumas and of close proximity to the Way of Horns," said Barca. "All native troops of the garrison will be placed at our disposal."
"Nothing shall be done," Merodach fixed the Phoenician with a cool, unyielding stare, the look of a man confident in his position, "until I speak with your commander."
Barca matched the smaller man's stare with one that would curdle milk. "Who are you?"
"Fool! Are you deaf? I am Merodach, chancellor to his Highness, King — "
"Fool, is it?" Barca towered over the chancellor. "Deaf? I am neither. I am Hasdrabal Barca, overseer of the Eastern Frontier, general in the armies of the Lord of the Two Lands, servant of the Great King, the Beloved of Amun, Khnemibre Ahmose, Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt. As of now this garrison and all its troops and resources are under my command! "
Merodach bowed low, partly out of deference and partly to hide his discomfiture. "I beg your forgiveness, General. I did not expect Pharaoh to send a … a mercenary to handle affairs of state. I trust your voyage was without incident? Good. My master bid me bring you into his presence with all due haste. He is eager to meet you and hear the tidings you bring from the Lord of the Two Lands. We've brought a palanquin for your comfort."
"Who commands the garrison troops?" Barca snapped. Merodach blinked, caught off guard.
The grizzled old soldier Barca addressed earlier stepped forward. "I do." His face was like leather, his short beard the color of snow. "I am Ahmad." Amusement twinkled in his eyes.
Merodach tried to interpose himself between the two. "General, my Master awaits you …"
Barca swept him aside. "How many men do you have?"
"Two hundred," Ahmad replied. Barca found nothing remiss in the man's lack of honorifics. Ahmad was a professional soldier, no different from the men Barca had led as captain of the Medjay, with well-mended armor and weapons worn from use. "Divide them into four squads. Two squads will remain on station in Gaza on rotating shifts. The other two will serve as forward scouts and guides. Pick those who know the terrain best as scouts."
Ahmad nodded. "They all know the terrain, but I understand what you want."
"I must insist!" Merodach howled, unused to being so patently ignored. "King Qainu demands …"
"Callisthenes!" Barca jabbed a thumb at the diminutive Babylonian.
The Greek threaded through the ranks of Egyptian soldiery, a scribe bearing papyrus scrolls in his wake. Callisthenes wore the regalia of an envoy. Crisp white kilt; wide belt of gold-scaled leather; a pectoral of gold, carnelian, and lapis lazuli; a short black wig held in place by a golden band. This display of wealth and splendor had the desired effect on the flustered chancellor. Merodach bowed and scraped as if Pharaoh himself had arrived.
"At last! I am pleased there is at least one among you of noble blood and breeding who will not run roughshod over the protocols of state."
The Greek smiled warmly at Merodach. "Greetings, Merodach. I am Callisthenes, aide to General Barca. While I am not overburdened by blood or breeding I assure you I am capable of serving as a liaison between my general and your noble king."
"It would be wise to remind your General that if Egypt wishes dealings with Gaza, then the servants of Egypt must bow to the desires of their host." Merodach glanced at Barca.
"Does not Gaza crave Egypt's friendship? Egypt's patronage?"
"Egypt's friendship?" Merodach said. "You speak like it's a precious commodity. Gaza, and by extension Arabia, has survived many long years without Egyptian patronage, but how long will Egypt survive without Arabian? Your dilemma is not unknown to us."
Callisthenes' smile was genuine. "Ah, my friend, perhaps this is not the place for such discussions. I think both our causes would be better served if we continue this in your lord's presence."
After a moment's thought Merodach grinned, gesturing to the palanquin. "You are right, of course. Let us repair to more palatable surroundings."
"I avail myself of your lord's graciousness," Callisthenes said, boarding the proffered palanquin and making room for the Babylonian. Barca watched as six massive eunuch slaves hefted the sedan chair onto their shoulders and moved off in unison. Curtly, Barca detailed a squad of Egyptians to accompany them. The Greek's scribe scurried after the cortege. Barca turned back to Ahmad.
"I'll never understand their kind," the Arabian said, shaking his head.
"Their kind?"
"Bureaucrats." The word sounded like a curse.
Barca grinned. "Some men are gifted with the skills of a healer, others with the craft of a killer. But those two are a rare breed. They can spin cloth-of-gold from camel dung."
Ahmad cackled and ordered his men to disperse the crowd. Observing the old soldier in action gave Barca a degree of insight into his personality. Ahmad was not the bark and bluster type. He issued his orders in an even voice, forceful, like a father leading a company of his sons. In return, the Arabs respected their captain. They shared that sense of brotherhood, that bond, which only men who have stood together in battle could understand.
Barca glanced back at the Atum. Longshoremen, sailors, and soldiers worked in unison to unload the bales of equipment and jars of supplies. Scribes ticked each parcel off their manifests, then gave completed manifests to the quartermaster, Bay, a priest of Thoth and possibly the most meticulous man the Phoenician had ever met. Barca's eyes were drawn to the stern of the ship.
Jauharah stood at the rail, her hair flowing around her, her body in sharp silhouette against the golden sky. Barca felt her eyes on him. A fresh wave of emotion swelled in his breast. There was something unsaid between them, words and deeds yet to be consummated. Was there anything more? Barca frowned and motioned for Ahmad.
"Send scouts out tonight. I want news of the Persians."
14
Allies
Evening sunlight slanted through windows high in the western wall of the palace at Gaza. Motes of dust swirled and eddied through the air, their drifting disturbed by the approach of a man. Columns lined the way to the throne, casting alternating bands of light and shadow over the newcomer. A white cloak billowed out behind him like diaphanous wings.
King Qainu of Gaza knew the approach of the cloaked figure would not be a cause for joy. When word had come of a solitary rider entering Gaza from the north, Qainu had an idea of who it was. He ordered his courtiers and nobles away. Whatever message the newcomer bore would be for the ears of the king, alone. Qainu sat on a dais, on a throne of ivory-inlaid ebony wood, feeding gobbets of raw meat to a tiger crouched at his side, a gift from a king of distant Sind. The Arabian was a repellent man, fat and soft from years of debauchery. His long hair and beard were plaited and, in accordance with his go
ds, dyed blue-black. Qainu wore no crown but rather a five-thonged leather skullcap held in place by bands of gold and silver, indicative of the vast wealth of the incense trade.
Qainu had never been a man of war. He gained his throne in the time-honored traditions of treachery and guile. Poison in the cup and a knife in the back, those were methods he understood. Not armies. Not conquest. Those were the instruments of an Assyrian, of an Egyptian, of a Persian. Organized violence was the playground of the man who stalked toward him.
"You play a dangerous game, friend," Qainu said as the man drew near. "Your enemies are at my gate, and yet you stroll into my palace as if it were the agora at Athens. The Egyptians would pay well for your head, or so I've heard. Perhaps I should present it to them as a symbol of my loyalty?"
Phanes of Halicarnassus laughed, offering the Arabian king nothing in the way of homage. "Don't try to bluff me, Qainu. We both know you don't have the balls to take my head. Were I in your place, I would worry more about what my Egyptian masters will think when they see me ensconced not as a governor, but as a tyrant." The Greek indicated the throne room.
Phanes presented the perfect blend of insouciance and arrogance tempered with the wariness of a stalking lion. He had changed little since the Fates frowned on him at Memphis. Leaner perhaps, his muscles sharpened by deprivation; a vengeful light in his eyes gave him the aspect of a homicidal Adonis. Beneath his cloak the Greek wore a bronze cuirass inlaid with figures of silver and obsidian, Charon leading a slain Achilles across the river Styx.
The tiger at Qainu's side stretched, growling, its yellow eyes fixed on the Greek, a predator sensing its own. Perturbed, Qainu said, "Why have you come? Is Cambyses displeased with my preparations? Have I not met the letter of our agreement? I have camel trains of water stationed along the desert route with trustworthy men from the tribes guarding them. What more …?"
"No, you've done well, Qainu. Cambyses appreciates your cooperation. The vanguard approaches. As we speak, Lord Darius is exacting tokens of submission from the cities of Phoenicia. I'm here because I heard a troop of Egyptians left Pelusium bound for Gaza. I came to observe."
Qainu's throne creaked as he shifted his weight. The king scowled. "You are welcome in my court whenever it suits you, my friend, but you could not have chosen a worse time. Your very presence is enough to wreck my plans. The Egyptians have not forgotten Phanes of Halicarnassus."
"I will be the soul of discretion, Qainu."
The king leaned forward, his fingers gripping the arm rests of the throne so tightly his whitened knuckles cracked. "Please, return to Lord Darius! As a show of good faith, I'll not send you away empty handed."
Phanes waved him off. "Keep your gold. I have no need for it."
"I would not insult you by offering something of little interest to you. Where other men crave wealth, you crave information. Something has come to me that is of paramount importance to our Persian masters! "
"So important that you did not at once relay it to Cambyses?" Phanes said, his manner one of open skepticism. "Tell me, and I will decide as to its worth."
"The Son of Ra has rejoined his Father," Qainu said.
Phanes blinked. "You lie!"
"A messenger arrived two days ago from Sais instructing me to relay the information to the Egyptian commander, along with the blessings of Ankhkaenre Psammetichus."
"Amasis is dead, and Psammetichus wears the crown?" Phanes said, his voice like the low hiss of a serpent. His teeth ground in silent anger as he paced back and forth, cursing under his breath. Soon, the spasm passed. "How long were you planning to keep this close to your heart? Did you not think what it might mean to Cambyses' strategy? Without an experienced leader, Egypt's armies will flounder. Psammetichus may have sprung from his father's loins, but he is no Amasis. The native generals will tear him apart. Zeus Savior, you fool! You'll be fortunate to escape the King's wrath!"
"So, you will take this back to Lord Darius." Though the thought of Cambyses' anger chilled him, Qainu had more pressing concerns at the moment. He was wedged between the two greatest powers of his generation — not a safe place to be for someone harboring ambitions of his own. For his plans to achieve fruition, he had to present the facade of a loyal subject. For that to happen, he needed Phanes as far from Gaza as possible.
"You leave me little choice," the Greek said.
"Good. I'll have my grooms prepare afresh horse. You…" But, the Arabian king did not have a chance to finish. Guards thrust the polished cedar doors open and filed in, escorting Merodach and the envoy of the Egyptians. Qainu turned to hiss a warning to Phanes, but the Greek was gone, vanished into the shadows as if he had never been there at all. The Arabian felt as though he walked along the edge of a razor.
Merodach scuttled up to the throne and prostrated himself.
"My lord King," he said. "I present to you Callisthenes of Naucratis, aide to General Barca and liaison to the Egyptians."
Callisthenes approached, bowing. "King Qainu of Arabia, overlord of Kedar and protector of the peoples of Edom, for your household, your wives, your sons, your nobles, your horses, your troops, Pharaoh sends his blessings of prosperity and health." Callisthenes drew breath to continue, but an inarticulate howl of rage cut him off. He looked around, scowling.
A figure hurtled from the shadows. Callisthenes had the impression of burnished bronze and white cloth as a whirlwind of fists hammered him to his knees. A voice he had not heard since Memphis screamed in his ear: "You traitorous bastard!"
No longer the soft merchant of Naucratis, Callisthenes ducked a blow that would have snapped his neck, snagged Phanes' sword belt, and shot a series of quick punches into his groin. Phanes staggered, off balance, as Callisthenes clawed at the hilt of his sword. On the dais, Qainu's tiger roared.
A split second later, Merodach and the Arab guards separated the Greeks. Dazed, Callisthenes sat back on his haunches, blood starting from his nose and lip. Soldiers in studded corselets and spired, turban-wrapped helmets held Phanes at spear point.
"I must protest!" Merodach shrieked. "This is a grave breach of protocol! Are we dogs to cast aside the sanctity of our pledge? The Egyptians have come to us under a banner of truce, a banner of good will! I — "
"Be silent, Merodach," Qainu said. His eyes were slits. "You know this one, Phanes?"
"Know him? He's the one who betrayed me to Pharaoh at Memphis! " Phanes said, his features hard, vengeful. "Your father was one of my dearest friends, like a brother to me! I trusted you! "
"And you're more the fool for it! " Callisthenes hissed, rising to his feet. "My father curried your friendship because it was expedient. You were a tool, and he warned me your ambition far outstripped your ability. Egypt does not need Persian rule, much less Greek!"
"Spoken like a true native!" Phanes said. He looked at Qainu. "Kill him! He is a snake, a serpent in the garden who would strike at our heels when our backs are turned. Further, if our positions were reversed, I would order my men to excise this Egyptian cancer from my shores. Kill them all! "
The tiger at Qainu's side twitched its tail, growling, agitated by the scents of blood, adrenalin, and fear. The king stroked the nape of its neck. "And were I you," Qainu said, "I would return to my masters with all due haste. Remember what I have told you! "
"I will go, but he comes with me!" Phanes said, jabbing his thumb at Callisthenes.
Qainu shook his head. "He is not for you, Phanes. Not today. Perhaps I will give him to you when you return, perhaps not. As of now, I need this one as insurance should my plans fail."
For a moment fury blazed in Phanes' eyes. His hand twisted into a claw, itching to feel the hilt of his sword. He might have thrown himself on the Arabian king were it not assured he would die on a hedge of spears before ever touching the hem of Qainu's robe. An eternity passed in the span of a heartbeat. Hands shifted their grips on spear shafts. Sweat rolled down Merodach's nose. The tiger coughed in anticipation …
Suddenly, Phanes
laughed and offered a deep bow, ending it with a dramatic flourish. "I stand corrected, Qainu. You have balls the size of melons. I will inform Lord Darius that the road to Egypt's border is clear, thanks to our Arabian friends. But, remember this, and remember it well, when I return, if you try to withhold him from me, I'll pull this palace down stone by stone!" He turned and glared at Callisthenes. "Keep yourself safe, merchant. We have business yet to finish!"
To Phanes' surprise Callisthenes did not quail or grovel. He drew himself up and spat, his face flushed with defiance. "I'll be here waiting, boy-fucker!"
Phanes spun, his cloak billowing out behind him. His laughter redoubled as he retraced his steps from the throne room.
Silence ruled. Men stared at one another, and at the Greek. At a word from their King, the soldiers would impale the Egyptian envoy on their spears. They waited expectantly. Merodach wrung his hands and finally spoke.
"I cannot be a party to this! By all the laws of hospitality, of protocol, held sacred by the goddess Alilat and thriceblessed Orotalt, by Ishtar and Marduk, I beg of you, 0 King! Reconsider this course of action. These seeds of deceit will bear bitter fruit!"
"Listen to your chancellor, Qainu!" Callisthenes said. "You're making a grave mistake! Barca will. ."
"Your general will be dead by sunrise. My mercenaries will see to it. For the moment, though, I require your silence. Guard." Qainu stroked his beard, his brows furrowed in thought. Before Callisthenes could react, the soldier behind him reversed his spear and rammed the weighted butt against the base of his skull. Callisthenes staggered and fell and did not move.
Merodach stood aghast.
"Did an honor guard accompany him?"
"Y-Yes, 0 King," the chancellor stammered.
