by Jo Graham
“Did she believe us, do you think?” Xandros asked.
“I think so,” I said. “But I do not know. It’s hard to know the inflection and tenor of questions in a language I don’t know. If I spoke Khemet, I would know. Perhaps I had better learn.”
“You could learn Khemet,” he said.
“I could.” A thought half formed wormed its way to the surface, bursting into flower as a desire as though I had always wanted it. “I could learn to read.”
Xandros looked at me. “I believe you could,” he said slowly. “I hadn’t thought a woman could, but if any could it would be you.”
“It would,” I said.
We stood there in silence awhile longer, watching the moon rising white and clear. It cast our shadows behind us, two of a kind, dark against the pale stones.
I glanced back to the rooms where Neas slept. I wondered if he sprawled in sleep, abandoned as a child, or if his discipline held even there, the knowledge that he must behave as a prince. I did not know, and of course I never would.
“Ah,” said Xandros softly. “You too.”
I looked at him quickly. His face was still and thoughtful. “Yes,” I said. “And you?”
He gave me his own rueful sideways smile. “Always.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“Forever,” Xandros said. “Since we were boys together.”
“Has anything ever come of it?” I asked gently.
“He’s a prince and I’m a fisherman,” Xandros said. “Of course not. But he is my captain, and will be as long as I live.”
“He is a prince, but you are the captain of a warship, his most trusted captain,” I said carefully. “And you are his friend. Surely that makes a difference.”
“Do you think so?” Xandros said. “I don’t. We both know who we are.” He looked out over the river. “We should sleep.”
“We should.”
“It’s not so easy with Kos snoring,” he said. “Or Bai rolling around and mumbling.”
“I see that,” I said. The night was living and strange. Xandros had said enough, and he wanted to say no more.
“I was going to go sleep on Dolphin,” he said. “Do you want to come? If sleeping on land is difficult, I mean.”
“I could,” I said. We stepped over onto the familiar planks, went below to the bow cabin, quiet and tiny and empty. I rolled up in Tia’s good wool blanket, left here no doubt in the heat of the afternoon when a wool blanket seemed really unnecessary. Xandros lay down behind me. I could almost feel his warmth against my back, and I wanted to curl against him. I knew better, but I could not make myself move away. So I lay there, not quite touching him.
I heard him move, hesitantly. I almost felt his hand brush against my hair. Would he touch me? And what would I do if he did?
Xandros stilled. I listened as his breathing grew slow and steady, drifting away into sleep with the soft lapping of the river at the posts of the dock, the faint creak of the ship.
At least one question was answered this night, I thought. I knew that I wanted him to touch me, wanted to sleep against him, as near as breath. No man had ever desired me, no man that I would have. It seemed more than cruel to desire Xandros son of Markai above all other men.
I lay awake listening to him sleeping as long as I could.
WE WAITED and we waited. No word came from the palace. Neas paced up and down the dock, Jamarados beside him, counting days upon his fingers.
“Listen, Neas,” he said. “It’s at least four days from Tamiat to Ashkelon, and probably more with the wind dead foul. They’d have to go under oar the whole way, so a week or ten days more like. And then four days back to Tamiat, and four more up the Nile to Memphis. That’s if they found Neoptolemos in Ashkelon when they came, and we know he didn’t sail straight on our heels. They were waiting on more ships and on a break in the weather. So eighteen days from when we left Tamiat at best. That’s still two days to run. And probably we won’t hear anything for a week or two beyond that.”
Neas sighed. “I know.”
“We wait,” Jamarados said. “That’s all we can do.”
I could not. On the second day after that I went alone to the Temple of Thoth. It is part of the complex of the Great Temple, one small part of that vast section of buildings and courtyards. The temple here was as large as many cities.
I wandered through the public courtyards, trying to find my way. At last I saw the statue of ibis-headed Thoth, and thought I knew where I was. Two door wardens stood before the gates, staves in their hands. I went to them and tried to ask for Hry with gestures and his name. They shook their heads gravely at me.
A young man with a shaven head came to the gate, and they opened it for him while he began some conversation with them, presumably asking what I came for. “Hry, Hry,” I said.
He nodded and again made an incomprehensible response, then went inside. In a few minutes he returned with another man, this one wearing a white skirt and a leopard skin across his chest as Hry had. He spoke some words to me with Hry in it.
I gestured again, trying to indicate Hry’s height and manner. Surely they must know him, as old and respected as he was.
The young man said something to the elder that I did not understand, save one word, “Wilosat.”
“Wilosat?” I said. That must be Wilusan, either the person or the tongue. I patted my throat. “Wilosat?”
The elder priest spoke again and went back inside. In a moment Hry returned with him.
“Ah, the Maiden of Nepthys!” he said, a smile splitting his face. “I am pleased that you have sought me out!”
“I’m sorry, Hry,” I said, “if I have inconvenienced you. I wasn’t very good at making myself understood, though I asked for you by name.”
The old man laughed. “Hry is not my name, child. It’s my title. I suppose in your language the nearest words would be He Who Reads. I am one of the priests who have charge of the texts, both sacred and secular, and we are all addressed as Hry. My own personal name is He Who Walks with the Sunlight of Amon.” He took my arm. “Come, let us go in out of the sun. There is a shaded courtyard within that is a better place to talk.”
It was, in fact, a lovely place. Four date palms surrounded a rectangular pool. Lilies floated on the water. A stone bench stood at each end, where the shade of one palm would cover it in the morning and the shade of the other would do the same in the afternoon.
Hry sat down beside me and stretched out his legs with a sigh. “So why have you sought me out, Daughter of Wilusa?”
“I want to learn to speak Khemet,” I blurted out. “And I want to learn to read.”
He looked at me and all laughter was gone from his face. “Why do you want these things?”
“Because it is useful. Because it will help my prince. And because I want to know,” I said. “Is it forbidden?”
“No, surely not,” Hry said. “In the Black Land there are many women who read. And how could we forbid sailors to learn our language?” He looked at me keenly. “So that is the plunder you would have of Egypt.”
“We do not seek plunder, as Your Reverence knows,” I said.
Hry smiled. “Everyone who comes to Egypt is seeking some treasure. Everyone who sees our wealth wants some part of the beauty that is ours. Some, like this Neoptolemos you name, want to steal gold and ivory with his sword. Some, like your prince, I think, do not yet know what they seek. And you? You have come searching for the greatest treasure of all. What is it you really want, Maiden of Nepthys?”
I met his eyes, and answered as though he were She Who Had Been Pythia, the words tumbling from my lips. “I want to know everything. I want to know how the clouds move and why islands fall into the sea. I want to know how to plant almond trees and how to make children grow up straight and healthy. I want to know how princes should govern and why people love. I want to understand the stars in the heavens and all the words that were ever made. I want to remember every story that was ever told.”
“You want,” Hry said, “to be a god.”
“No.” I was startled. “No, I don’t mean...”
He nodded. “Yes, you do. You yearn after knowledge as our ba yearns after the sun, following it beyond the western hills into the world below. These are things we know in sleep or in death, that dream that is beyond awakening. Knowledge sits at the foot of the throne of Isis, where beside Her husband, Osiris, She judges the dead.”
“I am Death’s handmaiden,” I said. “I serve the Lady of the Dead.”
“Isis then,” he said. “Not Nepthys. Do you know Her story?”
“No,” I replied.
Hry shifted on the bench. “I will tell it to you then, you who want to know all the stories ever told. I will teach you Khemet. And reading. This is the House of Thoth, who is master of all learning. No one who desires knowledge as you do is ever turned away, for we reverence all learning, no matter its source, even if it comes clothed as the maiden of a foreign goddess in scraps of black linen.”
I looked down at my threadbare tunic and felt the color rise in my face. “Master Hry,” I said, “I would not come before you clothed in rags except for the dangers of our journey. It is not disrespect, only that I have nothing else.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Has the princess not sent clothing to you? Or anything else that you might need?”
“She has sent some food,” I said. “A generous amount of grain and beans. I think she is waiting to see if we are lying or not.”
“You are not lying,” Hry said. “I know Wilusa of old, prideful and bold. If you come in such desperate straits it is because you are in desperate peril. I believe Prince Aeneas.”
I felt tears start in my eyes. I had not realized how afraid I was that we were not believed.
“She is cautious, as befits a ruler. When word comes from Ashkelon, she will believe and you will be honored,” he said.
I did not say that in other lands caution was not much respected in a ruler. The People love above all else boldness, even above courage and honor. It is the fleet of foot, the daring, the impulsive we love—Prince Alexandros who carried off the Achaian queen and gave insult to her husband’s powerful family—this same prince who was Neas’ half uncle. We should rather go down in songs than live, I think. And perhaps that is exactly what we have done.
Egypt was not like that. Egypt was old. And caution was much valued, caution and deliberation. I feared that this time it would not serve them, not against the swift and the jealous.
I understood now why Neoptolemos wanted to raid Egypt. So much wealth so lightly defended is a tremendous temptation. But more than that, I could see why men’s hearts would be moved to jealousy, the envy of things they did not understand, of luxuries they had not imagined. I had seen the markets. Ordinary women shopped unveiled, their ears adorned with bronze posts washed with gold. Ordinary shops sold mirrors, scented oils, even the expensive myrrh resin that She Who Had Been Pythia had treasured most of all. The streets were clean and swept. The markets were full of fish, grain, fruit, and every good thing, and even the meanest seemed to have bread.
Hry was twenty years Anchises’ senior, and he was hearty and hale. He told me that in Egypt it was no great thing to live three score years, and that there were many men who lived a decade beyond that. We reckon a man old at forty, and Anchises was not fifty yet. Who would not want to seize the treasures of Egypt—long life, plentiful food, luxuries that we reserve for kings in the hands of common folk?
I heard Her at my elbow then. It is easier to destroy than to build, easier to harvest than to sow and tend. The work of generations can be destroyed in an hour’s fire, the building of a century destroyed in a summer’s war. A child takes ten moons to come into the world, fifteen years to raise, and can be killed in a moment. They cannot steal the treasures of Egypt because they do not understand how to keep them. What use to steal the harvest, if they kill those who plow the fields? There will be no grain next year. What use to fire the olive trees? Will they then fruit for the conquerors?
“Maiden?” Hry said, touching my arm. “Are you all right?”
“How shall I raise dead men to plow fields that are fallow?” I said, and they were the words of She Who Had Been Pythia. “How can I restore what is lost? So much is lost, and we are so few.”
Hry took my hand. “My dear girl, I do not know. That is in the hands of Mighty Isis, not in mine. But I promise you this, for the sake of my guest-friends in windswept Wilusa, for the sake of Lysisippa and Priam as well, if there is any knowledge in Thoth’s halls that will help you, it will be yours.”
I looked at him and saw that his old eyes were watery. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so very much.”
AND SO I began what seemed to be my second apprenticeship. Each morning I went to the Temple of Thoth from sunrise until the sun stood straight overhead and I learned. Hry taught me words of Khemet, showing me how to hold my mouth to shape their sounds. As he did, he showed me the symbols that they draw and how each might sound—word and symbol together, ox and ox, water and water, life and life.
And he told me stories. He told me how Osiris and Set were brothers, and how Set betrayed His brother and killed Him, how Isis searched through the swamps of the Delta for the scattered parts of His body, searching by moonlight in the dark waters.
Hry took me into the temple, into the parts that were permissible, and I watched them robe the statue of Isis in clean linen and anoint Her with oil. Afterward, I knelt with the others during the hymns, and came forward to touch my forehead to the hem of Her skirt.
Later, sitting beneath the date palm with Hry, I rubbed the scented oil from my forehead. “What is this fragrance?” I asked, breathing deeply between my hands. “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever smelled. It’s like all the flowers in the world.”
Hry smiled. “It’s the essence of roses. They are flowers that grow in the Land of Two Rivers, in what was Mittani and the Hittite lands. They use it there to anoint kings. We use it to anoint gods.”
IN THE AFTERNOONS I returned to the barracks where the People lived. There was food enough, but little to do. Neas paced and had the same conversations with his captains over and over. Jamarados went abroad in the city, making trades as he could. Xandros did not, but I was not surprised. At night, I slept beside him on Dolphin, chaste as a child beside its mother, chaste as though he were my kinsman. Even so, it was something to listen to his breathing, to talk quietly when sleep did not come. If I wished for more I knew better than to ask for it.
ON THE FOURTEENTH DAY after our audience a messenger came for Neas, bidding him to attend on the Princess Basetamon immediately. We went, Neas and I, Jamarados and Xandros, with Hry to interpret, in the same state as before.
In the litter I could feel the muscles in Neas’ thigh jumping with nerves. He smiled at me grimly. “If it goes badly, stay behind me and Xandros. We’ll try to fight our way clear.”
“You are mad,” I said, thinking of the massed spearmen and archers.
Neas grinned at that. “Yes,” he said, and bent and kissed me.
His lips were warm and soft, tasting of olive oil and bread, brushing against mine for one long, endless moment.
And then I looked up at him in utter shock. I had not thought, I had not dared imagine such a thing. Well, perhaps I had, months ago, but with the grief for his wife on him I had put it from my mind. I should have said something. I should have reached for him, perhaps. But I did nothing.
His smile faded. “I don’t know why I did that,” he said.
“Nor do I,” I said. In trying not to sound giddy I sounded instead peevish.
“Mad, I suppose,” he said. “You told me so.” His blue eyes flicked to mine, then away.
“I did,” I said. Warm, so warm, soft golden stubble on his chin. The closed curtains of the litter gave the illusion of privacy.
“I should know better,” he said. “I won’t do it again.”
“No, I expec
t not,” I said. I hoped he did not hear the disappointment in my voice.
Outside the bearers shifted, lowering the litter in the courtyard of the palace.
“Luck?” Neas said.
“You don’t need luck,” I said. “The gods know you were telling the truth.”
“Truth needs twice as much luck as falsehood,” he said, giving me a cocky grin as he opened the curtains and stepped out.
WE CAME INTO THE HALL immediately this time, and there were no other petitioners. Hry walked before us, and he gave me a grave nod.
Kneeling on one knee to the princess’ left was a young man about Xandros’ age, clad in a short white skirt and the striped head cloth that soldiers wear over his shaved head. His upper arm was encircled by a broad band of reddish gold.
Hry began to interpret as the princess spoke. “Hear now the words of Ephi, Captain of the scout ship Greatness, which took up Pharaoh’s commission to investigate the truth of the words of these Denden.”
In pieces we heard the story. The vizier of Tamiat had sent three scout ships under the command of his youngest son to go to Ashkelon and see if we told the truth. They reached Ashkelon after nine days of poor weather and saw nothing out of the ordinary, whereupon the vizier’s son said that if he were commanding a pirate fleet he would certainly not be out in this weather, but rather waiting still in Byblos for the weather to break. It seemed to be clearing, so he ordered them to sail up the coast toward Byblos. Two days later they sighted a hundred ships at sea, some of them still setting forth from Byblos, all of them warships and southbound. The fleet of the Sea People saw them, and ten heavy warships separated immediately to engage them.
At this the vizier’s son knew that all we had said was true. He shouted to his captains to make all possible speed and run downwind as quickly as possible, running for Ashkelon or for Egypt. This young captain had commanded the last boat, the one farthest in the rear. He had immediately put about and run. He had seen first the other ship, then that of the vizier’s son overtaken. One had been hit with fire arrows and burned to the waterline. The ship of the vizier’s son had been rammed and boarded.
