The Crocodile Tomb

by Michelle Paver

  Good. For now, he was safe. Feeling better than she had in a long time, the lion cub bounded to the top of the cliffs.

  A hot wind was blowing from the burning lands where the boy had gone. He would return when he could, and come for her, and together they would find some way to rescue the girl from the crow-men. The cub knew this because she knew that she and the boy and girl were of the same pride, and they belonged together.

  If only the falcon was as certain of that as the cub.

  Wistfully, the lion cub raised her muzzle to the Dark, but she heard no familiar hiss of wings, and no exasperating yet oddly comforting bird glided in to perch nearby.

  The falcon had found a beautiful ant-free roost in a tree overlooking the reeds. It was perfect.

  Everything about this place was perfect, and made for falcons: trees for roosting, wet for bathing, breeze to cool your underwings and snatch the heat from your beak, and reeds full of delicious slow waterbirds and crunchy damselflies. There were even other falcons on the crags; not too many, just enough to make it interesting.

  And yet – she was on her own. No boy, no lion cub. Most importantly, no girl.

  The falcon barely remembered the Egg. Her real Beginning had been meeting the girl. That strange featherless face. No beak, just a soft little nose … But the girl’s eyes were large and dark as a falcon’s, and she had a falcon’s fierce spirit and longing to fly.

  The falcon missed her. Yes, even now in this perfect place. And she sensed that the girl was in trouble, she could feel her struggling to be free. The falcon felt a horrible breathless panic, as if she too was trapped and unable to fly.

  She couldn’t settle to roost. She didn’t know what to do.

  The lion cub was thirsty, so while the crow-men yowled angrily at each other and at the girl, and the Great Lion rose silver in the Up, she found another way down to a place by the Great Wet that was free of humans and dogs.

  Warily, she snuffed the mud. Giant lizards had been here, but weren’t here now, so she padded to the edge and hunkered down to drink.

  She leapt back in alarm. There was a she-lion in the wet.

  The lion cub waited. The she-lion didn’t come out. The lion cub belly-crawled closer.

  There it was again, staring up at her. Not unfriendly, just startled and curious, a bit like her.

  The lion cub extended a cautious forepaw.

  So did the she-lion.

  Both patted the wet at the exact same moment, then withdrew.

  The lion cub had an astonishing idea. Pouncing on the wet, she stomped all over the she-lion – who disappeared. Backing away, the cub waited. Gradually, the wet stopped shivering, and the she-lion reappeared.

  The lion cub’s idea had been right. She sat down, struggling to take it in. That she-lion in the wet was herself. No wonder those dogs had been scared of her. She wasn’t a cub any more – she was a huge, powerful, grown-up lioness.

  A leader feels no fear and no doubt, Telamon told himself as he strode along the riverbank. A leader turns every setback into victory.

  But inside he was seething. All day he and his men had lain in wait for Hylas, knowing he had to return to the West Bank. As night fell, they’d redoubled their vigilance: he was bound to sneak in under cover of darkness.

  And now this. Ilarkos, his second-in-command, had just run up out of the gloom. ‘He got away, my lord,’ he panted.

  ‘How?’ Telamon said icily.

  ‘He caught one of the horses and made it through the gorge –’

  ‘– the gorge which you were guarding.’

  ‘He was too fast, and the men – they saw something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A – a great lion … or a demon in the body of a lion.’

  Telamon stared at him. ‘You mean they were frightened?’

  Ilarkos hung his head.

  So that’s another bad choice I’ve made, thought Telamon: sending half the men to the gorge and the rest along the bank, with me in the middle watching it all go wrong.

  And no help from those filthy Egyptians. The men guarding the tombs had stayed stubbornly at their post, and Meritamen’s slaves had remained by their boat, while in the villages and workshops, all was dark and silent, everyone waiting for the barbarians to leave.

  Telamon’s spirits plummeted. Every choice he’d made had turned to disaster. If he’d kept a close watch on Meritamen, he would be holding the dagger in his fist. If he’d taken his men with him to that tomb, Hylas would be dead. He thought how Alekto would sneer when she found out, and how she would enjoy telling Koronos when they were back in Mycenae.

  At least you’ve got Pirra, he told himself. Yes. Make the most of that.

  Meritamen hurried towards him, twisting her hands. She’d done that earlier when he’d found her among the tombs, soon after Hylas escaped. ‘I have your precious dagger,’ she’d said with contempt. Contempt which had turned to horror when Telamon had uncovered not the dagger of Koronos, but a battered old knife.

  Now it was Telamon’s turn to regard her with contempt. Why hadn’t she fled back to Pa-Sobek? Hadn’t she done enough?

  ‘Don’t hurt the girl,’ she pleaded. ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong!’

  ‘What do you care?’ he snarled.

  ‘I’ve done enough harm! I can’t have her blood on my hands!’

  Telamon strode past her without a word.

  Pirra was dwarfed by the warriors who’d caught her. It hadn’t been necessary to tie her arms behind her back, but they’d done it anyway, and this pleased Telamon a lot. Pirra had always regarded him as a barbarian. The last time he’d confronted her, on Keftiu, she’d told him that Hylas was all that was best in Akea, while he was all that was worst.

  Well, that was about to change.

  She stood very straight, staring past him as if he didn’t exist. Her face was smooth as a mask beneath its Egyptian paint, but she was afraid, he could tell.

  He made a show of twisting the little amethyst falcon on his wrist that had once been hers. He put his hands on his hips and let her see his belt, with its plaques of Keftian gold. They had been hers, too.

  Her stare never wavered.

  Strange. Meritamen was prettier, but Pirra burned with a fire that drew you in and didn’t let go.

  At his elbow, Meritamen said: ‘I must return to Pa-Sobek. I can take her with me. Please, she is no use to you!’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ he said pleasantly. Then to Pirra: ‘It seems Hylas has fled. Fled,’ he repeated. ‘Scrambled on to a horse and fled to the desert.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, still without looking at him.

  He smiled. ‘He left you without a second thought. Not so brave now, is he?’

  ‘He was outnumbered twenty to one; I told him to go – it would’ve been madness to fight.’

  Telamon was about to reply when it came to him that he could use her as bait. He turned to Meritamen. ‘I’ll take you across the River to Pa-Sobek, but your crew stays here, I want my own men at the oars.’ Then to Ilarkos: ‘Pick four men to row the boat and take the rest to the ship and make ready to leave. I’ll return directly with the Lady Alekto. Then we’re starting for home.’

  Murmurs of relief from the men, and Ilarkos’ face cleared. ‘What about the Keftian girl, my lord?’

  ‘She comes with me,’ said Telamon. ‘I want the Outsider to see her.’

  Ilarkos looked puzzled. ‘But he’s out in the desert.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll come back,’ said Telamon. ‘He won’t leave her. He’ll come back and he’ll see her – with the Lady Alekto.’

  Ilarkos swallowed. Meritamen’s hands tightened.

  Pirra tried not to flinch. ‘Using me as bait won’t work. Hylas isn’t mad enough to try and rescue me.’ But Telamon could see that she wasn’t so sure. And she was frightened of Alekto. Everyone was frightened of Alekto.

  Except me, he thought. Alekto is only a woman. She doesn’t matter.

  How could he have do
ubted that the gods were on his side? Everything was working out as if he’d planned it. Earlier, he’d agreed with Alekto that she would be waiting on the quay at dawn; he’d told her that by then it would all be over and they could head for home, because by then he would have the dagger of Koronos and the still-warm heart of the Outsider. Well, he didn’t, not yet. But instead, he would give her Pirra – and Alekto would make Pirra give them the dagger and Hylas.

  Once again, Telamon was glad that his grandfather had sent Alekto with him to Egypt, because now he could make use of her talents. He suspected that he could never bring himself to hurt Pirra – but Alekto would positively enjoy it.

  For a moment, his spirit quailed at the thought. Then he remembered Koronos. Be a man, he told himself. It’s what Koronos would do.

  ‘Hylas won’t come,’ repeated Pirra – as if saying it could make it true.

  ‘Yes he will,’ said Telamon. ‘When he hears you scream.’

  Dawn on the Day of the First Drop. A sky like beaten copper and a hot wind blowing from the desert. On the East Bank, all Pa-Sobek was gathered above the stone steps, waiting for the priests to declare that the River was beginning to rise.

  Nobody cared about the Hati-aa’s boat, which had docked on the quay to let the Lady Meritamen disembark, and the beautiful stranger go aboard. Let the barbarians return to their own land. Soon Iteru would rise and Egypt would be reborn from its waters, as it had been reborn every year since the Beginning.

  Huddled beneath the canopy on the Hati-aa’s boat, Pirra could already feel the River waking up. It didn’t care about her. No one did. Even Meritamen, who’d tried to defend her, had fled. The Crow warriors at the oars averted their eyes, as if she was already dead, and behind her, Telamon stood with his hand on the steering-paddle, gazing over her head. He had handed her over to Alekto.

  Alekto sat a little apart from her on the bench beneath the canopy. The wind moulded her silken robes to her graceful limbs, and tendrils of dark hair caressed her lovely throat. Since coming aboard, she hadn’t glanced at Pirra, but now she turned and regarded her coolly, as if she was some doomed creature caught in a snare.

  I will not scream, Pirra told herself.

  But she knew that when the time came, she would. And yet she wasn’t conscious of being afraid. She felt the pain in her elbows and wrists and the trapped feeling of her arms being tied behind her. And she felt a vast disbelief: this wasn’t happening, it wasn’t real. What was real was Havoc prowling the cliffs, and Echo waking up in some tree and tidying her feathers – and Hylas …

  ‘Who gave you the scar?’ said Alekto, startling her.

  ‘I did,’ said Pirra.

  ‘How?’

  ‘– The tip of a burning stick.’

  The beautiful lips drew back in a strange half-grimace, half-smile. ‘That would have hurt.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Pirra.

  ‘Ah.’

  Turning her head, Pirra stared into the murky green water. If she leapt overboard, she would drown. But she couldn’t even escape that way because of the two Crow warriors who sat at the oars beside her. The one nearest was young, about Hylas’ age, his chin dotted with pimples and the beginnings of a beard. Pirra smelt his rawhide armour and oniony sweat. He felt her glance and scowled. No help there.

  ‘Your slave bled a lot,’ Alekto said dreamily.

  Pirra stiffened.

  ‘We thought when he jumped in the River that crocodiles would be drawn by the smell. Instead, he spoilt our fun and drowned. Still. They say that drowning is one of the most painful ways to die.’

  Pirra clenched her fists behind her back. Whatever happens to me, she told Alekto silently, you will pay for that.

  Very deliberately, she let her gaze fall to the little pouch at her belt that contained the spell Nebetku had helped her make.

  ‘What is that you have there?’ said Alekto in a soft voice.

  Pirra pretended to give a guilty start. ‘Please, it’s n-nothing,’ she stammered, feigning terror, which wasn’t hard.

  Alekto’s beautiful lips curled. ‘Something precious, from your fair-haired Outsider?’

  ‘No!’ protested Pirra. ‘Just an amulet, to protect me from drowning!’

  Alekto signed to the young warrior, who cut the pouch from Pirra’s belt and handed it to Alekto. ‘Oh you won’t drown,’ she said as she weighed it in her palm. She seemed about to toss it overboard; then on impulse, she tied it to her own belt.

  Pirra bent her head as if dejected, hiding the hot surge of hatred coursing through her. Whatever happens to me, she begged the Goddess silently, heed my spell. Make this woman pay for what she did to Userref.

  And then, because she was in Egypt, she prayed to the goddess Het-Heru, who most resembled her own Keftian Goddess, and finally, because she was desperate, she prayed to Hylas’ Lykonian goddess, the Lady of the Wild Things.

  The water in midstream was getting choppy, and the boat lurched. The oarsmen grunted, struggling to hold her steady. Distractedly, Pirra noticed that they were taking the wrong route: the shorter, more dangerous one.

  Over on the West Bank, she saw smoke rising from the cooking-fires of Gesa and Tjebu, and people moving about, beginning their day. Straight ahead, she saw the rocky saddle which she and Hylas had climbed only a short while ago. Below it on the bank, date-palms waved in the wind, and closer still, the Crows’ black ship rocked near the tip of the little wooded island. Pirra saw warriors on board, letting down the oars and making ready to leave.

  The thought of Hylas was like a knife twisting in her chest. Stay away, stay alive, she told him. Don’t try to rescue me, that’s what they want.

  A swampy smell of River brought her back. Glancing down, she saw a small puddle of water beneath her feet. It was barely enough to wet her toes, but it hadn’t been there before.

  She remembered that lurch in midstream. Had they struck a submerged log, or a rock? Had the River tired of these barbarians? Or was the spell which now hung from Alekto’s belt already beginning to work? Was it going to sink the boat?

  Alekto hadn’t noticed the water. It hadn’t yet touched her smooth hennaed feet in their gilded sandals.

  Suddenly, among the date-palms on the bank, Pirra glimpsed a flash of fair hair ducking behind a tree-trunk. Oh no Hylas, no. Swiftly she turned her head, praying that Alekto hadn’t seen.

  That prayer went unanswered. Alekto leant forwards and called eagerly to Telamon. ‘Over there!’

  Pirra saw Hylas duck out of sight among the date-palms. Behind him lay open ground: if he fled that way, the warriors on the Crow ship would shoot him down. But a belt of reeds fringed the bank near his hiding place, he could still escape into that.

  Alekto had seen this too. ‘Order the ship to cross to the bank and finish him off,’ she told Telamon. ‘If he gets into those reeds, we’ve lost him.’

  ‘I give the orders!’ snarled Telamon.

  Again the boat lurched, pitching Pirra forwards. The swampy smell was stronger, water was sloshing around her ankles. She felt oddly calm, as if she wasn’t here in the boat, but a falcon soaring overhead, gazing down at the tiny humans. ‘What do you do now, Telamon?’ she called over her shoulder. ‘We’re sinking. If you send your ship after Hylas, what happens to us?’

  Telamon glared down at her, but she could see the doubt in his eyes.

  Beside her, Alekto flicked her a curious glance, which Pirra ignored. If Hylas was to have a chance of escape, she had to keep them distracted. ‘We’re sinking,’ she repeated. ‘If you don’t order your ship to come and rescue us, we’re all going to drown!’

  ‘No we’re not,’ he muttered. At the top of his voice, he yelled an order to his second-in-command on the ship: ‘Ilarkos, stay where you are but get the men to the oars and make ready to cast us a rope!’ To the four warriors in the boat: ‘Row faster, we can do it!’

  But the young warrior near Pirra was frightened, the lump in his throat jerking up and down as he cast about for something to s
coop out the water. There was nothing; the Egyptian crew, angered at being ordered off their craft, had taken their pails with them.

  ‘You’ll have to use your hands,’ Pirra told him mockingly.

  ‘Shut up, Pirra,’ growled Telamon.

  And still Hylas hadn’t moved from the date-palms. Why didn’t he run for the reeds while he had the chance? He couldn’t help her now, no one could.

  Raising her voice so that everyone could hear, she spoke to the young warrior. ‘You took the wrong route over the River! This is the shortest way, but it’s also the most dangerous, that’s why Egyptians avoid it!’ She forced a laugh. ‘The River doesn’t want us, we’re all going to drown!’

  ‘Row harder!’ Telamon barked at the oarsmen. ‘Not far now!’

  Muddy water was slapping their ankles. Alekto’s lips tightened with disgust as she twitched the hem of her robes clear. Pirra noticed that henna from her feet was tingeing the water red.

  Suddenly, the lead oarsmen cried out in alarm.

  Pirra’s belly turned over. Not far from them on a sandbank, crocodiles were snaking down to the water, slipping under the surface. She thought of her spell, tied to Alekto’s belt. It was working in ways more terrible than she’d imagined.

  The young warrior was panicking and bailing frantically with his hands. The lead oarsmen were doing the same.

  ‘Keep rowing, you fools!’ hissed Alekto. Her face was taut and she was gripping one of the poles that supported the canopy.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what they do,’ Pirra told her. ‘Either we drown, or the crocodiles get us.’

  ‘No one’s going to die,’ snapped Telamon. ‘We’re nearly at the ship and they’ve got the rope to haul us in!’

  Ilarkos was leaning over the ship’s side, and now he cast them the rope. In the boat, the lead oarsman caught it and a cheer went up. The boat gave another lurch, but this time it was the men on the ship, hauling them in.