Stealing Fire (24 page)

Ptolemy shook his head. “No. We can keep doing this, pushing back at every river ford, but that's not going to win anything. We've tested each other now. We know where he's going. And Memphis has the strongest fortifications in the Delta. Let's do this on our terms, not just react to Perdiccas.”

I nodded slowly. The walls of Memphis were as impenetrable as any I had ever seen, except perhaps Babylon. It would take Perdiccas five or six days at least to get there, maybe more. And we had seven days to run of the nine the goddess had promised. I looked at him sideways. I had not dared to mention it before, but now there was so little time left. “Sir? I was wondering… when we were lost in the desert when Cleomenes tried to kill you…”

Ptolemy bowed his head, still looking out over the walls. “If you're asking if you dreamed it, no. No, Lydias, you didn't.”

I didn't think I had, as Thais had told me that Ptolemy remembered it too, but I didn't say that. “What are you going to do?”

Ptolemy turned about, leaning back against the parapet. “What would you do, if you were me?”

“I would take the gods’ bargain,” I said quietly. “But then you already know that.”

“And what about that child there?” He gestured with his chin toward the way Perdiccas had gone.

“Make him your heir,” I said. “He is too young to rule now, and you have no legitimate son that you would name. You've already made it clear that you can't name Lagos or Leontiscus. So name Alexander the son of Alexander your heir. Or rule in his name as satrap as long as you can. But this land needs a pharaoh, and the King needs release. Take what is offered to you and make your nephew your heir.”

Ptolemy looked at me sharply.

“I have seen Chloe,” I said. “Do you think I can't add it up?”

He let out a sigh. “You and plenty of other men.” He paced a few steps along the wall. “I do not want my children to grow up the way I did, knowing that every gift, every bite of food might conceal a deadly purpose. Olympias could have had me killed if she had ever deemed me a threat. Sometimes I thought she did, and the only thing I could do was to be less and less interesting to her. Fortunately, when Phillip remarried it gave her other heirs to think about, legitimate sons of Phillip's new queen, rather than the colorless young man who was nothing but the son of Arsinoe, a girl Phillip had loved when they were boy and girl together. I do not want my children to grow up fearing their family.” He turned at the end of the walk and came back. “And Chloe is too easy to proclaim Alexander's daughter, too easy for some unscrupulous man to use.”

“That is a problem for another day,” I said. “She was a brave child, and she will be a capable woman, as her mother is.”

Ptolemy smiled, as men do when their daughter is praised. “You like her, then?”

“I do,” I said. “I saw her when I visited Thais last. She said you must win for her, and I promised her that we should.”

“Well, if you have promised Chloe, we must be about it,” Ptolemy said, but he did not laugh. “Get your men ready to march this afternoon. We are going down the western bank to Memphis.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and turned to go.

Ptolemy stopped me. “And promote an aide. You need one now.”

A
ND A REMOUNT
, I thought. I had not recognized the big black horse as belonging to one of my men, so I presumed he must belong to some member of Perdiccas’ Companion Cavalry. In which case he was mine. My horse hadn't turned up, but I thought he might be better, actually. I had not been very fond of that remount, as she was inclined to be nervous. I called him Perseus, and he did not seem to object.

We marched four hours in the afternoon, leading the column and scouting both before and behind, providing a screen for the infantry. At the first stop my scouts to the rear came up. “Sir? We are being shadowed by a group of horsemen. We saw them behind us a little while ago.”

“Form up!” I ordered, getting the scant hundred and forty-five into line across the road, while the infantry phalanx that was last in column went into square in preparation.

We waited. A fly settled on Perseus’ ear, and he twitched.

Around the curve of the river behind us came a company of men, some three hundred, all mounted. They checked when they saw us. I raised my hand and shaded my eyes. Heavy cavalry, I thought. Here and there a flash of bright silk. And then I recognized them as the pair in front came forward at a walk, a big man in steel, his head bare in the sun, and a light bearded man with a bow slung at his back.

“Artashir! Glaukos!”

They came up to us, and there was much shouting and pounding each other on the back—most of the shouting from me, and most of the pounding from Glaukos.

Ptolemy came back while we were standing about and embraced them both like brothers. “What happened to you?”

“We couldn't get through,” Artashir said, drawing himself up. “When we had to break off the attack on the camp, we had the main body of Perdiccas’ infantry between us and you. So I pulled us out to the east, and we lurked in the woods. Just before dawn Glaukos came along.”

Glaukos nodded. “We got stuck too. I saw you give the order, Lydias, but we couldn't disengage and get over there. So I picked what looked like the clearest route out, and we went south. Around midnight we heard them breaking camp and coming our way, so we swung east to stay clear of them. I'm not about to take on fifteen hundred cavalry or so with two hundred and fifty. We waited for their vanguard to go by, and then slipped around the east side through the farms. And ran into Artashir. We got some rest and then midmorning went to see what had happened at the fort. They told us you were on the road south, so we left our wounded there with the others and followed.”

“That was well done,” Ptolemy said. “Very well done, both of you. How many sound men do you have?”

“Twenty-four horse archers,” Artashir said. “And two hundred and sixty-one cavalry.”

I let out a breath I hadn't been aware I was holding. That meant I had a little over four hundred men left out of six hundred and fifty. Which was not terrible after two battles. Many of our casualties were wounded and would eventually return, and still more were probably sound themselves but dismounted due to injury to the horses. Once again we did not have enough remounts.

“Tell them to come join their fellows,” Ptolemy said. “And you two come have a drink. You deserve it.”

“What's next?” Artashir asked.

“Memphis,” I said. “We ride to Memphis.”

THE DESCENT
OF KINGS

W
e came to Memphis in evening on the fourth day, having crossed the Saite branch of the Nile at Abusir and then marched down the good road on the western side. Perdiccas was now behind us. He could not get across the Nile yet, as he had no way across the Bubasite branch of the river, and the terrain was much more rugged on the eastern side and the roads less certain. We thought that he would not come up to the eastern side opposite Memphis until afternoon the next day at least, and would not attack so late in the day.

It was with considerable relief that I saw the walls of Memphis. The greatest city of Egypt, she takes her name from them, and is known in the Egyptian tongue as “The Lady of White Walls.” They were sixty feet high and thirty feet thick, with enormous flanking towers about each gate. The walls loomed over the river and the docks that lay in their shadow. In the dry season when the water was low there were shallow sandy beaches along that side.

Perdiccas would have to be mad to try to cross directly to them, however. There was not so much as a fingernail's width of beach and docks that was not covered by the towers and walls. Every step that a man could take would be under devastating fire from above.

Fortunately or unfortunately depending on one's point of view, cavalry has little to do in the siege of a walled city, so once my men had their horses stabled I had no further duties for the evening, and might go and get some dinner while Ptolemy and the infantry officers consulted with the city guard far into the night.

I went to find Bagoas.

His room was a haven of light and peace, and his smile when he saw me warmed me to the bone. He did not ply me with a million questions, only said, “Come and rest.” And so I did.

I
WOKE BESIDE
him in the early hours of morning from dreams I could not quite remember. There had been a lady with a veil of silver over her long black hair, and I would have thought her Egyptian or Indian except that her eyes were as blue as the heavens. She stood before closed doors marked with ancient words I could not read, and no matter how I tried to go around her and through them she blocked my way, a sad little smile on her face, and shook her head as my mother had when I was a child.

I woke, and lay on my back staring up at the ceiling above. The first rays of the sun came slanting through the window. It was after dawn.

I woke Bagoas gently. “Come on, my dear. It's late. We must see what Ptolemy has for us to do.” Ten hours off duty was all I could expect.

Ptolemy was breakfasting with Artashir in one of the small gardens. He looked groggy still, as though he had not been to bed until well after midnight. The infantry officers were nowhere in sight. I imagined they had already received their orders, and so had no need to turn out so early after a long march.

To my surprise, Manetho was also there, as well as another priest I did not know and a plump young woman who wore a green gown in the Egyptian style, its broad straps barely concealing her breasts. I was more than a little taken aback to see a woman sitting in council with men and wondered who she might be.

Artashir stood up as we came in. “That's it, then,” he said. “I'll be about it right away.”

The young woman nodded. “I will have my servants send the sarcophagus to you. It is the one that was intended for Nectanebo, but he died far away in Upper Egypt and never used it.”

Bagoas stiffened. “What are you doing with my Lord?”

Ptolemy looked up. “Come in, Bagoas. We are moving him from the temple that is near the river to the tombs of the Sacred Bulls in the hills at Saqqara. It is too dangerous in the city, and he will lie in the company of Serapis.”

I had never seen Bagoas challenge anybody about anything, but this was the thing he would do it for. “Surely you do not expect to lose Memphis, that you need to do such a thing and take him from the hearse that was prepared for him and lay him in the coffin of another man?”

“No,” Ptolemy said, “I do not expect to lose Memphis.” He and Manetho exchanged a look.

“I'll be going, then,” Artashir said, and fled.

I hesitated, torn between a decision I should have no part in and Bagoas. I stayed.

Ptolemy took a breath, his eyes flicking once to me, and then back to Bagoas. “It's more than that. Much more. I am not sure how to begin to explain.”

It all added up to me suddenly, Manetho and the other priest, and the woman I didn't know who must also be one of the Egyptian clergy, and the need for Alexander's body. “You are accepting the gods’ bargain,” I said.

Bagoas turned and looked at me.

“Yes,” Ptolemy said. “You already know Manetho. This is the Hierophant of Osiris from Abydos and the Adoratrice of Bastet from Bubastis. They are here to assist with what needs to be done.”

“What has this to do with my Lord's body,” Bagoas demanded, “that you should take him out of his coffin and carry him around?”

Ptolemy looked at me, one eyebrow quirked.

“It is partly for the King that this must be done,” I said. “Bagoas, he was crowned in Memphis by the old rites, the ones designed to call the godhead of Horus down upon the Pharaoh and commingle their spirits. When Pharaoh dies, there is supposed to be a rite to transfer Horus into the new king. Until this is done, the old pharaoh is not released from the body he has inhabited.”

His eyes searched my face. This was not at all what Persians are taught about life and death. “You believe this?”

“I do,” I said, “and I believe it must be done, both for the King and for Egypt.”

“To release his spirit.”

“And to give Ptolemy the power to defeat Perdiccas and rule Egypt.”

“We intend your king no disrespect,” the Adoratrice said in halting Greek. “He was our pharaoh too. He gave us our freedom. I bring the coffin that was for our last pharaoh, who died in exile. It is no shame but our greatest gift to offer it to Alexander.”

“And that he lie for a while among the gods, among the sacred avatars of Osiris,” Manetho said. “Until Ptolemy has built his tomb, as is proper.”

Bagoas nodded then, dropping his eyes.

“We must do it tonight,” Ptolemy said. “We have no more time.”

“It shall be tonight,” Manetho said. “We have prepared already, and as you say you do not want the rite of coronation…”

“No.” Ptolemy shook his head. “I will stand as proxy for Alexander's son. No more than that.”

“I understand,” Manetho said. “You shall be the sem-priest, but we will not call Horus to dwell within you. That shall be as you say. Is there any other you would like to walk with you as your companion? It is traditional that there be two such to walk through the Gates of Amenti with you and to come forth by day.”

“I would have Lydias,” Ptolemy said.

I gulped. I had never imagined such. “Surely that is the office of a kinsman,” I sputtered.

“I have no kinsmen here,” Ptolemy said. “And besides, did you not stand with me once before, when we came to Memphis?”

“Yes,” I said. We had stood together in that strange place both of Egypt and not, in the desert when Cleomenes tried to kill him.

“Will you stand with me now?” Ptolemy asked, extending his hand.

I took it wrist to wrist, and his flesh was warm in my hand. “I will, and I am honored.”

Manetho nodded. “That is well done. Artashir has been sent to get the coffin that the Adoratrice brought. When evening comes we will go out to Saqqara as funeral processions do, just a few of us so as not to attract attention, looking like a family of mourners and a priest, carrying the body with us on a funeral wagon. That is what people do when they go to the tombs and it will not signal to Perdiccas that there is anything unusual going on.”

“You are not taking my Lord anywhere without me,” Bagoas said.

“Bagoas,” I began.

Bagoas looked straight at Manetho. “Am I not a funerary priest of Alexander? Is that not what you have named me these many months? Then how should I be barred from his funeral, and from the office you have already acknowledged?”

“He is Persian,” the Adoratrice said. “His presence would be offensive to the Sacred Bulls.”

“Bagoas was not yet born when Artaxerxes killed the Apis bull,” Ptolemy snapped. “We all need to be a little bit flexible here.”

Manetho shifted from one foot to another, clearly disliking it but not wanting to naysay Ptolemy, who would be his king. “Then you would allow this?”

Ptolemy nodded, his eyes on Bagoas not Manetho. “Alexander should have someone by his bier besides me who loved him.”

Bagoas’ breath caught, though he made no sound.

Ptolemy stretched out his other hand to Bagoas. “We are a strange company, and I do not say this is not ill considered. But will you walk with me into the darkness for Alexander's sake?”

“I will,” Bagoas said, grave as a bridegroom.

“Then we will try the Gates of Amenti, the three of us,” Ptolemy said. “And we will free the King, and hopefully Egypt besides.”

W
E LEFT THE
city as the sun sank westward toward the hills above Saqqara. Three priests and Manetho walked in front, while a pair of oxen led a funeral cart draped in white. A pall lay over the mummy case on it, which was well as it seemed to be covered in gold leaf. Ptolemy walked behind it, and Bagoas and I behind him, followed by the Adoratrice, another woman I did not know, and three young priests.

Dressed in Egyptian clothes, I supposed that from a distance we looked like a family going out to the tombs, a common enough occurrence. It looked like the funeral of an ordinary man.

Hephaistion had been given a funeral fit for a god.

A
LEXANDER HAD BUILT
in Babylon the greatest funeral pyre the world had ever seen. Four months were spent building it, while preserved by the embalmer's art Hephaistion lay in state. It was as large as a temple, seven stories from base to top, each more splendid than the last. There were entire trunks of palm trees supporting it, the prows of ships made of fragrant cedar wood with gilded archers on their decks, banners of crimson felt, eagles and serpents, lions and bulls all carved in wood with the most exquisite lifelike detail. There were Macedonian and Persian arms, and four great statues of sirens cunningly made so that they could seem to sing a lament for the dead, their voices those of four eunuchs known for their beautiful voices who would stand concealed within them for the first part of the funeral, before the pyre was lit. At last, at the top on a bier draped with Tyrian purple bordered in gold, lay Hephaistion.

His chiton was purple as though he were a king, and his breastplate was worked with precious gems, his sword by his hand. I know, as I saw him there. We paid our respects before the pyre was kindled, and I too had my part to play. I saw him there, gold coins with Alexander's likeness on his eyes, his long red hair combed on his shoulders. I saw him there, and I did not have to pretend to sadness. I looked upon his face and thought that he would smile.

“Hephaistion,” I whispered. “Sir. If you are there with them, watch over Sati and Sikander for me. Please, sir.” I was blind with tears and could speak no more. If he could, he would. He would do so much for me.

The man beside me had to nudge me to do my part.

The sacrifices were being brought to the pyre to pour out their blood, sacrifices for a king. A black bull, his horns gilded. A ram.

Walking with proud gait, steady as ever on parade, his saddle blanket of purple wool, was Ghost Dancer. I went to him and stood at his head, and he looked me in the eye.

“There, my darling,” I said. “I knew you were the finest. You were the finest ever. Go now with your master and serve him forever. Here in the world above you will live on in your fleet-footed foals.”

He bent his head to me, and I could swear I saw understanding in his dark eyes. When the priest came with the knife he did not struggle, only stood with his head high, baring his throat. His blood splashed over me and he died in my arms.

I died that day too, while the flames enveloped them. I was dead already when Alexander died.

A
ND YET I
walked under the sun. I followed the funeral cart up the hill to Saqqara, where ancient pyramids of stone were etched against the western sky, along the main processional way. We did not go toward the pyramids, but turned off to the right, going around the lake with its lotus flowers and lilies, toward the Serapeum and the tombs of the Sacred Bulls.

We did not speak, Ptolemy and Bagoas and I. I wondered what my life would have been if Alexander had never come to Miletus, or if I had not gone with him. No, I thought, I did not regret it, even with all the sorrow that came after. I have seen the peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains in bright morning, and the distant sea at the end of the Indus, where there is no farther shore. I have talked with sages and priests in a dozen lands, and have walked the plains of Scythia toward the rising sun. I have ridden on elephants and sailed on great galleys. I have loved and I have lost and I have come to Egypt with stolen fire in a gilded coffin, walking with gods.

I looked up, and the hillside loomed over the door to the Serapeum, a black hole into the earth. Not for anything, I thought, would I want to pass that door forever. There is still too much to see. I have not been up the Nile beyond Thebes, nor been to Greece, nor seen my daughter wed in a saffron veil or watched my grandchildren grow. I could not read the Egyptian language, and I did not know where the sun sets beyond the Gates of Hercules.