tree protect itself against rot?'
'Against rot?' Matthias said, scowling. 'Why, a tree will harden its exterior, adding new layers of bark to protect the heartwood from infection. What does that have to do with us?'
Barca stood. 'That's what we must do. We must thicken Memphis against rot. No matter how cozy the nobles get with him, the average Egyptian will never trust Phanes. I have to play on that, and I have to trust that my man will rouse Pharaoh to action. It's our only hope.' Barca stroked his stubbled jaw. 'Help me and, if we make it out of this, I'll speak to Pharaoh on your behalf. I'll make sure everything the priests of Amon stole from you is returned, with interest.'
Matthias clapped him on the shoulder. 'Ah, Barca. You know me better than that. I'll help you because you're my friend.'
'No,' Barca said, shaking his head. 'A friend who only seeks your company when it's convenient is a poor friend. I am not deserving of your kindness.'
The Judaean smiled, a gesture of infinite patience. 'The road to Sile runs in both directions. Do not shoulder the lion's share of the burden, Phoenician. Especially when it's not yours to shoulder. Now, tell me what can I do to help.'
Barca walked out on the rooftop terrace and stared at the star-flecked sky. He said nothing for a long moment, then turned suddenly. 'We need a diversion. Something that will delay whatever plans the Greeks may have and buy us time. I need men who have served before, either in the army or the temple guard, and a figurehead to fire their blood.'
Matthias tugged his lip between thumb and forefinger. 'I know someone who might fit your needs. He was a soldier, once. A general …'
4
The home of Idu, son of Menkaura, lay near the temple of Osiris, on a winding lane shaded by well-tended sycamores. A low sandstone wall bounded the property, creating a haven of isolation amid the hustle of the city. Willow trees, grapevines, and rose shrubs thrived in the thick black soil, while beds of asphodel, thyme, and mint grew near the stone-curbed lotus pool. Frogs trilled amid the manicured reeds.
Inside the front gate, a woman rattled the wooden bolt and checked the oil in the reservoir of the night lantern. Normally, this would have been the door warden's task, but master Idu had dismissed him, and the other servants, for the night. The fewer witnesses to his dealings, the better. Satisfied that the gate was secure, the woman turned and made her way back to the house. Her anklet of blue faience beads jingled with each step. The sound roused a heron from its perch beside the pool; it fled from her, lofting into the night on outstretched wings, cursing her in its shrill tongue. The woman gave a start, then laughed at her own nervousness.
Though in manner and dress the woman could pass for Egyptian, her features marked her as foreign. Cascades of dark hair framed her high cheekbones, and her sharp nose and pointed chin were of such perfect proportion as to instill envy in the breast of Egypt's artisans. Deep-set eyes the color of smoke expressed more with a single look than a thousand words could convey, and they told a tale, for those who cared to read them, of a life spent in servitude.
The woman, Jauharah, was a slave.
Slave. The word did not sting as it once had. She had learned its meaning at the hard and calloused hands of her father. By her tenth year, he had beaten and raped into her the bitter truth of life: a woman was no better than an animal, good for bearing sons and cooking, but little else. The next year, after being traded to an Edomite slaver for two goats, that truth was reinforced by the cunning application of a rawhide whip. Jauharah endured a succession of brutal lords before master Idu bought her from a lecherous old merchant in Jerusalem. Rescued her, more like.
Ahead, the white-plastered walls of the villa glimmered in the darkness. That flat-roofed, rambling structure could have easily become a prison had Idu been cut from the same cloth as her previous masters. Nothing cruel or meanspirited existed in him. Never had he raised a hand in anger, or assumed she could serve him best in his bed. For Jauharah, a slave's life in Egypt held far more promise than the life of a free woman in her native Palestine. Here, Idu taught her, even a slave had rights. She could marry, own goods and property, and even buy her own slaves, provided she could maintain them. In time, she might even scrimp and save enough to purchase her freedom. Ten years had passed since she left Jerusalem, and in that time Idu's kindness healed many of Jauharah's scars, binding her to the family with shackles far stronger than bronze.
On cat's feet, Jauharah mounted the steps to the portico and slipped into the villa. From the vestibule, it would be a small matter to check in on the girls, Meryt and Tuya, then sneak off to the kitchen for a cup of beer and a honey cake. Her path, though, carried her close by the tightly-shuttered doors of the east hall. There, she paused. Voices resonated inside. Jauharah crept closer, listening.
'… understand your concern, but your father was right, Idu. We can't fight the Greeks with rhetoric and good intentions!' Jauharah peered through a crack in the door. Five men clustered in a circle; three of them nodded in agreement with the speaker, a stately fellow with close-cropped hair gone white with age. A sixth chair stood empty.
'What would you suggest, Amenmose?' Idu said, his voice growing sharp with anger. 'That we take up sticks and rocks and storm the garrison? That would be foolhardy, and you know it! My father knows it, as well! I will not let impatience force us into an action we cannot win!'
Idu, a thick man, squat and round, had a pockmarked face and gentle eyes that belied his ferocious sense of justice. In height, in temperament, in desires, in all ways, he stood in antithesis to Menkaura. With nothing in common, father and son kept clear of each other's social circles, coming together only for business. Tonight, the business was sedition. From what Jauharah could gather, at the noon hour tomorrow, a granary in the shadow of the fortress, Ineb-hedj, would burn as a sign of growing unrest. Menkaura preached stronger action. Violence against holdings first, Idu countered, against men later. Menkaura's furious exodus prompted Jauharah to check the gate.
She heard Idu sigh. 'I know you all want something more, something dramatic, but the time is not yet ripe for that. If we confront the Greeks openly, they will shed Egyptian blood. I cannot, in good conscience, support such a disastrous course of action. No, we must bide our time and occupy ourselves with such small victories as a burned granary.'
Reluctantly, even Amenmose could see the wisdom in that. It took only a few more moments to solidify their plans, and then the conspirators scattered into the night, leaving Idu alone with his thoughts. Quietly, Jauharah entered the columned east hall and began gathering up the goblets and platters. Idu looked up and handed his empty goblet to her. 'The family?' he asked.
'They have gone to slumber.'
Idu pursed his lips, thinking. He glanced sidewise at the woman. 'What is your opinion on this matter, Jauharah? On the things you heard this evening? Don't try and deny it since I know your hearing is sharper than a cat's. Do you think we are doing the right thing?'
'I have no opinion save what you tell me, master.'
'Have you no rancor for the Greeks? Does it not boil your blood to see them strutting like peacocks through the streets?'
'I am a slave, master. What I like or dislike is of little consequence. I exist to serve you and your family as best I can. The world outside this house, I leave in the hands of those more capable than I. If you think burning a granary is best, then it must be best.'
Idu shook his head. 'I did not teach you to read and write so you could play the fool, Jauharah. It does not become you. You have an opinion about everything. Tell me what you think.'
Jauharah sighed. After a moment, she said, 'Burning a granary is like swatting a viper with a roll of papyrus — no damage is done beyond angering the viper. The Greeks will react the only way they know how: with violence.'
