in a rabbit snare. Nothing. That mangy cur became the bane of their existence. Finally, after they had all they could stand, the mercenary captain put an arrow through that dog's skull. It died for a patch of land no larger than a hoplite's shield.
'You're like that pup, Barca. A stubborn bastard who's willing to die over a piece of land — land that's not even yours! You're not Egyptian, so do you truly care who pays you to guard Egypt's borders?'
'I gave my word,' Barca said truculently.
'Your word?' Phanes laughed. 'By the gods! You sound just like Lysistratis! You would die for your word?'
'In this life, all a man has is his word. Not gold, not power, those are all fleeting, all illusions. The only real, tangible thing a man has is his word.'
'You truly believe that, don't you?' Phanes said. He shook his head sadly. 'This cult of honor … I'm afraid I'll never grasp it.'
'Grasp this, boy-fucker! You murdered my men, my friends! When I am free, I will hunt you down, wherever you hide! If it takes a thousand years, then so be it! '
'I concede,' said Phanes, 'that you would be far less trouble dead. But, I have struck a bargain with a gentleman highly placed in the Egyptian priesthood. In exchange for you, he will legitimize my new employer's bid for the throne. A small price to pay, really.' Phanes rose and opened the door to the cell. His men filed out. 'He's yours, priest. Do with him as you will.'
A figure stepped into the cell, robed, a dark cowl hiding his features. He walked over to Barca and stared. Barca saw the glimmer of teeth. Suddenly a foot lashed out, catching Barca in his wounded side. The Phoenician roared in agony as waves of pain coursed through him.
'I have been waiting to do that for twenty years, you son of a bitch! '
Barca's lips peeled back in a primal snarl. He knew the voice; hearing it again clarified many things, least of all how Phanes learned he was in Memphis. 'I'm surprised you have the stomach for this, Ujahorresnet! '
'You remember me? Good.' The priest drew back his cowl.
'How could I forget? You raised a cheating whore for a daughter! '
Phanes laughed. 'While I would love to stay, to witness such a heart-felt family reunion, I have much left to do. You're no fool, Barca, so I won't insult your intellect by asking if you sent word on to Sais. Amasis is coming, and I have no desire to be caught unawares. You are still planning to honor our bargain, aren't you priest?'
'You have upheld your end in good faith,' Ujahorresnet said. 'Should your Persian master's bid for the throne meet with success, I will uphold mine.'
Phanes sketched an exaggerated bow. 'So be it. Shall I leave a squad of my men behind to insure your safety?'
Ujahorresnet smiled. 'No need for that. Esna!'
The priest's agent entered the cell at his master's command, pulling a gauntlet over his right fist. He rubbed his hand across the polished bronze studs. Phanes turned to Barca.
'Farewell, Phoenician. You would have made a worthy adversary.' With that Phanes and his soldiers left the two Egyptians alone with their captive.
Barca snarled, straining against the ropes biting into his flesh.
'Shall we begin?' Ujahorresnet said.
Callisthenes moved quietly through the balmy night, clutching at his scarab amulet for protection. His eyes darted. Every noise sent a thrill down his spine; every shadow held menace. It was not a good night to be out, if you were Greek. Only the gravest necessity could have driven him from the safety of his villa.
He needed to speak to Menkaura.
Callisthenes had an inkling of where the old general might be hiding, but there existed a protocol in these matters. If he simply played his hunch and barged in, dawn would find a fresh Greek corpse steeping in the mud of the Nile. No. He had to do this the traditional way, which meant finding one of Menkaura's kinsmen with a sympathetic ear.
To get to Menkaura, he first had to get to Thothmes.
Lengths of colored linen draped from pylons, fluttered from cedar poles. These bright, festive touches stood in stark contrast against the grim mood of the people. Callisthenes passed pleasure houses and wine shops where men talked in hushed voices, fortifying their resolve with crock after crock of beer. Eyes watched him from darkened windows, and he heard sibilant curses hurled at him from open doorways. He had to find Thothmes …
Thothmes was an artisan, a painter of tombs for the temple of Ptah. His home reflected his prosperity. It was located in a peaceful quarter of the city, north of the great temple, on a street normally reserved for servants of the god. A low wall circled the grounds, and through the open gate, Callisthenes could see a well kept garden, paths of crushed rock, and a stone-rimmed pool decorated in glazed blue tiles. The scent of lotus and jasmine spiced the cool night air. Callisthenes exhaled slowly, then plunged through the gate and up the path.
Before he had gone halfway, he saw a slave moving toward him, a thick-shouldered Egyptian in a heavy black wig, a knotted club in his fist. He glared at the Greek as if he were offal left at his master's door. 'Who are you, and what business do you have here?'
The merchant felt his anger rising. 'I am Callisthenes, and my business is none of your concern! Fetch your master, dog! '
The slave sketched a mocking bow, turned, and made his way back to the house. Minutes drifted by. Callisthenes' nerves crackled; he felt like the whole of Memphis watched him. He was about to give up and go in search of another of Menkaura's kinsmen when the slave reappeared. Something about the fellow's toothy grin made Callisthenes uneasy.
'Out the gate and down the alley,' he said, 'follow the circuit of the wall until you reach a small, bronze-girt door. Rap thrice and wait. Thothmes will receive you there.'
Wordless, Callisthenes spun and did as he was instructed. Damn them! Time grew short. These games served no purpose. The alley narrowed; he had to twist his body in order to negotiate it. Time and the elements had eaten away at the mud brick walls, making them jagged and rough. Callisthenes cursed as he stumbled, abrading his hands on the pitted walls. Soon, though, the alley widened out and he found the door. He balled his fist and drew back to knock.
The crunch of a foot on sand gave him pause. He half-turned as a pair of figures sprang from the darkness. Callisthenes had time for a terrified bleat before their fists clubbed him to his knees.
'P-Please …! '
Calloused hands wrenched the Greek's head back, and he felt the icy touch of a knife blade at his throat. Callisthenes squeezed his eyes tight, knowing when he opened them again it would be as he crossed the river Styx.
The small door in the wall opened.
'What do you want, Greek?' a voice demanded. Callisthenes blinked.
Thothmes towered over the cowed merchant.
Tall and lanky, Thothmes possessed that quality in his eyes so often associated with artists: keen, penetrating, and tinged with madness. Immobile, his arms folded across his chest, the Egyptian glared at Callisthenes. 'What do you want?' he repeated.
Callisthenes swallowed, feeling the knife scrape his throat. 'I must speak with Menkaura.' He saw other men behind Thothmes, young and old, each sharing the same angry, hate-filled stare.
'What makes you think I know where Menkaura is?' Thothmes said. 'And if I knew, what makes you think I would tell you?'
'You know me, Thothmes! ' Callisthenes pleaded. 'You know I would not have come to you if it weren't important! '
'Important for who?'
'For your people!' Callisthenes hissed. 'Damn it, man! I may be Greek, but I'm not in league with Phanes! I oppose all he stands for, though I'm not strong enough to do it openly. The Persians are coming, Thothmes! Menkaura will need every edge he can get to keep the garrison from ravaging Memphis! I have a plan that may benefit you, your people, and your country! But I must speak with Menkaura! '
'Are we too stupid to do our own thinking? Kill him, I say! ' an old man said, jabbing a gnarled finger at
