Callisthenes. 'Arrogant bastard doesn't deserve to breathe!'
Thothmes rubbed his jaw with pigment stained fingers. 'You're a fool, Callisthenes. I do know you, which is all that is keeping you alive right now. Until today I had no quarrel with you. But, Sethos is right. All Greeks should be staked out in the desert and left to die! Why should you be treated any differently? Because you speak our tongue, wear our robes, sacrifice to our gods?'
'Take me to see Menkaura! If I'm playing you false, then kill me!' Callisthenes said with more valor than he felt.
Thothmes touched the knife at his belt. 'Do not tempt me. You are stupid as well as a fool if you presume Menkaura needs aid from a fat Greek merchant.'
'He doesn't need my aid, Thothmes,' Callisthenes said, 'but he does need Barca's, and I know where he is being held.'
'That's no great secret! The Phoenician's in the belly of Ineb-hedj, and if he yet lives, it is only because your brothers wish it! '
Callisthenes smiled, some small measure of his selfcontrol coming back. 'He lives, and he is not in the White Citadel. The priest, Ujahorresnet, has him in the compound of the temple of Neith.'
'You jest! ' the old man, Sethos, interjected. 'The priest …?'
'There is a personal grudge between the two. In return for the Phoenician, Ujahorresnet has guaranteed the priesthood won't oppose Cambyses, should he seize the throne. Menkaura has seen this Phoenician fight. He knows what he is, and he knows you will need him for the coming battle,' Callisthenes said. 'Aid me in freeing him! '
Thothmes stared through the merchant, his eyes distant, clouded. 'The priest,' he grunted. 'We will have to deal with him, too. Abetting the enemy is a crime punishable by death. But, his punishment must come later. Our fight is with Phanes. With your kinsmen, Callisthenes. For all his skill, Barca is but one man, and one man is not enough to sway the course of a battle. If he dies, we will bury him with all due respect and honor. If he lives, we will free him when we apprehend the priest.'
'He saved your cousin's life!' Callisthenes said. 'Or have you forgotten?'
From his belt, Thothmes drew a knife and tossed it at the merchant's feet. 'Take this,' he said. 'If you oppose Phanes as you say, then smuggle this to the Phoenician. No doubt he will know how to use it. That is all the aid I can offer.'
Callisthenes stared at Thothmes, then scooped the knife up and spun. The slave moved to block his way, but a gesture from Thothmes stopped him.
'Let him go.'
Callisthenes stopped. 'Should I assume it would be futile of me to seek out another of your brood in hopes of talking with Menkaura?'
'None will aid you, I swear it.'
'What if he tells Phanes about us?' Sethos said. The others at his back murmured their assent.
Callisthenes sighed, his brows furrowed. 'Don't worry, old man. I'll not divulge anything I know to Phanes. I did not lie when I said I opposed him. If it were in my hands, the commander's days in Memphis would be numbered.'
It was enough for Thothmes. 'Then go in good faith and do what you must. We will do what we must.'
With that, the Egyptians filed back through the small gate. The burly slave sneered at Callisthenes as he slammed it closed, punctuating the night with a sense of finality. The merchant stared at the knife in his fist. He would have to aid Barca on his own.
Callisthenes of Naucratis felt his knees go to jelly.
The crack of leather on flesh echoed through the temple of Neith.
In the cell, which had begun its existence as a granary, Ujahorresnet watched dispassionately as Esna adjusted his gauntlet. The studded leather glistened in the wavering light. On the floor, Barca had drawn himself to his hands and knees, curling his body to protect his wounded side. He bled from a score of gashes; one eye was swollen shut. Ujahorresnet marveled at his endurance. He fought on despite his wounds. Despite his pain.
'I cannot sleep,' Ujahorresnet said, 'without seeing my daughter's body as you left her, violated and exposed. Were you a father, you would understand the suffering you put me through. You would understand why I want you to suffer, in return. What she did was wrong, I admit. But that has been the way of women since the beginning of things. Did she deserve to be murdered?'
'Hades take you! ' Barca spat. Esna leaned in and slammed his fist into the Phoenician's jaw. Barca's head rocked back; blood drooled from his split cheek. The fires of hate smouldering in his eyes flared brighter. 'Is that all you have, little man?' he said to Esna. 'On the border those little love taps would get you bent over a barrel and rooted senseless!'
Esna growled, punching Barca twice more in rapid succession.
When the Phoenician looked up, there was something different about him.
Ujahorresnet watched as a physical transformation washed over Barca. His face grew hard, like a bust carved of stone, and his eyes shrank to mere slits. His nostrils flared, and he grinned a death's head grin that sent chills down the priest's spine. Something inside him fought to get free. If it did loose itself, Ujahorresnet had little doubt it would paint the walls of the cell red with their blood. Perhaps the time had come to end this session. There would be other days, other tortures.
The priest reached out to restrain Esna as Barca exploded.
Muscle and sinew creaked, straining against the biting ropes as Barca thrust upward. He rammed Esna with his shoulder, driving him against the cell door, then turned and hurled himself on Ujahorresnet.
Stunned, the priest could not move.
Barca struck him full in the chest, and they fell in a welter of thrashing limbs. Barca tucked his knees up, using the momentum of their fall to drive the breath from the Egyptian's lungs. There was enough slack in the rope for Barca to lever his hands apart, and enough space between his hands for him to wrap his fingers around Ujahorresnet's throat. The priest felt the life being squeezed out of him. Blackness, shot through with red, ringed his vision. The Phoenician cackled like a madman, bloody spittle and froth dripping from his jaws …
Esna loomed over them, pounding his gauntleted fist again and again into the side of Barca's head, driving his knee into his ribs. Barca sagged, his fingers losing their strength, and slumped to the floor.
'Merciful Neith!' Esna said, his chest heaving. He helped Ujahorresnet to his feet. The priest gasped for breath, his windpipe bruised, as he staggered to the door. Esna stared at Barca's prostrate form with a fear that bordered on the supernatural. 'Seth possesses him, lord. He is too dangerous to keep prisoner. Let me finish him! '
'No,' Ujahorresnet said, rubbing his throat. 'We must weaken him. Bring him not a scrap of food, Esna, and only half a cup of water a day. And beat him. Beat him senseless until he begs! '
'This is madness, lord! Did you not see his eyes? Why tempt the gods so?'
'I want him to beg!'
Esna looked down at the Phoenician. His instincts screamed; he knew in the pit of his stomach he should grab an axe and hack the bastard's head off, vengeance be damned. This man was feral, a rabid dog. Toying with him was an invitation to disaster.
The priest must have read it in his eyes. 'If you cannot do it, Esna, I'll find another who can!' Ujahorresnet spun and reeled from the cell, leaving Esna standing alone with the Phoenician. His hand dropped to his knife hilt. No amount of gold was worth dying over.
8
The copper disc of the sun rose in the eastern sky, and with it came the specter of Ares, of war. The shadow of the great god loomed over bazaar and bedchamber, casting a pall of despair despite the brilliant morning light. Phanes could feel the apparition at his shoulder as he walked the battlements of the White Citadel. He could feel it,
