ground.
'Callisthenes,' Barca said, as the Greek eased the door open. 'My thanks to you, again.'
The merchant stared in awed silence. In the back of his mind, he wished, beyond all other wishes, that his corpulent frame possessed a fraction of Barca's speed and strength. To be a tautly muscled warrior, not a flabby merchant, had been his dream since youth.
'Leave now.' The Phoenician hammered his knife into the wooden doorjamb. 'If you have a weak stomach, you're not going to want to see this.' Barca smiled viciously, cracking the knuckles of his left hand as he stalked toward his former jailer.
'P-Please …! ' Esna whimpered.
Callisthenes turned away as the first of many blows fell. Barca was right. He didn't want to see this.
'Death to the traitors!'
Menkaura stood like a conqueror of old above the bound form of the Greek officer. Gore from his upraised sword trickled down his arm. He could feel the emotions of the crowd rising to a fever pitch. They had seen blood. Now, they wanted more. Hunting spears and old swords thrust at the sky. Faces, twisted with hate, swelled and ebbed before him, their voices mingling with his, their anger mounting.
'Kill them!'
Menkaura wrenched the officer's head back. 'Tell it in the streets and the courtyards, the alleys and bazaars,' he yelled, 'that all traitors, all sympathizers, will meet a similar fate!'
The soldier screamed as the Egyptian's blade descended, shearing through his neck. Menkaura kicked the twitching corpse aside. 'Death to the Greeks!'
'Death to the Greeks!' the crowd echoed.
Ibebi rushed to Menkaura's side. 'They've come!' he growled, jabbing his sword toward the edge of the bazaar. Hoplites flowed into the square, forming an armored wing, shields locked, spears held upright. Their front stretched twenty men long, at a depth of three men. In the fore stood Phanes, his cuirass buffed to a mirror-like sheen; his shield bore the symbol of the garrison of Memphis, the snaky locks of Medusa delineated in black. He shunned a helmet, preferring to let his enemies see his face. And at that moment, his face was a mask of raw fury.
'Disperse!' he roared. 'Before …'
The Egyptians raised a clamor, yelling, screaming, pounding swords and spears against shields, anything to drown out the Greek's voice. They outnumbered the Hellenes. Menkaura snarled as he stepped out in front of the crowd. 'We will not disperse! '
'Then you will die!' Phanes raised his shield. As one, the hoplites advanced on the massed Egyptians, their spears snapping with chilling precision into attack posture, an iron hedge of death. A hymn rose from their throats:
'Mighty Ares, shield-carrying Lord of the Spear,
Father of fair Victory! '
The voices of the men of Egypt faltered under this display of training and discipline. Menkaura sensed their anger turning to fear. The Egyptians gave ground.
'Stand!' Menkaura cried. 'Stand together!'
'They're behind us!' a terrified shout. Menkaura turned. True enough, a second wing of hoplites entered the square at their backs. A quick glance showed a third and fourth wing closing in from each side. They were outnumbered, now, and surrounded.
'You arrogant fool!' Amenmose spat. 'I told you your grief would kill us all!'
Menkaura's eyes flared with a desperate fire. He whirled to face Phanes. 'Coward! You would order a man's death without looking him in the eye! You are a coward!'
At a gesture the hoplites stopped, their spears less than a foot from Menkaura's breast. The Egyptians huddled together, and fear crackled through their masses.
Phanes stepped out, raking the crowd with a withering glare. 'Disperse now, and I will hold none of you to blame for these murders! You've fallen under the spell of a man consumed with hatred! Do you hear me? I hold Menkaura to blame for this! The rest of you may go free!' Phanes' voice rose in volume, carrying to all corners of the square.
'Liar!' Menkaura said. 'You are the only murderer here! You and those who follow you!'
Phanes' smile was dagger-sharp. 'There's no blood on my hands, Menkaura. Can you say the same? You were beaten by Greeks years ago, and since then my people have been the bane of your existence. The Medjay kill your poor brother, Idu, and who do you blame? Hasdrabal Barca? No, you blame me! I could have tolerated your hatred — indeed, I understand it — but when you murdered these men you crossed the line. Surrender yourself to me now, Menkaura. I'll not ask again!'
'Let's allow the gods to decide who is the murderer here! I challenge you to single combat! '
An awed silence fell over Egyptian and Greek.
'I do not fight old men,' Phanes said, dismissing him with a wave.
'Why? Afraid I might teach you a lesson or two about sword-play?' Menkaura said. 'As I said, a coward!'
Phanes laughed, drawing his sword. 'So be it! Zeus! You are either the bravest man I know, or the stupidest!'
'Greek arrogance!' Menkaura shouted. He turned to stare at his kinsmen, his friends. They looked pitifully small and mean against the gleaming host around them. 'They believe themselves to be the only people schooled in war! Our ancestors were mighty warriors when theirs were but ignorant swineherds! Do you fear swineherds?'
'Have you come to preach, old man, or to fight?' said Phanes.
Menkaura faced him. At a gesture, Thothmes brought him a shield of hippopotamus hide stretched over a wooden frame and rimmed in tarnished bronze. 'Don't do this, cousin,' Thothmes whispered. Their eyes met, and a faint smile touched Menkaura's lips. He looked at Phanes.
'Time for your lesson, boy! '
Menkaura circled Phanes, his sword ready, evoking images of the aging Nestor beneath Ilium's walls. The Greek feinted in, the tip of his sword weaving like the head of a striking serpent. His shield gleamed in the morning sun. Menkaura gave ground, wary, calling on years of experience to counter the younger man's speed. He shuffled back, circled, and lunged without warning, thrusting the point of his blade at Phanes' face. Bronze struck iron with a deafening clang.
Phanes sneered and launched a whirlwind of blows. Menkaura parried and ducked, catching blow after blow on the edge of his shield. Sweat beaded his forehead, streamed down his face. An icy premonition clutched at Menkaura's heart, the hand of Osiris.
The Desert Hawk swung wildly.
With a dancer's grace Phanes slid beneath the Egyptian's sword, his own blade sweeping up and out in a glittering arc. Menkaura heard its chilling whistle; he felt its razored edge bite into the taut muscles of his neck. An unimaginable pain tore into him, then Menkaura heard and felt no more.
Pregnant silence gripped the square as Menkaura's headless body toppled, landing with a crash at the feet of the Egyptian mob. Phanes stooped, caught up the severed head, and held it aloft.
'The gods have decided! I have fought for Egypt, bled for Egypt, nearly died for Egypt! Now, I will conquer Egypt! If any man here would challenge my claim, then do it now! Do it now! '
Thothmes moved to take up Phanes' challenge, but a stealthy hand on his arm stopped him. He glanced back, saw Amenmose behind him. The merchant shook his head. Beside him, Hekaib's pale face gleamed beneath his helmet.
Phanes' eyes raked the crowd; few could meet his gaze. 'Just as I thought! I know you all, every man here, and I extend amnesty to you. This man who led you was a fool, and I hold you blameless for his folly! But, I swear — by the gods of Hellas! — if the slightest rumor of unrest reaches my ears, I will kill every male member of your families and sell your wives and daughters to the Nubians! Now kneel and recognize your new king!'
For a long moment none moved. Then, Amenmose stepped forward, his fingers locked on the forearms of Ibebi and Hekaib. 'Live to fight another day, brothers,' he whispered as he knelt. In twos and threes, the other Egyptians followed suit. Last came Thothmes. He glared at Phanes as he dropped to his knees.
'I am your king! ' Phanes roared, his arms spread wide. Their hatred coursed through him, driving him to the
