Egyptians lined that road, silent, hoping beyond hope that dusk would find the Greeks dead and bleeding in the sand beyond the city. No maidens rushed out to kiss the departing soldiers; no old men bid farewell with a knowing salute. Only dark impassive faces and eyes brimming with hate.
Above the Square, Phanes trod the paving stones of the western pylon of the temple of Ptah. His armor gleamed in the sun; a white cloak billowed out behind him. The look on his face was one of barely controlled rage. Nicias stood to one side, out of the path of his commander's anger.
'What the hell happened? Why did he bolt?'
Nicias shrugged. 'I have no answer for you, strategos, though privately I've always felt Callisthenes to be more Egyptian than Greek.'
That idea struck Phanes crossly, something he had not envisaged. Could Callisthenes, jolly Callisthenes, betray him? Lysistratis had thought so. If his sympathies did lay with the Egyptian people, then he could have leaked details of Phanes' plans to Pharaoh's agents at any time. Suddenly everything the merchant touched grew suspect; every delay, every word, every question became the work of a traitor. Phanes gave Nicias a look that would curdle milk. 'You think he's double-crossed me?'
'Why else would he run?'
'If he has betrayed me, he'll not live long enough to savor it. It's too late to alter our plans. Send word to the men inside the temple walls to remain vigilant, as a precaution.' He would deal with Callisthenes later. Phanes took a deep breath as he turned to face the rising sun. 'Can you feel it? The air itself is alive.'
The cloudless sky faded from light blue in the west to white and orange in the east. The Nile glittered like liquid silver. Phanes peered down on the temple grounds. His men were moving into position; sunlight angling through decorative pylons and colonnades struck fire from breastplates, helmets, and spear tips. A short avenue of human-headed sphinxes led from the quay to the temple proper. Phanes chose that spot as the site of Pharaoh's death.
'It's a fine day to die, should the gods decree it,' Nicias said.
'Not for us, my friend,' Phanes said. 'This is our day for triumph.' Below them, his men ushered the gaggle of captive priests through the temple gates. He spotted Ujahorresnet among them. 'Bring me the high priest of Neith.'
Soldiers relayed the order. Ujahorresnet was cut from the herd and escorted up the long interior stairs of the pylon. He marched like a man going to meet his doom. Would Petenemheb's fate be his, a sacrifice to the crude gods of Hellas? Whatever Phanes' designs, the priest resolved to meet it with head held high.
Ujahorresnet blinked as he emerged into the bright morning sunlight. He paused at the head of the stairs. The view from atop the pylon was staggering. Off to the west, cloaked in haze, he could make out the pyramids of Saqqara; the smaller bench-like mastaba tombs were dark smudges against the lighter sands. Even the plumes of dust rising from the wheels of Pharaoh's chariotry could be plainly seen.
'Impressive, is it not?' Phanes said.
Ujahorresnet tore his gaze away from the distant panorama. 'Very. Should I thank you for not betraying me to my colleagues, or should I brace myself for a long fall?'
'I like your mettle, Ujahorresnet. If things were different, I think you and I might have become friends. Have you, in your new-found piety, decided to put aside the terms of our agreement?'
Ujahorresnet sighed. He had wrestled with that same question for much of the night. The thirst for vengeance had sent him astray, to be sure, but the idea of an Egypt reinvigorated by foreign rulers, by men who would give his countrymen a new sense of themselves, remained unchanged. 'No, general. I will honor our agreement. Egypt still suffers the rot of corruption. A symptom of that rot was my misguided attempt to use you as a tool of my vengeance. The Goddess has shown me the error of my ways.' Ujahorresnet gripped the Greek's arm. 'Make sure your plan is sound, general. If you die. .'
'All men die,' Phanes said. 'But not all men stand on the threshold of greatness. If I die today, if the Fates forsake me, then so be it. I will enter Elysium secure in the knowledge that I stood where so few men ever had.'
'And where is that?'
'On the brink of immortality! '
A messenger rushed up the stairs to the pylon's roof. 'A sail, strategos!' he said, out of breath. He pointed off to the north. Phanes followed his gesture, grinned. True enough, a sail glimmered through the morning haze.
'What is it?' Ujahorresnet said, shading his eyes.
'Pharaoh's barge, the Kbepri, and she'll dock within the hour.' Phanes turned to his men. 'Get to your stations!'
Ujahorresnet hastened to stay abreast of the fighting men as they made their way down from the pylon and through the temple. He followed Phanes through the Temple of the Hearing Ear, built by great Ramses, and through a succession of decorative pylons dedicated to a smattering of different pharaohs. Their footfalls echoed about the great hypostyle hall. The noise and movement, the flash of sunlight on bronze, the cool shadows, all gave the priest a disjointed sensation, as if he stood outside his body and watched.
Word of the Khepri's approach had circulated through the ranks. All around the temple enclosure, soldiers hurried to take up their positions. A squire hustled to Phanes' side bearing his helmet and shield. The general caught up his helmet by its white horsehair crest.
'Any word from the scouts?'
The squire shook his head. 'No word, sire.'
Silence fell over the temple precinct.
Phanes stopped and glanced around. Save for a single squad, a guard of honor, his men had faded into the shadows of the first pylon, called the Gate of the Dawn; they were ready to charge the quay at Phanes' command. Nicias, he could barely discern, along with scores of hoplites, crouched down behind the row of sphinxes leading to the quay. All was in readiness.
'You are fond of tales and stories,' Ujahorresnet said. 'My own misfortune reminds me of the Tale of the Doomed Prince. Perhaps you could apply its lesson to your own situation.'
'Enlighten me, priest.'
'The prince was a son of a Pharaoh from antiquity, an ambitious man who lusted after his father's throne. This prince tried everything he could to remove his sire, from assassins in the night to fomenting uprisings among client-kings, all to no avail. At his wit's end, the prince begged and pleaded with the demonic Apophis. The Great Serpent heard the young man's cries and sent a cobra to do what had to be done. His father dead, the prince gained his throne.'
'An encouraging tale,' Phanes said, accepting his shield from the squire. The silvered Medusa head flashed in the sun.
'There is more to it. You see, even though he had attained his dream, this prince-turned-Pharaoh could not enjoy his triumph. He could not sleep without seeing his father's poison-wracked face. He could not eat for fear of assassination. He could not trust for fear of betrayal. Be careful what you wish for, general. The reality of power is never as sweet as the dream of it.'
In the red haze of dawn, a horseman thundered through the northern suburbs of Memphis. He was a scout, dusty and haggard, his leather corselet streaked with blood. The narrow road he traveled widened into a tiled court with carefully manicured trees and a stone-curbed pool of water lilies. To the right lay a sheltered colonnade that led to a complex of buildings attached to the temple of Thoth; to the left, an avenue of hard-packed dirt wound down to the Nile's edge; straight ahead, obelisks rose above the trees, marking the northern entrance to the temple of Sokar. The air smelled faintly of hyacinth.
The horseman reined in, unsure of his bearings. A solitary soldier, lounging near the pool, looked up, frowning.
'What word do you bring, brother?' the soldier said. He looked foreign, though he wore the bronze cuirass of a hoplite ranker, a line grunt; the bruises on his face bore silent witness to the brutality of their training.
The scout leapt from his horse. 'T-the army!' he huffed. 'Has it marched out yet? Quick, man! '
The soldier bolted upright. 'Scarcely a half-hour gone, why?'
The scout cursed. 'Their infantry landed a few miles north, a heavily reinforced regiment shored up by elements of the Calasirian Guard! Their vanguard engaged us north of Saqqara. I fought clear and hurried back with
