'It is wrong, what you plan!' a voice answered. Merodach. 'He came to us in good faith and we repay his candor by clapping him in chains! Have we become like the wretched Bedouin? Men who possess not a shred of honor?'
'Guard your tongue, Merodach,' Qainu said, his voice a dangerous hiss. 'The future of Arabia lay with the Bedouin. Had you sense, you'd see it too.'
'All I see is a weak fool dancing on the end of a string. a string held by the Persians!' Merodach said.
Callisthenes inched forward. Silently, on well-kept hinges, the door opened on a small alcove that widened out into the throne room proper, with its forest of columns. The place was dark; the only source of light a trio of bronze lamps burning about the throne. The Greek saw no evidence of guards, for which he breathed a prayer of thanks, as he crept along the wall.
Suddenly, Callisthenes stopped. Qainu's tiger, chained to the king's throne, glared at him and coughed. The big cat's eyes glowed a sorcerous green in the dim light.
'What has happened to you, Merodach? You were once my staunchest ally. Now, you sound like your predecessor, a sniveling toad who lacked a spine. Have these Egyptians cast some sort of spell over you? Do you hunger for my throne?' The Arabian king looked thunderstruck. 'That's it! You've made some unholy alliance with the Egyptians! '
'Don't be absurd!' Merodach said. The chancellor paced back and forth, the movement catching the tiger's eye. 'It pains me to see these Persians using you as a pawn in their political games. Cambyses doubtless has never heard of you, majesty. Not with a glory-hound like Phanes at his side. You are nothing to this man whose attention you crave. A puppet!'
'Rather a puppet than a corpse!' Qainu said. He leaned down and loosed the tiger's collar. With an ear- splitting roar the beast launched itself off the dais, clearing the intervening space in a single lithe bound to crash full onto Merodach's chest. The pair fell in a welter of thrashing limbs. A chilling shriek echoed about the throne room as the tiger's powerful claws disemboweled the chancellor.
Qainu's laughter amid the cracking of bone roused the Greek from his shocked silence. An unfathomable rage clutched him. A rage that could only be sated with blood.
'No!' Callisthenes screamed. He sprinted out into the open.
The sight of the blood-splashed Greek hefting a spear sent a paroxysm of fear through Qainu. The Arabian king recoiled, curling up into a ball on his throne as he awaited the cold hand of death.
The tiger glared at the Greek from above the gory mess that was Merodach, ears flattening against its skull. The spear cocked behind Callisthenes' ear flew straight and true, a cast worthy of Hector. The long bronze blade flashed through the dim light of the throne room and smashed into the tiger's side. The god of war must have blessed that cast, for the spear knocked the beast sidewise off Merodach, splitting its heart in two. Without breaking stride, the Greek ripped his knife from his girdle and leapt at the king.
'Guards! ' Qainu hurled himself off the throne and tried to run. Years of sloth, of debauchery, had taken their toll on the fleshy Arabian. Callisthenes caught him easily by the scruff of the neck and hurled him back against the dais. 'Guards! ' the king squealed. In a rage, the Greek struck Qainu across the mouth, his fist stiffened by the hilt of his knife. The Arab fell back, stunned. Callisthenes gave him not a moment's respite. Again and again he pommel-whipped the king, his face a mask of fury. Barely did he hear his name being called.
'C–Callis … C–Callisthenes!'
The Greek looked up. Amazingly, Merodach yet clung to life. With great effort the chancellor extended a hand toward Callisthenes. The Greek let go of the king and rushed to Merodach's side.
'I am sorry, my friend. I brought this on you.' He stroked the Babylonian's forehead. The tiger's claws had shredded his abdomen, exposing intestine and bone. A lake of crimson formed around the fallen man. 'I am so sorry.'
'P-Please …' Merodach whispered, bubbles of blood breaking on his trembling lips. 'Do n-not kill h-him…' His eyes rolled toward the dais, toward the bruised and bleeding form of his king. 'P-Promise … m-me …'
'I promise, Merodach,' Callisthenes said quietly. 'I will not kill him.' Merodach gripped the Greek's arm, then gave a last, wet, shuddering sigh. Tears rolled down Callisthenes' cheeks. This man, a stranger to him, had shown more grace and honor in dying than any man the Greek had ever known. Far more grace than the wretched dog he served.
Callisthenes glanced up, hatred in his eyes. His hand gripped the hilt of his knife.
Qainu's scream echoed about the throne room.
Dawn striped the eastern sky with bands of coral and ivory, fading overhead to diamond-studded lapis. Bedouin guards crouched at the gates of Qainu's palace, passing a skin of fermented goat's milk back and forth. They were supposed to be on station inside the walls, as sentries and door-wards, but the desert men felt uneasy surrounded by so much stone, constricted. A man needed open sky in order to breathe.
They had passed the night cursing and grumbling in their beards at being left behind to watch over the fat king while their brothers gained gold and glory in the Egyptian camp. Zayid had promised each of them an equal share of the booty. In that, at least, they did not feel cheated.
'How much do you think we will get? ' the youngest of them said, his beard a mere wisp on his chin. The others laughed.
'More than you've ever seen, boy,' one said. 'Enough to buy every whore from here to Damascus! '
'You lie!' the boy said, walking away from the others. He stopped at the stone curb of a well occupying the center of the plaza. In a few hours time, women would bring their jars here to be filled, the first of many chores.
'He speaks true, Khatib,' another said, rising from a crouch and stretching. 'Gold in Egypt is like sand in Arabia. You have only to stoop and pick it up. What shaykh Zayid takes from their camp, even divided, will make all of us rich beyond our dreams.'
The boy, Khatib, grinned. 'I will buy herds, not whores,' he said. 'And wives! I will have a hundred wives! I …' Khatib paused as something came arching out of the gloom. It struck the ground with a meaty squelch and rolled to the stone curb. Khatib frowned as he walked around to the thing and squatted. The others laughed, shouting to their young cousin.
'What have you found, boy?'
Khatib rose and turned toward them, eyes wide, face pale. He cradled a severed head in his hands. Its features, frozen in the act of dying, were all too familiar to the Bedouin.
Zayid.
The guards surged to their feet, cursing and howling in rage. 'Watch yourself, boy!' They gestured behind the young Bedouin.
'What is it … What …?' Khatib spun as Barca stepped from the shadows, his sword splitting the boy's skull like a ripe melon. The Phoenician kicked the corpse aside and fell on the remaining half dozen guards. Egyptians poured into the plaza at his back.
The Bedouin did not stand a chance.
'Take the gate!' Barca roared, droplets of crimson falling from his blade. Qainu's palace, a temple in a previous incarnation, was designed to be easily defended. The crenellated walls had murder-holes and sally-ports carved into the ancient brick. Besieged archers and soldiers could easily rain death down on an attacker. Even the simple gate was a heavy, ponderous affair of corroded bronze and cedar; it looked to Barca like it had not been closed in a generation or more.
A handful of Bedouin, along with a sprinkling of slaves and servants, rushed to the gate and threw their backs into closing it. It moved an inch. Two. Four. Grins of triumph on their faces were short lived as the huge portal ground to a halt. They panicked as a wave of Egyptians in glittering armor crashed against the gate, forcing it open. After a flurry of blades left Bedouin corpses across the threshold, the rest turned and fled into the courtyard.
Barca expected some kind of organized defense. Arrows and rocks from on high. A rush of swordsmen. Something. Even a mutiny among Ahmad's men who were secretly loyal to Qainu. But, this last stand of the groomsmen and the kitchen help had taken him at unawares. Surely Qainu was not so foolish as to commit his entire household guard to the fight in the camp?
'Are any of your men within?' the Phoenician asked Ahmad. The Arabian captain shook his head.
'No. We're billeted in the city. Qainu fancies himself more of a shaykh than a king. The only soldiers within
