Steven Saylor - Raiders of the Nile

“How were you to convince me to come with you? A little boy shows up at my door and says I must come to see his master, a man I might never have heard of-why would I do that? Were you to offer me money?”

“No.”

“Deliver a threat?”

“No.”

“How, then?”

“I was to say a name. An odd name, neither Egyptian nor Greek, nor Roman, I think. A woman’s name.…”

I drew a sharp breath. “Bethesda?”

“Yes, that’s it.” He scrutinized me for a long moment, perceiving that all my defenses were down. “You really are Gordianus, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

He nodded, accepting my word.

“Lead me to Tafhapy,” I said.

As we stepped through the doorway and into the courtyard beyond, I knew this was the house of the man who had come to watch the mime show in the elegant litter, for the conveyance in question rested on large wooden blocks against one wall of the courtyard.

There might be two such litters in Alexandria, with lotus-column poles and a yellow canopy, but surely there were not two such sets of bearers. The Nubian giants sat beside the litter in a patch of sunshine, playing a game with dice. A couple of them looked up as we passed, giving me a curious glance before they smiled and waved to Djet.

I had never been in such a large and lavishly decorated house. Even the finest houses I had visited on my journey to see the Seven Wonders, such as that of Posidonius in Rhodes, seemed modest in comparison. I followed Djet through one room after another, all filled with sumptuous rugs, fine furniture, beautiful paintings, and marvelous pieces of sculpture. At last we arrived in another courtyard, this one planted with a lush garden of flowers and citrus trees. A pathway paved with colorful mosaics led to a shady spot where a man of middle years sat in a chair made of ebony inlaid with bits of ivory and turquoise.

The man’s head was shaved, but his barber had neglected to trim his bushy black eyebrows, which bristled like the legs of a tarantula. Despite this striking feature, he was not a bad-looking man; nor was he as old as I had expected, though he still looked old enough to be Axiothea’s father. He was dressed in an elaborately embroidered linen gown and elegant leather sandals, wearing a bejeweled ring on every finger and many necklaces of silver and gold. In all my travels I had never met a man as ostentatious as Tafhapy.

A scribe with writing tools sat cross-legged on the mosaic floor beside him-a beautiful young man wearing nothing but a loincloth, I noticed. At least two bodyguards watched us from the shaded recesses of the garden. Facing Tafhapy were two vacant ebony chairs, not quite as grand as the one in which he sat.

My host gave me an appraising look, then turned his gaze to Djet. “That was quick,” he said. “Too quick. You can’t possibly have gone all the way to Rhakotis and back in the time since I dispatched you.”

“It was a sign from the gods, Master,” said Djet. “I ran into the very man you wanted, only a few blocks from the house.”

“Did you indeed?” Tafhapy raised a bristling eyebrow, then looked at me sidelong. “My doorkeeper tells me a Roman came calling earlier today. I suppose that was you, Gordianus-if you are Gordianus?”

“Yes, Tafhapy. That was me who called on you. And I am Gordianus.”

“How curious. You desire to see me, and I to see you. Perhaps the gods indeed intend for us to meet.”

“The will of the gods is manifest in all that transpires,” I said, having learned in my travels that this sort of comment was appropriate for almost any occasion, and usually appreciated by those to whom the gods had shown special favor.

Tafhapy merely nodded. He told Djet to go sit in the shade of a lemon tree at the far side of the garden, and indicated with a gesture that I should sit in one of the vacant chairs. Though the afternoon was warm, he offered me no refreshment. For a long time he merely looked at me. Unlike Djet, he was skilled at banishing all expression from his face. I had no idea what he was thinking.

At last, without taking his gaze from me, he extended one hand toward the scribe. The young man placed a rolled-up piece of papyrus in his hand.

“Do you read Greek?” said Tafhapy.

“Even better than I speak it.”

Tafhapy snorted derisively but held out the papyrus, indicating that I should take it.

“Read it aloud,” he said.

I cleared my throat. “‘To the esteemed Tafhapy, blessed many times over by Serapis, greetings. We have taken into our care the girl called…’” I drew a sharp breath but strove to keep all emotion from my voice. “‘… called Axiothea. She will not be harmed. But you will not see her again until we receive from you a gift commensurate with the greatness of your affection for her. Leave a black pebble in the fountain of the seven baboons to show that you have received this message. Then we shall send further instructions.’”

I looked up. “The message is unsigned.”

“What do you make of it?” said Tafhapy.

What indeed? If it was Axiothea who had been kidnapped, was it Bethesda who had been seen going off with the little boy? And was the boy who had been seen in fact Djet, and if so-was Bethesda here in the house of Tafhapy? My heart pounded in my chest.

Until I knew more, I was not yet ready to reveal to Tafhapy my reason for coming, or my acquaintance with Axiothea. To play for time, I held up the letter and examined it more closely. I took a deep breath. “The papyrus and the ink are of low quality. The Greek letters are competently made, but not elegant; this wasn’t written by a scribe, taking dictation. But the writer is an educated man, as can be deduced by the fact that the message contains no grammatical errors or misspellings, or at least none that I can see. Indeed, the style of address is rather elevated.”

Tafhapy smiled faintly. “You are an observant young man. Observe this as well.” He took a second piece of papyrus from the scribe and handed it to me.

This specimen was smaller, and the message shorter. I read aloud: “‘No black stone in the fountain. Did you not receive our previous message? Axiothea misses you. Place a black stone in the fountain if you wish to see her again.’”

Tafhapy nodded. “What do you make of these two messages, Gordianus?”

“The girl Axiothea was kidnapped. She’s being held for ransom. And yet…”

“Go on.”

“They asked for a sign, which you haven’t given them. Do you intend to pay them, or not?”

“Why should I pay them?”

I shrugged. “It’s not my place, Tafhapy, to say what this woman is worth to you-”

“You misunderstand, Gordianus. Why should I pay ransom for a woman who…”

Tafhapy’s voice trailed away. From his resting place beneath the lemon tree at the far corner of the garden, Djet had risen to his feet to greet someone-a woman, to judge by her general outline. So deep was the shade in that part of the garden that I could not see her face at all, only her silhouette. The woman turned away from Djet and walked toward us, keeping to the shade of a leafy bower. As she drew near, a bit of sunlight penetrated the leaves to strike her face, and I saw that it was-

“Bethesda!” I whispered, my heart skipping a beat. I dropped the papyrus and rose from my chair.

But as the woman moved from the shadows into the light, I saw that I was mistaken. My heart turned to lead.

“As I was saying,” Tafhapy continued, “why should I pay ransom for a woman who was never kidnapped?”

Rising from his chair, he took Axiothea’s hands in his and gave her a kiss on the forehead. They smiled at each other for a long moment, then Axiothea sat in the chair next to mine.