Steven Saylor - Raiders of the Nile

“Do you think we’re the only ones left alive?” I said.

Artemon sat unmoving with his back against the wall and his eyes closed.

“Of all the men who were aboard the Medusa, I mean. Do you think all the others are dead?”

Artemon opened his eyes, but didn’t look at me. He stared into space.

I coughed and cleared my throat, longing for a drink of water. “I ask, because it may have some bearing on how long the king lets me live. My little life can’t have much value to him, except that I might yet provide a few clues as to what went wrong with his plans for the golden sarcophagus. I only hope that dour chamberlain doesn’t insist on torturing me to get some answers, since I’d gladly tell him all I know. But I don’t suppose I’ll have a choice about that-”

“They’re all dead,” said Artemon, finally breaking his silence. He still wouldn’t look at me. His voice was so lifeless and cold that it raised hackles on my neck. “The captains of the two warships had orders to kill any survivors.”

“What about the men who fell during the raid? It’s possible that some were only wounded-”

“Any man we left behind in the city, who somehow survived, was also to be killed.” Artemon’s lips twisted into a grim semblance of a smile. “I was the one who insisted on that stipulation, but Ptolemy readily agreed. There were to be no survivors, no witnesses … no one who might figure out what had happened and come looking for me later, seeking revenge … and no one who knew where all that treasure was buried, back at the site of the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

“You told me there was nothing in those buried crates worth digging up.”

“I lied.”

He spoke without emotion. His lack of any remorse in the aftermath of so much deceit and death was appalling, but I tried to hide my reaction. The important thing was to keep him talking, so as to learn as much as I could from him.

“What about Metrodora?” I said. “The last I saw of her, she was alive, on the wharf, holding onto the kidnapped girl. Then she seemed to vanish.”

“Why not? She is a witch.” Again, staring into space, he flashed that grim smile. “Metrodora alone was meant to survive. She … and the girl. On my orders, Captain Mavrogenis took them ashore while the raid was taking place. He locked the girl in a room in the customs house, and gave the key to Metrodora.”

“So you intended to come back for the girl later. After the fake sarcophagus was loaded and the ship set off, you were going to jump off the Medusa and swim to the royal barque, while the Medusa sailed to its destruction. Then you and Metrodora would collect your payment from the king and go your separate ways-with you taking the girl. Is that right?”

He nodded.

“Was Metrodora your partner all along?”

“Almost from the day we met. She helped me, and I helped her. You saw how the two of us ran the Cuckoo’s Nest. I gave the orders, but it was Metrodora who knew how to use their fears and hopes to control them. She called it witchcraft. Maybe it was. Between the two of us, there seemed to be nothing we couldn’t get those fools to believe, and nothing we couldn’t trick them into doing.”

Again I suppressed my revulsion. I had never met a man so calculating or so callous. “But at the very end, something went wrong between you and Metrodora. I saw her holding onto the girl, trying to keep you from taking her.”

“At the last moment, when I told Metrodora there had been a change of plans-that I was going to board the ship after all, take the girl and the golden sarcophagus with me and make a run for it-she refused to come along. She thought I was mad. I suppose I was.”

He finally looked me in the eye, with a gaze so full of hatred it made my blood run cold. I swallowed hard and studied the chains holding him, making sure there was no way he could reach me.

“ You’re the one who caused the trouble,” he said. “You forced the change of plans when you spotted the substitution. No one else noticed, except you-and then you had to point it out to everyone. Then you attacked me when I boarded the ship. Who are you, Roman? You call yourself Pecunius, but Metrodora told me your name is Gordianus. Why did you come to the Cuckoo’s Nest? And how is it that you’re still alive?”

I realized why Artemon had decided to talk to me. Just as I wanted to resolve certain questions that only he could answer, so he wanted to understand the man who had ruined all his carefully laid plans.

“You ask who I am, Artemon, and I’ll tell you. But first, let me see if I understand exactly what happened. Whose idea was this scheme to steal-or pretend to steal-the sarcophagus of Alexander? Did it originate with you, or with King Ptolemy?”

“It all started when the king’s chamberlain, that stick insect, Zenon, first contacted me a few months ago, through intermediaries. The messages we exchanged were tentative at first, as we felt each other out. Then the plan seemed to hatch itself, and we were off and running. Some nights I could hardly sleep for the excitement. The fact that I had to keep the scheme a secret from everyone at the Cuckoo’s Nest made it all the more thrilling. Even Metrodora knew only the bare outlines.”

“What was in it for the king? What did he hope to gain from it?”

“Enough gold to pay his troops!” Artemon laughed harshly. “The king is desperate. His brother’s forces far outnumber his own, and they’ll be here any day now. His own men have been deserting him for months. It’s because he’s run out of money. Ah, but how to get some more? By melting down some fabulous treasure-but which one? For the king’s needs, only the grandest treasure of all would suffice: the golden sarcophagus of Alexander.”

“The people would never stand for such a sacrilege,” I said.

“Exactly. But what if the sarcophagus were to be stolen? What if there was a daring raid, and pirates absconded with it? Or better yet, pirates led by some traitorous member of the king’s own family, some wicked bastard cousin and pretender to the throne?”

“The people would still be furious.”

“Yes, but in such a circumstance their fury could be directed away from the king. If he lacked enough soldiers to protect the sarcophagus, whose fault was that? He could say, ‘I might have stopped those scoundrels, if the few soldiers I have left weren’t busy quelling that riot over at the Temple of Serapis!’ In the end it would be the fault of everyone but the king-his brother, for marching on the city and causing chaos, and his own troops, for deserting their posts, and the people themselves, for going on a rampage and distracting the few loyal soldiers left, who should have been defending the city’s greatest treasure instead of putting out fires.”

“But in fact, the sarcophagus was not to be carried off. It was to stay here in Alexandria.…”

“Where the king could strip the jewels and melt down the gold. As if by magic, the royal treasury would be full again. The king could buy back his army, and have so much gold left over he could pay off the invaders as well.”

“But what if the plot had been discovered?” I said. “What if something went wrong-as it did?”

“It was a risky business, to be sure. But the king had little choice. A wild gamble was the only thing that could save him.”

“And you, Artemon? What was in this scheme for you?”

For the first time, his features softened a bit. He stared into space and sighed. “The days of the Cuckoo’s Gang were numbered. Whoever ends up on the throne in Alexandria, the destruction of the bandit gangs in the Delta will become his highest priority. For a while, I thought about fleeing to Crete and taking the gang with me. Crete is wide open, they say-but that means every bandit king and pirate captain in the world is headed there, thinking to make himself master of the island. That’s too much competition.” He shook his head. “For all its delights, banditry is a dangerous profession. I’d had enough. I wanted a way out, preferably with my head on my shoulders, a royal pardon, and enough gold to last me a lifetime.