Scott Oden - Men of Bronze

Ghosts from the past shimmered and danced in the water. He could yet recall every detail of her face — the flaring of her thin nostrils, the cosmetics lining her eyes, how her lips curled into an angry pout. The day had been one of unaccustomed clarity, with only a light haze obscuring the view from the roof of his villa. Pharaoh's palace glittered in the distance.

"I am your father, Neferu! You will do as I command! " The fury in his voice sent his servants running, scattering them like a flock of birds. But not Neferu. Not dear Neferu. In a gesture so reminiscent of her mother, she had drawn herself up, straight and tall, her eyes flashing in the afternoon shadows.

"I'm not one of your slaves!" she said. "I'll choose the man I am to marry "

The family of Ujahorresnet was of pure blood, untainted, their lineage unbroken back to the time of Amenhotep the Golden. As a daughter of princes, Neferu's future had lain in the inner chambers of Pharaoh's palace, as wife to his heir, mother to the sons of his son. Instead, without thought or word, she threw it all away so she could go off and serve as whore to the son of a foreign merchant. Ujahorresnet tasted gall.

Though he served as high priest of Neith in Memphis, Ujahorresnet made lavish sacrifices to the shrine of the lady Sekhmet, goddess of vengeance. Once invoked, Amon himself could not sway the Mistress of Plagues from her destructive task. He'd given the goddess blood; would she give him satisfaction?

"How?" Ujahorresnet said, staring at the water. "How do I stop a man whose name has become a byword for violence?"

For an instant the Nile turned like glass and Ujahorresnet saw the heavens reflected there, one cluster of stars brighter than the others: the constellation of Sah, the Fleet-footed, the Long-strider, called Orion by the Greeks.

Ujahorresnet sighed and closed his eyes. The Greeks. His answer had been there all along, written in the stars. He would need the foreigners.

"You teasing little whore." Phanes laughed, slapping the young woman's bare buttocks. The motion caused warm water to slosh over the rim of his bath. Her body, perched precariously on the tub's edge, writhed in pleasure as she continued exploring herself with her fingers.

"Come here, Sadeh," Phanes said, reaching for her.

The woman, Sadeh, a sloe-eyed Egyptian beauty barely half the Greek's age, slithered close to him and pressed her naked breasts against his chest. Her nimble fingers kneaded the hard ridges of muscle rippling down his abdomen as she lowered herself onto his erection. She arched her back, grinding her pelvis against him in the first of many orgasms. Phanes grinned.

The bathing chamber was spacious, lit by several oil lamps whose light the floating clouds of steam diffused and scattered. Paintings from myth and legend adorned the walls. Dionysus, Priapus, Aphrodite, and the Naiads all frolicked through an Elysian paradise in pursuit of the same pleasure Sadeh received. Her damp hair hung like a veil about her face; Phanes reached up and caught a handful of it, thrusting mercilessly into her as she ground down upon him. He made not a sound as she shivered and moaned.

Phanes glanced up as Lysistratis ambled into the bath. Sweaty, covered in dust, the Spartan looked as though he had just finished a footrace. He made a curt gesture, indicating the woman should leave. Sadeh, pouting and still unfulfilled, made to disengage herself from Phanes, but the Greek took her by the hips and forced her back into position. Sadeh gasped, her eyes glazing.

"Your lechery knows no bounds," Lysistratis said, grinning. "Does she speak Greek?"

"No. You look troubled. Is there news?"

"Only a worrisome rumor," Lysistratis said, "about the Medjay. I'm told Bedouin came down out of Sinai and razed the village of Habit. In itself, that is nothing extraordinary, but these Bedouin pushed on instead of returning to their moun tain fastness. A company of Medjay tracked them through the waste to the Nile's banks and slaughtered them in the ruins of Leontopolis. I've sent a charioteer to survey the site, though in my bones I know what he'll find." The Spartan stripped off his tunic and eased himself into the far end of the tub.

"And what will he find?"

"A dead Persian. Arsamenes should have set out from Babylon a fortnight ago, which explains why the Bedouin pressed on to the Nile. They were escorting him to Memphis. I knew you were teasing the Fates by using Bedouin in the first place," Lysistratis said, shaking his head. "The Medjay are too canny not to notice such a large force crossing the border."

"What's done is done," Phanes replied, trapping Sadeh's hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He twisted them gently, sending her into spasms of pleasure. "The hand of Apollo has blessed us."

"The blessing of Apollo's not proof against failure," Lysistratis said. "Barca himself leads these Medjay and he's not a man to be trifled with. He stands high in Pharaoh's counsel. That alone makes him a dangerous opponent."

Phanes said nothing for a while, his tongue engaged in a duel with Sadeh's. Though Memphis had countless prostitutes and courtesans — women of Syria, Greece, Libya, and Nubia — Phanes limited his sexual encounters to young Egyptian women of the upper class, chosen as much for their looks as their parentage. Under Phanes, Sadeh would learn to embrace her primal side, her innate lasciviousness. He would use her, treat her no better than a common whore, then cast her aside like so many who had come before her. The thought sent a ripple of pleasure through his loins.

He broke their kiss, leaving Sadeh breathless. "Barca! Phoenicians should keep to the sea, where they belong! Meddlesome bastard!"

"Bar-ka," Sadeh panted in Egyptian, recognizing the name. "He is a goblin the matrons of … of Sais use to frighten s-small …" Her voice faltered as she shook through the throes of yet another orgasm.

"Mind your business, girl," Lysistratis said, "lest we put your mouth to better use." Then, to Phanes, "Look, Barca is notorious for being a thorn in the side of Pharaoh's enemies. He has two choices: he can go to Sais and warn Amasis, or he can come to Memphis and attempt to interfere. Granted, he's one man, but — "

"If he comes here, Lysistratis, I want him dead. Before he can cause problems," said Phanes. "Double the guards on the eastern shore and send out additional patrols."

"I'll see to it tomorrow." Lysistratis floated up behind Sadeh, cupping her breasts as he kissed her. She stretched her hands above her head, her nails digging into the Spartan's neck. Her moans redoubled.

"Ah," Phanes said, his hands spreading Sadeh's buttocks to allow the Spartan to enter her, "if only the rest of Egypt could be plundered as easily as you, my dear."

A desultory breeze rustled through the forest of reeds growing along the Nile's eastern bank. The night was quiet save for the soothing clamor of frogs and insects, and the hiss of water spooling through the shallows. Well back from the river, hillocks rose from the rich, black soil. Atop them, farming villages sat like stately country squires, their lights dim and clouded, their finery diminished with age. Between the river and the villages, lay the fields that fed the teeming masses of Memphis.

Barca and Ithobaal stood at the edge of a muddy embankment, just inside a tangled copse of sycamores, and watched the lights of Memphis glittering across the dark waters of the Nile. "I'm going in tonight. Alone," the Phoenician said.

Ithobaal's knees creaked as he crouched and scooped up a handful of loose soil. "Alone? Are you mad?" He heard a cough, explosive in the silence, and glanced toward the noise. The Medjay sat in the darkness beneath the trees, too weary to prepare a fire or unsling their bedrolls. Eighteen faces stared at nothing; splashes of light from a sickle moon gave them a ghoulish cast, like wandering souls unburied, unmourned. Soil trickled between Ithobaal's fingers. "This forced march has exhausted the men. It's exhausted you. Why not bide the night here and rest until dawn? We made good time from Leontopolis. What difference will another day make?"