Ancient World 02 - Raiders of the Nile (17 page)

“Marcus Pecunius…,” she began, a stricken look on her face.

“Say nothing, Teti!” I raced to her and pressed a finger to her lips. “There are no words for such a parting. Alas, what might have occurred last night did not occur—the gods looked down and were jealous of us, Teti! But I promise I shall not forget you. And so that you don’t forget me, I want to give you something.”

“A gift … for me?”

“Yes, Teti. Do you like it?” I produced the ring I had pulled from the sack. The band was of silver and the setting of lapis lazuli.

“Oh, Marcus, it’s beautiful!”

“Think of me when you wear it, Teti.”

“Oh, Marcus, I shall.” Her face glowed, and tears came to her eyes. She hid her face and turned back toward the door. “You mustn’t see me cry, Marcus. And you must be off—at once! Soon everyone in Sais will be looking for you. Go, Marcus!” She ran inside.

Djet gave me a look as if to say: what in Hades was that about?

I induced the camel to kneel, mounted the beast, and helped Djet climb behind me. “Hut! Hut!” I cried.

Djet, who could keep his mouth shut no longer, squealed with laughter as the camel rose up. “Fortuna shows how she loves you again!” he cried.

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night, I thought: how terrible, that the Roman should be so sick. What a disgusting sight you were! But that was Fortuna’s way of saving you.”

“From what?”

“From that hippopotamus! Isn’t that what you called her yesterday? A friendly hippopotamus? How terrible, if Teti the hippopotamus had had her way with you. But Fortuna struck you ill, and so you escaped such an awful fate. Still, I don’t see why you spoke all that gibberish to her and gave her that ring—”

“By Hercules, Djet, keep your voice down! What if she were to hear you?”

As we rode away from the inn, I glanced back to see Teti standing on the front doorstep. Her arms were tightly crossed and there was a scowl on her tear-stained face. Had she overheard the insult? Perhaps not, I told myself. Perhaps she was simply upset to see me go.

But as we rounded a corner and rode out of sight, I saw her pull the lapis lazuli ring from her finger and throw it onto the ground.

“Harkhebi!” she shouted. “Harkhebi, come back!”

“Hut! Hut!” I cried, and snapped the reins, urging the camel to go faster.

XV

Thus did I become a wanted man and an outlaw, racing across the Delta with a bounty on my head.

Harkhebi must have been slow to mount a pursuit, or perhaps he sent the men of Sais in the wrong direction, thinking I was heading upriver, as I had told Teti. In any event, driving the camel at a swift pace, we made our escape from Sais without incident.

As soon as I could, I left the main road, and from that point onward I kept as much as possible to side roads. I skirted the towns, thinking it safer to ask for directions and buy provisions at isolated trading posts. I feared to seek shelter at any inn, so we slept in whatever secluded spot I could find. Fortunately, the nights were dry and mild, but each morning I woke in despair. Necessity had driven me to stray from the directions I had been given by Tafhapy, and as a result I was often lost and unsure which way to go next. Finding the Cuckoo’s Nest had always been a tricky proposition; now I feared I might never do so.

What a mess I had made of everything!

And yet, day by day, we made steady progress, penetrating farther and farther into the heart of the Delta. The languid mood of the place began to calm me. Low, desolate hills alternated with marshes and mudflats. Sluggish streams and stagnant pools teemed with insects. Hippopotami became a regular sight, as did crocodiles. Because the Nile was near its low point, crossings that at other times of year would have required a ferry ride were easily crossed on camelback, as long as one avoided becoming mired in mud.

The drabness of the Delta alternated with unexpected splendor. One morning, in the middle of nowhere, we came upon a vast, shallow lake inhabited by thousands of long-legged birds with magnificent beaks and wings of a delicate pink color, like the inner surface of a seashell. As we watched, a large group of them took to the air, wheeled above our heads, and then returned to the water, whereupon another group took off. The lake became an arena of constant motion, with some of the birds performing their aerial dance while others flocked together on the water.

“Flamingos!” cried Djet.

“You’ve seen these creatures before?”

“Only in pictures in the temples of Ra. I never thought to see a real one. I wonder if we shall see a phoenix, as well?”

“But surely the phoenix exists only in legends.”

“Not so! They live in the Delta. Everyone says so.”

Who was I to contradict him? Until that morning I had not known that such a bird as the flamingo existed. “Beautiful!” I whispered, and for as long as I watched the pink birds I felt at peace in that strange, secluded place.

As our progress continued, and no one we met seemed to be unduly alarmed by a young Roman and a boy traveling on camelback, I began to let down my guard. It seemed that I had outrun the warnings about me. Perhaps, if my pursuers thought I had traveled south, news of the murders in Canopus would never reach the inner Delta.

My despair also began to recede, for I began to think that we might indeed be drawing nearer to the Cuckoo’s Nest. Whenever I spoke to the locals, I tried to bring up the subject of bandits in a casual way, expressing the natural curiosity of a stranger passing through. Many of the people I met refused to talk about bandits, as if they feared reprisals for doing so, but others conversed freely about the raiders, pirates, thieves, and kidnappers who inhabited the Delta. Many spoke of these villains in tones of admiration or even awe, as if they were some sort of heroes.

One day I found myself at a drowsy little trading post located on the branch of the Nile along which, according to Tafhapy, the Cuckoo’s Nest might be found. The day was warm, but an awning along one side of the ramshackle building offered shade, and a few simple benches provided places to sit. As is typical of such trading posts, along with the proprietor there were several locals hanging about, regulars who probably spent the better part of each day sitting idly in the shade, sipping beer, happy to chat with any traveler who happened by. Among them was a toothless, white-haired Egyptian so weathered by the sun that he looked to have been carved from a block of ebony, and so wrinkled I could hardly make out the eyes in his face. His name was Hepu, and he had a lot to say on the subject of bandits.

“Ever since I was young, roaming gangs of outlaws have lived in the Delta,” Hepu told me. He turned his gaze to Djet. “When I was a boy—no older than you, little man—I dreamed of joining them, and living the bandit’s life. But soon enough my father whipped that idea out of me!” He cackled at the memory.

“But why would any man wish to become an outlaw?” I said. It was not an idle question, considering the situation in which I found myself.

“Better to ask, why should a man wish for the law-abiding life of a farmer or tradesman, with hungry children to feed, a wife to scold him, and the king’s tax collectors to make his life a misery? The bandits live as free men, without those cares.”

The owner of the trading post laughed. Menkhep was a squat, thick-limbed man with big shoulders. The top of his head was perfectly bald, but the fringe of hair above his ears was iron gray and as curly as lamb’s wool. “Old Hepu is always spouting nonsense about what a wonderful life the bandits lead. Yet here he sits, day after day. I don’t see you running off to join the Cuckoo’s Gang, Hepu.”

I pricked up my ears.

“That’s because I’m too old,” said Hepu. “They wouldn’t have me. The Cuckoo’s Gang recruits only the young and able-bodied, or men who have some useful skill. Ah, but a fellow like you, Menkhep—you might be of interest to them.”

“Me? What use would a bandit gang have for a shopkeeper?”

“You know how to count money!” Hepu laughed. “And since your wife died, you have no woman to hold you back. You’re still young and strong.”

“So it might seem to an old man like you.” Menkhep sighed. “To my eyes, the Roman here looks young and strong.” He gave me a friendly punch to the shoulder.

Hepu nodded. “And he must speak Latin. That’s a skill the bandits could use.”

“How so?” I said.

“Imagine that a ship founders on the coast—shipwrecks happen more often than you might think—and the bandits raid the cargo and carry off the survivors. Among their captives are some wealthy Romans. The kidnappers would need someone to translate the ransom demands.”

Another of the chin-waggers, who was almost as old as Hepu, gave me a leer. “And if some of those Roman prisoners were women, the bandits would need someone to sweet-talk them out of their clothes—in Latin!”

Hepu turned up his nose. “To the contrary, as a rule the bandits are very respectful of any female they capture.”

“Really?” I said, thinking of Bethesda.

“If the woman is poor, the bandits are likely to simply let her go, out of mercy. If she’s a slave, she’s treated as booty, and sold at the first opportunity—or she might even be set free. If she appears to be wealthy and might fetch a ransom, the bandits keep her captive but treat her with great care. There’s a code of conduct among such men, and that code decrees that no woman, slave or free, rich or poor, is to be mistreated. Any bandit who breaks that code soon finds himself cast out.”

Did Hepu know what he was talking about? I wanted to believe him.

“What
do
the bandits do for female companionship?” I asked.

“They do without it—lucky fellows!” Hepu chortled. “No women live with the bandits, or travel alongside them. Only men are allowed—and what a paradise that must be! Oh, I daresay some of them have sweethearts in villages here and there, or visit brothels when they venture into town to spend their money. But no women are allowed to live among them—nor any young boys, either.” He cast a glance at Djet. “Women and pretty boys lead to nothing but trouble.”

“I should think there would always be trouble among such men,” I said. “With no rule of law to guide them, they must fight constantly—arguing over booty, bullying each other—the stronger dominating the weak.”

Hepu shook his head. “If they wanted that sort of life, they would stay in the regular world! Were you not listening when I said the bandits follow a strict code of conduct? There’s no fighting over spoils. They divide everything that comes to them, equally—that’s the rule.”

“Every man takes the same share?” said Djet.

“Just so.”

“Even the leader?” Djet seemed fascinated by such an idea.

“Especially the leader! How do you think a man becomes the leader of a bandit gang? The others choose him, by a vote. If the leader should ever cheat them, or abuse them, or claim special privileges, soon enough he finds himself without a head, and the bandits pick a new man to lead them. It’s not like in the regular world, where a man who’s above you is above you all your life, because that’s how you both were born and you have no say in the matter. Ah, the bandits live a freer life than most of us can dream of.”

“But they pay a price,” I said. “They’re outcasts. They have no families. If they’re captured, they’re hanged or crucified. And what about the terrible things they do? They kill and rob innocent people, and they … they kidnap people, too.”

“I never said they weren’t lawbreakers,” said Hepu. “Why do you think my father beat the idea out of me, when I spoke of joining them?”

I nodded thoughtfully. “You make it sound as if the ideal life would be one that allowed a man to move back and forth between the ordinary world and that of the bandits. To have the best of both worlds.”

“In fact, there are such men,” said Hepu. “Spies, scouts, go-betweens. Men who live among us, with wives and families and regular work, but who also lead a double life, consorting with the bandits. And such men live not just in the Delta. They say the Cuckoo’s Gang is so widespread it has informers and affiliates as far as Pelusium to the east and Alexandria to the west—and even farther, all the way to Cyrene.”

“But Cyrene is Roman now,” I said, without thinking. Coming from a Roman, the statement drew cool looks from the men around me. “I mean, ever since old Apion died … King Ptolemy’s bastard brother … and left Cyrene to the Romans … in his will…” By continuing to talk I was only digging a deeper hole for myself.

“Be that as it may,” said Hepu, “they say the reach of the Cuckoo’s Gang extends even to Cyrene.”

I cleared my throat. “You make it sound as if this Cuckoo’s Gang is a veritable state within a state. King Ptolemy has one government, and the bandits have another, invisible but operating right alongside the legitimate authorities.”

“Just so,” said Hepu.

“So this Cuckoo’s Gang is everywhere—and nowhere,” I said. “But surely they have some sort of home base.”

“It’s called the Cuckoo’s Nest,” said Hepu.

“Is it? And where is this Cuckoo’s Nest?”

Hepu laughed, as did the others. “That, young Roman, is a very good question, to which many would like the answer—including the agents of King Ptolemy.”

“Do
you
know where it is, Hepu?” I asked.

“Indeed I do not. Nor does any man here, I daresay, or else they’d have lost their heads.”

“Is it close?”

“Less than a day’s journey from here, or so they say.”

“Yes, but where?” I tried not to sound too eager.

“All I know is this: if you turn south on that path over there, and follow it along this little branch of the Nile, you don’t have far to go before you begin to see warning signs.”

“Warnings?”

“Clear indications that you should go no farther. A crocodile’s skull on a stick … a rusty length of chain across the path … spikes sticking up from the roadbed. And then, if you dare to venture farther still, there are actual snares and traps—pits full of stakes, tripwires, loaded slingshots, falling objects. So they say. No man finds his way to the Cuckoo’s Nest by accident.”

“No man finds his way there alive, I should think!” said Djet.