Soldier of Sidon (18 page)

A WHISPER IN
my ear woke me:
"Read this. ..."
No doubt I woke too slowly; by the time I sat up, there was no one there. I looked for the speaker and saw this case, which lay close beside me. It is of well-tanned leather, stout but scarred and worn. Beginning to crack. I would oil it, had I oil. In it were this scroll, papyrus reeds for brushes, this block of ink, and a small dagger with an eye in its grip. No one was in sight, and the men to my left and right slept soundly, if men so ill can be said to sleep at all.

The man on my left will surely die. I thought at first he might be dead, but he is only sleeping. O you merciful gods, let him sleep and cough and sleep again, never to wake. That would be kindest.

The day brightened and I could read this. "L" forgets, it said. I cannot remember who I am. Am I this "L"? I write as he did, and in truth our letters are much alike. It may be the reason this was left with me.

Here everyone is ill. Some cannot sit up--I feel sure the man on my left could not. There is blood each time he coughs. There is an old scar on my head, above the ear.
I can feel it under my hair, but it cannot be the reason I am here. I am very thin; even so it was hard for me to stand, and I sat again almost before I rose.

I wish I could look out the window. My chain is too short for it. There is an iron ring about my right ankle. The chain ends at another ring in the floor. We are all so chained.

I HAVE BEEN
trying to talk with the man on my right. I could understand a few words of his speech, but only a few. He showed me his wound, which is far from healed. He rode (two fingers forking one). He fought (his hands drawing a bow). He was wounded below the ribs, I suppose by an arrow of his enemy's. I asked whether I had shot that arrow. He laughed and shook his head.

He showed me how I had lain on my pallet, babbling and thrashing about, standing sometimes and shouting--all this in pantomime. So I have been mad. I think I must be sane this morning. If I am sane, why can I not remember? I cannot have been mad all my life. I can read this, and write as it is written. No one could teach a madman to read and--

THE MAN TO
my right took my arm and told me to hide this. I did, and in a few moments more the man with the spear and the woman had reached my pallet. She is small and young. Her back and arms show the marks of the stick, and I would like to beat the man who did it.

As I will when I can.

A chain smaller and lighter than mine joins her hands. It is long enough for her to hold her tablet and stylus, and write. The tall man with the spear grinned at us, finding us most amusing. She did not grin, but smiled at me. I
watched to see whether she smiled at the others, but she did not, looking at each and writing. I wish she had spoken. I wish I could hear her voice.

The man on my right says we are to be sold, I think as rowers. He pointed to us, and counted coins that were not there. I tried to tell him I am no one's slave. He did not understand, or perhaps only did not believe me; but I know I spoke truth.

I HID THIS
and brought it with me. Here is what I did. A smith came early this morning and chained us by the neck, not all of us--only eleven others and I. Each of us has a ring about his neck, closed with a bronze pin the smith crimped to hold it shut. He cut the rings about our ankles, putting each upon a little anvil and striking it with a chisel.

When we left we rolled up our pallets and carried them out of the city on our heads. I had hidden this brown case as well as I could, putting it in the angle of the wall behind my pallet and sprinkling it with brown dust I scratched from the floor. Before we left, I rolled it into my pallet. We marched all day, guarded by four men with spears and shields or shields and clubs. There are women with us. They are chained as we are, but are kept from us. One smiled at me, and my heart flew to her. With my eyes I tried to say that we would soon be free together. I hope she understood. Now everyone sleeps, and I watch the stars and write by firelight.

I DO NOT
know how long it has been since I last wrote. Perhaps it was only last night. I hope so. She I love waved and shouted when a ship passed, at a place where the road runs near the river. A guard beat her for it. I killed
him, dragging the others after me, knocking him down, and breaking his neck. The other three with spears and clubs wanted to kill me, but she stood between us shrieking. Our owner came. He spoke to her, and she to me. He showed me his sword. Here is what she said, the first quickly.

"I'm Kitten--you're Latro." More slowly now. "We belong to Master. He sees you're strong and brave. You must stand with him or against him. If you stand against him, he'll kill you. Will you stand with him?"

She nodded very slightly as she spoke, so I nodded as well.

He spoke and she said, "You are his. That does not change."

I nodded again because she had.

"He will take your chain off and give you the dead man's shield and club, but you must swear to guard the others and obey him in everything."

I swore, holding my left hand above the fire and pointing to the sun with the club he gave me. How am I to keep this oath if I forget all that I said? Will the gods by whom I swore condemn me for breaking an oath I will soon have forgotten?

Surely they will. That is the way of gods.

We have marched a long way since these things happened, leaving the dead man lying in the dust like a dead dog. The other guards hate me, but I am safe as long as they fear me.

NOW WE BELONG
to the young priest who rides a white mule. He met us on the road this morning. I could understand some bits of the many things he said to our old master, though not everything. He wished to buy me. Our old master said he did not wish to sell me--that I was
strong and brave and would fight for my owner. There is something he wants in the south. The people there will give him a piece as long as he is tall for me.

The priest said our old master offended his god in every way, that he was the stinking excrement of a depraved woman of no family. At last they agreed on a price, which the priest paid, and at once both began to smile. Only then did the priest speak to me, telling me to go with him.

I pretended not to understand, shaking my head and looking at the ground. Our old master spoke to the woman I love, and she to me, saying I must go. I told her truly that I would not go without her.

The priest struck me, and my eyes must have shown what I planned to do as soon as we were alone. I feel sure they did, because I saw the fear rush into his.

He spoke to the woman, saying he regretted striking me, and that he would be kind from this day forward. I pretended not to understand until the woman said it. I told her, "That's all very well, but I will not go without you."

She explained to the priest, at which our old master grinned widely and began to praise her. She is lovely and obedient, can read and write, can sing and play the lute in her wooden case.

At last everything was arranged between them. This woman is called Myt-ser'eu, and she is my wife. She explained these things later, as we walked. I think it fortunate--I love her and am glad indeed to learn that I have already won her. We were traveling south on a fine large ship, but left the ship to fight the people here and were taken and sold.

MYT-SER'EU SAYS I
must write so I will not forget. We are going to a place called Meroe. We do not belong to the priest who guides us, but to his temple. It is the last
temple--I overheard him telling her this. There are no more temples south of his. She wept to hear it. She is under the protection of a goddess and says her goddess cannot see her here. I tried to comfort her.

A strange thing happened just before midday. A beetle struck my chest and clung there. I could not brush it away. She said it was a sacred beetle and should not be touched or harmed. I promised not to pluck it off, believing it would soon fly again. It did not, but seized the string around my neck and held on to it, swinging and tapping my chest as I walked. I examined it quite carefully a moment ago, and it is enameled gold. She says it is another I wore before we were taken, a seal. I must surely have hidden it in the case in which we keep this scroll. If I had hidden it, there or anywhere, would I not remember finding it today?

The young priest rides a fine white mule. His name is Holy Kashta. My wife rides a donkey. She says she walked at first, as I do, but could not keep pace with us all day in this heat. My wife's donkey also carries a little food and other things. My wife keeps this scroll case for me when we travel, so that I do not have to carry it. I hang my club in the loops on the back of my shield and sling my shield behind me. When the sun is high I carry it on my head for shade.

Here the road leaves the river, which roars over rocks. The people of this village say a ship was taken apart here and carried south over the road, then launched again, which seems to me nearly as strange as the sacred beetle that has become my necklace. They were well paid to help carry the ship, and gave us food freely. My Myt-ser'eu says we had to threaten the people at the place where we stopped last night. I do not recall it. Fresh fish and flat barley cakes are our food, with the dates and raisins her donkey carries. Holy Kashta has blessed this place.

He tells us of his god, Seth, whom he says is very great. All gods are very great, I think, when their priests speak of them. Four temples remain in his city, that of Seth to which we belong, that of Isis, that of Apedemak, and that of the Sun. That of Seth is the southernmost, the last temple in his city and in all the world. My wife fears this god greatly.

"THE ROAD GOES
south, always south." Myt-ser'eu says this, and weeps. Her home, she says, lies far to the north, near the Great Sea--each step carries her farther from it. Mine too lies on a shore of that sea, she says. She does not know where. I said I would bind the priest, beat him, and steal a boat. In it we could follow the river north to her home. She said we would be pursued and retaken long before we reached Kemet, and that its southern border was still whole months of travel from her home. Our best chance, she said, was to follow the ship we had left, on which are many strong friends. Or else to win our freedom from the temple.

"The last temple," I said.

She agreed that it was the last--the priest says this--but wanted to know why I thought it important.

I did not know, nor do I know now. The answer may be in this scroll, as she says. But I could not find it tonight.

WE ARE IN
Meroe, housed in the temple of Seth, the Great God of the South. Meroe is built on an island in the Great River. Our temple is at the southern end of this island, as is proper for Great Seth. Its door beholds the sun in winter--Holy Kashta says this.

There are three priests; Holy Alara is another, Most Holy Tobarqo the chief priest. He is old and forgetful,
and wears a leopard skin. When Kashta presented us to him, he did not remember sending forth Kashta to buy us. We smiled much at him, bowed low, and promised to obey in all things, to do our work willingly, and not to steal. He smiled on us and gave us the blessing of his god. In truth, I would not wish to harm so old a man--it would be like fighting a child.

The priests have houses and families near the temple, but Myt-ser'eu and I live in it, she to sweep and scrub, cook, wash clothes, and gather flowers in season. I to guard it by night. There is much gold here, and the priests say thieves have robbed the city of the dead until there is nothing left.

"You must sleep by day so you will be awake by night," Kashta told me. "Do not unbar the doors unless one of us tells you to. They will throw a hook through the windows and climb a rope to enter, using the same rope to descend. Kill them."

I said I would. I will forget, I know, but I have told Myt-ser'eu, who will tell me each evening when I wake.

WE WENT TO
the market today. Kashta wished to send Myt-ser'eu; but it is dangerous, he says, for a woman to go to the market alone. They woke me for this. I left my shield here, but took my club. Half the houses are in ruins, though men and women still live in many and their children play in the ruins. "This is too interesting not to look at," Myt-ser'eu declared. "Let's walk around the whole place and see everything we can. It's not large, and we can tell Holy Kashta we got lost."

I agreed and we set out, seeing many houses half fallen, and the broken doors of the houses of the dead. Voices called to me from the rifled tombs, but after the second I did not reply. "The ghosts are thirsty here," I told Myt-ser'eu;
she told me of a woman of wax who thirsted for her blood and the blood of another woman. This woman fought for us in a terrible battle in which cobras and lions fought for us as well. I recall a great golden lioness, and told Myt-ser'eu of her. She said I could remember nothing, and so could not recall this lioness. Yet I do.