The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

XVIII – The Dusty Road to Death

The moon of Tebetu was in its second quarter. Bessas and Myron stood at the edge of the camp at the northern end of the Locust Killer. Dzaka's band of Pygmies scuttled about the camp, while Dzaka sat on a log with his mending leg stretched out.

"Chief Bessas," said the Pygmy, "in these lands, one who waits upon a chief is expected to bring a gift. Is it the same with your Great King?"

"Aye."

"Well then, tell me if my gifts will be acceptable. As you know. I have chosen Tshabi and Begendwé to go with me. I intend that one of us shall lead the okapi, one shall bear an elephant's tusk, and one shall carry a pot of wild honey. The tusk is that of a cow elephant. That of a bull were of greater worth but too heavy for us to carry. Think you these gifts will suffice?"

"I am sure of it, O King. In fact—gods and devils, what's this? What ails you, Merqetek?"

The Dankala staggered towards the camp, holding his side. Blood ran down over and under his hand.

"Kothar!" he gasped.

"Kothar what? Has he knifed you?"

"Aye. He stabbed me when I would not flee with him."

Merqetek sank down. Bessas caught the guide in his arms, lowered him gently, and bellowed for his wives, who came running to wash and bind the wound. Merqetek said:

"It is no use. I am done for. Pray you, avenge me!"

"Nonsense, lad; you will get well. What happened?"

Merqetek spoke haltingly, pausing to spit blood. "He said he had that to say which I should wish to hear. He meant, he said, to flee to northward, to the land of the Alabi. If he could reach King Gau before you, he would earn a fortune. But he needed a companion, able at wilderness craft. If I would go with him, he would share this fortune with me.

"I refused, because I had promised to guide the Lord Bessas, and I should be no sort of guide if I deserted him. Besides, I thought that a man who so lightly betrays one comrade will betray another as readily, and that my share of Kothar's fortune were likely to be a dagger in my sleep.

"When he saw I would not come, he lunged to silence me. I pricked him back, and then he ran off and ..."

Merqetek's voice trailed off to a mumble. His eyelids dropped. Although he still breathed, he seemed but half conscious.

"What chance has he?" asked Myron.

"Not much," said Bessas. "If we are to avenge him, we'd better be on our way."

"Is it not more important to care for him than to catch his slayer?"

Bessas shrugged. "What more can we do for him? And 'tis not solely a matter of vengeance. Methinks Master Kothar has some deep-laid plan to do us ill." He turned to his wives. "Take the best care you can of him, girls. Dzaka, your people boast that they can trail a man or a beast across bare rock, do they not?"

"Aye, we are skilled in that art."

"Well, I need a good tracker."

Dzaka whistled sharply. "Alianga!"

A Pygmy youth strutted up, a grin on his wide mouth. After a staccato conversation, Dzaka said:

"He will track for you. I have told him what to do."

Bessas told Myron and Ajang to arm themselves and come. At first Alianga led them back along the trail left by Merqetek on his way to the camp. Over the neighboring rise they came upon a trampled spot in the long grass, where the two men had fought. A gleam caught Myron's eye, and he picked up Merqetek's knife.

"Bring it," said Bessas.

The trail from there on was less clear, even though Myron could see an occasional drop of blood on the grass, or an occasional footprint in soft soil. Nevertheless, Alianga trotted ahead, rarely pausing to cast about.

For hours they toiled after the Pygmy. The sun rose to the zenith and began to decline. They took hasty swigs of water from a gourd and plunged on.

Late in the afternoon, Bessas warned his companions not to talk, as they might be nearing their quarry.

"How do you know?" said Myron.

"It is something we hunters learn by practice. Now hold your tongue and keep watching ahead for a sign of our man."

Trying to watch ahead caused Myron to stumble twice, by stepping into holes. But he heaved himself up and struggled on, fighting off exhaustion.

At last the Pygmy muttered something, gesturing. "Down!" snapped Bessas.

"I see nobody," said Myron.

"You wouldn't. The rascal sits with his back to a tree, two furlongs ahead of us. If I can find a point of vantage, I'll watch to learn if he has seen us."

Bessas crawled about in the long grass. After an endless wait, during which Myron had to pluck a beetle the size of a mouse from inside his shirt, Bessas whispered:

"Methinks he sees us not. We'll ring him. You and Ajang creep around to the right and come at him from that side—not together, but converging upon him from widely separated points. Alianga and I will do the like from the left. Slay him not if you can possibly take him alive; for I would ask him some questions. Unless he starts to run, do not show yourselves until I cry the haro."

Myron and his tall black companion spent the next hour working around to the east of the fugitive, keeping enough dead ground between him and them so that they could not be seen. At last they stalked as close as they could without risking discovery. They crouched behind two thickets.

Kothar sat placidly eating. From time to time he sipped from his gourd, or grasped some object that hung around his neck, raising it before his eyes.

At last he brushed his hands together, rose, slung the gourd over his back with the rest of his gear, and started to turn.

The bowstring twanged. There was the sibilant whistle oi an arrow and the sound of its impact. Kothar took one running stride and fell on his face, the arrow through his calf.

Bessas ran out from behind a thicket. When Myron reached the scene, Bessas had come up to the fugitive, tossed his bow aside, and swept out his sword.

Kothar struggled erect, balancing unsteadily on his sound leg. He, too, drew his sword. But, even as he began to bring it up to the guard position, Bessas' blade flashed golden in the light of the low sun and clanged against Kothar's sword. The short blade flew out of the Syrian's hand, turning over and over before it fell into the long grass.

Kothar swallowed. "I said the goddess Mertseger would have her revenge. This is my turn, mortal; yours will come. If you mean to slay me, get it over with."

The Syrian managed a certain dignity despite his ragged appearance. The long blue robe in which he had left Syria still covered his lanky frame, though so many pieces had been cut off the lower edge for patches that the faded and threadbare garment now failed to reach his knees. The remnant was a mass of darns and un-mended holes. His tall spiral hat had long since been lost; a strip of dirty cloth confined his tangled hair. The neat little chin beard had given way to a straggly full beard and mustache of reddish hue. A rag was rudely knotted about his left arm where Merqetek had wounded him.

Bessas smiled unpleasantly. "Slay you? Nay! I have promised myself a long talk with you, and how should I talk with a corpse? True, a necromancer could raise your ghost, but you're the only necromancer here. So how could you raise yourself?" He laughed boisterously. "Turn around."

When Kothar obeyed, Bessas grabbed the collar of his robe and yanked downward, tearing the garment half off its wearer. As the robe was peeled off to the waist, there was a flash and a tinkle. Gold and glittering jewels cascaded out of the robe, in which they had been contained by Kothar's girdle.

"Well, well!" said Bessas. "Some of the treasure of Ta-karta seems to have escaped its coffer. You must have slept too soundly, Ajang. Pick that stuff up, Myron. And what's this? The True Anthrax around our unworldly mystic's neck?"

He removed the jewel on its chain and put it into his wallet. Kothar made a sudden limping lunge for freedom, but Ajang caught him with one long bound and held him fast.

Bessas stripped Kothar down to his loincloth, pulled the arrow out of his leg, and said: "Start a fire, boys."

"Nay!" cried Kothar. "Not that, you barbarian!"

"Who spoke of burning you? Your tender flesh shall not even be singed—provided you answer my questions."

Myron gathered up the treasure and kindled a fire with flint and steel. When it was crackling briskly, Ajang threw his man down flat and sat on him. Bessas brutally grabbed one of Kothar's feet and hauled it towards the flames.

"Now," he said, "what was this plan to which you tried to persuade Merqetek?"

"That is my affair."

Bessas pulled the foot closer and closer to the fire until Kothar began to scream. "I will tell!"

"What, then?"

"There is a meeting of mystics of my order in Memphis, which I wished to attend, and—ai!" He shrieked as his foot went into the fire. A smell of charred meat arose.

"That," said Bessas, "is what will happen every time you lie. I know more than you imagine. You wished to visit King Gau for a Special purpose, did you not?"

Kothar sobbed rackingly. "I—I wished to get to Gau ahead of you. I know of his deathly fear of witches. If I could have wrought upon him for a few days, he would have seized the lot of you and burnt you as witches."

"Why did you wish us broiled?"

"You will not slay me if I tell you?"

"I Will do what I deem just; one good turn deserves another. Go on."

"I had promised a colleague to compass your destruction in the lands south of Egypt."

"For what price?"

"Ten pounds of silver, wherewith to pursue my researches."

"A good, round sum, though probably no more than your share of Takarta's treasure would have been."

"I had given my word. Besides, I got more than a quarter of the treasure anyway."

"So you did. But you had also sworn an oath to me."

"What civilized man would keep his word to a brutal barbarian like you? I hate you for the times you shouted at me and shamed me before all, berating me because I am not a blood-bespattered butcher like yourself."

"Who is this colleague for whom you acted?"

"Belkishir, high priest of Marduk of Babylon."

"By the iron hooves of Apaosha! What has the holy Belkishir against us?"

Little by little, Bessas dragged out of Kothar the tale of the embarrassment of the temple of Marduk over the matter of the sirrush. Some of the story Kothar knew from the letter that Belkishir had sent him, and the rest his sharp mind inferred. The priests had passed off a large lizard on their gullible worshippers as a baby sir-rush; they had told King Xerxes a thumping lie about having obtained this creature from the sources of the Nile; and then, to keep their deceit from coming to light, they had plotted to destroy Bessas' expedition.

"So," said Bessas, "you knew all the time we were on a quest for fish feathers! Why did you go so far and wait so long before you struck?"

"I wanted the treasure of Takarta, especially the Anthrax."

"Who sent the Arabs of the Banu Tarafa to slay us?"

"I know not—ai!—I truly know nothing of that! Believe me!"

The inquisition continued until the sun set and dusk began to gather. Bessas was able only to fill out a few more details. At last he rose and said: "That will suffice."

"What will you do to me?" whimpered Kothar, nursing his burnt foot.

"You shall see. Ajang, grab his arms. Hoist them up against this tree, so. Now hold him steady."

"Mercy! I will be your slave! I will do aught ..."

Bessas found a heavy stone. Taking Merqetek's dagger from Myron, he drove the point through both of Kothar's forearms, which Ajang held crossed above the Syrian's head and against the tree trunk. The knife pierced between ulna and radius and on into the wood. While Kothar struggled and screamed like a lost soul, Bessas hammered the hilt home with his stone.

Bessas stepped back. The Syrian stood with his back to the tree, pinned against the trunk by the dagger through his forearms. As his arms were nearly straight above his head, he had no slack for movement. Blood ran down his arms and tears ran down his sunburned face as he screamed:

"May Anath chew you to pulp, you son of a she-camel! May the eight wild boars of Aleyin gash you to death! May Terah drive you mad with his beams! May ..."

"Well," said Bessas, "if the snake can wriggle out of that and save himself in this wilderness, I'll admit he deserves to live."

"You are a hard, cruel man," said Myron. "Let me at least pull the dagger out of the tree."

"Nay, by the fiends of Varena! Would you that I kissed and forgave him, so that the villain could make others the victims of his perfidy? To be kind to the tiger is to be cruel to the lamb. Merqetek was a good lad; spend your sympathies on him." Bessas turned away, his face somber. " 'Blood-bespattered butcher,' eh? I suppose I am. But it is late to change that now."

"A man can only strive towards being the kind of man he aspires to be, while he lives." Myron shrugged. "I don't ask for die scoundrel's life. But that"—he jerked his head—"is the sort of revenge that Queen Amestris would take. It is unworthy of you."

Bessas sighed. "You are right, as usual."

He drew his bow and an arrow from their case, turned and let fly at twenty paces. Kothar, struck cleanly in the heart, jerked and hung limply.

"Now," said Bessas with forced briskness, "let's be off and make some furlongs towards home ere we stop for the night."

Back at camp, Myron and Bessas hastened to examine the treasure chest. The bolt did not seem to have been tampered with, but at last Myron said:

"I see what he did. He drove the pins out of the hinges with the point of his dagger."

When they opened the chest, it seemed to be full. Kothar had taken out the treasure, put aside what he thought he could carry, placed stones deep in the box, and piled the remaining gold and jewels on top of the stones, so that no shrinkage should be noticed.

"A clever scoundrel," muttered Bessas. "There are, alas, men who would rather gain one shekel by trickery than earn two honestly."

The moon of Tebetu was full when a squad of the Tikki-Tikki marched into the camp. On a halter of grass rope they led the okapi, a half-grown young male.

The beast was somewhat like a mule in size and shape, but longer in the legs and shorter in the body, with cloven hooves. It wore a coat of glossy purplish black, with legs a creamy white below the knee and a pattern of narrow black and white stripes on the rump. It had large ears, always turning this way and that, a long slender muzzle, and a tongue of astonishing length, with which it grasped the leaves it ate.

"They had much trouble," said Dzaka. "For several days after they trapped him, he sought to butt and kick them. But now he has become tame. We must keep him well-fed and watered and not leave him in the hot sun."

"Good boys!" said Bessas. "Let us celebrate!" Soon the Bactrian was shuffling in the circles of the Pygmy dance with all the small brown folk.

Then the encampment broke up. All the Pygmies save Dzaka, Tshabi, and Begendw6 vanished into the bush. Bessas' company started north along the Astasobas.

One night they stopped at a village of the Mbabantu. These were simple black peasants who, once their original fright and suspicion had been overcome, proved genial hosts.

The three Pygmies, however, refused to enter the village, saying that they would be killed. Myron learnt why when he talked with the Mbabantu headman. The man cried passionately:

"We hate them. I hate them. I would slay every one of those small devils!"

"Why?"

"Because they kill our goats and cattle with their poisoned arrows and eat them, as if they were wild game. Nothing we can say or do will stop them. The only good Pygmy is a dead Pygmy."

When he heard who was coming, King Gau of the Alabi went forth from his palace to meet the arrivals.

"I had to assure myself that you truly lived," he said. "The Ptoemphani told us that you had been slain and eaten by the Akulangba. I see no dragon, but you do appear to have found another strange beast. What gifts have you brought for me?"

"Give him that bronze-headed mace, Myron," said Bessas. "It is of little use to a man on foot."

The king asked: "And how did Ajang bear himself?"

"Like a true man," replied Bessas, clapping the towering Alabian guide on the back. "I count him among my trusty friends. And what of our man Shimri?"

"He lives, but you will find him much changed."

They came upon Shimri under the thatched roof of his smithy, hammering a spearhead on a stone anvil. A pair of sweating young Alabi helped him. He paused to say:

"Hail, m-mortals. The great god Dagon accepts your worship."

"Shimri!" said Myron sharply. "Don't you know us?"

"Aye. I—I know you. I knew you in my former life. B-but that was before I, Dagon, took possession of the body of the mortal Shimri ben-Hanun."

"We are on our way home. You can return to Gaza with us."

"What is Gaza to me? To a god, all places are as home. My—ah—my task is here, in t-teaching these folk the arts of civilization. Now leave me, mortals, for I have work to do."

Later, Bessas asked King Gau: "Is he always like this?"

"Sometimes he sits staring and saying nought for a day at a time. Sometimes he walks about the town, talking and laughing to himself. Betimes he starts for the river, saying he means to swim down the stream to the great sea and sport with his friends the fishes. After we had fished him out twice, just before the crocodiles got him, I set men to watch him day and night. Does he always eat enough for two?"

"That he does."

"Do you think he really is a god?"

Myron shrugged. "Who knows? The question is, shall we try to take him home with us, willy-nilly?"

"Nay," said Gau. "He wishes to remain here, and he is useful. Leave him. I believe he is a god, or at least that a god dwells in his body. That explains his prodigious appetite, as he must eat enough for himself and the god as well. We shall tenderly care for him and devoutly worship him."

"Our duty—" began Myron, but Bessas cut him off.

"The king is right," he said. "We shall have enough trouble getting this rare beast home alive without also being burdened by a zany deity."

"I don't know—"

"Well, I do. After all, who is happier than one who thinks himself a god? So why should we interfere? Now, O King, how shall we get back to Kush? I care not to face those great swampy plains again."

"They are not so swampy now, in the dry season. But the easiest way to reach Kush is by floating down the River on a raft. I will send a message to the king of the Ptoemphani, asking him to arrange with the Syrbotae to have your raft guided through the Great Swamp. King Ochalo owes me something, after the way his men behaved towards my friends. Then, provided always that their divine dog wags his tail, we shall send you on your way."

Myron worried over leaving Shimri to live out his days in this wilderness. But, with Bessas, King Gau, and Shimri himself all determined that the Judaean should stay, Myron did not see what he could do about it.

"He's the last of the three who left Philistaea with us," he said to Bessas.

The Bactrian scowled with thought. "Think you we ought to devise their kin of their fate?"

Myron pondered. "It might be better to say nothing. None of the three left 'a wife at home, and it were more merciful to let their relatives think they still prosper in distant lands. Moreover, while I don't think Kothar's family will greatly lament him, I should not relish the task of telling old Malko bar-Daniel of his son's end."

In the middle of Nisanu, in the twenty-first year of Xerxes' reign, a raft grounded gently at the ferry landing, on the south side of the Nile near Meroê. The raft bore ten human beings: Myron, Bessas, the latter's two wives, three Pygmies, and three Arabs.

They were a wild and dangerous-looking lot. All were either naked or clad only in breechclouts of hide. Those not barefoot wore sandals of woven grass. Headbands of hide confined their long tangled hair. The whites were bronzed by the sun until they were not much lighter of skin than the Pygmies. All were lean and hard-looking, and they appeared a good deal older than when they had set out. Myron's beard and brows had turned to silver.

The after part of the raft had been fitted out as a shelter for the okapi. Throughout the three months' river journey from Boron, the beast had lounged on a bed of papyrus reed, under a thatched canopy, and chewed its cud. The women had petted and fussed over it until it became as tame as a puppy.

When the raft was securely beached, Myron and Bessas donned cuirasses and helmets and strapped on swords and daggers. After months of arduous travel, their weapons were almost the only possessions they still retained besides the heavy bronzen box. Even Bessas' little silver whistle had gone, as a gift to the chief of the Syrbotae.

With a word of warning to those who stayed on guard, the two set their sandaled feet on the steep path up to the plain on which Meroê stood. They walked slowly towards the Soba Gate, wrinkling their leathery brows against the glare of the high bright sun.

As they neared the gate, Bessas put out a hand. Myron followed his companion's gaze towards a row of dark objects mounted on the wall beside the gate. Then the twain strode rapidly forward until they squinted up at a row of heads on spikes. A couple of big brown vultures flapped off, hissing.

Although the heads were somewhat the worse for wear, they were not yet unrecognizable. They included persons of both sexes and varying ages. One large jowly head seemed of more importance than the rest, for it stood on a taller spike.

"I think," said Bessas heavily, "that I know that one. Ask somebody."

Several Kushites approached the travelers to stare. Myron spoke to one and pointed.

"Is that General Puerma?"

"Aye, and his family. I know not why, but the king of a sudden denounced him as a traitor and had the heads off them all before they could mumble a prayer."

Bessas muttered: "My fravashi tells me that we had better go quietly back to the raft and push off."

"Right." As they picked their way back down the path, Myron said: "So the high priest won out after all!"

"So he did. Well, at least we need not divide our treasure with Puerma."

"Poor Puerma! Perhaps he was wrong to oppose progress, but I'm sure he was a more congenial companion than that sour-faced Osorkon."

They cast off. For two days they drifted dreamily down the Nile, stopping at villages to buy food and clothing, because the nights were becoming, cold. The new garments were of thin dyed leather and thick undyed sackcloth. The two girls at once began draping and altering and walking back and forth for each other's inspection, as if they were modeling the latest fashions from Babylon.

Towards evening on the second day, as they drifted along with Labid at the steering oar, Bessas raised his head.

"Something?" said Myron, closely attuned to his friend's moods.

"I hear a sound—a kind of distant roar,"

"Could we be nearing the highest of the cataracts?"

"Mithra, yes! I had forgotten them." Bessas raised his powerful voice. "Every man on the paddles, quickly! Head for the right bank!"

Sluggishly the raft responded to the frantic splashing of its crew. The roar grew louder and the river swifter. The raft plodded shoreward, but the river hurried it along at a rising pace.

Paddling for all he was worth, Myron wondered if, as a final irony, they were to be wrecked in sight of civilization: men, women, beast, and treasure poured over the falls in a tangle of destruction.

"Faster!" gasped Bessas.

"Too late!" wailed an Arab.

"Hold your tongue and work, curse you!"

The shore crept closer. Myron thought: Rhyppapai! We shall make it! Then a glance downstream showed him that the edge of the cataract, where the surface of the river dropped from sight, was nearing fast.

"One more effort, boys!" cried Bessas. "Swing the nose a little upstream, Labid!"

The Pygmies jabbered with terror, while the okapi stood on trembling legs. The roar now drowned out speech. Downstream Myron saw the mist of falls and the fangs of rocks.

One more effort ... Myron reeled with fatigue and almost fell overboard. Evidently they were not going to make it, after all. The bank was still a good three reeds away, and the head of the cataract was hardly farther.

But one could only die trying ... He dug in his paddle again.

The raft started to tilt. The women screamed like hawks.

With an ominous grinding and crackling, the raft struck a rock at the top of the rapid. Men staggered; Phyllis fell down.

"Get everything ashore!" shouted Bessas.

The Bactrian had dropped his paddle and leaped overboard into thigh-deep water. Stooping and bracing his massive legs, Bessas seized the corner of the raft and held it. The raft was precariously balanced on the point of rock. The least swing to one side or the other, and the river would whirl it round and send it spinning down the cataract, and a hundred men could not then hold it. But, gripping the logs with panting lungs and straining muscles, the giant, with the help of the rock, was holding even the invincible river at bay.

"Didn't you hear me? Get everything off! I cannot hold much longer! The water is but knee deep to shore!"

Myron gathered Dzaka into his arms and stepped off the raft. Although the water was, in truth, but knee deep, the swiftness of the current made the footing precarious.

A glance showed that Labid and Umayya were wrestling with the treasure chest.

Myron dropped the Pygmy ashore and hurried back to untie the okapi. The beast balked at leaving the raft until Salimat, ruthlessly practical as always, pricked it in the rump with her dagger. Then it bounded forward and dragged Myron off his feet. He struck the water on his back, went under, but kept a desperate grip on the halter until he could struggle up again.

By the time Myron got ashore with the beast, coughed water out of his lungs, and tethered the creature to a thorn bush, the raft had been cleared. Weapons, the Pygmies' gifts to the Great King, and all the other gear of any worth had been taken ashore.

"Get the poles!" shouted Bessas.

This seemed to Myron like carrying thrift to the point of lunacy, but he knew better than to argue. He and Abras waded out, pulled the poles that upheld the okapi's canopy out of their sockets, and carried them ashore.

Then, at last, Bessas straightened up. With a whoop of "Yâ ahî!" he pushed on his corner of the raft, so that the structure began to swing away from him, pivoting on its point of contact with the rock. It spun slowly around, tore loose from the rock, plunged down tine fanged slope of water, and broke up with loud crashes. Some logs were thrown into the air; others piled up on rocks. Some shot down out of sight on the long journey to Memphis and the sea.

Bessas staggered to shore and sat down, breathing hard. "By Mithra's mittens!" he said at last. "That was a harder battle than when I was surrounded by the Sakai and cut my way out singlehanded." He threw a hairy arm around each wife. "Give me a kiss, you two, and we shall be on our way."

"What are the poles for?" asked Myron.

"To carry Dzaka and the treasure. Help me to rig a litter and a yoke."

A youth of the Banu Khalaf came bouncing into the Fifty-League Oasis on his camel, crying out: "Our people return from the South!"

The sleepy oasis awoke to life. Arabs rushed about, dove for their tents to don their finery, broke into wild gesticulatory arguments, and fell to their knees to thank their gods for the return of their folk.

Soon a procession of people on Kushite asses ambled into the oasis, with the okapi shambling at the tail. The Banu Khalaf looked and asked one another:

"Where, oh where is our shaykh?"

Salimat swung off her mount, embraced her fat uncle Naamil, and climbed a log. With a cry of: "Ya jama'aya!" she launched into a heated oration. She told of the expedition's adventures. Myron, who could follow the language quite well, noted that she credited Bessas not only with the heroic deeds that he had done but with many that he had not, such as strangling a lion to death, felling an elephant with his fist, and putting to flight single-handed an army of cannibals.

When she came to Zayd's death, she had the entire clan in tears. When she told how Zayd had given her to Bessas, adopted Bessas, and nominated him for the next shaykh, the tribesmen looked wonderingly at one another. Then she called upon Bessas.

Bessas hooked his thumbs in his belt, mounted the log, and said in passable Arabic: "Shaykh Zayd—may he rest in peace—told me he wanted me for his successor. It was not my conceit, but peradventure not a bad one. If you want me, I will try to be a good and just chieftain. If not, there shall be no hard feelings. It is up to you. I will not tell you about myself, because Salimat has already done so. Peace be with you!"

The tribe acclaimed Bessas, albeit hesitantly. They seemed not so much pleased or displeased as bewildered by the turn of events. But nobody objected. As they poured forward to kiss Bessas' hands, a figure in Persian dress strolled into view and said:

"Are you Myron son of Perseus?"

"Yes. And you, sir?"

"Gergis by name. Your slave brings a message from Embas."

"Embas? Oh, yes, that priest of Mithra in Babylon, who saved us from nocturnal attack."

"That is right. As soon as you can withdraw your comrade from his throng of worshipful subjects, I fain would speak with him."

That, however, was easier said than done. Half the Banu Khalaf, it seemed, had quarrels or claims which they had been saving up for months and which they wanted Bessas to judge. He put them off, saying:

"Dear friends, give me until the morrow! I shall have to think deeply ere I can judge such weighty matters, and I am weary."

He turned to Myron, who presented the Persian. Bessas and Gergis exchanged a quick, secret sign, and Bessas said:

"How knew you that we should return by this route?"

"Your slave knew not. Embas sent out three messengers. One awaits you at Buhen and another at Swenet. We thought that surely such a net would catch you in your flight; and behold it has done so!"

"And your message?"

"I bring you a warning of traps laid for you along the path of your return. But—was there not a man named Kothar bar-Malko, who attached himself to you?"

"Aye, there was. We learnt that he had been suborned by the priest Belkishir, in Babylon, to get us murdered. He has joined the majority."

"No loss. Since you know of that plot, I will go on to the other. Know you of the plans of the House of Daduchus for your future?"

"Was it not they who set Labashi's cutthroats upon us in Babylon and the Banu Tarafa upon us at Marath?"

"Aye."

"Are they still at this game?"

"They are. They have hired more gangs of desperate rogues, to lie in wait for you in the lands betwixt here and Persepolis."

"That is cheerful news, comrade. How shall we avoid these rascals?"

"We cannot tell you for certain where and who the assassins are, but we believe that they lurk in the smaller towns and cities along the way: places like Siout and Gaza and Tiphsah."

"Wherefore should they do that?"

"They reason that a traveler could too easily slip through their fingers in a great city like Opet or Babylon, whereas all travelers pass through small towns along the principal route and are easy to keep watch for."

Bessas stroked his beard, frowning. Then his weathered face broke into a broad grin. "They did not count upon my returning as an Arab shaykh. With our camels we can avoid the small towns, stopping only at cities when we must to buy supplies."

"You seem well-prepared to take care of yourself, and we have done what we can. Are your resources enough to take you to Persepolis?"

"Not only that, but I shall also call upon that banking fellow Murashu in Babylon and pay him back every daric. And how can I repay your kindness?"

"It is nothing; the treasury of the Mithraeum meets my expenses, and it is no more than the son of Phraates merits. But if you would care to make an offering on your way through Babylon, to carry on the holy work ..."

"It shall be done. Now let's wash the dust from our throats. Your slave can only offer the date wine of his new-found clan, but 'tis better than the slop I have been drinking for the past few months."

Bessas' wives served them in the shaykh's tent. Sitting cross-legged on the rugs and cushions that had belonged to Zayd, they drank and talked. Bessas and Myron told of their adventures, while Gergis recounted events at the Persian Court.

He told, for instance, about the great Athenian general Themistokles, architect of the defeat of the Persian fleet at Salamis. Themistokles, beset by political enemies out for his blood, had fled to the Persian Court and thrown himself on Xerxes' mercy. Some courtiers and royal relatives, whose kin had fallen in the ill-starred Greek campaign, wished the man slain. But Xerxes had deferred his decision until Themistokles should learn the Persian language and ways and thus make the best case for himself. So Themistokles now lived with the commander in chief Artabanus and studied Persian speech and manners with the same intensity that he had once applied to Athenian politics and military matters.

"Which," said Gergis, "one must admit is fair."

"Had Xerxes been as just in all matters, he had earned the title of 'great,' " growled Bessas.

"True. And now your slave must be on his way, to inform my comrades at Buhen and Swenet that I have conveyed our message. May the Sleepless One befriend you!"

"May the Lord of the Wide Pastures give you long life and wealth," said Bessas.

He and Myron helped the man to saddle up and mount, and Gergis cantered off across the desert to eastward.

"Well," said Bessas, "we must begin to prepare for departure. A dozen or so of my nomads would, methinks, make an adequate escort. Besides, it will give me a chance to know these knaves better. And speaking of money, step back with me into the shaykh's tent. Labid! Abras! Umayya!"

When Bessas had gathered the three Arabs who had accompanied him to the Locust Killer, he opened the treasure chest. He dug in both hands, scooped up a glittering mass, and dumped it on the carpet.

"This," he said, "is your share of the loot. Divide it equally amongst yourselves."

"How shall we do that, lord?" said Umayya. "It is hard to value such things."

"Let one man divide the stuff into three portions, and the others get first choice of the piles. Flip a coin to determine which of the two shall be first and which second."

As the three pressed kisses on Bessas' hands and garments, he said: "Aye, I know you love me, and I love you also. Now take your stuff and go." When the Arabs had gone, he began taking out pieces of gold. "Confirm my judgment, old man; but meseems this pile ought to pay off Astes' Nubians; this should suffice Master Murashu; this should make the Mithraeum happy; this should replace the camels the clan lost on this venture ..."

Then he scooped out the rest of the treasure in handfuls and dumped it in piles, saying:

"Remember our covenant for division of the treasure? It still holds. Kothar and Skhâ are dead; Shimri, being a god, needs no such lucre. Salimat, as Zayd's heir, gets five parts; I get three parts, and you two."

"What about the True Anthrax? It's the most valuable single piece, apart from any magical powers it may or may not possess."

"We'll count that as one of the ten parts, and I'll take it for myself." Bessas hung the great gem around his neck. "I am the one most likely to need its protection. Now, teacher, choose any two piles you like. I have not weighed the gold down to the last bean, nor yet taken the gems to a lapidary for evaluation. Life is too short for such finical arguments, now!"

"These will do nicely," said Myron, indicating the two piles nearest to him.

"You cheat yourself. Here, take some more!" Bessas dumped another jingling handful on Myron's piles. "No arguments, now!"

"What are you doing with the rest?"

"I shall leave it in charge of my wives. Salimat knows the tribe and is a clever wench withal, so I trust her to choose trustworthy guards."

"Aren't you taking the girls?"

"Nay. I seem to have gotten both with child and, for such, long camel rides were not good. Besides, methinks a sometime vacation from one's loved ones were not a bad thing." Bessas gave a low, rumbling laugh. "Know, O Myron, that my father—God welcome him—had three wives, of whom only my mother survives. These three quarreled all the time, so that my poor father was put to it to referee their strife. I swore that I would take but one wife, if any. Now I have these two. A fine span of fillies they are; they quarrel not but are dear friends and sisters in sentiment.

"Howsomever, that brings up another difficulty for the man of the house. When they wish to persuade me to some course of action, they can always wheedle it out of me by taking turns in working upon me, thus wearing me down as the drip of water wears away a stone. As I have told you, I can refuse nought to a woman I love, and when I love two I am as soft as millet mush. Belike when their babes are born, they'll have less time to plot such stratagems.

"So, old friend, unless you wish to throw in your lot with the Banu Khalaf—which would surprise me, as they are neither literate nor concerned with things of the mind—this will be our last long ride together. What was that doggerel I made up at the start of our journey?"

"Know that this dusty road may be the road to death for me. Whatever else I may have done, I have not brought Xerxes his dragon, nor yet returned within the allotted time."

"My dear boy, do you really think he might have you killed for not catching a beast that does not exist?"

"Who says it exists not? I and my Pygmy friends, against the solemn averment of the holy priests of Marduk, who certes will not avouch their fraud! And Xerxes, who loves me not, may seize upon such a pretext for seating me upon the stake."

"Must you make this journey to Persepolis, then? Why not stay here with your family, as one of the Arabs urged?"

Bessas quaffed deeply. "I must go. And even if all go well as regards old Popeyes, I dread what my mother will say when she learns of my marriages. For fifteen years she has striven to wed me to some girls of decent Aryan family. I'm as terrified when I think of her as I was that morning we invaded the lair of the devil ape."

"Were you really frightened? You concealed it most masterfully."

Bessas belched. "Ha! I all but had the piss scared out of me. But could I, as leader, show fear before that motley band of knaves? Ahriman, no! Their habit of obedience would have fallen from them like the shackles from a manumitted slave. So let's drown these fearsome fantasms of the future in the Banu Khalaf's lousy date wine."

The sound of a song and the rhythmic clapping of hands wafted into the tent. An Arab appeared in the opening, ducked his head in a little bow, and touched his finger tips to heart, lips, and forehead.

"Ya Shaykh! The dance begins!"

Bessas set down his cup with a sigh. "In truth, I had rather sit here and drink and talk with you, but I must needs forth to skip and stamp the long night through. Ah me, the pains of principate! Will you join the dance?"

Myron smiled. "No, thank you. One of the few compensations of age is that one need not engage in such antics if one doesn't wish to, and I mean to take advantage of it!"