The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

IX – The White Castle

In the dirty little inn at Tahapanes, on the Pelusiac branch of the Nile, flies buzzed and circled languidly as the afternoon declined. The sun slanted through the window and gleamed on a copper statue of a cat, which sat on the counter and stared haughtily at the mere mortals who shared the room with it.

Myron sat at a table, writing in his journal. From time to time he sipped at a mug of beer, for he was determined to accustom himself to the stuff. Bessas sat at the same table, swilling beer in great gulps and honing his sword. At the other table, Kothar threw dice with Pnon the innkeeper. Bessas finally jerked a hair from his black mane and tried his blade on it. Satisfied, he spoke:

"Boys, I'll throw a round of dice with you. Low man goes out to buy food for our dinner and fuel for Master Pnon to cook it with."

Pnon, fat and greasy, said in broken Aramaic: "If you use these magical dice, you surely lose. Already your Syrian friend win cost of your dinner from me."

Kothar swept up the three dice and blew on them. "It is simply that my gods take better care of me than yours do of you—or perchance I take better care of them, by prayer and sacrifice. But I shall have to go anyway, as neither of you can converse with the folk here. Where are those two scatterwitted youths?"

"They went for a stroll in the market place," said Myron. "By rights it is they—watch out!"

Kothar, rising, had knocked against the copper cat, which swayed as he clutched it and settled back on its base. Myron passed a hand across his forehead and said:

"Did you work a spell on that cat? I thought surely it would fall, and we should have to buy it of Master Pnon."

Pnon laughed and picked up the statue. "Heavy weight in base, see? Not fall—ha, what that?"

A rising noise of running and shouting came to Myron's ears. The door flew open; in rushed Shimri and Skhâ. The former slammed the door and shot the bolt, while the latter panted:

"They—they are after us! Save us!"

"What are they and what would they of you?" said Bessas.

"Shimri kicked a cat in the market place—"

"I meant no harm!" wailed Shimri. "May I eat pork if I lie! This abandoned beast kept rubbing against my legs, and I did but push it away. Then a man began shouting and pushed me, and I thought he was fooling and pushed him back, and they all began screaming and throwing clods—"

The door boomed as men hurled themselves against it. A wild-eyed face glared in through the small window. A skinny arm thrust into the room, pointing at Shimri, while foaming lips screamed threats and imprecations at the foreigner.

"Gentlemen!" cried Pnon. "You must go away now already! This man do terrible sacrilege! These people tear down my inn, kill me, if you not go! Get out!"

"Where in demon land are our other arms?" roared Bessas. "In the stable? Myron, go fetch—"

"Get Shimri out the back door," said Kothar. "I will deal with these folk. Pnon, light me an oil lamp, quickly. And fetch me a couple of fresh eggs."

"Are you mad, man?" cried the taverner, but he lit a small clay lamp from the embers of the hearth fire.

A louder bang on the door told that some sort of beam or log had been brought into play as a ram. Kothar said:

"Sit down, mortals, and act as if you were enjoying yourselves. On your lives, smile!"

Kothar did something with the lamp, and with his free hand pulled back the bolt and opened the door. The crowd outside, about to make another rush with their log, stood stupidly staring. Kothar stepped into the doorway, opened his mouth, and blew out a blast of yellow flame.

The Egyptians in front screamed and tried to back away but were prevented by those behind. Kothar spoke in that strange, low voice. At once the yammering died. Although Myron could not follow the crackle of the Egyptian sentences, he caught the name "Kothar of Qadesh." Kothar was introducing himself. Then he invited the multitude into the tavern.

Although there was room for only a few inside, others crowded at the door and the window to see. Keeping up his soothing spate of talk, Kothar waved his delicate hands to prove them empty, then pulled a die from one man's nose, a duck's egg from the ear of another, and a kerchief from the mouth of another. He juggled a ring, a cup, and a dagger. He placed three cups upside down and invited the audience to guess under which a large ivory bead lay hidden.

An hour later the crowd straggled out, chattering cheerfully and profusely thanking Kothar. Myron gave a long whistle and asked:

"What did you tell them about Shimri, Kothar?"

"Nought. I had planned, at need, to say that he was insane, and we were taking him to a temple to pray for his cure. But the rabble became so bemused by my little tricks—which must not be confounded with the true higher magic—that they forgot about him."

Pnon had gone to the stable to fetch back the wretched Shimri. Myron looked sharply at the guide. "Let me see those dice for a moment." When Kothar wordlessly handed Myron three dice, Myron looked them over and said: "Now the other set, pray."

"What other set?"

"You know what I mean. Come on; hand them over."

"Do as he says," rumbled Bessas.

Kothar produced another triad of dice. Myron squinted and said: "I thought so; flats. Some day you will employ these on a man with the wit to test them for true squareness, and the results will be unfortunate for you."

Kothar shrugged. "I know my business, and I have not used my little lucky gems on you."

Myron and Bessas burst into laughter. The latter said: "By the boar tusks of Verethraghna, Kothar, you are a rascal, but too useful a rascal to be discarded."

Kothar smiled faintly. "If that opinion pleases you, cherish it. You know not to whom you speak."

Myron suggested: "Why don't you take a perfect set of dice and have weights inlaid in one side, as with that copper cat? You would achieve the same result with less risk."

Kothar raised his eyebrows and put away his baubles.

On the evening of the last day of Ayaru, Bessas of Zariaspa and his following crossed the Nile from Troyu to Memphis. As the ferry could carry but one horse or mule at a time, the crossing took more than two hours, while the sun sank behind the colossal walls of Memphis—the City of the White Wall, the Abode of the Soul of Ptah.

Over the towering walls of pearly limestone appeared the upper parts of a host of colossal statues erected about .die temples by the kings of yore: the Senuserts and the Rameseses. The citadel, called the White Castle, also loomed above the wall. This was an artificial hill, surrounded by forty-foot limestone walls. It rose in the midst of the city, bearing barracks and palaces on its top. Beyond the city, the points of a score of pyramids, great and small, rising from the edge of the desert, pierced the darkening sky with black triangular teeth. Behind the travelers to eastward, a long, ragged rank of purple hills dissolved into the oncoming dark.

The travelers put up in the foreign quarter, around the temple of Hathor in the southeastern part of the city. Kothar led them past spicy-smelling markets and stinking alleys to the inn of Hazael of Damascus. Here, in the tavern on the ground floor, pale men with yellow hair in long braids, and brown men in turbans, with beards dyed orange, blue, and green, and men with black skins marked by tribal scars gorged and guzzled, while thunderous snores wafted down from the dormitory overhead.

On the first of Simanu, they climbed, the long stair of the White Castle to present the documents entitling them to food and fodder from the royal stores. The official who indorsed their applications said:

"You should present your respects to the satrap. He holds audience this morning."

"Where?" asked Bessas.

"In the audience room of the east wing of the palace. Hand your letter of introduction to the usher, who will throw it through the audience chamber window."

As he turned away, Bessas said: "By Ahriman's arse, that is the most outlandish way of conducting an audience I ever heard of. Let us see how it works."

They easily found the jostling, chattering crowd around the east wing of the ancient palace of King Wahabra. Most of the crowd were shaven Egyptians in white linen, though here and there were seen the flapping trousers of Aryans, the knitted caps with dangling tails of Babylonians, the tall spiral hats of Syrians, the ostrich-plumed headdresses of Libyans, and garb from other parts of the Persian Empire.

They crowded around a wall of dun-colored brick, pierced only by one small door and one small window. Before the door stood a pair of trousered Persian soldiers, bearing shields with bosses of gilded bronze, which blazed with the light of the fierce morning sun.

A eunuch in a gauzy robe stood by the window. People thronged around, trying to press sheets and rolls of papyrus into the eunuch's hands. All shouted about the urgency of their respective petitions. The eunuch shouted back:

"Easy, pray! Get in line! Do not push! All shall be taken care of! Quiet, good people! Slowly! Get in line! One at a time!"

Paying no heed to the eunuch's demands, the crowd pushed harder and shouted more loudly. Bessas shouldered his way through the throng, which gave back before him with scowls and muttered curses. The eunuch picked him out by his towering stature and called:

"You there! Have you aught to present?"

"My respects to the satrap. Here is a letter from the Great King signed by the hazarapat Artabanus, commending me to all satraps and subgovernors. They told me to hand it to you, but I shall want it back."

The eunuch glanced at the sheet of parchment, rolled it up, and tossed it through the window. "Wait," he said, and turned back to the importunate horde.

Presently a voice from the audience room called: "Send them in!" The eunuch pushed aside the crowd and ushered Bessas, whose followers trailed in his wake, to the door.

Myron found himself in a room whose plastered walls were decorated with colored pictures in the old Egyptian style, depicting the deeds of animal-headed gods. Captions in Egyptian priestly writing, made up of little processions of men, animals, plants, and other objects, ran along the wall above and below the pictures. Costly Persian rugs lay on the floor, golden lamps gave off: a reek of castor .oil, and the satrap sat at a papyrus-littered table of ivory and ebony.

Achaemenes son of Darius, brother of King Xerxes and governor of the satrapy of Mudraya, was a tall, well-built, handsome man, with glossy black hair and the long hooked Achaemenid nose. He was younger than Xerxes, whom he otherwise much resembled. His robe was sewn with pearls; jewels winked red and green and purple from his narrow diadem of yellow gold. His expression was weary, sleepy, and bored.

There were six other persons in the room: a pair of bodyguards, a secretary, an interpreter, and two clerks. One of the clerks stood close to the small window. When he received a signal from the secretary, he called through the narrow opening: "Next!"

A piece of papyrus whizzed through the window. The clerk caught it with the skill of a seasoned ball player, glanced at it, and passed it to the other clerk, who sorted the missives into piles: those to be routinely dealt with by underlings, those to be brought to the satrap's attention, and those to be rejected out of hand.

The secretary took those for the satrap's personal attention and read them to Achaemenes in Persian, while the translator stood by to help with petitions in unusual languages. After each letter was read to Achaemenes, he dictated a reply. This, if short enough, was written on the original petition; otherwise the secretary wrote a separate letter and fastened the two together with a dab of gum. A murmur of talk between the secretary and the governor floated in the air:

"Another of these heirs despoiled by his wicked guardian ..." "... complaint of corruption in the Province of the Catfish ..." "... should be looked into; send the detective Sebek-hotep ..." "... tax gatherer slain by a mob in Duqau ..." "... has been ih prison six months without action ..." "... theft of arms from arsenal ..." "... brother-in-law threatens to slay him; he wishes governmental protection ..." "The villagers of Kaïs complain of a demon that haunts their fields; can we send an exorcist? ..."

At last Achaemenes looked up, yawned prodigiously, and asked: "Which is Bessas of Zariaspa?"

Bessas crossed his hands on his breast and bowed low "I am he, my lord. The gods give Your Highness long life and wealth."

"Auramazda, and whatever other gods there be, befriend all of you," said Achaemenes. "What think you of Egypt?"

Bessas smiled grimly. "Shall your slave be polite, my lord, or shall I say what I think?"

"The latter."

"By your leave, sir, I like it not at all."

"Why not? The flies and the heat?"

"Nay; I have seen worse in the East. It is something hard to describe exactly—something in the atmosphere. I have the feeling that the people are fain to tear me limb from limb, being restrained only by fear of the government and of me personally."

"Your feelings deceive you not," said the satrap. "Have there been any outright attacks upon you?"

"Nay; except—" and he told of the broil at Tahapanes. "Aside from that, it is well that of us five only Kothar speaks Egyptian. I am sure that some of the words addressed to me in the last few days have been mortal insults. Had I understood them, honor would have compelled me to wipe them out in blood."

"You must restrain yourself, Captain Bessas. We sit on the lid of a boiling cauldron here. A rash act could cause trouble far beyond the scathe to your feelings from a native's gibe."

"Be it as you wish. But, my lord, a noble Aryan cannot brook insolence. What can one do?"

"I suggest that you and Master Myron abandon your Persian dress—at least as to the trews and bashlyks."

Bessas grunted. "Very well, Your Highness. But your slave makes no rash promises as to what he will do the next time dung is thrown at him. What is the cause of this hostility?"

"As you no doubt know, Egypt was a mighty kingdom for thousands of years or ever Cambyses conquered it, and the Egyptians—those above the lowest classes, at least—have not forgotten. They are the most self-conceited of men, deeming themselves the bravest, truest, and noblest of mankind. This is of course ridiculous, since everyone knows that the Aryans are the noblest of men, and the Persians the noblest of the Aryans. But that is how these wretched Egyptians think, and nought will persuade them otherwise. Hence it galls them beyond endurance to be ruled by those they regard as unwashed barbarians.

"In addition, the priesthood hate us because we have forced them to pay their fair share of the costs of government, and the superstitious masses follow the lead of the priests, heedless of the fact that these priests have battened on them for centuries, like a horde of blood-sucking parasites. And they all hate us because twenty years ago we put down their revolt against the Great King's god-established rule. Now tell me somewhat of the quest whereon my noble brother—whose rule God strengthen—has sent you."

When he had heard, Achaemenes sighed. "Betimes I wish I could leave my grinding task here and set out on such a venture. But empery is a demanding mistress. I will give you a letter to Astes, who rules the satrapy of Kushia from the island of Yeb. You may have trouble getting from Kushia into independent Kush, because fighting has lately broken out along the border. The barbarous black Kushites appreciate the benefits of Persian rule as little as do the Egyptians.

"If you return this way, bearing the banners of victory, send me word; for I, too, am fain to see this dragon. One more thing: have you come upon any signs of treasonable plots against the Awful Royal Glory? As, say, by pretenders to the throne?"

"Well—ah—no, my lord."

"Why did you pause, Master Bessas? Come, sir, if you know aught of such cabals, it is your duty to warn your natural lords." Achaemenes' indolent air had vanished.

Bessas shook his head. "It is nothing, Your Highness; nought but a few words, half remembered, spoken in a tavern in Phoenicia."

"What tavern, and what words?"

"I remember not, sir; some remark about kicking the lousy Persian dogs into the sea. But I had drunk too deeply, so I cannot firmly grasp the memory."

Achaemenes looked sharply at the Bactrian, who flushed with patent embarrassment. "Did you hear any names?"

"I cannot tell, my lord."

"Such as Orontes, perhaps?"

"It could have been so, sir; but I truly know not."

"Why have you not reported this before?"

"Your slave heard nothing clearly enough to make an accusation, my lord. And now all is hazy, like fragments of a forgotten dream. After all, if ever rash words spoken in a tavern, damning the government, were reported to you, there would not be enough secretaries in the Empire to record them, nor would you have time to hear them, though you listened night and day."

"It is wrong that men should utter such treasonous words with impunity," said Achaemenes.

"Perhaps, but, like fornication, it will never be stopped, be a ruler never so mighty and never so just. As an old haunter of taverns, your slave can perchance claim knowledge of this matter denied to Your Highness."

Myron added: "The only sure defense against reproach, sir, is obscurity."

For a time Achaemenes sat staring somberly at Bessas and drumming on the table with his fingers. At last he said: "Well, next time, bear your duties to your lawful sovran more keenly in mind. Auramazda further your enterprise!"

Next day, the travelers rode southward through the endless green corridor that is Upper Egypt. Sometimes the steep walls of the valley pressed close on either hand. Sometimes they receded until they could no longer be seen from the river road.

Big white asses bearing kilted Egyptians and their burdens trotted past, their bells jingling. Along the blue river and the many canals, muscular naked brown peasants hoisted water by creaking swapes, with posts of sun-dried mud and booms made from roughly trimmed tree trunks. Black-and-white ibises soared over the shallows, while kites and falcons screamed in the deep blue sky. Every few furlongs brought the travelers to a village: a squalid cluster of tiny huts of deep-brown clay, noisy with the chatter of peasants. From these hovels, swarms of naked children of the same muddy hue scampered out to beg with shrill voices and outstretched hands and to hurl curses and clods when refused.

Once Skhâ burst out: "What will they say back in Barbalissos when I tell them that I, the son of Thuvlo the dyer, have been presented to a satrap, the Great King's brother and one of the greatest lords of the realm? Truly this Achaemenes seemed a man of kingly qualities!"

"It takes more than fine feathers to make fine birds," said Myron.

Bessas grunted. "He's no fool, at least. He had me sweating over that matter of Orontes."

Shimri gave one of his jarring laughs. "Why told you not the entire tale?"

"It is foolish to entangle oneself, any more deeply than can be helped, in the struggles of the great. The man who is down today may be up tomorrow, and rancor outlasts gratitude as stone outlasts wood."

"Quite right," said Myron. "Besides, if Achaemenes disapproved our not reporting a chance word in a tavern, you can imagine how he would have felt over our not divulging our meeting with the pretender himself. My dear Bessas, you are absolutely the world's most unconvincing liar! I shall have to give you lessons in that art as well as in swimming."

"That won't be needed," replied Bessas. "I hereby appoint you official liar of our expedition; your people naturally excel at the art. Hereafter you shall deal with Achaemenes and his ilk."

"Is Achaemenes as good as he is splendid to look at?" asked Skhâ.

"Who can tell?" said Myron. "Men hide their true natures behind a mask of benevolence, and men change with time and the pressure of circumstance. In the early years of his reign, everyone praised you-know-who to the skies. And indeed he did well at the outset. But I suppose the responsibilities and the temptations of kingship, acting together, in time break down the strongest character. Cambyses, who also started out well, fell into fits of madness at the end of his reign and thought he saw little red snakes in his wine."

"Maybe so," said Bessas. "But Cyrus and Darius continued to rule ably into eld. And Masistes would have done the like, had he gained the throne. Withal my father, who knew Cambyses, averred that those tales of Cambyses' madness were but lies sent abroad by Egyptian scribes, in revenge for his conquest of their country."

"Ah, but how can one determine in advance how the king will turn out? That's why in Hellenic cities we elect our chief men to office for limited times only."

"All very well for those lousy little walled villages you call cities, but it were absurd to apply such methods to a great empire."

Myron smiled wryly. "As the wise Solon wrote":

Bessas continued: "Masistes, now—ah, there was a man for you! Had the gods willed otherwise ..." The giant sighed and wiped away a tear.

"What about Masistes?" asked Skhâ. "Was that not a brother of the king, who died when I was a boy?"

"Aye," said Bessas somberly. "As I know the story better than most, since my father was a follower of Masistes, I shall tell the tale.

"Masistes was a brother of King Xerxes, satrap of Bactria, and commander of one of the six army corps. He had a wife, with whom he lived in such happiness as is possible to those in the married state, and several sons and daughters.

"After failure of the expedition against Hellas, Xerxes returned to Shushan. There he fell in love with Maisistes' wife, who however refused his suit. Not wishing to drag her to his couch by force, because of the standing of his brother, Xerxes thought to bring suasion to bear upon Masistes' wife by marrying her daughter Artaynta to his son Darius. Then, losing his passion for Masistes' wife, he conceived one equally hot for his daughter-in-law Artaynta, who did not deny him.

"You may judge the wisdom of promising to any mortal, let alone a woman, that one will give her anything she asks. Yet Xerxes, assotted with Artaynta, made this promise. And she demanded, of all things, the royal robe that Queen Amestris herself had woven for her husband the king.

"Fearing that his intrigue would be discovered, Xerxes tried by extravagant offers to persuade the foolish and reckless girl to change her demand. He offered her cities, treasures, and even a private army; but no, she would have the robe and nought else. At length Xerxes yielded and gave her the garment, which she wore. And, of course, Amestris heard of this gift.

"Now, whatever the virtues and faults of the Achaemenids, I had ten times rather be in the bad graces of one of them than of their women. This bloodthirty bitch of a queen decided, by some strange womanish process of thought, that Masistes' wife was the cause of Xerxes' intrigue with Artaynta. So, at the king's birthday party, she demanded Masistes' wife to do with as she listed. Custom requires that the king deny no request made to him at this banquet. Again the king sought to refuse. But Amestris persisted until, wearied of her demands and loath to break the law of the feast, he again gave in.

"Xerxes summoned his brother Masistes and ordered him to divorce his wife and wed one of Xerxes' daughters. But Masistes, who loved his wife, refused with such firmness as he dared to show. Meanwhile Amestris had sent soldiers to Masistes' quarters to mutilate Masistes' wife. They cut off her breasts, nose, ears, and lips, and they tore out her tongue.

"When Masistes returned to his house and found his wife so horribly used, he gathered his sons and partisans. Mad with fury, all set out for Bactria, where Masistes was much beloved and where he meant to raise a revolt against Xerxes. But Xerxes sent cavalry after them, and these overtook them on the road and slew them all."

"How t-terrible!" said Shimri, who was changing the padding inside Skhâ's helmet to make it fit better. "Had I been there, I should have saved Masistes."

"Forsooth? I think not. Anyway, it is said that Xerxes moaned and wept over the loss of his brother, who had been his ablest and most loyal supporter. And it is whispered that Xerxes has not slept with Amestris from that day to this. But of course all that did not bring back the noble Masistes."

"Ha!" said Shimri. "If—if the king's women misbehave, why does he not have them simply drowned or strangled?"

Myron: "With a mere slave or concubine he could, but not with his official wives. Know that Darius, when he acceded to the throne, agreed to take wives only from the families of the six conspirators who assisted him, and Xerxes follows the precedent. These families, the Daduchids and the rest, are the mightiest lords in the Empire. While they hold together and support the king, his throne is secure; but let him antagonize them and it would soon be rocking under his fundament. Oh, well, that's monarchy for you."

"It is not merely monarchy," said Kothar. "All government by common mortals falls into such disorder. Men will never be governed justly until they give all power into the hands of those who possess true occult wisdom—that is, persons like my unworthy self."

At Siout, Myron and Bessas quarreled. The cause of their quarrel was this: At Memphis, Bessas, claiming the need for haste, refused to grant Myron an extra day in which to visit the Sphinx and the pyramids of kings Khufu and Khafra three leagues north of the city. Then, when Bessas learnt that the men of Siout practiced a peculiar technique of fighting with quarterstaves, he took a day off to seek out experts at this form of combat and hire these men to teach him their tricks. At this, Myron bitterly complained of the loss of his chance to add to his store of knowledge.

"You may sneer at my mastery of different kinds of fighting," growled Bessas, "but 'twere better if you spent more time in weapon practice yourself. Whither we are going, such skills are all that will stand between us and the Bridge of Judgment."

"All I said," snapped Myron, "was that knowledge of other kinds is equally important—"

"Plague take you!" roared Bessas, his pock-marked face dark with rage. "If you like not how I run this venture, take yourself off! I release you from your oath I Get out of my sight, you lying, cowardly, boy-loving Greek-ling!"

Myron rose, pale. "For that I'll fight you. Get your weapons—anything but your bow—and I will get mine."

"Do you mean that?"

"You shall see when you feel my steel." Myron undid his baggage and pulled on his helmet. Bessas began to arm himself likewise.

"Mortals!" said a low but penetrating voice. It was Kothar, sitting quietly on a palm log. "Ere you shed each other's blood, I have that to say which may interest you."

"Forsooth?" said Bessas.

"Knowing the dangers of our journey, I have sought advice from the higher powers. I have watched the flight of birds; I have observed the wheeling stars; I have listened in the stillness of the night to the voices of my familiars. And I tell you this: disembodied spirits of evil, sent by your ill-wishers, menace you at this very moment. Unable to strike directly at you, because of my counterspells, they seek by sowing discord to incite you to destroy yourselves.

"Perils encompass you round, which united you may overcome. But, if you break up in a quarrel now, or ever the course be run, disaster will surely strike you all—those who go on and those who go back. So say the divine powers."

"Well—" said Bessas.

"Well—" said Myron.

"Oh, to demon land with it!" growled Bessas. He threw down his sword and buckler, caught Myron in a bear hug, and loudly kissed the smaller man on both cheeks. "Will you forgive my insult to your courage, old friend? By the Seven Guardian Stars, had you been a craven, you would never have stood up to me."

Myron had been, a moment before, fully expecting to die. Hence he was vastly relieved by the reconciliation, although he did not think it prudent to make much of this. He said:

"Really, old boy, I am no braver than most."

Bessas said: "You are brave enough for me. Belike the shortness of our tempers is the result of too much virtue for the past fortnight. Let's celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?" said Kothar.

"Just celebrate. I make merry when I feel like it, not when some priestly calendar says I should. We'll make a night of it!"

That evening, while Bessas, Myron, Shimri, and Skhâ reveled at the inn, Kothar bar-Malko sat quietly in an anteroom of the temple of Wepwawet, the wolf god of Siout. He wrote:

KOTHAR OF QADESH GREETS THE HOLY BELKISHIR, HIGH PRIEST OF MARDUK OF BABYLON

Mindful of your charge, your servant has guided those mortals committed to his care as far as this city of Siout in Egypt. Deadly perils have threatened us, and more than once we have been saved only by my occult insight and presence of mind. Today I averted a breakup of the company resulting from a quarrel between the leaders, Bessas of Zariaspa and his lieutenant, Myron of Miletos. For I agree with Your Holiness that the expedition must come to its appointed end, not in this teeming land where Persian officials watch the fall of every sparrow, but in the unknown territories beyond Kush where their fate can never be traced. Tomorrow, if my fellow travelers be not palsied from the effects of their disgusting dissipation, we shall resume our journey.

Kothar long studied the letter. Then he knelt and raised his arms in prayer. Long and fervently he prayed, with sweat bedewing his brow. He muttered:

"Seteh, patron of wizards and guardian of foreigners in the land of Khem, help me to decide!"

Fifty leagues south of Siout lay the second city of Egypt, a city of many names. To the most ancient Egyptians it was Weset; to those of more recent date, Opet. Those who now dwelt there more often called it the City of Amon, or simply the City. To the Greeks it was the City of Zeus, or Thebes of the Hundred Gates.

"I see no hundred gates," said Myron, as they neared the sprawling suburbs on the east bank of the Nile. "In fact, I see no wall at all. What sort of city is this, to have no wall?"

Kothar said: "There is none; or, if there ever was, it was outgrown in ancient times, and demolished and never rebuilt. For sieges, the temple inclosures provide space and security for the people. I believe the term 'hundred gates' refers to the pylons of these temples, of which there are ten pairs in the temple of Amon alone."

"I see what you mean," said Myron, staring in amazement at the vast lion-colored brick wall that inclosed the temenos of this temple, ahead and to their left.

Farther away on the left stood the smaller inclosure of the temple of Mont. Other temple walls, thirty to forty cubits high, could be seen across the river, in the City of the Dead on the west bank. Over the tops of these walls Myron glimpsed the roofs of temples, upheld by lotus-topped columns of enormous girth.

Nowhere in all his travels, not even in mighty Babylon, had Myron seen anything to compare with this amazing mass of sacerdotal stonework. Although Opet was a large and flourishing city, the private houses and the people seemed dwarfed. The sheer size and number of the temples rendered ordinary folk insignificant.

"If this be the Great Temple of Amon," said Myron, "It is our present destination. I have a letter of introduction to"—he fumbled in his scrip—"the priest Jed-hor, Second Prophet of Amon."

They dismounted and walked along an avenue, flanked by two rows of stone rams, to the gate in the outer wall. Kothar spoke to a temple guard, who bore a large wicker shield and a copper-headed spear and wore a helmet of crocodile skin. Kothar turned back to Myron.

"Our luck holds," he said. "Your man is now First Prophet of Amon. This means that he is the most powerful Egyptian in the land of Khem."

The guard whistled up another guard, who led the party through the gate. The outer wall of the temenos was a rough square, more than six hundred paces on a side. Inside lay the main temple. This was in the form of a long rectangle, four hundred and fifty by one hundred and fifty paces.

However, the symmetry of this rectangle had long ago been spoilt by kings who haphazardly added more buildings and monuments, until the vast temenos had become a chaos of walls, columns, pylons, courts, temples, statues, obelisks, and shrines. The temple compound was like a city in itself. Small detached temples stood here and there outside the main mass and in the courts of the larger temples. Most of the walls were covered with painted carvings, which showed forgotten kings dispatching their foes and adoring their gods.

The soldier led them through a vast unfinished pylon inside the wall, through a colonnaded court above a hundred paces on a side, and into an immense roofed hall. At the entrance they gave up their cloaks, boots, and other garments of animal origin to the doorkeeper.

Here a forest of more than a hundred carven columns upheld the roof. The twelve central columns were so huge that six tall men, with arms outstretched, could scarcely close a ring about one of them. Bessas remarked:

"No artist, I, but I like the audience halls at Persepolis better. There the columns are not so thick that a man can see nought."

Myron said to Kothar: "I wonder they let us in here; we are not purified initiates."

"Fear not; this part is open to the public. It is a long way yet to the sacred areas."

They passed through a bewildering series of pylons, courts, and passages. Bessas said: "It must take a new priest a year just to learn his way around this barrack."

They were made to sit in an open court on a bench of tawny brick while the First Prophet, the high priest of Amon, completed his devotions. Shaven-headed priests hurried by. Egyptian laymen wandered past in low-voiced groups, sometimes staring at the travelers. There was no open hostility, because Myron and Bessas now wore kilts instead of their telltale Persian trousers. They were obviously foreigners, but in their nondescript garb they might have been from anywhere.

Myron waited with keen anticipation, his heart pounding. All his life he had heard of the ancient wisdom of Egyptian priests. Having, by this unexpected stroke of luck, gained access to the highest priest in Egypt, Myron thought that surely he should be able to pry out some of this hoarded wisdom. If anyone knew the answers to the riddles of the cosmos, it should be the First Prophet of Amon.

As the sun sank, they were led through more passages into a room in a subsidiary building, where a small, slight, shaven-headed man in a voluminous and elaborately pleated white linen vestment sat on an ivory chair. Myron first guessed the man to be about his own age. But when the man smiled, his face, previously smooth, sprang into a multitude of wrinkles that showed him to be much older.

"Peace," said the small man in good Aramaic. "I am pleased to welcome friends of my old friend Uni, whose career I have long followed. I was a mere officiant when he entered the priesthood. Had he remained here he might have risen far in the hierarchy, but duty called him to the foreign field. I hope some day he will come back; who drinks the water of the Nile will surely return thereto. Tell me more about him."

Myron told about Uni. Then Jed-hor said: "I thank you, my son. As one ages, the doings of friends of one's youth become of increasing interest. When did you leave Persepolis?"

"On the fourth of Nisanu, Your Holiness."

Jed-hor frowned in the effort to translate the date into the Egyptian calendar. "By the horns of Hat-hor, that is good time! Two months and a few days over."

Shimri said: "That is—that is the doing of Lord B-Bessas, who has driven us as Yehu drove his chariots."

Jed-hor continued: "You cannot maintain such a pace in the roadless south. But doubtless you have much to tell of your journey so far. We hold a small feast in honor of Bes within the hour; will you company with us?"