“I meant no offense-”
“Perhaps we should rename this place the Nest of the Phoenix. The phoenix is native to the Nile. Did you know that? I’ve never seen one, but if such a magical bird exists anywhere, it’s here in Egypt. The phoenix ends its life by bursting into flames-a shocking death. But then it stirs and rises from the ashes, reborn, more beautiful and resplendent than before.” He gazed dreamily into space.
What a strange mood he was in. Like the others, Artemon seemed to be invigorated by the prospect of a grand adventure ahead. Their elation was open and raucous. His was quiet and concentrated, yet burned just as hotly. His face was flushed and his eyes seemed slightly unfocused, as if he had a fever.
“That was a thing to see!” he said, pointing at my necklace and abruptly changing the subject.
“What?”
“When you pulled Cheelba’s tooth! The men were thunderstruck. So was I. No one else would have dared to do such a thing. You weren’t just clever and resourceful. You were fearless.”
I shook my head. “Just because you saw no fear, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t feeling it.”
He laughed. “Oh, Pecunius, you have no idea how different your initiation was from that of most of the men. The ritual usually ends in the initiate’s complete humiliation. The man in the pit pisses himself, tries to claw his way out, screams and begs and cries like a child. And the men watching laugh so hard they piss themselves as well. It’s a comedy, a farce. Then all is revealed, the man is pulled from the pit, and everyone laughs some more, and no one laughs harder than the initiate in his piss-soaked loincloth. But you, Pecunius-you treated us to a very different sort of spectacle.”
He looked at me thoughtfully. “Something sets you apart from the others. Even the best of them, like Menkhep, can’t think more than few days ahead. They move about in a sort of stupor, ruled by the most basic emotions and appetites-fear, hunger, lust, vengeance. They need a man like me to guide them. But you, Pecunius-you seem to be ruled by some higher power, some greater purpose. Is it because you’re a Roman? Are Romans truly different? Or is it something else? You’re a puzzle, Pecunius.”
I shrugged.
“I’ll tell you one thing: no one benefited more from your quick thinking and bravery than Cheelba. That lion loves you, Pecunius. You’ve made a friend for life.”
“Cheelba!” I laughed, remembering the lion’s absurd disguise. I, too, was beginning to feel the effects of the wine. “What will become of him? Surely you won’t leave him to the mercy of the soldiers?”
“Of course not. Cheelba’s coming with us.”
“A lion on a boat! Ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous, indeed. All the more reason to take him along.”
“What about the crocodile? You don’t intend to bring that stinking creature with us, too?”
“Certainly not! Tomorrow, just before we set out, I shall lower a plank into Mangobbler’s pit. If he has any sense, the beast will scamper out and take shelter in the lagoon. Hopefully, when the soldiers come, he’ll bite off the foot of any man who dares to go digging for buried treasure.”
We shared a laugh and drank more wine.
“Do you know, Pecunius, I’ve never gotten drunk with a Roman before.”
“Nor I with a bandit king.”
Instead of laughing, he suddenly looked thoughtful. “Is it true that in Rome, by law, every father wields the power of life and death over his children?”
“It is.”
“What is that like?”
“For the father, or the child? I think you already know what it’s like to have the power of life and death over others, Artemon.” I remembered the wretched end of Hairy Shoulders.
“What about your father, Pecunius?”
“My father?”
“Is he still alive?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “He’s back in Rome. At least I hope he’s still alive.…”
“Are you close to him? Is there love between you?”
I sighed and held out my cup. “Yes.”
Artemon poured more wine for us both. “I never knew my father. When I was growing up, I knew who he was, but the man wanted nothing to do with me. He disclaimed all knowledge of me. He rejected me. Disowned me.”
I blinked. The wine had begun to blur the edges of things, so that even the ground beneath me felt uncertain. “I don’t know what to say, Artemon.”
“Thank the gods that you have a father, and that he loves you.”
I nodded.
“I’ve never told any of the other men what I’ve just told you, Pecunius.”
“Why me?”
He shrugged. “Why not? You’re the man who pulled a lion’s tooth.”
We both smiled.
Under the spell of the wine, the cares that held me like bands of iron seemed to loosen a bit. I was glad for the respite, no matter how temporary. But what about Artemon? What cares gripped him? Who was he, and where did he come from? What dreams inspired him? What nightmares gnawed at his sleep? That night, sitting in a hut that would soon be ashes, he felt a need to unburden himself. I made a show of sympathy, and listened carefully. Even in my wine-dulled state, I knew that the more I knew about Bethesda’s captor, the better would be our chances to survive and escape.
“I’ll tell you something else that no one knows,” he said. “I’m a twin.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It is. You Romans are descended from twins, aren’t you?”
“Romulus and Remus were the founders of the city. I’m not sure Remus had any children, before Romulus killed him.”
“A twin killing a twin-imagine that! What a strange beginning for a race that wants to rule the world.”
“I will ignore that slur against my people,” I said. “So, Artemon and Romulus are each a twin. Is there any famous leader you don’t resemble?”
“What do you mean?”
“The men compare you to Alexander.”
“Do they?”
“And to Moses. I myself compared you to Scipio Africanus when I was talking to Menkhep the other day. Now I find that you’re more like Romulus than I could have imagined.”
“Unlike Romulus, I did not murder my twin,” said Artemon quietly.
“Did the two of you grow up together?”
“Yes.”
“Did your father also reject…?”
The question was indelicate. Artemon lowered his eyes and did not answer.
I took advantage of the awkward silence to change the subject. “You say you plan to bring Cheelba with us, but not Mangobbler. What about … Metrodora?”
He smiled faintly. “What are the men of the Cuckoo’s Gang without their soothsayer? Of course she’s coming with us … at least for part of the journey.”
“What about … the other woman?” I said, with a quaver in my voice.
Artemon raised an eyebrow.
“The captive, I mean; the one who’s hidden in the hut with Metrodora.”
He frowned. “Did Metrodora tell you about her?”
I shrugged. “All the men know she’s there, even if most of them have never seen her. I’ve begun to think she’s a legend, or a phantom conjured up by Metrodora.”
“The girl is quite real, I assure you,” he said, with a pinch at the corner of his mouth.
“Is she as beautiful as they say?”
“Why are you so curious, Pecunius?”
“What man wouldn’t be? Except for the witch, I haven’t set eyes on a woman since-”
“If you happen to see Axiothea during our departure tomorrow, I suggest you avert your eyes. Her face will be covered by a veil, anyway.”
“Is it dangerous to look at her? Is she a witch, like Metrodora?”
“She has no need to cast spells,” he muttered. “Her power is greater than that.”
“You make her sound like a queen,” I said.
His eyes lit up. His speech was slurred. “A queen? No. Not yet. But I could make her one. And I will! If only she’d let me.…”
He reached for the pitcher. Only a few drops remained. He poured them into his cup, then threw the pitcher aside. It struck something hard and broke into pieces.
I flinched. Artemon stared at me over the rim of his cup, suddenly wary. “If you’re missing female companionship, Pecunius, have patience. When this is all over, you shall have the means to indulge in whatever pleasures you desire. You do trust me, don’t you?”