“Someone has betrayed us,” he finally said.
“No, never!” said Ujeb. “We took an oath. We all took it. Every man of the Cuckoo’s Gang took the oath, from Artemon down. No man would betray the oath!”
“How were we betrayed, and when?” I said, ignoring Ujeb. “The sarcophagus I saw in the tomb was most certainly genuine. It can’t have been a fake. We all saw it. We touched it.”
“Yes, the sarcophagus we loaded into the wagon was most certainly genuine,” said Artemon. “Which can only mean that somehow, somewhere along the way, this crate was substituted for the other.”
“Not just the crate, but the whole wagon,” said Ujeb. “Look, there’s not a drop of blood anywhere on it. Pecunius remembered seeing his own blood on the crate, but there must have been some blood on the wagon, as well. There had to be, after the battle we fought outside the tomb. This wagon has no blood at all on it.”
“This is all a fake?” said Mavrogenis. “The wagon, the crate, the sarcophagus? How is that possible? Were you not with the wagon at every instant?”
“No,” whispered Ujeb. “We left it for a just a moment, after we pushed it into the narrow passageway and circled around. It must have happened then. But how?”
We all looked at Artemon again. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again it seemed to me that a profound transformation had taken place, that he had almost become a different man. I could not have explained what was so changed about him, yet I hardly recognized him. There was a cold, flinty determination in his eyes.
“The same trusted confederates who supplied us with the crate and the wagon must have planned for this deception all along,” said Artemon. “How they did such a thing, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out later. But if the substitution took place in the customs house, then the genuine sarcophagus will still be inside. We must go and get it.” He looked up at the armed men who had been left to guard the ship and now stood crowded along the rail. “All of you, come on!”
The men on the ship jostled one another as they streamed down the gangplank.
Mavrogenis stamped his foot. “Hurry, you fools! Go back and get the thing! Otherwise we’ll leave here with nothing. Quickly!”
Artemon, his sword drawn, was already halfway back to the customs house. The others followed as quickly as they could. Even Ujeb took a deep breath and ran after them.
I stood where I was and watched them disappear into the customs house.
Mavrogenis glared down at me. “What do you think you’re doing, standing there? Go help them!”
I shook my head. “Something isn’t right.”
“Of course it’s not right! We’ve been betrayed. Why am I not surprised? Over and over I told Artemon, ‘Your men in Alexandria must be absolutely trustworthy, or else-’”
“What makes you think they weren’t?”
“What do you mean?”
“What makes you think they weren’t trustworthy? What makes you think Artemon’s accomplices didn’t do exactly what Artemon told them to do?”
Mavrogenis shook his head and scowled. “Cowardly Roman!”
A few moments later, from the customs house, we heard the sound of shouts and the clash of weapons. The battle continued for quite some time.
Then the men of the Cuckoo’s Gang appeared, pulling the exact twin of the wagon beside me. Some limped and staggered, but others seemed invigorated by the thrill of battle. When the wagon reached the end of the wharf, even as Mavrogenis’s sailors prepared to load the crate, the captain himself descended from the ship, leaped into the wagon, and with a crowbar set about prying off the lid. Quickly he ripped off one plank after another, until the whole lid lay in splinters on the wharf.
Slanting sunlight reflected from the gold of the sarcophagus onto the captain’s face. His eyes flickered with the green fire of many emeralds.
I leaped onto the wagon beside him. Before me I saw the solid gold sarcophagus of Alexander. Of its authenticity there could be no doubt. The beauty of the thing, seen in daylight, was breathtaking.
Then the crate was hoisted into the air, and Mavrogenis’s men set about loading it into the Medusa’s hold.
Mavrogenis looked about. “Artemon’s not here. Where is he?”
I looked toward the customs house. A moment later, Artemon appeared. He was not alone. In one hand he held his bloody sword, and with the other he gripped Bethesda by the wrist, dragging her after him. She wore the green gown I had given her on my birthday, and her arms were outstretched in opposite directions, for clinging to Bethesda’s other wrist, trying to hold her back, was Ismene. Artemon was stronger than both women combined. He pulled Bethesda steadily onward, toward the ship.
As if this sight were not startling enough, trotting up beside the trio, oblivious of their tug-of-war, was Cheelba the lion, with his head aloft and his leash trailing behind him.
Ismene suddenly released her grip on Bethesda. She turned back and disappeared inside the customs house. Bethesda’s resistance was no match for Artemon’s strength and determination. He began to run, dragging her behind him.
Even as they arrived at the ship, the sarcophagus was lowered into the hold. The Medusa’s sail snapped in the breeze. Mavrogenis ran up and down the deck, shouting orders at the rowers and sailors.
Eager to cast off, some of the men began to withdraw the gangplank, but Artemon yelled at them to leave it in place, and bounded toward it, pulling Bethesda helplessly behind him as if she were a doll. I attempted to tackle him from the side, but his momentum was too great. He knocked me aside, so that I almost tumbled into the gap between the ship and the wharf.
By the time I righted myself, Artemon and Bethesda were aboard the Medusa.
The men would almost certainly have pulled up the gangplank then and there, leaving me behind, except that Cheelba, who had been bounding after Artemon, suddenly balked at boarding the ship and drew back. The men along the rail called out to the lion, and left the ramp in place.
“Pull up the gangplank!” Artemon shouted. “Never mind the lion! Pull it up now!” There was an unaccustomed note of fear in his voice.
For a moment I thought he was frightened of me, and that he wanted the ramp to be pulled up at once so that I couldn’t come after him. Then I heard a commotion from the direction of the customs house, and turned to see that soldiers had emerged from the building and were racing toward the ship, their helmets and weapons glinting blood red in the slanting sunlight.
Where had they come from, so quickly? It seemed impossible that so many men had emerged from the royal palace and run all the way across the shoreline and up the wharf without being seen by the lookout posted atop the mast of the Medusa. Had the soldiers come from inside the customs house? Had they been there all along? If that were so, how had we failed to see them, and why had they not opposed us at the outset?
Cheelba still refused to board. The men handling the gangplank finally gave up on the lion and moved to obey Artemon. But the ramp was heavier than they realized, and the task required more men, who came running to help. The gangplank began to lift off the wharf. At the same time, the Medusa pitched slightly and began to move slowly away from the wharf.
At the last possible moment, I leaped onto the gangplank. My weight wrenched it free of the men who were raising it, and the ramp slammed back onto the wharf, allowing me to scamper on board.
I ran headlong toward Artemon, taking him by surprise. He was bigger than I, but still I managed to knock him down, and the two of us went rolling across the deck. He must have been very weary, almost exhausted, for otherwise I could never have taken him down. As it was, we fought like men who were evenly matched, trading blow for blow and grappling at close quarters.