I bowed and said that I must not sleep, that I must protect his temple.
"It will pass. The people will go, and not one stone will stand upon its brother. Do you not know you sleep?"
"I know I sleep by day," I said, "but never by night, Great Seth, for that is when I guard your house."
"Come to me," he said, and I came, though I trembled. He laid his hands upon my shoulders and made me turn about. "Look, and tell me what you see."
"Myself. My club lies beside me, the writing brush has fallen from my hand, and my scroll is spread across my knee."
"Do you sleep?"
"I do sleep," I acknowledged. "Spare me!"
"I will do more. I will see that you gain your dearest wish. Will you help me do it?"
"Gladly," I said.
"You have a small dagger. It was hidden in the case that holds your scroll when the woman returned it to you. It is there now."
"It is yours," I said, "if you wish it."
"I do not. This is what I wish. When you wake, you must carve two words in your club, carve them in the tongue in which you hear me now."
"I will, Great Seth. I will do whatever you ask. What are the words?"
"You act for yourself, not for me. Carve lost temple."
I woke with the dagger in my hand. It is small but very sharp, with an eye in its grip like the eye of a needle. The wood is very hard, but I have incised the words spoken by the god deep into that wood.
Lost temple.
What a strange awakening!
29
THE PAINTED KING of the south came to our temple today with twenty painted warriors. He demanded to see me, and the priest sent Myt-ser'eu to wake me. When the king had seen me, he wished to buy me. He did not wish to buy Myt-ser'eu, but I swore I would never obey him unless he did. We said these things by signs. He sent a boy, and we waited until the boy returned.
When he did there were eunuchs with him, and a brown woman richly robed. The painted king spoke with her in a tongue I did not understand.
She looked carefully at me and made me stand in a place in which the light was better. At length she nodded and spoke to him, urging some course of action-or so it seemed to me.
He shook his head and turned away.
She returned to me. "You know me and I know you. I'm Queen Bittusilma. Confess that you know me!"
I knelt. "I do not know you, Great Queen. I do not remember as others do. The fault is mine." This was not in the tongue I speak to the priests and to Myt-ser'eu. Neither was it in the tongue in which I write it.
The king bought us both, though it was not said in that way. He made gifts of ivory and gold to the temple, and the priests gave us to him. Myt-ser'eu had to remove her gown then, and I my tunic. It was the queen who told us we must. Nakedness is the sign of slavery among the king's people. (She herself is of another nation, as she told me.) Boats rowed by warriors carried us and a score of others south until we halted here to make camp.
The country through which we passed was of great interest, and grew more so with each stroke of the paddles. Here the thatched houses of the poor are more numerous, larger, and cleaner, too. The land itself seems to me richer-yet more wild, its forests ever taller and its rolling grasslands dotted with more trees. It is a timeless land made for the chase, but there are wide swamps with many crocodiles. Myt-ser'eu says the biting flies are the worst we have seen. We rub ourselves with fat to keep them off, though ours is the fat used by eunuchs and women, not colored like the vermilion and white pastes worn by the king and his warriors.
When the king's tent was up he summoned us, sending away everyone save the queen and an old man who is his councillor.
"Seven Lions is my husband," the queen told us. "You do not remember him, but he remembers you very well. So do I. You and he were great friends long ago."
I said, "My heart warms to him, but I don't remember. As you say."
"I'm Babylonian. Seven Lions returned me to my home in Babylon, as I wished. He remained there with me for over a year. Then he wished to return to his own home and persuaded me to accompany him. He will not speak as you and I speak now, but he understands everything we say."
I nodded and explained what had been said to Myt-ser'eu.
"We came to the kingdom in the south that is now ours," the queen continued. "We found the throne vacant, and he took it for us. He is our king and our greatest warrior."
His size, his evident strength, and his eyes-his eyes most of all-told me she spoke the truth. "I do not wish to fight him," I told her.
She laughed, but at once grew serious. "No one does. I want him to come back to Babylon with me, Latro. He promised to do it. Then a god spoke to him in a dream, telling him you were in that temple in Meroe. I thought it nonsense, but we went, and there you were. The god had told him to take you to a certain ruin, where I have never been. It lies far to the south. We have to do it, and you have to go with us."
Recalling what I had promised when the king bought Myt-ser'eu, I said, "I am the king's slave. I'll go willingly wherever he may send me."
At this the king spoke vehemently, at first to the queen, then to his aged advisor, and then to queen again.
She said, "He will free you tonight, and your wife too. It is why he has summoned you. I was to tell you."
I thanked him, bowing.
"You understand that I wish to go to Babylon, not to this ruin."
The king spoke, this time to her alone.
"He says we will go to Babylon after we have done the will of the god. I might point out that we might as easily go to Babylon, and do the will of the god afterward."
The scarab I wore rose and fluttered on silver wings as she finished.
For the first time the old councilor spoke, pointing upstream-the direction in which the scarab had sought to fly. The king nodded.
"That's a live beetle you wear," the queen said. "I thought it was an ornament."
"It is," I told her. I removed it and handed it to her. She examined it, stared at me, returned it suspended by the string, and turned her eyes to the ground.
The old councillor spoke again. It was in the tongue I use when I speak with Myt-ser'eu. "I am called Unguja," he said. "Our king is so kind as to hear me, though I am but a foolish grandfather. We cannot please the god unless we do his will, nor can we do his will unless we please him."
Myt-ser'eu said, "I'm under the protection of a goddess, wise one, and wish to return to my home in the north. The ship that will return me there is in the south. It may be that my goddess favors me, leading us to that ship."
He shrugged, but did not speak.
After that we were given new clothing. Slowly, with many invocations and great care, the old man painted me as King Seven Lions and his warriors are painted, as white as leprosy on one side and vermilion on the other. When it was finished, Myt-ser'eu and I dressed and thanked the king for our freedom. He embraced me, and I felt I knew him as well as he knew me. He is a good and brave man, I feel sure. His people call him Mfalme, and bend their heads when they speak the name.
Here I should stop and lie with Myt-ser'eu as she wishes. I will say one thing more, wisdom I took from the old man called Unguja. No one can be good unless he is brave; and any man who is brave is good in that, if in no other way. If he is brave enough, there must always be some good in him. MYT-SER'EU IS DANCING with excitement. She wished me to read this scroll while we were in the boat. I would not, knowing that the river water could destroy it very quickly. Thus she told me instead-a great deal about the ship she seeks and the men and women on board. There is a wonderful woman of wax who lives at times (Myt-ser'eu says), which I do not believe. Myt-ser'eu also says she was saved from this woman by a god, which I believe even less than the first if that is possible. With this wax woman is a wizard who brings her to life, a priest, a wise man who once read her future in the stars, and many others. I asked her future; but she would not reveal it, saying that such prophecies only grow worse if they are revealed. She appeared troubled. I asked whether this wise man had read my future, too. She did not know.