"And if we don't, will you order Rupa to strangle us, Master?"
"Don't test me, Mopsus!"
Eventually they quieted down, until again I heard the sighing breeze in the palm trees. I banished all thoughts of the alabaster vial from my mind; who would see the boys and Rupa through the perilous days ahead, if not me? I clutched the comb until, finally, sleep-blessed sleep, with its blanket of forgetfulness-began to draw near. In my head, the sighing breeze was joined by another sound, and I fell asleep hearing the tune played by Ptolemy's piper, repeated over and over again.
The next morning, we set out for Alexandria.
It appeared that the main body of the army would remain at the fortress, under the command of Achillas, while the king and a smaller, though substantial, armed company would proceed to the capital.
Soldiers loaded my trunk into the wagon. Another soldier was assigned to drive the mules while I rode in the back with Rupa and the boys, not bound as on the day before but free to move about.
The road ran westward, away from the Nile, alongside a wide canal that brought fresh water from the river to the capital and allowed small craft to navigate back and forth. I wondered how Ptolemy would be transported to the city, and assumed he would arrive by chariot, but then, beyond the ranks of marching soldiers, I caught sight of an ornately gilded barge on the canal. It was manned by boatmen who propelled it ahead of the slow current by means of long poles. Stripped to the waist, their muscular shoulders and arms gleaming with sweat, the boatmen worked with graceful efficiency, pushing their poles against the bottom of the canal one after another and then repeating the sequence.
The middle portion of the barge was shaded by a large saffron-colored canopy, beneath which I occasionally caught glimpses of the king and his retinue, including the eunuch Pothinus. Every so often, when a breeze wafted from the direction of the canal, I heard a few notes of music from the king's piper and felt a chill despite the rising heat of the day.
The hour was nearing midday when a soldier on foot approached our wagon.
"Are you Gordianus-called-Finder?" He spoke Egyptian, but so slowly and distinctly that even I could follow.
"I am."
"Come with me."
"Is there trouble?"
"His Majesty ordered me to fetch you."
"And the others in my party?"
"They stay behind. You come with me."
Rupa helped me descend from the wagon. I spoke in his ear. "While I'm gone, take care of the boys. Don't let them get into trouble. They think they're smarter than you, but you're the strong one. Don't be afraid to show them who's boss. Do you understand?"
He looked at me uncertainly, but nodded.
I called to the boys. When they came to the back of the wagon and bent toward me, I grabbed each one by the nearest ear and pulled them close. "You will not, repeat not, get into trouble while I'm gone. You'll do as Rupa tells you."
"Tells us?" said Mopsus. "But Rupa can't speak-" His words ended in a squeal as I gave his ear a twist.
"You know what I mean. When I return, if I find that you've disobeyed me, I shall twist this ear until it comes off. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master!" cried Mopsus.
"And you, Androcles?"
His brother, thinking it judicious to keep his mouth shut, simply nodded. I released them both. With a firm grip on my arm, the soldier hurried me off.
"When will you be back?" called Mopsus, rubbing his ear.
"Soon, I'm sure," I called back, though I was not sure of anything. Threading our way through ranks of marching infantry, the soldier led me across the road and down a ramp set into the embankment of the canal, where the royal barge had pulled alongside a landing spot. The boatmen were taking advantage of the stop to lean against their poles and rest for a moment. As soon as I stepped aboard, the crew leader called out for them to resume their work. The boatmen at the front of the barge on either side raised their poles and brought them down. The barge slowly began to move.
Pothinus peered out from beneath the canopy and gestured for me to follow. Steps led down to the royal accommodations, which were actually below the level of the water; the sunken, shaded area was deliciously cool. The saffron-colored canopy softened the glaring sunlight; sumptuous carpets underfoot softened my steps. Here and there, courtiers stood in little groups. Many wore the nemes, a pleated linen head-cloth such as that worn by the Sphinx, with various colors and patterns to denote their rank, while others wore ceremonial wigs upon their presumably shaved heads. They stood aside to let me pass, until at the center of the barge, I saw King Ptolemy seated on his throne. Two other chairs, hardly less opulent, faced his; both were chased with silver inlaid with bits of ebony and ivory, and their broad seats were strewn with plump cushions. In one chair sat Pothinus. The other was empty.
"Sit," said Pothinus.
I sat, and realized that Ptolemy's throne was raised on a dais. The platform was low, but sufficient to force me to tilt my chin up if I dared to look at him. If I lowered my eyes, they naturally came to rest upon a large, covered clay jar next to one of the king's feet. It occurred to me that the jar was just the right size to contain a man's head.
"Did you sleep well, Gordianus-called-Finder?"
"Quite well, Your Majesty."
"The accommodations were adequate?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. Are you hungry?"
"Perhaps, Your Majesty."
"Then you and Pothinus must partake of some food. I myself am never hungry at midday. Lord Chamberlain, call for food."
Small tables were brought, and atop them were set silver trays heaped with delicacies-green and black olives stuffed with peppers and nut-paste, fish cakes sprinkled with poppy seeds, millet cakes sweetened with honey and soaked in pomegranate wine.
Despite the lavish spread, I had some trouble mustering my appetite, for I kept imagining what must be inside the clay jar at the king's feet. While Pothinus and I ate, the king's piper played a tune. The man sat at a little distance behind Ptolemy, cross-legged on the floor. The tune was different from the one he had played the night before.
Ptolemy seemed to read my thoughts. "Do you like the music?"
"Very much," I said, which seemed the safe answer. "May I ask who composed the tune?"
"My father."
I nodded. It was as I had thought; Ptolemy went about accompanied by his father's music to reinforce his link to the Piper and thus his legitimacy as the late king's successor. But then he said something that prompted me to reconsider my cynical interpretation of his motives.
"My father possessed a remarkable talent for music. With his playing he could make a man laugh one moment and weep the next. There was a sort of magic in his fingers and lips. This fellow who plays my father's tunes captures the notes, but not always the spirit, of my father's compositions. Still, to hear his music reminds me of my father in a way that nothing else can. Consider: The monuments that men leave behind, even the greatest men, reach out to only one of the five senses, our sight. We look at the image on a coin, or gaze upon a statue, or read the words that were written; we see, and we remember. But what about the way a man laughed, or sang, and the sound of his voice? No art can capture those aspects of a man for posterity; once a man is dead, his voice, his song, and his laughter die with him, gone forever, and our memory of them grows less and less exact as time passes. I was lucky, then, that my father made music, and that others, even if not with his precise skill, can reproduce that music. I cannot ever again hear the sound of my father speaking my name, but I can hear the tunes he composed, and so feel his presence persist among the living."