Suddenly I felt distinctly grubby. I still wore the leather kilt and harness I had been wearing for many months, under a light vest. From long habit I still carried a dagger strapped to my thigh, beneath the kilt. My clothes were worn and travel-stained. I needed a bath and a shave, and I wondered if I should try to stay downwind from this obviously civilized man.
“I am Nefertu, servant of King Merneptah, ruler of the Two Lands,” he said, keeping his hands at his sides.
“I am Orion,” I replied.
There were two wooden benches beneath the arbor’s twining vines. Nefertu gestured for me to sit. He is polite, I thought, or perhaps he simply feels uncomfortable stretching his neck to look up at me. My head grazed the grape vines.
Our genial host scuttled out of the kitchen area with a tray that bore a stone pitcher beaded with condensation, two handsome stoneware drinking cups, and a small bowl heaped with wrinkled black olives. He placed the tray down on a small wooden table within Nefertu’s easy reach, then bowed and smiled his way back to the kitchen. Nefertu poured the wine and offered me a cup. We drank together. The wine was poor, thin and acid, but it was cold and for that I felt grateful.
“You are not a Hittite,” he said calmly, putting down his cup. His voice was low and measured, like a man accustomed to speaking to those both below and above his station.
“No,” I admitted. “I come from far away.”
He listened patiently to my story of Troy and Jericho and Lukka’s men who sought service with his king. He showed no surprise at the fall of the Hittite empire. But when I spoke of the Israelites at Jericho his eyes widened slightly.
“These are the slaves that our king Merneptah drove across the Sea of Reeds?”
“The same,” I said, “although they say that they fled Egypt and your king tried to recapture them but failed.”
The shadow of a smile flickered across Nefertu’s thin lips. It passed immediately and he asked with some earnestness, “And now these same people have conquered Jericho?”
“They have. They believe that their god has given them the entire land of Canaan, and their destiny is to rule over it all.”
Nefertu smiled again, slightly, like a man who appreciated an ironic situation. “They may form a useful buffer between our border and the tribes of Asia,” he mused. “This news must be passed on to the pharaoh.”
We talked for hours, there in the shaded corner of the courtyard. I learned that pharaoh, as Nefertu used the word, meant essentially “the government,” the king’s house, his administration. Egypt had been under attack for years now by what he called the Peoples of the Sea, warriors from the European mainland and Aegean islands who raided the coastal and delta cities from time to time. He considered Agamemnon and his Achaians to be Peoples of the Sea, barbarians. He saw the fall of Troy as a blow against civilization, and I agreed with him — although I did not tell him how I had defied the Golden One to bring about Troy’s destruction.
Nor did I tell him that the woman who traveled with me was Queen Helen, nor that her rightful husband, Menalaos, was seeking her. I spoke only of the wars I had seen, and of my band’s desire to join the service of his king.
“The army always needs men,” Nefertu said. Our wine was long gone, nothing was left of the olives but a pile of pits, and the setting sun was throwing long shadows across the courtyard. The wind had shifted; flies from the stables were buzzing about us pesteringly. Still, he did not call for a slave to stand by us with a fan to shoo them away.
“Would foreigners be allowed in the army?” I asked.
His ironic little smile returned. “The army is hardly anything except foreigners. Most of the sons of the Two Lands lost their thirst for military glory long ages ago.”
“Then the Hittites would be accepted?”
“Accepted? They would be welcomed, especially if they have the engineering skills you spoke of.”
He told me to wait at the inn until he could get word to Wast, the capital city, far to the south. I expected to stay in Tahpanhes for many weeks, but the following day Nefertu came back to the inn and told me that the king’s own general wanted to see these men from the Hittite army.
“He is here in Tahpanhes?” I asked.
“No, he is at the capital, at the great court of Merneptah, in Wast.”
I blinked with surprise. “Then how did you get a message…”
Nefertu laughed, a gentle, truly pleased laughter. “Orion, we worship Amon above all gods, the glorious sun himself. He speeds our messages along the length and breadth of our land — on mirrors that catch his light.”
A solar telegraph. I laughed too. How obvious, once explained. Messages could flash up and down the Nile with the speed of light, almost.
“You are to bring your men to Wast,” said Nefertu. “And I am to accompany you. It will be my first visit to the capital in many years. I must thank you for this opportunity, Orion.”
I accepted his thanks with a slight bow of my head.
Helen was overjoyed that we were going to the capital.
“There’s no guarantee that we will see the king,” I warned her.
She dismissed such caution with a casual wave of her hand. “Once he realizes that the Queen of Sparta and former princess of Troy is in his city he will demand to see me.”
I grinned at her. “Once he realizes that Menalaos may raid his coast in his effort to find you, he may demand that you be returned to Sparta.”
She frowned at me.
That night, though, as we lay together in the sagging down-filled bed of the inn, Helen turned to me and asked, “What will happen when you deliver me to the Egyptian king?”
I smiled at her in the shadows cast by the moonlight and stroked her golden hair. “He will undoubtedly fall madly in love with you. Or at least marry you to one of his sons.”
But she was in no mood for levity. “You don’t really think he would send me back to Menalaos, do you?”
Despite the fact that I thought such a move was possible, I answered, “No, of course he wouldn’t. How could he? You come to him seeking his protection. He couldn’t deny a queen. These people regard the Achaians as their enemies; they won’t force you to return to Sparta.”
Helen lay back on her pillow. Staring up at the ceiling, she asked, “And what of you, Orion? Will you stay with me?”
Almost, I wished that I could. “No,” I said softly, so low that I barely heard my own voice. “I can’t.”
“Where will you go?”
“To find my goddess,” I whispered.
“But you said that she is dead.”
“I will try to revive her, to return her to life.”
“You will enter Hades to seek her?” Helen’s voice sounded alarmed, fearful. She turned toward me again and clutched at my bare shoulder. “Orion, you mustn’t take such a risk! Orpheos himself…”
I silenced her with a finger against her lips. “Don’t be frightened. I have already died many times, and returned to the world of the living. If there truly is a Hades, I have yet to see it.”
She stared at me as if seeing a ghost, or worse, a blasphemer.
“Helen,” I said, “your destiny is here, in Egypt. My destiny is elsewhere, in a domain where the people you call gods hold sway. They are not gods, not in the sense you think. They are very powerful, but they are neither immortal nor very caring about us humans. One of them killed the woman I love. I will try to bring her back to life. Failing that, I will try to avenge her murder. That is my destiny.”