Blood of Kings Page 13

  Next morning, the sun flooded the land. Men removed hoods or unwound headscarves to let it warm their faces. With tramping feet, the Persian column marched back north towards Jerusalem and the Empire. Darius, Vivana and Ardu sat on their horses and watched. ‘Well, that’s that,’ Darius said as the column disappeared into the haze.

  ‘Darius. About yesterday …’

  ‘All in the past, Ardu. Spilt wine and all that.’

  ‘Yes, but I just wanted to say …’

  ‘No, you didn’t … It’s all in the past.’ Anxious to avoid the discussion Darius set his lips tight and turned his horse south.

  ‘South?’ Ardu’s tone turned the word into an accusation. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Egypt.’

  ‘Without Parmys? That’s suicide!’

  ‘You don’t have to come.’ Darius looked pointedly at the dust cloud of the slow-moving Persian column receding into the haze. ‘There’s still time to catch them.’

  ‘Don’t dare suggest it.’ Ardu glared at him.

  ‘Then trust me, Ardu.’ Darius pushed his mare into a fast trot. The others followed mechanically, riding in strained silence.

  Darius rode a few paces ahead, welcoming the respite. There were times when he needed to be alone. The rhythm of the hooves and the wind in his face soothed him, relaxed him enough to think. He knew he was asking a lot of his friends, but there were too many dangerous currents for him to keep stopping and explaining. Doubts crowded him; his whole future was uncertain and if he allowed himself to question things too deeply he risked being submerged. However hard it was, however unreasonable, right now he needed their trust.

  When they stopped to rest their horses Darius glanced at his cousin. Ardu’s face was still stormy; hurt, confusion and defiance mingled in his eyes. Darius feared that if he pushed the young man too far he might rebel. Not out of disloyalty, but from youthful frustration.

  Once or twice Darius climbed a hill, eyes sweeping the horizon for landmarks Hadar had described. Somewhere here was a spring, where Egypt-bound caravans watered. Darius did not want to go to Egypt. He was fed up doing Cambyses’ dirty work; first negotiating the treaty, now acting the spy. He had noticed the disdainful looks from some men, Vinda included, who thought he was too eager to do Cambyses’ bidding. But for the moment he must bear the humiliation. Darius was playing a long game, and there were dangerous times ahead. The more loyal he appeared, the more indispensable he made himself, the greater his chance of surviving and achieving his aims. So when, shortly after midday, he found the spring, bubbling from pink and grey rock, tumbling downhill before collecting in a small blue pool, he gave a low cry of satisfaction. Vivana and Ardu looked at him, exchanged glances and shook their heads. Darius ignored them. ‘This is the spot. We’ll camp here.’

  His mind constantly focused on Parmys, these were his first words all morning, and by now the others were thoroughly bad-tempered. Vivana spread his hands in silent agreement. Ardu simply said, ‘Fine.’

  After two more days of endless worry and desultory one-word conversations, a thin dark line of camels swayed through the glare, heading for the pool. Eight days later, the three Persians were part of a chaotic mass of bellowing animals and shouting men, as the caravan approached the fortifications of Pelusium, naval base for Egypt’s Delta Coast Fleet and home to Pharaoh’s border garrison. Except that by then they were no longer Persians. Darius felt very conspicuous dressed in a gaudy tasselled gown, his beard trimmed square and plaited with beads. He hoped they looked like three ordinary Babylonian merchants, keen to sell the stock of Indian rubies and sapphires from Cambyses’ treasury that Vinda had given him.

  Pelusium was bustling and vibrant. Even outside the city walls Darius could smell the salty tang of sea fish, the heaviness of bitumen from the chandleries, the unmistakable whiff of money among the traders and hawkers squatting in the shade of the gatehouse. Inside was a port city, a city of merchants, warehouses and mercenary soldiers, brightly painted palaces and temples, rotting piles of fish guts and stinking mud-brick slums. The air was hot and dusty, wind sweeping from the Sinai Desert across the grey salt flats on which Pelusium stood. After the crush at the eastern gate, Darius paused to get his bearings. To the north the sun sparkled off an azure sea. To the west a blue ribbon fanned out into lush green where the easternmost branch of the Nile emptied into its delta. All around, walls towered against the sky. ‘Let’s try the docks first,’ Darius said, as their horses pushed through a crowded, noisy, tree-lined avenue. Egyptian men looked odd – bare-chested with shaven heads, wearing kilts rather than gowns or trousers – and they all appeared to be arguing. Darius looked around to see what the commotion was about but soon realized it was just the Egyptians’ way. They seemed to think if they didn’t shout at the tops of their voices, no one would listen.

  The Persians stood on the quayside watching the sun on the wave tops, while merchant ships unloaded bales of cargo and fishermen crates of flapping silver fish. Some of the ships bobbing at anchor were square-rigged with crescent moons atop their masts: Phoenicians, from within the Empire, which meant Cambyses must already have spies who could report on the state of the docks and walls. Darius was about to move on when Ardu grabbed his arm. Discreetly he indicated a vessel with high bows, a forward-sweeping prow and a single bank of oars. The flag on the mast bore the emblem of an owl. ‘Greek,’ Ardu murmured. ‘From Athens.’ Sailors were unloading a cargo of small amphorae packed in wooden crates filled with straw. ‘Olive oil, I expect.’

  ‘It’s no secret half the garrison’s Greek. The better half too, from what I’ve heard,’ Vivana said.

  Darius knew thousands of Greeks had settled in Naucratis, in the Nile’s delta, and when Persia invaded, Greek mercenaries would form the backbone of Pharaoh’s army. Although he spoke Greek he knew little about the people, except that Cyrus had captured all their colonies in Asia. He studied these fairer-skinned, brown-haired men carefully. Like Persians, and unlike the Egyptians, they all wore beards. Unlike any decent Persian they were mostly stripped to the waist. They didn’t look particularly impressive. The prospect of fighting them did not alarm Darius.

  A large enclosure was fronted by two pylons, painted with scenes of Pharaoh’s fleet massacring his enemies, while a hawk-headed god looked on. Green date palms waved above the enclosure’s mud-plastered wall. Through open gates between the pylons, a white palace gleamed. Darius pointed with his chin. ‘That’s the one.’

  The sun was hot, the sky a hazy blue, the palace guards nonchalant, leaning on long spears with oval leather shields resting against the pylon. As the three merchants approached, the guards barred their way. In poor Egyptian, Darius explained who they were and why they had come, and they were escorted to the palace entrance. Grooms took their horses and a steward in a formal robe stood in the shade of a rectangular doorway, framed by the harsh glare of white stone. From inside, Darius could smell cool air and spring flowers. The steward questioned him, then called a slave who ushered Ardu and Vivana away for refreshments.

  Footsteps echoed through a whitewashed courtyard. A tall, distinguished man of about sixty appeared, dressed in a crisp linen kilt with an ivory-hilted dagger in the waistband. He wore gold arm-guards and a heavy gold neck chain against a bare chest. His upright military bearing and the scars on his chest spoke of a fighting man, the craggy lines on his brown face suggested long exposure to wind and sun.

  Darius tried to judge the man as he approached. All he knew was that Cyrus had sent spies here, and they had discovered that the admiral was disaffected. Commander of Egypt’s powerful Delta Coast Fleet, he came from a long line of noble seafarers, but his house had fallen out of favour and it was thought he would welcome change. Whether he would really betray his native land, no one knew. Looking at him now, Darius felt apprehensive. The admiral’s voice as he greeted his guest was dignified, but there was hard calculation in his eyes. Not a man Darius would willingly trust with his life. Perhaps he would help. Per
haps he would arrest Darius. He would probably wait and see which promised greater profit. But it was too late to turn back now.

  It was rumoured that on his journeys the admiral had acquired a taste for gemstones. Pulling out the pouch of sapphires and rubies, Darius tipped them into his palm for the Egyptian to inspect. ‘Admiral Udjahor-Resne? I have merchandise for you to consider.’ He spoke in Greek, which he had been told the admiral understood. ‘Is there somewhere private where we may talk?’

  The admiral scrutinized his face, taking in Darius’s curled hair, fine nose, short beard, wide cheekbones. ‘You do not have the look of an Assyrian … Yet you cannot be Persian, for no Persian would dare set foot here …’

  Darius met his gaze. ‘What I carry is very precious. And I have travelled far to bring it, at great risk.’

  Realization dawned in the admiral’s eyes. ‘So you are P—?’ Cutting himself off in time he dismissed his steward and led Darius quickly through a maze of courtyards to one painted with scenes of feasting and hunting. Elegant men and women in formal wigs ate and drank while girl musicians played flutes and sang. Next to them, hunting dogs splashed while ducks fell to throwing-sticks in marshes. Somewhere nearby a hoopoe was calling. Chairs and a table were brought and they dined alone beneath trailing vines, on river fish and small roast fowl from the Nile’s marshes, spelt bread, onions, cucumbers and pots of foaming barley beer.

  The admiral shared Darius’s passion for trade. ‘Seeing other lands has given me a wider perspective,’ he confided, delicately lifting the spine from a small Nile perch. ‘Egypt should be the trading heart that links Asia, Arabia and Africa. Instead we tax other nations’ merchants but don’t send out our own. We’re squandering a great opportunity, and it is the fault of Pharaoh, who can’t be bothered, and the priests, who want to keep us cut off from the modern world.’

  ‘The priests?’

  ‘Absolutely! They say we must stick to the ways of our fathers, which means our ideas haven’t changed in two thousand years.’ He spread his fingers wide. ‘Just look at the Greeks! They have few metals and poor soil, but they are great traders and it brings them influence and wealth. Wherever you go across the Great Sea you find their colonies. Even you, a Persian noble, speak their tongue. Just think what Egypt could do if we followed their example! We should be exploring and trading for all we are worth. Instead we sit and let the world go by.’ He picked up his flask of beer and sucked on the straw that poked through the barley malt and herbs floating on the top. ‘It’s the same in warfare. Your army innovates, but ours is stuck in the past. When our obsolete chariots meet your horse-archers there is no doubt who will win, and when Egypt falls, I don’t want my house to go down with her.’

  They spoke of war and the peace that would follow. Of sieges and warships, of Persia’s need for open seas and the admiral’s need for security and advancement. Promises were made and oaths sworn, and Darius handed him the bag of gems as a pledge of Cambyses’ good faith. The admiral tipped the jewels onto the table and looked at them appreciatively. ‘I have a friend who is also interested in what you have to sell. But his interest runs more to gold.’

  ‘Our treasure houses are stacked high with gold. I should meet him.’

  ‘My friend can smell gold from a thousand stades. He will be eager to see you. There is a beerhouse nearby where you can sleep tonight. I shall send him there tomorrow at the quiet hour.’ The admiral looked apologetic. ‘I would offer you hospitality in my palace but … it would not be wise.’

  Which meant he did not want three Persian spies staying under his roof. Darius did not blame him. If he was found out, the penalty for treason was dire.

  ‘When there is war, a soldier’s price rises. If Pharaoh won’t pay it, somebody else will.’ Stratekos Phanes’s voice was low and hard and he gave the barest of shrugs, as though not too concerned if Darius believed him or not, then sipped his beer.

  A soft hum of conversation filtered through the cavernous hall of the beerhouse. Darius looked again at the tall Greek, his long limbs folded onto a stool of rough-hewn wood. His neat straight hair was like spun gold and his pale snake’s eyes had a forceful, dangerous gleam. In his fourth decade but lean and muscular, superbly fit with the hard body of a fighter, it was easy to believe in his reputation as a soldier. But could he be trusted? ‘Why would a Helicarnassian Greek help Persia?’ Darius asked.

  ‘If there is enough in it for me, why not?’

  ‘Because twenty years ago Cyrus sacked Helicarnassus with fire and sword.’

  Phanes was scathing. ‘The fools asked for it by resisting. Your Empire offered us great wealth.’

  Darius raised his eyebrows. Seeing he was unconvinced, the Greek lifted his hands, fingers spread wide. Like every movement he made, the gesture was precise and controlled. ‘All right, there is more to it than that. Pharaoh Amasis is about to die. The priests and charlatan doctors deny it, but everyone knows. And I will not serve his son.’

  Darius smiled inwardly but kept his face blank. This was something Cambyses did not know. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘What is wrong with Psamtek?’

  Phanes drew back his lips to show sharp white teeth. ‘I suggested he increased our pay but he refused. So, let him try to defend his border without us. Then he will understand our worth.’

  Darius had heard that concepts of friend and enemy meant little to the Greeks. Their only allegiance was to gold. If Pharaoh was not paying enough … Yes, looking at him, Darius could well believe Phanes would sell to the highest bidder. He certainly looked like a man impressed by wealth. Fine linen and expensively tooled leather sandals were set off by a jewel-studded dagger thrust into the waistband of his embroidered Egyptian kilt. Heavy gold bands glittered on his wrists and powerful upper arms. The metal glowed with the buttery light only pure gold can cast. The man was extremely wealthy, and not scared to flaunt it.

  ‘How many men do you lead?’ Darius asked.

  ‘Twenty thousand.’

  ‘All spearmen?’

  ‘A phalanx,’ Phanes corrected. ‘Any fool can hold a spear, but we manoeuvre and fight as a single disciplined unit.’ Darius listened with interest as Phanes explained the concept. ‘Nothing gets past our wall of iron points. It takes years to perfect but properly officered it’s invincible. The Egyptians have nothing like it, they still fight like savages. If I withdraw my men from the garrison …’ Phanes chopped his hand down, ‘Pharaoh’s eastern border collapses.’ He leant back on his stool as though what he had said was irrefutable and required no answer.

  Vivana caught Darius’s eye and nodded almost imperceptibly at the Greek’s forearm, where a recent cut, like a dagger slash, was healing. Phanes caught the interchange and grunted dismissively. ‘It’s nothing, a scratch. A couple of my men needed teaching a lesson in respect. They thought loyalty to Pharaoh was more important than loyalty to me, and started following me around. Imagine, spying on their own stratekos!’ He shook his head in disbelief, then smiled the smile of a wolf, lean, hungry and hard, and drew a finger across his throat. ‘You can tell Cambyses I’ve reduced Pelusium’s garrison by two.’

  Darius noticed that Phanes had positioned himself carefully, to watch the door at the far end of the beerhouse. Uneasy at the thought of being spied on, Darius looked around. It was the hour of the afternoon rest. Everything was peaceful. The long hall was filled with furniture of rough palm logs, men sitting in small groups, drinking companionably. A repetitive click click came from a group playing Senet as counters moved across a wooden board. Another group in a corner behind Phanes were hunched over a table in low conversation. Suspiciously low for Egyptians. Darius wondered if they were Greeks, but couldn’t see their faces. The rest of the patrons were middle-aged Egyptian scribes, writing brushes hanging from the waistbands of their kilts or set down carefully on tabletops.

  The Greek looked at Darius shrewdly. ‘You are deciding whether to trust me?’

  Embarrassed by his directness, Darius gave a vague nod in reply.r />
  ‘Let me be open with you, it’s not just about money. It’s also a matter of pride. I served Pharaoh Amasis for fifteen years and would never have dared betray him. But while the father was a lion among men, the son is a nervous woman masquerading as a god. Even mercenaries need to respect their paymasters. When Psamtek takes over I cannot.’

  Darius wondered; just how much did this dangerous, violent-looking Greek think he was worth to Persia? ‘What would it take to persuade you to find a new paymaster?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘A soldier’s worth is measured in gold, and the man who sells himself cheap is a fool. As for my men they will need preparing carefully; many have married local women and feel loyalty to their adopted land.’ Phanes’s eyes flicked to the cut on his arm. ‘When I tried sounding them out, some grew wary. They’re reluctant to sell themselves to the highest bidder, the fools, and some rabble-rousers among them think they know better than their stratekos.’ He spoke matter-of-factly, his face still as hard and wolfish as ever. ‘They’ll need silencing before the others are free to know their own minds. It’s no great matter, a dozen or so executions will remove all those who need to go. The rest will follow me easily if Cambyses doubles their pay. Say, two Attic drachmas a day.’

  It was a large sum if there were twenty thousand Greeks in the Pelusium garrison, but realistic enough given the risks. Darius nodded noncommittally.

  Phanes continued. ‘For myself, it would be foolish to pretend I was worth less than one hundred talents of gold.’

  Vivana gave a low whistle. Ardu dropped his beer mug, which shattered. Several drinkers looked up, irritated by the noise. Darius sucked in his breath. The entire tribe of Edomites had agreed to two hundred talents, and Phanes wanted a hundred just for himself. But Cambyses would pay it.

  From the corner of his eye, Darius saw movement. Some deep sense prickled within. He glanced up. Two of the men behind Phanes had paid at the bar, clambered behind it, and were leaving by a back door. They had brown hair and athletic builds. Following Darius’s gaze Phanes turned unobtrusively, but they had gone. A shadow crossed his taut features then dissolved.