The God’s Guardian (The Pharaoh’s Promise #3)

Prologue

219 BCE – Canopus

He hadn’t meant to pry. Or steal.

In fact, he had picked up the small crate from beside the road where it had been overlooked while larger items were loaded onto carts bound for the barge. The box bore the seal of Ptahhotep, Hemhat’s master, and Bhaskar knew his friend would be punished if any inventory failed to reach Rome. He intended to return it to Hemhat—no harm done.

It was only luck that caused him to stumble as he made his way back toward the riverboat where they would spend their last night on the Nile. Or maybe his thoughts weren’t on his surroundings, but on tomorrow, the culmination of his journey, when he would finally be in Alexandria.

Either way, he hadn’t been paying attention when his foot caught on the uneven cobblestone and he dropped the crate, barely catching himself before he landed in the street alongside it. The wooden pegs securing the lid popped free and straw spilled out into the street. Mostly straw. Bhas gathered it up and began stuffing it back into the crate.

Two small items had fallen out with the packing. He picked the first up carefully. Hemhat had shrugged off his cargo as tourist stuff , but Bhas was well aware that many tourists came with bulging purses.

The first item was a tiny clay aryballos shaped like an unfamiliar, round, spiky animal. Bhaskar smiled, wondering if such a creature existed. He imagined it filled with oil, a treasure on some noble's dressing table. Ptahhotep would get a fine price for it.

He placed the whimsical creature carefully back in its nest of straw, happy that his friend would not have to explain its absence.

His breath caught as he plucked the next item from straw around it.

An exquisite miniature sundial.

He turned it over slowly, marveling at the elaborate gold inlays in the smooth stone and the intricate symbols adorning the base. The gnomon appeared to be pure gold, although perhaps it was only gilded. He recognized some of the celestial symbols, and the cartouche for Ra, but many of the hieroglyphs were a mystery. Like the spiky little animal, the sundial would fetch a very fine price. Ptahhotep must cater to a very exclusive type of tourist.

Bhaskar put the sundial back in the crate, making sure the straw was packed carefully around it. Then he replaced the lid regretfully, already wondering if he could find a way to stretch his funds to the price of the sundial. The celestial symbols were fascinating, perhaps even a copy of an ancient artifact. He could spend hours translating the meanings of the hieroglyphs and comparing them to the modern understanding of the heavens.

He didn’t have enough on hand for such an item. Even if he did, the timepiece would be an unforgivable indulgence. But he calculated his remaining funds over and over in his head as he walked back to the ship, unable to forget the ancient symbols of the cosmos depicted with such painstaking detail and artistry.

He found Hemhat on deck in a circle of other transport overseers and passengers. The men were casting astragali amid shouts and cheers as they passed around ceramic mugs of frothy beer. When he spotted Bhaskar, Hemhat broke away from the group.

“Bhas, what do you have?” His smile dropped away, and his eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on Ptahhotep’s seal, now sadly broken. “What do you mean by this?”

“Now, now. Don’t worry. I don’t think anything is broken. I found this by the side of the road and recognized the seal. It must have been overlooked when they were loading the carts.”

There was a strange, pregnant pause, then Hemhat smiled again. “Of course, of course, my friend. Obviously, that is what happened. Thank goodness you found it.”

Bhaskar studied his new friend. Neither of them was a native of Greece, but the language provided a common tongue for them to communicate in. Perhaps that accounted for the slight awkwardness that seemed to have crept into the conversation.

Then Hemhat smiled again. “I’m winning,” he confided. “Come join us. There is plenty of beer and we may not see each other again.”

“Maybe some beer. I don’t gamble very much.”

“Ho, that is not the rumor I heard from the servants. Come, my friend, try your luck.” He drew Bhas forward and pressed a mug of beer into his hands.

Bhas let himself be persuaded. Hemhat had been good company on this leg of the journey and spending their last evening on board the riverboat together would be a happy memory. He joined the others, but stuck mostly to watching the play, only joining an occasional round and for low stakes.

As the sun set, the docks disappeared into the darkness, but oil lamps cast a warm glow around the men. The beer continued to flow freely and the number of players dwindled as the losers bemoaned their luck. The stakes grew higher among the remaining players; their noise attracted an audience of men picking favorites and making side bets on the rolls. Hemhat was acknowledged to be the winner of the evening, amassing a stack of coins and tokens despite his increasingly reckless play.

Eyes bright, he peered up at Bhaskar. “Play with us. I have all the luck tonight. Maybe I will rub off on you.”

Bhas blushed. Hemhat had certainly rubbed off on him over the last few nights and he had little will to deny the man now. One or two more wagers couldn’t hurt and it would please his friend. He dropped a few coins into the pot and picked up the smooth bones. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he tossed them into the circle.

There was a collective intake of breath as the bones settled.

“I told you.” Hemhat gathered the winnings and pushed them into a pile in front of Bhaskar. Several more men dropped out, shaking their heads as they joined the onlookers.

“Again,” Hemhat insisted.

Bhas shook his head. “My budget.”

“But you are winning.”

As before, Hemhat’s imploring kohl-rimmed eyes proved Bhaskar’s undoing. He allowed himself to be persuaded to let his winnings ride and cast again. Their winnings grew. One by one the other men dropped out of play until only Bhaskar and Hemhat remained.

“Satisfied?” Bhas smiled indulgently at Hemhat. “Truly, a lucky night.”

“No, no.” Hemhat pouted. “You won’t quit now? One of us must win the pot!”

Bhaskar shook his head firmly. “I’m ahead. You’re ahead. Let’s call it a night, yes?”

“Winner takes all!”

“Easy to say, when you have less to lose,” Bhaskar teased.

“You’ve already taken your stake out and you didn’t even want to play. The worst that could happen is you wind up exactly as you started.” Hemhat considered their winnings, obviously dissatisfied with his smaller pile. “You want me to sweeten the pot. Here.” He flashed a wicked look at Bhas before reaching out to push the little crate into his pile and then shoving the whole thing into the middle.

“You cannot…Ptahhotep. Your job.” But Bhaskar sounded unconvincing even to himself.

Hemhat seemed to sense his weakness, though he could not know how desperately Bhas now wanted to play. “I would not have it now, if you had not found it. I knew when I started the night the gods would favor me and I was destined to win.” Without asking, he scooped Bhaskar’s mound of coins and tokens into the pile, creating one large pot next to the crate of goods.

Were they really going to do this?

No, he hadn’t wanted to play, but he had amassed a substantial profit nonetheless. The amount would make his first weeks in Alexandria easier. Was he really going to risk the entire sum? And what about Hemhat? He was glowing now, but if he woke in the morning with no winnings and having lost a valuable part of his inventory, he would not be so happy. Bhas thought, not for the first time, that his friend was young to have the responsibility for so many goods on such a long journey. He reminded Bhas of his many cousins, none of whom would be entrusted to travel so far alone, much less head an expedition.

Hemhat began shaking the knucklebones in his cupped hands. Bhaskar watched him with a sense of dread, but did nothing to stop him. With a confident flick, the young Egyptian cast the astragali onto the deck. They clattered and spun before settling, revealing two convex sides, one concave side, and one round side. The crowd leaned in, counting the points.

“Nineteen,” someone called out, a mix of admiration and envy in his voice. Hemhat shouted with glee, raising his arms and slipping into Egyptian to babble appreciation to several gods.

Bhaskar bit his lip. Hemhat had reason to rejoice. Nineteen was a strong roll.

His gaze strayed to the potential winnings, not the tokens and glittering coins, but the crate. In his mind’s eye, his finger again traced the hieroglyphs along the base of the sundial. Bhaskar the Astronomer. Bhaskar of Alexandria. The potential titles teased his imagination. Perhaps the sundial was a sign from the gods, a sign that Bhaskar had done the right thing by risking everything to come here.

Hemhat pressed the astragali into his hands. Bhas took them absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the crate as though he could see the sundial nestled inside. He shook his hand and the bones began to clatter in his palm. Bhaskar, the astronomer . The cheers and last-minute bets of the crowd around him grew faint. All he could hear was the clack and roll, clack and roll of the bones. He didn’t immediately throw, as he had earlier in the night. For the moment, all things were possible. He could win. He could lose. He could still walk away. He existed on the cusp of fate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hemhat lean forward, eyes alight, to watch the throw. For a confused instant, it wasn’t Hemhat, but a younger boy who leaned forward in anticipation. Memories of home flickered, his cousins urging him to bet, to win.

The price of winning.

The astragali in his hand continued to tumble but now the sound changed, the sharp clatter of the bones falling into the softer, more musical clinking of ivory.

With a muttered oath, Bhaskar twisted his wrist on the release, letting the bones fly wildly.

They spun across the deck to the very edge of the circle of shells marking the boundary. The crowd went silent as they began to settle. Convex. Convex. Convex.

“Eighteen,” someone whispered. “He will take it.”

The final bone still spun on its edge.

Bhaskar closed his eyes. Eighteen. He would win. Hemhat would lose.

Then the men let out a disbelieving shout which devolved into loud arguing.

Bhaskar opened his eyes. The final bone rested against the circle of shells, not fully on the deck.

Around him, the men who had been betting on the roll argued the merits.

“Clearly convex,” insisted one. “A perfect score. He wins.”

“He plays that piece again,” another argued.

“No, he throws them all again.” The opinions continued to come as everyone tried to find a rule variation most favorable to his own bet.

Bhaskar thought longingly of the sundial in its nest of straw, then he raised his voice to be heard. “Out of bounds,” he stated firmly. “Hemhat takes the pot.”

Many of the onlookers protested, but Bhaskar ignored them. Hemhat began tossing coins into the air and letting them rain back down—oblivious to the fact that many disappeared into quick hands before they made it onto the deck. With some effort, Bhaskar persuaded him to gather his winnings and the crate. It had grown late, and he herded the boisterous and distinctly weaving cargo master to his sleeping mat at the other end of the deck. Once there, Hemhat promptly collapsed onto the mat and began to snore. Bhaskar stayed a few minutes, placing a light blanket over him and making sure his curtains and canopies were secure in case the wind should pick up. Then he made his way to a more secluded portion of the deck.

Sudha found him leaning against the railing and gazing out into the darkness.

“Are you sure you will be okay on your own tomorrow?”

"Uncle, you worry too much. We just survived a long sea voyage, during which you recited hymns to Varuna every waking moment to protect us from storms. Then you spent a fortune at every shrine and waystation in the Eastern Desert so the local deities would protect us from bandits and heat. Now, on our trip down the Nile, you refuse to wear any color but red because ‘crocodiles abhor red.’”

“None of that will save me from your mother if something happens to you.”

“Tomorrow I will be in Alexandria. What harm could befall me in a city of scholars?”

Sudha looked unconvinced. “I don’t know what you said to your family to convince them this trip is a good idea, but they would want me to make sure you arrive safely. Rome isn’t going anywhere.”

“I managed on my own all the way to Barygaza. I can make it through the streets of one city. Anyway, you should be with your cargo. Rome may wait, but your ship will not.”

“Ah, nephew. I forgot you are Bhaskar the Lucky and the gods favor you. I heard you took a large pot tonight, though even that would not reassure your mother.”

Bhas hesitated. He did not explain to his uncle that there were always two sides to luck. Finally he confessed, “I lost at the end.”

Sudha sucked in a shocked breath.

“It is a good thing, Uncle, truly a sign from the gods.” Bhaskar smiled as he gazed out into the darkness. “We are not in Badrinath anymore. In Alexandria, I will not be Acharya Vasudeva’s son or Bhaskar the Lucky. Here, I will be Bhaskar the Astronomer.”