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

Chapter One

Alexandria

Bhaskar snuck another glance across the room. The tavern bustled with activity, filled with the sounds of laughter, animated conversations, and the clinking of mugs. Oil lamps flickered on the wooden tables, casting warm, dancing shadows on the walls adorned with woven tapestries and clay tablets.

The man against the wall hadn’t looked his way once, but somehow awareness stretched between them. Or maybe the feeling was all on Bhaskar’s end. Despite his conviction that the stranger was watching him, Bhas hadn’t caught the man so much as glancing this direction.

He frowned, not sure what fueled his own fascination. Hemhat had been a charming companion on the Nile, but Bhas dreamed of meeting a man of a more intellectual nature. The man across the room appeared more inclined to athleticism. Rather than debating philosophy or their latest scientific theories, the stranger and his companions were engaged in a loud discussion of a recent pankration tournament. Instead of the robes of a scholar, he wore nothing but a linen shenti without any adornment except a single amulet on a cord around his neck.

Of course, many Egyptians didn’t cover their chests. In the ever-present heat, Bhas had begun to envy the style. His own dark curls were covered by a lightweight linen headscarf he had purchased to replace his heavier pagri, but he couldn’t imagine displaying his torso in public like a laborer on a farm.

The man was muscular, maybe a pankratiast himself. His bare head was shaved close, and most of his facial hair had been removed except some carefully defined areas along the jawline and chin. The fashion looked appealing but more difficult to maintain than the clean-shaven faces of many Egyptians and Greeks. Bhas touched his own, longer beard and wondered what style scholars here favored.

The stranger was dark as well. Bhaskar himself was not as light skinned as his mother’s family and on his father’s side, many of his cousins were a warm brown akin to polished teak. But he had never seen skin as dark as this man, even on the trek through the Eastern desert where the Bedouins were baked by the blazing sun.

The man lifted his hand, gesturing to one of the servers. Light from the lamps caught the sculpted contours of his chest and Bhaskar took a sip of his watered wine to combat the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“That was an exciting tournament.” Alexandros, one of the men at Bhaksar’s table leaned in, obviously mistaking what had drawn his interest. “The champion will fight again in a few days. You haven’t missed your chance to see him.”

“I am here to study at the Mouseion,” he responded diplomatically. He had no interest in the brutal sport, but didn’t want to offend an obvious fan by saying so.

This tavern was not as he had expected. Alexandria was a famed center of learning. When he dreamed of coming here, he had envisioned the public areas filled with elevated conversations as students and tutors discussed their work. Living his whole life in the mountains had not prepared him for the vast, bustling metropolis of Alexandria. Hemhat had suggested this establishment, and while the cargo master had made the voyage more lively, he was hardly an intellectual. Bhaskar could well imagine him here, discussing the recent pankration tournament or upcoming chariot races.

Shortly after he’d arrived, three men had approached and asked to share Bhaskar’s table. The crowded atmosphere would have made anything but assent unthinkable and Bhaskar had been thrilled to share his table with some locals. Alexandros, Kleon, and Demetrios had seemed amused that he ate no meat, but nonetheless recommended several dishes. When Bhas complimented them on their selection, his questions about the spices prompted them to recommend several other taverns, including where to see the most beautiful dancing girls.

No one had broached more refined topics, so Bhas was surprised when his mention of the Mouseion drew an immediate reaction.

“The Mouseion! I should have guessed you were a scholar.” Kleon nodded to the others as if this explained everything about Bhas. “Our king and queen are bringing the brightest minds here. Wait until you see our library.”

The boasting tone surprised Bhaskar. Maybe he had misjudged these men. He leaned forward. “I go tomorrow. Does it really contain as many scrolls as they say?”

“More,” Kleon promised earnestly. “On every subject known to man. If you are a scholar, maybe you will contribute one of your own one day. What do you study?”

“The movements of the celestial bodies.” Bhaskar stopped himself from diving into an explanation of his research. His friends at home teased him regularly about monopolizing the conversation with his measurements and equations. These strangers would not be interested in the intricacies of calculating the earth’s circumference or predicting a solar eclipse.

Once again he was in for a surprise. “Really? What a coincidence.” Alexandros gestured to his companions. “My friends and I have an interest in astronomy as well. Will you be invited to view the armillary spheres or perhaps the Great Library’s collection of star charts?”

Bhaskar regarded the men with new interest. “Indeed! I am told there is a large model I can use. Tomorrow I will visit the library for the first time and I have been promised introductions to other scholars, perhaps even Eratosthenes.”

He said the last with great daring, almost afraid to hope for the possibility.

Demetrios whistled appreciatively at this. “I have caught a few glimpses of the head librarian, but have never even been invited to hear him lecture. You must be an important visitor. Are you staying in the palace complex itself?”

Embarrassed, Bhaskar waved this off. “No, no. I am a lowly student. I’m staying with Andros, the Mathematician.” With wasn’t entirely accurate, as Andros was not home. But he had left instructions that Bhaskar should be provided rooms and made welcome.

The palace might have been a possibility under different circumstances, but that would have required using his family’s connections. Maybe in time, but for now he would rely on the strength of his own reputation. Based on their years of correspondence, Andros had promised him a place to stay and assured him that his work would qualify him for a small stipend so he could continue his research here in Alexandria.

“Where does your friend live? I hope the neighborhood is convenient to the library. If not, perhaps we can recommend you a better place.”

“No need. I am well situated just off Canopic Street.”

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the tavern grew livelier. Alexandros and his companions ensured Bhaskar's cup was never empty, plying him with stronger wine. The sweet, potent drink warmed his insides and loosened his tongue. They continued to discuss astronomy, though it became increasingly clear that his new acquaintances were more enthusiastic than knowledgeable. Alexandros made grand gestures, speaking vaguely of the stars’ influence on human fate, while Kleon nodded sagely and Demetrios offered anecdotes that strayed more into myth than science.

They were not the intellectuals Bhas had come to Alexandria seeking, but their interest was gratifying. They listened raptly as he described how Eratosthenes had calculated the circumference of the earth and how he was modifying some of the equations for his own research. Then he made the mistake of revealing the goal of his equations.

Kleon and Demetrios laughed uproariously. “Is that the type of research the kins is paying for these days? Everyone knows the sun circles the earth.”

Perhaps he had had too much wine, or perhaps scientific principle would always make him over-bold, but this time diplomacy failed him. He drew himself up. “My studies indicate the earth moves around the sun. Proving the theory is why I am here.”

Alexandros shot the others a look and they all quieted their laughter. “Don’t take them seriously, my friend. We are amateurs, after all, and you are a learned astronomer.”

“No offense taken,” Bhaskar agreed. The pain of having his work ridiculed was all too familiar. He reached for his wine, only to find his cup finally empty.

Alexandros continued to placate him. “I for one am very interested in this theory, but it has grown late. If you are near Canopic Street, I am headed the same direction. Perhaps we can walk together and you can explain your theory in more detail.”

Bhaskar looked around, surprised to find the tavern almost empty. “Yes, I should return to my lodging,” he agreed somewhat blearily. “Big day tomorrow.”

Outside, the cool night air was a welcome relief. The streets were dimly lit with only the light of occasional oil lamps casting long shadows on the dark, stone-paved road. With some dismay, Bhaskar realized he had drunk more than he realized. It was a good thing he had a companion to walk with him through the unfamiliar streets. Then Alexandros prompted him to continue their conversation, and he launched back into his favorite topic as they walked.

Alexandros listened intently, nodding as they turned into a more residential street. The smell of spices and incense lingered in the air, mixing with the salty tang of the sea.

“So you see, the movements of the planets make much more sense if we consider that the earth orbits the sun. This would explain the retrograde motion we observe,” Bhas concluded when they reached his residence.

“You make a good argument, my friend,” Alexander nodded. “I will certainly have to think on this more.”

He then gave a polite nod and disappeared down the road into the dark.

Bhaskar, slightly unsteady on his feet from the wine, fumbled with the latch on the gate.

Before he could make his way inside, he was accosted by two men with strips of cloth wound around their heads to obscure their faces. One grabbed him roughly, and snarled, “Let’s go inside.”

Bhaskar shrank away. “Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“Just to look around,” the other man said. He spoke Greek, his voice low and cultured. He held a finally honed bronze dagger with the casual ease another man might hold a papyrus scroll. “You will tell the servants we are your friends.”

“No, no, I am but a guest. Please, I don’t want to bring trouble to my host.”

“No trouble,” the Greek promised. “You only need to get us inside. No one will be harmed if you do as we say.”

Bhas might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. He could not let these men into the house, but he didn’t know how he could prevent them.

His fear gave him an opening. The man holding him obviously did not view him as a threat. With a final shake as he let go, the other man tucked the dagger away, out of sight.

Bhaskar didn’t have to fake his trembling as he lifted the gate latch. Terror chased away the fog of alcohol but constricted his chest until the blood rushed in his ears and black dots swam before his eyes. He said a desperate prayer to Durga. Far away, he heard the sound of ivory striking ivory. He would have to believe his luck had not completely abandoned him. He gave what he hoped was a believable drunken stumble against the low wall next to the gate, making sure he wound up facing the street. He gave another drunken weave as he pushed himself off the wall. Then he took the only option he could think of.

He ran.

Curses in Greek and Egyptian split the night, then the sound of footsteps pounding after him. In the distance the ivory dice continued their roll. Bhaskar remembered the hard grip of the man who had held him and the glint of the dagger, and pushed himself to greater speed. He was not an athlete, but he played kabaddi regularly with his cousins. He was fast, at least for short distances. He turned toward Canopic Street, hoping to find other people, or even one of the city guard. He could see the broad avenue ahead. His breath came in gasps, but he began to hope he would make it. There must be easier houses for these thieves to rob rather than chasing him.

Just then, something hit him from behind, sending him flying to the ground. Before he could scramble up, a foot caught him in the ribs, driving the breath from his body. He tucked his lean frame into a tight ball and tried to protect his head, but he knew it was useless. One man could beat him to a pulp and the other could simply filet him like a fish. For a moment, there was utter silence in the street except for the harsh breathing of three men.

Bhaskar risked a glance up. The larger man towered over him. He drew back his foot for another kick. As Bhaskar curled into a tighter ball, the phantom dice stopped rolling.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed to Saraswati to comfort his mother.