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

Chapter Two

Instead of the blow he expected, another shout rang out and then came the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle. Bhaskar raised his head. At first, he could make out little in the dark. The larger of his attackers lay on the ground, moaning. The Greek stood with his back to Bhaskar and his knife out. Bhas caught a glimpse of white, then heard the dull thud of something hard hitting flesh. The Greek’s knife flashed as he pivoted to the side with a grunt. Nearer, the larger assailant tried to gain his feet, but again something moved in the night. This time Bhaskar caught the shadow of some weapon as it whistled through the air. The thug on the ground tried to roll away, but cried out as it struck his shoulder.

“Enough,” the Greek called. He held his knife in front of him as his eyes scanned the darkness, seeking their assailant. “There are two of us. You can’t fight us both for long.”

There was no answer.

“Very well,” the Greek finally conceded, “he is yours…for now.”

He extended a hand to the man on the ground and pulled him to his feet. Together they ran away into the night.

Bhaskar rolled to a sitting position. Every breath elicited a sharp pain from his ribs. He pressed a hand to his side, grateful to be alive to feel pain

“Thank you,” he called into the darkness.

No one answered. It was if he had been rescued by a ghost.

Or maybe the new man had rescued him for purposes of his own. Perhaps a slightly drunk Brahmin scholar looked like easy prey.

Then there was another flash of white. The beautiful man from the tavern stepped out of the shadows, linen shenti bright against his dark skin. He held a small cudgel at the ready.

Bhaskar cringed backwards. The man made an irritated noise and lowered the weapon.

A million thoughts flew through Bhaskar’s head. Nothing made any sense. Without thinking he blurted out, “Who are you? Do you normally follow people home from taverns?”

“Do you normally leave taverns late at night with strangers you’ve just met?”

Bhas gaped at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Where I’m from there aren’t many strangers.” And none would attack the son of Acharya Vasudeva of the Badrinarayan Shrine.

Another thought occurred to him. “Are you going to rob me?”

“Are you carrying something very valuable, then?”

“No! A few coins for the tavern.”

The man snorted. “Foreigners are either looking for work or are rich tourists. You don’t look like a laborer.”

The sentiment echoed Bhaskar’s earlier thoughts with unsettling precision, but the man did not sound as though he found a tourist more to his liking than a laborer.

“I’m a scholar,” Bhaskar protested, “here to continue my research at the Mouseion.”

“Of course,” the man agreed politely. But under his breath he muttered, “Even better.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Come, we can’t leave you in the street all night.”

Bhaskar allowed the man to pull him to his feet. His ribs protested the movement, but he ignored them, suddenly enthralled by the man’s firm grip and obvious strength. He was not considered small at home, but he found himself almost at eye level with the broad, sculpted chest that had so captured his attention in the tavern. He forced his gaze upward and met sharp, watchful eyes surrounded by dark, curling lashes.

“Thank you,” he managed. “Again.”

He was still holding the man’s hand. And standing much too close. He forced himself to step away. “I’m Bhaskar.”

“The scholar,” the man agreed. “You may call me Anu.”

Bhas peered up at him. Maybe he was not to be robbed after all. There were other reasons one man might follow another.

“Perhaps,” he ventured, “you might walk with me.”

“I haven’t gone to the trouble of driving off your attackers only to allow you to be set upon again. I will see you to your doorstep.”

This did not sound encouraging, but then Anu bent over and plucked something off the ground. “Here, let me help you.” With deft fingers, he draped the makeshift linen pagri over Bhaskar's head. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he arranged the cloth, carefully tucking Bhaskar's wayward curls beneath the folds.

“You are wise to adopt lighter fabrics. I have seen some foreigners succumb to fevers because they refuse to modify their clothing. Does your religion require you to cover your head?”

Bhaskar blinked, a little surprised that this Egyptian pehlwan would display such insight into other cultures. “It is a common practice, especially during prayers and rituals. It signifies respect and humility. I am not required to wear it, but the men in my family do not go into public bare headed and I choose to keep the practice.”

“Are your family scholars as well?”

“Yes, but they are…yes.” He didn’t want to explain his family just now.

Anu didn’t seem to notice the abrupt answer. He continued to make polite conversation as they retraced their steps. Bhas dared to hope that many of the questions might indicate a personal interest. No, Anu was not the scholar of his dreams, but he could not deny the thrum of attraction he felt for the larger man. Anu moved through the night with a controlled grace. This close, his scent teased Bhaskar. Although obviously a well-trained athlete, there was no trace of the camphor or mustard oil Bhaskar associated with such men. Instead, he caught a combination of sandalwood and frankincense that mingled enticingly with the fresh jasmine from nearby gardens.

Like the care he had taken with Bhaskar’s headwrap, the scent presented an unexpected puzzle, an intriguing intellectual stimulation in addition to Anu’s undeniable physical beauty.

They arrived back at Bhaskar’s gate far too soon. Anu tilted his head. “Will you be all right? If you wish, I can help you wrap your ribs.”

Was he inviting himself in? Bhaskar wanted to say yes. But then he remembered the Greek’s words, tell the servants we are your friends . Why had they wanted in Andros’s house? Was it really a random act of housebreaking? Or had something prompted them to pick this house in particular?

It occurred to him that he knew even less about Anu than Alexandros.

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. “I have a long day tomorrow and should get some sleep.”

“As you wish.” Anu shrugged. “Have a good night, then.”

“Wait.” The word fell out of his mouth before he could think better of it. “You saved my life. I would like to repay you.”

Anu stiffened. “I do not require payment.”

“No, of course not. I misspoke. I merely thought…dinner? You would be doing me another good deed. As you guessed, I am new to the city. I would enjoy companionship.”

Was that too obvious? Or too bold? He wanted to see Anu again.

“Did we not just talk about being too friendly with strangers?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I had never seen those men before. Anyway, you saved my life. Who should I trust more?”

“How did you survive all the way from India?” He held up his hand. “No, don’t answer. I’ll have dinner with you, if only to keep you out of trouble.”

Bhaskar smiled. “Tomorrow night then?”

“Very well. I will meet you here, in the second hour of the night.” With that, Anu turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Somehow, Bhaskar made his way inside and up to his room. Then he paced, his mind whirling. Sleep was impossible; Alexandria pulsed through his veins, more intoxicating than the tavern wine. Had it truly been only this morning that he bade farewell to Sudha and Hemhat on the Nile? Now he stood in the very heart of the world’s knowledge and culture.

The taste of the lentil stew from the tavern lingered on his tongue, the unfamiliar Greek spices only the first of what would be many discoveries. His first day in the city and already he had argued theoretical astronomy in a tavern. Even his encounter with the ruffians on the street seemed a great adventure now that he was safe in his rooms.

He paused at the window to marvel at the vast city. Somewhere out there stood the Great Library, its scrolls holding the knowledge of the world. A giddy laugh escaped him. He, Bhaskar, was finally here, in the city of Euclid and Eratosthenes. His gaze moved higher, to the heavens, their secrets waiting to be unlocked.

His first day and he had met a man.

How could he possibly sleep?

To occupy himself, Bhaskar began to unpack the trunks the attendants had placed in his rooms. Tomorrow, he would step into the great library itself, the famed Mouseion of Alexandria. He would meet other scholars, men dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of the natural world and philosophers who debated ethics, morality, and logic with fervor. He needed an outfit that would proclaim him worthy of joining their esteemed ranks.

And tomorrow night, he would see Anu again. The thought of those keen eyes appraising him sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to look his best, and not just for his new colleagues.

At home, he might have worn silk for such an occasion, but the heat here made silk impossible. He sifted through his clothing until he found a finely woven cotton dhoti with an intricate gold border. The fabric was light enough to not be unbearable in the heat and he could drape the folds in a style that would be elegant, but not too ostentatious for a place of learning…or a casual dinner with a handsome man. But when he reached for the matching uttariya, Bhaskar encountered unexpected resistance. He tugged, and the cloth flew free, landing with a muffled thump. Frowning, he unwrapped the bundled fabric. His heart stopped.

The miniature sundial from Hemhat’s crate sat in his hand.

Bhaskar stared at it in disbelief, his heart racing. How had it ended up here, nestled in his clothing? Had Hemhat secretly gifted it to him? But why? And should he keep it? As questions swirled in his mind, a familiar feeling settled over him—the uncanny sense that once again, the gods had rolled the dice to favor Bhaskar the Lucky.

Excitement soon eclipsed his fleeting guilt. The item truly was exquisite. Hemhat knew his passion for astronomy and Bhaskar had supported his win the night before. Surely, he had concealed this token of his appreciation to avoid Bhaskar's protests, planning to be far away when the discovery was made.

The sundial’s polished surface caught the lamplight, its golden gnomon casting a miniature shadow. As he gazed upon it, the smooth stone base almost seemed to absorb the distant warmth of the lamp’s flame. Heat travelled up Bhaskar’s arm and suffused his body. From nowhere, he caught a whiff of sandalwood and frankincense, the scent of Anu as they walked the jasmine-scented streets of Alexandria. He blinked, and the elusive scent disappeared; the stone cooled, warmed only by his touch. The sense that he perched on the precipice of something extraordinary receded, but the intricate symbols remained as fascinating as ever.

He scrambled up from the floor and went to his desk where he swept aside the clutter of scrolls he had already unpacked. He held the sundial next to the lamp so he could better examine the inscriptions on the base. The cartouche for Ra stood out, but the celestial symbols surrounding it were what captured his attention. Despite his rudimentary grasp of hieroglyphs, the descriptions of heavenly bodies appeared remarkably accurate. Could the sundial’s maker have copied text from an authentic relic? If so, he might hold in his hands the words of an ancient astronomer.

The idea of finding ancient secrets on a sundial destined for a curio shop in Rome seemed far-fetched, unless the gods had once again intervened. For the first time in years, Bhaskar did not mind being lucky or wonder how the gods might balance the scales.

There was only one way to prove or disprove his wild fantasy. Bhaskar unrolled a fresh piece of papyrus and set to work deciphering the ancient script.