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

Chapter Six

“I…do not know,” Bhaskar said. “I have always assumed the gods could still hear my prayers no matter how far from India I travel.” Although perhaps this line of reasoning explained his bad luck since arriving in the city.

He was in the home of Euryleon the Philosopher, along with a dozen or so other scholars from the Mouseion. After only two weeks in the city, he was lucky to receive an invitation from someone as important as Euryleon and Bhas wanted to be enjoying himself. Refreshments had been set up in the garden, which was furnished with reclining couches and low tables in groups to encourage conversation. He had chosen to sit upright, rather than recline, a decision that had invited his current predicament. The elderly man with whom he spoke had simply joined him on the couch.

“But surely,” the man leaned closer, invading his space, “if the same gods were here in Alexandria, we would know of them and worship them, too.”

As far as Bhaskar could see, Alexandria had adopted a large number of foreign gods and invented a few more for good measure. He doubted this observation would be welcome, so he merely smiled.

“The Hindu gods are clearly inferior. For example, I have heard that they do not have the power to grant eternal life. You should make offerings to Osiris and at least secure your place in the afterlife.”

“I…” Bhaskar stumbled, not sure how to explain the concept of moksha. It was not that he did not know religious theory. Indeed, he had memorized large portions of the Vedas long before he took up astronomy. But while he could argue his radical heliocentric theory passionately, he disliked presenting an opinion with no math or observational data to back it up.

Anyway, this elder was clearly frightened, clinging desperately to the idea of immortality as he neared the end of his current life. He did not seek enlightenment, but to cheat death. Trying to explain the concept of spiritual liberation might only upset him more.

“Leave the boy alone,” came a voice. Another man, this one with sun-darkened skin and a chiton dyed a deep blue, approached them. “You sound like one of those cultists who believe they will live forever. Even the pharaohs pass into the afterlife.”

“And the heroes are immortalized in the stars,” Bhaskar pointed out, hoping to find a non-controversial example. “They don’t walk among us still.”

His words did not have the pacifying effect he had hoped. The old man called him several Greek words Bhaskar had never heard, and ended with, “You will wish you had listened to me. Fools who ignore Osiris will suffer the eternal consequences.”

They both stared after him as he abruptly crossed his arms over his chest, then stalked away. The newcomer smiled ruefully. “Don’t mind him. Agappius has always been prone to zealotry and conspiracies. I’m Tiro of Rhodes. You are new here, are you not?”

“Yes, I am Bhaskar, would you like to sit?”

Tiro settled onto the couch next to him and offered a bowl of figs. “I’m old-fashioned. I prefer Helios and Poseidon to these Egyptian deities, but a man’s gods are his own businesses. Except,” he amended conscientiously, “our divine rulers, of course. You need not have any fear I will try to convert you.”

“Why do you suppose he approached me in such a manner?”

“I am sure it was Euryleon’s doing.” Tiro gestured to the men around them, some in low conversation, and others arguing loudly. “He likes his entertainments to be lively, but sometimes he stirs the pot too vigorously.”

After that they fell into more general conversation. Euryleon’s gatherings were popular with the intellectuals of the Mouseion, but Tiro laughed when Bhaskar inquired about his field of study.

“I am a sea captain, not one of our king’s great thinkers.”

Despite this disclaimer, he was able to speak knowledgeably about the constellations, which he used to navigate, and the way the phases of the moon coincided with the tides. He quizzed Bhaskar about his journey, especially the ocean portion and told a number of amusing anecdotes about his own voyages. He also recounted several close calls, storms and encounters with pirates and even smugglers who had tried to hide stolen goods among the cargo on his ship.

Eventually, Tiro excused himself saying he had meetings with some investors the next morning. Bhaskar realized the sun had set. Lamps had been lit on the tables and torches around the periphery of the garden. Conversations at the nearby tables had not abated, but the servers had kept the wine flowing and some of the arguments were more passionate than reasoned.

The men closest to him were deep into a political debate which he had no desire to join. A little farther away he recognized several botanists, another subject to which he would have little to contribute. A third group consisted primarily of antiquarians, who might be interested in his inscriptions, but suddenly it seemed too much effort to try and make their acquaintance.

He thanked his host and made his way out to the street.

He knew the real reason he had not had the energy to join the other conversations. It was not many men he wished to spend the evening with, but one. The one who had left with the words, I will see you soon .

After the glow of their night together faded, Bhaskar realized how little he knew about Anu. They had talked for hours over dinner, but when he recalled the conversation, specifics were as intangible as starlight. He did not even know how to reach the other man except, if he saw anyone suspicious, he should send word through Eratosthenes.

He had been half asleep and not thinking about anything except Anu’s beautiful dark eyes and ebony skin. He should have asked questions. How did Anu know Eratosthenes? What did he expect to happen? And if anything did happen, why would Bhas not simply call the guard?

After weeks of no communication, the conclusion was obvious. Anu had not found their encounter meaningful. Bhas had briefly considered speaking to Eratosthenes, or inventing a reason to call for Anu, but quickly discarded this idea. He was not his father, but he had some dignity. He had pursued men before and learned by hard experience that one-sided affections quickly withered and turned to pain.

He reminded himself of this wisdom as he walked. He was not a young boy to have his head turned by dark eyes and sculpted muscles. There were many attractive men at the Mouseion. Men who shared his interests and would stimulate his intellect as well as his baser desires. Tiro, even, had been a pleasant companion and well formed, although Bhas did not think he would want to worry about a seaman, away on the treacherous waters for months at a time.

Even as he lectured himself, the scent of jasmine wafted on the air and he remembered walking these same streets with Anu at his side. He could almost believe he detected a hint of sandalwood and frankincense, lingering like a whispered secret. His eyes wandered to the darkened gardens of the grand houses, seeking the flowers that perfumed the night. This district was wealthy, and the homes were surrounded by sycamore figs, acacias, and oleanders in addition to the frequent jasmine.

The moon provided plenty of light for his walk, yet within the gardens the shadows pooled under the trees and along the walls of the buildings. A slight rustling caught his attention, and his eyes were drawn to a grove of pomegranate trees. His heart went cold.

Two pairs of red eyes stared at him from the shadows.

He slowed his pace and tried to slow his heart to match. The eyes must belong to be some rich homeowner’s pet—perhaps a pair of the hunting dogs favored by the Greeks. Or maybe a pair of cats. The Egyptians revered their cats and many kept them as pampered pets. Even more of the animals roamed the streets of the city freely.

But no cat would have eyes that high and that large.

He slowed more. Perhaps the creature perched in the tree. He had no reason to assume it meant him any harm, and yet…his footsteps dragged even slower.

“Did you have a pleasant evening with your friends?”

Bhaskar started. Even as he whirled around toward the speaker, the scent of sandalwood and frankincense enveloped him and he found himself relaxing. Anu.

“Very enjoyable,” he said, trying to marshal his thoughts and feelings. He had resigned himself to not seeing Anu again. He had been hurt by the lack of contact. Yet now that Aun was here, Bhaskar’s spirits rose despite the conflict in his head.

“I told you they would be all over you.”

“Because I am from Bharat.”

“Travelers, much less scholars, all the way from Indos are not common even at the palace. Why are you frowning? Your homeland will open many doors for you.”

“I want them to respect my work. I am not a…a…giraffe”—he picked the most exotic animal he could think of—“or a zebra in Ptolemy’s menagerie.”

“Are you sure?” Anu’s large hand cupped Bhaskar’s nape and his thumb skimmed over the pulse in his throat making him shiver. “You have a long, graceful neck and I have heard the giraffe is golden as well.” He considered for a moment, then grinned and continued. “They are said to have big soulful eyes and long legs that carry them across the plains like the winds.”

Bhaskar snorted. Then, unable to deny his curiosity, “I’ve heard they are taller than a date palm. Does the pharaoh really have one?”

“I have not seen the animal, but they say it will be part of the public procession during the next Ptolemaieia. We might see it then if there is no sooner opportunity.”

Bhaskar gave up on trying to sort out his feelings and questioned Anu eagerly about the dates and where the procession would pass. He gave a brief glance toward the pomegranate grove as they turned back toward his destination. Whatever had been in the shadows was gone, probably frightened away by Anu’s appearance.

The conversation continued to flow freely as they walked.

“Why are you here?” Bhas finally asked, as his home came in sight.

“You promised to show me the heroes in the stars.”

After a few more steps, when Bhaskar had not answered, “Are you still willing to do so, or was it just to lure me back to bed?”

“Yes. Of course. We can go now, even.” Anu’s uncertainty mirrored his own misgivings so closely that Bhaskar rushed to reassure him. “We will go to the roof where we have a clear view of the sky.”

They entered his dwelling and he led Anu up the stairs. He could not help but remember the last time they had made this journey together, but he did not pause as they passed the landing where his room awaited.

The rooftop was not lavishly furnished, but it was comfortable with a few benches and clusters of potted herbs and small plants. Bhaskar ignored the benches and went to the corner of the roof where several rolled linen mats were stored. The heat had not yet forced him from his bed, but the servants had showed him the mats should he wish to move to the cooler roof.

He and Anu each chose a mat and placed them in the middle of the roof where they would have the widest view of the sky. Then they settled onto their backs, side by side and gazed into the heavens.

Sandalwood and frankincense filled the air along with the heady scent of Anu himself. Bhaskar’s body betrayed him, heat coiling in his stomach. He had never reacted to a man this strongly before. After their previous encounter, he feared he could not separate his heart from his body.

Anyway, Anu had only asked for stories.

Around them, the busy city lay hushed for the night except for a few trilling night birds and the occasional chirp of insects. Bhaskar allowed his gaze to roam the sky, a landscape as familiar and comforting to him as the hills of Badrinath and more exciting than the races at the hippodrome. The mysteries of the universe were written in the stars. He wanted Anu to understand his fascination with the heavens and love them as he did. What could he offer of the stars that might hold Anu’s attention?

“Look there,” he said softly, tracing an invisible line with his hand. “That’s Orion—The Hunter. The Greeks call him a hero. In India, we call him Mrigrashira. Do you see the tree stars in a row? That’s his belt.”

Anu leaned in closer so he could follow Bhaskar’s gaze along his outstretched arm. “I see it. I have heard of Orion. He was a giant, was he not?” Anu’s voice was soft as well, with a slight rasp of some emotion. His proximity sent a warm current through Bhaskar, who had to swallow before he continued.

“Yes, in Greek stories Orion was a giant and a hunter who even the gods admired for his skill. He was eventually brought down by a scorpion. See there?” He pointed toward another group of stars. “That is Scorpius, the Scorpion. The Greeks say the gods placed him in the sky to chase Orion across the heavens.”

“I believe,” Bhaskar continued cautiously, “that the Egyptians named the constellation for Osiris, but I am not very familiar with the story.”

Anu shifted his head even closer, as though considering the stars, but it meant their shoulders now pressed together and their heads were mere inches apart as well. “You show me Osiris,” he said wonderingly. “The god of life and death and the ruler of the underworld.”

“Is he important to you?”

“He is important to all Egyptians. Every year, when the Nile floods, it’s Osiris coming back to life. He brings life to the fields and thus to our people.” He spoke with no hesitation, as though it was a story he had heard many times before. “People say he is just, and even the pharaohs wish to be like him when they pass into the next world.”

This was both more and less than Callius had told him. But Callius had not spoken with the soft reverence Anu displayed and he did not smell of sandalwood and frankincense. Bhaskar wanted to know more, but he also did not want to delve into religion, where even he and his father, raised in the same faith, disagreed.

To his surprise, Anu broached the subject. “And what of your stories?” he asked, his voice still soft but full of something more than idle curiosity—something deeper. “What are the stars to the people of Indos? Bharat.” He corrected, copying the term Bhaskar used for his homeland.

Bhaskar paused, his heart hammering unexpectedly at Anu’s question. “In my homeland, Mrigashira represents the gentle deer’s head, a sign of innocence and curiosity.” His voice lowered. “It’s said those born under this star are seekers…always searching for something."

He had been born under the sign of Mrigashira.

Anu shifted, turning on one side and propping himself on an elbow so he looked down at Bhaskar, blocking out most of the night sky. “And what are you searching for, Bhaskar?"

The intensity in Anu’s voice made Bhaskar’s breath catch. The night air felt warmer, the stars above them humming with quiet, ancient energy. For a moment, he couldn’t find his words. Anu’s proximity overwhelmed his senses and the touch of their bodies sent reason from his mind.

Bhaskar shifted slightly, clearing his throat. “There,” he said, pointing to another constellation to break the sudden tension, “That is Perseus, another hero. He saved a princess from a sea monster. The Greeks tell many stories of such things—bravery, sacrifice.”

But Anu wasn’t looking at the sky anymore. He leaned closer, his breath warm against Bhaskar’s cheek as he whispered, “And do you believe in such things, Bhaskar? In heroes?"

Bhaskar’s hand faltered midair. He turned toward Anu, their faces now just inches apart. He could feel the weight of the moment, the pull between them, like the stars themselves drawing them together. His voice was a whisper. “Perhaps. But not all heroes fight monsters.”

Anu’s hand slid from Bhaskar’s shoulder down to his wrist, the touch gentle but full of intent. “No,” Anu murmured. “Some heroes just find what they’re searching for.”