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

Chapter Eight

Later, Bhaskar lay draped over Anu’s impressive chest. Lazily, he stoked his hand against the dark skin. A wealthy pilgrim to Badrinath had once showed him a black sapphire. Gazing into the polished stone, Bhaskar had felt as if the very essence of the night sky had been crystalized into its core. Anu’s skin was the same dark hue, as if he held power over light itself. If oiled, his skin would gleam with the same brilliance as the precious jewel.

Something strange occurred to him. “How did you know about the chariot?”

“Many people told me.” Anu sounded just as lazy. “You are known in this quarter, my star.”

Who knew him—and they had told Anu? The thought that Anu had shown enough interest for his friends to notice soothed the irritation of feeling as though he stood out as some exotic curiosity among the throngs of Alexandrians.

In the days that followed, he realized that once again he still had not learned as much about Anu as it seemed. He didn’t know where he lived, for instance. He knew that Anu’s family was from Kush, but not if they had recently arrived in Alexandria or had been here for generations. Anu spoke fluent Greek and Egyptian, but Bhaskar could not tell if his accent was that of a native Alexandrian.

He was not a pankratiast, but he had somehow failed to mention his actual profession. They had spoken at length of Bhaskar’s job, and Anu had followed the conversation with more understanding than Bhas had expected. This indicated a degree of education which contrasted with his simple attire. His shenti was of fine linen, but with no decorative dye or embroidery and his utilitarian sandals of good quality leather. The talisman from his grandfather was of irreplaceable worth; it was impossible to gauge its monetary value. The only other adornment had been the copper bands at his biceps one night and the stones in his ears tonight. He had obviously wanted to appear well. If his most prized jewelry was copper, Bhas thought it likely he had very limited funds. Perhaps Kushites did not adorn themselves, but Anu appeared to have adopted Egyptian fashion and the Egyptian elite placed a high value on fine clothing and jewelry to fit their status.

At least he no longer needed to fret over whether he would see the man again. After each meeting, Anu always suggested another outing. He had taken Bhaskar into the labyrinth of souks for shopping, surprising him with the discovery of a spice merchant from Pataliputra. Both Bhas and the merchant had been delighted, instantly lapsing into Sanskrit. He had not realized how much he missed his native tongue.

And the merchant had cardamom and cumin! The servants eyed the strange-colored powders with skepticism but did their best to incorporate them into his meals at home.

They had gone to several plays. Anu enjoyed phlyakes best. Bhaskar found them entertaining, but was not yet enough of an Alexandrian to appreciate the satire. They had even attended some poetry recitals.

They had also dined again with Meroe and Kharaka at their Kushite restaurant. Here they had come the closest to a disagreement. Bhaskar’s mind had still been half on a particularly interesting hieroglyph from the sundial. Sitting across from Anu, he had recalled the many hieroglyphs in the necropolis and wondered if he and Callius might find clues there.

“Might we go to the necropolis again?” If he recognized the hieroglyph anywhere, he could make a sketch or return with Callius.

“Anytime you wish.”

“Many of the tombs are very old.”

Anu smiled indulgently. “Someday I will take you to visit one of the great tombs of the ancient kings. Our necropolis is quite modern.”

“Still, some of the carvings are very delicate. It is a wonder they survive intact.”

“They survive—until greedy hands defile them,” Anu said sharply, a rare edge to his voice. “The necropolis is guarded for a reason. Thieves have no respect, not even for the resting places of the ancient god-kings. Last year, a trove of gold artifacts from a tomb in Thebes was seized just before it could be melted down. The jackals find it easier to profit from the gold than to risk suspicion by seeking a buyer for the artifacts themselves.”

“They were going melt them ?” Horrified, Bhaskar imagined some ignorant thief melting his sundial. Of course, the sundial wasn’t authentic, but it might be a replica of a lost artifact. “Do they care nothing for the knowledge they would destroy?”

Anu’s eyes darkened. “And I suppose you think it better that the treasures of kings be sold to rich collectors? You intellectuals are as bad the raiders themselves. They will steal as long as you will pay them.”

“Better to sell them than melt them down.”

“Better to leave them where they belong.”

“They are pieces of history,” Bhaskar protested. “They should be studied by scholars so the knowledge is not lost nor the ancients forgotten.”

“You would defile the resting places of the dead so you may pore over their belongings?”

“I…” The dead did not need their bodies, much less their possessions. But this was an argument Anu clearly would not hear. Anyway, they had one point of agreement and Bhas returned to it, anxious to keep the peace. “You are right. They should not be stolen.”

Anu appeared to relax a fraction at this. “The ancients are not forgotten. The priests guard their knowledge and tend their tombs.”

Bhas hesitated, but couldn’t help pushing a little further. “Perhaps…perhaps a few historians could be granted entrance to copy and preserve the wisdom within?”

“They should be left in peace. Do not let your thirst for knowledge blind you to what is right,” Anu warned.

He studied Bhaskar broodingly for a moment. “More than one of your brethren have come to grief over this issue. There are always people willing to sell and eager to buy. If you know of anyone who has purchased a stolen relic, it is your duty to report them to the temple.”

“I…I have heard they are very harsh.”

“They uphold the law and protect the tombs of the gods.” His gaze sharpened. “Bhaskar, do you know something? Has one of those papyrus hoarders at the Mouseion boasted of a new treasure?”

“No!” He shook his head vigorously. “No, of course not. Who would confide in me? I am newly arrived and hardly know anyone.”

But, he realized uneasily, Euryleon had shown him several carved limestone stelae he claimed depicted the musings of ancient Egyptian philosophers. He had insisted they were replicas, but the hieroglyphs and worn edges looked strikingly authentic. The stelae stood on wooden pedestals in an alcove of his study. There were other items as well—bronze amulets, papyrus fragments, and ceramic jars.

Looking back, it seemed strange to display replicas with such pride, but the items were not hidden. All the guests had seen them, including some antiquarians who would have known if they were authentic. If they were illegal plunder, surely Euryleon would not exhibit them so boldly.

He had not felt at ease with the philosopher, but the thought of the burly temple guards hauling him away for judgment left Bhaskar queasy. No, Euryleon had said the items were replicas. There was no reason to disbelieve him.

Anu turned the subject to the upcoming Ptolemaieia and they passed the rest of the meal in better harmony. But when they reached Bhaskar’s gate, Anu turned to him. “I cannot stay tonight. I have things I must attend to.”

“Are you still angry about the thieves?”

“I am always angry at the thieves, but I am not angry with you.” He reached out to stroke Bhaskar’s arms. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you? If you learned of anything illegal? Even if you didn’t go to the temple, you would confide in me?”

Anu was asking for his trust. Bhas thought of all the parts of himself that Anu kept guarded. He had not realized how hard it was for him to let down his defenses. He wanted to reassure him that there would be no secrets between them, but he thought of Callius. Once they’re after someone, the truth becomes irrelevant . Anu, he knew, would go to the temple.

“If I am sure,” he said. “I will not accuse someone without proof.”

Anu pulled him close and held him tightly. “You are so trusting. How did you journey all the way from Indos alone without every charlatan along the way taking advantage of you?”

“You sound like my Uncle Sudha, always predicting something dire. Most people are kind, Anu. I made many friends on my journey.” Bhaskar stroked Anu’s back, wishing he could take away whatever past pain made him so distrustful.

“I have seen a different side of the world than you.” Anu pulled away to look him in the eye. “Please, Bhaskar. Any exposure to the black market can be dangerous. I don’t want you involved, not even by association. If you learn anything, promise you will come to me.”

“You can trust me.” And he meant it. If there was proof.

Hearing the words, Anu drew him tight again and kissed him until Bhaskar was sure he would relent and come upstairs. But though his breath was ragged and his eyes burned with desire, he drew away and bade Bhaskar goodnight. “I will see you tomorrow. We can go to the necropolis again as you wished.”

Bhaskar made his way upstairs to his room. There, he paced with greater and greater agitation although he could not pinpoint the exact source of his anxiety. Finally, he went to the trunk where he kept the sundial. He unwrapped it carefully and cupped it in his hands. As always, it felt warm, as though it had been stored against his heart rather than at the bottom of a trunk. He smelled jasmine, sandalwood, and frankincense. A memory, because the sundial would always be linked in his thoughts with the night he met Anu.

He traced the hieroglyphs on the base. They were as familiar to him now as the constellations and the paths of the heavenly bodies. He even knew many of their meanings: prayers to Ra and Osiris for protection, blessings for the pharaoh and his descendants, and invocations to the stars that guided the living and the dead. There were still some passages they had not fully translated. The most cryptic was near the symbol for Osiris—or perhaps the constellation of Osiris. Bhaskar was convinced it alluded to a celestial alignment or movement, but Callius would not agree. He had not said so, but Bhaskar suspected he favored a more mystical interpretation. Lately, the historian had grown frustrated. He asked repeatedly for the rest of the inscription so he could better translate and would not relent when told there was no more to be had.

Bhas traced the passage as he thought. If Callius thought there was more, the logical conclusion was that someone unskilled had copied the symbols onto the sundial. They had stopped when the base was covered, not realizing the rest was important. He scratched delicately at the gnomon with his thumbnail. There was no flaking, only the smooth resistance of metal. When he tilted it to catch the light, the gold did not simply shine—it seemed to hold the light within, glowing with a richness that felt almost alive. After a while, he wrapped the sundial back in its silk.

Later, he went up to the roof. He pulled out a sleeping mat and stared up at the heavens for a long time.