King.
He looked up from his work when I came in, a litter of scrolls before him and a wax tablet, the stylus in his hand. “Settled in, Lydias?”
“I suppose,” I said. I had nothing to settle but a tent. I had not looked at the plan to see if there was a number with my name beside it. I supposed there was. The Hipparch of an Ile should have a substantial lot, but I didn't see any reason to look at it. There was no one who would care if anything were ever built there.
“Good, because three days from now you and I are leaving for Memphis.”
I must have looked startled. Ptolemy stretched his legs out under the writing table. “I need to see Cleomenes and work this out in person. He's a friend of Perdiccas, which makes it politically difficult, as he seems to have problems with Persians and Egyptians alike. Not to mention that the taxes he's supposed to have been spending on construction in Alexandria for the last three years haven't been spent here. The city walls haven't even been begun, not so much as a foundation laid. You're coming with me as my aide because I need a man who can handle the politics.”
“Sir, I am no politician,” I began.
Ptolemy frowned. “You handled Artamenes in Pelousion ideally. The only other who can do as well is Artashir, but I can't bring him to Memphis. Bringing a Persian will give insult to the clergy in Memphis, and I need their support. Artashir is staying here to handle the fortification issues and you're coming with me.” He raised a hand before I could say anything. “Yes, I know Artashir is a mounted archer, not a siege engineer. But we must all turn our hand to new things as our duty requires.” He looked at me and his eyes twinkled. “Besides, is politics so different than dealing with horses?”
I laughed. “I suppose not,” I said. “Only we cannot geld for bad temper!”
“I'm considering it,” Ptolemy said.
We sailed up the Nile on a fast galley, one of the narrow-draft lateen-sailed ships the Egyptians build for river traffic, and so I returned to Memphis for the second time in my life. Arriving from the Saite branch of the river, the city seemed even more imposing than I remembered. The walls were massive, with enormous square gate towers, and below them the levees that held back the river in the flood season were three times the height of a man.
As we passed the city, ready to come about to the docks below, Ptolemy gestured to a massive iron grate set in the levees. “I wonder what that's for?” he asked.
It looked like it was designed to be lifted, and I said so.
Manetho, who had accompanied us from Alexandria, had come up to us, and he smiled. “That's where the Temple of Sobek is. He's the avenger of wrongs, and takes the form of a crocodile. The grate goes into the pools where the sacred crocodiles live. The small ones can come and go through the grate, but the large ones stay in the temple pool.”
“How big are the large ones?” I asked, as the holes in the grate would have been big enough for a boy to swim through.
Manetho shrugged. “Three times the length of a man, the biggest of them. The oldest are more than a hundred years old. We protected them from the Persians when they were here.”
“I see,” Ptolemy said, and looked impressed.
I didn't particularly think a crocodile a hundred years old and three times the length of a man needed much protecting.
C LEOMENES WAS ABOUT Ptolemy's age, which is to say around forty, clean-shaven in the Greek fashion, fit and obviously vain of his appearance. He really had no need to flex his arms so much in his short-sleeved chiton except to show off how much time he spent in the gymnasium, and how he had certainly not run to fat like many men in sedentary jobs.
Ptolemy, who had not made time for the wrestling matches and weight lifting of the gymnasium in years, was irritated, though he hid it well. I had certainly never trained in the gymnasium as a boy, nor been welcome until lately, so I
He looked up from his work when I came in, a litter of scrolls before him and a wax tablet, the stylus in his hand. “Settled in, Lydias?”
“I suppose,” I said. I had nothing to settle but a tent. I had not looked at the plan to see if there was a number with my name beside it. I supposed there was. The Hipparch of an Ile should have a substantial lot, but I didn't see any reason to look at it. There was no one who would care if anything were ever built there.
“Good, because three days from now you and I are leaving for Memphis.”
I must have looked startled. Ptolemy stretched his legs out under the writing table. “I need to see Cleomenes and work this out in person. He's a friend of Perdiccas, which makes it politically difficult, as he seems to have problems with Persians and Egyptians alike. Not to mention that the taxes he's supposed to have been spending on construction in Alexandria for the last three years haven't been spent here. The city walls haven't even been begun, not so much as a foundation laid. You're coming with me as my aide because I need a man who can handle the politics.”
“Sir, I am no politician,” I began.
Ptolemy frowned. “You handled Artamenes in Pelousion ideally. The only other who can do as well is Artashir, but I can't bring him to Memphis. Bringing a Persian will give insult to the clergy in Memphis, and I need their support. Artashir is staying here to handle the fortification issues and you're coming with me.” He raised a hand before I could say anything. “Yes, I know Artashir is a mounted archer, not a siege engineer. But we must all turn our hand to new things as our duty requires.” He looked at me and his eyes twinkled. “Besides, is politics so different than dealing with horses?”
I laughed. “I suppose not,” I said. “Only we cannot geld for bad temper!”
“I'm considering it,” Ptolemy said.
We sailed up the Nile on a fast galley, one of the narrow-draft lateen-sailed ships the Egyptians build for river traffic, and so I returned to Memphis for the second time in my life. Arriving from the Saite branch of the river, the city seemed even more imposing than I remembered. The walls were massive, with enormous square gate towers, and below them the levees that held back the river in the flood season were three times the height of a man.
As we passed the city, ready to come about to the docks below, Ptolemy gestured to a massive iron grate set in the levees. “I wonder what that's for?” he asked.
It looked like it was designed to be lifted, and I said so.
Manetho, who had accompanied us from Alexandria, had come up to us, and he smiled. “That's where the Temple of Sobek is. He's the avenger of wrongs, and takes the form of a crocodile. The grate goes into the pools where the sacred crocodiles live. The small ones can come and go through the grate, but the large ones stay in the temple pool.”
“How big are the large ones?” I asked, as the holes in the grate would have been big enough for a boy to swim through.
Manetho shrugged. “Three times the length of a man, the biggest of them. The oldest are more than a hundred years old. We protected them from the Persians when they were here.”
“I see,” Ptolemy said, and looked impressed.
I didn't particularly think a crocodile a hundred years old and three times the length of a man needed much protecting.
C LEOMENES WAS ABOUT Ptolemy's age, which is to say around forty, clean-shaven in the Greek fashion, fit and obviously vain of his appearance. He really had no need to flex his arms so much in his short-sleeved chiton except to show off how much time he spent in the gymnasium, and how he had certainly not run to fat like many men in sedentary jobs.
Ptolemy, who had not made time for the wrestling matches and weight lifting of the gymnasium in years, was irritated, though he hid it well. I had certainly never trained in the gymnasium as a boy, nor been welcome until lately, so I
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