Soldier of Sidon

I had forgotten who Muslak was, and made her explain.

Only a moment ago, Myt-ser'eu came with a new question. "Neht-nefret said we had to climb up on things and stay there, and if we did the cobras wouldn't bite us."

I nodded.

"So we did-Neht-nefret, Alala, and me. I stood on a stool, and they left me alone. Neht-nefret and Alala got up on the table, but we were afraid it would break if I got up there too. Neht-nefret couldn't find Kames to tell him, but he wasn't bitten anyway."

I shook my head.

"So how did they know? Why didn't they bite him when they were biting the other men?"

I said, "Why didn't they bite Baginu and me when we came up out of the mine?"

"Don't smile like that!"

"I'll smile any way I want to. Uraeus had seen that all of us were barefooted-Piy's soldiers had taken my boots and your sandals so we couldn't run away. Thotmaktef's wife says the Medjay never wear anything on their feet, but there are many sharp stones here. They will soon cut the feet of anyone accustomed to sandals. Piy's men wore sandals, so Uraeus told the cobras not to bite bare feet."

"He can do that?" Myt-ser'eu wanted to know.

"He did," I told her.

She is quiet now, and I must think back to the mine. I forget quickly, she says, and I know that it must be true. Before I forget the mine, I must be properly grateful to the gracious goddess who favored me there.

27

THEY TOOK HER from me tonight, and left me here. I showed my guards this scroll and asked whether I might write. They said I might, but how long will they permit it? Other guards will come, and soon this will be taken too. I have read much, and will try to remember. Surely I can never forget the golden lioness!

Their horses were better than ours, but the men of Parsa plied the bow well and kept them off for a time, turning in the saddle and shooting behind them. They were fine bowmen and dropped man after man until their last arrow had been spent.

I told them to ride hard and save the women, that I would fight and delay our pursuers. They would not obey, but followed me with their war axes while the rest rode away.

How much blood Falcata drank then! It is a terrible thing to kill a woman's son, I know. Yet it does not feel terrible to me when he has come to kill me. Falcata caught the arm as the great sword went up, again and again until my horse fell.

They came with bows and Myt-ser'eu when their dead lay thick before me.

I ca

I wet the reed in my blood, hoping it makes good ink. So I will write of him.

He fell, and I knew it meant he was dead. He was a fine horse, brown with a black mane, like many horses, but spirited and eager to obey. I had ridden him to his death, and I could not save him or save myself.

I killed a great, strong man with many scars. It was like killing the night, but a man. The look of surprise as Falcata caught his shoulder and bit to the heart. He had fought many times, no doubt sometimes in great battles. Twenty-to-one now against we four soldiers, yet it was his last. He had never thought to die so. I would rather have had those broad shoulders and mighty arms for me than against me, but he fell to my sword, and I was glad of it.

Then my horse fell beneath me. What was his name? As it was for him, so it is for me. I had thought that horse would never fail me. Nor had he thought to fail me, I know, nor any rider. We had taken him from someone, I feel sure. I wish I knew from whom, and how we came to take him.

I recall the little house, and the household god squatting by the hearth, ugly and good. My father bringing dried vine dressings to feed our fire, my mother stirring soup. How did the boy become the man who rode beside the lovely brown woman in the black wig? When we turned to fight, she shouted, "Myt-ser'eu! I'm Kitten!" lingering too long before turning to flee as I had told her, turning to wave from the saddle, so slender and beautiful.

I told the soldiers from Parsa to protect her, but they would not obey me. Kakia was stirrup-to-stirrup with me when the arrow pierced his throat. Never did I trust his courage until the moment he died. IF I WERE a god, my horse would live again, and speak to me. I would call him by name, and mount, and ride away. We would ride through the sky, far away to another, better land.

They held a knife to the kitten's throat, and I handed them Falcata.

Now my guard has cut my ropes, letting me write as I do. He could see I was too weak to stand. What danger am I to him now? To anyone? I thought to find no such kindness from his hard, dark face, no kindness from anyone. I do not believe I have ever been cruel, and wish I had been kinder.

If I had not surrendered Falcata, I would have been pierced by a score of arrows, long arrows with iron heads or stone ones. What harm in that? Am I better off as I tremble here, writing by firelight with a brush wet with my blood? GEESE FLY OVERHEAD, flying by night, calling like new boots across the sky to their fellows. It may be the last sound I hear. Every man hears a last sound. For many it must be the clash of arms. That is a good last sound, but the shouts of geese in flight is a better one. We sink into the earth, down into the shadow lands of the dead, where I shall drink from Death's river to forget a life I ca

What if I die?

Soldiers fight, and kings take the spoil. What does a soldier get? A few coins, perhaps, a ring from a dead man's finger, and many scars. What does a horse get? Only death. We ride them, and they-our kings-ride us.

I remember the hot, bright sun, and others I hoped to save. These men have Myt-ser'eu. She was guarded when last I saw her.

This fire lights my scroll but does not warm me.

I told her to run. I wanted her to gallop away while I fought, wanted all of them to gallop away while I fought my last fight. How is it they have her? Are there two Kittens? I remember her smile and her eyes, so wide and so full of terror. The horse my legs held, his rippling muscles.

If a lion were to roar, I would be well, my wound healed. I told my guard this. There is no lion, only another flock of geese, geese flying by moonlight, tracing the distant river through the hot, still air. The Realm of Death is dark and cold-Mother told me. Death's name is Dis Pater, and he is the richest of all gods, with more subjects than any other, and still more arriving daily to people a dark, dank land so broad that it is never full.

Who will welcome me there? I have forgotten all the names, even the name of my horse. I sweat, and fear my sweat will make this ink run. Is it not my blood? Why should it not run now?

We saw them coming over the dry plain, riding hard behind us and faster than we. There was wind, a wind that stirred the dust and sent small white clouds scudding across the bright blue sky, hot clouds that never dimmed the sun. Can any sky be bluer than the sky here? Can any sun be harsher? More blinding? This sky never stretched above our little house. Ours is surely another sky, another sun.