Soldier of Sidon

Binti has been crying. I tried to comfort her. When I asked what was wrong, she said that when we find the holy place I will remember other people and go away. I said I would not, but she insisted. Perhaps she is right, I ca

Myt-ser'eu talks of her home in Sais, of the kindness of the priests and of singing, playing, and dancing at parties where she drank good wine until she could scarcely stand. I said I was sorry that I had taken her so far away. She would not blame me, or anyone, saying it was the will of the gods-if she had stayed at home, something worse might have happened. She would implore the pity of her goddess, and her goddess would help her, if only she could find a temple. Hathor, she names her goddess. I said that the sacred place the king speaks of might be sacred to Hathor, and we would pray there. As I spoke those words the gold scarab on my chest stirred like a living thing.

Mzee has given his antelope to the king, and the king has contributed it to the feast Mzee's village is preparing for us tomorrow. I will hunt tomorrow morning with Vinjari and Utundu, and we will contribute any worthy game we take. If I can teach them nothing of hunting (which is what they say), it may be that they will teach me something.

31

WHERE WE ARE camped, there is no water. We have some in gourds and in skin bags like wine skins, but not enough. Mzee says we may find a spring tomorrow, before we reach the temple. There is game here, though not much; the animals must get water somewhere.

We marched far from the river today, following a dry stream through a deep gorge that may once have been a major tributary. I no longer remember leaving the river, but I know we must have left it at dawn from what Cheche and the children say.

My sandals are nearly worn out. I have been looking among the things we brought for materials with which to make new ones. Cheche asked what I was doing; when I told her, she said she would make me new ones of braided grass. Perhaps I will cut up an empty water skin and give my new sandals a soft leather lining.

The temple is near. The scarab I wear sees it (or scents it, perhaps) and stirs as I write. The king does not wish to enter this temple after dark. No doubt this is wise; animals may den there-leopards or the skulking wild dogs we saw so often today.

The animal I saw outside our camp not long ago was a leopard, in form at least, although it was blacker than the night save for its burning eyes. Perhaps it resents our being so near. I HAVE PROMISED my senior wife that she may leave me to return to her home. We may see a ship, she says, when we return to the river. This ship will carry her back there. Or so she hopes. It has been ahead of us for a long time, she says. I promised that if we found this ship we would board it. She said the king might not permit me to board it. She asked whether she might go alone. I said that she might, a pain that is never less. I had been looking forward to lying with her tonight, but how can I lie with her when I know she hopes to leave me? Perhaps I will lie with Cheche instead.

My senior wife swore that we have spoken like this many times. WHILE I SAT here watching the fires and trying to choose, my slave came to tell me he had entered the temple. It is a good place, he says, though much decayed. There are snakes there, but only a few. I asked why the king wishes me to go there. The senior wife who wishes to leave me said it was because a god had ordered it in a dream. If nothing happens there, will the king blame me for it? I ca

Certainly I put no trust in dreams. I would not like to meet the king singly; he is a skilled warrior, and his men say he is as bold as seven lions. If I took his life, his men would take mine, I feel sure.

I HAVE TRIED the sandals Cheche made. They need no lining, and are stronger than I would have thought possible. Now Myt-ser'eu and I will sleep. VINJARI IS GONE. I have the shield the goddess gave. So much has happened that I despair of writing everything, though Myt-ser'eu and Cheche say I must. So does Myt-ser'eu's servant. I will write the first thing first.

We set out for the temple but had not gone far when a cry came from the back of the column. One of the king's warriors had trodden upon a snake, which bit him. The others killed it, a big brown snake with a head like a viper's. Unguja treated him, sucking the wound and dressing it with salve and the flesh of the dead snake; the bitten warrior soon died just the same. We buried him in the dry watercourse, heaping his grave with stones.

"I have promised you would be safe from us in the temple as long as I was with you, master," my slave whispered.

I said I had forgotten it.

"Of course, master. Yet I spoke as I said. I ca

I thought he merely wanted a respite from the work of piling stones, but I said he might. He left at once, and I did not see him again until the time I will write of.

The temple is stone, very old. Myt-ser'eu said that though she had seen many old things in her own land, it was older than any. Its roof has fallen in places. The king said that only he and I should enter. That was wise, I think, but Unguja pleaded with the king. When the king agreed to take him, he urged that Mzee come with us as well. That too was granted.

The king asked then whether there were any whom I would have with me. Myt-ser'eu wished to go, but I feared for her and took my sons instead. So we six entered the temple, bearing torches and unaware that a seventh would slip away and follow us.

It seemed darker there than any night, for we stepped into darkness from sunlight bright enough to blind a lion. It seemed cool as well after the heat of the day, which had been very great. Bats stirred and squeaked on the false arches above us, and the floor was crusted with their droppings.

Soon I felt a stirring on my chest, as though the gold scarab I wore feared the bats. When I looked down, I saw that it was biting the string that held it. In a moment more the string had parted, and it flew some distance, still gleaming blue and gold in the light of our torches.

Behind me the king called, demanding to know what I was doing. I tried to explain that my scarab had come to life, and flown, and vanished into a crevice in the floor. This was difficult, because I do not speak his tongue well and could not lay hand to many words I required.

"The string broke," the king told me. His voice was kind. "Your scarab fell and rolled into the crevice. Forget it, as you forget so much. You will never see it again."

I asked him to help me lift the stone; he shook his head, backing away. "We must find the god," he said. "That is what is important, Latro-finding the god."

Lifting the stone was difficult, not only because of its weight, but because it was hard to grasp at first. My sons helped, but would not go down the worn steps with me. I went down, walking very slowly because my torch burned badly there. I thought that my scarab (I never found it) must have rolled down the long stair; when I motioned to my sons, they looked frightened and would not follow. So it was that they learned they were only boys, after all.