THE PAINTED KING of the south came to our temple today with twenty painted warriors. He demanded to see me, and the priest sent Myt-ser'eu to wake me. When the king had seen me, he wished to buy me. He did not wish to buy Myt-ser'eu, but I swore I would never obey him unless he did. We said these things by signs. He sent a boy, and we waited until the boy returned.
When he did there were eunuchs with him, and a brown woman richly robed. The painted king spoke with her in a tongue I did not understand.
She looked carefully at me and made me stand in a place in which the light was better. At length she nodded and spoke to him, urging some course of action-or so it seemed to me.
He shook his head and turned away.
She returned to me. "You know me and I know you. I'm Queen Bittusilma. Confess that you know me!"
I knelt. "I do not know you, Great Queen. I do not remember as others do. The fault is mine." This was not in the tongue I speak to the priests and to Myt-ser'eu. Neither was it in the tongue in which I write it.
The king bought us both, though it was not said in that way. He made gifts of ivory and gold to the temple, and the priests gave us to him. Myt-ser'eu had to remove her gown then, and I my tunic. It was the queen who told us we must. Nakedness is the sign of slavery among the king's people. (She herself is of another nation, as she told me.) Boats rowed by warriors carried us and a score of others south until we halted here to make camp.
The country through which we passed was of great interest, and grew more so with each stroke of the paddles. Here the thatched houses of the poor are more numerous, larger, and cleaner, too. The land itself seems to me richer-yet more wild, its forests ever taller and its rolling grasslands dotted with more trees. It is a timeless land made for the chase, but there are wide swamps with many crocodiles. Myt-ser'eu says the biting flies are the worst we have seen. We rub ourselves with fat to keep them off, though ours is the fat used by eunuchs and women, not colored like the vermilion and white pastes worn by the king and his warriors.
When the king's tent was up he summoned us, sending away everyone save the queen and an old man who is his councillor.
"Seven Lions is my husband," the queen told us. "You do not remember him, but he remembers you very well. So do I. You and he were great friends long ago."
I said, "My heart warms to him, but I don't remember. As you say."
"I'm Babylonian. Seven Lions returned me to my home in Babylon, as I wished. He remained there with me for over a year. Then he wished to return to his own home and persuaded me to accompany him. He will not speak as you and I speak now, but he understands everything we say."
I nodded and explained what had been said to Myt-ser'eu.
"We came to the kingdom in the south that is now ours," the queen continued. "We found the throne vacant, and he took it for us. He is our king and our greatest warrior."
His size, his evident strength, and his eyes-his eyes most of all-told me she spoke the truth. "I do not wish to fight him," I told her.
She laughed, but at once grew serious. "No one does. I want him to come back to Babylon with me, Latro. He promised to do it. Then a god spoke to him in a dream, telling him you were in that temple in Meroe. I thought it nonsense, but we went, and there you were. The god had told him to take you to a certain ruin, where I have never been. It lies far to the south. We have to do it, and you have to go with us."
Recalling what I had promised when the king bought Myt-ser'eu, I said, "I am the king's slave. I'll go willingly wherever he may send me."
At this the king spoke vehemently, at first to the queen, then to his aged advisor, and then to queen again.
She said, "He will free you tonight, and your wife too. It is why he has summoned you. I was to tell you."
I thanked him, bowing.
"You understand that I wish to go to Babylon, not to this ruin."
The king spoke, this time to her alone.
"He says we will go to Babylon after we have done the will of the god. I might point out that we might as easily go to Babylon, and do the will of the god afterward."
The scarab I wore rose and fluttered on silver wings as she finished.
For the first time the old councilor spoke, pointing upstream-the direction in which the scarab had sought to fly. The king nodded.
"That's a live beetle you wear," the queen said. "I thought it was an ornament."
"It is," I told her. I removed it and handed it to her. She examined it, stared at me, returned it suspended by the string, and turned her eyes to the ground.
The old councillor spoke again. It was in the tongue I use when I speak with Myt-ser'eu. "I am called Unguja," he said. "Our king is so kind as to hear me, though I am but a foolish grandfather. We cannot please the god unless we do his will, nor can we do his will unless we please him."
Myt-ser'eu said, "I'm under the protection of a goddess, wise one, and wish to return to my home in the north. The ship that will return me there is in the south. It may be that my goddess favors me, leading us to that ship."
He shrugged, but did not speak.
After that we were given new clothing. Slowly, with many invocations and great care, the old man painted me as King Seven Lions and his warriors are painted, as white as leprosy on one side and vermilion on the other. When it was finished, Myt-ser'eu and I dressed and thanked the king for our freedom. He embraced me, and I felt I knew him as well as he knew me. He is a good and brave man, I feel sure. His people call him Mfalme, and bend their heads when they speak the name.
Here I should stop and lie with Myt-ser'eu as she wishes. I will say one thing more, wisdom I took from the old man called Unguja. No one can be good unless he is brave; and any man who is brave is good in that, if in no other way. If he is brave enough, there must always be some good in him. MYT-SER'EU IS DANCING with excitement. She wished me to read this scroll while we were in the boat. I would not, knowing that the river water could destroy it very quickly. Thus she told me instead-a great deal about the ship she seeks and the men and women on board. There is a wonderful woman of wax who lives at times (Myt-ser'eu says), which I do not believe. Myt-ser'eu also says she was saved from this woman by a god, which I believe even less than the first if that is possible. With this wax woman is a wizard who brings her to life, a priest, a wise man who once read her future in the stars, and many others. I asked her future; but she would not reveal it, saying that such prophecies only grow worse if they are revealed. She appeared troubled. I asked whether this wise man had read my future, too. She did not know.
All this was occasioned by our stopping at a village the night before-the northernmost of those ruled by the king, Unguja says. When we were about to leave it, Myt-ser'eu learned that the ship she seeks had passed it yesterday.
She would have had us press on all night, if necessary, to overtake it. Now she hopes that we may find it tomorrow. I asked whether it was rowed or sailed. She said it was sailed, and only rarely rowed. If that is so, her hope is well founded; there has been but little wind. AT THIS VILLAGE the river divides. Its forks are called the Blue and the White. We will follow the White, the river on which the ruin the king seeks lies. It was here that the king was born, the queen says, though his capital lies far to the south. From here he left to join the army of the Great King who rules her native city, and Myt-ser'eu's as well. I spoke to him of that, and he listened attentively. The queen translated his replies-I cannot say how honestly. When he first knew me, I commanded a hundred soldiers from my own city; he commanded men from his village and others. They would have fought, but he and I prevented it. His eyes told me many other things had happened, but he would not speak of them. Perhaps he does not wish the queen to know certain things. Myt-ser'eu has told me how he freed us from slavery. We clasped hands, and I declared that because he had freed me I would fight for him whenever he required it.
In truth I have little to fight with. His warriors have big swords, shields, spears, and bows. I have a club carved with two words, and a dagger better suited to murder than to war. My club is heavy and well shaped, but it is only a club. I HAVE BLOOD guilt, of which I shall tell the king in the morning. Myt-ser'eu says we often stop at villages like this. I hope the rest will be more fortunate than this one for me. The king and queen took the best hut, as is fitting. Myt-ser'eu and I were to be given another, but the woman and children who sleep in it now would have had to sleep outside. I saw how frightened the woman was, and said I would sleep outside if they would permit Myt-ser'eu to sleep in the hut, if the man slept outside with me. This was agreed.
Now I sit by the fire, read, and write. He is dead. I have blood guilt of which I must speak here and to the king, but first I must say that there is a barrier of thornbushes around the village. We are within it, and for that reason I felt there was nothing to fear. When the sun set, the gate was shut by dragging a mass of thornbushes into the opening. I asked how we were to leave in the morning, and the man who is dead now showed me the poles that would be used to push it aside.
As I sat reading by firelight, a ship glided past, some distance away, toward the middle of the channel. The current here is slow, although this scroll says it was swift in certain places to the north.
I felt that the ship was certainly the one of which Myt-ser'eu spoke. Since we had seen no such ship all day, there could not be many such ships here. I ran to the gate, but could not find the poles in the dark. Very eager to stop the ship if I could, I pushed the gate to one side with my club, moving it only a little and tearing the skin of both arms.
By the time I was through the gate, the ship was out of sight. I pursued it, running as fast as I could. There were crocodiles on the bank not far from this village; thus I could not run there. I turned inland but was soon stopped by thornbushes and trees. I turned aside, but found only a swamp in which were many crocodiles, and returned to the village.
An animal like a big dog-though a dog of no breed I know-stood over the man who had slept at our fire. Thinking it only a village dog, I kicked it. It bit my foot, and I struck it with my club-twice, though the second time its jaws were at my throat. It fled, and I found the ropes and pulled the thornbushes to close the gate.
Now I have washed my leg and foot, though I can clean nothing well and they still bleed, soaking the strips I tore from my tunic. The man who slept beside me is dead and his face torn away. Laid bare, his skull grins at me as I write this. THE WOMEN SAW the dead man. They screamed, as was to be expected. I went to the king as soon as I could gain an audience with him and explained everything that had taken place. I spoke only the truth. He said that the man's family-in this case the whole village, for they are all related-would choose. If they wished, they might seek vengeance, choosing one of their number to fight me. Otherwise, I would be left to the king's judgment. I said of course that I would accept whatever punishment he chose to give me.
Now my wife (her name is Myt-ser'eu, as she has told me) and I are outside the village. She has washed my leg, and will salve it with medicines an old man (a friend of the king's) has given her. When it is salved, she will bandage it with clean cloths the queen provided. I have told her of the dog, and how I struck it to make it release its hold. She feels sure that it was the sacred beetle I wear that saved me. She once had an amulet that protected her always against crocodiles, but it was cast away. She laments its absence.
She asked whether she had been a good wife to me. She was weeping when she asked, so I swore that she had, and comforted her. The truth is that I do not remember. Yet I know I love her. Any wife who is loved has been good enough. SOON I AM to fight a man of the village, a relative of the man who died. I will have my club, he whatever weapons he brings. I asked whether he would be permitted to shoot me with a bow. I was told that he might bring a bow, but we would stand close and he would not be allowed to take an arrow from his quiver until the signal was given.
He will have a spear and shield. Unguja says this.
My foot is still swollen, tender, and red. WE STAYED HERE many days, Myt-ser'eu says, so I might fight about a death. Now the fight is over. This dead man's wife and children are mine now. So are his hut and boat. I have two wives, which the king says is common among his people. He himself has more than twenty, the queen being his chief wife. My old wife, the slender brown woman: Myt-ser'eu. My new one, the large black woman: Cheche. There are three children, two boys and a girl. I do not know their names.
Nor do I know the name of the man who fought me. I felt no enmity toward him, but he would have killed me if he could. We fought outside the village, in a pasture in which the villagers keep a few wild-looking cattle. The king called us before him and had us turn to face each other. We were five steps apart, perhaps. We were to fight, he said, when he clapped his hands. His warriors would keep the dead man's other relatives from interfering.
When he clapped I flung my club at my foe's face. He jerked his head away, and I think brought up his big shield. I cannot be certain of that, only that I dived at his legs and brought him down. He was a strong man, but not a good wrestler. I stabbed him with the knife he wore, and the fight was over very quickly.
I had my little dagger, too, but did not use it.
There was a small man in the crowd who seemed familiar, an older man than I. His face is brown, like Myt-ser'eu's. He says he is my slave, and she says this too. I offered to free him-am I not myself a free man, though she says I was the king's slave once? He would not take his freedom, saying that he wishes only to free me. He was on a ship, he says, but dove from it when he heard my voice. He swam to the wrong bank of the river, and thus it was some time before he found this village. I must ask Myt-ser'eu more about this man, and she must teach Cheche to remember for me as she does.
I have said I am free; but surely no man is free who does not know how he came to be so.