‘What gift?’ Piay asked.

  ‘An elephant!’

  ‘An elephant?’

  ‘That is the answer to the riddle. It has a body like a bull, broad and strong. And the serpent—’

  ‘Is its trunk,’ Piay said.

  ‘. . . snaking out of its face.’ Myssa beamed.

  ‘If that is the god’s advice, I don’t think much of it,’ said Hannu. ‘How can taming an elephant help us save Egypt?’

  At that instant, the furious hornet swooped again. The excitable horse reared up, pitching Piay and Hannu off its back. Piay crashed to the hard ground, the wind rushing out of him, and as he sat up he watched his mount galloping towards the city.

  Hands on her knees, Myssa was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Piay scowled, but then he was laughing with her.

  Hannu rubbed his elbow. ‘I have never had any love of horses. Let the Hyksos keep them.’

  W

  hen Myssa was returning to the house and her chores, Piay felt his mood darken again. In the shadow of the city walls, he turned to Hannu and said, ‘I will seek another audience with Hurotas. He must have an answer by now.’

  ‘One way or another, our time in Lacedaemon is coming to an end. I’ll make the preparations for our departure.’

  ‘Think hard on the Oracle’s message. Thanks to Myssa, we are close to the answer we need. I feel it in my bones. This may well be the last chance we have.’

  Hannu shrugged. ‘The gods will show us a way.’

  ‘I would rather our fate was in our own hands.’

  ‘The gods weave their webs and no man can see the strands until they unfurl around him,’ Hannu said. ‘But think about this – if Mennias had not executed that helot, you would not have felt the urge to travel to Gythion to buy a slave and so set an example to the Spartans. And if you had not gone to Gythion, but instead purchased one of the Spartan slaves, you would not have encountered Hanbaal and attended his market in the harbour. And so you would not have found Myssa. And without Myssa, you would never have begun to solve the riddle of the Oracle.’

  Piay glanced along the street to where Myssa was disappearing into the stream of Spartans going about their daily business.

  ‘Then our slave is a gift of the gods.’

  T

  hrough the doorway of the palace hall, Piay watched the shadows lengthen, then pool until night cloaked the avenue beyond. He’d paced the chamber a hundred times, waiting for Hurotas to summon him to the throne room for his audience. Others had come and gone – scribes with arms filled with scrolls and grey-bearded foreign dignitaries. Now, as he peered at his reflection in the pool, he could feel his frustration mounting.

  When he heard footsteps approaching, Piay looked up to see Mennias striding through the door. His face showed as little emotion as the bronze helmet crooked in his arm.

  ‘Is the king ready to see me,’ Piay asked, ‘or must I wait here all night?’

  ‘The king will not see you.’

  Piay jumped to his feet, trying to hold back his anger.

  ‘What have I done to offend him? When last we spoke, he did all he could to aid me.’

  ‘You have not offended him.’ Mennias’ face softened as he walked over. ‘There is no need for him to meet you. The king has asked me to pass on his decision. He will not agree to your request at this time.’

  ‘How can this be? He is an Egyptian—’

  ‘Hurotas did not make this choice lightly. His heart lies with you and the struggle you and your people face. But he must act in the interests of Sparta, and at this time those interests are best served by keeping a friendly relationship with the Hyksos.’

  ‘You are afraid the barbarians will attack you.’

  ‘We are afraid of no one.’ Mennias paused, choosing his words. ‘They are an unpredictable people, true, and their ambitions are great. We are already at war with Corinth, and any general will tell you it is not wise to divide our force for a battle on two fronts.’ He held out both hands. ‘And the trade we have with the Hyksos is too important to set aside, especially when there is no certainty that you will win.’

  Piay simmered. ‘I could go to Corinth.’

  ‘Your answer will be the same everywhere you go. No one will wish to anger the Hyksos at this time.’

  ‘Then you have damned us to defeat.’

  Mennias dropped a hand on Piay’s shoulder. ‘This is not the news you wished to hear, I understand. But do not give in to despair. There is a way as yet undiscovered. And Hurotas has not ruled out offering aid at some time in days to come.’

  ‘We need that help now.’

  ‘The king’s mind can be changed. I will press him myself, once again. The world will be better for both our peoples when Egypt is once again in the hands of its true ruler. But for now . . .’

  Piay nodded. What point was there in arguing? With a heavy heart, he strode out into the night.

  A

  s Piay neared the gate, a figure separated from the shadows in the avenue. It was Serrena, the king’s daughter. She was wearing a crimson sheath dress that matched the colour of the guards’ capes.

  ‘I heard you were visiting my father,’ she said.

  ‘Much good it did me.’

  The hungry look in her eyes transported Piay back to the Pharaoh’s court and the women he had dallied with there.

  ‘Hurotas is like a young stallion. He needs a firm hand to guide him.’

  ‘And you are that firm hand?’

  ‘I could be.’

  Piay weighed that unwavering stare, as hard and strong as any merchant negotiating an agreement.

  ‘Spend some time with me in my chamber,’ she continued. ‘I would wager you are a man used to this kind of request. And, if you like, you can tell me what you need of my father and I will endeavour to deliver it to you.’

  Piay would not normally have refused such an offer, with or without the promise of payment for what he wanted most in the world. Serrena was a striking woman, with her fine cheekbones and large eyes sparkling with intelligence, and her confidence was alluring. Yet he felt uninterested. He didn’t know why. Instead, he was overcome with an urge to return to his house. Was it to find the full answer to the riddle?

  He bowed and said, ‘As entranced as I would be to spend an hour or two in your company, I have pressing business elsewhere.’

  Serrena arched an eyebrow. She was clearly not used to having such an offer rejected. Yet Piay could see no anger in her face at the snub. Her lips curved into an intrigued smile. Was that respect he saw in her eyes? And when he recognised that it was, he realised there had been no respect before.

  ‘Some other time, then,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I will have words with my father nonetheless.’ She made to leave, but then her face darkened as if she had remembered something important. ‘One other thing. The captain of the Hyksos delegation was asking after you earlier.’

  ‘Sakir?’

  ‘He wanted to know where you were staying. He said he wanted to pay you a visit.’

  Piay felt as if a knife had been stabbed into his heart. His shock must have burned in his face, for Serrena’s hand flew to her mouth and she recoiled.

  And then he was racing away from her, through the gate and down the street to the house, praying that he would not be too late.

  P

  iay crashed through the door. Myssa cowered by the lamp in the corner of the hall and he felt relief when he saw she was well. But his gaze fell on her hands pressed against her mouth and the fixed look in her wide eyes. He followed her stare to the stone floor. A trail of blood was smeared across the flagstones, leading into the night.

  ‘Hannu,’ he croaked.

  P

  iay dashed into the night. In the lamplight, spatters of blood glistened. Not a life-ending amount, though. There was still hope.

  Myssa came beside him, clutching at his hand.

  ‘The barbarians burst into the house with their swords drawn, demanding you give yourself up.’ She choked back emotion. ‘Hannu was brave. He threw himself between me and them. To defend me. How furiously he fought. But there were too many of them. They cut him down.’

  ‘He did not die?’ Piay needed to be sure.

  Myssa shook her head. ‘A gash on his arm, one on his thigh, another on the side of his head.’

  Piay breathed in a deep draught of cool air.

  ‘The barbarians searched the house and when they found you were not here, they took Hannu.’ Myssa’s eyes gleamed with tears. ‘The leader . . . Sakir . . . He said that I should tell you he will kill Hannu if you do not go to him. Slit his throat and throw his body in the river. “Time is short”, he said. He will wait for a little while and if you do not come, he will end Hannu’s life and leave Lacedaemon.’

  Piay felt his fear for Hannu twist into a cold anger deep in his belly.

  ‘Sakir said where I can find him?’

  ‘The cistern.’

  Piay knew the place. He’d marvelled at the engineering during his wanderings around Lacedaemon while he was waiting for his audience with Hurotas – a circular, domed stone structure housing a reservoir that supplied water to the city. It was fed by an aqueduct that ran to some clean source of the life-giving liquid in the nearby hills. In the dark of the cistern, Sakir could commit his murderous ambition away from prying eyes.

  Myssa must have seen his intention in his eyes, for she gripped his wrist harder.

  ‘Go to Mennias,’ she pleaded. ‘He has said there must be no blood shed on Lacedaemon’s streets. He will send the army to free Hannu.’

  ‘It may take too long to find him, I cannot take that risk. Imagine if Hannu was killed while I argued my case . . .’

  ‘You will die!’ Myssa exclaimed.

  ‘And then you will be free.’

  ‘That is not how I wish to earn my freedom.’

  ‘I cannot abandon Hannu,’ he murmured.

  ‘No, we cannot abandon him – of course we can’t.’

  Piay eased his hand away and he looked along the trail of blood splashes disappearing into the dark.

  ‘Farewell,’ he said, hearing the note of finality in his voice.

  And then he was running towards the eastern walls where the cistern stood.

  T

  he street wound away from the houses and the lamps and the sound of songs and stories told by hearths. As the silence pressed in, Piay prowled along an avenue of bay trees, breathing in their sweet scent with only the light of the moon to guide him. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t trust a man like Sakir to act with honour. The barbarian captain may have posted his men along this road so they could attack from the dark before he reached the destination. Nor could he trust Sakir that Hannu was still alive. He pushed that thought from his head.

  The cistern loomed up, silhouetted against the spray of stars hanging over the Peloponnese. Beyond it, the impregnable walls of Lacedaemon towered. Piay cocked his head. All was as silent as the grave. He crept towards the door.

  Do not be reckless, he warned himself. For once, learn the lessons that the gods present to you, for the sake of Hannu’s life.

  There were five barbarians. As good as he knew he was at swordplay, they would cut him down in an instant, as they had done with Hannu. His only hope was to be stealthy and hope the gods presented him with an opportunity to gain an advantage.

  He knew there was little chance that he would survive this encounter. But he was ready. He had nothing in this world – no wife, no children. Would Taita grieve for him? He hoped that would be the case, but he could not be certain. He prayed that Hannu would reclaim his body and make the necessary preparations that would ensure the doors would be opened and his journey into the afterlife would be allowed. And perhaps Hannu could complete the task Taita had given him.

  Piay pressed his ear to the door. The wood was cracked and blistered by the sun, age-old, and no doubt thick. He could hear nothing within.

  Pushing his shoulder against the door, he eased it open. The wood groaned on the flagstones. He paused with an opening wide enough for his arm to reach in. Now the dim echo of voices whispered back, but there was no note of alarm in them.

  Perhaps if the barbarian was confident in his victory, he might not have made the necessary preparations.

  Piay leaned against the wood again. Sweat prickled his skin as the door opened a little more. When it was wide enough to squeeze through, he edged inside.

  He breathed in dank air and the earthy aroma of wet stone. From deep in the dark, the voices droned on. One of those voices belonged to Sakir – he was sure of it.

  Piay steadied himself against the wall as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A faint glow was rising from below. The wall had been coated in shining plaster. He glimpsed a set of stone steps by his feet, leading down and curving around the inside of the wall.

  Holding his sword up, he eased his way down the steps. As he descended, the glow grew brighter, the light shimmering along the slick plaster. No doubt the reflection off the water below.

  The voices throbbed louder. Eventually he stepped on to the edge of a stone walkway where the shadows swelled. In the gulf ahead, a circle of golden light flickered. Two lamps had been set to mark a space in the gloom.

  The reservoir was vast, extending out in all directions more than the circumference of the domed building above. The walkways criss-crossed each other and black water gleamed in the spaces among them. How deep that water was, he could not tell.

  Dropping low, Piay crept forwards.

  As he neared the orb of light, he picked out the details of the figures gathered there. He saw Hannu kneeling, looking up at his captors. Defiance burned in his assistant’s face, even though blood caked his beard and stained his naked torso. His hands had been bound behind his back. No doubt the barbarians feared he would be a threat even in his wounded state. Hannu was a savage fighter who never gave up.

  The Hyksos warriors stood around Hannu on an intersection in the walkways. Their crescent swords were sheathed. Sakir stared down at him.

  When he spoke, his voice was a lazy whisper. The echoes floated back as if the gods were repeating his words. In his drawl, Piay heard the taint of the blue lotus.

  ‘Many think I have been driven mad by my consumption of the dream flowers,’ Sakir was saying. ‘Perhaps I have. Any man who walks with the gods would be seen as mad by those who cannot break the shackles of this world.’

  Piay felt a chill as he watched Sakir look around and smile at things that no one else could see.

  ‘Perhaps one day the gods will keep you when you stroll by their side,’ Hannu spat. ‘Give me my sword and I will speed you there.’

  Sakir prowled around him. ‘If only you knew what they have shown me, little man, you would not be so rebellious. You would be humbled. Awed. My life was transformed that day I first ate the blue lotus. It was a dying priest who told me of the magic the flower contained. I left his body for the vultures and took the dream flowers from the pouch he carried. I swallowed them. Too many. I was swept away, and for a while I feared I might never return.’

  Sakir looked into the dark above his head, as if he could see through it and the stone dome of the cistern to the very home of the gods.

  ‘In my daze I wandered into the wilderness,’ he continued. ‘My throat was like the desert around me and I shook as if I was on the coldest mountaintop. Those vultures now circled over me. On I trudged, directionless, until I found myself in front of a towering rock curved like a talon. As I stood before it, I heard my name caught on the soughing desert wind. “Sakir,” he half-sang. “Sakir.”’

  Piay was entranced by the tale the Hyksos captain was weaving with his strange, drifting voice.

  ‘The orb of the sun sped down the sky, transforming from gold to crimson. The sands beneath my feet burned red. Red everywhere, as far as my eyes could see. And as I stared to the top of that rock, I saw a figure form out of the crimson light. I trembled in terror when I saw the jackal-like head and the cloven hooves.’

  ‘Seth,’ Hannu muttered.

  ‘Aye. That is what your people call him. The God of the Desert, the God of Chaos. His eyes seared into me and I felt dread. I was being judged. My life hung in the balance. If the god so decided, I would be condemned to an eternity of torments. I looked up at that talon and the voice came to me again. It said, “You are the Red Hawk. You will hunt your enemies and their blood will stain the sands.” I would become a tool of Seth himself, enforcing his will upon this earth. Why do you think I have travelled half a world to destroy your master? Not simply to claim vengeance, although the fire burns within me. Seth has decreed that the Hyksos will rule over Egypt, for the Hyksos bow their heads to the god of the desert above all others. Your master works to end the rule of my people—’

  ‘Piay is a threat to you,’ Hannu interjected.

  ‘A distraction. But he must not be allowed to succeed. Seth has tasked me with ensuring your master is crushed, his plans destroyed. And so Egypt will remain in the hands of the Hyksos.’

  Piay thought back to Khonsu speaking to him in his dream, and he was swallowed by an overpowering vision of a war among the gods for the soul of Egypt itself. Was he then a tool of Khonsu, as Sakir worked for Seth?

  ‘What happened after my encounter with Seth, I cannot tell,’ the Red Hawk continued. ‘But my men found me wandering the wilderness, deranged, raving. But I lived! And as the dawn came up the next day, I knew I had been chosen by Seth. I had been given my destiny.’

  In that whispering voice, in the way he held his body, there was something inhuman that added to Sakir’s terrifying demeanour. Perhaps he truly had been transformed by the blue lotus into something more than a man.

  Piay crawled forwards, praying that the shadows would continue to cloak him. But Sakir turned his head and looked directly at him. Piay stiffened, knowing he had not made a sound that could have attracted the Hyksos warrior’s attention; yet Sakir stared as if he could see through the dark, through Piay’s skull and into his mind. Piay shuddered.