8 May 36 BC
Despite the hood shielding his face, Saar stole glances left and right before entering the building. Inside, he saw a woman, round through the stomach, with blue and green smudges around her eyes and a long string of green beads around her neck. She hauled her heavy body off a pile of silks and cushions and bowed to him.
‘Good evening, how may we entertain you today?’
Saar lowered the hood. ‘Good evening, Gyasi.’
‘Back so soon?’ She smiled. Rather than enhancing her beauty, the gesture nulled it, highlighting the wrinkles around her eyes and the teeth missing from her upper jaw.
‘What happened?’
She sighed. ‘One of the men became violent.’
He arched an eyebrow.
‘We dealt with him.’ The stubborn set of her jaw dared him to question how.
Saar advanced, grasped her chin and angled her face to the light. A bruise hid beneath the blue and green paint.
‘He hurt you.’
‘We hurt him more.’
A stab of concern tightened his stomach. ‘How fares the child?’
Gyasi cradled her stomach. ‘I have some pains, but no more than usual.’
‘Let me bring you to the palace,’ he began.
‘The queen would never allow it.’
‘But I can—’
‘No. You can’t save everyone.’ She tossed her hair and fisted her hips. ‘Now . . . are you joining us today?’ The arch of her eyebrow let Saar know what she really meant.
In answer he pulled off his cloak and slung it over one arm.
Gyasi grinned. ‘Good. I have a surprise for you.’ Passing through an arch on the right, she led him through the building.
As he walked, Saar glanced into various rooms. On high tables and pedestals, beautiful girls pranced and swirled their trailing gowns. Acrobats, often seen outside at festival time, played with leather balls, long ropes and chimes. In other rooms, men and women beat drums and plucked sweet-sounding strings.
Many faces he didn’t recognise, but those he did belonged to high-ranking officials in law enforcement, finance and construction. Most ducked away or tried to hide their faces, but Saar felt no scorn. He knew what it was to need more and require less than savoury means to get it.
Since returning from the Pharos, his appetite for many things, including flesh, had blossomed to the point that Kiya complained of fatigue and soreness. He needed more. Of everything.
Gyasi chose a room at the rear of the building where few of her customers ventured. It was plain but for a low bed and a window in the far wall.
‘Wait here.’ She darted out once more.
Saar sat on the bed, stripping away his dagger and sword. He heard Gyasi return long before he saw her.
The white hangings in the doorway twitched, then pulled aside, revealing his host who wore a smug smile. ‘This is Kontar,’ she murmured.
Saar’s breath caught in his throat.
Looking up through thick black lashes, Kontar flashed a bright smile. ‘The great Captain Saar. At last.’
Gyasi continued. ‘When I mentioned your last visit, Kontar insisted on joining you, should you return. I hope that suits you?’
Struck dumb Saar simply nodded.
‘Good. Then I’ll leave you.’
The room seemed even smaller with Gyasi gone.
Kontar was tall and slim. Long black hair, held back with a plain strip of leather, fanned down his back until it brushed the top of his narrow waist.
‘I’ve never seen a man with hair so long,’ whispered Saar. He stood. ‘May I touch it?’
Kontar stepped so close that a deep breath would cause their chests to touch. He flicked his head and a thick section of that beautiful hair swung forward and brushed Saar’s arm. He closed his eyes and let his skin translate the silken whisper of those strands into a teasing caress. The hair swept over his other arm. His face. His neck. The backs of his legs.
When Saar reopened his eyes, Kontar crouched in front of him, using his hair to stroke his calves and shins.
He licked his lips. ‘I’ve never seen you here before.’
‘Gyasi allows her customers to see only those they may enjoy spending time with. When she understood you might appreciate my company, she took the risk.’
‘A fine risk.’ Gripping Kontar’s shoulders, Saar pulled him up to face height. No kiss – that was a pleasure for later – but he did rub his face along the side of Kontar’s neck to bury his nose in the hair at the back. The smell brought to mind fruit and hot spices.
‘You asked to serve me today. Why?’
For the first time, the younger man looked unsure. He stepped away and leaned against the wall. His fingers fiddled with the knot of rope holding his robe closed. ‘I want to be a soldier.’
Saar became very still. His mouth dropped open. ‘Then you must enlist.’
Kontar glared at the floor. ‘I’ve tried. Every year since coming of age. But I’m too weak to join. You told me so, yourself.’
‘Forgive me, I’ve no memory of you.’
‘No forgiveness needed; I’ve grown since then. I ask only that you reconsider.’
‘Why?’
When Kontar met his gaze, Saar recognised the fire in his eyes. He saw it reflected back at him from the surface of the water set by to wash his face each morning.
‘Octavian’s influence grows every day and soon he’ll turn his attentions here. If Antony does marry our queen, the insult can’t go unanswered.’
Saar lifted his eyebrows. ‘You’re well informed.’
‘I see many soldiers.’ Kontar flicked his hair over one shoulder.
‘Really? When? How many?’
Kontar studied his face. ‘The knowledge distresses you. Is it that your soldiers come here, or that they come to see me?’
‘Neither.’ Even to his own ears, Saar knew he’d answered hastily.
A smirk from Kontar. ‘Your body betrays you. I see your discomfort.’
He snatched his weapons from beneath the bed. ‘I must leave.’
‘No— forgive me, Captain. I meant no offence. Don’t forget why you came. You’ve yet to touch me.’
‘The fact that I want you so much makes me uneasy. No common man knows the political woes of this country as you just described them and certainly no male whore.’
A frown furrowed Kontar’s brow. ‘I know only what your men let slide from their slack, drunken mouths.’
Saar strode towards the door.
Kontar leapt ahead, blocking the way with his arms spread. ‘Wait! Don’t leave me, Captain. My family is dead and I grow too old to continue working here. Make me a soldier.’
‘Step aside.’
‘Not before you reconsider.’
‘Move.’
‘Please Saar!’ He lunged forward.
Maybe Kontar meant to touch him. Or embrace him. He never knew. Saar reacted as years of training instructed he should, but with a speed he barely recognised. The sword in his hand slashed up, then down, bisecting angles across Kontar’s slender body. The other man gasped. Clutched his chest. Blood blossomed through the linen robe.
Before the sound fully registered, Saar struck again, two more slices with his stolen blade, fine lines across his stomach and ribs. Kontar hit the floor. The heavy thud brought Saar back to himself and his mind caught up with the actions of his body. Writhing, moaning, Kontar clutched his wounds.
Kazemde’s promises of strength and speed returned to Saar in the same moment he smelled the blood. It wormed into his nostrils and bored into his senses, making his mouth water. His stomach writhed at the glorious, wet sight and an urge to taste the crimson fluid crawled into his mind.
He dropped the sword. And the dagger.
Saar threw himself down, slicing his palms and knees on the fallen weapons in his haste to reach the dying man. As his own blood mingled with Kontar’s he pulled the younger man into his lap. Sacrifice . . . tribute . . . is this what it meant?
‘Forgive me! This power— it’s too new. I can’t control it.’ He longed to call for aid, but how would he explain?
Kontar reached out, but his fingers skidded on slicks of blood. ‘You move so fast. The favour of the gods lives in you. I knew you were great, that’s why I wanted to join you.’ His eyes fluttered closed.
Saar shook him, biting his lip to hold back cries of desperation. ‘Look at me.’
‘I’m cold. I can’t— I’ll never be a soldier now.’
Saar ran his bloodied fingers over Kontar’s mouth. No, Kontar would never be a soldier and Saar would never kiss those lips.
Kontar sighed, his body limp and lifeless. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Saar gnawed his thumbnail. A heavy weight filled his stomach. This was no battle, no righteous death.
‘Re, forgive me,’ he whispered.
Kontar’s eyes snapped open, showing a white, blank glow. He gasped and clutched at the air. His body shot from still and silent, to violent thrashing in the space of a heartbeat. He rolled free of Saar’s grasp and on to the floor. Bubbles of white foam poured from his mouth, tinged pink by the blood on his lips. He screamed and scratched his face until deep, bloodied furrows joined his other wounds.
Saar cursed. Leapt to his feet. Backing up, he pressed against the wall beneath the window. One hand clutched his dagger. He couldn’t remember picking it up. The metal burned his palm. Lines of blood slid down the blade.
Kontar’s heels beat a rapid tattoo on the floor. He thrashed like a fish scooped from the Nile, first shrieking, now moaning, all the time clutching his face. Black ooze gushed his ears and nose.
Saar gagged. He remembered that smell. His body tingled, as though plunged in cold water.
Dropping the dagger, Saar crouched beside the thrashing form and ripped away the ruined linen robe. Four wounds; deep, red and dripping. The clean edges gaped like mouths, obscene smiles on Kontar’s chest and stomach. Smiles that closed as he watched. In the space of seconds Saar witnessed several weeks’ worth of healing. He gaped, tracing the vanishing wounds with trembling fingers.
Kontar sat up. Shoving Saar’s fingers aside he felt his own chest. ‘You cut me— what happened?’ As he spoke the white glow faded from his eyes until his usual brown colour took over once more. Before Saar could answer or consider what it meant, the younger man shrieked and covered his ears. ‘Those sounds,’ he sobbed. ‘The light burns. Why does the air smell of death?’
It took both of Saar’s hands and all of his considerable strength to hold the frantic man in place. Eventually, Kontar slumped against him and wept. Saar held him and stroked that long, beautiful hair. He strained his hearing, but beyond the faint traces of music and laughter from other rooms he heard no one else.
Kontar gnawed his bottom lip. ‘Am I dead?’
‘No. You have my word.’
Beyond that fact Saar didn’t know what to add. Instead he kept silent and let his gaze fall on the bronze dagger. Red stains marked its tip and caught the decorative swirls on the blade.
‘From blood all power comes,’ he whispered.
When he looked again he saw more blood, including his own, smeared across Kontar’s lips.
Saar laughed. A small bubble of sound that burst from his lips before he could stop it. ‘All power . . .’ More laughter, frantic now and he gripped Kontar ever tighter, staring into his wide, frightened eyes.
‘Forgive me,’ he begged. ‘I’ve blessed you. Cursed you. I don’t know which.’
‘Let me go.’ Kontar’s voice was very small.
Saar straightened and retrieved the dagger, studying it.
There: his own dried blood mingled with that of Kontar which was fresh and dripping. Mixed with that, just visible to his heightened sight he saw dry black particles of blood far older than his own.
Kontar growled low in his throat. His gazed followed Saar’s hand, which he cradled in his own. Then, without speaking, he pushed Saar’s bloodied fingers into his mouth.
‘No!’ Saar yanked his hand back but the blood was already gone and Kontar’s stare raked his body, searching for more. Just in time, Saar jerked the dagger out of reach and stood back, watching the younger man lower his head to the floor and lap at the spilled blood.
‘Don’t— you mustn’t.’
Though he tried to stop him, Kontar kept licking until his tongue rasped stone. Next he shoved the crimson portions of his ruined robe into his mouth and sucked on those. When finished, Kontar sat back on his heels. His chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath. ‘I need more.’
Saar felt limp. Weary. ‘What have I done?’
The room faded away. Before Saar could question it, he stood on a dusty stretch of road watching dozens of men march out of sight. They carried swords, spears and bows, and moved with the pace and careful precision of men on a long march. Among them strode a young man with a small, jagged scar across his nose. Pride swelled Saar’s chest as he watched his brother march away to war.
A lonely street at night. A man with sweaty skin and a crooked smile pulled his hair. The man thrust him against a wall, pulled his shendyt to one side. A terrible stab of pain followed, then rhythmic thrusting, grunting and soft words moaned against his ear.
The army training grounds. Dozens of boys of various heights and strengths, lined up for inspection by the existing soldiers of Cleopatra’s army. A tall, heavily built man with short, curling hair and commanding eyes, looked him up and down and shook his head before walking away. Saar recognised his own younger face, before shame and despair welled up inside him.
When he next opened his eyes, he stood back in Gyasi’s room. Kontar gazed at him, clutching his head with both hands. Saar swayed and touched the wall to regain his balance.
Kontar lowered his shoulders and shrank in on himself. His shoulders trembled. ‘How did you do that? I could feel you inside my head.’
‘I saw . . .’ Saar gripped his hair and yanked it. ‘I saw you. I was you. You have five brothers. A sister who died soon after birth. I saw your life, like pictures on a scroll.’ He wiped the dampness on his cheeks, refused to acknowledge it as tears. ‘I saw you in the street. A man attacked you – even before you came here – he tore off your clothes and took you.’ The words stuck in his throat. ‘In the street. You were so alone. Scared—’
‘Stop!’ Kontar pressed his hands over his ears as though to block out the words. ‘You can’t— you mustn’t know what I’ve done.’
‘I can’t help it. I didn’t ask for this and I—’ He broke off. ‘No . . . I wanted to know the minds of men. I wanted control. Power. This is exactly what I asked for.’
‘You’re a shadow in my mind. I feel everything . . .’ Slowly Kontar emerged from behind his hair. ‘You’re afraid. Why?’
Though he longed to deny it, Saar’s own knowledge of Kontar’s mind wouldn’t let him. ‘Because I’ve done a terrible thing. I’ve made you as I am. Tied you to Set forever.’
‘My whole life I’ve wanted to be like you.’
‘Not like this.’
Kontar stood. He flexed his hands and made fists, looking about the room with an expression of wonder in his eyes. ‘I feel like I could conquer the world single-handed should the desire strike me. I could run for miles. Lift the pyramids. I could tug stars from the sky and use them as a path to touch the sun. If this is what it means to be like you then I want nothing more.’
‘But Set will own you forever. He demands blood tribute for this power.’
A slight widening of his eyes. And then, ‘I give up worse things every single day I work in this place. Take me with you. Show me what to do.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t leave me here,’ Kontar’s voice cracked. ‘Please. I’ll do whatever you need.’
Saar hesitated. ‘Perhaps you could join the army?’
‘Yes! Yes, I’ll join. I’ll cut my hair. Change my name if you must, but let me join you. Please.’
Chewing his thumbnail
, Saar ran his free hand through Kontar’s long mane of dark hair. ‘Everything will be different if you join me.’
‘I know.’
He sighed. ‘When my mother saw the mark on my thigh she took it as a sign that she should enlist me. My oldest uncle told her she could do Alexandria no greater service. I loved him very much.’
‘It would be an honour to take his name.’
Saar turned and strode to the doorway. ‘Then, come, Mosi. We must leave immediately.’
Chapter Eighteen