Stealing Fire by Jo Graham

Author:Jo Graham
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780316076395
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2010-05-06T22:00:00+00:00

HETAIROS

Bagoas had a room in the Temple of Apis, in the quarters along the back courtyard that were reserved for priests who served full-time, as though he were a votive priest of the god Alexander. Which I supposed was what the Egyptians had made of his status. After all, dead pharaohs usually had votive priests, whose job was to manage their funerary chapel and conduct the rites for them. Doubtless they could not figure out what else to call Bagoas. He was not a royal widow or former concubine. No doubt in Persia they had a word for the eunuch favorite of the former king, but they did not in Egypt.

In Egypt priests outrank soldiers by quite a lot. His room was much nicer than mine, with two or three little carved tables, a beautiful wooden screen in the Persian style with flowers and birds, four or five hanging lanterns with panes of colored glass, and a large dining couch with embroidered pillows that must also serve as his bed.

I had hardly walked in the door before he was serving out cool watered wine as a host should, apologizing for the humbleness of the meal to follow.

“I have been eating in the barracks,” I said, “so no doubt I will think it wonderful, no matter what has happened to it.”

Bagoas blinked as though he had not expected me to take his protests seriously. Perhaps they were meant for form, not an actual warning that something was wrong with the dinner.

“The last time I dined with Artashir,” I said, “a seagull stole our dinner. And then the cat got it back and…”

Bagoas blinked again.

“It's not very important,” I ended awkwardly.

“Come and sit,” he said, and showed me to the best place.

I do not like to think that I said anything else absurd. I should like to think that I was witty and knowledgeable, the perfect combination of diplomat and soldier. In truth, I do not know. The wine was stronger and better than I expected, and the beautiful dishes of perfect almonds closed together again around bits of lemon and goat cheese, the trimmed lamb with coriander, and all the rest had precious little oil and bread to them, the things that keep the wine from going to one's head. It's an old trick, to eat oil and bread before drinking if one wants to stay sober.

But everything was good, and the tastes but whetted the appetite for the wine. By the time the honey cakes came out, and the sweet dark wine from Chios unwatered and unspoiled, I doubt I could have safely crossed the room. It did, however, have its advantages.

“My arm is not hurting for the first time in months,” I said to Bagoas. It was wrapped and splinted still, but for the first time in a long time I was not aware of it throbbing and aching. “It actually doesn't hurt.”

Bagoas smiled. “Perhaps it does you good to relax.” His face was flushed, though his speech was perfectly clear.

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