The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1968
- Язык: английский
- Год: Lancer Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
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Dragon is probably closest in mood to de Camp's fantasy novels, while Bronze God and Arrows are closer to his science fiction, with their description of engineering problems, and personality clashes among researchers and engineers. Dragon also reflects de Camp's then-recent acquaintance with the Conan stories and other works of Robert E. Howard. Bessas, the huge Persian nobleman, is not only a close match for Conan in physique, but his mood swings, fixation on his mother, and tendency to toss of verses, seems a reflection of Howard himself. (Fortunately, his poems reflect de Camp's verbal dexterity and wit, not Howard's melancholy.)
"Auramazda, and whatever other gods there be, befriend all of you," said Achaemenes. "What think you of Egypt?"
Bessas smiled grimly. "Shall your slave be polite, my lord, or shall I say what I think?"
"The latter."
"By your leave, sir, I like it not at all."
"Why not? The flies and the heat?"
"Nay; I have seen worse in the East. It is something hard to describe exactly—something in the atmosphere. I have the feeling that the people are fain to tear me limb from limb, being restrained only by fear of the government and of me personally."
"Your feelings deceive you not," said the satrap. "Have there been any outright attacks upon you?"
"Nay; except—" and he told of the broil at Tahapanes. "Aside from that, it is well that of us five only Kothar speaks Egyptian. I am sure that some of the words addressed to me in the last few days have been mortal insults. Had I understood them, honor would have compelled me to wipe them out in blood."
"You must restrain yourself, Captain Bessas. We sit on the lid of a boiling cauldron here. A rash act could cause trouble far beyond the scathe to your feelings from a native's gibe."
"Be it as you wish. But, my lord, a noble Aryan cannot brook insolence. What can one do?"
"I suggest that you and Master Myron abandon your Persian dress—at least as to the trews and bashlyks."
Bessas grunted. "Very well, Your Highness. But your slave makes no rash promises as to what he will do the next time dung is thrown at him. What is the cause of this hostility?"
"As you no doubt know, Egypt was a mighty kingdom for thousands of years or ever Cambyses conquered it, and the Egyptians—those above the lowest classes, at least—have not forgotten. They are the most self-conceited of men, deeming themselves the bravest, truest, and noblest of mankind. This is of course ridiculous, since everyone knows that the Aryans are the noblest of men, and the Persians the noblest of the Aryans. But that is how these wretched Egyptians think, and nought will persuade them otherwise. Hence it galls them beyond endurance to be ruled by those they regard as unwashed barbarians.
"In addition, the priesthood hate us because we have forced them to pay their fair share of the costs of government, and the superstitious masses follow the lead of the priests, heedless of the fact that these priests have battened on them for centuries, like a horde of blood-sucking parasites. And they all hate us because twenty years ago we put down their revolt against the Great King's god-established rule. Now tell me somewhat of the quest whereon my noble brother—whose rule God strengthen—has sent you."
When he had heard, Achaemenes sighed. "Betimes I wish I could leave my grinding task here and set out on such a venture. But empery is a demanding mistress. I will give you a letter to Astes, who rules the satrapy of Kushia from the island of Yeb. You may have trouble getting from Kushia into independent Kush, because fighting has lately broken out along the border. The barbarous black Kushites appreciate the benefits of Persian rule as little as do the Egyptians.
"If you return this way, bearing the banners of victory, send me word; for I, too, am fain to see this dragon. One more thing: have you come upon any signs of treasonable plots against the Awful Royal Glory? As, say, by pretenders to the throne?"
"Well—ah—no, my lord."
"Why did you pause, Master Bessas? Come, sir, if you know aught of such cabals, it is your duty to warn your natural lords." Achaemenes' indolent air had vanished.
Bessas shook his head. "It is nothing, Your Highness; nought but a few words, half remembered, spoken in a tavern in Phoenicia."
"What tavern, and what words?"
"I remember not, sir; some remark about kicking the lousy Persian dogs into the sea. But I had drunk too deeply, so I cannot firmly grasp the memory."
Achaemenes looked sharply at the Bactrian, who flushed with patent embarrassment. "Did you hear any names?"
"I cannot tell, my lord."
"Such as Orontes, perhaps?"
"It could have been so, sir; but I truly know not."
"Why have you not reported this before?"
"Your slave heard nothing clearly enough to make an accusation, my lord. And now all is hazy, like fragments of a forgotten dream. After all, if ever rash words spoken in a tavern, damning the government, were reported to you, there would not be enough secretaries in the Empire to record them, nor would you have time to hear them, though you listened night and day."
"It is wrong that men should utter such treasonous words with impunity," said Achaemenes.
"Perhaps, but, like fornication, it will never be stopped, be a ruler never so mighty and never so just. As an old haunter of taverns, your slave can perchance claim knowledge of this matter denied to Your Highness."
Myron added: "The only sure defense against reproach, sir, is obscurity."
For a time Achaemenes sat staring somberly at Bessas and drumming on the table with his fingers. At last he said: "Well, next time, bear your duties to your lawful sovran more keenly in mind. Auramazda further your enterprise!"
Next day, the travelers rode southward through the endless green corridor that is Upper Egypt. Sometimes the steep walls of the valley pressed close on either hand. Sometimes they receded until they could no longer be seen from the river road.
Big white asses bearing kilted Egyptians and their burdens trotted past, their bells jingling. Along the blue river and the many canals, muscular naked brown peasants hoisted water by creaking swapes, with posts of sun-dried mud and booms made from roughly trimmed tree trunks. Black-and-white ibises soared over the shallows, while kites and falcons screamed in the deep blue sky. Every few furlongs brought the travelers to a village: a squalid cluster of tiny huts of deep-brown clay, noisy with the chatter of peasants. From these hovels, swarms of naked children of the same muddy hue scampered out to beg with shrill voices and outstretched hands and to hurl curses and clods when refused.
Once Skhâ burst out: "What will they say back in Barbalissos when I tell them that I, the son of Thuvlo the dyer, have been presented to a satrap, the Great King's brother and one of the greatest lords of the realm? Truly this Achaemenes seemed a man of kingly qualities!"
"It takes more than fine feathers to make fine birds," said Myron.
Bessas grunted. "He's no fool, at least. He had me sweating over that matter of Orontes."
Shimri gave one of his jarring laughs. "Why told you not the entire tale?"
"It is foolish to entangle oneself, any more deeply than can be helped, in the struggles of the great. The man who is down today may be up tomorrow, and rancor outlasts gratitude as stone outlasts wood."
"Quite right," said Myron. "Besides, if Achaemenes disapproved our not reporting a chance word in a tavern, you can imagine how he would have felt over our not divulging our meeting with the pretender himself. My dear Bessas, you are absolutely the world's most unconvincing liar! I shall have to give you lessons in that art as well as in swimming."
"That won't be needed," replied Bessas. "I hereby appoint you official liar of our expedition; your people naturally excel at the art. Hereafter you shall deal with Achaemenes and his ilk."
"Is Achaemenes as good as he is splendid to look at?" asked Skhâ.
"Who can tell?" said Myron. "Men hide their true natures behind a mask of benevolence, and men change with time and the pressure of circumstance. In the early years of his reign, everyone praised you-know-who to the skies. And indeed he did well at the outset. But I suppose the responsibilities and the temptations of kingship, acting together, in time break down the strongest character. Cambyses, who also started out well, fell into fits of madness at the end of his reign and thought he saw little red snakes in his wine."