The Bronze God of Rhodes

Next morning the marshes became fewer. Now and then a canal opened into the river on one side or the other. During the afternoon we reached Iseion, on the west bank. I should like to have studied the architecture of the majestic temple of Isis that rose against the skyline, but the urgency of my mission forbade. We pushed on to Sebennytos.

Onas' city came into view on our right, larger than Iseion, its walls of mud brick showing black against the red of the setting sun. Onas and I walked up the slope from the river to the gate. There lounged a single guard, wearing a helmet of crocodile skin. His huge wicker shield and bronze-pointed spear reposed against the wall.

We passed on into the city, a place of narrow dark streets and strong smells. I found General Neon in a crumbling mud-brick palace that had belonged to some forgotten governor of Persian times.

The strategos, a little round man, read the letter from Tauros, telling who we were and urging Ptolemaios' officials to give us every possible aid and succor.

"Wait," said Neon. He stepped into another room, whence came the buzz of speech. Soon he came back.

"I should be glad to help, my good sir," he said. "But I have just spoken to my spy, and he has seen no such folk as you describe in his rounds of the taverns. I imagine they stopped at Iseion, where the police are more lax, and passed by here without halting. Better luck upriver, perhaps."

Next Onas led me to the open place where stood the temple of Thôth. The lotus-topped capitals of its propylon rose black against the western sky, which was darkening from gold to apple-green to deep blue, while in the east the first stars shone like gems on a blue-black cloth. On either hand stone sphinxes brooded, and a bat wheeled and dipped overhead. To a Hellene the sight of an Egyptian temple speaks of ancient lore and occult wisdom, of mysterious rites and knowledge of forbidden things. Onas said:

"In the olden days you as a Hellene had not been admitted into the sacred precinct, let alone into the temple itself. However, things have changed."

He spoke to the man at the entrance, who walked off with leisurely strides. Soon another man appeared, looking ghostly in his white linen robe in the dusk. So quietly did he glide up that I started at the sight of him.

"Ha, Manethôs!" said Onas.

The other replied in kind, and the two touched noses. There was a swift exchange of speech. The white-robed man said to me in fluent though strongly accented Greek:

"Rejoice, O Chares! May the gods of Egypt ever watch over the friend of my kinsman." He made a ritualistic gesture. "Fain would I entertain you in proper fashion, but my house and I are in mourning. Still, will you step this way? First, however, must I ask you to leave your cloak with the porter, as wool may not be brought into the temple."

Manethôs led us into a small anteroom of the temple opening on the court. It was lit by lamps of curious shape that gave off a rancid smell of castor oil. Manethôs clapped his hands; a man brought small cups of wine for Onas and me. Manethôs did not drink. Now that I had a better look at him, I saw that he was a little younger than Onas and myself—that is, in his early twenties—and as tall as Onas though more slender of form. Manethôs ' youthful appearance, however, conflicted with an extreme gravity of manner, suitable for a man of twice his age. His entire head, including his eyebrows, was shaven.

"What is the cause of your bereavement, sir?" I asked.