The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

Despite the wide differences of race and background among the three, the fact of being the only women in a large and motley band of men drew them close together. All were kept busy, Salimat with managing the camels and their riders, Katimar with cookery, and Phyllis with the mending of garments. The black girl had turned out to be a better cook than the Macedonian, whose only culinary method was to fry everything in oil.

Myron was greatly pleased with Phyllis, who made life much more comfortable for him. Once he even thought he was falling in love with her. The prospect alarmed him, as he deemed this state of mind unwholesome and dangerous, as well as unsuited to his age.

On the other hand, he was just as happy not to have too much of Phyllis' company at any one time. She was a tireless talker, filling his ears with pointless tales of her very ordinary life in Aineia and ever boasting of her Corinthian ancestry. The gentle flow of verbiage kept on even when Myron wanted silence in which to think deep thoughts.

For the first two days out of Meroê, Katimar kept up with the company. Her long stride matched the walk of the beasts of burden, and when they trotted she trotted with them. Finding her skirt a hindrance, she stowed it among the baggage and ran naked.

On the third day, however, she developed a sore foot. An hour was wasted in vociferous argument as to which animal she should ride and how the loads should be shifted to accommodate her. At last she was placed behind Salimat on the latter's camel. She screeched with terror as the beast rose with its rocking-horse motion, and she clung fearfully to the shaykh's daughter as she stared down from her vertiginous height.

On the afternoon of the fourth day they came to the junction of the two great rivers that make up the Nile: the Astapous and the Astasobas. A large sandy island, ribbed with palms, lay in the midst of the confluence.

Birds swarmed by millions; their clamor made the ears ring. Thousands of ducks and geese flew over the river. Cranes, herons, egrets, ibis, storks, and spoonbills waded in the shallows. Pelicans plunged for fish. Darters perched on trees, drying their half-opened wings. Hawks, eagles, and eagle-hawks wheeled high overhead.

Enormous crocodiles lay on the beaches with their mouths open, while small birds cleaned their fangs. The shores were heavily thicketed with thorny acacias and mimosas. From an overcast sky a light rain—the first that Myron had seen since leaving Persepolis—pattered down upon the dusty plain.

Merqetek led the company up the Astapous for two leagues to Soba, a mud-walled village. Here, said Merqetek, a ferry crossed the Astapous. Thereby they could gain its south side and resume their march along the Astasobas.

Camped outside Soba, Bessas called his people together. " 'Tis as I warned you, lads. The black wench cannot keep up with us. So, since speed is of the essence, she cannot continue with us."

"What shall we do with her?" wailed Skhâ.

Bessas shrugged. "She is your property. Sell her, give her away, or free her; it is all one to me. But tomorrow we wend without her."

"You could buy another beast, like the ass you purchased for Phyllis."

"Belike, but I will not. I'll not further clutter our company with unneeded people, and that is my final word." He stalked off, muttering to Myron, who walked beside him: "A pox on this business of bringing women on an expedition! If you let one in, somebody will surely find an excuse for fetching another, until we have a troop of them."

"What else could I have done with Phyllis?"

"I blame you not; but see how this thing grows! Were there no woman at all, the knaves might forego their horizontal sports, at least outside of cities; but let the leaders enjoy the company of women and the rest will think of nothing else—especially a billygoat of a man like Skhâ, who makes a career of what should be only a healthy hobby."

They walked on up the Astapous, talking of many things, until the setting of the sun and the emptiness of their stomachs reminded them to return to camp. They had almost reached it when they were brought up short by the sound of screams. Salimat and Phyllis appeared, running towards them. As the girls came near, they panted:

"C-come quickly! They are slaying Katimar!"

Bessas and Myron ran and soon burst upon the scene. Three Arabs held the screaming and struggling Katimar, so that her neck lay across a log.. Standing beside the group with his sword out, Skhâ prepared to cut off the young woman's head. At the sight of Bessas, however, he stepped back.

"What is this?" demanded the Bactrian.

"We are killing the wench, that is all," said Skhâ.

"Why?"

"Because no one in Soba will buy her. Rather than loose her for some other man to enjoy without paying, we decided to kill her. She is after all our property."

"You mother-futtering sons of serpents!" roared Bessas, while the Karian gaped in astonishment. "Dung-eating defilers of holy places! Let her up forthwith!" Bessas kicked one of the Arabs in the ribs, so that all quickly scrambled up. Katimar threw herself at Bessas' feet, kissing the toes of his boots.