“It’s not Fortuna’s fault, either,” I said, shaking my head and feeling impossibly stupid. I released his ear.
“But we still have a chance to make it right,” whispered Djet, rubbing his red, swollen ear.
“How?”
“Wager me.”
“You?” I snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. A tiny slave like you is hardly worth a fraction of that pile of coins. You’re little and weak and unskilled-”
“But the Nabataean desires me.”
I made a dubious face.
“Have you not noticed, Roman? He’s been watching me all night, like a hawk watches a sparrow. I thought that must be why he was losing for a while, because he was paying so much attention to me and so little to the game.”
I stole a glance at Obodas. Even as he fondled the hair of the boy beside him, his heavy-lidded gaze was fixed on Djet-who fluttered his eyelashes and smiled demurely back at him, then abruptly drew his eyebrows together, as if wincing at the pain of his swollen ear. The Nabataean pouted back at him in sympathy.
I frowned. “I think you might be right,” I whispered.
“Of course I am. Do you think a messenger like myself, who goes everywhere in Alexandria, doesn’t learn to notice who watches him, and how long, and why? Little and young I may be, but not stupid, or blind.”
His tone clearly imputed the latter two qualities to me, but I ignored the insult. “Very well, I see that you may be right. But of what use is this to me?”
“I told you. Use me for a wager.”
I sighed. “In the first place, you are not my property, Djet-”
“The Nabataean doesn’t know that.”
“And in the second place, what if he wins?”
While he considered this question, Djet made his face a blank and stared at the Nabataean. Obodas stared back at him. Like a hawk watching a sparrow, Djet had said, and truly, so concentrated was the man’s gaze that I think I could have scooped up half the coins and made off with them before he noticed. But there was the bodyguard to contend with.
Djet at last turned back and whispered in my ear. “He won’t win.”
“How do you know?”
“I can see it in his eyes. He cares nothing about the money, and so he was able to play without effort, and win. But he will want to win me, very badly. And so he will lose.”
“That makes no sense.”
“What do you know, Roman? You’re not a gambler.”
That was true. And if I wanted to get my money back-without which I could hardly hope to reach the heart of the Delta, and Bethesda-I would have to do something bold.
The Egyptians from Sais had withdrawn from the circle, but were still in the room, eating and drinking and watching to see what would happen next. The girl continued to play, and the serving boys moved about the room. The Crocodile stood in the shadows, his strange, unsmiling visage impossible to read. Obodas made a signal to his bodyguard, who stood and then reached down to help his master to his feet.
“This boy,” I said, gesturing to Djet.
Obodas was halfway to his feet. “What did you say?”
“I’ll wager this boy.”
Obodas peered at me sidelong, then waved back his bodyguard and slowly resettled himself on the rug.
“His name is Djet. He’s my slave,” I said, trying not to choke on the lie. “And a very talented slave he is. Very talented and clever, and … pleasing … if you know what I mean. He’s yours if you win the next round.”
The man looked at me shrewdly.
“And if I don’t win?”
“I get the entire pile of coins … and…” I watched his face carefully. “And … the ruby necklace you’re wearing.”
The three Egyptians laughed. The Crocodile made a hissing sound. The girl’s strumming fingers went astray, assaulting our ears with sour notes. Even Djet must have thought I had misjudged the moment, for I heard him draw a sharp breath. But the Nabataean’s bodyguard, who knew his master best, shot me a curious look, raised an eyebrow, and pursed his lips.
Obodas glanced at Djet and then at me, then at Djet again, then at the pile of coins. He pulled his fingers from the curly locks of the boy beside him and touched the ruby at his breast.
“What are coins?” he finally said, and shrugged. “And what is a ruby?” Everyone in the room drew a sharp breath. He had accepted the wager. “But you must send the boy from the room while we play.”
“Why, Obodas?”
“Because he distracts me. Send him from the room.”
“No.”
Obodas frowned. He was not used to being challenged. “What did you say, young Roman?”
“The boy stays. Would you send the coins from the room, or the ruby? When men gamble, their wagers remain before them, clearly in sight. Is that not the rule? So Djet remains. Besides, it would be unfair to change the course of his life in an instant, and prevent him from seeing how such a thing occurred.”
“Unfair?” Obodas glowered at me. “The boy is your slave. How can you speak of treating a piece of property fairly?”
For a moment I thought he had realized that I was deceiving him, and that Djet was not my slave to wager. But he was only scowling at my inscrutable, foreign way of thinking. At last he nodded curtly to show that he agreed. He spoke to the long-haired boy, who reached under Obodas’s headdress to unclasp the silver chain. Obodas himself removed the necklace and placed it beside the stacks of coins. The ruby glittered brightly beneath the hanging lamp.
“Very well, Roman. The boy for the coins and the ruby necklace. Shall we begin?”
While the others looked on-even the Crocodile’s daughter stopped her strumming to watch-we began the game.
At first, it seemed that Fortuna smiled on me. My throws were good and my progress on the game board steady, while the Nabataean had a slow start. Beside me, Djet squirmed with excitement. The Crocodile hissed and nervously clapped his dark, scaly hands. The three Egyptian travelers, safely out of the game, drank more beer and cheered me on, glad to see the Nabataean bested.
Then everything changed. I threw the dice, and the worst possible sum came up. My progress on the board was reversed, while Obodas swiftly passed me. Each time I threw the dice, Djet moved his lips, muttering a silent prayer or incantation, but to no avail. I suffered one terrible throw after another, as the Nabataean sped toward the finish.
One throw remained. I cast the dice. Disaster! Obodas took his final turn and won the game.
With a lascivious smile, he crooked a finger and summoned Djet toward him.
“No!” I cried. But as I began to rise from the floor, the two sons of the Crocodile restrained me. They were stronger than they looked, and probably used to dealing with troublesome guests.
Obodas stood up, yawned, and stretched his arms while the bodyguard and the long-haired boy collected his takings. “Come, boy,” he said, for Djet, frowning and shaking his head, had not budged.
“Djet!” I whispered. He gave me a stricken look. “Forgive me,” I said.
Obodas, growing impatient, dispatched the bodyguard to fetch his new acquisition. The hulking brute stepped across the now-empty playing area, took Djet by the hand, and pulled the boy after him, yanking harder than was necessary.
“Careful!” said Obodas. He waved the bodyguard back, then put his arm around Djet. The gesture looked gentle at first, but I noticed that his hand was clamped firmly on Djet’s shoulder. “Come, boy. Your new master is weary, and my host has promised me the softest bed in all Canopus, stuffed with goose down.”
Again I tried to stand. Again the sons of the Crocodile restrained me.
Obodas and his little retinue made their way up the stairs. The Egyptian travelers, embarrassed for me, quickly vacated the room. The girl put away her instrument and vanished. The two sons let go of my shoulders, stepped back, and followed their sister.
No one remained in the room but the Crocodile and me.