When my eyes got used to the gloom, not much relieved by smoking, sputtering torches thrust into holes in the wall, I saw the king seated at the far end amid a small crowd of royal kinsmen, officials, and hangers-on. Bocchus of Mauretania (or Maurusia, as some call it) was a man of medium size, somewhat younger than I, wearing a bulky hooded coat against the chill. The hood was pushed back, so that his bald head gleamed in the torchlight. He was clean-shaven and not ill-looking, being no swarthier than the average Spaniard.
"Give me your name and rank," said the usher, another 179
Moor bundled up against the weather. Coughing on the smoke, I told him:
"I am Eudoxos Theonos, of Kyzikos: former polemarch, former military treasurer, and former trierarch of the city of Kyzikos; head of the shipping firm of Theon's sons, of Kyzikos; explorer of the Borysthenes, the Tanais, and other Scythian rivers; author of Description of the Euxine Sea; and inventor of the triangular mainsail. Can you remember all that?"
The usher stumbled but finally got it all out. The king said: "You might have added that you are the only Hellene I ever heard of who spoke Moorish."
"Badly, sire."
"You will doubtless improve with practice. I knew not that I should receive so eminent a visitor. You need not hold him so tightly, men; methinks he will attempt no desperate deed. Let him go."
"But, sire!" said a soldier, "the Indian holy man warned us—"
"I said, let him go!" said Bocchus sharply. "Now, sir, what brings you hither?"
"Two things, O King. First, may it please Your Majesty, I have a tale to tell about the golden wind to India. ..."
I told about the seasonal winds that sweep across the Arabian Sea and my two voyages, omitting my troubles with the Ptolemies. I did, however, say that it was a shame that this dynasty of fat, degenerate schemers should have a monopoly of this trade, and I told of my plan to sail around Africa to India.
"I have just returned from a voyage down the coast," I said, and told of the island I had found off the mouth of the Lixus. "Now, sire, the main limiting factor in these voyages is the amount of supplies one can carry. To improve one's chances of completing so long a voyage, it were wise to set up depots of stores as far along the route as possible. I have discovered two places where such depots can be set up to advantage. One is at the mouth of the Lixus, which, I have ascertained, rises in the Atlas not far south of here. It should not be difficult to open up a regular trade route along the Lixus, to the advantage of Your Majesty's kingdom. The other is that island whereof I have told you, west of the mouth of the Lixus."
I proposed that Bocchus outfit an expedition, on terms like those that Balatar's sons had given me. When I had finished, he said:
"That is very interesting. But what is the other matter, Master Eudoxos?"
"Your Majesty has at his court, I believe, a man who passes himself off as Sri Hari, the Indian holy man."
"What mean you, sir, 'passes himself off as'? Have you reason to doubt he is what he says he is?"
"I have excellent reason, sire. I have known the man for years. He is Hippalos of Corinth, a wandering entertainer, sailor, and adventurer, who sailed with me on my first Indian voyage."
"Assuming that you speak sooth, what would you of him?"
"Know, O King, that he stole my wife and then drove her to her death. I would have justice upon him. To put it shortly, I want his head."
"Indeed?" said King Bocchus. "I think you are he of whom Master Hari has already complained." He spoke to the usher: "Fetch the Indian."
While we waited, I told the king about my Indian project. Then the usher returned with Hippalos, with a bandage on his right wrist and wearing another turban to replace the one he had lost in our fight. He stared down his nose at me with no sign of recognition.
"This man," said the king to Hippalos, "avers that you are no Indian at all, but a Hellene named Hippalos, who has done him wrong. What say you?"
"That is ridiculous, sire," said Hippalos, speaking with a nasal Indian accent. "I have never seen this man before in my life—well, not quite. He it was who yesterday assaulted me in my tent at the Tingite fair. May I beg Your Majesty to requite his attack on your servant as it deserves?"
"So, Master Eudoxos," said the king, "Sri Hari denies your charge. Can you prove what you say? Can you, for instance, produce witnesses who also knew this Hippalos in former days and can identify Hari as the same man?"
"I could, sire; but to bring witnesses hither from other parts of the Inner Sea would require much time and expense. To obviate this delay, may I make another suggestion to Your Majesty? That Master Hippalos and I have it out with swords and shields, to the death."
Bocchus looked pleased. "Now that sounds amusing! How say you, Master Hari?"
Hippalos put his palms together and bowed over them in a perfect imitation of the Indian salute. "O King, live forever. Your Majesty knows that a man who has devoted his life to the search for higher wisdom and cosmic truths could not possibly have spared the time to acquire skill in arms. So any such contest would be a simple execution of your servant."
"He is a coward, that is all," I said. "I am nearly sixty, and he twenty years younger; but he dares not face me."
"The fact is as I have stated," said Hippalos. "I fear Master —what is the name again?—Master Eudoxos has been deceived by a chance resemblance between your servant and this man whom he seeks. Or else his years have robbed him of his wits."
Bocchus scratched his bald head. "You are both plausible wights, gentlemen, and I cannot decide between your claims without further thought You may withdraw. And, oh, Master Eudoxos! Tomorrow I expect my colleague, King Jugurtha of Numidia, to arrive to wed my daughter. There will be a grand feast to which you are bidden. I cannot ask you to stay at the palace, because the Numidians will occupy all the sleeping space; but you are welcome to the festivities—provided that you make no move against Master Hari. I will not have the occasion spoilt by brawls. Do you promise?"
"I promise, sire," I said.
The Numidians are a branch of the Moorish race, wearing similar garb and speaking a dialect of the same language. They arrived in a cloud of light horse, galloping recklessly about, tossing javelins up and catching them, and whooping and yelling like the fiends of Tartaros. In the midst of them came King Jugurtha in a gilded chariot, lashing his horses to a gallop up the winding road to Bocchus' castle and skidding in the mud on the turns until I was sure he would go over the edge.
Mikipsa, who had been king of Numidia at the start of my tale, had divided his kingdom amongst three heirs: his own two sons, Hiempsal and Adherbal, and his nephew Jugurtha, who was older than either. Despite his illegitimate birth, Jugurtha had elbowed his way into the succession by the skill and valor he had shown in war and by his personal charm and craft. He was a tall, lean man in his thirties, brown-skinned, bearded, and singularly handsome. He arrived in barbaric finery, with a huge golden ring in one ear and a necklace of lion's claws around his neck. I have heard that, when the occasion demanded, he could don Greek or Roman garb and manners and quote Homer with the best of them.
After Mikipsa died, Jugurtha seized the first chance to murder his cousin Hiempsal and attack his other cousin Ad-herbal, in hopes of seizing all Numidia. The Romans, who ruled the African lands of the old Carthaginian confederation, compelled Jugurtha to leave Adherbal alone with his fragment of the kingdom, the easternmost third. Jugurtha, however, was not one to leave anything alone if he could help it. He was now harassing Adherbal's territory by raids and seeking to strengthen his position by a marital alliance with his other neighbor, King Bocchus of Mauretania.