"I understand," I said. "Do they take your advice?"

Sahuset lifted his shoulders and let them fall as before. "Do I appear well fed?"

"No," I said.

He laughed. "Remind me never to debate you. But you're wrong. I'm not starving, and I would starve if they did. I expel the harmless spirit for a modest fee-and charge a great deal more for the worse one who finds the first's house empty."

"Could you drive out the cat?"

"Perhaps." Sahuset turned away to gaze out over the river.

"Would you? If Qanju ordered it?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"You are a soldier. Would you accept an order from someone who knew far less of the military art than you do?"

Now it was my turn to watch the sails and the wheeling river-birds. "It would depend on what it was," I said at last.

"Just so." Sahuset held out his wine skin. "More? You, Myt-ser'eu?"

She accepted a second cup; when he had filled it, he poured another for himself. "I have offered my wine and my friendship. You are both afraid I'll ask some service for them. I will not, but will gladly do one for you if you ask. Do you? Either of you?"

Myt-ser'eu said, "Would you want money if I asked you to tell my fortune?"

Sahuset shook his head.

"Then please, would you?"

"Certainly." From the pouch at his belt he took four gold sticks, none of which were quite straight. "I should have my wand for this," he said-and it was there, a rod of carved ivory, though I had not noticed it before. He laid the gold sticks on the grass, each a corner of a rough square, then traced a circle about them with his wand. Closing his eyes, he looked toward the sky. For a time so long that I grew sleepy his lips moved, though I could not hear what they said.

At last he picked up the sticks, shook them in his hands, and flung them toward Myt-ser'eu. They landed in the circle, as well as I could judge, and he bent above them. "Much sorrow soon," he said, "but joy not long after it."

"That's good," she said.

He nodded absently. "You will travel to strange lands, and will be in danger there. You will return to your native place-and leave it again. Hathor favors you. That's all I can read here."

"That's what I've always wanted," Myt-ser'eu said, "to get away from my family and see strange places and meet new people like Latro. Hathor must be very kind."

"She is. Latro?"

I shook my head.

"Please?" Myt-ser'eu's hand tried to squeeze my thigh. "For me? Just this once?"

I shook my head again. "I'm a soldier, as he said. I'll die on some battlefield, and knowing that I know as much as he can find out."

"But you might not, and we're together, so if we learn about you we'll learn more about me."

I shrugged.

Taking it for consent, Sahuset scooped up his gold sticks and flung them at me. For an instant it seemed they had struck my face; they had not, and fell in the circle as before. One lay upon another there.

Sahuset leaned over them. I heard his indrawn breath, but he did not speak. He rose, walked toward the temple wall, then returned to us and studied his gold sticks again from a different angle.

"What is it?" Myt-ser'eu asked.

"You are frightened," he said. "So am I." He picked up his sticks slowly, one by one, tossed them straight up into the air, and studied them as before.

"Tell us!"

"Latro? This is ill news, I'm afraid. If you demand it, I'll tell you. I advise you not to."

"I would rather hear bad news," I said, "than know myself a coward."

"Very well. Death is near you. Very near. Myt-ser'eu and I may save you, but we may not. We will try, of course. Certainly I will. Will you, Myt-ser'eu?"

She nodded, and I felt her hand tremble. I said, "How near is it?"

Sahuset bit his lip. "Before sunrise tomorrow. You may be confident of that. If you see the sun rise, you are out of danger. Beyond the proximity of your peril, there is no certainty. Be careful this evening. Be very careful tonight, and recall always that death may be kinder than Hathor. That is all I can tell you."

He left. I opened the leather case that holds this scroll, and Myt-ser'eu fetched water from the canal for me. She said that fortunes told are sometimes wrong, which I know is true. I said that it would be hard to think of a place where danger threatened less than here, which is true too. We made jokes and kissed, and soon her tears dried.

DEATH DID NOT seem strange then. I will write it all, though I may think I went mad when I read it in days not yet come. I forget, as the captain told me. And the woman, and the seer. The healer said it was best to remember nothing, but Uraeus tells me that I must remember or wander lost until I die once more.

I flew to this ship. I cannot say how I knew where it was-I flew at the word of the man who gave me the serpent from his crown, and it was before me. I knew I must go there. My body lay in the bow, screened with sailcloth. "Lucius," the seer whispered over it. "Lucius, do you hear me?"

Then I knew that the thin man had returned already, and I must return too. I did, and it was like walking into a cave to rejoin friends. The small man came too, and I sat up. The sailcloth would not let me see whether the dark man had come as well. I took it down, and he had not. I bent to comfort the woman who wept, and quickly he was there. Uraeus is with us too.

Here is what happened.

A man wearing a strange crown came from the direction of the temple. "Get up," he told me, "you must come with me." There was no threat or anger in his voice, but I knew that he must be obeyed. I rose and felt myself pulling others behind me as I rose. I drew the man whose hand I clasped, he another, and so on. I was also drawn by the man whose hand clasped mine. I rose, and we were four.

"Come with me." The crowned man beckoned with a stalk of papyrus. "I am Sesostris."

We did as we were bid, but looked behind us. A fifth man was being rolled into a cloth while women wailed.

One was dark. One was thin. One was small, but shone like a star. All were I, and so was I. Our body was I as well.

"Who are we?" the small I asked Sesostris.

At this, the thin I said, "I am Lucius."

We pressed forward. "Who are we?"

Sesostris pointed to the one I am. "You are Ba." To the small shining one. "You are Ka." To the dark one. "You are Shade." To the thin one. "You are Name."

"I am Lucius," the thin one declared again.

To this Sesostris nodded. "You are."

"Are we dead?" we asked.

"He is," Sesostris told us. "You are not. You came from another land with him who is dead, and have never been taught. If I teach you now, will you learn of me?"

"Yes," we said, "teach us!"

"A man is of five parts," Sesostris told us. He held up his hand, its fingers wide. "A woman or a child, the same. They are Body, Name, Shade, Ba, and Ka. At death, Body sleeps. You will be judged by gods. If you are found worthy, you will wait in the Field of Reeds until the day when all shall be reunited. If unworthy, devoured."

We nodded one by one, first the small shining one, last I. I said, "There are many gods here."

"There are more than you suppose, more gods than men, by far. Do you fear they will all judge you?"

"I do not fear," I said.

"You need not. Forty-two will judge you, with Osiris to preside."

The gate of the temple wall stood before us. We walked through it, though it was shut. Within were the temple, not large but fine in the way of Kemet, and other buildings.

"What are these places?" we asked.

"That is the House of Life." Sesostris gestured with his stalk of papyrus. "That is the House of Priests. Some are storehouses. Many are thought empty."