Thus, as one of the Great King’s household the Nubian left that well-guarded courtyard, the temple itself. And he followed in the train of courtiers back across the river to the western side, where stood the newly built palace, to be lost in the maze of servant quarters there.

It was a day and a night before Daniel came to him. But in his hand was a hard-baked clay tablet he gave to the Nubian.

“Take care—this bears the Great King’s seal print. Now, at the wharf is the ship of the merchant Balzar. Also there is this—” And he took from the folds of his sash a small bag. “This holds pieces of trade silver, enough, I hope, to get you home.”

Sherkarer weighed the bag in one hand, the King’s passport in the other, his keys to freedom. He asked a last question. “How was it that you knew the lau would eat what you offered it?”

“Did I not say I was bearing witness to the power of the Lord God Jehovah? It was by His will the beast ate.”

The Nubian tucked the bag of silver into the front of the plain short robe his guide had supplied.

“Your God is a mighty one, but he has also done another thing. He brought me to be your servant when I had no wish to be so. In that much will I also bear witness to His might. I wish you well, Daniel, but I am glad that I shall do it distantly. You and your God together are such as might bring down a kingdom if it be your will.”

“Not my will, but His” Daniel corrected him. “And perhaps that shall also happen.”

And later, in Meroë of the south, Sherkarer heard the tale of how Babylon the mighty had been taken, wall and tower, palace and temple, by the Persians, and he wondered whether Daniel and his God had had a hand in that.

4

Pendragon

Ras was not looking at the sirrush-lau writhing at the poolside. He saw instead the flat picture of a queer creature as it might have been drawn by men who had heard the monster described but had not seen it in all its horrible might. His hand lay so that the fingers touched the edge of the puzzle, but he saw no blue tattoo marks forming a bracelet about his wrist. Drawing a deep breath, he pushed back from the table.

Had it all been a dream? But it was far too real. Why, he had been hungry, and tired, and frightened—he could remember every detail of the adventure as if it were all true. He was Sherkarer of Meroë, not George Brown of Sedgwick Manor!