Riddle Me This

Chapter 1Nubia, 332 B.C. It was more like a sarcophagus than a box—a rectangular, marble affair with deep reliefs of hunters on horseback. If it were a sarcophagus, then it was a most peculiar one, designed as much to let the dead out as to let the living in, for there were holes carved into the bottom corners whose significance would soon become apparent. So heavy was the sarcophagus that it had taken eight of the queen of Nubia’s strongest men to carry it in and four to remove the lid and tip it carefully on its side. Inside were not the bones of a man but a man himself, whose bones were still very much attached to sculpted sinews and muscles covered with a tawny canvas dotted with thick brushstrokes, a warrior’s scars. The fine-boned face, framed by a cloud of thick, dark, blond hair, bore no such markings. It was a familiar one whose likeness preceded it in the queen’s realm and beyond, one that wore no trace of fear—only a slightly quizzical, amused expression as the man attached to it rattled to his feet, clad in armor and chains. It amused Alexander to appear so: He who was on the cusp of conquering the Persian Empire—conquering the known world—could afford to play at being conquered. A phalanx of his men, he knew, stood just outside the lapis gates; the main of the army not far off in Memphis, Egypt. There in the city of Ramesses the Great in the fall of the year—surrounded by the almond-eyed, straight-nosed, full-lipped likenesses of the pharaoh who had stamped the world with his visage and now seemed to dare Alexander to outstrip him in doing the same—the Greco-Macedonian conqueror had been proclaimed not only pharaoh but god, the son of Zeus Ammon. Henceforth, his profile would be depicted with small ram’s horns, curling like amulets just above his ears. Surely, this son of Zeus so fetchingly adorned could be indulged an excursion to Meroë in Nubia to meet the descendant of the legendary Queen Semiramis—whose conquests were said to exceed his own. It was the kind of unnecessary diversion his men had grown used to on their way to vanquishing Persia, particularly as they moved deeper into the empire, led as they were by a king who was as much an explorer as conqueror. Alexander would assume the identity of one of his own emissaries, the better to observe the Nubian queen, called the Candace, the better to impress her when he revealed the truth, like the sun bursting forth from the clouds. But on the sandy road to the palace, the queen’s men had surrounded them, detaining his companions as they shackled him and led him before her. My army could storm these gates and grind this city into dust just as easily as I could ravish you, Alexander thought. But he had chosen forbearance, mercy, continence even, like the chivalrous Cyrus the Great, founder of the Persian Empire and a hero of his childhood dreams. Yet where was that famous temperance now that he was permitted to gaze at her, for her form was shapely, he thought, her coloring as creamy as the dunes and pyramids that graced her kingdom. “I have come on behalf of Alexander—son of Philip and the Greeks—who has heard of your beauty, your legend, and the blood of a conqueror that flows through your veins,” Alexander said, kneeling before her, something he had not done since he was a child acknowledging King Philip of Macedon, his father, and Queen Olympias, his mother. As he addressed her interpreter, the chains weighed heavy on his skirted lap, which hinted at the power that lay beneath. “I have come on behalf of my king for your love.” “Then you have come a long way to be disappointed, Alexander. You look surprised that I know your Greek tongue and the true identity of its speaker. But we knew it was you and not an emissary as you tried to disguise yourself. We recognized you at once from your portrait. Your fame, your deeds, your virtue precede you—as does your beauty.” Here Alexander looked up to see a smile at play on her lips. A slip of a girl, really, he thought, where did she get the cheek? I could crush you, girl. And yet, I would rather be your servant, if only for one night. The Candace seemed to be a mind reader as well for she said, “It is a pity that all your efforts are in vain, for I have vowed to give my heart and mind to no man.” Before Alexander could reply, she added, “No, nor my body either.” Here she rose, forcing him to rise. “And yet, I would yield to the man who is wise enough to answer three riddles. Do you accept, Alexander? Many have tried and all have forfeited their lives.” What choice did he have? His death would surely spell calamity for the Candace and her desert city for his army would avenge him—and he would not be there to stop it. What had begun as a lark had become a struggle between life and death. What had he gotten himself into? But he saw himself in her unadorned arms, her legs wrapped around his thighs, his mighty reed planted at the entrance of her fragrant garden. He had come a long way to conquer an empire and to win her love. “I accept the challenge, great queen.”