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    Agios’s father had taught him that after death, men’s spirits lived on. He had never seen a spirit and did not much believe in them—but if he could see his son again, and his wife—
    No, let me stop thinking .
    Gamos mistook Agios’s solemnity for hunger and motioned for him to sit near a fire where a leg of mutton was turning slowly on a spit. “I’d starve you,” Gamos told him cheerfully, “but then you might not be able to complete your task.”
    â€œAnd what is my task?”
    â€œTo gather the frankincense, of course.”
    If I don’t tell them where I gather it , Agios thought, they will keep me alive . “Who wants it so badly?”
    As Gamos considered the question, a woman came, carrying a flat board with the roasted mutton steaming on it. Gamos took out his dagger and cut off two pieces. He handed the smaller portion over slowly, as if he was still deciding whether Agios deserved food. “It’s to be a gift,” he said finally, and for a moment Agios wasn’t sure if he was talking about the mutton or the frankincense. “A gift for a king.”
    â€œCan’t a king buy his own frankincense?” Agios tore off a hunk of meat and tried to eat it slowly, even though his stomach was hollow and aching.
    Gamos grinned and grease trickled into his beard. “Not this one. He is newly born. Or soon will be.”
    Before he could say more, someone in camp shouted frantically. In an instant, Gamos sprang to his feet, dropping his share of mutton. “Bandits!”
    He seized his spear, but Agios also leaped up and grabbed Gamos’s arm roughly. “You can’t leave me unarmed.”
    Gamos gave Agios a hard look, reached into his belt, and yanked out the dagger, then handed it to Agios blade first. It was a warning, and as Agios reached past the glinting iron to grip the hilt, their hands touched in a silent covenant. Agios wouldn’t run and Gamos knew it.
    Throwing himself into the shadows, Agios stumbled over a fallen body. Six or eight men off in the darkness loosed arrows into the camp. One whiffed so close that Agios felt the wind of its flight. People from the caravan were massing to charge into the dark.
    Agios realized that the archers were far too few to take on a caravan of thirty men. He saw the silhouette of Gamos against the torchlight and shouted, “This has to be a diversion! Don’t let them be pulled away from the tents!”
    Wasting no time, Gamos called out sharply in at least two languages. The caravan guards heard and fell back. A woman screamed from the far side of the camp. Agios raced there, leaping over a campfire, his heart pumping.
    A tent had caught fire, and in the flaring light Agios saw a dozen or more men, wearing leather armor and armed with spears and short swords, hacking at the faltering defenders.
    Roaring, Agios threw himself into the fight. A spearman, startled at his onslaught, spun as Agios knocked him down, grasped the spear, reversed it, and battered down another attacker, hitting him hard in the center of his chest. Still another swung a vicious sword, but Agios spun, got the spear haft between the swordsman’s legs, and swept him off his feet. The man lost his weapon as he fell and flung out his hands, trying to catch himself.
    Agios seized the sword. He dived low, hamstrung one bandit, tripped another, and clubbed him with the butt of the spear. People shouted. Agios heard men and women screaming. A huge brute of an attacker bore down on him, and Agios dropped backward, braced his spear, and caught him in the stomach. The dying man fell on him, a ponderous weight reeking of sweat. Agios grunted as he rolled him off, got back to his feet, and found the battle had ended.
    Gamos shouted, others answered him. Torches flared, and bandits turned and fled in the sudden light. Agios heard the twang of bowstrings and saw two more of the robbers go down, struck from behind as