Chapter Twenty-Eight
"Have your wits flown your mortal cage?" Agog breathed as they were led to their sleeping quarters.
Heron shushed him, knowing the slaves attending them would report their conversations back to Salhaed.
Then she realized Agog was walking at her side. She snapped her finger and pointed discretely to a spot a pace behind.
Agog practically growled at her with his eyes, but fell into step behind her.
They were led to a grove of trees with a stone hut in the middle. It had wide curtained windows and an arched door. Colorfully striped cloth ribbons hung in the entrance, shifting slightly in the breezes that were deflected from the cliff.
The woman slave with a gentle flourish of her hand indicated Heron should enter. Heron looked back to Agog. The hut looked barely big enough for one.
"Where will my bodyguard be sleeping?" she asked.
The slave repeated the gesture indicating Agog would sleep in the hut.
Heron felt great discomfort when dealing with slaves. She disliked giving them orders, but she didn't want to share a small hut with Agog.
"That hut looks too small for the both of us," she said, mimicking the tone of command she'd heard too often on the streets of Alexandria. "I desire separate sleeping quarters for my bodyguard."
The slave blinked twice and glanced toward the temple. Then she made the slightest of grimaces and indicated the hut a third time.
Heron sighed. She had hoped to have privacy to clean and adjust the molded genitalia she used as her gender disguise. It allowed her to urinate standing as a man, but it had gained an aroma from the constant use.
"Fine," said Heron. "Then lead my man to the water so he may fetch us more to drink. I am parched."
The slave pointed to herself and shook her head, indicating that Agog would not be allowed.
Glancing back to the Northman, she noticed he was staring into the trees. She subtly followed his gaze to see glints of steel in the darkness. They were being watched by armed guards.
"Let us retire then," she said defeated.
The stone hut was even smaller inside than she first thought and Agog had to hunch down or hit his head on the ceiling. There was a cot along one wall and a blanket along another with only space between for another person. A candle attached to the wall spread its meager light in the small space.
Agog slipped into a crouch on his blanket, scowling. He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Heron glanced out the window, careful not to disturb the cloth covering.
"They keep us prisoner here," he said, hunched over and brooding.
Heron shook her head. "Yes and no. The temple does not wish to harm us, but they keep us together for a reason."
"And what reason is that?" he asked.
As her vision adjusted to the dim light of the hut, she was struck by how much a beast of a man the northerner was. The candlelight cast menacing shadows on his form. She felt like she was waiting in a cave with a great bear.
A contrast to the eloquent and learned man he portrayed himself to be in the workshop. Of course, she'd seen him fight twice: once in the streets of Alexandria and the other in the darkness of her workshop.
In the workshop, she'd only seen flashes of him slipping through the shadows and then a scream. She had almost pitied the mercenaries.
Heron shrugged. "Besides annoying me with your presence?"
She gave him a half-grin, which he ignored and continued his sulking.
"What's gotten into you?" she demanded.
"I was wondering the same of you," he said. "Why travel here to ask a foolish question? I thought we embarked on a real errand. At least if we would have tested the wagon we might have learned a valuable truth."
Heron peeked from the opposite side window. She hated the way the trees and walls kept her blind. A person could be sitting outside their window and they wouldn't know it.
"I have my reasons," she said, not wanting to admit them out loud. She could barely even admit them to herself. Might she be chasing at shadows?
"By what reasons could your investigations lead you here?" he asked.
Heron waited until the Northman was looking up at her, so she could indicate her true meaning with her eyes.
"Enough talk from you," she said, invoking the haughty tone of a slave master. "My servant should not be questioning me so vehemently, even a hired one as yourself that I have given much liberty."
She hoped that if the temple was truly spying on her that her words would give reason enough not to distrust their ruse.
As Agog's eyes narrowed, she indicated the outside with a nod of her head and cupped a hand around her ear.
Agog nodded, understanding.
"Apologies, Master Heron," he said. "My brain is much addled from the long journey across the desert and a lack of sleep."
Heron marveled at how quickly the Northman changed from brooding beast to delicate conspirator. His pose seemed noble and thoughtful now, rather than beastly.
"I am not tired yet, though I feel myself growing in that direction," she said. "So I would hazard a tale that would help soothe us both on our way to sleep."
One eyebrow rose questioningly. Heron smiled in response.
"Have you heard the story of Alexander's visit to this very Oracle?" she asked.
Clearly as a student of history he had, but he played along and said, "No, Master Heron, I have not."
"I will be brief then, as I am growing tired already," she said. "The story is told in the book Life of Alexander from Plutarch, not mine, but a scholar from the Library."
Heron sat on the cot, content that it wouldn't matter if the temple overheard her tale.
"As a military venture, Alexander conquered Egypt easily. But running your troops through a country as proud and historied as Egypt and convincing its leaders to pledge fealty wouldn't actually hold the country and Alexander needed Egypt for its gold and food and slaves," she said, skipping the details and only hitting the highpoints of the story.
"Alexander was wise beyond his years, a benefit of having Aristotle as his teacher I presume, and he knew that Egypt would only follow a divinely inspired leader. A pharaoh. So Alexander came to the Oracle and asked two questions. The first, he inquired if any of his father's murderers had escaped. The answer was that he shouldn't ask such questions because his father was more than a man."
Heron paused and held out her hand in a stopping motion. She realized she'd plowed into the story too quickly.
"First, I think I should point out that when Alexander came to the Oracle, he came with his army. Secondly, he was the only one to go into the Oracle. His entourage waited outside."
Agog clicked his tongue and Heron took that as a signal to continue.
"Alexander then asked a second question, directly to the Oracle and received his answer. He asked whether he was fated to conquer all of mankind. The Oracle granted this to him and then he proceeded to reward the temple with gifts," she said.
"And with the belief that he was fated to victory, his troops followed him across the whole world in his conquest. And the people of Egypt believing him descendant from the god Ammon, the very god that speaks through this shrine, fell in behind him and supported the great city of Alexandria as its new capital."
The Northman appeared deep in thought at the conclusion of her lecture.
"Well, that story did the trick for me," she said with a smirk, lying onto the cot. "Sleep well, loyal bodyguard, I hope this story has proved instructive."
Agog didn't acknowledge her, so she turned and went to sleep. Surprisingly, she slept well, though awoke well before the dawn. The candle had been snuffed, but light from the moon filtered past the curtains, revealing hazy shapes in the darkness.
Heron found herself staring at the sleeping form of the Northman. She watched the slow heave of his chest as he slept comfortably on his back.
&nb
sp; In the dim light of morning, Heron imagined running her hands across his chest. It had been so long since she'd been with a man that it seemed like another life.
Lost in her fantasies, Heron didn't notice that Agog had awoken and stared back at her. Embarrassed by the unfiltered eye contact, Heron rolled onto her back.
Heron was saved by the entrance of a slave, the same girl from the night before. She motioned them to follow.
They were led to the table in the clearing. Only two chairs remained. They were given wet cloth to wash their faces and then they ate a breakfast of bread and sticky green fruit.
Heron avoided Agog's gaze, though he studied her closely. She spent her time looking at the hill she would have to climb, her knees already aching from the thought.
No one attended them after eating, so they wandered into the village. The villagers moved through their daily routines like an automata play. Heron walked up to a woman threading a rip in a tunic, sitting in the shade of her doorway. The woman would not make eye contact or respond to Heron's questions.
Heron repeated the exercise until she grew certain that the villagers were forbidden to speak to them. Even the slave girl attending them remained silent.
Along the way, Agog occasionally nodded toward distant locations around the oasis. Heron found men in steel and white desert robes spying on them.
Heron went back to check on the wagon to find the boxes hiding the steam mechanic disturbed. She checked the important connections, finding that they hadn't been adjusted. Not that she thought the temple priests could interpret the gears and levers enough to damage it.
They spent the rest of the day by the water's edge. Agog tried to strip down and swim in the oasis, but men appeared and shouted at him until he started putting his clothes back on.
Once the men left, Agog shot her a sly glance and put his feet into the water. They chatted quietly while they waited for nightfall. Agog told tales of his village life when he was a young man. He had questions about hers, but she shrugged them off.
In all, Agog's anger from the previous night seemed to have dissipated, either from the tale about Alexander or an acceptance that she was going through with speaking to the Oracle.
During quiet moments, Heron caught Agog staring at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. Did he see past her disguise? Was he just considering their task?
Heron almost wished it was the first. Besides her niece, no one else knew about her deception. It weighed on the heart to keep a secret for so long. She'd always been able to confide in her twin, knowing he would always keep her secrets safe.
And in another time and place, she would be interested in the Northman. Maybe before he returned to the North, she could reveal herself for one night of revelry. Maybe.
But she knew that would never happen. It would risk too much. He would probably leave once the war machines were complete.
Before the sun set, the slave girl led them back to the grove. They ate a flaky white fish caught at the oasis, and a bowl full of nuts and berries.
When the appointed time finally came, Heron felt restless and alert. Salhaed appeared in a white temple robe, adorned with gold inlay. His bronze skin shown against the white, making him glow in the moonlight.
"Greetings Heron of Alexandria. I hope our hospitality has held you well received," he said.
"Gratitude, Salhaed," she replied. "Your hospitality has been well received."
Salhaed led them to the bottom of the hill. Next to the path leading upwards was a gold goblet on a single white pedestal.
"Before you ascend, you should partake of this cup of honeyed wine to aid you on your journey to the Oracle," he said, indicating the goblet.
Heron lifted the goblet and downed it in one long draw. She assumed it was drugged, but knew she wouldn't be able to refuse. It was safer to let them believe she didn't know.
"The Oracle awaits," said Salhaed and he began walking up the path to the peak.
When Agog started to follow, Salhaed motioned for him to stop.
"The answer is for Heron alone, since he was the questioner," said Salhaed.
Agog hesitated, glancing to Heron.
"I'm certain I am safe within the temple's capable hands," she said. "Though I would have preferred your shoulder for the climb."
Salhaed tut-tutted softly. "One must make the climb on his own power or not be worth of the Oracle's wisdom."
Salhaed took to the path in long confidant strides. He would reach the peak long before her.
"Plato have pity," she muttered.
Not far into the climb, Heron wondered if she would make it to the top. Her leg harnesses were not made for climbing, only walking across flat surfaces. The joints dug into her leg. She stopped frequently to rub the life back into her legs and adjust the harnesses.
At a quarter of the way up, the drug from the cup took hold. The simple stony path up the mountainside became a treacherous landscape of unreality.
The periodic torches that marked her way began to sway like serpents. Despite her internal certainty that they were still torches, Heron avoided them, scraping along the walls to keep her distance.
The shadows between the islands of light became yawning pits. Her logical mind knew there was stone beneath her feet, but she crawled across the shadows fearful she would fall to her death.
Glancing to the moon, she frequently became enthralled by its crescent shape. Doubts that she would be safely received at the top crept in.
The crescent moon matched the shape of the necklace from the assassins. She wondered what Punt and Plutarch had learned in her absence. She wondered if they were even alive. All these thoughts careened around in her head like water spiders.
Fears that whatever sinister forces arrayed against them had risen up and slain her friends and her niece while she was gone, took hold and could not be dislodged. Even Agog had probably been set upon by a host too numerous to stop and he lay in the dust with blood pooling around his throat.
Heron crawled up the mountainside, tears dripping from her face, harnesses loose and partially dragging behind.
As she neared the top, her waking mind began to assert control over the drug induced one. Shadows stopped being pits and torches became torches. Even the thoughts of her friends being dead had ceased.
A new thought replaced the others, one that made her chuckle lightly as she fixed the harnesses around her bloody knees.
Salhaed had given her the drug at the bottom, expecting her to be in its throes when she reached the peak. The difficulty of her climb had delayed her progress enough that the drug, while still in her body, now only served to mute the agony within her legs.
Heron finally stood and continued her journey with an awkward gait as she hadn't been able to fully repair the harnesses.
The path gave way to an arched gate. The haze of smoke filled the courtyard beyond. Heron stepped through to find Salhaed greeting her.
The priest's face was cast in a welcoming light, though Heron could see by his tense shoulders that he was perturbed by her lateness. Heron kept her eyes decidedly vacant.
Other priests in lesser robes bowed as she passed. She caught many a glance toward her bloody ruined knees. She was certain blood still ran down her calves but feared breaking the illusion by tending to them.
The white stone temple on the far side of the courtyard waited without adornment except columns carved into the stonework. She was disappointed by the plainness. She had hoped to find clues amid the frescoes and paintings normally found on temple walls.
Heron crossed the distance until she stood at the doorway.
An old priest with a gray, grizzled beard stood before her. His face was lined in wrinkles and his robe was simple white. Crystal blue eyes like Salhaed's watched her approach.
The old priest moved to the side and motioned for her to enter. Heron heard noises of protest from beh
ind.
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Salhaed. His voice seemed both distant and near.
The old priest held his hand up to silence Salhaed. "The Oracle wishes to give her answer directly."
Salhaed bristled beneath the command of the older priest. Their hierarchy was apparent by the exchange. Heron assumed Salhaed the high priest due to his gilded robes, but the old one asserted power. Maybe given from the Oracle's command.
The old priest motioned again for her to proceed. Heron entered before Salhaed could stop her.
The adytum, the interior of the temple, erased her concerns about finding clues. The walls were lavishly decorated. Heron proceeded slowly and drank in the details.
On the right wall, King Amasis, in whose reign the temple was built as she read from the cartouche beneath his carving, stood with his arm outstretched to the east. Slaves offered wine vases to the eight gods that followed: Amenre, Mut, Khonsu, Dedun-Amun, the goddess Tefnut, Haraphis, Nut and Thoth.
On the left wall waited Ammon, whose name and voice had been given to the temple. Ammon's lower body was wrapped in white cloth and he held a resurrection staff.
Behind Ammon and fed by more slaves, eight more gods looked on: Haraphis, Sutekh-irdes, Hebenu of the Two Lands, Nehem'awa, Amenre, Mut, Khonsu and Thoth.
Heron couldn't be sure of the meaning of the same gods on both walls. She made her way through the hallway, trying to memorize every detail. Had she not been going so slow she might not have noticed the procession painted into the background.
In the distant mountains, far beyond the gods and goddesses painted to be standing in the room as she, a line of men danced before a tiny altar.
The portion of the painting was up high, so she had to stand on her toes to study it, a feat of balance given the harnesses and drug.
Then she saw it, hiding behind the altar. A darkened crescent moon, almost black except for hints of shimmer across its surface.
Aware that she'd been taking a long time to walk through the hallway, Heron continued, content that she'd found at least one clue. She couldn't be certain that the dark crescent matched the one from the assassin, but it was more than they had before.
Heron went through the second hall, under an archway depicted with the head of a ram, Ammon's symbol. Other adornments of the god were painted upon the walls. After an inspection, Heron moved to the inner sanctuary.
A woman was seated on a dais covered in crimson silken pillows. She wore a simple shift across her bosom. Heron knew her as the sibyl of the Oracle when she realized the woman's eyes were sewn shut. The thick thread looked old and bonded to her eyes.
She'd been blinded by the temple for her prophecies. Heron wondered if it were as much to keep her from escaping.
The woman would have been a beauty in the streets of Alexandria. Heron felt sorrow for her, trapped in a secluded temple to speak mysteries. She was a slave worse than chained.
The haze of incense drifting through the room made her cough lightly.
"Heron of Alexandria," said the Oracle with a clear, high voice.
"It is I," Heron replied.
The Oracle tilted her head and a secret smile of amusement flickered across her lips. The Oracle patted the pillows beside her. Heron was almost glad the Oracle was blind so she would not see the pity on her face.
Heron glanced around certain she was being watched. She assumed that once she climbed upon the pillows, guards and priests would rush in and drag her away.
Heron made her way tentatively, the drug wearing off enough that her knees began to ache.
The Oracle took her hand and whispered, "I will tell you the answer to your question, but first I must know."
Before Heron could react, the Oracle leaned forward and unerringly, placed her lips against hers. Surprised, Heron had no time to flinch and once the Oracle's lips were against hers, she dared not pull away.
The Oracle pushed her lips insistently against hers. She had soft, plush lips like the petal of a flower. Heron felt a tingle at the base of her spine.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the Oracle was upright and away.
"I will give my answers now," said the Oracle, motioning for Heron to return to the spot before the dais.
Heron noted the mention of answers in the plural rather than singular. Will she receive answers for questions she did not ask?
Before she had much time to weigh her thoughts, the Oracle spoke again in fluent Greek.
"One question begets three and no man may be their master. As all things have a past, a present, and a future, so too does your question.
The future speaks first, in a city made of time, the error will be understood and set alight a new conquest.
For the present, wrapped in a knot of the mind, is owed a divine debt that shall be repaid in full.
And last—the past, the truth fractured into meanings upon meanings, was set alight by the Empire's favored hand."
The words burned themselves into Heron's mind, though the meaning of them was kept far from understanding. Only the last verse, pertaining to the past was clear.
The Oracle had laid blame of the fiery destruction of the Great Library upon the Empire's favored son—Gaius Julius Caesar.
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