Chapter Twenty-Nine
Heron hardly remembered the journey back down the mountain. Once she had received her answer, she left straight away wanting to reach the bottom before the drug wore off.
Agog practically caught her as she stumbled down the last slope and carried her to the wagon. He'd had it readied during the climb.
The pain from her bloody, ragged knees grew to white hot intensity by the time the wagon left the oasis. She sat in back and using water and a rag tried to clean the mess that was her knees.
Pebbles and rocks had become imbedded in the flesh. Using a sharp knife, she picked the worst of the stones loose. A particularly nasty shard had dug deep and she had to cut away skin to remove it, only to pass out when it pulled free.
When she awoke, Agog had stopped the wagon and was wrapping bandages around her legs. Heron chided him for stopping the wagon and told him she could do it herself.
Heron did not sleep. The pain and the aftereffects of the drug made sure of that. And the Oracle's words had so firmly lodged themselves in her mind, deeper than the rocks she'd pulled from her knees, she thought of nothing else in her half-asleep, half-awake state.
She didn't know why the Oracle had given her three answers when she'd only asked one question. What information was the woman trying to pass on to her?
After a time. Which was no time and all time together because she was lost in her own mind. She began to come out of her dream-like haze.
Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth and her bladder ached. The wagon sped through the desert passing over a tall hill that was losing a battle with a nearby dune.
A water pouch sat against her leg. She drew from it again and again, feeling like her thirst would never be quenched. When the pouch was empty, she threw it back down, partially sated.
Agog stared ahead, lightly flicking the reins. He was wrapped in his desert nomad gear. The sun neared the horizon and painted the earth in bright colors.
"Stop the wagon, Northman. I have to make water upon the sand," she said.
Agog tilted his head toward her. "Piss off the back. We're being followed and I dare not stop."
"The temple?"
He shook his head. "Bandits." He nodded south and pointed discretely with his elbow.
Heron followed the direction he indicated. It took a minute, but eventually she caught sight of four men on horses shadowing them.
"Why haven't they attacked already?" she asked.
Agog clicked his tongue, which passed as a thoughtful shrug. "Freya's frigid tits, why would I know?" he said. "If it were me I'd have already made my move."
Heron patted the boxes covering the steam mechanic. "Maybe they're afraid we've got a mini-ballista under here."
He chuckled and shouted his response back, "Or they're waiting to join up with others. Bandits hate to attack unless they've got overwhelming odds."
The wagon bounced and Heron grimaced, tightly grabbing her thigh. She shut her eyes until the pain dissipated to a low throb.
"Must you hit every bump and rock?" she said when she could speak again.
Agog pointed to the right. "If you prefer, I can steer that way. It's smoother near the bandits."
She could hear the grin in his words and shouted back her reply as she crawled to the back of the wagon. "Try to find a flat patch while I water the sand. Otherwise, you'll have to circle back around and pick me up when I fall out."
He laughed at her grim humor, to which Heron found herself doing the same, as she painfully crawled to the back.
Climbing to a half-kneeling position, she lifted her tunic and urinated through the molded genitalia. Complete, she made her way back and took the spot on the bench next to Agog.
"Want to get some sleep?" she asked, nodding to the wagon.
He shook his head. "I can't sleep before a battle and we won't outpace them unless your steam mechanic can drive this wagon faster than a horse," he said.
She pulled out a hunk of dried meat from a bag between them. "By my calculations it should, but let's not try that right now."
"Why not?" he asked.
"We have to cut the horses loose to use it and we wouldn't make it back to Alexandria. We're still too far away, unless I slept a second day."
Agog shook his head. "Only one day out, but I've been driving the horses hard."
Heron made a few more calculations. "If they haven't attacked by morning, we should be close enough to fire up the steamer."
"Morning? Ha!" he said. "We'll be lucky if our horses don't fall dead by then."
Heron shrugged. "Unless you’d like to stop and just get the fight over with, we'll have to wait until morning."
Agog gave an exaggerated scowl. "I should have procured a weapon before our trip. I can probably take the four of them bare-handed, but I can't vouch for your safety."
Heron glanced south. "Make that six, two more have joined them."
"I could take a weapon from the first?" he playfully asked himself.
"We're in a race for our lives and you're joking around," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Humor is my secret weapon in battle," he said, smiling. "It's always the overly serious ones that die first."
"Can we talk about something else? We've got a long way until morning and I'd rather not dwell on it," she said.
Agog nodded.
The landscape veered smoothly away from the bandits, letting them put more distance between them. But the bandits didn't seem deterred by the change, they rode along patiently.
"Can you tell me of your words with the Oracle?" he asked. "Or will that violate the sacred mysteries and void your precious prophecy?"
Heron detected a hard edge to his question, despite his grin. She hesitated, deciding if she should reveal what she learned.
"We might die on this errand of yours," he said, nodding toward the bandits. "It would be common decency to let me know the worth of the journey."
It was Heron's turn to scowl.
"Caesar did it," she said without fanfare.
He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Caesar? I thought you'd ruled him out."
"I did," she said. "But that's not what the Temple of Ammon wants me to believe."
"Believe?" he asked, and then quieted, clearly in thought. "You didn't expect the real answer, did you?"
His green eyes bored into her.
"Took you long enough to figure it out," she said.
Agog shook his head. "I should have realized it from your story about Alexander." He paused and then asked. "Why did you go then?"
"A couple of reasons," she said. "The night we were attacked, the man who you killed last called me a 'heretic' before he died."
"You never mentioned that," he said.
"I didn't think it important at the time," she said. "My failures in the temples were well known as was my curse. I thought it nothing more than petty spite from a dying man."
"Tell me we didn't come all the way out here based on one dying lunatic?" he asked.
"When I was taking Sepharia to Punt's house in the secret wagon, I was accosted by an old hag who told me that the 'fires can only be found within the hidden waters of Ammon.'"
Agog nodded and let a sly grin rise to his face. "Prophetic words from an unlooked for source."
"Yes. The words seemed gibberish to me that day. I was too busy thinking about getting Sepharia safely through the streets," she said. "Later on, reflecting on everything I knew about the fires, I recalled the hag's words. I might not have thought much of them, except for my own experiences making miracles for the temples."
Heron glanced south. The bandits were keeping a safe distance. The contented nature of their following unnerved her. The sun would pass the horizon soon and they'd be traveling by moonlight alone.
"And?" Agog prompted her.
"I have made minor oracles before," she said. "Some give bird song to indic
ate a positive or negative answer, or others point to a prophetic item. The answer is given randomly, unless the temple in question pays an additional fee to add a secret lever that can direct the oracle's answer."
Agog let loose a short guttural laugh. "So my story about Aurinia was falling upon sympathetic ears after all."
"Was that story not true?" she asked.
He nodded grimly. "Sadly, yes."
Heron continued before he could grow maudlin again. "Besides confirming that the Oracle intended to mislead us, I also spied an important clue in the paintings before the Inner Sanctum."
She described the procession and the darkened moon. Agog immediately made the connection to the necklace as she had.
"So these hidden forces behind the temples started the fires?" he asked.
She shrugged. "They have not been ruled out, but I can find no proof of their involvement."
The Northman slapped his leg. "They've shown motive enough with their deception."
"They profit from the deception," she explained. "But that does not mean they are guilty."
Agog leaned back, considering her words with a hand to his chin. "I see your reasoning." And then a second conclusion appeared on his face. "What then of the temple's motive?"
Heron blew air from her lips in exasperation. "First, I don't even know which temple. A conspiracy among many or just a handful? They can't all be in on it, secrets are harder to keep the more who know about it." She paused. "But for motive I can only guess. The city is a tinderbox, waiting to be lit, like my steam mechanic. Proof, for the masses anyway, that Caesar started the fires, might lend itself to a revolution."
She caught the way the Northman gripped the reins, rubbing the leather with relish. It did not confirm her thoughts but his actions lent themselves to her tentative conclusions.
Agog turned and with an almost deliberate calm, asked, "Will your secret benefactor take Caesar's name as an answer?"
Heron decided to test her theory. "I don't know. Will he?"
Without blinking, Agog answered right away. "Depends on the kind of man he is. Does he want the truth? Or just a convenient answer?"
His answer could be read both ways. Heron tried a different tactic. "I guess it depends on what he wanted the information for. To shore up the annals of history? To settle a grudge? And if the temples wanted this information out, will his needs outweigh the hidden agenda of theirs?"
Agog shrugged with a casual dismissal. "We're not even sure what they want. So how can you even compare two different hidden agendas?"
The Northman picked up the reins, steering the wagon around a clump of rocks. Heron found she had no answer for his question.
The night rattled by on the seat of the wagon. The pain and her long rest kept her awake. She wasn't sure how the Northman was managing.
Heron found herself worried about Agog's motives. She knew so little about him, even after hearing stories of his youth and conquests and the loss of his great love. She had no idea why he wanted the war machines, or why he was interested in the fires, if it were truly he behind the coinage.
For all she knew, he could be planning a conquest near Alexandria, either east or south. His troops could be moving into position while he waited for her to finish. It would explain his impatience with her progress.
Rome's displeasure at disruptions in the smooth workings of the Empire would be great. Heron shuddered to think what would happen if they traced the weaponry she was making back to her.
By rights, the Empire did not like her making war machines for anyone but them. But Philo had cornered the market with judicious bribes. She'd practically been forced into doing business with the Northman.
Heron casually glanced at Agog. He wasn't what she'd expected of a barbarian. His keen wit, erudite knowledge and brutal strength made her wonder how Rome kept the hordes from traveling south.
While she liked the man, both professionally, and deep down, she could admit, a little privately; he was an unknown that she was about to arm with weapons the world had never seen before.
Heron vowed to learn more about the Northman before she released the war machines to him. Especially since he knew what she'd learned at the Oracle.
Throughout the night, Heron dozed, briefly at best. Catching snatches as they made their way over dunes and long stretches of hard packed dust. The Northman piloted the wagon like a statue, barely moving and with a grim visage on his face, their previous humors lost to the night.
When the morning came, like a fire at dawn, Agog elbowed her deeply in the ribs.
"Four more have joined the six. Ready the engine," he said.
She climbed into the back, knees flaring with agony. The boxes in back made it look like they were hiding a camel. Heron removed them, keeping an eye on the horizon where the bandits rode.
The steam would take longest to rise, so Heron started the fire with a portable flint. Plutarch had packed a mixture of wood dust, oil and wood in a steel bin. They'd lined the bottom with clay bricks so it wouldn't burn through the wagon, but they hadn't tested it yet.
They hadn't tested any of it actually. Heron remembered Plutarch's adjustment to her design. Burning a hole through the wagon would be the least of their worries.
"They're coming," said Agog.
Heron didn't bother to check on the bandits. It would only slow her down and she was focused on the steam mechanic.
The flame was tickling the bottom of the water chamber. It would take time to boil and even longer for the mechanic to produce enough force to move the wagon.
"Should I release the horses?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Drive away from them," she said. "We need more time."
Heron blew on the fire, willing the water to turn to steam.
"I'm not going to have time to stop and release the horses if we don't do so soon," he shouted into the wind.
Heron glanced up. The bandits were bearing down on them, dust kicking up in plumes. She had an idea how they could keep going and activate the mechanic, but it would be dangerous. Less dangerous than ten bandits, though.
"The water isn't boiling yet. Can you release the horses while we move?" she asked.
Agog looked to the two horses, foam frothing at their lips as they thundered across the desert sands. He sighed. "Yes, I can climb onto the yoke and cut the harness if you can steer."
She nodded. "I'll have to steer from here. Throw me the reins."
The whooping of the bandits could be heard above the winds and the rattling of the wagon.
Heron knocked on the boiler with her knuckle. "For the love of Archimedes, get steaming, will you?"
As if on command, the first puffs of steam slipped from the joints and the piston began to move. The mechanic wasn't engaged to the wagon axle yet, but she would have to do that on the move. They would have no time to get up to speed slowly.
She just hoped Punt had forged strong gears that would withstand the hard coupling.
Heron pointed to the harness. "Cut them!"
Agog put the knife between his teeth and began crawling along the yoke. It seemed the bandits were right in their dust plume, waving curved swords and screaming.
Heron blew on the fire, stoking it more as Agog crawled across beam. She wasn't sure how the heavy timber held the big man.
Using one hand to steer with the reins, she kept the other on the lever that would engage the piston to the axle.
When Agog pulled the knife from his teeth, she readied the lever. The bandits would overtake them soon and she would be in reach of their swords.
Agog raised his knife and cut the first harness. The horse kept going even though it wasn't attached, though with only one pulling, the wagon slowed and the freed horse slowly surged ahead.
When he cut the second, it veered left. Heron nearly forgot she was holding onto the reins and got yanked to her rear. Her knees exploded in p
ain. The bandits were astride the wagon as it was already slowing.
She barely dodged a sword blow, digging into the wagon side as she rolled to the back. As her fingertips touched the lever, she hoped that Agog was holding on tight, and slammed it into place.
As the gear caught, the wagon jumped a foot into the air and lurched forward, suddenly accelerating. Agog hung from the yoke with his feet barely caught onto the wagon edge.
The steam mechanic was chugging mightily and the wagon pulled away from the bandits. She could see their eyes widen with horror and surprise as the wagon drove away without horses.
Using a two lever system she'd designed, Heron steered the wagon across the uneven desert. The wagon was still gaining speed as Agog finally hauled himself onto the seat.
He had a maniacal grin, as his hair flew into his face, unbound from the knot on his head. "Your steam wagon works!" he shouted above the wailing winds.
Heron put her hand up to block the feeling of needles on her face. Sand kicked up from the harness hanging from the yoke.
The steam mechanic was whining with stress. She could hear the tension in the piston as she suspected, but there was nothing she could do, she had no way to stop the wagon. And she wanted to reach the city without the bandits catching them.
Checking behind she saw the bandits had stopped. Either they'd realized they couldn't keep up or they were frightened by the lack of horses.
As the fire burned down to coals, the line of the city of Alexandria came through the distant haze. Heron sighed, thankful her calculations were correct.
Even from their distance, she was amazed by the growth of the city. The camps on the south side practically doubled the size. Permanent structures were being erected faster than the Romans could order them to be torn down. Huge tents of a style she'd never seen before, hovered on the southern tip.
The wagon was slowing, but she knew they had too much speed, so she drove the wagon back and forth to shed momentum.
As they neared the outskirts, horses rode from the out-city to intercept them. Heron hoped it wasn't Roman soldiers and was relieved when a band of threadbare Egyptian mercenaries rode up. Heron threw water on the fire so they would roll to a stop.
The men rode up with wild eyes, staring at the empty harnesses.
"What manner of beast do you ride upon without horses?" asked the lead man, bare-chested and tattooed, dark skin soaking up the sun.
Before she could speak, Agog jumped from the wagon and declared. "It's Heron of Alexandria's miracle wagon. He rides the breath of the gods across the desert sands."
Recognition appeared on their faces. She was well known, especially to Egyptian Alexandrians who took her as their own.
"And where do you ride from?" the man asked.
"The Oasis of Ammon," said Agog. "The gods favor Heron."
Before she knew it, Agog had convinced them to haul the wagon back to the workshop. Other curious men from the out-city followed the mercenaries, so the story of the miracle wagon was well entrenched by the time they passed under the city gates.
Heron knew that by nightfall, the story of her horseless wagon would be on every Alexandrian's lips. Which meant the governor would know soon, too.
And behind that they would wonder what she had learned at the Oracle of Ammon.
Heron cursed Agog's loose tongue and wondered what he was getting at. She decided she could no longer trust him.
Fires of Alexandria Page 31