My heart stuttered. I jerked around to look. Wavering silver reflections danced through the palms, cast by moonlight on the pond, but I saw nothing else.
Roberto said, “Why don’t you move into a village? Wouldn’t it be safer there?”
“The village is not safe at all. It’s an insurgent hive filled with madmen. Here, at least, I have magic to protect me.” His skeletal hand panned the room.
“Well, can’t you find an exorcist to destroy the demons or drive them away?”
The elder groped for the woodpile, lifted a branch, and tossed it onto the flames. Then he extended his hands to the warmth, as though he were cold. “You can kill monsters, but demons cannot be destroyed. They are as old as the world, and maybe older. I don’t know for certain. I entrap them with spells or lock them in caves as best I can, but . . .”
As the fire ate into the fresh tinder, flame shadows fluttered over the cave like gigantic amber butterflies. Despite the fact that the temperature in the cave was around eighty degrees, Samael was shivering.
Moriarity said, “Is that why your old cave is boarded up?”
“Yes.” The elder’s gray head dipped in a nod. “I trapped one in there. It tries to kill me every time I walk by the boards. The demon is always waiting, always testing the boards, trying to escape. You must be very careful if you walk past it.”
With great tenderness, Moriarity said, “I’m prepared at all times now. Ever since my niece was murdered, I take no chances.”
“She was murdered? You only told me she’d died.”
“Yes, it was murder. There’s no doubt.”
My despair, which had been at bay for most of the long hike, returned with a vengeance. Just behind my eyes, I could see Cleo smiling. I suddenly didn’t have the strength to lift my cup to my mouth to drink.
Samael turned to peer blindly in my direction. “How did you two survive the attack that killed her?”
“It’s a long story,” Moriarity answered for us. “I wasn’t there when it happened. Hal and Roberto found her.”
Samael seemed to be thinking about that. He rolled the stiletto between his palms. His next question was so soft, I almost didn’t hear it: “Did it follow you home, Halloran?”
Roberto stiffened and whirled to stare at me.
I forced a swallow down my throat. Did I tell him my full name? “It?”
Samael turned toward the cave entry again and frowned. He did see something out there. “You don’t have to answer. I know you’ve seen it. A memory clothed in human flesh, tiptoeing up beside you wearing a smile that died weeks ago, speaking in a voice that goes straight to your heart. She’s been sending you dreams, hasn’t she? Dreams of the past?”
Roberto was breathing like he’d run a hundred miles.
I couldn’t move.
For a time, the old man blinked at the fire. “It is such a hazard, you know? The lonely dead seem to think that archaeologists can do something to help them reach the Island of the Two Flames. It’s probably because we are the first people to touch them in thousands of years. It makes them cling to us. They think we are their last hope.” He paused to gaze outside again, before asking, “Is that why you came here? To take her to the island?”
I was going into some kind of shock, I could feel it. My body was numb, my hands ice-cold. I have to give this man the medallion.
Roberto leaned close to my ear to whisper, “Don’t you dare wig on me, Hal, or I’m out of here.”
I closed my eyes for a few moments. Managed a nod.
“Actually.” Moriarity leaned toward Samael. “We came for another reason. Before her death, my niece gave Hal the medallion her father claimed to have found with the bagsu along the Great Horus Road.”
“What’s a bagsu?” Roberto asked.
“It’s a ceremonial dagger,” Samael said.
Roberto grunted as though that fact meant nothing to him.
“A bagsu?” The bronze stiletto flashed with firelight as he rolled it faster between his palms, spinning it. “Oh, yes, the one with the blue lotus. I helped him pull it from the skeleton’s fingers.”
Moriarity had gone so still, his eyeglasses caught the flickering light and held it like a mirror. “I need that dagger, my friend, and I need to know exactly where you found it. Where was the grave?”
Samael hesitated. “I don’t know what happened to the bagsu. But I do remember the grave.”
And it occurred to me for the first time that Cleo’s father must have been searching for Queen Cleopatra’s grave when he’d stumbled upon the grave of her Sem priest. Had Cleo told her father she wanted to be released from this world? Was he trying to help her? As I was?
Moriarity said, “Your mind is wandering, Samael. I asked where you found the grave.”
“Yes, forgive me. I was thinking . . . Well, sometimes I get lost in the past. Let me try to recall for a moment. It’s been a long time, after all.” His white eyes fixed upon me, as though he was trying to communicate something critical to me. Something I did not understand.
“I know you remember, Samael.”
The old man clutched the bronze stiletto more tightly. The weapon had been held so often it had a polished sheen in the firelight. The other stilettos near the hearthstones were similarly shiny. Was the elder so worried about monsters that he never let the weapons out of his reach?
Finally, Samael took a deep breath and, following a long exhalation, said, “The grave is a good distance from the eastern end of the fortress wall in Pelusium. I can’t tell you precisely where, but I think I could take you there.”
Moriarity’s black eyes glowed with sudden triumph. “Great. Did you hire the crew chiefs I requested? Are they already at the site and excavating?”
“Oh, yes. They arrived a week ago.”
“Thank you. Then we need to leave early tomorr—”
“Don’t thank me, James.” Samael aimed the bronze stiletto at Moriarity’s heart. “Old and powerful forces live there. It is a dangerous place. You know it as well as I do. They’ll try to kill us before we’re done.”
“Kill us?” Roberto’s voice had squeaky nasal quality. “Who will? You’re not serious, right?”
The old man turned toward the cave entry to look outside again, and despair twisted his face. After a few deep breaths, he answered, “You have nothing to worry about, my young friend. Only the living must fear the scales of justice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
As Moriarity and Samael lay down to sleep by the fire, Roberto and I walked over to throw out our space blankets close to the pili at the mouth of the cave—just in case we needed to run for our lives. Before I stretched out on top of the silver material, I pulled a lance down and placed it on the blanket beside me. The shaft was covered with Greek writing. Though Roman soldiers came from all over the empire, and spoke dozens of different languages, Greek was the language of science and magic. Which were pretty much the same thing, at the time. The script was beautiful and flowing. It was a Roman prayer, asking the gods to keep the bearer safe. Ginest-hoi.
Roberto grabbed a pili, as well, and lay down with it, facing me. He had an annoyed look on his face. We both waited until we thought the other two men had gone to sleep, which wasn’t easy. I was flat worn out.
Finally, I whispered, “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. For being dead.”
“You should get some rest.”
“The dead don’t need sleep.”
“Okay. Valid point.”
“What was that silent teat-a-teat between you and Samael over the location of the grave?”
“I think you mean, tête-à-tête, like a private conversation.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s not nearly as interesting.” He seemed to be contemplating it. A branch broke in the fire, and
sparks flitted around the cave like fireflies. Roberto blinked at them. “Did you get the feeling that the old guy didn’t want to tell Dr. Who where he found the grave?”
“I did. And did you catch that odd statement when we were still standing outside? When Moriarity asked if Samael had been hiding from him?”
“Yep. Do you think he was cowering somewhere in one of the small caves, hoping Moriarity wouldn’t see him?”
“Sounds like it.”
Neither of us spoke for a minute, and I absently started reading the hieroglyphics and other ancient inscriptions on the ceiling. The cave was wreathed in cloaking spells that winked in the firelight.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Roberto hissed. “If he’d really been afraid, he would have been cowering in the guns and ammo cave with one of the pistols in his hands, and the good doctor would currently be splattered all over the walls.”
“Samael doesn’t strike me as the violent type. Despite his weapons cache.”
Roberto rolled over onto his back and frowned up at the deeply carved inscriptions on the ceiling. In the flickering firelight, the ancient letters seemed to dance upon the stone as though alive. He pointed. “What do those say?”
“Most are cloaking spells to hide the cave from passersby. Others are magical protection spells for specific people. A few are prayers to ancient gods and goddesses.”
Roberto drew a couple of pentagrams and squiggles in the air, probably counteracting their magic, or some such.
I yawned and glanced out the cave entry to the wavering moonlight on the palms. Is that what Samael had kept looking at? Could he see the flickers with his cataracts? Or had he seen her out there? Did she tell him my name?
“Roberto?”
“What?”
“Tell me if you see eyes growing in the back of my head, okay?”
“Vice versa, dude.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I’m in a deep, dreamless sleep when I hear faint sounds. I’m not sure where I am. Someone is talking to me, but I can’t really understand the words. Finally, the sounds congeal . . .
And I become aware of waves dashing upon a nearby shore, the squeal of shore birds, and hot wind against my face.
In the distance, a woman stands on a low, grassy promontory with her white robes flowing about her in the sea breezes. Her copious jewels gleam in the sunlight, which seems to accent her magnificently braided and arranged black hair. Despite the sweltering mosquito-infested coast, she looks like the queen she is.
My steps are heavy today, for I am truly exhausted. Armor jangling, I trudge up the slope to stand beside her to gaze out at the vast armies spread over the Greek lowlands. The splendid chaos creates a glorious spectacle. Men in gold-spangled purple-red robes weave through Thracians in black tunics overlain with brightly polished armor, and Macedonians wearing brilliant scarlet cloaks laugh with Medians in richly hued vests. The entire vista is an ocean of glints and shimmers. Gleaming helmets, gilded breastplates, jeweled bridles, dyed plumes, and decorated pili rise and fall as men move through the huge camp. I have Armenian cavalry, Ethiopian infantry, Median detachments, and far too much gaudily attired royalty for my tastes. In total, I command 230 ships, 50,000 sailors, and 115,000 troops. Unfortunately, my former brother-in-law, Gaius Julius, commands 120,000 soldiers and 300 Roman war galleys.
In an amused voice, I call, “My officers tell me you are abusing them. They are upset, my queen.”
She turns her stunning kohl-darkened eyes upon me. Truly, she has the face of a goddess—a fierce goddess. Tucked into the belt around her slender waist, she carries a small golden dagger, for we both fear there may come a time when we will need to end our lives with dignity. “What upsets them is my status as your equal partner, my love. I should have them all flayed alive.”
I sigh. Over and over I have heard what an “infuriating and exhausting presence” she is in this camp. “They are worried about the battle to come. Perhaps if you would relent—”
“Perhaps you have forgotten that I command Egypt’s military forces. War preparations and operations are my duties. If your officers object, let them swim across the strait and throw themselves upon Little Gaius’ mercy. See if he welcomes them with open arms. As I have.”
Squawking birds wheel over my head, their wings flashing in the sunlight. She has backed herself into a corner, which I have told her on numerous unpleasant occasions. The stormy arguments that resulted have achieved a legendary status among my men.
I slip my arm around her shoulders and hug her against me. “Please, listen to me. The men are hungry, their moods sour. We have, of necessity, curtailed rations. And, as you well know, female commanders are not popular, not even in Egypt. Perhaps, just this once, you could step aside and allow me to take charge—”
“I was shunted aside by military commanders once before, you know? I wound up in the Sinai desert, homeless and abandoned. I will not trust my fate or the fate of my country, to a man again. Not even you, my dearest love, and you are the greatest and bravest general in the world.”
Despite her kind words, I pull my arm from her shoulders and rest my hand upon the hilt of my belted sword. The familiar feel comforts me. “Just give me a little more freedom to wield my tools as the need arises. I am not blind to the fact that the fate of the Ptolemaic dynasty hangs in the balance. I—”
“Gaius Julius has declared war on me. Not you. After all, you are his brother-in-law. This is my fight. Not yours.” Tears of anger glitter on her lashes. Her lovely face has gone red, her breathing shallow. Worse, a slight tremor has entered her voice. She is afraid, desperate even.
I tenderly say, “I will never abandon you. You must know that by now. Never. You are the mother of my children, and I love you with all my heart.”
She abruptly turns, wraps her arms around my waist, and buries her face against my chest. “Do you give me your oath?”
“Do I have to say it? Of course, I do.”
As I kiss her scented hair, my gaze seeks the distances. This is my fault. I had planned to trap little Gaius in the Ambracian Gulf, but instead have found myself and my troops bottled up and unable to move. A good general or admiral always attacks when he has the upper hand, not when his enemies do. Caesar’s blockade, the unbearable weather and malaria, and the utter boredom have affected my troops in predictable ways: Slaves, soldiers, and kings alike are deserting me, abandoning the cause. It has unnerved me, I admit it. To make matters worse, I have been ill so often of late that I’ve even imagined Cleopatra might be trying to poison me, to be done with me, so she can come to some arrangement with Caesar that will make this battle unnecessary. Gods, I pray not. She does not know him as I do. He can’t be trusted. Ever. And I know—really, I do—that she would not betray me. She needs me. She loves me.
I bow my head and close my eyes for a few moments. Strange haunting images flash . . . a magnificent lamp-lit tomb filled with marble statues of the gods, their disembodied arms reaching for me through the veil that separates life from death . . . Loneliness that strips a man to his bare bones. . . .
I jump when her soft fingers trace lines down my cheek. “Forgive me for adding to your troubles. I’m just so worried.”
Smiling, I grasp her hand and kiss her palm. She is a mere thirty-eight and still so lovely. “All will be well. You’ll see. Just trust me . . .”
The shrill scream brought me bolt upright, gasping for breath. Roberto and I almost knocked each other over as we lurched to our feet and looked around the cave. The fire’s coals had burned down to flickering red eyes that cast scant light. I couldn’t seem to shed the dream, the visions of the ships in the bay, Cleopatra’s magnificent eyes, the paralyzing dread in Antonius’ heart.
Samael was stumbling across the cave with his hands extended before him, as though feeling for obstacles.
“What’s wrong?” I shouted. “What hap
pened?”
“Where are they? Where are my weapons? Do you see them? Who took my sandals? I can’t find them!”
Turning, I noticed that the lances that had been by the door had vanished, as had the lances Roberto and I had placed on our blankets beside us. Worse, all the knives, swords, and stilettos that had formed the magical circle around the circumference of the cave were gone. Someone came in here. . . .
“Do you see them?” Samael cried and flung an arm toward the cave entrance. “Are they standing there?”
“No,” I answered. “The lances are gone.”
“Not the lances! Them.”
Through the entry, I could see the first gleam of dawn watering the darkness, turning the air faintly blue. “I—I don’t see anything.”
“Please, look for my weapons?” Samael yelled. “I need them!”
Moriarity finally threw off his blanket and ran for the old man. “Samael, calm down. Everything is fine. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re still here. Everything is all right.”
“No, it’s not! One of them was in here. Can’t you smell it? That bitter tang to the air?”
Moriarity smelled the air, then shoved graying brown tangles out of his eyes. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and was squinting. “I don’t smell anything except wood smoke, my friend.”
Samael cried, “Please, please, find my weapons. The monsters are out there right now waiting for me!”
Moriarity turned to us. “Hal? Roberto? Did you take Samael’s weapons?”
Simultaneously, we answered, “No way,” and “Of course, not!”
Samael backed away from Moriarity with a wild look in his blind eyes. “Blessed Osiris, how was it possible for the creature to enter this cave? How did it get past the spells? Why aren’t we all dead?”
Roberto leaned sideways to whisper to me, “Don’t tell them I cast a spell last night, okay?”
Cries from the Lost Island Page 12