Damned by the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

“What do you mean?”

  “If he is as ruthless as you think he is and she is besotted with him, why would he hold back?”

  Ziegler’s spirits sank. He had feared as much himself, but hearing Hilde say it…

  “I can only pray I’m not too late.”

  “But where will you go? Do you know where he lives?”

  “No. But I think I may know where he can be found sooner or later. The museum.”

  Ziegler left and made his way back to the Lorenz. The sun had set and he only hoped his hunch was right.

  The place was deserted. All the museums were closed. What had he been thinking? There would be no reason for Quintillus to be here at this time. He would get nowhere by waiting around; the sky was darkening by the second. He made yet another circumnavigation of the building and was about to admit defeat when a movement attracted his attention.

  “Gabriele?”

  The young woman slipped out of the shadows. She stood not six feet from him but she seemed neither to see him nor recognize him. He dashed toward her and put his arm around her. She squirmed free.

  “Gabriele. It’s me. Papa.”

  She opened her mouth and a flood of words Ziegler couldn’t understand spewed from her lips.

  “Gabriele, please.”

  Another movement, and Quintillus emerged from the same shadowy corner where Gabriele had been standing.

  Ziegler turned on him. “What the hell have you done to my daughter?”

  “I? Nothing at all. I have merely shown her the true purpose of her existence.”

  Ziegler pulled his fist back ready to strike. “If you have harmed her in any way—”

  “You will what? Kill me?” Quintillus laughed. “You haven’t the power to inflict any harm upon me, but if you do not do exactly as I say, I have the power to end your life and consign your immortal soul to hell.”

  The words seemed to freeze the air they touched. Ziegler lowered his fist. Fear clutched his belly. Gabriele continued to stare straight ahead, apparently oblivious to the scene unfolding in front of her.

  Quintillus continued. “Now that we understand each other, Herr Ziegler, we will proceed to your office. We do not want your daughter to catch cold, do we?”

  All Ziegler could do at that moment was shake his head. Mutely, he led the way, unlocking the museum entrance door and relocking it behind them. Gabriele put one foot in front of the other mechanically.

  In Ziegler’s office, Quintillus sat. Gabriele stood motionless until he spoke to her. “Please sit.”

  She moved like some kind of automaton to a chair next to Quintillus and sat, her back ramrod straight.

  “You too, Herr Ziegler.”

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “I, on the other hand, prefer that you sit. Sit.”

  Ziegler found himself sitting down, unconscious of why, only aware of an irresistible compulsion to do Quintillus’s bidding.

  Quintillus lit a cheroot and blew out smoke extravagantly. “Now. We need to talk about the future. I believe I know where Cleopatra is buried, but it will take a great deal of money to finance my excavations. You and the Lorenz Museum will be providing those funds.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Quintillus pointed his cigar at Gabriele. “Your charming daughter is the image of Cleopatra. She deserves to be painted by a great artist of our age. I can make this happen in the fullness of time. Your daughter can be painted as she truly should be. As the greatest of all queens. Again, I will require money, which you can provide. Your museum is very rich. The Lorenz Foundation makes it the wealthiest in Germany—possibly in Europe. I will continue to supply you with the finest artifacts and you will lend me your daughter.”

  “Never.”

  Quintillus’s eyes flashed and darkened. “Take care not to anger me. Remember, I hold all the cards in this game.”

  The pain struck him without warning. Ziegler clutched his chest again. He slumped in his chair, then doubled over, unable to speak, unable to breathe.

  Then it was gone, as fast as it had struck.

  He caught his breath and saw something gleaming gold in Quintillus’s hand.

  The gold statue of Set.

  “How…did you…get that?”

  “It is of no consequence. I shall return it. I told you it is one of a pair and I only need one. I know where its companion will be found and that is the one with the real power. Now, I believe we have concluded our business and it is time for us to leave.”

  Quintillus stood and gave Gabriele his hand. She took it and stood, her face as expressionless as it had been since Ziegler had first set eyes on her this evening.

  “She cannot go with you,” Ziegler said. “Think of her reputation.”

  “Her reputation will be safe with me. She may look like my beloved queen but she is not her. However much she will behave like her.”

  “What have you done to her? Have you drugged her?”

  Quintillus laughed. A hollow sound with no emotion behind it.

  “Your mind is so simple and your imagination so lacking. I have not drugged her. I have no need to drug her.”

  Once again, he revealed the small statuette in his hand. Ziegler shivered.

  “Yes. You felt its power, too, when you touched it. The difference between us is that I know how to harness that power. You do not. Good evening.”

  “Gabriele!” But she didn’t even look at him as she silently followed Quintillus out the door.

  * * * *

  Back home, Ziegler clenched and unclenched his fists. “I have got to get her away from him.”

  Hilde handed him a large glass of schnapps. He accepted it gratefully.

  “But how will you do that?” she asked. “From what you say, she is completely under his control.”

  “Not exactly. From what I could see, the statuette is the key. If I have it in my possession when I next see her, maybe I have a chance to get her back.”

  He ignored the doubt in Hilde’s expression. If there was the slightest possibility of connecting with Gabriele, he had to take it.

  His chance came the next day when he was once again alone in the Egyptian Gallery. There stood the statue, restored to its rightful place. At least Quintillus had kept his word on that score.

  Keys in hand, Ziegler opened the cabinet. His mouth dried as he contemplated the electric shock of contact with the statuette. He had come prepared, or so he hoped, with a pair of leather gloves.

  He reached in, half expecting the statuette to move. It didn’t. He made a grab for the artifact and hurriedly slipped it into his pocket. With any luck, he would be able to return it before anyone noticed it missing. Dressler was away for the week in Cologne so his was one less pair of eyes to worry about.

  Quintillus arrived on time and, as Ziegler had hoped, he brought the still silent Gabriele with him. Ziegler fought off the strongest urge to punch Quintillus and put an end to the self-satisfied smirk that played around the man’s mouth. How dare he parade Ziegler’s beloved daughter in front of him like some prizewinning cow?

  “I have brought something for you,” Quintillus said, opening the gladstone bag he carried with him. He reached in and extracted yet more small statuettes. “From Taposiris Magna. Perhaps you can now see why I am so convinced my queen is there.”

  Ziegler examined them. Isis, possibly Cleopatra herself, Set, the protective cat goddess Bast with her strong yet tender feline body, and her fierce warrior counterpart Sekhmet—head of a lioness and body of a woman—whose wrath was to be avoided at all costs. All had been exquisitely worked in alabaster.

  “Magnificent,” he breathed.

  “Indeed, and worth a king’s ransom.”

  Of course, the blackmail had begun. But now Ziegler had his own trump card to play.

  He steeled himself and reached
into his pocket. The gold statue burned his fingers but he gritted his teeth and brandished it at Gabriele. She let out a cry and fainted. Ziegler dropped the statue and hurried to help her.

  Quintillus let out a roar of laughter. “Did you seriously think you could do anything with that alone? You haven’t the power or the knowledge.” He put out his hand. The statue shuddered where it lay prone on Ziegler’s desk. As he watched incredulously, it righted itself and slid across the desk to Quintillus’s waiting hand. The instant his fingers closed around it, Gabriele came to. She shook her head and for a second appeared to recognize her father, although she seemed too confused to make any sense of where she was or why she was there.

  “Look at me,” Quintillus said and her eyes glazed over, losing all expression. “See? You will need far more knowledge than your puny mind currently possesses. Accept that I have merely borrowed your daughter. When she has done as I wish, she will be free to return to you.” He withdrew a piece of folded paper from his waistcoat pocket. “I shall expect to collect this sum from you in cash when next we meet and that will be in four days’ time.”

  “But where are you taking her?”

  “She will stay with me. I can assure you, once again, that I have no designs on her but that she become the model for a portrait at some point in the future. First I need to find an artist worthy of such a commission.”

  “I don’t believe you will ever let her go. Not willingly, at any rate.”

  “Believe what you wish. It is of no consequence to me. Good day, Herr Doktor.” He replaced his hat on his head and the two of them left Ziegler with his own dark thoughts.

  * * * *

  “Perhaps you could kidnap her,” Hilde said, surprising Ziegler. She normally had so little imagination.

  “I still have no idea where he lives.”

  “Then follow him.”

  “I could put her in far greater danger if I did. He would be bound to spot me and goodness alone knows what he’d do then.”

  “Then you appear to have little option but to trust that he has told you the truth and that she is there purely to serve as his model.”

  “But if that were the case, why has he got her in this state? Surely, as an artist herself, she would welcome the opportunity to be on the other side of the canvas. She’s always had a sense of adventure. No, I’m sure he has something else in mind but, for the life of me, I can’t think what.”

  Hilde fell silent.

  Ziegler spent a fruitless night trying to come up with ways of separating Gabriele from her captor. By dawn he still hadn’t come up with a workable plan. There was little he could do but wait for an opportunity to get Gabriele on her own, out of Quintillus’s control, and the chances of that seemed remote.

  * * * *

  In an apartment on a street off Unter den Linden, Gabriele Ziegler stirred. She opened her eyes and tried to remember. Much of it remained a blur, but she knew she was in Dr. Quintillus’s apartment, although why he had brought her there and how long she had been there eluded her.

  She tried to stand but dizziness and disorientation made her collapse back onto the chaise longue. She peered at the clock and saw it read just after three. The sun poured through the tall windows and her dress was creased from lying down. Her dress. She looked down at the pale blue linen gown and remembered a flowing white silk creation. Had she been wearing it? Had she dreamed it? She smoothed her dress down, while still racking her brains.

  The door opened and Dr. Quintillus entered. “My dear Fräulein Ziegler. You are awake at last. How are you feeling?”

  “A bit woozy I’m afraid. What am I doing here?”

  “Don’t you remember? You agreed to be the model for a work I am commissioning. At present, though, I am finding it difficult to locate a suitable artist who will do justice to you. I fear it may take some time. I hope you will be patient.”

  “It depends on what you want. There are many wonderful portrait artists in Vienna but I’m afraid I’m a little out of touch with those in Berlin.”

  “Ah, yes, Vienna.”

  “Have you ever visited there? Whenever I mention it, you always sound as if you know it.”

  “Indeed. I studied at the university.”

  “I love being at art school there. Of course, we are all supposed to paint in the traditional, conservative way, but there is a new movement. It was only set up three years ago. The Secessionists. Their leader is an up-and-coming artist called Gustav Klimt. Do you know of him? His portraits are truly magnificent. He uses a lot of gold leaf and has a way of capturing expressions and emotions.”

  “I confess his name is not familiar to me. And he lives in Vienna?”

  “Yes. I don’t know where exactly.”

  “That is most interesting.”

  “Forgive me, Herr Doktor, but I can’t remember anything about agreeing to pose for a portrait, although I would be pleased to do so.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m sorry for falling asleep like that. I have no memory of even coming here. I should be off home now. My father will wonder where I am.”

  “Oh no, Fräulein Ziegler. I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that.”

  Was that a threat? “I don’t understand. Why not?”

  Quintillus didn’t reply immediately. His intense scrutiny made Gabriele uncomfortable. Almost as if he were examining a prized possession. It annoyed her. She was about to tell him so when he spoke.

  “I do not think your father approves of our…friendship.”

  “That’s true, but I’m a grown woman now and can make my own decisions as to who I choose to befriend.”

  “You have an independent spirit. I admire that. Fräulein Ziegler, I believe that if I let you leave here now, your father will ensure that you do not return.”

  “He can’t do that.”

  “I am certain he believes he can. He will take you out of Berlin and make sure I do not know where he has sent you.”

  “No, that’s not possible. I am due to return to my studies in Vienna in a few weeks.”

  “Perhaps that is where he intends that you shall go now.”

  He could be right. Papa was certainly adamant he didn’t want her to associate with Quintillus at any cost.

  “He can hardly smuggle me out of the country against my will.”

  “Nevertheless, I do not want to take that chance. I need you to remain here until we find an artist to accomplish the task. To paint a portrait such as the world has never seen—and will never see. A portrait with such power. A portrait that can raise the dead to life again.”

  Gabriele couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Raise the dead? No portrait can do that.”

  “When one believes, anything is possible, and when one is equipped with the knowledge I have, whatever is possible can happen.”

  “I don’t understand.” Fear began as a coil in her stomach and shot up her body. Her toes clenched and nausea was welling up inside her. Her father had been right. Quintillus was dangerous and right now she was caught up in some insane scheme of his. She must go. Get away from here and never return.

  “You do not need to understand. You are part of a great design. Because of you, the greatest queen who ever lived will once again rise and will come to me as she did to my ancestor, Rome’s greatest ruler.”

  A pulse in Gabriele’s neck throbbed. Quintillus played with a small, sharp letter opener, twisting it in his fingers. Gabriele blinked rapidly. She was having trouble focusing.

  “Herr Doktor, I really must go.” She made a move toward the door and then found she couldn’t go any farther. “Please let me go.” She tried to keep the mounting hysteria out of her voice.

  Dr. Quintillus laid down the letter opener and reached into his pocket. “You can see I cannot do that. You will stay here until the task is accomplished.” He took his hand out of
his pocket, his fingers curled around something that gleamed gold.

  “No!” She strained every muscle to try to break free but the force he was using proved too strong for her. Her feet wouldn’t obey her. She remained rooted to the spot, tears coursing down her cheeks. Tears of frustration as well as fear.

  “Dr. Quintillus. Let me go. Immediately. I am not your prisoner.”

  “No, you are not. You are my guest. My honored guest.”

  The small gold statuette of Set gleamed in his hand as he raised his arm. A roar echoed through his apartment. A cloud of darkness swirled around the room. A hideous stench of something long dead made Gabriele heave. Behind her closed eyelids, visions of a flowing river, a beautiful woman in a golden barge, and a young woman with dark hair peering out from the bulrushes and reeds.

  A woman with a golden dagger in her hand.

  Gabriele struggled to free herself, pushing against the thick, inky blackness that billowed all around her. The woman raised her dagger, her eyes flashing violet fire. Gabriele gasped. Any second now and her assailant would make an end of her. The dagger hovered, almost as if it had a life of its own. The strange woman gripped it tight. A flash. And the dagger’s hilt pointed toward Gabriele. She wants me to take it from her. Involuntarily, Gabriele reached out her hand, noting how it trembled. The cool metal of the dagger’s hilt pressed into her hand.

  The scene flashed once and then vanished.

  Gabriele blinked and looked around her. She was back in her room. In Vienna. This isn’t possible. How did I get here?

  She glanced down at her hands. Empty. No sign of the dagger.

  More importantly, no sign of Quintillus.

  * * * *

  The next day, still in a daze and with a sleepless night behind her, she picked up her mail. Her heart lifted when she saw her father’s familiar handwriting.

  My dearest Gabriele,

  I am so sorry your visit had to be cut short, but I do think it was for the best. Quintillus is a highly dangerous man and one not to be crossed. He has already exerted too much power over you. The last time I saw you, you did not even recognize me. Your own Papa!

  Please have no further contact with him, for I truly believe he has designs on you which would endanger your life.