Rome: Sword of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series)

by R. Cameron Cooke

  Now, that trust had been rewarded as they drove their camels into the lee of the great mountains’ shadows.

  Beneath the palms in the small valley between the mountains, they found a spring, teeming with different kinds of fowl and flying insects. It was fed by a spring gushing from an overhanging cliff, one hundred feet above them. The cool, spring water cascaded down the mountain face deflecting off of an assortment of jagged rocks until it finally splashed into a large pond at the base. The travelers and their mounts could not help but bury their faces in the cool liquid and wash away the layers of grit and grime. There was no trace that any human had been to the pond in years, if not centuries – no camel tracks, no fire pits, nothing. But that was to be expected since the nearest caravan route was days away.

  Still, there was something unsettling about the place. It was not anything Lucius could express in words. It was more of a feeling than anything else, the culmination of a dozen seemingly trivial things that could only be sensed by those who had spent a lifetime in enemy countries where an ambush might lurk behind every bend. More than once, Lucius and Demetrius clutched the hilts of their swords at a movement of the reeds that did not seem to coincide with any wind or a swarm of birds suddenly taking to flight for no apparent reason.

  The three men spent several hours resting in the shade, slowly restoring their hydration. Demetrius’s bow brought down a fowl which they roasted and devoured, filling their starving bellies with fresh meat for the first time in many days.

  As the evening came on, and the small cooking fire began to dwindle, Demetrius faded off to sleep. Ganymedes, on the other hand, seemed restless. He studied the dark cliffs high above them, now a mass of shadows in the moonlight.

  “Perhaps it is up there, Roman,” Ganymedes postulated. “Atop that tall peak. It is in a cave, you say?”

  Lucius nodded. “That is what the map indicated.”

  “It would take a nimble man indeed to make his way up that mountain.” The eunuch smiled, again appearing somewhat nervous. “Good thing we brought you along, eh.”

  “We shall know in the morning,” Lucius said simply, leaning his head back on his bedroll.

  Then, quite mysteriously, the eunuch rose from his own bedroll and moved over to where Lucius lay, all the while glancing back at the sleeping Demetrius, as if to ensure that the Egyptian captain was asleep.

  “Why not fetch it for me now, Centurion?” Ganymedes whispered. “I know you know more than you let on. Do what I ask, and I’ll double what I promised to pay you. You have nothing to fear from me. I am not a warrior like yourself or Demetrius there. You could kill me whenever you wish. I know this. That is why you can trust me.”

  “You would betray Demetrius?” Lucius asked.

  “You are a wise man, Centurion. Khay took you for a dumb brute, and he paid the price for it. I will not make the same mistake. Demetrius blindly follows his dear Arsinoe, no matter how much a fool she makes of herself. Do not look at me in that way, Centurion, as if I am a traitor to my queen. I saw it in your eyes days ago, in Arsinoe’s house. Do you think my opinion of her is any different than yours? She is an imbecile – a bothersome child with a child’s mind. She forces me to play the fool whenever she is around. But I am not led on by these delusions that seem to have encompassed everyone else in her court. They think Rome is a divided house that cannot stand. They think it is only a matter of time before Pompey’s sons and allies put an end to the great Caesar and his followers. I do not believe in such nonsense. I know what is going to happen, and I want Egypt to be on the right side when it does. When all is said and done, and this war is over, Egypt will be a puppet to Rome, either willingly or grudgingly. Give me the location of the Eye, and I will make peace with Caesar. Let me find the Eye, and I will see to it that Rome never has a stauncher ally than Alexandria. The flow of tribute and grain will never be interrupted. I will even send Arsinoe and her family into the deepest dungeons to never be heard from again, if Caesar wishes, or give them up to him to be born in his triumph in chains. I care not. Whatever Caesar wishes, I will see it done.”

  “Those are strong words, Chancellor,” Lucius said, closing his eyes and leaning back again. “I will consider it. Now, let me rest.”

  “If Demetrius gets his hands on it, he will take it straight to Arsinoe like the lap-dog that he is. Don’t you understand that? Once the people see her with it, it will be of no use to us.”

  “Then I suggest you make sure nothing happens to me,” Lucius replied, and then rolled onto his side and faded off to sleep.

  VIII

  The moon streaked across the sky on its slow journey and eventually sank in the west. With it, went any of the remaining light beneath the palms in the mountain oasis, except for the dull red embers left in the small cooking fire.

  Demetrius and Ganymedes were both asleep, the eunuch snoring loud enough to wake the dead pharaohs long buried under the desert sands. The camels stirred. They were jittery, and Lucius suspected he knew why.

  Lucius silently crept away from the camp and into the thick brush. Within the tall fronds and bushes, he made his way around the pond to the trickling waterfall cascading down the mountain slope from the spring several hundred feet up. It looked nothing like the simple portrayal he had seen on the shield, but there could be no question, this was the only waterfall within a thousand leagues. This had to be the place. Earlier, in the light of day, Lucius had studied the mountain and the waterfall several times, taking care not to be observed by the other two. He thought he had spied the most likely spot for the cave to be, and now he would climb to find out if his deductions were correct.

  According to the map inscription, the cave was half-way up the slope and behind the waterfall, and that was exactly where he had seen a dried clump of brush earlier. It was a difficult climb in the dark, but he had climbed steeper slopes before under a hail of missiles. He moved steadily upward and eventually reached the patch of desert shrub. The waterfall could have shifted over time, and most likely once covered the spot entirely. But now, the waterfall was only a trickle, and that had allowed him to see the place from the ground.

  He parted the scrub, ignoring the pricks and scrapes from the thorns and briars. On the other side, as expected, a web-strewn dark passage sunk back into the rock. It did not appear to be very deep, but after parting the webs and taking a few steps inside, the seemingly natural cave transformed into something quite different. His fingers felt the rough rock wall change to a smooth surface. He struck a flint several times, and blew the sparks into the dry scrub on the end of his torch. The torch came to life, revealing a small square room with carvings and inscriptions on the walls, the colors of which were dulled by layers of dust. The back wall bore the most elaborate of the etchings. A great Eye of Horus symbol covered the entire face. It was identical in color and dimension to the one Lucius had seen on the shield. In the center of the room, on the floor, sat a knee-high stone sarcophagus. It was smooth and devoid of markings and appeared not to have been disturbed over the centuries. Lucius came close to stumbling when his boot sank into a rut in the floor. At first, he thought he had triggered another snare, but then he noticed that it was simply a brick conduit that led back out to the cave’s entrance. The priests who had constructed this place had had the foresight to dig drainage channels to protect the cave from the occasional flood. Aside from a scattering of goat dung on the floor, the room appeared to be just as the old priests had left it. It certainly had not been used by man.

  Lucius knelt before the ossuary and took a deep breath. He knew he had little time. He remembered back in the shrine, seeing several inscriptions on the shield referring to the Watchers, presumably the guardians of this sacred site. Whoever the Watchers were, Lucius fully expected to encounter them at any moment. He was certain that he and his traveling companions had been under observation from the moment they had come within sight of the oasis. He had seen the glint of metal in the trees during the long approach across the barren dunes
. Someone had been watching them as they approached, as they made their camp, and, Lucius suspected, even now as he climbed up to the cave.

  Lucius heaved the stone cover aside and let it crash to the floor. Holding the torch near the opening, he saw the firelight dance across a jeweled object lying on a bed of silk at the base of the ossuary. There could be no doubt that he now beheld the fabled Eye of Horus, the amulet that could bring Egypt together, or tear it apart. Reaching inside, he pulled out the delicate object, letting the colorful necklace dangle from his fingers while the amulet hung suspended before his face, spinning around and then back again. It was indeed a thing of beauty, with a large ruby for the eye itself and strings of smaller gems forming the eyebrow, teardrop, and other lines. In spite of its magnificence, it seemed odd that such a small thing could have such power over a people. He never understood how an inanimate bauble crafted by a man’s hands could, over time, acquire a power of its own and lead both nobles and commoners into mad delusions.

  There was a noise just outside the cave entrance, like that of shifting gravel after an errant footstep. Lucius quickly pocketed the amulet, fixing his gladius in one hand while holding the torch with the other.

  “Come in, companions,” Lucius said bemused. “You must be tired after such a long climb.”

  Lucius was not surprised to see Demetrius and Ganymedes enter the cave. They had followed him, as he suspected they would. He knew that they could never have afforded to let him out of their sight and must have worked out an arrangement between them in which one would feign sleep in order to keep an eye on him. Both men remained near the cave’s entrance, Demetrius holding his bow drawn and aimed at Lucius’s heart. Ganymedes wore an expression of anticipation, his eyes searching Lucius’s person, as if Lucius’s fate were already sealed and collecting the amulet from the Roman’s soon-to-be lifeless corpse was now his only concern.

  “Do you have the Eye, Centurion?” Demetrius asked, scanning the room while keeping the bow aimed at Lucius.

  “Don’t bother with that,” Ganymedes said quickly. “Kill him and be done with it. We will find it, rest assured. Kill him now, I say!”

  “Should I take that to mean, eunuch, that our agreement is off?” Lucius said.

  “Kill him!”

  But Demetrius paused, eyeing Ganymedes with suspicion. “What agreement is he referring to, Chancellor?”

  “Kill him, Captain! Don’t listen to this Roman scum. Kill him now! I command it!”

  “Yes, Demetrius,” Lucius continued, ignoring the exasperated eunuch. “This gonad-deprived imp came to me earlier tonight desiring an agreement. An agreement that I show him, and only him, the location of the Eye, and then he would assume power, get rid of your precious queen, and make an arrangement with Caesar to turn Egypt into a lackey of Rome. That’s all.”

  “Absurd! Totally absurd! Captain, I order you to…”

  But Demetrius was already backing away from the eunuch, such that he could turn his bow on him if he chose. “Is this true, Ganymedes?” he demanded.

  “No, of course not!”

  “Aye, it’s true,” Lucius said grinning. “He’s a lying sack of mule dung, that one. But then, you knew that all along, didn’t you, Demetrius? That’s why you’ve been leaving those markers in the desert each day. You have men following us, don’t you?”

  Demetrius did not answer. His expression was answer enough, and now Ganymedes appeared shocked.

  “Is this true, Captain? I gave explicit orders that no one else was to know about the Eye! And just how many of your men did you let in on this?”

  “I do not take orders from you, Chancellor!” Demetrius snapped.

  At that moment, there was a noise outside the cave. A great tumult. The cry of many voices down in the oasis.

  “By the gods, what is that?” Ganymedes started. “Your men, Demetrius?”

  “I do not believe so,” Demetrius said, appearing confused. He moved to the edge of the cave and looked down at the valley below. “There are torches down there – a dozen maybe. Mounted men. Our camp is being ransacked.”

  “They are not your men, Demetrius,” Lucius said. “They are the Watchers.”

  “Who?” Ganymedes asked, befuddled.

  “The Watchers. We have been observed from the moment we arrived here. Those men down there, whoever they are, are the guardians of this thing. The inscriptions on the shield warned of them.”

  “A two hundred year old inscription warned you?” Ganymedes said incredulously. “Are you saying, Roman, that those men are two-hundred year old phantoms? Preposterous!”

  “Don’t ask me how or where they came from. I do not know. Maybe they are some desert cult devoted to the sole purpose of guarding the Eye. I’ve seen more preposterous things in my travels. No matter how they have done it, those men down there have watched over this amulet of yours for two centuries, seeing to it that no one disturbs it.” Lucius glanced at the bow in Demetrius’s hands, still generally pointed in his direction. “It doesn’t really matter where those men came from, now. They, no doubt, mean to kill us. Once they figure out we are not down there, they will head up here. I will be of little help to you with an arrow in my gut. You need my sword. Your only chance, Demetrius, is to keep me alive.”

  Ganymedes rubbed his temples, shaking his head as if he were trying to think. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He kept muttering to himself.

  Demetrius appeared reluctant, too. But moments later a shrill cry rang out from the riders below, presumably upon finding their quarry absent. Demetrius sighed heavily, and then finally lowered the bow.

  “Alright, Centurion. We do it your way.”

  IX

  They were the Watchers.

  Half Greek, Half Egyptian, they were the sons of the priests of Horus of centuries past. They worshipped Horus day and night, and devoted their lives and their children’s lives to that end alone. One day, the true pharaoh would return, a god in the guise of a man, and he, and only he, would be worthy to wear the amulet, the Eye of Horus. Until that time, it was to remain undisturbed in its mountain home, looking out across the desert for its master’s return. The servants of Horus would be rewarded in this life and the afterlife. They lived in a monastery on the far side of the mountains, unworthy to share the eastern slope with their god. They kept their bodies pure, only defiling them when they must take one of the slave daughters to wife to create more sons – more watchers – to dedicate to the cause. They watched for any and all interlopers, any who would disrupt the sacred ground. Decades passed, often generations, without a single stranger. But when strangers did come, they were shown no mercy. If taken alive, they were skinned, impaled, and left to bake under the hot sun, an offering to Horus.

  It had been a very long time since the last offering. Very few watchers remembered the last time, and that was because there were very few old men in the monastery. Once a member of the sect was unable to wield sword or bow – or a slave daughter unable to bear children – they were ritualistically put to death. For the commune could not squander scarce food supplies on those who could no longer serve the cause.

  The three infidels that had arrived that afternoon had been watched from the moment they crested the sand dunes to the east. They were watched, and messages were relayed back to the monastery for guidance. The Council of Prophets received each report with alarm, until finally, it was confirmed that the infidels had entered the sacred valley. The Council determined that long sleeping Horus had awoken, and that the time for another offering was at hand. The blood ritual was performed, and twelve watchers were selected to apprehend the heathen and bring them back for proper cleansing and sacrifice.

  Twelve men in black robes and turbans, bearing bows and long, scythed blades, rode out from the monastery at night mounted on camels. They came to the oasis, fully expecting to catch the infidels off their guard, but instead they found only an abandoned camp and three camels. The leader of the twelve sat silently upon his camel as his men tr
ampled the infidels’ bedrolls and camp to bits under their mounts. He was the First Prophet, and he had come to personally confirm that the sacred Eye had not been violated in any way, and if so to spiritually cleanse it. Originally, he had not expected to have to perform any such rights, for who knew of the Eye’s location aside from the Watchers? But now, he was taken aback as his men turned up nothing in their search. Could these infidels not be mere wayward travelers? Could it be that they knew the secret of the mountain and what it contained? He had never heard of it happening in two hundred years. In all of that time the cave of the Eye had been kept sacrosanct and undefiled. Others had found the sacred valley, but none had ever found the cave. But it had to be true. Where else could these new infidels have gone?