"I've heard of him."
"He is the slayer of all that is evil."
"And he's called Buffy, right?"
"Forgive me, Tribune, but I cannot tell you. You're not one of us, and I'm sworn not to reveal his secrets."
"I know the feeling." Jack gazed up at the medallion again. Suddenly he said, "Must have been a fair few evil people on that ship, I guess. They were all... slain."
"What ship? What people?"
"The ship you attacked. The people you burned alive. Oh... and the kids you abducted. Don't forget the kids!"
"It wasn't our doing! We don't burn people!" Interesting emphasis. The man's hands had clenched around the armrests of this chair and he'd half risen. "You were deceived, Tribune, I swear it!"
That thought had occurred to Jack, roughly at the moment when Kandaulo had first opened his mouth. But he'd seen that ship, hadn't he? He'd smelled it, for God's sake! And he'd been there and done that, time and time again over the past seven years, and he should have known better. He should have grabbed his team and Miss Marple, hightailed it back to the `gate, and left these fine folks to sort out their own problems. Except, there were the kids... What the hell had he been thinking of? Rescue them and play happy families? That was over, done and dusted nine long years ago.
"Give me one good reason why I should believe you," he said tersely.
"You're still alive."
"Not good enough. See, that immediately makes me wonder why I'm still alive. What do you want?"
"Your trust."
"Wrong answer. Try again."
Tertius had eased himself back onto the seat. Now he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers locked tightly. "Tribune, whatever else happens, you have my word that none of us will harm you. Nor your companion." He flicked a quick glance at Kelly, who'd done her most obtrusive to edge through the round of togas. "But it doesn't change the fact that you have only two choices. You can either trust me or join us."
"Join you?"
"If you wish to know more and return to your own people it's the only way. Become one of us."
I don 't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member: On the subject of clubs - and cults - Jack was with Groucho Marx, as Seth's little band of faithful had found out to their detriment. Of course, to get a foot in the door he'd pretended to be a follower of Seth. Largely successfully. No snippety-doo-dah...
"And joining you entails what?" So much for this truth thing. It was the dare after all.
"Have you lost your marbles?" spluttered Kelly. By now she was circling in a holding pattern behind his left shoulder. "Do you have any idea of who these people are? What -"
Jack turned and showed her about twenty more teeth than he actually owned. "Professor?"
"I told you to -"
"Shut up or I'll personally remove you from the premises. With extreme prejudice."
`Vow, you listen, duckie! I've
"Ah!"
"Fine!" Swaths of fabric heaved indignantly, and she crossed her arms. "Don't say I didn't warn you!"
"I won't." He turned to face his equally obstinate host again.
"Your nurse?" asked Tertius with a sympathetic grin.
"My what?"
"Continuemus..." the man muttered, dodging Jack's glare. Then he looked up. "You have decided?"
"What do I have to do?"
"I cannot tell you that yet. So you see, you shall have to trust me, one way or the other." The knowing smile was back. "You'll have to pass the initiation first."
Initiation, huh? He could do initiation. Back in the glory days when he'd enrolled at the Academy attitudes towards the timehonored ritual of hazing had been somewhere between slack and ignorant.
"When?"
"Vow." Tertius rose, and the togas swished approvingly. "Please, follow me -... What is your name?"
"Jack."
"Jack? Forgive me, but it seems a strange name."
This from the man who called himself The Third One. Jack shrugged and got to his feet. "It's short for Jonathan."
"That's the Hebrew form. You want the Latin." Bun lolling at a belligerent angle, Kelly had snapped out of her sulk with a smirk that promised some terrible revenge. "Deodatus."
Deodorant?
"God's Gift." The smirk broadened viciously. "And aren't you just, duckie?"
Tertius, who'd missed the subtext in its entirety, nodded enthusiastically. "Fitting indeed. You shall see. Follow me, Deodatus."
The crew of eavesdropping togas parted, and Tertius strode towards the door. Jack - Deodatus - did as he was asked and followed, envisioning cruel and unusual ways of killing professors of archaeology.
The guards fell in behind him.
"That star chart they're using is dodgy. Longitude's off by at least two degrees. I can compensate, but a lot of it is guesswork," muttered Major Carter, gazing at the screen of her laptop and the graphic display on it. Suddenly she added, "You know, I think we're missing something here."
She was rechecking, for the fifth time since their return to Hamilgart's house, the course she had plotted from the city of Tyros to the island the unmanned aerial vehicle had identified. Teal'c knew she liked to use her team mates as a sounding board, explaining theories to them and thus to herself. Frequently it helped her find the solution. However, the current problem did not seem to warrant such measures, and he suspected that her mind had drifted beyond the calculations.
"You fear that the permission for us to accompany the Tyrean warriors has been obtained too easily?"
The Jaffa had wondered about it himself, as had Daniel Jackson, no doubt. After the adamant refusal on the previous day and the delay this morning, the Synod had undergone a remarkable change of heart. Their ill-disguised act of blackmail should have enraged Kandaulo. Instead the High Priest's silver eyes had lit up as though he had received a gift, and he had taken mere moments to deliberate before allowing them to join the expedition. The rest of the priests had fallen in line, even the old man Tendao, although his agreement could most likely be ascribed to a sudden autumnal infatuation with Major Carter.
"Perhaps Kandaulo has an ulterior motive," Teal'c suggested in answer to his own musings.
"What?" Major Carter's head snapped up and she stared at him, squinting against the sunlight that flooded the patio. "Oh... No, I didn't mean that, Teal'c. You've got a point, though. It was weird..."
"Then what did you mean?"
"Those two," she replied, lowering her eyes to the screen again and veiling a glance across the sparkling pool at Hamilqart and Ayzebel.
Their host and hostess stood under the arcade at the opposite side of the courtyard, engaged in a whispered dispute.
"In my experience, Major Carter, disagreements between spouses are a normal occurrence."
Considering the final year he and Drey'auc had spent together, he might even say that arguments in wedlock were as common and as noisome as akmur'tal moths in the wetlands of Chulak.
"Believe it or not, Teal'c, I realize that." She smiled wryly. "But this is different. I don't think Ayzebel wants him to go."
"That would also seem normal. She already may have lost a son, and she does not wish to lose a husband as well."
"All the more reason not to send him away in anger."
Under the arcade the voices rose and carried over the distance in agitated mumbles, just loud enough for the Jaffa to overhear. The loss of his symbiote had sapped some of his strength, but it had not dulled his senses. Unwelcome at times, it proved of advantage now. What he heard told him that they were indeed missing something and that the situation was more curious than Major Carter surmised. For it was not Ayzebel who was angry with Hamilgart; in fact, the reverse was true.
"I shall not repeat myself, woman!" hissed Hamilgart. "Your actions could destroy us all. Disobey, and I cannot and will not protect you any longer."
He scowled at his wife for a second, their difference in heights making it look unintentionally comical. As he st
alked away, he caught Teal'c's eye, forced a discomfited smile, and vanished inside the house. Ayzebel's shoulders stiffened and her gaze dropped. She must have discovered something lying on the stone tiles, for she stooped suddenly and picked up the out-of-place object. Removing this small token of disorder seemed like a crutch for her to regain her composure. It was a red string, wool or silk, and she absentmindedly began winding it around her fingers, unraveling the loops, and winding them again.
"Excuse me, Major Carter," Teal'c said and leisurely crossed the patio, hands clasped behind his back.
Fingers still winding and unthreading, Ayzebel did not perceive his approach until the shadow he cast flitted across her face.
"Lord Spirit," she greeted him, eyes deadened by grief or purposely withholding any thought or feeling.
"Lady Ayzebel. We shall be departing soon, and I wish to thank you for your kindness."
Teal'c bowed, smiled. Contrary to what O'Neill liked to assert, he could smile if circumstances required it, though now it was to no avail. A soft purr caught his attention, dark and strangely soothing. Suspended from the vault above and behind Ayzebel hung a wicker cage. Inside huddled a brace of pigeons, gray and blue and cooing contently.
She followed his gaze. "My husband demands I release them. What is your opinion, Lord Spirit?"
"Does not every creature deserve freedom?"
"Freedom has to be earned." The thread she had been handling tore, and two pieces of red silk fluttered in her hands.
Her answer took the Jaffa by surprise. He was more intimately familiar with the subject than she could ever appreciate, yet he agreed with her assessment. His father's fate had taught him long ago that the patient wait for freedom only resulted in more servitude and, more often than not, dishonorable death. No matter how deserving one might be, freedom had to be earned. But why would this woman, who spent her days cloistered in a secluded courtyard, know or even care about such things?
"What would the Lady Ayzebel's birds have to do to earn their freedom?" he asked cautiously.
If she had heard his question at all, she chose to ignore it.
"Tell the Synod you have changed your mind!" Wild eyes swam out of focus, as though she had entered a trance; a soothsayer half maddened by her vision. "Do not lead them there! You shall cause sorrow and bloodshed beyond your darkest imaginings!"
"We shall free our friends and your son."
"To what end? Free my son and he shall die before the moons have waned. Your friends shall die before him."
"Should it come to that, I shall avenge them."
"Your vengeance, Lord Spirit, can it raise the dead? Or shall you beseech Meleq for his aid in that?"
She toppled into a burst of manic laughter that ceased as abruptly as her tirade. Her eyes lost their mad sheen and seemed to catch some motion in the arcade beyond Teal'c. Obeying an indefinable impulse she cast the two threads of silk to the breeze and smiled blandly as they swirled across the patio.
"You asked about my birds, Lord Spirit? I would have them earn their freedom by flying and speaking for me. But now..."
Her words trailed off once more, and the Jaffa knew why. He had identified the rhythm of the footfalls. Hamilqart was returning. The steps slowed, grew hesitant, and finally came to a halt beside Teal'c. After him a servant arrived, carrying a wooden trunk. Presumably it contained the equipment his master intended to take on the journey.
"Wife," Hamilgart said brusquely. "When will you do my bidding?"
"Vow. Right now. As you will not do mine, I shall do yours." Her voice quivered with desperation. "Look, my husband! Look!"
A slender hand reached up, undid a clasp, and flung open the hatch of the cage. The pigeons inside tarried for a moment, as though baffled by this unmerited chance, then they waddled towards the opening, clawed feet clicking softly on the bottom of the cage. One after the other they took to the air, flapped and circled above the pond, before soaring into a pale blue square of sky and disappearing beyond the roof.
"Remember, my husband. You wished that I do this." With that Ayzebel turned and glided through the downy shade beneath the arches and into the darkness of the house.
Hamilqart smiled again. There were too many smiles and too little frankness. "My wife can be somewhat anxious at times. You must forgive her, Lord Spirit. She means no discourtesy. She simply does not want me to leave."
This much at least was true, and thus far Major Carter's assessment was correct. But it was merely part of the truth. The Lady Ayzebel did not desire any of them to leave. And she appeared to attach inordinate importance to birds.
Her husband studied the shadows that had begun to lengthen and slither towards the rim of the pool. "We must make haste, Lord Spirit. The ships' masters wish to weigh anchor with the afternoon tide. Are you all packed and ready?"
The enquiry was pertinent and it provided an excuse. "I shall find out," offered Teal'c and strode back to where Major Carter was waiting.
She had finished her computations, stowed the laptop in her pack, and now observed his approach with undisguised curiosity. Daniel Jackson had joined her, his backpack already shouldered. As far as Teal'c could tell they were set to leave. He himself would only take his staff weapon, which rested against a pillar nearby.
"That looked interesting," remarked Major Carter as soon as the Jaffa was within earshot.
"Indeed." The young archaeologist grinned. "You weren't trying to flirt, Teal'c, were you?"
"I do not believe she would have been amenable," replied Teal'c. "Daniel Jackson, are you aware of any particular significance this culture attributes to pigeons?"
"Pigeons?" echoed Daniel Jackson and Major Carter in unison.
"Pigeons. Domesticated cooing birds."
"The things Ayzebel let fly just now?"
"The same. Hamilgart insisted she release them."
"Uhm..." Daniel Jackson's forehead wrinkled. "They're considered symbols of peace, but that's largely old-testamentary and doesn't necessarily apply to these guys. Quite a few cultures use them as sacrificial animals, so there's some religious connection. Some also study the flight pattern of birds for divination. As for the Tyreans' specific position on pigeons... beats me, Teal'c. Hamilgart didn't mention anything. Why?"
"Lady Ayzebel seemed to be vehemently opposed to freeing the birds, but I do not think that it was due to an emotional -"
"Whoa!" said Daniel Jackson.
"Daniel? What -" Major Carter cut herself off, eyes wide. "Homing pigeons?"
"Remember what I told you about Hamilgart suspecting that somebody here was keeping the Phrygians in the loop?"
"What is a homing pigeon?"
"They're called that because they will come back to their coop over great distances," explained Major Carter. "You can use them for transmitting information. Take one with you, and if you need to send a message to the guys back home, you write it on a scrap of paper, tie it to the pigeon's leg, and let the bird fly."
"This would appear to be a most untrustworthy form of communication."
"Actually it's pretty reliable, Teal'c. Homing pigeons rarely get lost, and birds look innocuous enough just about anywhere, don't they?"
"I see." Teal'c recalled the stray piece of red silk. Equally innocuous on its own. "Do you suggest that Ayzebel notified the Phrygians of the ceremony that was to have taken place two days ago?"
"She grew up in the village by the harbor the Phrygians used," Daniel Jackson pointed out. "What's that tell you?"
"That she was raised out of town," Major Carter answered drily. "Why give the Phrygians information that would enable them to kidnap her own son?"
"Perhaps she considered it to be the lesser of two evils."
"The lesser of -... Teal'c, you saw that ship!"
"I did not mean to imply that I concur with the Lady Ayzebel, Major Carter," the Jaffa replied. "However..."
"However?"
"Once it became evident that she would lose her means of communicating with t
he Phrygians - if that is indeed what she does - she cautioned me against leading the Tyreans to their hideout."
"She did what?"
"She
"Uhm... Guys?" murmured Daniel Jackson through a too-bright smile that was directed past them. "I guess we'd better postpone this."
Hamilgart had come bustling across the yard. The attempt to marry his impatience with a need for courtesy was beginning to fail.
"Please, my friends, can we go? We have to make haste!"
"We are prepared to depart."
It occurred to Teal'c that this, too, fell short of total frankness.
ack was losing himself in nostalgic memories of Marve Miller, an upperclassman with a pathological streak and a deep-seated hatred of Yankees and lippy junior cadets. Unlucky coincidence. After having been taped into their blankets and tenderized, all smart-mouths had been cordially invited to tuck into a bowl of live worms. Cadet O'Neill had distinguished himself by meriting second and third helpings. It'd given him one hell of a head start in survival training.
Right now he'd eat that bowl of worms and be grateful for it.
They'd left the assembly hall, and Tertius and his merry men had led him to an olive grove in the foothills, roughly three klicks outside the garrison. On the way there, about fifteen other guys had joined them, one by one, quietly deserting their workshops and abandoning their fields. A crew of soldiers had slipped out of the guardhouse by the perimeter wall. No women. It was strictly a boys' day out.
Their taciturn little column had stopped in a clearing. Gnarled, silver-leaved olive trees all round, silence, sunshine, bleached grass, and crickets. A clear stream ran through the glade, frothing over black rock. By the stream, a statue of some sort. It was an eggshaped stone ring, with zodiac signs and, inside the ring, a guy who carried a torch and sword and shared his taste in headwear with Lord Zipacna. Obviously he was important in some way, because this had been where the fun had started.
After solemnly bowing to Egg-Boy they'd blindfolded him and announced that he was to be reborn into a new life, which they took as an excuse to strip him down to his boxers. God only knew what they'd made of the Simpsons theme. Then they'd guided him on and grass and dust had given way to sharp-edged shingle. Easy to tell when you're barefoot: one's comfortable, the other isn't. You could hear it, too. Snap, crackle, and pop under your feet. A whole new set of calluses later they'd gone underground. Dank, cold air, and he'd felt goosebumps erupt on his skin. Sounds took on a limp quality and multiplied into wet, whispering echoes. There'd been a sense of confinement and his two guides had fallen behind, so the tunnel must have been narrow. Until that odd feeling of pressure had suddenly been replaced by an impression almost of falling. And there'd been a new noise.
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