Fires of Alexandria Page 28

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The wagon rumbled across the desert, pulled by a pair of mottled gray horses. Agog had volunteered to drive the wagon until morning. Heron had crawled in back, stuffed amongst the boxes that hid the steam mechanical.

  Mercifully, she'd gotten a fair amount of sleep. More than she had in years at the workshop. Maybe travel was a recipe for her sleeplessness.

  Heron crawled back onto the seat to munch on hard bread while the sun anointed the horizon with color.

  Agog had chosen desert clothing and a head wrap for the journey. Only his green eyes peeked out from the garment. Except for his size, he could pass for a desert nomad.

  "Care to get a rest?" she asked, refreshed and awake after sampling her ornate box.

  Agog shook his head. "I don't sleep when I travel. I'm too often reminded of the hard ride to battle."

  Sensing the Northman in a pensive mood, Heron decided to press his history. She knew so little about him otherwise.

  "Have you fought that many battles?" she asked. "I myself am city born and bred. I only know of war through the occasional machines I make."

  "I have fought in a few," he said. "Won some. Lost others."

  Heron rubbed hands together to warm herself. The chilly desert air was made colder by the passing of their wagon.

  "I find it hard to believe that you've lost even one battle," she said, blowing warm air through cupped hands.

  Heron pulled a woolen blanket from the wagon and wrapped it around her midsection.

  "When the Romans came, our side was crushed by their superior weapons, armor and tactics," he said after a time.

  "Were you leading it?"

  He shook his head. "The first time, I was but a lieutenant in another king's army. We'd raided too far south into Gaul and angered the Romans. Afterwards, those of us that survived, tucked tail and scurried back to our homelands."

  "The first time?" she asked.

  "I had a hard head in my youth and the lessons of the first battle did not quite sink in," he explained. "The thoroughness of their thrashing led me to study their tactics so that I might turn the tide should we meet again."

  "So you did not agree with the way your side was led?"

  Agog chuckled lightly and snapped the reins, guiding the horses around a dune that had blown onto the old road.

  "There are a thousand opinions in any army but the only one of worth is the one yelled the loudest."

  Even though she couldn't see his mouth, she sensed there was a smile.

  "So the key to being a good battlefield leader is having a loud voice?" she asked.

  His quick glance was followed by silence. They rode a while longer. The wind teased at their wagon, throwing enough sand in her face that Heron pulled the blanket around her head.

  "The second time I faced the Romans," he said eventually, "we were skirmishing with a nasty Germanic tribe that'd been raiding our villages."

  "Were you a lieutenant again?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "This was years later, after I had traveled and learned and fought other wars and found a wife."

  Heron had never heard him mention a wife before. Had never even considered that he'd had one.

  "I could not dare attack the tribes without leaving guard, but I needed every soldier. So we packed up the villages and brought them along," he said.

  Heron could hear a different timbre in his voice. It was hard as steel, as were his eyes, staring forward without blinking.

  "My strategy was perfect and my troops were flawless in execution. We moved from valley to valley surprising them at every turn. They must have thought we were three armies hitting their lands." The hint of smile that had been creeping upon his lips was squelched as heavy thoughts overtook.

  "But we didn't expect the Romans up from the south. When the southern tribes realized they would lose, they offered fealty to the Romans for their support."

  Heron could hear his disgust plainly.

  "Tired from the constant march and battle, we were routed again, despite a superior strategy. For fear of losing my people, I lost them anyway. The Romans did not give quarter."

  Heron's heart clenched. "Was your wife there?"

  The piercing glance was all she needed.

  "Has there been a third time?" she asked softly.

  After a long pause, "Not yet," he said, laced with venom.

  It wasn't until the sun shown down on their backs that either spoke again. Heron for fear of disturbing the Northman and Agog, clearly lost in the events of the past.

  When Agog spoke again, after many hours of travel, Heron was surprised.

  "Aurinia was a seer as well as my wife. I'd claimed her from the forest and though she was younger than the other priestesses, they feared her. When she spoke, even they made warding signs," he said with a secret smile.

  He'd thrown his face covering over his shoulder once the wind had settled.

  "Before the battle, we brought prisoners to the priestesses, who were bare-footed and girt with girdles of bronze. Aurinia was raven-haired while the others were grey," he said.

  The look on his face made it seem he was witnessing the action as he spoke.

  "They crowned the prisoners with wreaths and led them to the wicker wagons. We had captured one of their kings and Aurinia claimed him for her prophecy."

  His face grew wistful and forlorn.

  "After his entrails spilled upon the grass, she leapt to them, feet splashing in the pools of blood around his body...."

  The description was gruesome, but the manner in which he spoke made it seem that it was a normal practice for his people.

  When it seemed he wouldn't speak again, she asked, "What was the prophecy?"

  He shook his head, shaking off a bad dream.

  "What?" he said, gazing down with dream soaked eyes and the reins held loosely in his hands.

  The wind and the removing of his covering had loosened his knot, so the hair formed a wispy halo around his head. Heron had never seen him so lost before, but then as quickly as it'd happened, it was gone.

  "The prophecy," she said. "What did she say?"

  Agog sighed, his eyes steel again. "That I would defeat the tribes so soundly that I would not have to return my people north." He paused. "Or at least that's what I thought it meant."

  "Did you defeat them?" she asked timidly.

  "Soundly," he replied. "The tribes sold themselves to the Romans too late. I crushed them so thoroughly we would have had peace for generations."

  The 'but' could clearly be heard in his words.

  "Joyous that the prophecy foretold my victory, I had given orders to my people to decamp and ready themselves for a long stay. They had traveled hard and bled often and I wanted them to enjoy the victory," he said.

  "When the Romans came, too soon after the last of the southern tribes were defeated, we couldn't flee north. They slaughtered us whole since they themselves were too far away to conveniently take prisoners."

  Agog gripped the reins tightly with one fist. Veins popped on his arms and his forehead. He straightened his knot with the other hand until the hair was pulled from his face.

  "How did you survive?" she asked carefully.

  "My closest lieutenants and I fought our way out of the Roman's trap. We tried to make it to the seers, but they'd already been killed by the time we got to them. Aurinia's throat had been slit like the prisoners she'd killed only days before."

  His rage was so unbridled that when he glanced over, she thought he might strangle her.

  "My sorrow was only worsened by thought that had she not given me her prophecy, she still would yet live," he said through gritted teeth.

  "What do you mean?" she dared to ask.

  "Normally we traveled light, ready at wagon to move to the next camp or battle. It's how we had confused and beaten the southern tribes. But at her words, I thought the war over and had them pl
an for a longer stay. If I hadn't given the command, we could have slipped the Romans and fled north."

  His words stitched tightly in her gut. Not only for his loss, but for her destination and what she prepared to do.

  They continued their journey mostly in silence, taking turns at the steerage, taking breaks only when the horses required it.

  The winds swept south by southwest, blowing across their backs and making the journey quicker. As they grew closer, Heron found herself growing more anxious.

  She kept going back to the Northman's story about prophecy. While there were other more tangible, more logical reasons for coming to Siwa for her investigation, the one that bothered her most was the one she could not escape, nor talk herself out of doing, despite the story.

  She was going to speak to the Oracle of Ammon.