The Pillars of Hercules (15 page)

At least now we know who the spy is
, thought Eumenes. But Alexander’s paranoia had clearly only gotten more intense in the wake of the revelation that he’d been right to suspect something. He rose, stretched. “In any event, I just came from drinking with the king. We were discussing the real plans. Not the ones we talk about in front of people we don’t trust.”

This was all news to Eumenes. He’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall for
that
conversation. He ignored the insinuation that he wasn’t trustworthy, instead went for the more immediate issue: “So we’re
not
going to the headwaters of the Danube?”

“We will. But first, we’re going south.”

And suddenly Eumenes understood all too well. “When do we march?” he asked.

A smile crossed Alexander’s face—a smile that scared Eumenes more than anything else so far.

“We already have,” he said.

Waking to the sound of screaming is never a pleasant experience. And the noise now dragging Lugorix from sleep was particularly shrill. He stumbled out of bed, pulled on his trousers, buckled his belt. Turning to the wall, he grabbed Skullseeker—if they were in for a fight, he’d need it. Matthias was right behind him as they headed out into the hallway and looked down into the atrium.

“Shit,” said Lugorix.

Damitra lay down there, convulsing on the floor, white foam pouring from her mouth while slaves struggled to help her. Theramenes stood down there as well. The heavyset man who seemed to be Demosthenes’ chief of staff had some medical knowledge, as he’d had one of the slaves force a leather strap between Damitra’s teeth, while another placed a cushion under her head to stop it from banging on the floor. Lugorix and Matthias raced down the stairs just in time to run into Demosthenes, who was emerging from his own quarters.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“Just got here,” said Lugorix.

“Where’s Barsine?” asked Matthias.

“Here,” said Barsine. She strode over to Damitra, knelt, cradled her head, whispered to her in Persian as Damitra grasped her hands. Demosthenes turned to one of the slaves. “Fetch herbs,” he said. The slave nodded, ran off. Barsine continued to try to comfort Damitra.

“What happened?” said Demosthenes.

“I didn’t see it,” said Theramenes.

Barsine looked up. “She’d been in the trance all day. I checked in on her about half an hour ago. And then when I heard the noise, I looked in her room, and she was gone.”

A slave muttered something about how the old woman had walked as though transfixed into the center of the hall and then began screaming. Another slave entered the room with herbs and a vial.

“Valerian root,” said Demosthenes. He handed the vial to Barsine, who helped Damitra to drink some of it. It seemed to calm the old woman; she fell back against the cushion, and started muttering in Persian. Demosthenes cocked his head as though listening.

“Do you speak Persian?” asked Matthias softly.

“Shhh,” said Demosthenes, brushing him aside. But his face was growing pale. Whatever Damitra was saying was getting to him. Abruptly there was a loud hammering on the front door.

“Go see who that is,” he said.

Accompanied by a slave, Lugorix and Theramenes went through several lavishly-appointed rooms to the front-entrance. The pounding on the door was getting louder. “Who’s there?” yelled Theramenes.

The hammering stopped. “Isocrates,” said a voice.

Lugorix peered through the peep-hole. A weaselly looking man stood there.

“What do you want?” asked Theramenes.

“I don’t have time for this,” said Isocrates. “Get me Demosthenes.”

Theramenes nodded to Lugorix. “He works for the boss. We should let him in—but carefully.”

Lugorix understood perfectly. He raised Skullseeker while Theramenes threw back the bolt and opened the door onto the late afternoon sun. Isocrates entered—and blinked at the sight of Lugorix’s axe. “You want to put that down, friend?” he asked.

“Don’t know you,” said Lugorix.

“I aim to keep it that way,” said Isocrates. “Take me to him. And for Zeus’ sake, close that door.”

Lugorix swung the door shut while Theramenes walked Isocrates back to where Demosthenes stood. As soon as Isocrates saw him, he broke free of Theramenes’ grip and ran to Demosthenes’ side, his hands stretched out imploringly.

“Demosthenes! Thank the gods you’re here! All hell’s broken loose! You’ve got to go
now
—”

“Calm down,” snapped Demosthenes. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“The mob’s coming for you.”

“Are they now,” replied Demosthenes calmly. “Why would that be?”

“The city’s in a panic,” said Isocrates. “Someone said it was time to root out the traitors and then—”

“My name came up?”

“They’re saying you’re harboring Gauls”—as he said this, Isocrates glanced uneasily at Lugorix—”and that you’ve got a Persian witch.” He looked at the prone Damitra. “That you’re practicing magick against the people. For all I know the archons themselves set them in motion to get rid of you once and for all, and if you don’t move now, they’re going to succeed—”

There was more hammering at the door. Much louder this time. Along with the sound of way too many voices…

“Too late,” said Demosthenes. Theramenes began yelling at the slaves: “Get the furniture against the doors and windows! Get the arms out of the weapons-locker!” Demosthenes turned to Lugorix and Matthias. “You two need to take Barsine and Damitra to the ship and get out of here. The rest of us will stay and buy you time and try to talk some sense into that mob out there.”

That sounded like a tall order, Lugorix thought. He helped Barsine get Damitra to her feet. The old woman seemed to be conscious now; she staggered with some difficulty, still mumbling to herself.

“What’s she saying?” he asked Barsine.

“That we need to go,” she replied.

Lugorix took the hint and shut up. He helped Barsine get Damitra down to the basement, to the trapdoor that led to the sub-basement and the waiting ship. But as Matthias pulled that trapdoor open, Barsine turned to Lugorix.

“I need to retrieve something from my quarters,” she said. Before they could protest, she was gone, sprinting back up the corridor, leaving them holding Damitra. They stared at each other for a moment.

“We should go after her,” said Lugorix.

“I will,” said Matthias. “You stay here.”

“First we get the crone into the boat,” said Lugorix. He and Matthias helped Damitra down the stairs and onto the dock. The ship lay in the water as though they’d only just left it—rising and falling slowly with the swell of water. It seemed doubly strange to see it here, for it forced Lugorix to admit to himself that being in that contraption had been no dream. Matthias leapt onto the deck; Lugorix handed Damitra down to him as though she were a rag-doll. Matthias pulled back the hatch; Lugorix leapt down and Matthias lowered her into his arms. She was demanding to be placed in front of the controls, so he set her in the seat there.

“You well enough to pilot?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Damitra weakly. She fumbled in her robes. “But I need my amulet,” she added.

“Amulet?” asked Lugorix—but suddenly it all flashed back into his head—that bizarre device that Damitra had used to control this boat….

“Shit,”
said Matthias, scrambling back onto the deck.

“That’s what Barsine went after,” said Lugorix. He climbed up the ladder, but Matthias was already running up the stairs. Lugorix took off after him, bellowing at his friend to wait. Matthias hollered back at him that he should stay where he was. Lugorix pointed out that splitting up probably wasn’t the best idea ever, whereupon Matthias let the slower man catch up with him.

Which was just as well. Because when they got back up into the house, everything was pandemonium—a bedlam of shouts and screams. Fire had broken out in several places. Lugorix couldn’t believe the place had gone to hell so quickly. Though he didn’t have time to speculate on this, because wild-eyed assailants were already hurling themselves at him. They looked like the same kind of thugs he’d met back in the Assembly—and this time Lugorix didn’t care if they were Athenian citizens or not. He swept Skullseeker before him with the zeal of a barbarian who hasn’t killed anyone in more than a week. Surprised-looking heads flew through the air in the wake of his axe; their owners hadn’t been expecting to run into any serious resistance. Matthias had his short-sword out—the two of them fought their way through a throng of crazed Athenians into Barsine’s quarters only to find them—

“Ransacked,” breathed Matthias.

There was no sign of Barsine either. “Back the other way,” said Lugorix.

There was a rumbling as part of the roof above them gave way—the two men ducked aside as they were showered with a rain of wood debris. The smoke was starting to get pretty bad now, billowing up in the two mens’ faces in great choking clouds. Lugorix could hear the noise of the mob falling back, retreating outside to avoid death in the flames. He led the way out into the atrium.

Demosthenes lay against one of the walls, blood dripping from his mouth, a couple of bodies nearby. He looked up as Lugorix knelt down next to him, his head lolling to one side from the gash in his neck.

“Macedonians,” he muttered.

“He’s delirious,” said Matthias.

“Macedonians, damn you,” muttered Demosthenes. “In the house. Just now.”

“That was the mob,” said Matthas.

“Instigated by Macedonian agents,” said Demosthenes. “They took Barsine. Heading for the city-wall.”

“By Taranis,” said Lugorix. “Where on the wall?”

“Don’t… know. Go to stables. Theramenes was heading there.”

“You’re coming with us,” said Matthias. “We can’t leave you.”

“You can,” said Demosthenes, “and you will. My time is done.” Lugorix started to help him up, but Demosthenes shook off the larger man’s grip with surprising strength—and collapsed back against the wall as though the effort had cost him what reserves he had left.

“Find Barsine,” he said. “Save Barsine. Everything depends on her.”

“What about Damitra?” asked Matthias.

“She’s not going anywhere,” said Lugorix.

“I’m not talking to you,” snapped Matthias. And then, to Demosthenes: “I meant, what was she saying earlier?”

Demosthenes looked at him blankly, as though trying to remember. Then: “She had a vision,” he said weakly.

“And what did she see?” asked Matthias. But Demosthenes was fading quickly. His head sagged forward. Lugorix put his hands under the old man’s chin and lifted it so that his eyes were looking directly into those of Demosthenes.

“What she say?”
he hissed.

“That Alexander is on his way,” whispered Demosthenes.

After that, it was a blur. Demosthenes was dead even as he spoke his last words, and Lugorix and Matthias were on their way to the stable, which was already wreathed in flames. They found Theramenes just as he was riding out the door to try to rescue Barsine by himself. Lugorix stripped the saddle off one of the horses—in his tribe, it was considered the height of decadence to ride with a saddle. In short order, the three men were on horses galloping into the canals of Athens—straight into what was left of the mob which had surrounded the house. Lugorix had never realized just how much fun it was to trample someone beneath a good set of hooves. Especially since these were the guys who had just killed Athens’ greatest orator. Among his people, the men of wisdom were treated with honor. He couldn’t understand why things should be different in cities. His horse charged straight ahead; people hurled themselves left and right to get out of his way. And over the din he heard Matthias yelling.

“We need one of them alive! Take one of them alive!”

Lugorix responded instinctively, reaching out from the saddle and grabbing a fleeing man by the tunic—lifting him into the saddle and then punching him in the jaw. Not very hard; just enough to quieten him up a bit. Then he followed Matthias and Theramenes as they turned their horses down some of the narrower canals and towpaths, putting Demosthenes’ house behind them.

Finally they stopped and took their bearings. Smoke rose from Demosthenes’ house in the distance. Lugorix had been expecting all of Athens to look like the burning buildings of Alcibidia, back in Egypt, but the city seemed quiet.

“Too quiet,” said Theramenes.

Matthias nodded, dismounted—pulled Lugorix’s captive down and dropped him sprawling onto the ground.

“Which way did they go?” he asked.

The man tried to look puzzled. “Which way did who”—but Matthias kicked the man in the balls. Then drew a knife. He didn’t even have to threaten to use it—

“They threw the bitch in a covered wagon and rode for the northwest tower!” squeaked the man.

“Who were they?”

“They said they worked for the archons! We each got half a drachma in return for helping to give the traitor what he deserved—”

“Bastard,” said Matthias, kicking the man again. He then leaned in with the knife—“this is for what you’ve done”—whereupon Lugorix grabbed his knife-hand.

“No time,” he hissed in Matthias’ ear.

Matthias nodded—climbed back on his horse. “I presume you know where the northwest tower is,” he said to Theramenes.

Theramenes nodded. His own sword flashed. The man’s severed head bounced into the canal.

“Follow me,” he said.

It was when they got out of the canal district that they began to realize what was going on. The city was in a state of alert. The side-streets were empty, but the central ones were alive with armed men, all of them heading to the walls. What was a mob around the house of Demosthenes was a citizen-militia everywhere else—organized by those who directed Athens’ defenses rather than those who would disrupt them. Which, really, was the best possible cover three armed men moving at speed to the west gate could ask for.

Problem was, those they pursued were enjoying the same advantage. Theramenes stopped quickly to ask an infantryman for information about what was going on.