The Pillars of Hercules (38 page)

Only to draw back as they realized what they were facing.

Which, of course, was the point. The typical golem was only a slightly better swordsman than the typical soldier—but they were more difficult to kill, and besides, the psychological dividends in utilizing them were undeniable. Being confronted by metal men was enough to give pause even to the elite guards of the Roman Senate. The fact that each golem was covered in shit from its trek through the Cloaca Maxima only added to the surrealism of the situation. But these Roman guards were the elite—and after hesitating for only a moment, they charged the golems. Only a few were left to deal with Eumenes, and he took advantage of the confusion to race past this and leap onto the consul’s vacated chair.

“Stop!”
he yelled. And such was the surrealism of the moment that everyone did. The soldiers backed away from the golems, who stood their ground. For a brief moment, there was utter silence inside the Senate House—except for the noise of the fighting continuing outside. Though even that sounded like it was now beginning to subside. Eumenes raised his voice a few more notches.

“You have lost,” he said. “Your army’s beaten, we’re inside the city, and now Alexander’s creatures of sorcery have reached this very chamber. But my king’s terms are generous, and they start with the confirmation of your rule of central Italy. He doesn’t even ask for tribute—just the granting of the requests I made earlier. Give us that, and we will spare your city, your people and all your works. Defy us, and we will erase the name
Rome
from history.”

The Senators began muttering among themselves. But then a voice snarled up from the floor. It was the still-prone consul.

“Take the deal,”
he hissed.

The Senate did.

“So where
are
we going?” said Lugorix.

It was several days later. They’d left the two Athenian marines on an Iberian beach, along with some weapons and rations. They’d explained to them that there wasn’t an Athenian base for thousands of miles, but that just seemed to make the two men all the more eager to get the hell off the boat. Lugorix could relate. Part of him was tempted to go along with them. They were still babbling about the edge of the world and monsters as they waded ashore.

“And they never even thanked us,” said Eurydice.

“What about my question?” said Lugorix.

“We deserve some answers,” said Matthias.

“Sure you do,” said Eurydice. “But we couldn’t talk in front of those Athenians. As soon as they started opening their mouths, I knew they’d want to get off at the first available stop. Couple of chickens, is what they were. Why Barsine felt like being so generous to them, I don’t know—”

“You’re both avoiding the subject,” said Lugorix.

“Atlantis,” said Matthias.

“Yes,” said Barsine, “that’s where we’re going.”

“What’s Atlantis?” asked Lugorix.

“A bunch of bullshit,” said Matthias before either woman could speak.

“Really?” said Barsine in an amused tone. “Why didn’t you say that—”

“—back in that freakshow of a library?” asked Matthias. “We were all a little busy then, weren’t we? And I thought this was the part where you levelled with us.” He looked at Lugorix. “Atlantis is the kind of thing that the storytellers tell around the campfire when they’ve got done singing about centaurs and pegasi and can’t be arsed to invent anything new. It never happened. So come on, ladies: what are we
really
talking about here?”

“Just that,” said Barsine.

“But what the hell
is
Atlantis anyway?” asked Lugorix.

“I just told you,” said Matthias.

“Ever heard of Plato?” asked Eurydice. Lugorix looked at her blankly. “He was my father’s teacher back in Athens. He wrote of a legendary city that used to rule the world and that was buried thousands of years ago—”

“He wrote a bunch of crap,” said Matthias—Eurydice started to reply but he just kept talking over her:
“A bunch of crap
so he could sell a bunch of books. It was a couple of fucking
paragraphs
and it was the most quoted thing in those stupid dialogues. You really want to base your
entire strategy
on that?”

“Of course not,” said Eurydice. “Plato never
published
his real work on the subject. He
wanted
people to think it was all a legend. So that the enemies of Greece would never realize the truth that lay behind it.”

“So you’re saying Plato
didn’t
tell the public,” said Lugorix. “But he
did
tell Aristotle.”

“Actually he didn’t,” said Eurydice. “He was beginning to doubt my father’s loyalties.”

“To him?” asked Barsine.

“To Greece.”

“Ah.”

“My father never saw himself as betraying his people, of course. He’d convinced himself that Macedonia had designs upon neither Greece nor Athens.”

“He was naïve,” said Matthias. Lugorix braced himself for Eurydice’s reaction to that, but she just nodded:

“Of course he was,” she said. “Like so many scientists, he existed mainly in his lab and in his head. But he woke up toward the end. And I think part of what made him do so was that he realized the stakes involved.”

“When he uncovered the secrets of his teacher,” said Barsine.

“Exactly.”

“The lost book of Atlantis—”

“Not
the book,” said Eurydice. “Just fragments.”

“That was all?”

“It was enough. To get him on the trail.”

“And then Athenian intelligence got on
his
trail,” said Barsine.

Eurydice nodded. “And traitors within it tipped off Philip.”

“Now
that
I’m not so sure of,” said Barsine. “Philip might already have put two and two together. Because as far as I can make out, Athenian intelligence remained loyal to Demosthenes: his shadow outfit that kept reporting to him even when he was out of power. So when I told Demosthenes what I’d found beneath Babylon, he and I realized what I’d have to do.”

“Consult with my father,” said Eurydice. “And find Atlantis.”

“Please tell me there’s a limit to this horseshit,” said Matthias.

Lugorix frowned, still trying to keep up. “Earlier you told me that we were in search of the Gardens of Hespa-what-the-fuck.”

Eurydice smiled grimly. “Call it what you like, it’s the same thing.”

“It is?” Lugorix was a little skeptical of these shifting stories.

“A lost domain in the far west containing forbidden magick? It’s got many names, but that’s what it boils down to.”

“Okay,” said Matthias, “let’s say—just for the sake of argument—let’s say I bought this. Then in that case why
didn’t you just say Atlantis in the first place?”

Eurydice shrugged. “Atlantis is a term with too much baggage. It automatically strains credulity. You wouldn’t have believed us.”

“I don’t believe you now.”

“Point made,” said Eurydice. “But if I’d told you earlier, I’ll bet you would have jumped ship at first opportunity.” Matthias’ face went red—but before he could open his mouth Lugorix broke in.

“So where does Alexander fit in to all of this?” he asked.

“Everywhere,” said Eurydice. “The Athenian position west of Syracuse is now total shit. Alexander has sacked Massilia and suborned Carthage to revolt. And he’s apparently used magick to destroy part of the Athenian fleet.”

“Those storms,” said Matthias.

“Those storms,” she agreed. “I think that’s what we saw to the north several days back—that may have been the destruction of any ships that escaped Massilia. But it seems there was another storm—one we didn’t see. It hit the fleet coming out from Syracuse and left… not much.”

There was a long pause. Behind them, the Iberian coast was fading into mist.

“All this talk of what was going down in the West wasn’t just talk,” said Eurydice.

Matthias frowned. “What do you think is going on?”

Barsine looked at Eurydice. “Do you have a theory?”

Eurydice shook her head. “I wish I still had a library,” she said. “My father had several volumes that might have given us the answer….”

“Or not,” said Barsine. “If what’s doing this are creations of Alexander’s sorcery, they might not be in any book. If they really are demons—”

“They’re not demons,” said Eurydice. “They’re his mind. He’s controlling the elements.”

“You sure about that?” asked Barsine.

“I’m
sure
of nothing, Persian.”

“So maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to speculate.” Barsine only shrugged; Lugorix was realizing that the closed-doors conversations these two women had been having were far from cordial—he was starting to realize just how much they disagreed about. Which didn’t bode well for the future. “How far is it to the Pillars?” he asked.

“Several days,” said Barsine. “Let’s get below.”

“I’ll stand watch,” said Eurydice.

“I’ll join you,” said Matthias.

She gave him a dirty look. “I’m not in the mood for company,” she replied.

Matthias was, though. So the next watch was him and Lugorix. They stared out at the night-time ocean. They were running parallel to the Iberian coast. To the south, the moon glimmered off gathering clouds.

“Are those coming our way?” said Matthias.

Lugorix studied them. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“She’s driving me nuts.”

“I can see that.”

“She thinks she’s so much smarter than me.”

“I suspect she’s smarter than everybody,” said Lugorix.

“Are you defending her?”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“Which doesn’t mean going west of the Pillars is a wise thing to do.”

“No,” said Lugorix, “it doesn’t.”

“I wonder if those two Athenians had the right idea.”

Lugorix said nothing. It was a moot point now. They were along for the ride, and they’d just have to hope that whatever Barsine and Eurydice were plotting wasn’t totally crazy. There was no doubt about it, they were in strange waters now. And he was getting more than a little worried about Barsine. She seemed to be driven by something deep within her. Her pregnancy hadn’t started to show, but it was undoubtedly at the center of all her calculations. Abruptly he saw a flash of lightning on the horizon.

Then another, much closer.

“Looks like the storm’s coming this way,” he said. No sooner were the words out of his mouth then it started to rain—at first mere spinkles but within a few minutes it was pouring down. They could hear thunder rolling across the water toward them. The hatch opened and Barsine peered out.

“Shit,” she said.

“Tell me about it,” said Lugorix.

She climbed back down the ladder. Second later, the ship turned, started running north before the encroaching storm. Matthias and Lugorix gripped onto the rail while weirdly-colored clouds dumped untold amounts of rain on them. The lightning was starting to crash down around them.

“We should probably get below,” said Lugorix.

Matthias wasn’t arguing. They clambered down to find Barsine and Eurydice debating how far beyond the safety margins they could push the engine throttle. Eveidently they were worried. Nestled amidst the machinery, the amulet was glowing.

“It looks like you may be overdoing it,” said Matthias.

Barsine glanced at the amulet. “It’s reacting to the storm. Not the motors.”

“What?”

“The storm isn’t natural,” snapped Eurydice. “It’s driven by magick.”

Lugorix peered out a window. He would have thought that much was obvious. The
Xerxes
was pitching back and forth now, caught in the throes of the waves. He wondered what the plan was to get them out of this one. If this really
was
the storm that had sunk half the Athenian fleet, then there seemed little reason to believe that even a ship of the
Xerxes
’ caliber was going to stand much of a chance. Suddenly he felt the floor shudder beneath his feet. They had run aground.

Except they hadn’t. The
Xerxes
kept on rumbling forward.

“Uh… what the fuck?” said Matthias.

“We’re getting the hell out of this sea,” said Eurydice.

“Works for me,” said Lugorix.

Matthias was still struggling to keep up. “Aren’t we a ship?”

“We
were
,” said Barsine.

And it was true. Eurydice hadn’t just made the
Xerxes
a more versatile vessel. She’d also configured it so that it could sprout—

“Wheels,”
said Matthias. “We’re on wheels.”

“Think of us as a particularly large ox-cart,” said Eurydice.

Lugorix was trying not to think at all. It was all a little too weird. They were now rolling along a beach while rain lashed down on them and waves crashed around them. But at least now no one was going to be able to sink them.

“Alexander is conjuring up this storm to stop us,” said Barsine. “As long as they continue, we’re stuck on land.”

“It can’t go on indefinitely,” said Eurydice.

She was wrong.

Magickal storms did what they wanted, apparently. Or rather, what their creators could pull off. The days passed and the storm kept on throwing itself against them. The lightning dissipated a little, but the ocean still looked like shit. They were staying as far back from it as possible—right where the beach gave way to endless forests of pine. Lugorix and Matthias took turns huddled on top, keeping an eye out for… what? Tribesmen? Macedonians? Magickal creatures? They never saw any. They just trundled westward across the storm-tossed days and nights, all too aware of how slow they were going, all too aware that those behind them would be making haste to close the gap…

Alexander gazed out upon Sicily.

Astride his white horse, atop the most southeastern hill on the peninsula of Bruttium: it was the classic conqueror’s pose, so perfect it might have been planned. But for Alexander this kind of thing came naturally. The exhaustion that clouded his face was only visible up close. He didn’t turn around as Eumenes and Hephaestion rode up to him.