Dream Boat (9 page)

'Borrow my husband's stuff,' she had said. 'Help yourself, it's still in the cellar,' and he had.

So much so that, when she saw him, just for an instant, it could have been Gaius standing in the hallway . . . Something had pricked inside her, misting up her eyes. Overweight and overbearing, Gaius had taken Claudia as the ultimate status

symbol, a trophy to be wheeled out at important functions, look-at-me-I'm-not-just-rich-I'm-lucky. She, in turn, had married him for money. They'd each struck a deal, no more than that, and throughout the four years of the marriage, both had stuck fast to their bargain. (All right, if you're going to be pernickety, maybe Claudia had stretched the rules from time to time, but who the hell counts gambling, adultery and debt?) The point was, it had worked. Then one day he was gone. Snap. As fast as that. Alive one minute, laid out upon his bier the next.

But Junius was no ageing lardball and the moment quickly passed. Time - and its urgency - slammed her back to the present and she'd dispatched him to the Camensis, after which she'd changed into these smelly rags and rubbed some resin on to the pigskin patch before positioning it over her eye. When yells from the bath room indicated the battle against grime had resulted in a home win, she'd grabbed the newly scrubbed parasite and made her way to the Camensis. Later than she would have wished, but with four big burly fellows keeping watch, that shouldn't have been a problem.

The smell of rodents began to tickle in her nostrils. Claudia had already suspected that Flea was a pawn in a very deadly game, and now it looked as though Junius had been lured away, as well. But the young Gaul was no fool. He'd be on his guard.

Dammit, the run-around is an integral part of every kidnapper's pattern, a reminder of just who's in charge here. More often than not, this was every bit as important as the money. 
Was it more important?
Supposing they'd brought Flavia along to Camensis as bait? Would Junius have rushed over? Tried to free her? Claudia's imagination ran riot.

Two more hours passed as the old woman and her reluctant granddaughter moved round the park, making garlands here, snoozing there, gathering armfuls of fern for their bedding that night. Any fresh developments and someone would have fetched a message. Which they didn't. What the hell was going on?

'Oi! Clear off!'

'Yeah! Sling yer hooks, yer plague-ridden bags!'

Claudia's beggarwoman act had finally reached saturation point and, when the crowd began hurling rocks at her, she reasoned that this was indeed an appropriate time for hooks to be slung.

In fact, no one ever recalled seeing an old woman sprint so fast.

The Cradle of Ra rocked with the gentle rhythm of the breeze. Poplar trees shivered with pleasure as the hot, sticky wind played about their branches while the broader, flatter leaves of limes flapped like thin green hands, as though shooing the zephyr on its way across the valley. Far below the Mount of Osiris, goats clustered under the shade of a squat umbrella pine as workers in soft, wide-brimmed hats swished at the hay with long twin-handled scythes and piled it into mounds. Sleds fetched in carrots, peas and cabbages from outlying fields, also cherries, plums and pears. The sunlight caught a busy pitchfork here, a pruning knife there, the flash of an anklet or ring. Goosegrass was mercilessly winkled out with hoes, beehives inspected, an ox was being trained to the yoke.

Sitting on the heart-shaped rock high above the valley, the man, stark naked despite the searing sun, watched over it all. Distant bleats floated up from time to time, the occasional laugh, a honk of protest from the ox, a verse or two of communal singing from the men who swung the scythes. Bees droned around the thistles and the thyme, a lonely whitethroat trilled out its liquid melody and a flock of tiny iridescent purple butterflies explored the tops of oak and ash.

This, thought the man, is my territory and its beauty is everlasting.

He lay back upon the scorching rock, folding his hands underneath his head, and gritted his teeth against the burning on his skin. Endurance and the everlasting, the two went hand in hand. Without the former, the latter could not be attained

and, if nothing else, the man was determined upon the course of everlasting life. He alone possessed the secret. He alone could win the battle against Death - against the serpent who lay in wait in the void which lies beyond the west - for he was the incarnation of the Dark Destroyer, Seth, and you dismiss the Dark One at your peril.

The Cradle of Ra! The very thought was laughable, the dwelling place of the Ten True Gods, my arse. The man sprang to his feet, fixing his gaze on the temple doors. They were closed now, as they closed every afternoon, once the morning ceremonies were concluded and those who wished to petition the sun god had finished their entreaties. Ten of them, indeed! The Dark One pictured them in their orderly little line, each cloaked to the ground in swirling black or silver, each masked by the deity they represented, and yet what were they? Nothing more than animals - the cow, the cat, the falcon, the crocodile, the jackal, the cobra, the vulture and the ibis plus those two human gods, Isis and Osiris. Ignorant and stupid, had they learned nothing? Could they not see what was in front of them?

'Oh, yes,' he whispered to the breeze. 'Ignore the Master of the Powers of Darkness at your peril.'

They had neglected him. In their arrogance, they had omitted Seth from their so-called Holy Council and yet had the temerity to call themselves the Ten True Gods. When there should be eleven at the table.

But in time there would be. Yes, indeed. Seth was working on it, and when the table was complete, he could once again reclaim his rightful place as king.

They would not - could not - dare to overlook him any longer. He was Master of the Darkness, the Sorcerer, the Measurer of Time. The powers of the night were his, he had magic in his hands.

He stared at his hands. Strong, tanned, you could almost see the magic rise up from them, like the heat which shimmered in the valley. Seth looked down through the treetops and recognised the woman Berenice, suckling her infant son. The

child had grown fractious in the viscous heat, her breast was soothing to the boy. Seth closed his eyes and imagined himself in the infant's place, and the image sent a fire through his loins. He opened his eyes again. Berenice, her greedy son, all the flowers in this valley, one day (and soon) they would be gone. Dust, the lot of them. Beauty doomed by time.

Not Seth.

Oh, no, not Seth. Father of the jackal, uncle of the falcon, he had mastered the powers of darkness, and yet his fellow gods had spurned him. He, who had once ruled over Egypt with Osiris, had been cast out! Evicted! Allowed no place in society! Worse, he had been vilified because it was Seth who, at the Judgement of the Dead, had gobbled up the hearts of those who failed the Balance. But his fellow gods would soon regret their folly! The outcast would reap revenge in the only certain way.

He would transcend Time as he would transcend her sister, Death. As King of the Darkness, he would show those Ten True Fools
real
powers and then, for all eternity, they would bend their knee to him.

He watched Berenice move her son to her other breast, leaving both exposed to Seth's hidden stare from his eyrie on the hill. Such breasts. Such beautiful ripe, round breasts. He could almost see them thrusting themselves at the child, heavy with their milk, and he watched until his erection was complete. Turning, hard and primed, he stepped over the heart-shaped stone and pulled back the branches of a scrambling fig to reveal a cave gouged out of the pitted tufa rock.

'Mmmff!'

The girl tied to the high-backed chair squirmed and wriggled, and Seth stood in the cave mouth for several minutes watching the leather bonds bite deeper into the white and naked flesh as she struggled to break free from cords which never would release her. Seth was proud of his knots. They tightened with every twist she made.

'Mmmmf!' Wild eyes rolled above the gag across her
mouth.    'Mmmff!'

'Endurance,' Seth whispered, running his hand down her cheek. Donata, wasn't she? Or was that the one sitting next to her? 'Endurance, my child. Through suffering comes everlasting life.'

His hands, his magic hands, moved down to mould her breasts, the blood from her wounds was sticky under his caress as he gazed with pride around his cave. Carved out of the soft rock for an unknown purpose by ancient Etruscans, who had left behind them only painted pictures on the walls, the cave had concealed its secret with trees and greenery through the ensuing centuries. But now, guided by his mystic powers, Seth had discovered it once more and here he had set up his table for the Ten True Fools, over which he would preside for all eternity, his own seat (throne!) at the head.

However, he could not proceed just yet. Not until
all
the gods had been assembled here.

As he took the hysterical Donata, Seth smiled. 'Hathor,' he crooned. 'Hathor of the Sky, now you are mine. Your womb retains the Sorcerer's holy seed, the seed that has transformed you from human to divine being. You belong to Seth, you have taken your place at his high table, you are Seth's for all eternity.'

Satisfied at last, he finally withdrew, washed himself from head to foot and anointed his body with the unguent of cloves and myrrh that everybody in the holy commune used.

'You see, Hathor? You have become divine, whereas I -' he laughed at the irony - 'I am about to become mortal again. The Dark One has the ability to move among the people without their knowledge or suspicion, and that is where his power lies.'

Donata was weeping openly by now, heedless of the vicious thongs which bound her to the chair, wishing she could turn back time to yesterday, even to this morning. This morning -when she thought the worst of it was being raped by Horus on the heart-shaped stone.

Seth had pulled on his clothes and was holding up a mask which had lain on the table in front of Donata, a mask identical

in every respect to that worn by Hathor at the ceremony: the soft cow's mouth, the big, round ears below the arching horns. He stroked the long black lashes which surrounded the painted glass of the eye and tenderly planted a kiss on the broad snout between the gaping nostrils.

'Oh, Hathor, your time of destiny has come.'

He placed a thong around Donata's throat, similar to the one he'd used to subdue her earlier, and tied his special knot.

'Seth is not a beast, he does not kill,' he whispered. 'The choice of life or death is yours, sweet cow, mother of the falcon. Seth will return, to see which path Hathor has chosen.' He placed the heavy mask over Donata's head and watched her shoulders sag under the colossal weight. 'To continue with this life, knowing your heart will fail the Scales of Truth and sentence you to eternal desolation? Or to accept my gift of everlasting life by passing through the gate of death, like the others here?'

His hand swept around the table, to where the bodies of Thoth and Horus, Bast and Isis sat embalmed in eternal obedience to him. Which path would Hathor take? So far, none of his previous conquests had failed him, and four from ten leaves six. Hathor, should she choose to follow Seth, would bring the total up to five.

'Mmfffff.
Mmfffff!'

Carefully he fingered the unfilled replica masks, perfect to the feather, to the whisker, to the scale. Halfway. This was a confirmation of his power, of his domination over the other, lesser, gods. Soon his tableau would be complete and the Dark Destroyer could commence his eternal jurisdiction. But he must move fast. Despite the unguents and the heavy linen bandages, the four corpses seated round Seth's table were already demonstrating certain effects of this wearisome heat.

In the meantime, though, he must continue to move among the weaklings and the cowards of the commune, and this he could achieve, because, in their fools' eyes, they believed him to be one of them. They trusted him. Indeed, because of his

position in the hierarchy, they actively sought out his advice and fulfilled his instructions to the letter.

Soon - oh, very soon - these idiots would see the Sorcerer for what he was. His power and his true identity would shine through. Their knees would knock. Voices would tremble at Seth's omnipotence. And they would see that Mentu was nothing more substantial than the King of Clowns, a Pharaoh ruling over fools.

True mastery and dominion belonged to Seth.

With conscientious thoroughness, he replaced the branches of the scrambling fig to conceal once more the mouth of his secret cavern.

Oblivious to Donata's strangled, helpless sobs.

There's something wrong here, Claudia thought, her long legs scissoring across the Forum.
Very
wrong! Four men don't just disappear into thin air. Junius would never bunk off without leaving word.

'Almond buns? Hot pastries, lady?'

Claudia's glare told the vendor what he could do with his delights, and the huckster melted back into the crowd.

Goddammit, there's a real smell of fish surrounding this affair, but I have an idea, a theory about this abduction, and I need to test it.

Claudia glanced at the angle of the sun, now over the Aventine and sliding fast. With her bodyguard missing and the threat as to what would befall Flavia, were the authorities to become involved, sour in her mouth, Claudia had had little choice other than to station untrained reinforcements in the form of slaves from her own household around the Camensis and to hell if they were spotted, she'd done her best, given the taxing circumstances. Verres the cook had taken two kitchen hands, ostensibly to collect herbs for the table. Leonides, her steward, had settled down beside the spring with a good book. Two beefy labourers chopped back shrubs and trusted to Jupiter that the kidnappers knew sod all about pruning techniques.