Keeper of the Flame (25 page)

Later, after fighting the heaviness of his eyes for some minutes, a furious pounding at the door of the chamber nearly knocked him from his chair.

He jumped to his feet. Was it an attack?

Sophia shook her head. “It is only Ares. Come!”

Ares entered and bowed his head to Sophia. “It grows late and I plan to go to my bed.” He glanced at Bellus. “I came to see if there is anything else you need of me.”

“No,” Sophia said. “No, I think we are fine here. Good night.”

Another look was shot at Bellus, then back to Sophia. “You will also be retiring shortly, Abbas?”

Bellus saw a twitch of amusement cross her face. “Yes. You can be assured of that, Ares. Thank you for your concern.”

He bowed and backed from the room, and again his look was for Bellus, and not completely friendly.

When the door closed, Bellus laughed. “What was that?”

Sophia rubbed her neck as though her studies had tightened it. “He is protective.”

“This is his first evening appearance, however.” Bellus set the scroll aside.

Sophia leaned her head against the cushions. “I do not know what sparked his wariness tonight.”

“Sophia . . .” Bellus was hesitant with the next words. “He is more than protective. He is insolent and sometimes almost authoritative with you. Why do you allow it?”

She sighed and her eyes fluttered shut.

The long silence worried Bellus. “You do not need—”

“He was born here. The child of a maidservant who hid her pregnancy. I might have cast her out, but it was a . . . difficult time in my life, and somehow having the boy here softened it.”

“And the father?”

“I never knew him. He came the night of the birth, I believe. I was still ignorant of the situation at the time and didn’t know
who he was. Later, when she presented the baby, I assumed it was the father I saw. Though what Eleni saw in him, I cannot imagine. He was a horribly disfigured man. He never appeared again.”

Bellus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So he is the illegitimate son of a lying maidservant. This does not explain your tolerance.”

Sophia smiled slightly and raised her head from the couch. “His mother died a few years later, when he was still a small thing, running through the lighthouse as though it were his private playroom, irritating the rest of the staff with his curiosity. I had grown fond of him by that time. He was the same—” She left off, again sealing up her past. “I let him stay. Perhaps my indulgence over the years has led to his familiar way with me, but it does not trouble me.”

“Because you care for him, very much.”

She lifted her chin. “I did not say that.”

“You did not have to.”

“He is a servant.”

“And I am a Roman and those scholars down there are old men and the beggar in the agora was only a beggar.”

She frowned. “You speak in riddles.”

“Then I will be plain. Sophia, you play the part of a tyrant, but there is something inside you that wants to love and to be loved.”

He sat back in his chair, his breathing a bit uneven, certain he had pushed too far. But Sophia dropped her head, and he could see she was not angry.

“You speak like Sosigenes,” she said. “He is trying to convince me that there is only one true God, and that this God has a heart of love for me.”

Bellus looked back to the emptiness of the window where he had stood some time before. “Would that it were true.” He smiled at Sophia. “When are you going to let me spend time with them?”

“Why should you want to?”

Bellus flexed his hands, knuckles popping. “Why should I want to? Are you jesting? The finest minds in the world reside beneath my feet. An hour in their presence would be an honor like none I’ve received in battle.”

Sophia studied him and he raised his eyebrows.

“Then you shall have your hour. Tomorrow morning.”

He grinned and stood. “Then I should get my rest. I would not want my mind fuzzy and dull.”

Sophia walked him to the door. He clasped her hand before leaving. “Thank you.” He leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

She did not pull away or even look away. Instead her eyes found his, unblinking. Quietly she said, “You are welcome, my friend.”

Bellus still pondered those words the next morning as he finished drilling the troops. His shouted commands echoed off the stone walls, but it was an inner monologue that occupied him. A debate with himself over the wisdom of continuing this friendship with Sophia.

He marched past the lines, poking the hilt of his pilum at those whose posture showed the slightest bit of slouch, wondering what Caesar would say if he learned of the unusual way his orders to “take the lighthouse” were being carried out.

And Caesar would learn of it, Bellus had no doubt. There were too many eyes about.

“Dismissed!” he yelled, and the men had sense enough of his mood to slink away.

Sophia knew his schedule and would be down before long to fulfill her promise. He leaned back against the front wall of the Base, crossed his arms, and prepared to wait, still lost in the turbulent thoughts that criss-crossed in his head.

He heard footsteps approach and turned to greet Sophia, but found Ares. The boy carried a tray with the leftover bits of a breakfast of maza and olive paste. Presumably Sophia’s. He slowed when he saw Bellus.

“She is well this morning?”

Ares stopped before him, his face a slight scowl. “She has no need of a guardian.”

Bellus grinned. “No, I learned that the first time I met her.”

Ares seemed to relax a little, his shoulders dropping an inch. “She is not as strong as she appears, either.”

Bellus eyed the boy seriously now. “And I am learning that as well.” He gripped the servant’s arm. “I only want to be her friend, Ares. I have no desire to bring her pain.”

“But pain sometimes comes without intent.”

Bellus dropped his hand. “You speak wisely. And I will confess that you echo my own thoughts this morning.”

Ares swallowed, suddenly seeming much younger. “But if there is a chance—”

“A chance?”

“That you could break this curse . . .”

Bellus tilted his head and studied the boy, but the scrape of sandal on stone interrupted them. They both turned to see Sophia walking toward them through the corridor, and Ares hurried off.

Sophia drew alongside Bellus, and he forced himself not to stare at the string of red beads she wore uncharacteristically around her neck.

“You were not chastising Ares for his behavior last night, I hope,” she said.

“On the contrary, we were sharing our mutual respect for you.”

Sophia actually blushed, and Bellus was struck again, as though by a physical blow to his chest, what a dangerous game he played. So many insurmountable barriers stood between them. Race, class, geography, occupation. Ares was right. Pain sometimes comes without intent. But a man can be wise and walk away before such a thing occurs.

“You are ready to meet the scholars?”

He smiled. “More than ready.”

They reached the North Wing, with Sophia looking over her shoulder multiple times along the way. She pulled a key from under her chitôn and unlocked the door, then led the way into the room.

They were all in there again, as they had been when he first discovered them more than a week ago. Bellus slid into the room, awed and silent. The buzz of the scholar’s quiet conversation faded, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned on him. He straightened his shoulders.

Sophia locked the door. “A friend, men. One who values learning over subjugation.”

The old men still held their positions, scattered around the crowded room, its tables overflowing with scrolls, charts, instruments, and inventions. Bellus swallowed. “Sophia has graciously allowed me to glimpse your work. It is a great honor.”

Sophia crossed to the side of the room, where a small table at the wall held cups and a stone pitcher. She poured a cup of water and brought it to him. Her hospitality seemed to convince the men, and they nodded in his direction before returning to their studies. Bellus exhaled.

Afraid of a group of old men, Bellus? What would Caesar say?

But thoughts of Caesar led him to remember that his general anxiously searched for this treasury of wisdom he had discovered. Better not to think of Caesar.

She took him from table to table, introducing him to each of the men in turn, explaining their special area of interest. He marveled over the tedious translation work of one, the intricate machinery of levers and dials created by another. In the corner, nearest the small window set high in the stone wall, one scholar worked over pots of cuttings.

“This is Archippos,” Sophia said. “And his roses. He is creating a new species that will be more drought-resistant.”

The old man patted her hand. “We could not continue the work without this fine woman.”

They weaved through the white-robed gentlemen, and Bellus asked questions until he was certain he would annoy them with his interruptions. Finally they reached Sosigenes, of whom Sophia had spoken often during their evenings together.

The tall man was bent at the waist, peering into a metal box of some interest to Bellus, covered as it was with gears and dials and markings in both Greek and demotic Egyptian. Sophia touched his back lightly and he straightened and turned.

His weathered face was creased heavily with the lines of age, and though Bellus had assumed he was Greek, he was no longer certain.

“Sosigenes,” Sophia was saying, “this is Lucius Aurelius Bellus, the Roman soldier of whom I spoke.”

Sosigenes bowed. “Centurion.” His eyes held suspicion, but no fear. “It is good to meet you. Again. Sophia assures me you are to be trusted with our room of secrets.”

Bellus bowed. “She honors me with her trust, as you do with your time.”

“How goes the work?” Sophia bent over the mechanism.

“Fine, fine.” Sosigenes circled the front dial with thumb and forefinger and turned it a quarter-turn. “I was aligning it—” He looked again to Bellus, then back to Sophia.

“Speak freely, Sosigenes.”

The two talked together of the mechanism’s testing, and gradually Bellus came to understand the piece’s intended use. Following on the heels of understanding came the realization of the power the thing could yield.

“This must not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands,” he said, interrupting the two.

Sophia turned briefly to him and nodded, as though to recognize his impassioned warning, then returned to talking with Sosigenes.

Bellus watched her, her face animated and her hands fluttering as she spoke. They laughed together over some small error, and Sophia wrapped an arm around the older man’s bony shoulders. Something akin to jealousy flared, building heat in Bellus’s face and tightening the muscles of his arms. He shook his head to clear the feeling.

She noticed him there again and pulled him into the conversation, bringing him to the table to more closely examine the piece. Behind him, she spoke quietly in his ear. “The Proginosko
will tell us more of the heavens than we have ever known and create a calendar without drift, at last. It is near to completion and requires only a few weeks more of testing, as the moon waxes.” Her voice was low. “You see now, Bellus, why I had to keep them here, to safeguard them. The Proginosko is too important.”

And you have trusted me with it.

Bellus again saw the flash of Caesar’s face in his mind.

Trapped between Sophia and Sosigenes, he felt unable to breathe. He pulled away from Sophia’s voice.

What have I done?

The older man seemed to sense his discomfort and moved aside. Bellus escaped to the table that held the water pitcher and refilled his cup. He drained it, still facing the wall.

The knowledge that Sophia had trusted him with something so precious, to her and to the world, sent his thoughts careening. He felt the clash of duty and friendship keen and sharp in his chest and wished that he could command his emotions as he would his men—marshalling them into line with none outside the boundaries he imposed. It made him angry that he could not.

“Bellus, what is wrong?” Sophia stood behind him.

“Nothing.” He did not turn.

“You have seen enough?”

He could hear the confusion in her voice. “Too much.”

A coldness seemed to grow between them. “Tell me,” she said, “tell me that I have not endangered these men by bringing you here.”

He turned on her. “I will keep your secret, Sophia, but you were foolish to share it. Who am I? I am a Roman centurion.”

She shook her head. “That is not all you truly are. You know this.”

“I know nothing but Rome and duty.”

Her lips formed a line, a hard, straight edge without mercy. “Yes, it was foolish of me to forget. To think that you cared for anything more than war and conquest.”

He reached for her without thought, then caught himself and lowered his arm. “We are here on a military assignment, and what is good for Rome is good for me.” He lifted his chin, hating himself. “Keep your scholars to yourself, and I will tend to my men.”

He set the cup on the table, too hard. The room quieted once more. Bellus looked into the faces of men for whom he had great respect, then pivoted sharply and let himself out of the room.

Behind him, he heard the door swing shut again and lock from the inside.

Twenty-Seven

T
he days wore on, and Sophia chose to watch the city gird itself for war from the windows that pocked the face of the lighthouse from base to tip. There were rooms at every level as one ascended the spiral ramp, with glass panes that afforded every view of the city, yet kept Sophia remote from all that transpired below.

Including the centuria that marched and drilled and wasted their time.

This morning Sophia took her breakfast tray from Ares and pushed it across her desk.

“You are not hungry?”

Seated with labor charts before her, Sophia kept her back to Ares. “Later,” she said.

“You have not been down in days.”

“You bring me everything I need.”