He signaled for the chief engineers of the failed bridge to be brought forward. The six men — Egyptians — cowered in front of him, begging for mercy. He was considering various means of execution when he sensed Pandora stirring just behind his right shoulder.
“There is little time for this, lord. The Phoenicians have a plan for a new bridge. Actually, two bridges, which will allow a quicker crossing and when tied off to each other will be stronger than one span.”
Xerxes was tempted to draw his sword and lop the impertinent woman’s head off, but he held back. He turned and could see two Phoenicians standing just behind her. Technically Phoenicia was part of his realm, but many of the merchants of that realm went their own way, seeking out the highest bidder for their services. They had sent the troops he had dictated along with the proper tribute so they followed the letter of his law, but little more.
“What is your plan?” he demanded of them.
The taller of the two stepped forward. “Lord, we feared that the Egyptians would not succeed. And given the advice of your—“ he paused searching for the correct word to identify Pandora—“assistant, we have made preparations.”
So Pandora had talked with them and foresaw the destruction of the bridges? Xerxes pondered that as he spoke. “What kind of preparations?”
“Most wonderful King, we have a convoy of ships and barges less than a day’s sailing from here loaded with woven flax cables. They are stronger than the ropes the Egyptians used. And our fleet carries enough for two bridges.”
For the Phoenicians to have ships and barges carrying that much cable close by meant this was long in the preparing, Xerxes knew. He glanced at Pandora, her beautiful face expressionless. Plots within plots. She had warned him about the Egyptian bridge, but he had dismissed her concerns — after all what did a woman know of such things?
“How long will it take to build the bridge once your ships arrive?” Xerxes demanded.
“Three days, Lord.”
Xerxes knew this was not a coincidence — just in time for Pandora’s four-day prediction for the crossing.
“How much will it cost me?” Xerxes asked.
The sum the Phoenician quoted was outrageous but Xerxes had no choice. Besides he planned to take the cost of this entire expedition out of the city-states he captured in Greece. He ordered his paymaster to makes the funds available. Then he turned back to the six Egyptians with a cruel smile. “You will live to see another dawn.”
And he left them with that cryptic statement, heading toward the Imperial tent, Pandora behind him.
Leonidas pressed the march hard. He knew it would ruin his horse, but there was the knowledge that the Persians would be moving forward, combined with the desire to cause Cyra to fall behind. But the priestess kept up, pushing her own horse just as hard, not complaining about the brutal pace or the many hours in the hard saddle.
They crested a pass and he could see the rocky trail ahead of them stretching for miles along the coast. A ship would save them time, but he didn’t trust the Athenians and their ships patrolled the Sea of Corinth. Land was safer.
“Your mother,” Leonidas said abruptly.
“Yes?”
“Why is she sending you on this dangerous journey? Aren’t you to be the next Oracle?”
“The journey is necessary,” Cyra said. “And no, I am not to be the next Oracle. My daughter is.”
“You’re married?” Leonidas knew priestesses of Delphi could marry, but he had not sensed that air about her. In Sparta, a woman married young and became the property of her husband. Spartan women were strong, but they carried themselves in a way that indicated they were property. For the briefest of moments, he thought of his own wife and realized he had not considered her or his children at all when he had heard the Oracle’s forecast of his death. He was more surprised at having this realization than at what it meant.
“No.”
Cyra’s one word answer cut through his thoughts and was a greater surprise than the first.
“But you said you had a child—“ he began.
“One does not need a husband to have a child,” Cyra said.
Leonidas did not respond to that, riding in silence for several minutes. He’d spotted a small cloud of dust ahead when they crested the pass and knew they would shortly meet whoever was heading this way. From the size of the cloud he estimated four or five riders. Since Sparta was not currently at war with any of the other city-states, he was not overly concerned but more interested in who he would encounter.
The woman bothered him. A child without a husband. A priestess who did not act like one, but rather rode as well as any of his warriors. Her directness, which was most unbecoming for a woman.
Leonidas pulled back on his reins, halting in a grove of olive trees. Cyra came up next to him and also stopped her horse. He waited for her to ask why they had halted but the minutes passed and she said nothing, waiting silently.
“There are riders coming this way,” he finally said.
“I know. Two Spartans, an Athenian and a Persian.”
Leonidas twisted in the saddle in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“I sensed them coming a long time ago. They seek you.”
Leonidas slid off his horse, his right knee almost buckling as he touched the ground. Only a firm grip on his stirrup kept him from tumbling in the dirt. He shot a quick glance at Cyra, but she seemed not to have noticed. An old wound, the result of a spear thrust by an Athenian, the knee bothered him when it stiffened.
“Since you know so much, tell me what news they bring me,” Leonidas tied off his horse on a sapling.
Cyra dismounted and tied her horse off. “Double-speak, treachery and manipulation.”
Leonidas smiled. “You seem to know politics.”
“I know the rules and means of power,” Cyra said.
“Still it is an easy answer for any meeting.”
Cyra nodded, acknowledging that. “You want specifics? There is a traitor in the group.”
“Traitor to whom?” Leonidas wasn’t to be drawn in so easily. “Sparta? Athens? Or is it the Persian?”
“That you will have to determine. I can only sense the aura of betrayal as it comes.”
Leonidas could hear the approaching riders. They came around the bend. The lead man wore the red cloak of a Spartiate, followed by a man in the armor of Athens, then a third with the outlandish attire of a Persian followed by another Spartan.
The two from his own land, Leonidas immediately recognized: Eusibius and Loxias. From the finery on the Athenian’s armor, Leonidas knew the man to be high ranking. The Persian was dressed in what Leonidas considered an outlandish costume: purple, flowing pants; a white shirt underneath his chest armor with billowing sleeves; his helmet like a dome, open-faced, revealing dark skin and a pointed nose, giving him a hatchet-like appearance, accentuated by, of all things, rouge on the cheeks. The Persians dressed like dandies, but Leonidas knew better than to judge the man’s fighting qualities by that.
“Hail, travelers!” Leonidas stepped onto the track, causing Eusibius to rear back on his reins in surprise.
“My lord.” Eusibius swung easily from the saddle. Leonidas studied the young man. Just past twenty he was from a good family and had shown bravery in the few battles he had been in. Loxias was a different story. He was older, in his mid-thirties, a hardened warrior but one who always seemed to be in the midst of any controversy whether it be as large as division of power between the two kings that ruled Sparta to something as trivial as deciding the fate of an insolent helot.
Eusibius had taken the Athenian’s reins, allowing him to dismount. “May I introduce Idas of Athens and—” he paused as the Persian rode past him without allowing him to take the reins and dismounted, facing the Greeks—“Lord Jamsheed from the court of Xerxes.”