"Does that mean the authority of Pythia can be taken beyond Delphi if we have the Omphalos?"
"The navel of the world is wherever the Omphalos is." Dorian crossed her arms, and leaned against the table. "Panos, I have so much to remember. Tell me more about the Omphalos. Where did it come from?"
He pointed his index finger skyward. "It was a gift from Apollo himself."
She raised her eyes as if the gods inhabited the rafters. "You mean the Omphalos fell from the sky and landed here at Delphi?"
He stared at the stone tablets on the table for well over a minute before answering. "That is another secret."
She waited expectantly for him to continue. "I would like to answer yes, but the truth is that it fell elsewhere, and a messenger of Apollo brought it here, to the sacred place where the gases were rising from the ground."
Probably a meteorite, Dorian thought. It made sense
that such a stone would be worshiped, and the fact that it had not fallen right where the vapors were rising made it even more believable. She smiled confidently. "We will get the Omphalos. But now the king is coming."
"Yes. And you must speak to him. He needs to under stand who you are. He must accept it." She nodded solemnly.
"I know you will sway him." His words were gentle, soothing, but he was still uncomfortable in her presence, and stared at the table as he spoke. "Yes, and I already sense what Pythia will say." He slowly shifted his gaze. His eyes gave him away. He was hoping she would give him a hint.
"I'll tell you what I already know," she began. "Soon the world will recognize that the Oracle of Delphi is alive. All the world will look to the Oracle for hope, and the power of Greece will be magnified a hundredfold."
Panos smiled broadly. "And Pythia will tell this to the king." Her eyes blinked rapidly. "Yes, and more." She took the stonemason by the arm and led him to the door, all the while whispering, telling him far more than he had expected to hear.
Panos sipped his retsina, and listened to Doumas. It was early afternoon and only a couple of other tables in the taverna were occupied. They were seated in the same booth where they had been when Jones swaggered over to them the other night, and now the foreigner was on his mind again. The man was a problem, potentially a serious one.
Doumas, unfortunately, didn't see it that way. A fat intellectual, all paunch and jowls, he was more committed to ideas than action. "I don't know what Grigoris was thinking, but you've got to control him. He almost killed Jones. What's worse is that Belecamus suspects it was no accident."
Doumas's double chin was shaking as he spoke; he reminded Panos of an overweight turkey. He wanted to tell him that he was spineless, that he'd failed to deal with Jones, but instead he acted surprised. "How do you know that?"
"Because she found me arguing with Grigoris in the stable. He actually pulled a knife on me so I wouldn't take her another rope."
Panos poured himself another glass of retsina from the bottle on the table. "Did she see the knife or hear anything that was said?"
"I don't think so. She was in a hurry. But she knew we were arguing."
Panos cast a look of annoyance at the occupants of one of the other tables. They were foreigners, three men and a woman. They were talking loudly, and spoke English. The woman, in particular, had an abrasive voice. He wished they would leave. They shouldn't be here, not in the taverna, not in Delphi. Not now.
"There is something I don't understand. If the rope broke, why is Jones still alive?"
Doumas looked exasperated. "He got lucky."
Panos thought a moment. He knew he should tell Doumas that he would control Grigoris, but the truth was he was out of control. "I will talk to my son. He should not have threatened you. He will apologize. I promise."
Doumas didn't look satisfied. Too bad. "Now, tell me something. What is the connection between Jones and Belecamus?"
Doumas smiled, a sly smile that said he should know what it was. "She likes younger foreign men. What else can I say?"
So that was it. Now Panos was more certain than ever that Jones must be quickly eliminated. He could only be trouble; he could slow the transformation. It was time to put Doumas to the test. "One way or another Jones must be taken care of. Immediately. We can't chance him interfering with our work."
"He won't interfere. He's confined to a bed in his hotel room. I'm sure he won't be going anywhere until after the king has come and gone. Besides, you are sure to anger Belecamus if anything happens to him."
"How can we be certain he stays in bed? I don't trust him. He doesn't understand what Delphi is about."
"You worry too much, Panos. You know what the tablet in the crevice said. Nothing can stop the Return now. Not Jones, not anyone. It will happen as sure as the king is rich."
Panos glowered at him. "The tablet was confirmation of the blueprint. But we must still do what is necessary to fulfill it."
Doumas emptied his glass, then set it on the table. "You have to understand my position. I am a scientist, an archaeologist. I have a reputation."
Panos laughed. "What is your reputation, Stephanos? Caretaker of old stones. Stop wavering. Your rubble will still be there no matter what you do."
"What do you want of me, Panos? I got Belecamus here. I went down that hole and interpreted the tablet.
I could have been killed. What more do you want?"
"You wanted to know about the Order of Pythia. You wanted to know everything. Now you must fulfill your responsibilities."
"I'm not a killer. That's Grigoris's work."
Panos bolted out of his chair, and grabbed Doumas by the collar. "Don't talk that way about my son," he growled between clenched teeth. "Do you understand? I don't want to hear that."
As he lowered himself back into the chair he saw the group of foreigners looking their way. He ignored them.
Doumas glared back at him. "Don't ask me to kill Jones, or anyone. I won't do it. But I will tell you something that you don't know. Something valuable."
Panos stared sullenly at him. "What is it?"
Doumas leaned over the table. "I know precisely when the vapors will rise. There's a pattern, and unless things change I can predict the time of the risings tomorrow, next month, and for years."
Panos considered what he'd said. He was surprised that Doumas would know such a thing and made an effort to control his astonishment. "Go ahead. Tell me."
As Doumas spoke, Panos gazed over the archaeologist's shoulder at two uniformed men who had entered the taverna. They looked around, and took a table. The taller of the two looked familiar.
Panos concentrated on what Doumas was saying. "That's good to know. Six minutes is the key."
His gaze shifted to the other table again. Now he remembered where he'd seen the man. Belecamus had met him the morning he'd followed her from her house to the Roman Agora. From the way they'd acted he was sure they were close to each other. He remembered thinking that the officer was potential trouble, and now he knew he was right.
"We have another problem." He tilted his head toward the table.
Doumas followed his glance. "Military men. Probably related to the king's trip."
Panos could tell by Doumas's expression that he knew something more. "Who is he, Stephanos? I've seen the one with her."
Doumas looked back again, as if he hadn't recognized the man. He leaned over the table again. "Colonel Alexan der Mandraki. Belecamus has been seeing him off and on for years. Lovers."
Panos frowned. "What could she see in him? He's ugly."
Doumas grinned. "Power, of course. You should know that."
A tight smile curled on Panos's lips as he sat back in his chair. A plan was taking form. "We must turn him against Jones so that he does our work for us."