The camel plodded on. The string of riders approached a thick line of palms and scrubby, dark brush. Thyatis' head raised in surprise as she smelled open water. Everything under the palms was dark-the light of the moon, an arc of dusky red high in the sky, failed to penetrate the foliage-but she swung down, heedless of any possible danger. Her legs were stiff and sore, but the Roman woman pushed through the branches and stumbled into a shallow pond.
Thyatis slid to a halt, the water unexpectedly cold against her legs. Mud oozed into her sandals.
"Wait," she hissed, furious at herself for rushing ahead, as Vladimir slid through the hanging branches. The Walach froze at the edge of the pond, hand halfway dipped to the quicksilver surface. "Smell first, my friend. We don't know who might have been here before us."
Thyatis drew her sword slowly, oiled metal sliding free without a sound. She could feel Betia and Nicholas and the others waiting in the darkness. Everyone's discipline had broken at the heady, irresistible smell. Vladimir withdrew his hand slowly, watching her with huge eyes, then audibly tasted the air, canting his head to one side. He bent low over the water, then dipped his hand again, long tongue flicking over the back of his hand.
"Water," he whispered. "Mud. Dates. Camels. Men. Women."
"Poison?" Thyatis coughed quietly, clearing a dry, dusty throat.
Vladimir shook his head.
"Drink then," she said, "but take your time." She forced herself to stand, alert to any disturbance in the night, while he drank. When the Walach had finished, he slipped back into the brush and Thyatis waded quietly to the edge of the pond. Betia came next, gliding between the palms like a ghost. The Roman woman continued to listen, nerves on edge, suppressing a start every time one of the camels honked or grumbled.
"Why is it so still?" Nicholas squatted beside her, wiping his face with a damp rag. Thyatis sipped slowly from one of the waterbags. She had washed her face, hands and arms in the pond, but longed for a real bath. Everything sticks together in this heat… The pilgrim road from the coast south to Siwa crossed nearly a hundred miles of lifeless, sun-blasted desert. Endless miles of rocky flats interspersed with acres of gravely lowlands. Thyatis had expected a desert filled with sand, like the lands around Lake Mareotis. But here in the western reach, there were no springs, no water and no shelter to speak of. Only wells built a day's march apart along the trail allowed passage from the coast. The last of those cisterns, cut into a shallow canyon twenty miles north of the oasis, had been bone dry.
"I don't know," Thyatis said, keeping her voice low. Stands of palms and scrawny trees stretched away to the south, forming the main body of the oasis. In the fading sun, as they had descended the flank of a flattened, rocky ridge, Thyatis had seen whitewashed houses and sand-colored temples at the center of the depression. The glittering expanse of a dry lake blazed beyond the green fields. People-priests, shepherds, artisans-were supposed to live here, drawing life from the bubbling pools and the fields the springs allowed. Flat-topped mesas surrounded the valley of Siwa, though they were nothing more than barren white stone and chalky gravel. "There must be someone here."
She pointed into the darkness. "There is a hill at the center-you saw it from the ridge? The temple of Amon-Ra is there, and the Oracle, and the quarters of the priests."
"I saw." Nicholas shifted in the moonlight, nodding. Thyatis felt Vladimir and Betia stir. The others were resting farther back in the grove. Everyone was worn down by the punishing heat. They had pushed hard from the coast. Thyatis' thighs and back simmered with dull, constant pain. Camels had a strange, loping gait and she'd felt nauseated for five days while they ambled south. She longed not just to be clean again-preferably via hours spent soaking in blisteringly hot water-but a masseuse afterwards, iron-hard hands kneading her tortured muscles into welcome oblivion.
"What did your bird say? Where do we go now?"
Nicholas rose, grimacing as abused muscles complained. Thyatis didn't think he was used to riding so much either. He was happy at sea, she remembered. A Roman sailor, how funny! He cracked his knuckles.
"She said-if we can believe her more than we could our poetic Cypriot-to enter the Mystery itself, the nave. The god looks down on a pit, from which bitter fumes rise. If we descend the pit, there is a stair and a chamber below." Thyatis could see the Latin's teeth shine in dappled moonlight. "The priests of the Oracle store the offerings there."
"And among those gifts, offered up so long ago, is one of Nemathapi's legendary telecasts?" Thyatis forced disbelief into her voice, though she prayed silently for the Daughters to have been and away with their prize. She had watched carefully as they came south, looking for the signs of another party on camels coming and then going. She had seen nothing.
"She had good reason to speak true," Nicholas answered. "I saw the papyrus myself-the signs and devices-one clearly described a telecast, given as tribute to the Oracle by the pharaoh Djoser in thanks 'for his salvation.' And if the librarian lied?" He laughed. "She'll still be in our cage when we return."
Thyatis stood as well, breathing deeply, forcing her tension out in a sharp huh. Bird-like Sheshet was tucked away in a prison cell beneath the governor's palace. She wondered if Nicholas would really put burning irons to the woman if they found nothing in the temple. She wondered how the librarian had known the truth. The matron Penelope seemed sure there was an Eye here… shouldn't such a thing be a closely held secret? But then-the priests of Amon-Ra would know and they might tell another, and then another… who would care for old bronze and rusting gears?
"Doesn't matter," Thyatis said aloud, flexing a cramp from her calves. They complained, but she ignored the soreness. "We'll check and see." She smiled tightly at Nicholas, fist over the prince's amulet. "If there's nothing here, we'll know soon enough. If there is, we'll find the telecast one way or another and take it home. Everyone have enough to drink? Are the waterbags full?"
The legionaries with the camels whistled in acknowledgement and Vladimir rose up, shaking out his shoulders, long axe swinging in his right hand. Scaled armor rattled softly. The barbarian grew more lively and awake as the night deepened and the air cooled.
"Vlad, you lead." Thyatis said, flipping her cloak free of both arms. Betia had helped her squeeze into the mailed armor. The metal was almost hot from riding on the back of a camel all day. In the damper, chillier air of the oasis, the warmth felt good. "Nicholas, you're on the right. I'll take the left. Florus…"
One of the shapes in the darkness raised his head attentively. Nicholas had tried to commandeer an entire cohort from the city garrison for their expedition, but had only managed to wrinkle free a handful of men-four recruits fresh from the Italian provinces and a veteran centurion to watch out for them. Thyatis didn't mind-they had borne up well in the dash from the coast-and they were willing to take orders. She hid a smile. Better yet, they were too exhausted to ask questions.
"…you cover the camels and the gear. Betia will follow along behind. Remember, people get lost in the dark. If you get separated, meet us back at the pillar we passed by the edge of the oasis."
Everyone nodded, a motion more felt or sensed than seen. Thyatis tucked her braids behind both ears, then padded off through the palms. The long blade was back in its sheath, but her hand was poised to draw at an instant's notice.