The Boar made a gruff, grunting sound of displeasure. The Queen's heart beat again. "This seemed wasteful and petty," she continued. "So I sent Uri and his men away, with a letter for the garrison commander, directing him to join us on the march in all haste. They are Greeks out of the Decapolis and will rejoice to fight beside their brothers."
Shahr-Baraz began walking again, half-sliding, half-stepping down the further slope of the dune. "The lord Ben-Sarid reached Aelia Capitolina safely, then."
"Yes," the Queen said, closing her eyes. "Later, Lord Khalid expressed his opinion to me. His words were heartfelt, if not temperate. He is not a reticent young man."
"No…" The Boar refrained from laughing, though the Queen could feel a powerful guffaw bubbling in his chest. "No, he is not. I saw the Greeks arrive-a strong garrison to leave in some hill town!"
The Queen made a tiny, shrugging motion. "The city has a large Roman colony. They are restive, needing a firm hand to keep them in line. Uri will do that, I think."
"Good." Shahr-Baraz entered the camp, striding swiftly now across hard-packed earth littered with tiny stones. Guardsmen appeared out of the darkness, saw the King of Kings, then faded away again. It was very late and a rattle of snoring echoed among the tents. The Queen craned her head, looking about.
"I can walk, I think." She could see the tents of the Palmyrene contingent not far away. Shahr-Baraz halted, swinging her gently around to stand upright. She clutched his arm, nails digging into the heavy cloak, then stamped her feet. They were tingling fiercely. "Ow," she muttered.
"Have your slaves warm some water, then plunge your feet in," the King of Kings said, grinning. He held up his massive right hand. The last joint of his ring finger was missing. "I was trapped in ice, once, for just a little too long. Then we rode hard, killing two horses, before we could stop. I was lucky-could have lost my toes, even my leg. Good night."
The Queen watched the Boar stride off, unaffected by the long walk over the dunes, the dreadful cold, the sorcerer's anger, anything at all. She licked her lips, stomach tight. The king is no fool. He might suspect, she thought, turning remembered words over in her mind. He might guess…
Zoe shuffled off through the tents, thin shoulders hunched, thinking furiously.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Port of Old Ostia, Latium
Thyatis sprang up the gangplank of the Paris in three long steps, eager to be aboard the galley. The deck was crowded with oarsmen and sailors stowing their baggage, lowering barrels of water down into the storage space under the walkway between the oars or running fresh rope up into the rigging. The Roman woman had her armor slung over one shoulder in a tight bundle, with the long scabbard of her latest sword jutting lengthwise along her back.
"Where is the captain?" she called to a nearby sailor as she stepped aside, letting Mithridates and Betia come aboard. The African had a long spear over his shoulders, heavy with bundles of clothing, armor and other necessary items. Like Thyatis, he wore only a tunic tied at one shoulder, leaving the other bare. The blond girl slipped onto the ship, the top of her head-now protected by a straw hat-barely touching the underside of Mithridates' extended arm.
The sailor looked up, scowled at the interruption, then jerked his head towards the forward deck. Thyatis, fairly bubbling over with energy, strode off, the force of her passage making the pine-wood decking flex and groan. Mithridates looked down questioningly at Betia, who shrugged.
The Paris was sixty feet long, with a fore and after deck, two stepped masts and a shallow hull. The galley was built to maneuver, to land on shallow beaches and run up short-draft estuaries. The cantilevered oar benches were arranged in single-deck fashion, though Thyatis noted-as she reached the after deck and clattered down a flight of steps into the below-deck cabins-there were half again as many rowers as she would have expected. A Thiran design, she realized, then laughed softly, seeing a bow carved over the door lintel. We are among friends, then, and why not? This is the Duchess' ship and her effort… The hallway under the deck was narrow and short, for the crew and passengers slept on deck under the open sky or a tarpaulin, rather than mewed up below. Thyatis pulled up, seeing the broad shoulders of a man blocking the door into the captain's cabin.
"…are we waiting for?" A voice carried out into the hallway, sharp with a Northern accent around the Latin words. "You're missing good rowing water and a shore breeze!"
"Pardon, friend," Thyatis said, tapping the black-haired man on the shoulder. He turned, revealing a long, pale face dominated by luminous eyes and a glossy beard. Thyatis blinked, catching an odd shape to his jaw, his ears, even the line of his nose. Her fingertips brushed across metal-scale armor over powerful biceps.
"We're waiting," boomed a Greek-accented voice, "for the rest of our passengers."
"Passengers! We're not on a pleasure cruise up the Nile! I've messages for the Caesar Aurelian and…"
Thyatis stepped past the big man in the door, eyes narrowing in interest.
The captain of the Paris, a stocky, bald man with arms like tubs of lard and a chest straining against his spotted, stained tunic filled half the tiny cabin. Opposite him, a little taller but much lighter, a wiry Roman with a sharp mustache was waving an ivory message cylinder under the captain's nose. "…I've orders to get to Egypt with all speed. So you can just-"
"We can leave now," Thyatis said, her cold, level tone cutting across the lean man's rising voice. "We are all aboard."
"Who are you?" echoed back, from both the captain and the Roman.
"Thyatis Julia Clodia, an agent of the Imperium and representative of the House De'Orelio," she replied coolly. "Captain Pylos, feel free to leave harbor at the earliest opportunity." At the same time, she nodded to him, flashing her forearm-circled by an archer's wristband-for him to see. The captain nodded in response, relieved to turn things over to a superior officer, then pushed out of the cabin, muttering. A moment later, the ship trembled as he stomped up onto the deck, bull-voice shouting.
"You would be Nicholas," Thyatis continued, nodding to the shorter Roman, "and this would be Vladimir."
"I am," the man said, glowering up at her. "We also serve the Empire. We've been waiting for you, then, and your… baggage."
"My team," she said, suppressing a smile. Nicholas was standing on tiptoe now, which barely managed to bring him to her eye level. For a moment, she considered the man-he was finely muscled, with odd colored eyes, a dancer's waist and thick wrists. One eye was nearly obscured by a fierce, semicircular scar. A swordsman, she thought, looking him over. Very quick, I think, with a temper and a sharp tongue and he's never even thought of working with a woman before… Thyatis looked around the cabin, saw a table built into the wall and sat. Now they were of a height and Nicholas visibly relaxed. "Have you been apprised of the mission?"
"I have," he said. "There is a device, hidden in some Egyptian tomb. We find the thing and bring it home."
Thyatis nodded, pursing her lips. She looked Vladimir over critically and the big, black-maned Walach stiffened, then almost blushed. "There might be more than one device-the telecast-and they are heavy. Vladimir, how much can you lift?"
"He can lift an ox," Nicholas snapped, stepping between the two of them. "He's with me, my partner and my friend. Can you lift so much?"
"No," Thyatis said, pointing past Vladimir with her chin. "But my friend Mithridates can."