Their fledgling kingdom was not only surviving but flourishing. Their single-minded belief in only one God gave them a great advantage over their neighbors who worshipped many Gods, if they worshipped at all. Aspasia’s Shadow felt quite satisfied that the Ark and Grail would be safe for some time.
That did not mean, of course, that he was not going to implement more of his plans.
XIII
A.D. 70: STONEHENGE
Donnchadh felt refreshed and vaguely optimistic as she opened her eyes. She smiled as she remembered Gwalcmai and his “farewell” to her before entering the tubes this last time. He had been right—good memories were the way to enter the deep sleep.
The smile was gone as she sat up. What had happened while they slept? Was the Grail safe? Were the Airlia still asleep and the Atlantis Truce in place? Was the planet safe from the Swarm? She swung her legs over the side of the tube and touched the cold deck plating. She threw on a robe and slipped on sandals, then scurried over to the copilot’s seat and booted up the computer.
“Worried already?” Gwalcmai’s voice was hoarse, as always after the deep sleep.
“You know me well,” Donnchadh said.
“It was nice the one time you awakened me with a kiss,” Gwalcmai. “If I woke first, that is what I would do every time. But I am a slow riser.”
Donnchadh paused, her fingers over the keyboard. She slowly turned to face her husband. “I am sorry. I am always in a rush—”
“When there is a need to hurry, you will see no one go faster,” Gwalcmai interrupted her as he climbed out of his tube and got dressed. “But at this moment, upon awakening, unless there is an alarm going off, there is no need to rush.”
Donnchadh forced herself to get out of the chair and go to her husband. She felt the pull of the computer and whatever information it had, but for once she allowed the stronger feeling deep inside her to rule.
JERUSALEM
Aspasia’s Shadow cursed as the spray of blood from the captive’s throat left a trail of red across his gleaming breastplate. “Pull him back next time, you fools,” he hissed at the two legionnaires who held the arms of the dying Jew. It was always difficult to train new help, he reflected as a slave gingerly wiped at the armor, eyes downcast, afraid of suffering the same fate.
The dead man had been worthless. As had the hundreds before him that Aspasia’s Shadow had also tortured and killed. True, he had learned much of the history of the Judeans since they had arrived here after following Moses so many years earlier, but history held little interest for Aspasia’s Shadow. It was the present and the future that he was concerned about.
Aspasia’s Shadow looked up from the corpse and across a valley to the city the Roman army was besieging. The Jews were a stubborn people, he would give them that. At the base of the hill Aspasia’s Shadow’s legion was deployed on were over three thousand crosses on which those who tried to escape the besieged town were crucified, as an example to those still inside. On a rotating basis the corpses on the crosses were cut down and new victims nailed into place. Long ago, in a previous lifetime, Aspasia’s Shadow had changed the method of crucifixion the memories of Aspasiaheld—using leather—out of a desire to see blood. He’d had his legionnaires use nails instead. By trial and error—and numerous bodies falling off as the nails ripped through hands, they had learned the proper place to drive the iron stakes— between the bones of the forearm and just above the ankles.
Titus had been most pleased with Aspasia’s Shadow’s innovations in torture and intimidation. Titus was the Emperor Vespasian’s son, and as such was in line to be the next Emperor. His goal was the complete subjugation of the Judeans—and, more important, capturing the gold and riches that was rumored to be hidden in the Temple of the Jews. Aspasia’s Shadow was also interested in something hidden in the Temple—the Ark and Grail.
Of course, he was not known as Aspasia’s Shadow to Titus and the other Romans. Over twenty years previously, upon awakening from the deep sleep, he had taken the name Tacitus. He had surveyed the current situation and found that things had changed greatly since he’d last walked the planet. A large empire had arisen on a peninsula on the north side of the Middle Sea and now commanded a large portion of the known world. The Romans had invaded Judea over one hundred years previously and made it a province of the empire.
As his guards dragged the body away, Aspasia’s Shadow sat down on an ornate chair he’d had brought with him from a villa they’d sacked several months previously on the way to Jerusalem. He put his chin on his fist and glared at Jerusalem. The Grail was so close, but guarded by zealots who were willing to die in the tens of thousands rather than surrender. Humans were very strange creatures.
Five years earlier, Aspasia’s Shadow had formed his own legion in Syria and offered its services to Titus, who had been more than happy to accept the force into his fold. Aspasia’s Shadow had recruited many Roman soldiers to serve for him, principally as officers and centurions, while the bulk of the fighting men were mercenaries. The Twelfth Legion was positioned on Mount Scopus, to the northeast of the old city of Jerusalem, along with the Fifteenth Legion. Other legions were deployed in a large encirclement around the city.
Every effort to assault the city proper had been repulsed up to this point and Aspasia’s Shadow knew from his spies that Titus’s father was growing impatient in Rome. With their short life spans, humans knew very little of patience. What was amazing about the level of resistance was that, as had been their way even during the Exodus with Moses, the Judeans were still bickering among themselves. There were two leaders inside the walls of Jerusalem, not one. There were the zealots led by Eleazer, son of Simon, and a private army led by a man named John of Gischala. The schism between the two was between primary allegiance to religion and primary allegiance to state.
Unfortunately, their bickering tended to fall by the way-side when faced with the common threat of the Romans. Things had been peaceful in Judea for many years, but revolt had begun four years earlier. Aspasia’s Shadow had had a hand in that, desiring to cause instability in order to open the road to Jerusalem and its highly guarded Temple.
He’d come to the realization that leaving the Ark and Grail in the care of the Judeans had been a dangerous ploy. True, it was out of the hands of the Airlia and he knew where it was, but there had been several instances when control had been lost by the Judeans. During the realm of King Samuel of the Judeans, the Philistines had penetrated into Jerusalem and stolen the Ark from the city. Aspasia’s Shadow had been forced to raise an army and lead it against them to return the Ark to Jerusalem. He’d then imprinted a king—Solomon— with the directive to build a powerful temple fortress to house the artifact. Aspasia’s Shadow had even spent time in Jerusalem under the name of Hiram Abiff, the architect designing the new Temple.
What was curious about this was that the Judeans spent eight years building the magnificent temple according to Aspasia’s Shadow’s specification, under the command of Solomon, yet they never really questioned why they were doing so. After all, the one God they claimed to worship had, according to the prophets, not asked for such a thing to be built—indeed, He had been very specific about no idols being built to Him.
With the Temple completed, Aspasia’s Shadow had disappeared, returning to Mount Sinai and the regeneration tube. He’d taken the chance to go into the deep sleep for a while, weary of dealing with humans. When he’d awoken, it had been to learn that during one of the many internal power struggles among the Judeans, the Ark and Grail had been separated and the former removed from Palestine. Aspasia’s Shadow had suspected that to be the work of Guides or Ones Who Wait. As far as his spies could learn, the Ark had been carried to the south, into Africa, by Solomon’s son and a queen named Sheva with whom he was besotted. The Ark was now somewhere in the Kingdom of Axum. Some spies even reported that the Judean king had allowed the Ark to be taken as a ruse to deflect attention from the Grail.
Aspasia’s Shadow’s prior
ity was the Grail—he could care less about the Ark, which was mainly a historical recording device. He also learned that Jerusalem had been conquered once more while he slept, this time by the Babylonians, who had razed the Temple and taken the Judeans into captivity. The Grail, though, had been saved, hidden on Mount Nebo in the Abraham Mountains, by a prophet named Jeremiah. When the Temple was rebuilt, the Grail was returned to Jerusalem and hidden deep inside, passing from history into legend as the centuries came and went.
And then the Romans arrived in Palestine. All had been peaceful for over a hundred years, but eventually the Romans and the Judeans came into conflict.
The religion of the Jews had worked too well, Aspasia’s Shadow now knew. There were also disturbing rumors of another religion, one which also worshipped one God, but which had been established by a prophet who was said to have been crucified and risen from the dead. Aspasia’s Shadow found this report disturbing and he suspected the role of the Grail in it. Perhaps this man, this prophet, had partaken of the Grail? Aspasia’s Shadow had never been able to find out and the man, whoever he was, had disappeared shortly after his “resurrection,” passing into myth and religion.
The wind shifted direction and Aspasia’s Shadow’s nose wrinkled as the stench from the corpses that filled the valley between his position and the Old City wafted across the camp. There were more than just those who had been crucified. Many noncombatants had tried to escape the city. Since Titus had staged the siege to coincide with the start of the Jewish Passover, over a half million pilgrims had been trapped inside the city. When they tried to make their way out, begging for mercy, the Syrians and Arabians in Aspasia’s Shadow’s Legion had showed no mercy, slaughtering them and then, for profit, cutting their bodies open, searching for the coins many of the escapees had swallowed in a desperate attempt to salvage something.
Aspasia’s Shadow could sense the great disapproval of the Roman officers in his legion for this last, but he cared nothing for their opinion. The Romans thought themselves part of a great empire, but they knew nothing of greatness or empires. Aspasia’s Shadow had his imprinted memories of the vastness of space and the Airlia Empire stretching across galaxies.
So many had tried to escape that one of the engineers on Aspasia’s Shadow’s staff estimated there were over a hundred thousand unburied corpses in the valley, in some places piled more than six or seven bodies deep. Aspasia’s Shadow knew the threat of disease grew with each day the corpses lay unburied, but the predominant wind was usually away from his position toward the city and he wanted the Judeans inside to smell their dead.
“More perfume,” Aspasia’s Shadow snapped, and a slave hurriedly filled the small bowls that surrounded his chair. The smell was cloying but better than the stench of death.
A rider galloped up. Aspasia’s Shadow recognized the short marble scepter the man held—a courier from Titus. The officer went to one knee before the chair and held out the scepter to Aspasia’s Shadow, who took it and unscrewed one end, sliding out the latest set of orders from the Emperor’s son. In reality, although Titus’s signature was indeed at the bottom of the page, the orders were written by General Tiberius Julius Alexander, the second-in-command of the army, a former governor of Judea and a man who knew how to fight these Jews: ruthlessly.
Aspasia’s Shadow read the plan and sighed. As expected, the orders dictated he build siege towers and catapults. It was only April and it promised to be a long spring and hot summer.
Aspasia’s Shadow turned to his logistics officer. “We will need much more perfume.” He glanced down at the thick rows of crucifixes. “And more nails. Many more nails. Make sure they get the thick ones, the ones that hold.”
ROME
Donnchadh and Gwalcmai walked the streets of the capital city of the empire they had been hearing about ever since leaving their ship at Stonehenge. Romewas indeed magnificent—at least compared to what they had seen on Earth since the destruction of Atlantis. They spent a week there, listening and learning. It was very, very different from Egypt. It took Donnchadh a while to put her finger on it, then one day, watching a group of slaves building an aqueduct from one of the seven hills of Rome toward another, over two miles away, she realized what was different.
“They’re moving forward,” she said, grabbing Gwalcmai’s arm. His attention had been on a metalsmith’s shop and the blades that glittered in the sunlight.
“To where?” Gwalcmai asked, not quite sure about whom she spoke.
“These people. Think about it. This city, this empire, according to all we’ve heard, has only been in existence for about five hundred years. Egypt existed for over five thousand years. But nothing changed there. Not really. We visited Egypt several times over the course of millennia and it was always pretty much the same.”
“They built the Great Pyramid,” Gwalcmai noted to Donnchadh’s irritation.
“Yes, yes, they did do that, but only because they had the plans handed down from Rostau. They didn’t even know what they were building and it almost doomed them.” She spread her hands. “This place—there is no Airlia influence. This is solely the work of humans. Of the human mind and spirit.”
“Still not the best of metal for a blade,” Gwalcmai complained.
Donnchadh punched him.
Gwalcmai smiled and relented. “All right, all right. So, tell me, what is the big difference? What do you mean they’re moving forward?”
“In Egypt life was cyclical,” Donnchadh said. “Birth, life, death, then birth. Time was circular. Here, time is linear. Look at them—” She pointed at the slaves working on the aqueduct. “How long do you think it will take to complete that?”
Gwalcmai shrugged. “Fifty years or so to get across this valley.”
“Which is more than the average life span of these people,” Donnchadh said. “Which means they see beyond their own lives. That time is linear here. They are finally progressing on their own.”
Gwalcmai nodded. “So soon they will have good steel?”
Donnchadh turned to him in mock anger and he held his hands up and smiled. “This is good. I agree. It will take much more time, but if the Airlia stay in their deep sleep and do not interfere, then there will come a day when we can help these people destroy the aliens.”
Donnchadh frowned. “But while the Airlia might be sleeping, their minions aren’t.”
“Aspasia’s Shadow,” Gwalcmai said succinctly.
“You have heard the same stories?”
“That the Romans began the practice of crucifying prisoners over a hundred years ago,” Gwalcmai said. “A practice picked up in the province of Judea. That there is a commander of a legion there whom all fear. Called by the Roman name Tacitus—but to the Syrians and Arabs in his command, he is known as Al-Iblis, the evil one.”
“So we have heard the same stories,” Donnchadh said. The two of them spent most of their evenings apart, frequenting different places, gathering more information separately than they could together.
“I think we have another journey to make,” Gwalcmai said.
“I know of a ship heading for Judea,” Donnchadh said.
JERUSALEM
The siege towers were higher than the outer walls of the city, a great engineering feat on the part of the Romans. Even Aspasia’s Shadow had to grant these men credit—they knew how to make machines of war. With the height advantage, Roman archers and catapults were able to scour the top of the defensive wall, wiping it clean of defenders. Which consequently cleared the way for rams to be brought forward on the ground up to the wall and put into motion, pounding away at the stone.
The steady thud of the battering rams irritated Aspasia’s Shadow and there was no perfume that could wash away the sound. Hundreds of prisoners had been brought before Aspasia’s Shadow and subjected to torture by the men to whom he had taught the fine art. Yet not a soul had uttered a word indicating any knowledge of the Grail. That could actually be a good thing, Aspasia’s Shadow knew, as it meant t
he Grail most likely was still safe in the chamber he had designed for it deep inside the Temple.
A shout arose from the lines and Aspasia’s Shadow stirred enough to walk out of his command tent to the edge of the hill and look across toward Jerusalem. He immediately saw the cause of the excitement. A hole had been breached in the outer wall. Legionnaires were pouring into the opening. The end had begun.
Aspasia’s Shadow called out for his personal assistant to bring his armor.
The people of the city had withstood the siege as best they could for as long as they could. But fear is a horrible disease that chips away at even the strongest of spirits. The Jews inside Jerusalem prayed day and night to their God for succor, but so far the prayers had only seemed to bring more Romans and less food.
Joseph of Arimathea knew what was coming as he heard the screams of terror coming from the outer wall and the hoarse cries of the Roman soldiers as they entered the city. He was an old man, a very old man, and he was not certain his body was up to the task that was before him. He was currently sitting on a collapsed pillar, deep inside a chamber inside Solomon’s Temple.
He had been in Jerusalem for many years. Too many. There were whispers about him—that his extreme age was unnatural. No one knew exactly how many years he had seen, but there were few in the city who had been born before him and none in better health for the years.
Joseph knew his age. He was seventy-four, although he looked in his mid forties. His age and health were unnatural, that he knew also, although the science behind it was unknown to him. He had partaken of the Grail—not in the sense that it was designed for, with the stones and the Airlia technology built into it.
Area 51: Legend Page 20
