by Tula Neal
The smell of food cooking distracted Imi from her thoughts. Her belly rumbled. She had not eaten since early that morning before they had entered the harbor. Imi allowed her nose to lead her to a side street, only slightly less busy than the road she had been on. Where she had seen only shops and a few residences, this street seemed almost entirely given over to food. A baker displayed his bread on her right, while on her left a butcher did brisk business. Men walked by with jugs of wine and baskets of vegetables, while women collected water at a nearby fountain.
By the time, Imi found a thermopolium with an empty space at the counter, her mouth was watering. The fare on Seleucus’s ship had been better than she would have expected, but for the last couple of days the bread had been hard, the cheeses nearly inedible. Looking at the plates of her neighbors at the counter, she knew the meal would be a vast improvement. She ordered a plate of roasted meat and vegetables. Her first bite almost made her knees buckle. Basted with honey and covered in a spicy date and herb sauce, the meat was done to perfection, neither too tough nor undercooked. She finished her meal in minutes and washed it down with a cup of pomegranate wine.
After she paid the eight sesterces she was charged, she was pleased to realize she still had ten left. She considered buying something for Seleucus but decided to wait until she was on her way back. Delos was known as the island of Apollo, and she wanted to take a look at the god’s temple. As she’d walked through the town, she had caught glimpses of it now and then on the tip of the hill overlooking the town. She asked directions of a man walking by and set off. The road the man had pointed out to her wasn’t very steep, but by the time she was halfway to the summit she was panting slightly, her face and arms covered in a light sheen of perspiration.
Imi paused to catch her breath and look around. The houses on the hill were bigger and grander than those nearer the harbor. Sprays of brightly colored bougainvilleas spilled over high garden walls and trailed down from overhead verandahs. Here the noise of the docks and the vendors was nonexistent, and she had seen only a few people since she began her climb. Imi looked appreciatively across at a cobbled road that ran perpendicular to the hill, admiring its calm orderliness. She thought she could hear a woman singing behind one of the walls. Intrigued, she walked in the singer’s direction. As she got closer, she realized that at the end of each line or verse someone played a few notes on a sistrum and people murmured a chorus.
Imi’s heart lurched in her chest. She turned a corner and saw a gate set in a huge limestone pylon. Imi crossed the road at a run and pushed the gate open. The long walls, plain white on the outside, were, on the inside, covered with murals depicting a menagerie of animals, including zebras, cats, birds, and, of course, the crocodile. Statues of the same animals were scattered all around the temple yard. Imi’s breath caught in her throat, and her eyes smarted. In front of her, on the steps leading to the inner sanctum, the singer she’d heard was surrounded by worshippers.
Imi wove forward among the silent animals, fascinated. The Great Mother’s temples were found in most cities of the known world, and the old woman in Velia had said the goddess’s hold was strong on the island, but Imi hadn’t expected such a well–appointed compound.
She gazed at the singer, a tall, statuesque woman with hair the color of fire. The woman was facing away from the worshippers, toward the inner sanctum. As she sang, she slowly climbed the steps. It was the ritual of the closing of the seal when the statue of Isis held in the dark recesses of the temple would be anointed with oil and garlanded. The sanctum, already spotless, would be swept clean, and then the doors would be shut for the night. At dawn, the whole ritual would be repeated and the doors to the sanctum opened.
Imi watched the worshippers, her heart thundering in her chest. She debated whether she should make herself known but decided against it. Who knew which way the wind blew with this temple? Its priests and priestesses could be Cleopatra supporters.
Imi’s gaze roved over the temple. It was modest compared to the magnificent one at Ephesus but very similar to the one in Rome. Small buildings to the side probably housed the priestess and her attendants. Imi edged around trying to see what, if anything, lay behind the temple. More small buildings but these were ruder; the walls not as smooth, though the roofs were well constructed. The granaries, she supposed, and the storehouses. Her back to a wall, she crept closer.
The temple complex was bigger than she had at first thought and bigger than the outside suggested. There was wealth here and powerful patronage. Imi realized now that her instincts had been right about not introducing herself. The priestesses and priests of Isis in each country and city were independent, but they still formed a loose network, and, though there was no hierarchy, all deferred to those in Egypt who were felt to be closest to the gods, for the United Lands was their beloved country. Imi was not sure how this tied in with what the old woman at Velia had said. If the gods supported Arsinoe’s cause, then surely their servitors should as well, but priests and priestesses were political creatures with one eye on the court. Arsinoe had often said she did not blame them for this failing, but it meant that the help of any temple could not be relied upon.
Imi well knew with what doubts the rightful queen of Egypt had fled to Ephesus. Arsinoe had not been confident of her reception despite the assurances of the secret emissary sent to her by the high priest and priestess. Even now, more than a year after her arrival at Ephesus, Arsinoe remained wary while maintaining a façade of self–assurance. Only Imi and a few other close confidantes and supporters knew she distrusted her hosts, suspicious of the city that had greeted her with open arms but that might yet turn against her. Her wariness had rubbed off on Imi, which was a good thing. Priests at a temple as clearly well–off as the one at Delos would have strong connections with their counterparts in Egypt. And while there were factions of the priesthood there who supported Arsinoe, they were powerless. It was Cleopatra’s supporters who held key positions in the largest and most powerful temples.
Imi edged around another corner and ducked quickly back. Two men stood talking in the shadows of a nearby building to her right. They leaned in to one another, one man’s hands moving in front of him, giving life to his words. Their presence there puzzled her. Everyone within a temple’s walls was expected to take part in its rituals. She frowned. Something about one of the men niggled at her. She pushed her head around the corner for another look just as the man turned in her direction. Imi threw herself back against the wall, her heart pounding. Sahman! But what was he doing here? Had he seen her? Her throat dried as her thoughts careened wildly, bouncing from one alarming suspicion to another. She had to get out without him seeing her, if he hadn’t already. Even if his presence there had nothing to do with her, and really why should it, she knew he would not react well to her presence. Imi took a step backward and cried out in shock at the feel of hard flesh. An arm went around her neck, and a hand closed over her mouth. Imi bucked and tried to scream as she was lifted off the ground.
“Quiet,” Sahman hissed, appearing before her.
In answer, Imi thrashed her legs and threw herself from side to side trying to loosen the other man’s grip on her.
Without warning, Sahman’s fist ploughed into her stomach. Imi would have doubled over from pain and shock but for the man holding her.
“Good, now be still.” Sahman paused and eyed her menacingly as if daring her to disobey him.
She kicked out at him and felt a small flare of angry glee as he jumped back. The man with his hand over her mouth dug his fingers into her cheeks.
“Open the door there,” the man commanded in Latin.
Sahman rushed to obey, and Imi found herself carried inside one of the storehouses. Sahman propped open one of the high small windows and closed the door.
“Who are you?” the man asked, giving Imi a little shake.
Imi struggled to free herself.
“No, wait,” the stranger said, his rough voice low. “I will let you
go, but if you scream or try to escape, Sahman will kill you. Do you understand?”
Imi grunted. He had switched to the formal language of Egypt’s priests.
“I will tell him to do it, and you will die. Whether you live or not is up to you.” He spoke the words flawlessly, without a stumble but in a curiously accented way. Was he a Theban who had spent much time out of the country? Or was he Alexandrian? She couldn’t tell. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was in great danger.
Imi swallowed hard and nodded to show she understood.
“Good.” He let go of her, and Imi stiffened her knees, determined to show no weakness. She turned around to get a good look at the man. Stocky, he had high cheekbones and a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. Most startlingly, his eyes under heavy brows were the color of the moss that grew on rocks continually washed by water. They gave him the look of a Mittani, but he could just as well have been from even farther away.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Who are you?” Imi retorted.
Beside her, Sahman drew his back his fist. Imi flinched. The stranger held up his hand.
“No, Sahman. We must save our energies for when we really need them. I’ll try it again. Who are you?”
“Imi.” She pushed the word out reluctantly. “My name is Imi.”
“Sahman tells me they picked you up on the road to Anxur. You were coming from Rome.” It was not a question, but he paused. When she didn’t say anything, a small smile flashed on his face, but it was gone in an instant.
“I will get your story out of you, so you might as well cooperate.”
“You have no reason for bringing me here. You should let me go.”
“Should I?” The smile came back, and he looked downright cheerful now. “You’re the daughter of Khefre of Alexandria, are you not?”
“What? What?” Her mouth dried. Despite the heat, she suddenly felt cold. “What do you know of my father? Tell me.” She took a step toward him, but Sahman blocked her with his arm.
“Ah, ah.” His smile broadened. “Tell me what I want to know first.”
“Just . . . does he live? Tell me that much, and I will answer all your questions.”
He held up his hand. “There is only one thing, really, that I wish to know. Sahman tells me that when you were found, you clutched a small chest and would not release it. What is in that box, Imi?”
She glared at him. He could tell her what she wanted to know above all else, but how could she betray the princess? Goddess, she prayed. Save me. But nobody came bursting through the door to her aid.
“Do you not want to know the fate of your father and mother after the ill–conceived rebellion against the queen of Egypt?”
“Arsinoe is the rightful queen,” Imi retorted sullenly.
Sahman moved as if he meant to attack her, but the man shook his head.
“You have worried about them, have you not, during your exile? I hear that you often say prayers for them but mourn because you do not know if it is Osiris, the God of the Dead, or Ra, the Sun that Shines on the Living, who should receive your prayers. I have heard also that you worry that they may not have received the proper rites if they are dead and you think they may not be enjoying the afterlife.”
“How? How do you know these things?” But the answer came to her as soon as she uttered the question. There was a spy among the princess’s people in Ephesus. Possibly even more than one.
“Yes, that is right.” He nodded as he saw the realization cross her face. “We know everything about that misguided girl even before she knows it.”
“So, then, you have no need of me. You should release me.”
“I want the holy relics.” He watched her closely.
Imi tried to keep her expression impassive, but her knees weakened. He really did know everything.
“You managed to steal them! I can see it.”
Imi averted her face, refusing to meet his eyes. She wondered if he had the power to read her mind.
“You have done very well, Sahman. Yes, she is very certainly the one we sought.”
“The chest is on the boat, Holy One. She did not come off with it. I watched her.”
“See, child, it is no use, your resistance. We have been watching Arsinoe since she arrived in Ephesus. When we realized that she’d sent you to Rome, we guessed it was for the relics. And we sent someone to intercept you, but he must have missed you. Now the gods have delivered you into our hands. You have hidden the relics in your pirate captain’s cabin, have you not? Clever of you to have put yourself under his protection in such an original way.” He leered at her.
Imi narrowed her eyes at him in the wish that the Great Mother would strike him down where he stood.
He turned to Sahman. “Is there any way we can get on the ship without the captain knowing?”
“Three men guard it. If there were more of us, we could take it by force.”
Imi could hear in his voice how attractive the idea was to him. Seleucus’s reprimand clearly still rankled, though he had hidden it well.
“No. The authorities here are jumpy enough about their vaunted neutrality. We cannot cause any sort of uproar. Whatever we do must be done quietly, or the temple may suffer.”
Sahman nodded but did not look entirely convinced.
“Will this Seleucus accept something from the temple in return for handing over the items?”
Sahman shrugged. “He is a pirate. Why not? If it be worth enough.”
“Right then. I must look about it.”
“What about her?”
“I will go and get some rope and something with which to gag her mouth. We will have to keep her around, at least until the relics are safe in my hands.”
“And then?”
The priest smiled. “ ‘And then’? Well, we’ll see.” He turned to leave.
Imi figured she had nothing to lose and opened her mouth to scream, but before she could utter a sound or even move, Sahman punched her, knocking her to the ground. He crouched quickly over her, turned her on her stomach, and straddled her, pinning her arms to her side. Gently, almost lovingly, he drew the tip of his blade along her jaw.
“Make a sound and you’re dead.”
Imi twisted her head and did her best to spit in his face. The gob landed on his upper arm instead. His eyes blazed.
He dug his fingers in her hair and pushed her head into the wooden floor.
“Are you trying to make me angry enough to kill you?”
Imi considered the question. It wasn’t a bad one. If the priest got his hands on the relics, and it really looked as if he had a good chance of doing so, then Arsinoe’s cause was lost. She would have failed. She might as well be dead.
“I’m not going to kill you too quickly,” Sahman said, pulling her head back so that his lips were against her ear. “You and me have some unfinished business, don’t we?” He tongued her ear. Imi shuddered and twisted away from him. Sahman laughed.
“Only a matter of time, pretty. And there’ll be no Seleucus around to save you!”
He rubbed himself against her, and there was no mistaking his excitement. If it were not for the priest’s imminent return, he would probably have had her there and then. She had to escape from him, from them, but she had no idea how. When the priest returned with the rope and the gag, Imi was very close to giving up all hope of rescue.
Chapter Seven
The door creaked as it swung open. The priest entered, swinging a lamp. Darkness had fallen. Imi felt stiff and cold. Her arms hurt.
The priest held the lamp up and looked her over but without much interest, as if he’d only wanted to assure himself she lived, before he took to pacing up and down the dark room. Imi glared at him. The Great Mother should strike him down. How could she stand to let him live, a beast who hid behind a cloak of holiness to do evil. Instead of concerning himself with matters of the soul and concern for the dead, he played politics. Her mistress, Arsinoe, woul
d have shrugged this off, saying things were ever so with priests and priestesses; they might have their eyes on the gods, but their feet were firmly planted on the ground. Imi found this distasteful and outrageous, and if she wasn’t gagged, she would have told him so. As it was, she contented herself with imagining all kinds of horrible fates for him. Perhaps he would trip and fall into a well and never be found and his soul would be condemned to walk the Earth for eternity. She was certain that, at his death, when Anubis weighed his heart, he would be found wanting and would be refused entry to the afterlife of pleasure. The thought of it made her grin inside. The door creaked again, and Sahman slipped into the room.
The priest whirled round, and the swinging lamp threw dancing shadows on the wall.
“Well?” he inquired, his face tight with anxiety.
“He said yes.”
Imi groaned.
“But he wants her, too.”
