Pandora (18 page)

“I am sick,” I said. “I need a chair. I have enemies to worry about.”

“I’ll protect you from your enemies,” said the mysterious tall man in the toga.

“How can you? You don’t even know who they are.”

There came a silent voice from the tall man in the toga:

Your brother Lucius betrayed the entire family. He did it out of jealousy of your brother Antony. He sold out everybody to the
Delatores
for a guaranteed one-third of the family’s wealth and left before the killing began. He had the cooperation of Sejanus of the Praetorian Guard. He wants to kill you
.

I was shocked but also not about to let this person overwhelm me.

You speak just like the woman
, I said silently.
You speak right to my thoughts. You speak like the woman who said to me in my head, “It is I who summoned you.”

I could feel his shock at this. But I too slumped as if dealt a mortal blow. So this creature knew all about my brothers, and Lucius had betrayed us. And this creature knew.

What are you?
I fired off to the mind speaker, the tall one.
Are you a magician?

No answer.

The Priest and Priestess, unable to hear this silent exchange, pursued their course.

“This blood drinker, Lady Pandora, he leaves human victims on the steps of the Temple before dawn. He writes an old name in Egyptian on his victims with their blood. Should the government discover this, our Temple might be held accountable. This is not our worship.

“Will you recount again for us—for our friend here—your dreams? We must protect the worship of Isis. We did not believe in these old legends . . . until this creature appeared and began his killing, then comes out of the sea a beautiful Roman woman who speaks of similar beings who are in her dreams.”

“What name does he write on his victims?” I asked. “This blood drinker. Is it Isis?”

“It’s meaningless, it’s forbidden, it’s old Egyptian. It is one of the names by which Isis was once called, but never by us.”

“What is it?”

None of them, including the silent one, answered me.

In the silence, I thought of Lucius and I almost wept. Then hatred came over me, deep hatred, as it had in the Forum when I spoke with him, saw his cowardly rage. Betrayed the entire family. To be weak is a dangerous thing. Antony and my Father had been such strong men.

“Lady Pandora,” said the Priest. “Tell us what you might know of this creature in Antioch. Have you dreamed of him?”

I thought of the dreams. I tried to respond in
depth to what these people in this Temple were telling me.

The tall distant Roman spoke:

“Lady Pandora knows nothing about this blood drinker. She is telling you the truth. She knows only the dreams and there have been no names spoken in her dreams. In her dreams she sees an earlier time of Egypt.”

“Well, thank you, Gracious Lord!” I said furiously. “And just how have you arrived at that conclusion?”

“By reading your thoughts!” the Roman said, quite unruffled. “The same as I have regarding those who would put you in danger here. I’ll protect you from your brother.”

“Indeed. You had better leave that to me. It is I who will settle that score with him. Now, let us leave the question of my personal misfortune. And you explain to me, most clever one, why I am having these dreams! Fork up some useful magic from your mind reading. You know, a man with your gifts should post yourself at the courthouse, and determine cases for the judges if you can read minds. Why don’t you go to Rome and become the advisor to the Emperor Tiberius?”

I could feel, positively feel, the little tumult in the heart of the distant concealed Roman. Again, there came that sense of something familiar about this creature. Of course I was no stranger to necromancers, astrologists or oracles. But this man had mentioned specific names—Antony, Lucius. He was an astounder.

“Tell me, oh, mysterious one,” I said. “How dose do my dreams come to what you’ve read in the old writing? And this blood drinker, the one that’s roaming Antioch, is he a mortal man?”

Silence.

I strained to see the Roman more dearly but couldn’t. He had in fact receded somewhat into the darkness. My nerves were on the breaking point. I wanted to kill Lucius; in fact, I had no choice.

The Roman said softly, “She knows nothing of this blood drinker in Antioch. Tell her what you know of him—for it may be he, this blood drinker, who is sending her the dreams.”

I was confused. The woman’s voice had been so dear in my head earlier,
It is I who summoned you
.

This was causing confusion in the Roman; I could feel it like a little turbulence in the air.

“We’ve seen him,” said the Priest. “Indeed, we watch, in order to collect these poor drained corpses before anyone finds them and blames the deed on us. He is burned, burned all over his body, blackened. He cannot be a man. He is an old god, burnt black as if in an inferno.”

“Amon Ra,” I said. “But why didn’t he die? In the dreams, I die.”

“Oh, it is a horror to behold,” said the Priestess suddenly, as if she could contain herself no longer. “This thing cannot be human. Its bones show through its blackened skin. But it is weak and its victims are weak. It barely staggers, yet it can drain the blood from the poor maimed souls upon whom it
feeds. It crawls away in the morning as if it hasn’t the strength to walk.”

The Priest seemed impatient.

“But he’s alive,” said the Priest. “Alive, god or demon or man, he lives. And each time he drinks blood from one of these weaklings, he grows a little stronger. And he is straight from the old legends, and you have dreamed of them. He wears his hair long in the old Egyptian style. He is in agony from his burns. He spits curses at the Temple.”

“What kind of curses?”

The Priestess interjected at once. “He seems to think that Queen Isis has betrayed him. He speaks in old Egyptian. We barely understand him. Our Roman friend here, our benefactor, has translated the words for us.”

“Stop!” I demanded. “My head is reeling. Don’t say anymore. The man over there has told the truth. I know nothing of this bloody burnt creature. I don’t know why I have the dreams. I think a woman is sending the dreams to me. It may be the Queen I described to you, the Queen on the throne, in fetters, who weeps, I don’t know why!”

“You have never seen this man?” asked the Priest.

The Roman answered for me. “She has not.”

“Oh, your marvelous talents as spokesman again!” I said to the Roman. “I am so delighted! Why are you hiding behind your toga? Why do you stand over there, so far away that I can’t see you? Have you seen this blood drinker?”

“Be patient with me,” he said. It was spoken with
such charm that I couldn’t bring myself to say more to him. I turned on the Priest and the Priestess.

“Why don’t you lie in wait for this black burnt thing,” I said, “this weakling? I am hearing voices in my head. But it’s the words of a woman that come to me, warning me of danger. It’s a woman laughing. I want to leave now. I want to go home. I have something that must be done, and must be done cleverly. I need to go.”

“I will protect you from your enemy,” said the Roman.

“That’s charming,” I answered. “If you can protect me, if you know who my enemy is, then why can’t you lie in wait for this blood drinker? Catch him in a gladiator’s net. Sink five tridents into him. Five of you can hold him. All you have to do is hold him till the sun rises, the rays of Amon Ra will kill him. It may take two days, even three, but they’ll kill him. He’ll burn like I did in the dream. And you, mind reader, why don’t you help?”

I broke off, shocked and disoriented. Why was I so certain of this. Why was I using the name Amon Ra so casually, as if I believed in the god? I scarcely knew his fables.

“The creature knows when we are lying in wait,” said the Priest and Priestess. “He knows when the tall friend is here, and does not come. We are vigilant, we are patient, we think we will see no more of him, and then he comes. And now you have come with the dreams.”

A vivid garish flash of the dream returned. I was
a man. I argued and cursed. I refused to do something which I had been ordered to do. A woman was weeping. I fought off those who tried to stop me. But I had not foreseen that I would, as I ran away, come to a desert place where I could find no shelter.

If the others spoke, I took no note of it. I heard the woman of the dream crying, the fettered Queen, and the woman was a blood drinker too. “You must drink from the Fount,” said the man in my dream. And he wasn’t a man. I wasn’t a man. We were gods. We were blood drinkers. That’s why the sun destroyed me. It was the force of a more powerful god. Layers upon layers of the dream lay below this polished bit of remembrance.

I came to my senses, or back to an awareness of the others, when someone placed a cup of wine in my hands. I drank it. It was excellent wine, from Italy, and I felt refreshed, though at once tired. It would make the walk home much too tiring if I drank any more. I needed my strength.

“Take this away,” I said. I looked at the Priestess. “In the dream, I told you, I was one of them. They wanted me to drink from the Queen. They called her ‘the Fount.’ They said she did not know how to rule. I told you.”

The Priestess burst into tears and turned her back, hunching up her narrow shoulders.

“I was one of the blood drinkers,” I said. “I was thirsty for blood. Listen, I am no lover of blood
sacrifice. What do you know here? Does Queen Isis exist somewhere, within this Temple, bound in fetters—”

“No!” cried the Priest. The Priestess turned around, echoing the same horrified denial.

“All right, then, but you said there were legends that she did exist somewhere in material form. Now, what do you think is happening? She has summoned me here to assist this one, this burnt-up weakling? Why me? How can I do it? I’m a mortal woman. Remembering dreams of a past life does not enhance my power. Listen! It was a woman’s voice, I told you, which spoke in my head to me, not an hour ago out there in the Forum, and she said ‘It is I who summoned you,’ I heard this, and she swore she would not have me stolen from her. Then up comes this mortal man who’s more of a threat to me than anything in my head. The voice in my head had warned me of him! I don’t want any of your mysterious Egyptian religion. I refuse to go mad. It is you, all of you—especially the talented mind reader—who must find this thing before he makes any more trouble. Allow me to go on.”

I stood up and began to walk out of the chamber.

The Roman spoke behind me, most gently, “Are you really going out into the night alone, knowing full well what awaits you—that you have an enemy who wants to kill you, and that you have in your dreams knowledge that may draw this blood drinker to you?”

This was such a change of pace for me lofty mind reader, such a slip into semi-sarcastic vernacular, that I almost laughed.

“I’m going home now!” I said firmly.

They all pleaded, in different modes and tones. “Stay in the Temple.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “If the dreams return I’ll write them down for you.”

“How can you be so foolish!” said the Roman with genteel impatience. You would have thought
he
was my brother!

“That is an unforgivable impertinence,” I said. “Are not magicians and mind readers bound by manners?” I looked to the Priest and Priestess. “Who is this man?”

I went out and they followed me. I hurried to the door.

In the light I saw the Priestess’s face. “We know only that he’s our friend. Please listen to his advice. He has never done anything but good for the Temple. He comes to read the Egyptian books we have here. He buys them up from the shops as soon as the sea brings them to us. He is wise. He can read minds, as you see.”

“You promised an escort of guards,” I said.

And I will be with you
. The voice came from the Roman, though I did not know where he was now at all. He was not in the great hall.

“Come, live within the Temple of Isis, and nothing can harm you,” said the Priest.

“I’m not quite the woman for living in the Temple Compound,” I said, trying to sound as humble and grateful as I could. “I’d drive you mad in a week. Please open the door.”

I slipped out. I felt I had escaped from a dark corridor of spiderwebs, back into the Roman night, among Roman columns and Roman temples.

I discovered Flavius pressed against the column beside me, staring down into the stairs. Our four torchbearers were gathered next to us, very much alarmed.

There were men who were obviously Temple guards, but they stood cleaving to the doors, as did Flavius.

“Madam, go back in!” whispered Flavius.

At the foot of the stairs stood a group of helmeted Roman soldiers in full military dress with polished muscled breastplates and short red cloaks and tunics. They carried their deadly swords as if they were in battle. Their bronze helmets shone in the light of the Temple braziers.

Battle dress within the city. Everything but shields. And who was the leader?

Lucius, my brother, stood beside the leader. Lucius wore his battle tunic of red, but no breastplate or sword. His toga was doubled and redoubled over his left arm. He was clean, with shining hair, exuding money. A jeweled dagger was on his forearm; another dagger was in his belt.

Trembling, he pointed at me.

“There she is,” said Lucius. “Of the entire family,
she escaped the order of Sejanus. It was a plot to kill Tiberius and somehow she bribed her way out of Rome!”

I quickly sized up the soldiers. There were two young Asiatics but the others were
old
and
Roman;
six in number. Yea gods, they must have thought I was Circe!

“Go back in,” said my beloved and loyal Flavius, “seek sanctuary.”

“Be still,” I said. “There’s always time for that.”

The leader, he was the key, and I saw that he was an older man, older than my brother Antony, yet not as old as my Father. He had thick gray eyebrows and was impeccably clean shaven.

He wore battle scars proudly, one on his cheek, another on his thigh. He was exhausted. His eyes were red and he shook his head as if to clear his vision.