Keeper of the Flame (15 page)

Ares’s knock came again, and still bent over her papyrus, she yelled, “Come.”

The servant led Bellus into the room. Sophia forced her attention to remain on the chart in front of her.

Ares cleared his throat gently. “I have the Pilus Prior you requested, mistress.” She heard the humor in his voice as he presented the Roman like a delivery of supplies.

She waved a hand distractedly in the direction of her couches. “Yes, yes, just put him over there somewhere, Ares.”

Moments later, when Ares was gone and Sophia looked up, she was rewarded for her rudeness with a vicious scowl.

“I have much to attend to, if you are too busy to speak with me as you demanded.” He had not lowered himself to her couches, but stood with legs slightly apart as though facing an enemy.

“No, no. This is fine. We can speak now. Sit, please.” She indicated the white cushions, but he did not move.

“Ah. Now, you see, I am trying to be courteous”—she leaned back in her chair—“but you will not have it. I cannot seem to win with you, Roman.”

“I was not aware that you were trying to win me.”

She laughed and ran her fingers lightly over the surface of her desk. “You like to twist words, soldier.”

“And you like to use them as weapons.”

She licked her lips. “Yes, what was it you said? ‘A tongue sharper than a gladius.’ Was that it?”

She studied his face. He blinked twice, and the air seemed to go out of his chest.

“I—the men—I wanted them to leave you alone. You do not want us here, and I thought it best that they keep their distance—”

Sophia stood and turned to one of the windows, draped in a rich red. She let the fabric flow across her palm. “And so you thought to scare them, was that it? Keep them away from the monster in the tower?”

He did not reply.

She watched the harbor below for some moments, and when she turned back to Bellus, she found him surveying her chambers. The heavy sycamore tables and chairs, the expensive sculptures of Isis and Serapis, the wall niches crowded with her books.

“You think me a wealthy woman, no doubt. You are envious?”

Bellus jutted his chin toward the stacks of scrolls, her histories, philosophy, poems, and plays. “There is where your wealth lies, and the only thing you possess that I would want.”

She sat heavily, flattened her palm on her desk again, and closed her eyes. She did not need this Roman to tell her she had nothing but books to offer. Yet still, it hurt. “Am I so terrible?” she said softly and lifted her face to his. “Do you suppose there is no hope for me, then?”

She saw the bewilderment pass over his face like a shadow, then clear and leave a small smile in its passing. “
‘The unexamined life is not worth living.
’ ”

A Roman soldier who quoted Socrates? Sophia felt his smile as though it had reached across and stroked her cheek. She stood
and pointed to the charts on her desk. “If you and your barbarians are to remain for any time in my lighthouse, there will need to be specific plans.”

Bellus crossed the room to her desk. “Someday,” he said quietly, “I will tell you of Rome. And you will see that we are not all the barbarians you would like to believe.”

“Then prove it.” She jabbed a finger at the papyrus. “Show me that your men can behave according to standards.”

They leaned together over the lists and charts she had created, and Sophia issued her orders as though she were Pilus Prior. Bellus said little but nodded occasionally. When she had finished, she rolled the papyrus and handed it to him. “You understand that I must be made aware of anything that goes on here, and the men are restricted to only those areas which I have sanctioned?”

Bellus took it from her hand but kept his attention on her eyes, and spoke more softly still. “I believe I understand you perfectly.”

Sophia swallowed, rubbed the back of her neck, and nodded. “Then you may go.”

Bellus saluted her, that same mocking salute he’d given her on the docks, and turned to leave. At the door he called back to her, where she had collapsed onto her chair. “Let me know when you are ready to hear of Rome. I will come at once.”

He had only been gone a few moments when Ares appeared. “I like him,” he announced, as though she had asked his opinion.

Sophia looked out the window but could see only the blue sky at this angle. “Because he’s the only other human besides you who doesn’t seem to fear me.”

Ares laughed. “Perhaps. But perhaps because I think there is
a chance, only a chance, that you have met your match. And that the Pilus Prior is exactly what you are lacking.”

“Did you come for a reason, Ares?”

He grew serious. “I do not see how we can make this work. Already the soldiers are tramping about the lighthouse. I am trying to bring in supplies for the scholars, but the servants keep bumping into the soldiers, who are, of course, too stupid to ask questions, but eventually one of them—”

“Stop, Ares.” She rubbed her eyes. “I know it is impossible.” She thought of Bellus. Of his quick mind and quicker smile. A warmth rose through her neck and face. “Yes, Ares. I am sure it is impossible.”

Sixteen

B
ellus didn’t sleep well the first night in the lighthouse, nor the second. The oppressive presence of the Keeper seemed to hover about the place, making him irritable and jumpy.

In the makeshift garrison they forced from the storage rooms in the South and East Wings, Bellus claimed one room for his own. To furnish it, he commandeered a narrow bed, a wooden desk, and a chair. But they were small comforts, and even the privacy was not enough to ease him into sleep at the end of a maddeningly inactive day.

When the sun woke him on the third day, he lay still for several minutes, contemplating the useless hours ahead. He would run the men through drills in the central courtyard to maintain the illusion that they were active and needed. It would fool no one, but it was better than idleness.

Bellus had expected Sophia to haunt his steps these past few days, to make sure that her orders were obeyed. But she remained hidden, no doubt in her lair high above the dark rooms to which she had banished the soldiers.

He rolled over in his bed, pounded the cushions into a mound, and rested his chin on his arms. His small window looked over the courtyard, and in the center the lighthouse proper rose, dark and solid. He lifted his eyes as far as he could see. Was she up there, even now, brooding over her violated fortress? What lay above the level where she had her private chambers? He guessed that more than two-thirds of the building lay above her rooms.

What a view there must be from the top.

The pull of exploration roused him from his bed, and within minutes he was bathed and dressed and prowling the early morning corridors of the Base.

A familiar surge of pulse-pounding, like the excitement that accompanied a scouting mission, reminded him that he was still a soldier, even if currently consigned to playing nursemaid to a lighthouse.

The long stone corridors lay mostly in half light, with all doors that led to soldiers’ quarters still closed. Bellus tread lightly, taking care that his sandals did not echo off the mildewed stone.

Down the South Wing, past the soldiers’ barracks to where the Base turned, and another corridor headed north, along the western Eunostos Harbor. Several rooms lay open here, with sunlight streaming through salt-encrusted windows like flames turning grains of sand to glass. The rooms into which he poked his head smelled musty with disuse, and cobwebs clung to the corners.

He moved down the corridor, toward the North Wing, which Sophia had emphatically told him was forbidden. On soundless feet and with measured breaths, he slipped toward the corner of the Base, fighting a smile.

Through a window in a room to his right, he saw the movement of slaves hauling a wagonload of fuel through the central courtyard. Again, he felt the stir of curiosity to see the upper workings of the lighthouse.

But not now.

Ahead, movement at the corner of the West and North Wings gave him pause.

Ares held a tray and moved with purpose toward him, head
down. Bellus side-stepped into the open room, but Ares had already lifted his head. He stopped at the doorway, his forehead creased into a scowl.

“Pilus Prior Bellus? Can I help you?”

“Just a bit of exploring, Ares. A good centurion always gets the lay of the land, you know.” He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms.

The young man pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t know at all. Has the mistress given you permission to ‘explore,’ as you say?”

“A good centurion doesn’t wait for permission from the hostile natives, either, Ares,” he said with a bit of a smile.

Ares looked him up and down. “Hmm. Let me accompany you back to the soldiers’ wing.”

“I can find my way.”

The two men eyed each other in silent challenge, and Bellus was not surprised when the younger man backed down. He was a peace-loving Greek, a peasant, and probably twenty years Bellus’ junior. He did not stand a chance.

Ares bit his lip, glanced toward the North Wing, and then continued down the murky corridor.

I don’t have much longer now.

He hurried toward the wing that now held even more mystery. Rounding the corner with some speed, he was shocked to smack into another person.

Both men grunted and took a step backward.

“Excuse me,” the other man said gently in Greek. Bellus dropped his head in apology, then studied the older man before him. Tall and rather thin, the man’s dark and deeply creased face seemed to tell the story of centuries, with eyes that held answers to questions Bellus had not asked.

An oracle?

He wore a pure-white tunic that set off his unusually dark skin even further. He smelled of smoky oil lamps, as though he had been too long in a closed room.

“You are a long way from Rome,” the ancient man said, switching now to Latin. His accent was peculiar, like someone who had lived in many places in his lifetime and accumulated the dialects of each.

“I beg your pardon. I did not hurt you, I hope?”

The man smiled. “I only appear fragile.”

“You live here? With Sophia?”

The man’s lips twitched in a partial smile. “In a sense.”

Father? Lover?
Bellus felt a twist of something in his stomach.

There was no more time for questioning, however. He felt the storm sweeping up from behind him. The old man’s eyes lifted above Bellus’s shoulder—and twinkled.

Bellus turned in time to see Sophia’s furious charge. Her full lips were tight and the light flecks in her dark eyes flashed like a squall at sea. She wore something different than he had seen before—a white robe of the Greek fashion, with a softer fabric and gold pins fastened at her shoulders.

She looked for all the world like a goddess of fury sweeping across the Great Sea, and though he held his ground, Bellus half-expected to be blown asunder like a flimsy ship in angry waves.

“What did I tell you? Was I not clear enough for even a Roman farmer to understand? Did you need me to write it down for you?” She circled him and stood in front of the old man, as though her presence would render him no longer visible.

Bellus did not miss the wrinkled hand that grasped her elbow
in quiet comfort. He raised his chin. “My orders are to secure this lighthouse for Caesar and for Rome. The
entire
lighthouse.” He let his eyes travel from her head to her toes, communicating his disdain. “And I do not take orders from you.”

“My lighthouse.” She took a step toward him. “
Mine
. It is my understanding that Egypt is still an independent land, and Rome a tolerated guest. I expect you and your loutish soldiers to conduct yourselves as guests, not as conquerors.” Her nostrils flared like an unbroken horse fighting the saddle.

He felt his own face flush and edged closer to her. “Your
understanding
is exactly the problem. You are ignorant of such matters and should occupy yourself with the business of keeping your little fire burning on top of your tower. Apparently that has been more than enough to keep you busy for years.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “I am not accustomed to being insulted in my own home.”

“ ‘
Think not those faithful who praise all thy words and actions, but kindly reprove thy faults.
’ ”

“There is nothing of kindness in you, centurion. Despite your knowledge of Socrates, you are of a much more savage sort.”

“Do not let yourself become distracted by military affairs that you are not competent to understand.”

“Ha!” She poked a finger into his chest. “You wish to speak of incompetence? I am not so cut off here that I do not hear what they are saying about Lucius Aurelius Bellus, the centurion who let average citizens overrun the palace and the eunuch Pothinus escape to raise an army. You are here as punishment for your ineptitude, and your men are laughing at you behind your back!”

Bellus swallowed. He tried to breathe, to break the sudden
constriction in his chest. The back of his neck prickled with sweat and the battle-twitch began in his fingers.

His hesitation cost him. She seemed to sense she had found a vulnerable spot in his armor and thrust for the kill. “You wear your title like a shield, ‘Pilus Prior.’ Very proud of it, aren’t you? Caesar’s favorite, perhaps?” She laughed. “But no longer. He has you penned up here like a disobedient dog, waiting for him to toss you scraps from his table again.”

Bellus stepped to the woman, close enough to touch, close enough to feel her breath on his face. “If I am punished like a dog, then your precious lighthouse is the foul cage where I have been thrown, and you are the unfortunate warden forced to clean up after us ill-favored curs.”

He thought she might attack him. The unbridled fury that swept her features brought back images of Athena the storm goddess again, and her hands formed fists at her sides. But the old man behind her had grasped both her arms now, and he folded her back against his own chest. Stiff at first, a moment later she relaxed against him. He whispered to her and she closed her eyes.