28 January 31 BC
Saar finished drinking and let the body slide to the ground. He wiped a hand across his mouth and allowed himself a few moments to acclimatise to the new memories. They came in a colourful blur. A shady mud hut surrounded by flowers. A smiling woman with short, silver hair. Three naked children. The market place in Rhakotis. The limestone quarries.
Each memory of the dead man transferred to Saar through the drinking of blood and he collected them, piling the stranger’s life into the growing store belonging to dead men and women.
He sat in one of the low wooden chairs around a cloth-covered table. A cool breeze whispered through the chamber, product of the incredible design employed by the palace engineers. High arches, open windows and long corridors funnelled the north wind through the building where it spiralled into each room bringing with it the cleanliness of the breeze and, on some days, the salt of the sea. One day, Saar mused, I’ll see the sea properly. Sail on it. Visit distant lands.
The room, given over to entertaining important guests, had several terracotta pots mounted on gate-legged stands. They formed a uniform row along one wall above which were several shelves housing linen, rolls of papyri and jewellery. Opposite, four lamps set on pedestals awaited the coming of night.
All quite different to the memories of the man on the ground. His home comprised two rooms, built with plain mud brick and floored with rushes. A single set of steps afforded entry to the roof and the second room housed two clay ovens, three chairs and a rickety table of rotting wood.
Saar shook himself and pushed the memories aside.
Beside him, Kiya leaned over the cooling body, eyes closed. ‘You have an amazing skill, dear love. I envy it. You could learn anything about anyone.’
He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Perhaps, but there is only so much space within me for all these lives. I can’t keep collecting them.’
Opening her eyes, she smiled, stood and tugged at one of the wooden chests between the oil lamp pedestals. ‘You can do anything.’ Her delicate fingers picked out the paintings on the lid, vivid depictions of the sun god and his consorts.
‘You think so?’
‘I know. You prove it daily.’
Her pride warmed Saar’s heart. Leaving the chair, he scooped up the dead body, slung it over his shoulder and carried it to the waiting chest. ‘I’m but a man.’
‘A great one. Your plans will see our city safe, our people protected. The gods did well in choosing you.’
He grinned, bending long enough to kiss her upturned lips. She reached up, trying to pull him closer, but he slithered free and gestured to the dead man on his shoulder. ‘First this.’
Kiya dropped her gaze, an exaggerated display of coquettish innocence that only a fool would believe. She opened the chest with a flourish and removed the rolls of cloth from inside. When Saar placed the body within, she spread the cloth on top and closed the lid.
‘Now may I distract you?’
‘Of course.’ He caught her as she flung herself into his arms and whirled them both in a tight circle. She clung to him, giggling, long hair flying behind her.
When he stopped, she leaned close, breathing hard against his nose and jaw. This close he could see the streaks within the blue paint around her eyes, the shadow of her long lashes on her cheeks.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered.
She kissed his forehead, stroking both hands through his shaggy dark hair. ‘Now you distract me.’
‘From?’
‘You promised we would visit Panya.’
Saar thought of the shabby mud hut in which his ageing mother lived, and sighed. He chewed his thumbnail. ‘Why will she not come here? She has permission, she would be safer. Cared for.’
‘Pride, dear love. You’re the same.’
He opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of approaching footsteps stole the words. A glance at Kiya conveyed his need and she bent to the chest, shoving it with such force that it shot across the tiled floor and back into place against the wall. Not a moment too soon.
The owner of those steps appeared in the arched doorway. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at rest, Saar, but we must speak.’
Saar grinned, forgetting worry for his mother, the dead man in the chest and even Kiya. He rushed to the doorway and embraced the newcomer. ‘Mosi, it’s good to see you.’
Mosi remained stiff, his shoulders and spine locked against the hug. Though he didn’t fight the embrace, neither did he return it. He gazed at the floor without speaking.
Never before has he refused my touch.
Saar let his hands slide free of his second lover’s shoulders. He felt the strong, subtle muscles and battle-roughened skin and likened it to his own.
When Mosi refused to speak, Saar gazed at the younger man and reached out along the invisible line that linked their minds together. Though he flinched, Mosi lowered his mental shield, apparently ready to endure the invasion of his thoughts rather than speak them aloud.
What Saar found at the end of that line made him cold all over. He stared, watching the other man shift his weight from foot to foot. ‘Kiya,’ he said, without looking away. ‘Please leave us.’
She rushed forward and clung to his arm. ‘No. I would stay with you.’
He pulled away, still staring at Mosi.
Kiya’s gaze bored into his back. Her fury rushed along the similar invisible bond they shared and hit his senses like a chariot charge. He stumbled and, finally, looked away from Mosi to search her face.
Anger bled into her features, twisting her lips, furrowing her brow. Traces of black, like ink, crept into her eyes and swallowed the brown colour he loved so much. And the white around them. Soon her eyes resembled two empty pits, wells into the depth of her fury.
‘Anything you would to say to him, you may say to me. Are we not equal in your love?’
Saar took a deep breath. He felt the familiar tingle across his skin and beneath his eyelids which told him that his own eyes had made the same transformation, filling with black until the whites were all enveloped. ‘I won’t pander to your jealousy today, Kiya. Do as I say.’
‘This isn’t jealousy, this is right and wrong. Why should I be shunned whenever he sees fit to visit?’
Gripping her shoulders, Saar spun her around and shoved her towards the painted archway. She stumbled and only a snatching grasp at the wall saved her from falling.
‘Saar—’
‘Get out,’ he hissed.
Kiya paled from her chin to the top of her forehead. With a final glare at Mosi, she spun on her heel and stalked away.
Only when her rapid footsteps faded from even the range of his incredible hearing did Saar relax. He puffed a heavy breath through his nose and returned to the wooden chair, slumping down, head cupped in his hands.
A bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought of his foul treatment.
Mosi followed, standing before the chair with his hands clasped behind his back. His young face was pinched with distaste. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’
‘I did.’
‘She’ll hate me more than ever.’
He nodded. ‘Perhaps. But you could be nicer to her. Include her. Don’t taunt her with our time together while she is busy with the queen. She’s right; you’re equal in my love.’
‘I know.’
Saar rubbed his fingers through his hair again, frustration causing his fingers to shake. It wasn’t Mosi’s uncertainty and anger that robbed him of sleep night after night. Made every moment with either of his lovers fraught with emotional pitfalls.
‘Explain yourself,’ he murmured.
‘May I sit?’
‘Of course.’ Saar scooted his chair closer to the table and gestured to another close by. ‘Join me for some bread. Or beer, if you prefer.’
‘I still can’t eat or drink, Saar. You alone have that pleasure.’
‘You’ve tried?’
‘Every day. My body continues to reject food. It’s inc
reasingly painful and I have more important ways to spend my days. Set has no desire to accept mere food as tribute.’
Saar frowned but let the matter lie. ‘Leave the bread. Speak your troubles.’
Mosi sat. Back rigid, hands on his knees, he stared at the opposite wall before speaking. ‘You cannot read them from my thoughts?’
‘You know I don’t do that. Not to you.’
Pink splotches coloured Mosi’s cheeks. ‘Forgive me. I’m nervous.’
‘You may say anything to me. We have no secrets.’ Saar leaned forward in his chair.
Several more seconds of shuffling his fingers, then Mosi looked up. ‘You must not kill the king. Antony may be weak, stubborn and foolish, but he is king. Destroying him will cause more trouble than it saves.’
Saar frowned. ‘You know Octavian moves against us?’
‘Rumours, Saar.’
‘Fact.’ Saar pounded his thigh with his fist. ‘Antony’s insult cannot be ignored any longer. We must prepare ourselves for the next strike of Rome’s hammer.’
‘Then why can you not do that with Antony?’
His upper lip curled. ‘Because his actions brought us into danger. I want nothing more to do with him.’
‘So you’ll kill him?’
Saar shrugged, toying with a piece of flaking paint on the arm of his chair. ‘He’s but one man.’
‘You’ll kill dozens, if not hundreds if you pursue this plan.’
‘Octavian will be here within months and Antony is too weak to lead us. Continuing to build Red Fang with god-touched warriors is the only way we’ll survive.’
Mosi touched the sides of his head. ‘Shouldn’t we use our strength and power to help him? Talk to Antony. Arrange negotiations with Octavian before he attacks with the might of Rome at his back. You’re wise. They’ll heed you.’
‘I’m a soldier, nothing to them. Nor will I be until I have power among them.’ Head cocked to one side, Saar gazed at his lover. ‘Why are you saying this? Where have these thoughts come from?’
Irritation flickered through Mosi’s gaze. He stood and began to pace. ‘I’m not a child, though you treat me like one. I have thoughts and opinions of my own.’
‘I never disputed that.’
‘No?’ He snorted. ‘You say we’ve been blessed by Set and our task is to pass on the gift. But you keep your powers secret. You bless only a select few of your deliberate choosing. You plan revolution and revolt against our god-picked rulers. You don’t act like the gods’ messenger.’
‘What do I act like?’
Mosi had the good grace to hesitate before he answered. ‘A madman.’
‘Madman?’ The word punched Saar like a fist. He flinched.
‘You asked. I’ve always been honest with you.’
Whilst true, that didn’t stop the words hurting. Reaching out, Saar trailed his fingers down Mosi’s cheek. He smiled when the other man turned his face, allowing those fingers to brush his mouth.
‘Your honesty drew me to you. One of the many reasons I love you.’ Following his hand, he stepped close and kissed Mosi on the lips. A chaste touch but the smaller man shuddered beneath him.
‘Don’t. I can’t think when you touch me.’
‘Perhaps you’ve thought enough.’
‘No, Saar. I’ve not.’ He took a step back and held his hands before him like a shield. ‘You must hear me. Your plans are wrong. You are wrong.’
‘If you would just think on what I propose you would see it’s the only way. When we kill Antony—’
‘No! No “we”. I won’t be part of your plans for murder.’
‘What would you have me do?’
‘Leave Antony alone. Leave the army alone. Let Cleopatra rule as the gods dictated. To the rest . . . let change come as is natural.’
‘And bend before Rome? You know I can’t do that.’
‘You must, or else . . .’ He looked at the floor.
Saar waited. A gust through the narrow corridors lifted his shendyt about his legs and blew loose sand across his feet. He remembered then that this was royal property and that shouting of his plans to kill the king was unforgivably foolish.
‘Or else what?’ he whispered.
‘I’ll leave.’ Mosi’s lower lip quivered as he spoke. A wisp of hair fluttered on the breeze and though he tucked it behind his ear, the strand was too short to stay in place. Remnants of an unconscious gesture years old and long redundant.
Standing almost toe to toe, Saar gazed at his lover and felt a pang in his chest.
The pain wasn’t his. In the back of his mind he felt Mosi’s anguish, his indecision. Faint imprints of his emotions lived in that secret place within Saar’s head, put aside for the thoughts and feelings of all his god-touched children. Mosi, the first of those fourteen children, had the strongest signature.
Again he reached out, but Mosi leapt back. He stumbled over the chair and sprawled on the floor, his usual grace and calm vanished. Scrambling upright, he fled to the archway, turning right into the space beyond.
Saar followed, dashing into the columned passageway filled with statues, paintings and high ceilings decorated with large squares of blue, red and gold.
On other days he walked slowly through this space, taking the time to appreciate the beauty of it compared to his own modest home. Not today. Today he ran after Mosi and grabbed his retreating arm, spinning him around.
Grunting, Mosi hit a column and Saar pressed against him, pinning his lover’s hands to the cold carved stone.
‘Don’t leave me,’ he begged.
Mosi closed his eyes. He didn’t struggle, but his arms sang with tension. ‘Don’t touch me. Please. I can feel you in my head. I can’t get away.’
His words made plain something Saar had stubbornly resisted until now. He swallowed a painful lump at the back of his throat and tightened his grip on Mosi’s wrists. ‘I don’t want you to. I love you.’
‘Then change your plans. It’s evil. We are evil.’
‘How can men touched by the gods be evil?’
‘We sacrifice others so that we may live.’
Saar growled at a return to this irritating recurring argument. ‘Tribute. Men and women should be honoured to give their blood to the gods. We take only those who deserve to die.’
‘What gives you the right to make that decision? Why should you be special?’
‘Because I was marked to lead. Me, no one else.’ Saar squeezed until Mosi’s wrist bones crunched.
‘You called it a curse once.’
‘I was too afraid to see at first but this is no curse. This is a blessing from Set himself. A gift. Given to me.’
The other man struggled, but not with his full strength, still showing signs of wanting. He looked up.
Like Kiya minutes before, Mosi’s eyes changed to reflect his heightened emotion. But rather than black, his eyes filled with glowing white.
‘Power isn’t how a man is measured, Saar. It’s not having power but how that power is used which makes a man special. Actions make a man great.’
Saar let go. He heard the faint pop as Mosi’s bones clicked back into place. Leaning against another of the pillars he wiped his face with both hands. Sweat gathered on his forehead, beading on his skin to roll down his cheeks and neck.
‘My plan will protect us all,’ he whispered. ‘You must see that. But if you’re not with me, you’re against me.’
‘I’m against your plan, not you. I love you.’
‘They’re one and the same. Join me.’
Mosi rolled his wrists. His chin trembled. A slump to his shoulders made him appear old and frail. At last, he looked up and as he did, the white glow faded from his eyes. ‘No.’
The word struck like a punch to the ribs. Saar sagged against the pillar and tamped down a sickness in his stomach. ‘Mosi—’
‘I said “no”, Saar.’
The silence between them was brittle and cold.
‘Then leave.’ Saar sniffed
, conscious of a growing burn behind his eyelids. The ache in his heart threatened to knock him flat. He pointed along the length of the passageway, between the double rows of pillars, to the exit doors at the end. ‘Go, before I forget I love you.’
Mosi bit his lip. Shiny tears filled his eyes and gathered in the corners before falling. With heavy steps, he walked away.
Saar watched him go then slumped to the ground, head resting against the pillar.
Though the passageway formed a link to the rest of the palace complex, he couldn’t move. Not yet. Not even the thought of Cleopatra herself happening upon him in such a state could move him.
Instead, as tears streamed down his face, he watched the first of his god-touched children step through the doors and vanish from sight.
Chapter Ten