“Ah,” said Grey, voice light. “So the krait liked me better, did he?”
He thought Accompong laughed under his breath, but didn’t really pay attention. The houngan’s eyes flashed hate at him, and he regretted his wit, fearing that it might cost Rodrigo more than had already been taken from him.
Despite his shock and horror, though, he clung to what Mrs. Abernathy had told him. The young man was not truly dead. He swallowed. Could Rodrigo perhaps be restored? The Scotchwoman had said not—but perhaps she was wrong. Clearly Rodrigo had not been a zombie for more than a few days. And she did say that the drug dissipated over time . . . perhaps . . .
Accompong spoke sharply, and the houngan lowered his head.
“Anda,” he said sullenly. There was stumbling movement in the hut, and he stepped aside, half-pushing Rodrigo out into the light, where he came to a stop, staring vacantly at the ground, mouth open.
“You want this?” Accompong waved a hand at Rodrigo. “What for? He’s no good to you, surely? Unless you want to take him to bed—he won’t say no to you!”
Everyone thought that very funny; the clearing rocked with laughter. Grey waited it out. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl Azeel, watching him with something like a fearful hope in her eyes.
“He is under my protection,” he repeated. “Yes, I want him.”
Accompong nodded and took a deep breath, sniffing appreciatively at the mingled scents of cassava porridge, fried plantain, and frying pig meat.
“Sit down, Colonel,” he said, “and eat with me.”
Grey sank slowly down beside him, weariness throbbing through his legs. Looking round, he saw Cresswell dragged roughly off, but left sitting on the ground against a hut, unmolested. Tom and the two soldiers, looking dazed, were being fed at one of the cook fires. Then he saw Rodrigo, still standing like a scarecrow, and struggled to his feet.
He took the young man’s tattered sleeve and said, “Come with me.” Rather to his surprise, Rodrigo did, turning like an automaton. He led the young man through the staring crowd to the girl Azeel, and said, “Stop.” He lifted Rodrigo’s hand and offered it to the girl, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took firm hold of it.
“Look after him, please,” Grey said to her. Only as he turned away did it register upon him that the arm he had held was wrapped with a bandage. Ah. Dead men don’t bleed.
Returning to Accompong’s fire, he found a wooden platter of steaming food awaiting him. He sank down gratefully upon the ground again and closed his eyes—then opened them, startled, as he felt something descend upon his head, and found himself peering out from under the drooping felt brim of the headman’s ragged hat.
“Oh,” he said. “Thank you.” He hesitated, looking round, either for the leather hatbox or for his ragged palm-frond hat, but didn’t see either one.
“Never mind,” said Accompong, and leaning forward, slid his hands carefully over Grey’s shoulders, palm up, as though lifting something heavy. “I will take your snake, instead. You have carried him long enough, I think.”
BEWARE THE SNAKE
An SPQR Story
by John Maddox Roberts
John Maddox Roberts is best known for his acclaimed twelve-volume SPQR series of historical mysteries, detailing the adventures of a young Roman aristocrat who keeps getting entangled with murder and other nefarious doings in the dark underworld of Ancient Rome. The SPQR series consists of The King’s Gambit, The Catiline Conspiracy, The Temple of the Muses, The River God’s Vengeance, and eight other novels. In addition to the SPQR books, the prolific Maddox has written fantasy series such as the five-volume Stormlands sequence (consisting of The Islander, The Black Shields, and three others), science fiction series such as the two-volume Spacer sequence (Space Angel, Window of the Mind), and the three-volume Cingulum series (The Cingulum, Cloak of Illusion, The Sword, the Jewel, and the Mirror); contemporary detective novels (A Typical American Town, The Ghosts of Saigon, Desperate Highways); eight Conan novels; a Dragonlance novel; novels in collaboration with Eric Kotani and under the name Mark Ramsay; and stand-alones such asCestus Dei, The Strayed Sheep of Charun, Hannibal’s Children , and King of the Wood. His latest novel is The Year of Confusion, the new SPQR mystery.
Everyone knows that some snakes can be deadly. As Decius Caecilius learns in the SPQR story that follows, sometimes the problem is knowing one when you see it.
YOUNG HEROD ONCE TOLD ME THAT HIS PEOPLE ABHOR SERPENTS. IT seems to have something to do with his people’s fall from a sort of Golden Age, in which the serpent is mysteriously implicated. This is the sort of primitive superstition one must expect from barbarians. Civilized people, by contrast, think the world of snakes. We revere and esteem them. Snakes enhance the prophecies of oracles and facilitate contact with the gods of the underworld. It is difficult to imagine civilized life without snakes. Egyptian kings had cobras on their crowns, while Mercury and Aesculapius bear serpent-wound staffs. The very spirit of a place is symbolized by a pillar with a snake coiled around it.
To be sure, one occasionally encounters the odd asp, adder, or cobra, which carry deadly venom, but that is just the gods’ way of reminding us that their gifts are often double-edged. It keeps mortals on their toes and prevents them from growing too complacent.
It is true that certain people carry this reverence for serpents too far. Some families, including very respectable ones, keep a family snake and consult with it on all matters of importance. Personally, I consider this a rather un-Roman practice. It’s more like something Greeks would do. But nobody in Italy is as mad about snakes as the Marsi, the mountain people who live around Lake Fucinus, east of Rome.
Which brings us to the day the Marsian priest came calling.
“WE HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE THAT OUR SNAKE IS IN ROME.” THE MAN wore a saffron-colored toga and a ribbon of the same color around his brow.
“I see. I don’t suppose it crawled here on its own?”
“Of course not! She was stolen and we want her back!”
So the gender of the snake was established. We were making progress already. I glanced down at the letter of introduction the priest had brought. Its message was characteristically bald and laconic.
Decius Caecilius, the bearer of this letter is Lucius Pompaedius Pollux, high priest of the temple of Angitia. He is my client and he has a problem and I can think of no man more fit than you to solve it for him. Below the brief text was appended, instead of a seal, the signature Caesar, Pontifex Maximus. Since he invoked his office as pontifex, this was to be treated as a religious matter.