Led by a man with his face painted blue and covered to the mouth with a dazzling gold mask, other figures filed out of the temple. Each wore a long, floating cloak of either gold, silver, copper or black which scraped the marble floor and, all except one other, bore the mask of an animal. Claudia recognised Horus, the falcon god, Bast the cat (oh, Drusilla; she's the spitting image of you!), a cow, a cobra, a vulture — ten in all. But then, as Mercy said, everything here came in tens.
Claudia used the opportunity to glance over her shoulder, and nobody noticed her backwards inspection, because five, maybe six hundred pairs of eyes were entranced by the theatricals (sorry, religious observances). Goddammit, which one was Flavia among this herd? Her eyes swivelled round. The girl was shorter than Claudia, but then so, it appeared, were three-quarters of the women gathered here. She was fatter than Claudia, but then so, it appeared, were three-quarters of the women here… Claudia let out an impatient sigh. With their regulation frocks and regulation eyes, it would be easier to tell sheep apart! Somewhere, she imagined, Flea would be snaking her way through the crowd, pocketing fistfuls of blue scarab amulets, although quite how a dungbeetle was supposed to protect a person from harm, Claudia had no idea.
'Hear me, for I am Osiris!' The rich tones of Mentu carried over the lashing rain. 'Tonight my holy father, Ra, departs to do battle with the Serpent and traverse the Realm of the Dead.'
The High Priest stepped forward. 'Hail to thee, Ra, in thy departing.'
Around Claudia, hands clamped together and a reverential chorus rang out. 'Mine eyes adore thee.'
'May thou cross in peace the Underworld in thy glorious Boat of the Evening.'
'Beautiful art thou.'
'And may thou rise in the horizon of heaven to give life to all that thou hast made, those who worship when they behold thee and sleep when thou dost depart.'
'For the joy thou bringest, O Lord, we adore thee.'
Two drumsticks now feathered the shell of the tortoise, faster but softer, and as the priestesses rattled their silver bells and showered the barque with rose petals, ten white-robed acolytes, five on either side of the boat, hauled the vessel back inside the temple buildings, the silver, lapis, amethysts and emeralds flickering wildly in the torchlight. The door closed behind them, but before the crowd could disperse, Osiris held up his hand.
'Brethren,' he said, and all eyes were upon him. 'You all know me, for I am Mentu, father to the fatherless, husband to the widow, protector of the poor. Through me, and my holy father, Ra, we bring you goodness, peace and harmony, that when the Day of Judgement comes, your hearts may weigh true at the Balance. And yet.' He paused for a count of three. 'There are those among us who do not believe.' This time the pause was longer, to take account of the astonished gasps, the shuffles. 'There are those among us who wish to destroy what we have created!'
Expressions of disbelief rippled round the horrified crowd, and Claudia thought, so this is Mentu, the man who controls this herd of mindless peabrains. She squinted across the dancing lamplight to get a better view of the Egyptian who sold himself as a Pharaoh, as Osiris incarnate, son of Ra — and no doubt many other things besides! Min and Mentu, the Brothers of Horus? More like two barrow boys from Memphis with an eye to the main chance — an eye that most certainly did not belong to Horus!
Impossible to see much under the blue paint, the mask and the voluminous floor-sweeping cloak, except that, unless Mentu had exceptionally long legs or disproportionately short arms, the people's beloved Pharaoh wore built-up heels to compensate for a distinct lack of height.
Bored with the liturgy, Claudia had daydreamed her way through much of his monologue, but her attention was drawn back by a young man being escorted up the temple steps to stand before Mentu on the platform. He was a handsome enough lad, eighteen and muscular in his linen loin cloth, but what made her sit up sharp was that, flanking him, stood two guards armed with scimitars.
The storm's vicious scything of the sky mirrored the contours of their weapons. Claudia's blood ran chill. Armed guards. Tall double gates. Fences. Claudia swallowed. She was glad, now, she'd hired those henchmen. The first sign of trouble, and they'd swoop down like a shot at her signal.
'How will we know it?' one of them had asked.
Inspired by the Serving Women re-enactment, Claudia had said simply, 'I'll light a fire, of course.' (Although, unlike the pallid Prefect, she would not pedantically insist on a fig tree!) Absently, she wondered how she'd manage to kindle one in such a tempest, and reassured herself that any storm would have burned itself out by then. Not, she added hastily, that she imagined there would be a problem.
A second youth had jumped on to the stage (Claudia! it's a religious platform, behave yourself!). An unprepossessing creature, being podgy and sallow and prone to spots, but dazzled by piety, this second youth had sunk to his knees, sobbing, saying that he, too, once believed he would be better off back in the old world. He, too, had wanted to leave. Mentu floated over to him and placed his hand upon the fat boy's head. The boy was blubbering in earnest, telling everyone he'd been a fool, a narrow-minded fool, because this is his family, these are his friends, these are the people who love him.
The crowd, gripped by the boy's penitence, were surging forward, urging him on with avowals of love, and a flock of bats fluttered beneath Claudia's ribcage. Like the first youth, hauled up half-naked before them by the guards, she was less than convinced.
She had not realised how deep the indoctrination was planted.
Oh, shit. It was something she hadn't considered — the fact that leaving might not be an option. This boy had obviously tried and had been carted back under armed guard to be put on show for everyone to gawp at.
Something happened.
For a moment, Claudia did not understand its significance, this subtle movement of the animal gods. One moment they were standing in a V formation behind Osiris, now they had surrounded the youth who'd tried to escape. Their voices were soothing, almost cooing, but when the V fanned out again, the boy — and the armed guards — had disappeared.
Every hair on Claudia's body stood on end.
'It saddens me,' Mentu said, 'whenever a brother or a sister leaves us. What saddens me more, however,' and he brushed at his face, as though wiping away a tear, 'is that our brother Sorrel here sought to sneak away like a common burglar. He is free to depart, you all are — no!' He held up his hand. 'Anyone who wishes to leave is free to do so with the blessing of Ra, only come to me, first, I beseech you.
Seek the wisdom of Ra, through his son, Osiris, for outside this valley our enemies surround us. It is not purely the soul which imperils itself beyond these hills.' He voice rose a pitch. 'Rome seeks to destroy us, brothers.' The volume rose, too. 'To cast down Ra and the Ten True Gods, to smash what we have built.'
The baying of the crowd made Claudia's flesh crimple.
'But we shall resist! We shall fight to the very last breath for the right to resurrection, to eternal blessedness, they shall not deny us!'
The howling grew louder.
'I say, our enemies must perish!' Mentu was bellowing to make himself heard. 'They have no hope of salvation. If they attack us, we — ' he made stabbing signs in the air — 'must — fight — back.'
'Fight!'
'Kill!'
'Die for the cause!'
'Brothers!' With a cutting gesture, Mentu held up both arms and silence descended at once.