The third overseer's hell was equally carnal. It involved him and an older woman, making love. Perverted love, at that. That's why he'd left her and come here. To get away from her, from the things she'd made him do. He didn't mind so much that she liked him to tie her up and whip her, but other times she made him do things… things he couldn't talk about, couldn't bear to even think about. Degrading things. And the tragedy of it all was that the woman was his mother…
Hell for the fourth overseer was no less agonising, but it was at least wide-ranging. Lately he had come to believe what he had suspected for some time. Not so much that the reincarnation was a sham — Mentu had told him from the start that his health would not stand proving his immortality with such regularity, that on some occasions he'd have to pull a stunt and he'd need help. That was not the problem; the fourth overseer could live with that. But recently it had come to his knowledge that the contributions to the Solar Fund were not going to the upkeep of Ra's holy barque and temple. In fact, he was not convinced there even was a Ra. Lately he had come to believe this whole commune was a con. A means of making money from a lot of trusting innocents and, if this was true, what on earth was he do to? There was no one to confide in. It was hell.
The fifth overseer's thoughts were as far from the abyss as human thoughts might be. The night was hot, his blood was up.
He was having fun…
Chapter Thirty-three
The heat and the dark and the mass of twinkling lamps was as disorientating as anything Mentu could have organised for his band of Pyramidiots. Cicadas buzzed like blunted woodsaws in the grass. The low, oppressive clouds hung like heavy, winter cloaks over the hills which enclosed this fertile, pear-shaped valley. In the distance, thunder rumbled and the summer storm, never far away, pawed the ground like an angry bull preparing to charge.
The analogy was apt, thought Claudia. This whole place reminded her of the lair of the Minotaur, and not just on account of the thunder. So many tiny lamps — thousands upon thousands dotted round — coupled with the moving torches and the swirling wheels and censers turned the commune into an unfamiliar maze and, just like the Minotaur's labyrinth on Crete, she was going round in circles. But somewhere in this flickering web was an aristocrat dressed like a guard and a bodyguard dressed like an aristocrat, surely one of the two would stand out, even in the dark?
The bull roared louder, and the earth trembled with his bellow.
Dammit, for the third time, possibly the fourth, Claudia found herself back at the ceremonial pool, where the High Priest blessed the holy water and the women, including Mercy, chanted out their prayers as they sat in vigil through the night. One of the temple parakeets screeched inside its cage and shook its feathers, then the aviary fell still. Only the cicadas and the chanting competed with the thunder.
Claudia fumbled her way out through the wicker gate which enclosed the temple forecourt and wedged her torch into a terracotta ear. Damned thing was neither use nor ornament, she couldn't see with it and she couldn't see without it, so she might as well have both hands free in case- She pulled up short. In case of what, Claudia? She shivered, because she didn't know and that was the horror of it.
The not knowing…
The nameless dread she felt inside but couldn't — wouldn't — allow her mind to dwell on for too long.
What's that? She squinted into the gloom. That figure, in the silver cloak which billowed out behind, was one she didn't recognise. Not a member of the Holy Council — she was familiar with the cow, the jackal, the ugly crocodile, and Mentu's mask was gold. This figure wore a mask of silver and a shimmering silver-plated wig, whose dreadlocks tinkled like a thousand sistrum bells. Curious, Claudia followed the figure with her eyes, surprised that it did not turn into the temple forecourt but swept on past, unaware of her presence in the shadows. This figure was not disoriented by the labyrinthine lamps. It marched with purpose across the grass towards the bushes.
Claudia felt a beat of unease pound inside her heart. Unless she missed her guess, that figure also clutched a bundle of white rags in his left hand. They looked like bandages.
The beat grew stronger. And as she watched the figure disappear into the bushes, she felt compelled to follow. He (Claudia presumed it was a he) was not difficult to spot — the silver glittered like a full moon in the dark, but that alone would not have been sufficient. The figure carried with it a tiny lighted brand to guide his path. Claudia followed the glow-worm up the hillside, along what seemed to be a beaten track. An assignation?
(Which reminds me, Min, how are the blisters coming on?)
Oh, damn, I've lost him! Up here, it was so dark she could not see her hand in front of her face, and there was no longer any glow to follow.
Hot and weary from the climb, Claudia leaned her weight against a tree and listened. For a minute, all she could hear was the blood pumping through her ears, then — was that a voice? It was. A man's. Talking deep and low, but strangely. There was no answering female. (Or male, come to that!) As she acclimatised to the terrain, Claudia realised the path looped round.
'Ouch!'
She rubbed the toe she'd stubbed against a heart-shaped stone and thought she saw a luminescence in the bushes. Correction, through the bushes! There was a horrible smell coming from somewhere, too, but it didn't put the man off singing.
Lost! Lost! Lost! My love is lost to me.
She passes by my house and does not turn to see.
Nice voice, but what's it doing behind a bloody bush?
Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! Her lips upon my mouth.
But now my heart is scorched, as the desert to the south.
Acoustics such as these are usually achieved by an echo like… well, like in a cave! Claudia shrugged. But then, why shouldn't there be a cave up here? The ancient Etruscans who had once worked these lands, pockmarked hills left, right and centre. In fact, in the vineyard adjacent to Claudia's own estate, they'd gouged out so many holes that the vintner used the whole damned hill for storage. Why shouldn't Mister Silver use one for his assignation?
Ra! Ra! Ra! O Father, great of might!
My sacrifice and prayers, do not they you delight?
Claudia listened to the haunting refrain of a young man thrown over by his lover and whose heart aches because she will not take him back, despite his fervent prayers. Perhaps, though, the mysterious silver figure was not bent on an amorous liaison. Why the need for so much pomp if he was just after a fumble in the dark? Perhaps, like the ancient Etruscans, this cave was used for the Brothers' ceremonies — an extension to the Festival of Lamps? After all, if the Etruscans turned caverns into temples, why not the Pyramidiots? Claudia had only assumed this figure was up to something secretive and furtive.
Come! Come! Come! Death come to me, today.
For only in my tomb can I find the peace I pray.
That was the other thing, of course. The Etruscans also used their caves for burials, and Claudia could well believe it of this one. She did not recall ever smelling such a putrid stink!