The spell was broken.
Vespasian looked around; the three priests suddenly convulsed as if coming out of a trance. As one they recommenced their incantation.
‘Everything that comes from His mouth the gods are bound by, according to what has been decreed. When a message is sent it is for the giving or taking of life; for life and death depend on Him for everyone. Nothing exists which He is not. Everything is Him. Amun.’
‘Amun,’ Vespasian repeated as the priests turned and walked away from the altar; with a brief, quizzical look at the statue, he followed.
‘What did that mean?’ Vespasian asked as they re-entered the forest of columns.
‘We cannot tell you,’ the first priest replied, ‘we heard nothing. What He said was for you alone. All we know is that you were spoken to by the God and that you are blessed by Him. No one can harm you now in His sacred land of Siwa; you and those who travel with you are under His protection.’
‘It’s too late for that; this man has sold my travelling companions into slavery.’
‘Then to atone he will have to buy them back,’ the younger priest stated.
‘Good, and while you’re about it, Ahmose, you can buy back the man we came to rescue, a Roman by the name of Capella.’
‘I will,’ Ahmose said with a touch of nervousness. ‘You should thank me for bringing you here.’
‘I’ll do no such thing,’ Vespasian snapped, finding himself hating the man almost as much as his now dead enemy, the Thracian chief-priest Rhoteces, ‘you said it was your duty.’
‘And so it was,’ the older priest confirmed, ‘he would have been cursed by the God if he’d failed to bring one touched by the Bennu before Him.’
‘He will take you back safely, Roman, and reunite you with your friends; he will also return your sword.’
‘Who gave the god that sword?’
‘That was a gift from the great Alexander, he left his sword in thanks for the counsel that he received here.’
Vespasian walked out of the temple wondering how he could ever match such a gift and, even if he could, what question would possibly make him want to make the arduous journey across so much sand to Siwa again to deliver it. Sand? He recalled the prophecy of Amphiaraos:
Two tyrants fall quickly, close trailed by another,
In the East the King hears the truth from a brother.
With his gift the lion’s steps through sand he should follow,
So to gain from the fourth the West on the morrow.
Bearing a gift across sand in the lion’s steps; a gift suggested by a brother to match that of Alexander, Alexander, the lion of Macedon. But if he was to be the bearer of that gift he would be the King of the East; how could that ever be?
Vespasian did not say a word on the journey back to Ahmose’s town; his mind was at first busy with contemplating the prophecy and what he had just heard from the mouth of the god: tyrants, kings, brothers and gifts to gain the West; where did he fit in to all that and why would a question drive him to return to this place?
After rolling these thoughts around his head and getting nowhere he turned his mind to the rescue of his comrades and Capella and whether the duplicitous priest who walked ahead of him would keep his word. Ahmose had indeed given him his sword back with fawning apologies to a favoured one of Amun and had promised to purchase Capella’s freedom as well as buying back his men for what he had been paid for them. Vespasian doubted that the Marmaridae would go for such a deal.
The following afternoon, as they approached Ahmose’s town, a familiar voice shouting cheered Vespasian’s heart.
‘Hold it there, priest, or by Pluto’s dark realm I’ll skewer you and send you down to him.’ Magnus appeared through the palms with Ziri, both with raised spears.
Ahmose’s men drew their swords and turned to face the threat.
‘It’s all right, Magnus,’ Vespasian called back, ‘things have changed; it would seem that I’m blessed by Amun; none of us are in any danger here.’
‘We just watched Corvinus and the lads being sold to the Marmaridae yesterday; I call that fucking dangerous.’
‘And this little shit is going to get them back for us, aren’t you?’ Vespasian glared at Ahmose who nodded unhappily. ‘Good; we’d better get going then.’
‘But first I have to get what’s needed to buy your men back.’
‘You’ll need far more money than they bought them for.’
‘I won’t be buying them with money; it’ll be a straight swap.’
‘Marmaridae, sir, master, there,’ Ziri said pointing through the palms.
‘How many of them are there?’ Vespasian asked Magnus as they peered through the fading light at the Marmaridae’s camp set by a large pool at the southwestern corner of the oasis.
‘I counted at least a hundred yesterday but there seem to be more now.’
Thirty to forty four-man tents, supported by single, central poles, six feet tall, were clustered in two concentric rings around the pool. Fires were lit and camels were being led down to the water’s edge to drink. It would have been a peaceful sight had it not been for the closely guarded corral, on the southern edge of the camp, in which at least two hundred men, women and children sat, miserably bound to posts hammered into the ground.
Vespasian looked back to Ahmose at the head of the thirty or so men he had brought from his town to escort the miserable lives that were to be the currency in this deal. ‘Well, priest, off you go. We’ll be watching from here.’
‘I won’t be long, this will be straightforward; Amun will watch over me as I’m doing his work.’
‘I do loathe a religious fanatic,’ Magnus commented as the priest led his party towards the Marmaridae’s camp.
Vespasian nodded in agreement. ‘I think that I despise anyone who makes his living by being a professional priest, selling religion to the fearful poor and then enjoying the comfort and the power that their money buys him. We do it much better at home where priesthoods are rewards for service to Rome and not a means to an easy life.’
‘You’ve got a point there, sir; but in general those who have priesthoods conferred upon them are already rich, although I’ve never known that to be a reason for not wanting more.’
Vespasian smiled. ‘Quite the opposite, normally.’
‘Indeed,’ Magnus agreed as they watched the Marmaridae gather around Ahmose and his men.
A brief conversation ensued after which Ahmose was led to a tent larger than the rest.
Vespasian, Magnus and Ziri waited in the twilight. Torches lit around the camp washed it with an orange glow. The temperature started to drop.
Eventually Ahmose reappeared from the tent with a grey-bearded man and gestured for his men to bring forward the goods to be bartered. Grey-beard inspected each one, checking teeth and feeling muscles in arms and legs as if he were looking at chariot horses that he was contemplating buying. Once each man had been checked Grey-beard turned back to Ahmose; it was clear by his demeanour that he was not happy.
‘Looks like we may have to fight our way in somehow to get the lads,’ Magnus observed as hand gestures became more frenetic.
The raised voices of the argument floated over the pool to where they lay hidden.
‘It’s not looking good,’ Vespasian agreed.
Suddenly the Marmaridae drew their swords and surrounded Ahmose’s men, disarming them. Five were then separated from the rest and were dragged struggling to Grey-beard for inspection; seemingly satisfied, he shouted an order and a party of Marmaridae headed off towards the slave corral.
‘Looks like the price just went up,’ Vespasian commented. ‘That’s not going to endear Ahmose to his men.’
Night had now fallen and torches burned all through the camp; in their flickering light Vespasian could see a group of men being led away from the corral. ‘That’s our lads, I can see Corvinus.’
Magnus squinted. ‘I can’t see anyone who could be Capella.’