Lucius kept perfectly still as the tent flap slowly opened and a robed figure crept inside on hands and knees. As the figure began to inch its way toward Lucius’s prostrate form, the glint of something shiny caught the glow of one of the torches outside. Lucius instantly came to life, rolling to the side to avoid the assassin’s weapon. He came up in the kneeling position, thrusting his gladius out before him, directly at the interloper’s chest. But a small squeal of alarm stopped his thrust a hair’s breadth before it would have penetrated flesh.
As Lucius watched, the figure slowly stood up, forming a bulbous silhouette against the tent wall. Then, the robe opened and fell to the ground, revealing curves that he had seen before. Arsinoe stood naked before him, her moist lips glistening in the darkness. Between her bare breasts hung a sparkling object, now polished to a fine shine. And now he knew that it was not the glint of an assassin’s blade that he had seen, but the amulet of power – the bejeweled Eye of Horus. Forged by the priests of old, worn by the great pharaohs of Egypt, passed down with great ceremony over the millennia, the glittering talisman now danced against the whisper-soft skin of this nymph who called herself queen.
Suddenly realizing that this, too, could be one of Ganymedes ploys to catch him off his guard, Lucius kept the blade pointed at Arsinoe’s abdomen. Two small hands reached out of the night and touched the blade ever so gently. She then brought the blade to her face and began to kiss it, first on one side and then on the other. In the scant torchlight making its way in from outside, Lucius saw her eyes close as if the sword was arousing her to some new height. Then he felt her hand on his, and she was holding the sword with him, kissing it only inches from his face. Comprehending now, that this was not one of the eunuch’s ploys and that the frolicsome queen had come to his tent purely out of her own lust for him, he began to let his guard down. She pushed him back onto the bedding and violently tore at his clothes until he was as naked as she. In a rustle of cast-off garments, she was suddenly on top of him, and no sorcerer’s potion was necessary to light her carnal fires this time. As before, she smelled of rose petals and lotus blossoms, and her skin was as pure and smooth as the day it entered the world. Arsinoe attacked him with the passion of a starving lioness. She was a ravenous beast, and he her prey. Never one to turn down a night of mindless bliss, Lucius welcomed her to him and gave her everything she desired. More than once, her lithe form writhed wildly against him, her nails driving into his shoulders to the point of drawing blood.
But there were moments during the ensuing hours of unceasing lust that he could not help but think of the aspirations Demetrius had for this woman, and how short she fell from the mark. She was driven by power and lust, not duty. She had no qualms about bedding down with a Roman enemy, should her body crave him, and that was hardly a facet of a god-chosen queen. There was one moment in the wild night of muffled moans that Lucius thought he caught a glimpse of Demetrius’s face, twisted in anger, peering in from the open tent flap. But the next moment, it was gone, and Lucius dismissed it as tricks of his tired or guilty mind.
At some point in the night, Arsinoe slipped out, leaving Lucius to lie alone on bedding strewn with disheveled blankets.
Lucius’s eyes had just shut when he heard a new noise outside. It was the shouting of many voices. Torches danced and a general cry of alarm rang throughout the camp. It was too early for the army to muster for the march. This was more like the tumult of panic. He dressed and armed himself quickly and went outside to find royal guardsmen in various states of arming, forming into squads and taking up positions around the perimeter of the camp.
He found Demetrius issuing orders to his lieutenants.
“What is it?” Lucius asked.
Demetrius shot a venomous look at him at first, much like the one Lucius thought he had seen at the flap of the tent hours before, but then his face softened. “A flaming arrow was spotted in the sky over the camel pens. It is the signal for alarm. Our men there have encountered something.”
“Have you called them in?”
“Yes, I sent a runner but he has not returned. You may have been right, Centurion.”
“Wait,” Lucius said, holding up a hand. “Listen.”
From the darkness that hid the camel corral, came the scream of men being butchered. A thunder of hoofs echoed in the dark.
“Smother the torches!” Demetrius commanded.
The word was quickly passed and the camp went suddenly dark, every man listening intently to try to discern the direction from which the enemy approached. But the sound of the hoofs faded, and all was eventually silent once more. Instantly the men in the ranks began to mumble. They knew what it meant to be stranded in this desert without the essential dromedaries. Stealing the herd of camels was tantamount to plunging a sword into the breast of every man in the camp. Either method would kill just as effectively. One was simply quicker than the other. The troop would not be able to make it back the way they had come on foot. The desert was too vast, the water too scarce, and the sun too hot. It simply could not be done by mortal man.
In spite of the glower that descended on his men, Demetrius kept them all at their posts for the rest of the night. Their only option now was to march back to the oasis, where there was at the very least enough water to sustain them. Having fully resolved to pursue this course, Demetrius quickly reconsidered when the gray light of dawn began to touch the dunes and lift the blackness around them.
“What in Hades is that!” one man said pointing to a thin dark line that covered the crests of the dunes to the south and west.
Lucius heard the alarm spread throughout the ranks and jostled for a position to gain a better look. As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, the black line became more distinguishable, and it caused every man in the ranks to gasp in wonderment.
A long line of black-clad figures stretched across the dunes in one continuous rank facing the camp. Each figure was mounted atop a camel draped in black skirts. Headdresses covered the warrior’s faces and spear-points gleamed above their heads. They stood silent and motionless. Only the exotic red banners waving in the breeze and the occasional stirring of a camel’s head confirmed that they were not mere statues.
The sunlight also revealed a grisly sight that conveyed the black riders’ intentions quite plainly. The naked and bloody bodies of the ten men that had been guarding the camels, along with the runner Demetrius had sent after them, were impaled on their own upturned sarissas, half-way between the lines. Carrion birds had already lighted upon one of the unfortunate soldiers and were gnawing away at his dead flesh. The appalling display was met with curses and obscene gestures from the Alexandrians who seemed more enraged than frightened by it.
“There must be five or six hundred of them!” Demetrius exclaimed, pushing his way over to Lucius. “I don’t understand. If those are indeed the Watchers you spoke of, how can that many men dwell in such a desolate place for so long?”
Lucius shook his head. “I do not know. Doubtless, they have found a way. There is no chance of marching back to the oasis now. They would divide your men into isolated groups and cut them down at their leisure.”
“I know it,” Demetrius replied in frustration, glaring at the enemy ranks. “Well, what now? Do they intend to just stand there and watch us die of thirst?”
At that moment, Arsinoe appeared, the black bodyguards muscling a path for her through the distracted troops.
“Demetrius,” she said with pouty lips after casting an eye in Lucius’s direction. “Why are we not preparing to leave? What is happening?” Apparently she had only now woken up and had slept through the earlier alarms.