The next moment, the doors were thrown open by two brawny, black-skinned guards cradling immense, flat-bladed swords.
“All hail Her Majesty Queen Arsinoe!” one of the guards boomed.
The entire courtyard assumed a bowed position, with heads held low between outstretched arms. Demetrius angrily motioned for Lucius to do the same, but Lucius refused mirthfully.
A small woman in a wispy flowing white dress entered the room. Her face was stoic, making her delicate features all the more alluring. She had skin as pure as jasmine, and her shoulder-length black hair was woven with gold flakes. A wide gold band high around her slim waist accentuated her rounded hips. The dress was open down the front revealing the inner curves of what appeared to be nearly perfect breasts.
Lucius guessed her to be no more than twenty years old, and he caught the double-take of her young, wide eyes when she noticed that he was not bowing like the others. For the briefest of moments, her eyes drifted to his bare chest and lower regions, before she pretended not to notice him at all and quickly resumed the deportment of a royal princess.
She was followed into the room by Ganymedes and an assortment of attending girls dressed in a similar fashion to herself, one of them oddly pulling a cheetah along on a leash like a pet. There was someone else, too, with the royal party – a strange-looking man dressed in a black wrap, gold armbands, and a headdress that completely covered his face. The headdress had the face of a falcon with fierce eyes that stared wildly ahead. This priest – if that’s what he was – stood a few paces behind the queen with hands clasped in front of him.
An attendant clapped twice, and everyone returned to what they had been doing before.
“Ganymedes,” said Arsinoe in a strong voice that did not match her lithe figure. “Why does this Roman not bow before my greatness?”
In an instant the eunuch was at her side. “Er-uh. Take no offense, Great One. These Romans are largely an uneducated lot. They have little understanding of the gods that walk among us, like your greatness.”
“So, you bring me an illiterate oaf to perform this most sacred of tasks?”
“Please, Great One,” Ganymedes pleaded reverently. “If we needed wisdom, we would need only to consult your greatness. But this errand calls for a great warrior, and that is what I have brought you. This Roman slew several score of our soldiers on the mole yesterday. He is a Roman centurion, one of Caesar’s finest, with many badges of honor from many battles.”
Lucius considered that the slick-tongued eunuch had no doubt seen the half-dozen circular emblems that ornamented the front of his mail shirt.
“Does he meet the requirements? Is his blood pure?”
“I believe he does, your greatness.” Ganymedes then gestured to the priest with the bird headdress. “But only Khay can tell us for certain.”
Arsinoe then turned to the priest. “Khay, these are your requirements. Does this Roman qualify?”
The priest Khay said nothing, but simply clapped his hands together once and then rapidly advanced across the room toward Lucius. He swung his arms wildly as he walked, and the attendants, evidently fearful of the eccentric priest, cleared a wide path for him as he came.
Once in front of Lucius, Khay began sniffing audibly through the mask, moving around Lucius from one side to the other in spasmodic motions. Once the smelling ritual had concluded, a cross-like metallic rod suddenly appeared in the priest’s hands. The cross was half the length of a man’s arm with a loop on one end. Khay held the cross from the looped end allowing Lucius to see that the opposite end had a sharp point. Then, without warning, the priest drew the point straight across Lucius’s chest from one side to the other, leaving a dark streak of dripping blood to mark its path. Lucius winced from the suddenness of the attack, one of his large hands shooting out to take the priest by the throat. Khay instantly dropped the blood-tipped cross and began desperately groping at Lucius’s rock-solid grip that was quickly squeezing the life out of him. For a few moments the courtyard was silent, save for the suffocating priest’s labored breathing, clearly audible through the bird mask. No one came to Khay’s aid. Instead, they all stood dumb-founded and in shock as the formerly menacing priest gasped for air and went to his knees under the Roman’s grip, all except for Demetrius, who appeared somewhat amused at the spectacle.
That is, until a look from Ganymedes prompted him to intervene.
“Release him, Centurion.” Demetrius stepped forward and placed a hand on Lucius’s immense flexing forearm. “The letting of blood is part of the ritual. Khay will not harm you.”
Lucius glanced at the queen, whose wide-eyed expression appeared to be brought on by astonishment more than anger. Then, he let Khay go. The priest fell to the floor coughing and wheezing as the air returned to his lungs.
“Captain Demetrius!” Ganymedes said tersely. “We will hold you responsible if this Roman gets out of hand again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Councilor,” Demetrius replied with a bow, his face now flushed.
Lucius saw Demetrius and Arsinoe exchange a private look that spoke of a deeper history between them than just captain of the royal guard and queen. Again, the glimmer of resentment, or was it jealousy, appeared subtly in the officer’s visage.
After several awkward moments of silence, Khay had regained his feet and had adjusted the crooked bird headdress. Once again, the priest had the cross in his hand. He lifted the headdress slightly, exposing only his mouth, and then ran the point of the cross across his tongue, allowing Lucius’s fresh blood to mingle with the saliva there. Khay then rolled the mixture around in his mouth while reciting an incantation, Ganymedes and Arsinoe both looking on with nervous anticipation.
Finally, the priest raised his hands and said something in the Egyptian tongue. He then repeated the words in Greek, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“He is, Great Lady!” Ganymedes said with delight. “He is a pure heathen! Not one drop of Egyptian blood flows in his veins. He is perfect!”
“Bring him before me,” the young queen commanded.
When Lucius stood before her, his chest even with her face, he caught a glance from her big eyes.
“You will swear loyalty to me, at once, Roman, and denounce my sister and brother! You will also worship me as your god. On your knees!”
“I will not,” Lucius replied.
“Demetrius!” she said hotly, “Teach this Roman how to show respect!”
But before Demetrius made any move to obey, Ganymedes interceded. “Wait! Great Lady, your greatness should not be concerned with such trivialities. We have the prophecy fulfilled, and that is all we need. Let this foolish Roman serve who he wishes, as long as he performs what we demand of him. Men like him do not respond to torture. They respond only to gold, and I have promised an ample sum if he cooperates.”
“But I want him to worship me as his goddess! All men are to worship me!”
Lucius laughed. “You are many things, lass. Perhaps an impudent child, but you are not a goddess.”
The room gasped, and Demetrius cleared his throat as if to warn Lucius that he should keep quiet and play along. Ganymedes held a finger to his lips as if to silence Lucius but the words were out and Arsinoe was now staring back at him, utterly speechless from the insult. At first, her eyes narrowed in an evil glare as if her next words would have him beheaded on the spot. But then Lucius saw her check herself. She had worked herself into a corner and she knew it. Obviously, she needed him for something, and so could not order him put to death, but she also had to save face for the sake of her followers in the room.
“Of course,” she said in a tone more amiable. “You Romans have your own gods, don’t you? You are not endowed with the ability to recognize the greater gods of Egypt.”