“Oh, really? You prefer German men? And you bother with the Scottish ones?” Agatha remarked. Nina could not tell if there was a little bit of menace in Agatha’s statement, but then with her it could be anything.
“Sam is a very likable specimen,” she jested.
“I know. I wouldn’t mind getting a review from him, I dare say. But what the hell do you see in David? It’s the money, right? Got to be the money,” Agatha asked.
“No, not the money as much as the confidence. And his passion for life, I suppose,” Nina said. She did not like being coerced into exploring her attraction to Purdue so finely. In fact, she would rather forget what she found appealing about him in the first place. She was far from safe when it came to writing off her affection for him, much as she vehemently denied it.
And Sam was no different. He did not let her know if he wanted to be with her or not. Finding his notes on Trish and his life with her confirmed that, and at the risk of getting her heart ripped out if she confronted him about it, she kept it to herself. But deep inside Nina could not deny that she was in love with Sam, the elusive lover she could never have for longer than a few minutes at a time.
Her heart ached every time she thought about those memoirs of his life with Trish, how much he loved her, her little idiosyncrasies, and how close they were — how much he missed her. Why would he write so much about their life together if he had moved on? Why did he lie to her about how precious she was to him if he was secretly writing odes to her predecessor? Knowing that she would never live up to Trish was a stab she could not process.
Chapter 17
Purdue stoked the fire, while Sam cooked lunch under the stern supervision of Miss Maisy. In actual fact he was only assisting, but she made him believe that he was the chef. Purdue sauntered into the kitchen with a boyish grin, beholding the chaos Sam brought to the preparation of what would have been a feast.
“Giving you a hard time, is he?” Purdue asked Maisy.
“No more than me husband, sir,” she winked, and cleaned up where Sam had spilled the flour, trying to make dumplings.
“Sam,” Purdue said, and motioned with his head for Sam to join him in by the fire.
“Miss Maisy, I’m afraid I have to excuse myself from kitchen duty,” Sam announced.
“No worries, Mr. Cleave,” she smiled. “Thank God,” they heard her utter as he exited the kitchen.
“Have you had word yet about the document?” Purdue asked.
“Nothing. I imagine they all think I’m daft for pursuing a story about a myth, but on the one hand that is a good thing. The fewer people who know about this, the better. Just in case the journal is still intact somewhere,” Sam reported.
“Yes, I am very curious as to what this treasure is supposed to be,” Purdue said, as he poured them some Scotch.
“Of course you are,” Sam replied, half amused.
“It’s not about the money, Sam. God knows I have enough of that. I don’t have to chase after intrinsic relics for money,” Purdue told him. “I am truly invested in the past, what the world is holding in hidden places that people are too ignorant to care about. I mean, we live on soil that has seen the most amazing things, lived through the most fantastical eras. It is really special to find remnants of the Old World and to touch on things that know what we never will.”
“That’s way too deep for this time of day, man,” Sam confessed. He drank half a glass of his Scotch in one go.
“Easy there,” Purdue urged. “You want to be awake and aware when the two ladies return.”
“Not so sure about that, actually,” Sam admitted. Purdue only chuckled, because he felt much the same. Still, the two men decided not to discuss Nina or whatever she had with either of them. Oddly enough there was never any bad blood between Purdue and Sam, the two rivals for Nina’s heart, since both had had her body.
The front door opened with the two half-soaked women rushing in. It was not the rain that propelled them forward, but the news. After a quick lowdown of what happened at the graphologist’s office, they resisted the unbridled drive to analyze the poem and flattered Miss Maisy by first partaking in her delicious spread of excellent cooking. It would be unwise to discuss the new details in front of her, or anyone else for that matter, just as a matter of security.
After lunch all four of them sat around the table to assist on figuring out if there was anything of importance to the writings.
“David, this word? My high French is lacking, I suspect,” Agatha said impatiently.
He had a look at Rachel’s hideous handwriting, where she copied from the French part of the poem. “Oh, uh, that means ‘pagan’ and that one…”
“Don’t be daft, I know that one,” she sneered and pulled the page away from him. Nina snickered at Purdue’s chastisement. He smiled at her in a slightly sheepish way.
It appeared that Agatha was a hundred times more edgy while working than Nina and Sam ever would have guessed.
“Well, call me for the German section, if you need help, Agatha. I’m getting some tea,” Nina said casually, hoping that the eccentric librarian would not see it as a snide remark. But Agatha paid no attention to anyone while she completed her translation of the French section. Patiently the others waited, engaging in small talk while they all were bursting with curiosity. Suddenly Agatha cleared her throat, “All right,” she declared, “so this one says, ‘From pagan ports to the changing of crosses, came old scribes to keep the secret from God’s serpents. Serapis watched its entrails drag to the desert and hieroglyphs sank beneath Ahmed’s foot.’
She stopped. They waited. Agatha looked at them in disbelief, “So?”
“Is that it?” Sam asked, risking a grudge from the scary genius.
“Yes, Sam, that is it,” she snapped, as expected. “Why? Did you hope for an opera?”
“No, it was just… you know… I expected something longer, since you took so long…” he started, but Purdue turned his back on his sister to secretly discourage Sam from continuing that sentence.
“Do you speak French, Mr. Cleave?” she bitched. Purdue pinched his eyes shut, and Sam knew she took offense.
“No. No, I don’t. It would have taken me forever to figure out anything there,” Sam attempted a recovery.
“What the fuck is ‘Serapis’?” Nina came to his rescue. Her frown denoted a serious inquiry, not just an empty question to save Sam’s proverbial balls from the vice grip.
They all shook their heads.
“Look it up online,” Sam suggested and before his words were cold Nina had her laptop open.
“Got it,” she said, scanning the information to present a concise lecture. “Serapis was a pagan god, worshipped predominantly in Egypt.”
“Of course. We have papyrus, so we would naturally have Egypt somewhere,” Purdue joked.
“Anyway,” Nina continued, “in short… during somewhere in fourth-century Alexandria, Bishop Theophilus banned all observing of pagan deities and under an abandoned temple of Dionysus they apparently desecrated the contents of catacomb vault spaces… probably pagan relics,” she guessed, “and this pissed off the pagans in Alexandria something awful.”
“So they killed the bastard?” Sam rapped, amusing all but Nina, who delivered a steely glare, which sent him back to his corner.
“No, they did not kill the bastard, Sam,” she sighed, “but they did incite riots to retaliate in the streets. However, the Christians fought back and forced the pagan worshippers to take refuge in the Serapeum, the temple of Serapis, apparently an imposing structure. So they barricaded themselves in there, taking some Christians hostage for good measure.”
“Okay, so that explains the pagan ports. Alexandria was a very important port in the ancient world. Pagan ports turned Christian, right?” Purdue confirmed.