Keeper of the Flame Page 11

  Sophia jumped to the dock, her eyes still trained on the fighting, which held.

  “Follow!” Only the one word, and then she scrambled up the hill to the entrance to the lighthouse.

  What were the Romans doing on her side of the island?

  It was the finish of the race now, begun on the other side of the island when Bellus first told her the harbor had been sealed. The final leg, with each of them bearing down on their horse to reach the finish line before the other.

  The white of the scholar’s himations as they picked their way up the rocky hillside seemed to glow with purity. Sophia was certain they would draw the eye of every soldier on the stony plateau. But still the soldiers fought, without regard to the procession that scurried to the building above them.

  Sophia reached the entrance of the Base and shoved the first man through, then each after. The pirates seemed to be giving way now. She saw several turn and run toward the port. It would not be long.

  Ares met them inside. “What? I thought—” His gaze traveled the group of men and came back to Sophia.

  “No time, Ares. The Romans have blocked the harbor entrance. We must hide them here.”

  Ares ran a hand through his hair. “Here? Where will we put them?”

  The men huddled in the front hall. “We have two hundred rooms, Ares. I think you can find a place.”

  “Storage rooms! You cannot put them in storage rooms! No beds, no baths—”

  “No time!” Sophia grabbed his arm and pulled him to the entrance. She pointed to the battle below. “Do you see them?”

  Ares’s eyes went wide. “They are coming here?”

  “I have no idea. But we must get these men hidden!”

  Ares snapped to attention and turned to the men. “Come, gentlemen. We will find a temporary place for you, where you will be safe. Just temporary.” He cast a withering glance at Sophia. “Until something that suits your position can be arranged.”

  The men followed Ares, like stray chicks followed anyone who fed them. Sophia watched them disappear down the corridor, and inhaled deeply for what seemed the first time in hours. She straightened, smoothed her tunic, and turned to the lighthouse entrance.

  Somehow she felt no surprise to see Bellus framed in the doorway. A strange tremor of relief, perhaps, that he had not been slain by pirates. But not surprise. He gripped a sword in his right hand and held his helmet under the other arm. His hair had been ruffled by wind and exertion.

  Sophia’s hand strayed to her lips. “First the harbor, and now the island. Your general certainly keeps you busy.”

  He sheathed the sword and used the back of his arm to wipe sweat from his brow. “A simple day in the life of a Roman soldier.” He stepped forward.

  She moved to the doorway, to keep him in place. “Yes, simple is a word I would use to describe you Romans.”

  She waited for his customary comeback but saw instead the flicker of amusement. She bit her lip. “Pharos Island has nothing of worth to you. No grain to speak of. No treasure. What do you want with us?”

  Behind him, lines of soldiers appeared. They had regained their symmetry after the squabble with the pirates.

  “Nothing of value?” Bellus smiled. “You underestimate your own fine structure.” He stepped out of the doorway and leaned his head back, though she knew he could not lean far enough to take in the entire height of the lighthouse. “It is truly a wonder”—he lowered his gaze to hers—“and of great interest to Caesar.”

  She felt her lips twitch. “You may tell your general that I would be happy to pay him a visit in the palace and explain to him the history and the function of our wonderful lighthouse.”

  Bellus tilted his head. “I am afraid Caesar has little interest in history or technology, unless they aid him in battle. I am not here for a lesson, Sophia of Pharos. I am here to stay.”

  Sophia swallowed, then flicked her gaze over his shoulder to the soldiers amassing behind him. “Stay?”

  Bellus saluted. “General Gaius Julius Caesar and the legion of Rome are most grateful for your hospitality. I hope that we will not prove to be too much of a burden.”

  With that, he motioned to his troops to move forward.

  Sophia, in an unaccustomed silence, could think of nothing to do but stand aside and watch as the First Centuria of the Sixth Cohort of Rome filed into her lighthouse.

  Across from her, on the other side of the entrance, their Pilus Prior stood watching. Between each soldier that passed, their eyes met.

  And Sophia had the feeling that it would not be these eighty battle-ready soldiers, nor the twelve elderly scholars hiding in the storage rooms, who would destroy the peace of her lighthouse life.

  No, it would be this one sarcastic centurion with the stunning smile.

  Fifteen

  The soldiers settled into the darkening lighthouse like a horde of locusts descending onto a field of wheat. Sophia stalked through the South Wing of the Base, barking orders and scowling to no effect. By the time the moon rose over the night sea, the centuria had doused their torches and bedded down. Sophia intersected Ares in the front hall.

  “No matter what, they must be kept apart,” she said.

  He chewed his lip. “I have given the old men instructions to stay only in the North Wing. But they have less fear than I would like and may simply do as they please.”

  Sophia eyed the sandy courtyard and considered crossing, to give her own instructions to the scholars.

  “Go to bed, Abbas,” Ares said. She raised her eyebrows and he bowed his head. “Mistress. It grows late, and you have had a long day. The old men are sleeping.” He inclined his head toward the first storage room in the stone hall, where the snoring of soldiers could already be heard. “There is no danger for the moment.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, swayed on her feet, and agreed.

  The night was all too short, however, and morning brought no assurances that this day would be better than the last. Sophia awoke in her immense bed, rolled to her back, and studied the white silks that hung from the four posts.

  Even from here, sixty-five cubits above the ground, the sounds of a pack of soldiers disturbed her sleep. Her bedcoverings twisted between her fingers, and she felt her stomach harden. Soldiers in her lighthouse.

  She threw off the bedcoverings and swung her legs over the side. She might not be able to command Caesar to remove his troops, but they were in her lighthouse now, and she was its Keeper.

  Sophia dressed quickly in her customary tunic and tied her sandals. She poured water into a basin, splashed her face, and ran wet hands through her short hair to tame it. With no more preparation, she strode from her chambers, descended the ramp to the Base and crossed into the South Wing.

  She was unprepared.

  The hall of the South Wing looked as though a military garrison had exploded. Weaponry, armor, and crates of unknown contents lay scattered in the hall. Soldiers in various states of partial dress milled the area, talking and laughing, and peasant traders clustered at the entrance, yelling about deliveries or bartering with soldiers. And the smell. The smell of a hundred men the morning after a battle.

  Sophia raised her voice above the din. “What is this?”

  A few heads turned her way. Not many. Even those men that looked at her dismissed her quickly.

  Sophia’s earlier annoyance built in her chest, hot and tight. She shoved through the men, kicking shields and sandals out of her way. Like a herd of undisciplined goats.

  And where was their supposed shepherd?

  The first storage room she and Ares had shoved the intruders into last night looked much the same as the hall. She skimmed the heads of the men quickly, looking for one in particular. Nothing.

  She marched to the second storage room with no success, and then to the third. Still outside the door, she noted the quiet voices within and slowed her angry rush.

  “I do not know,” Bellus was saying. Sophia hovered at the rough wooden door frame and p
ulled back, unseen. “The lighthouse is obviously a strategic point from which to command the harbor, and from here we can stave off an attack by sea.”

  Another voice spoke, too quietly for Sophia to make it out.

  “Don’t look at it as a punishment, Quintus,” Bellus answered. “We have been given a new assignment and we will prove our worth here.”

  A third voice spoke. “How can we prove our worth when all we are to do is sit in this dungeon all day and play at dice?”

  Bellus chuckled. “What would you have traded for a few warm days of dice, back when we tramped the muddy fields of Gaul for the winter?”

  “At least in Gaul we did not suffer under the hand of a tyrant disguised as a woman!”

  The room full of men laughed. Sophia could not tell how many. She pulled back farther and pressed into the wall.

  “I did not say she was a tyrant,” Bellus answered.

  “But did you say she was a woman?”

  More laughter.

  “She is harsh, I will admit. But think of the women who await you at home, men. How many of them would welcome the lot of us with a ready smile? Eh?”

  There was some teasing of one of the men and some talk of the nagging girl who waited for his military service to end. Sophia leaned her forehead against the doorframe.

  “Still,” Bellus said, cutting off the jesting, “stay clear of the lighthouse keeper. She is an angry and unforgiving woman, with a tongue sharper than a gladius. None of you are well-trained enough to do battle with that kind of enemy.”

  Sophia brushed her head against the rough wood. A still and quiet coldness crept through her body.

  The meeting was adjourning. Sophia jerked upright and turned to flee down the corridor. She took three steps, remembered her previous anger, and whirled again. She stood in the hall when Bellus emerged from the room, followed by four officers.

  He drew up when he saw her, then waved his men past. “We are making the best of it,” he said. “Getting organized. I assure you—”

  Sophia huffed. “I want none of your assurances. If you are to stay here, I have certain requirements.” She intended to give her orders, but felt a catch in her throat and coughed to clear it. “Find Ares and have him bring you to my private chambers in an hour. We have much to speak on.” With that, she fled back down the South Wing and into the courtyard.

  She had intended to retreat upward, but after a backward glance to be sure no soldiers watched, she chose instead to cross to the North Wing and check on Sosigenes and the others.

  Inside the North Wing, her footsteps echoed in the heavy silence. Where were they?

  She peeked into several rooms and finally found them in a smallish storage room toward the corner of the Base. It was empty of all but cobwebs and thick dust.

  If the glut of soldiers had been like ships bumping and jockeying for position in the harbor, the scholars were more like a litter of frightened kittens in an alley. They huddled together miserably in one corner, conversing in hushed whispers. At the sound of Sophia’s entrance they seemed to turn and shrink into themselves.

  Sophia held out her hands. “All is well. At least for now. They are occupied with getting settled.”

  Sosigenes struggled to his feet, always the spokesman for the group. “When do we leave for Athens?”

  Sophia approached him, clasped his hand, and lifted it to her heart. “It is not possible. The Romans are preparing for Ptolemy’s troops to attack. They won’t allow any ships in or out of the harbor without inspection. And if Caesar learns of your whereabouts—”

  One of the men on the floor, Hesiod, finished her sentence. “We will be building catapults rather than models of the planets.”

  A general grumbling rippled through the group.

  “So what are we to do?” Sosigenes asked.

  “Stay here. Work here.” Sophia looked into his eyes. “Finish the project.”

  “Here?” Sosigenes spread his hand to the empty storage room. “For two cycles of the moon?”

  “I will bring what you need. Don’t worry. I know it is not what you are accustomed to—”

  Sosigenes smiled. “I have lived in many places over my many years, dear. Some much more primitive than this. The One True God can see me wherever I hide. It is not the accommodations, but our fellow guests that cause me concern.”

  Sophia tugged a hand through her hair. “And I as well. But we will find a way.” She kissed Sosigenes lightly and promised them an improvement in their conditions, then went to find Ares and give him further instructions.

  When she finally reached the door to her chambers, she paused, following the curve of the ramp further upward with her eyes. She felt a twinge of longing to escape to the special place she’d created for herself on the first platform above her chambers, but there was no time.

  The hour until Bellus came passed quickly in her chambers, as she mapped out a plan to furnish the scholars with all they needed, and to keep the soldiers from discovering them. Ares brought her breakfast, thin slices of cheese and fresh grapes on a gold plate, but she only picked at it. She sat at her desk, facing the door, and scribbling on her charts.

  Ares’s knock came again, and still bent over her papyrus, she yelled, “Come.”

  The servant led Bellus into the room. Sophia forced her attention to remain on the chart in front of her.

  Ares cleared his throat gently. “I have the Pilus Prior you requested, mistress.” She heard the humor in his voice as he presented the Roman like a delivery of supplies.

  She waved a hand distractedly in the direction of her couches. “Yes, yes, just put him over there somewhere, Ares.”

  Moments later, when Ares was gone and Sophia looked up, she was rewarded for her rudeness with a vicious scowl.

  “I have much to attend to, if you are too busy to speak with me as you demanded.” He had not lowered himself to her couches, but stood with legs slightly apart as though facing an enemy.

  “No, no. This is fine. We can speak now. Sit, please.” She indicated the white cushions, but he did not move.

  “Ah. Now, you see, I am trying to be courteous”—she leaned back in her chair—“but you will not have it. I cannot seem to win with you, Roman.”

  “I was not aware that you were trying to win me.”

  She laughed and ran her fingers lightly over the surface of her desk. “You like to twist words, soldier.”

  “And you like to use them as weapons.”

  She licked her lips. “Yes, what was it you said? ‘A tongue sharper than a gladius.’ Was that it?”

  She studied his face. He blinked twice, and the air seemed to go out of his chest.

  “I—the men—I wanted them to leave you alone. You do not want us here, and I thought it best that they keep their distance—”

  Sophia stood and turned to one of the windows, draped in a rich red. She let the fabric flow across her palm. “And so you thought to scare them, was that it? Keep them away from the monster in the tower?”

  He did not reply.

  She watched the harbor below for some moments, and when she turned back to Bellus, she found him surveying her chambers. The heavy sycamore tables and chairs, the expensive sculptures of Isis and Serapis, the wall niches crowded with her books.

  “You think me a wealthy woman, no doubt. You are envious?”

  Bellus jutted his chin toward the stacks of scrolls, her histories, philosophy, poems, and plays. “There is where your wealth lies, and the only thing you possess that I would want.”

  She sat heavily, flattened her palm on her desk again, and closed her eyes. She did not need this Roman to tell her she had nothing but books to offer. Yet still, it hurt. “Am I so terrible?” she said softly and lifted her face to his. “Do you suppose there is no hope for me, then?”

  She saw the bewilderment pass over his face like a shadow, then clear and leave a small smile in its passing. “ ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ ”

  A Roman soldie
r who quoted Socrates? Sophia felt his smile as though it had reached across and stroked her cheek. She stood and pointed to the charts on her desk. “If you and your barbarians are to remain for any time in my lighthouse, there will need to be specific plans.”

  Bellus crossed the room to her desk. “Someday,” he said quietly, “I will tell you of Rome. And you will see that we are not all the barbarians you would like to believe.”

  “Then prove it.” She jabbed a finger at the papyrus. “Show me that your men can behave according to standards.”

  They leaned together over the lists and charts she had created, and Sophia issued her orders as though she were Pilus Prior. Bellus said little but nodded occasionally. When she had finished, she rolled the papyrus and handed it to him. “You understand that I must be made aware of anything that goes on here, and the men are restricted to only those areas which I have sanctioned?”

  Bellus took it from her hand but kept his attention on her eyes, and spoke more softly still. “I believe I understand you perfectly.”

  Sophia swallowed, rubbed the back of her neck, and nodded. “Then you may go.”

  Bellus saluted her, that same mocking salute he’d given her on the docks, and turned to leave. At the door he called back to her, where she had collapsed onto her chair. “Let me know when you are ready to hear of Rome. I will come at once.”

  He had only been gone a few moments when Ares appeared. “I like him,” he announced, as though she had asked his opinion.

  Sophia looked out the window but could see only the blue sky at this angle. “Because he’s the only other human besides you who doesn’t seem to fear me.”

  Ares laughed. “Perhaps. But perhaps because I think there is a chance, only a chance, that you have met your match. And that the Pilus Prior is exactly what you are lacking.”

  “Did you come for a reason, Ares?”

  He grew serious. “I do not see how we can make this work. Already the soldiers are tramping about the lighthouse. I am trying to bring in supplies for the scholars, but the servants keep bumping into the soldiers, who are, of course, too stupid to ask questions, but eventually one of them—”