The Reincarnationist Page 16

  He knew the answer. It would be a worse death for them to be alive and not to be together. To walk the same earth and never touch, never whisper about what mattered to them, never sink into the ecstasy that their bodies offered them.

  The long, silent part of the walk over, Lucas and Julius came out of the far end of the cemetery and into the clearing. A temple, with a rounded dome supported by a dozen fluted columns, stood in the center of a field of flat grass, surrounded by a garden that contained only low-lying plants. There were no trees within earshot.

  Nevertheless, they circled the temple.

  “I don’t think we’ve been followed,” Julius said.

  “We have plans to make,” Lucas said once they settled down under the temple’s tiled dome. “And soon. The rumors are that the emperor has a new initiative.”

  “A harsher one?”

  He nodded. “The bishop from Milan has been here and they have worked out the next phase of the cleansing.”

  “Do you know what this one will include?”

  “All forms of pagan worship will be completely banned, including private religious rites, though we know there’s no way to enforce this. The emperor will decree that no sacrifice will be permitted anywhere in the city, including inside our own homes. We won’t be allowed to light votive candles, burn lamps, offer wine or incense, or hang wreaths to our genius or to our household gods—Lars and Penates. All of these will be treasonable offenses, like the divining of entrails or burnt offerings.

  “Even tying a ribbon around a tree or adoration of a statue will be outlawed and, I was told, will be punishable by property loss. And worse. This decree will sanctify our destruction in the name of their god.”

  “How much longer before all this is written into law?”

  “A month? Two? I’m afraid that in less than a year there won’t be any temples standing. There won’t be any of our priests left.”

  Neither of them spoke for several minutes—Julius because he was stunned by the enormity of the changes; Lucas because he was depleted by repeating them.

  “We can’t give in,” Julius said. “We need to fight back.”

  “We’re outnumbered by thousands.”

  “You’re giving up?”

  “I’m talking to you. I’m trying to figure it out. I just don’t think we have any chance of taking them on in hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Outsmarting them, then?” Julius asked.

  “If there is a way.”

  “At least we can protect our relics from the looters. Safeguard them so that once this is over and we are back in power we can restore them to where they belong. Then we can leave.”

  “When this is over and we are back in power? You’re optimistic. I’m not so sure, Julius.”

  “Then we’ll start over somewhere else and wait. This emperor won’t live forever. His successor can snap his fingers and reinstate our religion as quickly as Theodosius has made the new religion the law. This isn’t about lofty ideals. This is politics, and politics are capricious.”

  The Pontifex nodded at the younger priest in a way that made Julius think of and remember his father. “Of course you’re right. There’s always a chance. But when you’re smart enough to combine politics and religion in the way the emperor has, you don’t just change laws. You change people’s minds. Theodosius is playing on our citizens’ fear of the unknown. In each new speech he reminds them that only by honoring him and his new religion will they be ensured a place in the afterlife. That if they don’t, they will be damned to hell—a hell he describes as more horrific each time he speaks of it. He’s succeeding in terrorizing everyone. Every citizen is frightened, not just for what will happen to them when they are alive, but what’s going to happen to them and their loved ones after they die. People are afraid to disobey him. By combining the new religion with the secular law he has increased his power tenfold.”

  A warm breeze wafted over them. Julius wished they could use it to blow away the changes that were threatening their way of life. He took in the familiar landscape, wondering if the future would be kind to this place of peace or if the cemetery would befall the same fate that some of the temples had already endured.

  There was some movement in one of the cypresses in the distance. But the wind had died down. Julius touched the Pontifex’s arm and nodded his head toward what he’d seen.

  A few seconds later, the branches moved again.

  And then, in another tree, a branch swayed.

  In whispers, Julius and Lucas assessed the situation.

  How many spies were there, waiting for them to leave the safety of the temple? What was their mission? Were they prepared to attack, or was this just a sortie to find out what they could about the priests’ plans?

  “Should we risk it?” Lucas asked, nodding toward the escape hatch that was all but invisible in the complicated tile floor unless you knew where to look for it.

  “If they already know we’re here and then we disappear, they might discover our underground tunnels. We can’t risk that. We’re going to need those tunnels to get out of Rome if it comes to that.”

  “You’re right. We’ll wait. Even if it means staying here till morning. There will be enough people out and around then that we’ll be safe. Our city is still not at the point where it’s acceptable to murder two high priests in broad daylight. At least, I hope not.”

  The rest of the night passed slowly. Even after there was no obvious movement, the two men were too cautious to leave the safety of the temple until daybreak, so, in whispers, they strategized.

  As a plan evolved, it became obvious that if they were cautious and quick, there was a possibility they could save what was precious to them to rebuild their religion in another land—and perhaps, one day, resurrect it in Rome.

  Each sacred treasure must be entrusted to one priest or one Vestal as befitted his or her rank, who would, when the time came, sneak it out of Rome. Traveling alone or, at the most, in pairs, they would all rendezvous at a central location far outside the city and then, as a group, find a safe haven.

  “Who should we entrust the Palladium to?” Julius asked. “It has to be a priest.” The sculpture of Athena, her right hand carrying a raised lance, her left a distaff and spindle, was over three feet high. “It’s too heavy for any of the Vestals.”

  Carved from wood, colored with paint made from powdered lapis lazuli and malachite, and decorated with gold leaf, she astounded everyone who looked upon her. The artist had somehow been able to imbue the immobile face with both compassion and strength. That and the history of the statue made it one of their most historic treasures: the powerful replica had been rescued from Troy by Aeneas and was purported to assure the ongoing safety of Rome. She was their luck. Without her blessing on their journey, the superstitious among them would fear for their success

  “I think Drago should take it,” Lucas said, naming Julius’s brother.

  “He’d be honored.”

  Next, the Pontifex assigned the two other wooden statues in the repository along with the provisions for the household gods, the Penates—ashes of unborn calves, mixed with the blood of horses from chariot races.

  A half hour later, they had reached the end of the list. There was only one treasure left, and there was no question that Lucas himself would be responsible for that. Why hadn’t his mentor delegated any of the objects to Julius? Despite his efforts not to be, he was disappointed. Why had he been shunned? There was only one reason he could think of.

  Somehow, Lucas had found out about Sabina and knew that Julius might not live many days after his lover if it was discovered he was the father of her child. Law dictated that the man who committed the crime of taking a Vestal’s virginity also be punished by death. Right now, though, dying was an abstraction. Not being given one of the sacred objects to save was a real humiliation.

  He looked out at the horizon to the faintest dusting of golden morning light. Julius knew he was behaving like a child, allowing his pers
onal feelings to interfere with monumental issues that threatened their way of life. They were facing a crisis the likes of which none of them could imagine, and he was jealous of his own brother and his fellow priests because they had been given more responsibility?

  “We can go soon to start another difficult day,” Lucas said, nodding toward the dawn. “But there’s still one more treasure.”

  In the penus—the Vestals’ inner storeroom and the best protected room of the house—a carved box containing the Memory Stones was reported to be buried under the floor. The exact location was a secret that had been passed on from one generation of elders—the head priest and priestess—to the next, and after so many centuries, some thought the stones were only legend.

  “You believe they’re real?”

  “I believe they are there. What their power might be, I don’t know. No one has seen them in hundreds of years.”

  “But you know where they are?”

  Lucas smiled. “I know where they are supposed to be. So does the head priestess.”

  It was said that every time there had been a fire—and there had been many—the reigning Pontifex had made sure the Vestals’ house had been resurrected identically to the old structure so that the penus remained in the same spot. In this way the treasure could be found if it was ever deemed appropriate to dig it up.

  Months ago, in the sacred grove, Sabina had told him that they should steal those stones and run away. As head priestess, she knew where the spot was. He remembered that day now—how he had left the city that morning fearful, thinking that the threat they were under couldn’t be worse. How they had made love in the shadows of the trees and bathed in the pond. How he’d found out she was carrying his child. Carrying a baby and a death sentence. All in one.

  “You will, of course, take the stones,” Julius said.

  Lucas shook his head. “Anyone who guesses what we’re planning will presume I’ll take responsibility for the most precious objects, which is what I want everyone to think. That’s why I’ll disappear first. There will be chaos. Rumors will start that I’ve taken the stones. Next, the Vestals and senior priests, everyone except for you, will flee. All remaining suspicion and conjecture will go with them. By then our treasury will be empty. It will appear everything of value is gone. No one will suspect the greatest treasure remains behind. That’s when you’ll go.”

  For a moment the pressure lifted. Lucas had anointed him. His skin tingled and his head swam with the idea that he was going to be the first man in so many years to touch them.

  According to the legend, the stones had been part of a cache of treasures dug up in Egypt during the infamous grave-robbing siege of Dynasty Twenty, where they had been discovered in Ramses III’s coffers. Next they became the property of the Nubian King Piankh/Piye of Kush, who came from Sudan, conquered the various kingdoms of Egypt, and founded the Nubian dynasty. Stolen from that king by a deposed member of Egyptian royalty, the stones next were given to Numa Pompilius, the second King of Rome, as a tribute by the prince who had requested sanctuary.

  When Numa received them, it was well known that the stones were an ancient aid to remembering past lives. But the mystery of how to use the stones had been lost long before. Visibly, each was inscribed with symbols, but no one in Numa’s court had been able to make sense out of them. He offered a large purse as a prize, and scholars traveled far distances to try their hand at interpreting the markings. Failure only made Numa more determined to unlock the stones’ powers.

  Yes, he wanted to know the secrets of his past so his soul could find peace, but he was also desperate to use the tools to garner power and wealth, to find all the treasures and mysteries that had long been lost to civilization.

  Each year he increased the size of the prize, and by the time of his death, the award was rumored to be one full quarter of his wealth—but still no one could decipher the markings on the stones and unleash their powers.

  Numa Pompilius believed, as many did, that after he died he would one day return in another body to live and rule in Rome again. If he couldn’t learn from the stones in his present lifetime, he wanted to ensure he’d have a second chance in the next. So, shortly before his death, he announced that he’d appointed two women, Gezania and Verenia, to protect the sacred hearth and make sure its flames remained burning so that Rome would be assured the benefit of fire. He named the priestesses Vestals after the goddess, Vesta; gave them honors and great power; decreed they would remain pure and set up rules of progression so their order would continue far into the future.

  But guarding the fire was only the cover for the real reason Numa ordained the women: their holy contract with him was to guard the sacred stones after his death. He also made it a crime, punishable by death, for a man to take a Vestal’s virginity. If, he thought, he could make men fear the women, it would keep them from entering their inner sanctum; thus, the stones would remain safe.

  It was one thing to keep the men away from the women. It was yet another to guarantee the women would not invite men into their house. So Numa not only made their virginity sacrosanct, he ordained that a Virgin’s punishment for breaking her vow of celibacy would be her own slow death by suffocation.

  Numa’s last act of caution to ensure that his precious hoard would remain untouched until his rebirth was to start rumors that the stones were cursed and that anyone who even tried to find them would be afflicted by unforgetting everything that was meant to stay forgotten and be haunted for all the days of his life with waking nightmares.

  All these years later, that curse still hung over the stones. Romans were superstitious people. No man had invaded the Vestals’ house. Even those virgins who, like Sabina, broke their vows and gave in to love or lust, did so outside the residence.

  As far as anyone knew, the stones, if indeed they had ever existed, were buried there still.

  Like Julius, Lucas stared out into the sky, watching the pale orange and light blue morning emerge.

  “How soon do you think we should leave?”

  “Seven or eight weeks. No longer if we want to be safe.”

  That was close to when Sabina would give birth. It would be dangerous to leave just when the baby was due. Either they needed to leave before or wait until well after.

  Soon it would be bright enough for him and Lucas to venture out from the safety of the temple. In the few minutes left to them, Julius knew he had to tell his mentor and friend the truth. Sabina had been able to hide her growing secret under the more voluminous cloak she now wore all the time, but that was becoming more and more difficult. If they were going to try to escape, instead of Sabina going into hiding at her sister’s house, which was one of their plans, he needed Lucas’s help, not his umbrage at being kept ignorant.

  Will he understand and protect us? What if he won’t? I can’t be afraid. I have to trust him, take the risk and confide in him. If I am going to save Sabina I must have Lucas’s help.

  “I can’t go if it means leaving Sabina behind.”

  Lucas didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Julius felt the first rush of fear.

  “You’re like a son to me. I’ve known you since you were a child. Did you think I didn’t know about you and Sabina?”

  Julius was momentarily stunned.

  “But you never said anything.”

  “What was there to say? Would you have listened to me?”

  Julius almost smiled—but there was more to tell him. And he was sure Lucas didn’t know the rest.

  “And I can’t just walk out of the city with her and my child by my side and the stones in my pocket.”

  Lucas nodded like a condemned man accepting a sentence. “The worry of that possibility has kept me up many nights.” He was silent for a few moments, thinking. “Everything is falling apart around us. The times are confused. Maybe we can use Sabina’s pregnancy to our advantage. It might be just the thing to make it appear that we are following the rules when in reality we will be smashing them to pieces.
”

  Julius felt the first stirrings of hope he’d had in months.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, the two priests walked down the steps of the temple out in the open. Without incident they reached the cemetery’s summit and the large bronze statue of Augustus Caesar. His shimmering shoulders looked powerful enough to hold up the world.

  Lucas gestured to him as they passed by. “There were a hundred years of civil war before he took over. Maybe you’re right about the tides turning again in our lifetime.”

  They all knew what their first Roman emperor had done. They were the lucky recipients of his efforts. The currency system, highways, postal service, bridges, aqueducts and many of the buildings that he had built still stood. The greatest writers: Virgil, Horace, Ovid and Livy, whose works were still read, all had lived in Caesar’s reign.

  “Under his rule we wouldn’t need to run and hide,” Julius said.

  “We’re going to take this into our own hands now, we’re going to survive.”

  “And when—”

  The force of the first rock, coming from such a distance, threw Julius off balance. The second felled him.

  “Julius? Julius? Can you hear me?”

  It was an effort to make sense of what Lucas was saying.

  “Julius?”

  He forced himself to open his eyes and instantly felt searing pain over his right eyebrow.

  “You were hit. You’re bleeding badly.”

  Lucas leaned over the younger priest, peering into his face anxiously. But to Julius, he was going in and out of focus. He closed his eyes.

  “Julius?”

  His head throbbed.

  “Julius?”

  This time he opened his eyes and kept them open.

  “What happened?”

  “They must have been waiting for us the whole night, waiting in the trees to cut us off.”

  Julius fought off a wave of dizziness. The thicket of cypress where the men must have been hiding was a perfect camouflage. Of course, two or three men could stand within the curtain of their heavy foliage and appear invisible. If you didn’t know they were there you would never guess to look for them.