Dream Boat (16 page)

the peacock mosaic to the atrium, to the great Nile fresco which covered the wall. Egyptians! To whom the land where the sun sets, the land to the west, represents the dark realm of death. The underworld. Goddammit, the
land of the Westerners.

Her eyes scanned upwards. Beyond the yawning hippos and the thrashing crocodiles. Beyond elegant papyrus plants, date palms and soaring pyramids. Higher, even, than the disc which represented Ra himself. Because there, in the top right-hand corner, was what she was looking for. Stylised symbols of birds, of human body parts, of animals proliferated in meaningless, vertical blocks, but there, nestling between the owl and the foot, was the hieroglyph Claudia had sought. The eye. The painted eye of the falcon god, Horus, the sacred emblem of the Pharaoh.

Not brothers of whores, you clot. No wonder it made no bloody sense - Flea had misheard.

Flavia had talked about that self-styled mystical cult who called themselves 'The Brothers of Horus'.

There was an Egyptian connection, after all.

The cult's headquarters comprised two rooms on the top floor of an apartment block in the artisan quarter of the Viminal, right on the corner where Pear Street meets the herbalist's. To advertise its presence, a stylised kohl-rimmed eye - the Eye of Horus - complete with trademark 'teardrop' was painted on the outside a full cubit high. Claudia paused in the alleyway where, thanks to towering six-storey buildings, the sun never penetrated and cricked her neck upwards. The lines were strong, the colours fresh on the giant almond eye which stared out across the city with such haughty indifference and, as she pressed her way up the stairs through the breakfast bustle, Claudia dredged up what few snippets she'd gleaned about this mystical religious body.

An Egyptian called Mentu, in an imagined belief that his claim to the royal throne had been usurped, had set up his own court sixty or so miles north-west of Rome. Here, styling himself Pharaoh Mentu I, he rigidly practised all things Egyptian, from civil law to agriculture, religion to apparel and Rome - ever tolerant of free speech and foreign religions -laughed its pixie boots off.

'Silly bugger,' they hooted. 'Hasn't he heard Egypt joined the Empire? The province has been ours these eighteen years!'

And far from putting a stop to Mentu's practices, Rome set him up as a laughing stock, the butt of a million jokes in which he was derided as a harmless, gormless fool. And that was pretty well the limit of Claudia's knowledge. From time to time, she'd seen his followers shaking sistrums and spreading what they called 'The Word of Ra' and had dismissed them

as mindless automatons. They might style themselves the Brothers of Horus; Claudia preferred the term Pyramidiots!

This being the school holidays, the stairs of the apartment block rang with the clump of eager little feet, with bouncing balls and rolling hoops, a dropped marble here, a toy soldier there, women bustling home with loaves hot from the baker's, jugs of wine from the taverns. Men in stained work tunics blew hurried kisses to their wives and ruffled the heads of their children as they skidded down the corridor, their satchels slung over their shoulders, scurrying off to work. On the top floor, Claudia leaned against the rail to get her breath back. It was quieter up here, the only traffic being a rheumy-eyed crone in black widow's weeds setting off with her market basket in the crook of her elbow, and an old greying mongrel nibbling at his flea bites. Advancing towards the Brothers' door, the appetising aromas of fried sausages and fresh bread which had accompanied her up the stairwell were beaten back by the smoke of incense resin.

'Sister!' A moon-faced youth whose eyes were rimmed with green malachite bade her welcome. 'Join us, we beseech you, for the end of prayers.'

Typical fanatic. Entrenched in his own beliefs, not interested in anyone else. Didn't occur to him that she might want, say, the door of the goldbeater's assistant, or had he seen her missing tabby cat?

'Come.' In his pleated white kilt, held in place by a broad knotted sash, the boy beckoned for Claudia to follow. 'We make our devotions back here.'

Her eyes took in the sparse furnishings, the unpainted white plaster, the simple rush stools. Flavia had opted for
this?
Two tables and three plain wooden chests lined one wall, with a rough stove in the corner over which a variety of meat hooks and ladles hung higgledy-piggledy above cauldrons and skillets. Jars and pots stood askew on a shelf, their dribbled contents left to harden and stick in thick runnels, much to the delight of the flies. Her eyes swivelled to the five mattresses which lined the right-hand wall, two not slept in, and

a washbasin full of water you could not see your reflection in, which stood guard at the end.

'Hail to thee, Ra, in thy rising,' intoned a voice from the room which had so far been obscured by choking incense smoke.

'Mine eyes adore thee,' answered the moon-faced youth, placing the palms of his hands together in reverence. A second acolyte, a girl, adopted an identical position, her eyes closed tight in piety, while the third member of the trio - the speaker - appeared to be sprinkling water on something with his fingertips. All Claudia could see clearly through the gloom was that his head, eyebrows and chest were shaven.

'Gladden,' said the priest, 'our hearts with the Vessel of Dreams, the Barque of One Million Years. Blessed be the Boat of the Morning.'

Boat? Halfway up the Viminal Hill, this man's talking boats? But incredibly, as her eyes adjusted to the darkened room and swirling smoke, Claudia realised that - yes, on the top floor of this six-storey apartment block and some half a mile from the river, there was indeed a boat filling up the whole of the back room!

And not just any old boat!

She coughed, perhaps from the fumes, perhaps from the vision which crystallised before her. Its high prow covered in gold and its ribs inset with amethysts and pearls and lapis lazuli, the vessel glowed luminescent in the darkened back room, and the curls of smoke from braziers which dotted the floor were like eddies of water, blue and swirling, carrying the boat on their tide.

'O Living Lord, rest thy rays upon thy servants.'

If Midas himself had owned a yacht, it wouldn't have been half as spectacular as this, and now she understood what had attracted Flavia. And it was not a life of rustic simplicity! Overhead, the star-spangled ceiling glittered with silver and gold, and the blue of the walls was so dark as to be almost black, highlighting reliefs of gilt and copper and bronze.

'The events depicted on these walls,' the bald priest explained,

'show Ra's journey through the dark Realm of the Night. Over here -' a manicured hand swept to the left - 'his battle with the Great Serpent who waits nightly to devour him, and over here -' the hand swept to the right - 'his journey through the Twelve Great Gates of the Underworld. I am Zer. Will you break fast with us?'

Claudia recalled the dirty jugs and bowl of filthy water. 'Love to.'

The female acolyte tossed handfuls of rose petals into the barque's prow, extinguished one by one the bowls of smoke and, reversing reverentially, closed the door of the back room behind her.

Zer pulled up a rush stool and indicated for her to be seated. 'You wish to join the Brothers of Horus, that you may enter the Fields of the Blessed through the path of resurrection?'

Whoever called life a learning curve was right. Claudia had just forgotten how steep it was in places. 'I do indeed.'

'You swear to abide by the laws and the customs of Egypt?'

'Yes.'

'To worship Ra, through his son on earth, Osiris, our own Pharaoh, Mentu?'

Talk about a man with a split personality! 'Naturally.'

'And you are prepared to renounce your life, your family, your friends, the Roman pantheon?'

'I am.'

Humility, she'd decided, was the key. Awed as she had been by the riches hidden away in the back room, she'd quickly noticed that the two acolytes, glowing with righteousness as they were, said nothing. The pair were content to watch the priest, mirror his actions and gaze adoringly at him, reminding her of dogs trained to perform tricks. Except there was a sinister feel to their adulation. That they would be prepared to go to any lengths to protect their lord.
Any lengths at all.

At the priest's nod, the boy passed her a beaker of black, foaming beer and the girl handed round platters of flat bread and cheese. Despite his name and exotic taste in barbering,

Claudia suspected that Zer was not actually of Egyptian extraction. She glanced again at the soft, well-manicured hands, so much at odds with their simplistic surroundings. Zer was patently not averse to a bit of pampering from time to time! So then. Not Egyptian, not an ascetic and not a fanatic like these other two. Claudia sensed a sharpness about this shaven-headed priest. A probing quality. Assuming this building was the funnel for sending new recruits off to the commune, then Zer was the man doing the pouring.

'We are proud of the society we have built,' he said, tearing off a chunk of the bread, 'and the barque which honours Ra.'

Barque? I'll say you're barking!

'It is never too late to purge the heart of its sins, to fill it with goodness and truth.' He gulped at his beer, wiping the froth away with the back of his hand. 'I assure you, you will not regret joining.'

Damn right. The sooner I clap hands on Flavia and bring her home, the quicker Junius will be free of his death sentence. Already this was Friday. Executions were scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Time was fast running out.

While Zer explained about the council of the Ten True Gods, their role in the Judgement of both the Living and the Dead and how, through them, the heart would find purity to weigh light at the Balance, Claudia studied the transfixed acolytes from the corner of her eye. The boy's Caesar haircut marked him out as the scion of a well-to-do family, as did the girl's cosseted complexion and, as though a beacon had been lit, Claudia saw Zer's reason for targeting that particular corner of the Forum to sing Ra's praises. Coincidence? That this spot just happens to be where the young blooms of patrician families hung out to exchange news and gossip over an open-air goblet of wine? I don't think so!

'How quickly might I be able to join you?' she whispered.

'Sister.' Zer took both her hands in his and gazed deep into her eyes. 'It is obvious you have problems.' His voice was low and mesmeric. 'But once you devote yourself to Ra, these problems will be as dust upon the wind.'

'It's my stepfather. Since my divorce -' she kept her lashes well lowered - 'he's been pressuring me to sign a contract to marry his own son, that he might get his hands on my inheritance.'

'Ah.' Something flashed in the priest's eyes, and he began to take a closer interest in the quality of her gown, the rings which decorated her fingers, the emeralds which hung from her pendant. 'I see.' He smiled, and she thought, I'll bet you do!

He shuffled his stool closer and topped up her beer.

'Under Egyptian law,' he smiled oilily, 'men and women share equal rights and since we have abolished slavery in our commune, there are no constraints on who one might marry, a craftsman, a dentist, a poet, if that's who takes your fancy. Alternatively, should you wish, my child, there's no pressure to re-marry at all. Indeed, most of the ladies who join us do not take a husband, while others -' he paused, assessing again the jewels and the gemstones. 'Others might be chosen by Mentu to become his wife.'

'He has more than one?'

'The Pharaoh can take a hundred wives, if he so desires. It is the supreme honour, my dear, afforded to very few, to become a true bride of Ra.'

Claudia's heart began to pound. Assuming her suppositions were on target, any minute now and he'd broach the subject of money.

'There is, of course, the little matter of the Solar Fund.'

Good boy! 'The Solar Fund?' she asked guilelessly.

'The community is self-contained,' Zer explained. 'It is the temple which requires upkeep and naturally the greater one's contribution, the more favourably Ra smiles upon his servant.'

Naturally, indeed!

'This is entirely a voluntary contribution, you understand.' The smile became more unctuous still. 'New members are under no obligation to make a donation, although if they do, it is wise to remember that the sacred metal of Ra is gold.'

Another brick fell into place: the reason why the ransom had to be paid in gold.

'Oh, dear.' Claudia placed her hands together, the way the acolytes had done earlier. 'I have precious little by way of liquid assets - my stepfather, you know . . . Spent it all.' Careful, now. Don't overdo it. 'On the other hand, I have an olive grove in Campania and vineyards which stretch across three hills in Frascati. Would they be acceptable, do you think?'

The priest all but licked his lips. 'More than,' he said, adding with a reassuring pat on her hand, 'Ra's gratitude will be warmly rewarding, I assure you.'

Believe me, Zer, I am assured! Men and women might have equal rights in the land of Mentu and the commune might be self-sufficient, but a girl doesn't need to be a Socrates to work out that those who contributed handsomely to the Solar Fund were not the ones who worked the fields and toiled all night kneading dough in the bake house!