Legend

XIV

Donnchadh and Gwalcmai didn’t know it, but they were standing in the exact same spot where Aspasia’s Shadow’s chair had been placed during the siege of Jerusalem. Now there was little other than mounds of dirt where parapets had been placed to show this had been the camp for a Roman legion. Looking across the valley, there was little to indicate that a large city had once occupied that location either, except for massive stone blocks that constituted the base of what had once been Solomon’s Temple.

“The Romans are as good at tearing down as they are at building,” Gwalcmai noted.

“The last report from the Wedjat of Jerusalem said that the Grail was hidden underneath the Temple,” Donnchadh said.

“And that report was over fifty years old,” Gwalcmai. “It seems that the information might be a bit outdated.”

It had taken them three years to make the journey from Rome to Judea because of Donnchadh’s untimely death at the hands of pirates off the coast of Greece. Gwalcmai had recovered her ka, buried the body on a stony hillside overlooking the Aegean, then been forced to return all the way to England and their ship under Stonehenge to implant her memories in the waiting clone.

He’d had to brief her on all they had experienced in Romeas they once more took passage to the south and east. It was a strained voyage, as both were now experiencing the out-of synch sensation of the multiple and disjointed lives they’d been leading. They bypassed Rome and headed straight for Judea, but it was obvious that the delay had been far too long.

There was a Roman garrison on one of the hills that had been Jerusalem, but beyond that, there was little to indicate that a city of hundreds of thousands of people had once existed there. The valley below them was littered with the bones of many of those people, picked clean by scavengers and time.

“Do you think the Grail is still underneath the Temple?” Gwalcmai asked.

“No.”

“You seem certain of that.”

Donnchadh pointed at the destruction. “Do you think this was all by chance?”

Gwalcmai didn’t have to mull that over very long. “Aspasia’s Shadow. He goes by the Roman name Tacitus.”

“And he is now with the Tenth Legion at a place called Masada, laying siege to the last of the zealots.”

“One would assume he would only be there if the Grail was,” Gwalcmai said.

Donnchadh shouldered her pack. “Let’s go.”

Masada is an isolated rock on the edge of the Judean Desert and the Dead Sea Valley, a most inhospitable location, even for a part of the world that is not very favorable to life. It towered over the surrounding terrain and there were only four ways to the top, all narrow and difficult to climb. The defenders of the rock had blocked three of the paths up and placed their defenses around the one remainingroute, known as the “snake path” because of its winding and torturous ascent.

The fortress on top had first been built by King Herod as a refuge in case of revolt and because of fear of invasion by Cleopatra. The Romans occupied the hilltop in the early stages of the Jewish revolt, then Menahem, Eleazer’s uncle, seized the fortress from the Romans. It was the perfect place for Eleazer to bring his surviving followers.

Naturally the Romans eventually followed. With Jerusalem sacked and the countryside scoured of rebels, Masada was the last holdout. It was isolated and the zealots there not really a threat, but Tacitus had spent months urging the new Roman governor Flavius Silva, to destroy this last pocket of resistance.

It was easier said than done.

For two years the Tenth Legion sweltered in the desert around Masada, laying siege to the place, believing they could starve Eleazer and his zealots out. But as the seasons came and went, the Judeans on top of the mountain showed no sign of starving.

Accepting the futility of waiting and the danger of mass desertions from the Tenth, Silva decided he would have to take the battle to the top of the mountain. Construction was begun on a massive assault ramp to reach from the desert floor to the walls of the citadel on top of the rock. Tens of thousands of enslaved Jews were put to work on the construction of the ramp and many perished during the work.

By the time Donnchadh and Gwalcmai arrived, traveling with one of the resupply columns of merchants, the ramp had reached the top of the rock and a battering ram was being assembled to be pulled up the ramp. Hiding among the merchants and camp followers, Donnchadh and Gwalcmai watched the next day as the ram was hauled by slaves toward the top. It desperation the zealots opened fire with spear and arrow against the slaves, trying to stop the ascent. The Romans responded in kind.

It was a losing proposition for the defenders, as Flavius had an almost inexhaustible supply of slaves and no concern about their losses. A dead slave’s body was simply shoved over the side of the ramp to the desert floor and another slave was sent to take the casualty’s place.

Gwalcmai watched the procedure with the detachment of the professional soldier. “They’ll break through tomorrow morning,” he predicted as the ram finally reached the outer wall of the mountaintop fortress and was secured in place. “Unless those inside attack. Which might be what the Romans are hoping for. It’s a losing proposition for those inside.”

Donnchadh’s attention was elsewhere. She was watching the small tower near the base of the ramp on which a group of Roman officers were gathered. “Aspasia’s Shadow is there.” She shook her head. “All this bloodshed over the Grail. We should have left it in the Hall of Records.”

“I think this bloodshed would be happening even if the Grail wasn’t involved,” Gwalcmai said. He rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. “I need to be among the first to enter in the morning.”

“And how will you do that?” Donnchadh asked.

“Become one of them,” he said, with a nod toward the Roman camp.

The tinge of redness in the east indicated relief from The burning rays of the sun was soon to end. And on that day it brought the promise of death as the sound of armor being put on and swords sharpened filled the Roman camp. There was also a distinct air of anticipation as every single man in the Legion wanted to get as far away from this forsaken place as possible after two miserable years laying siege to it. There was no doubt there would be no quarter given to the Jews in the hilltop fortress and the Roman officers knew it. Their men were too full of rage over what they had experienced the past couple of years to be held back.

Gwalcmai knew armies and, after stealing the proper equipment, he had no problem infiltrating the Romans, moving his way forward, toward the first units forming at the base of the ramp. He could see Aspasia’s Shadow in the small tower along with Flavius and the other senior Roman officers.

Before the sun broke the horizon, the first cohorts moved up the ramp as archers took their positions to give covering fire. Pretending to be a courier, Gwalcmai took his place between the lead cohorts. The sound of ropes creaking under pressure echoed against the mountainside as the heavy catapults were loaded.

Gwalcmai could feel sweat begin to rise on his skin as he made his way up the ramp. There was the smell of death in the air from the most recent corpses that had been shoved over the side and carrion-eaters squawked in protest as a few Roman archers let bolts fly at them. The front line of legionnaires reached the rear of the ram and halted, going to one knee and bringing up their shields to protect themselves. Whips cracked as overseers forced the gathered slaves to their feet.

The heavy ram began to swing back and forth, gaining distance as the slaves put their muscle into the movement in time with the yells of the head overseer. After a minute it hit the stone wall with a light thud, bouncing back. The head overseer was an expert, having battered down the walls of Jerusalem and many other cities and towns. He used the rebound off the wall and the effort of the slaves to increase the backward momentum. The ram came forward, its iron headslamming the stone with more force. Again and again the ram hit, the sound echoing out over the desert floor.

Still there was no attack from inside the fortress.

After a while, the Roman archers could no longer keep the tension on their bows and they were ordered to stand by. Pressure was also released a bit on the catapults for fear of ruining the ropes. A low mutter of unease rippled through the ranks of soldiers massed on the ramp. Not that they weren’t grateful not to be fired at, but soldiers distrusted the unusual and their minds turned to wondering what devilment the Jews inside Masada had waiting for them once they breached the wall, since the Jews obviously weren’t going to try to stop the ram.

A block of stone splintered and fell out of place.

The overseer increased their speed and soon more blocks were falling away. A pair of slaves was smashed as a particularly large one tumbled on top of them. The bodies were tossed over the side and two more were sent to take their places on the ropes.

Donnchadh initially watched the attack from the traders’ camp. There were bets being wagered as to the exact time that the ram would break through the wall. Some of the older traders were a bit perplexed that there was no apparent resistance from inside the fortress. It was throwing off their estimates and money was going to be lost.

Donnchadh edged forward, closer to the base of the ramp near a pile of rocks where she had told Gwalcmai she would meet him. She wanted to be up there, close to the Grail. A chill passed through her and she turned slightly, toward the command tower.

Aspasia’s Shadow was staring directly at her, his dark eyes boring into her. She pulled the hood of her cloak tighteraround her face, but he did not shift his gaze. Donnchadh began edging backward through the watching crowd.

She became completely still when she felt the point of a dagger pressed against the base of her spine.

“He knows you do not belong here,” a hoarse voice whispered in her ear. “But then again, neither do I.”

The center of the wall crumbled and the overseer of the ram cried out for the slaves to slow the swinging, eventually bringing the ram to a halt. It was trundled back from the hole it had punched as the archers brought their bows up and aimed at the breach. Three volleys of arrows were fired blindly through the hole as a precaution, but still there was no reaction.

Gwalcmai made his way forward, into the ranks of the lead cohort that was to enter the fortress.

Donnchadh kept her body still as she turned her head to look at whoever was behind her. All she could see was a figure wrapped in a black robe with black cloth even covering his face.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Vampyr. We’ve met before. Surely you remember.”

The Romans poured through the breach, swords at the ready. Gwalcmai was among them, his own sword out. The beads of sweat on his skin had turned to small rivulets and he shook his head, spraying sweat to either side. He bumped into the soldier in front of him and stopped, realizing that the assault force had come to a complete halt, which was quite unusual, considering there was no sound of fighting. Elbowing his way to a vantage point, Gwalcmai was able to see the courtyard of the fortress and what had caused such a response from the Romans.

The ground was littered with bodies. Grouped in family clumps. Arms around each other in many cases. The ground below each group was soaked with blood.

“Mars help us,” the Roman next to Gwalcmai muttered.

Gwalcmai blinked sweat out of his eyes. He realized he was breathing too hard, close to hyperventilating. He had seen this before. He had seen his own family like this.

What do you want?”

“Do not worry,” Vampyr said, as he eased up the pressure of the dagger against her. “You saved me, so I owe you your life.”

“What do you want?” Donnchadh repeated.

“Is the Grail up there?”

Donnchadh hesitated. The pressure from the weapon increased.

“Tell me,” Vampyr insisted.

“No.”

“You lie,” Vampyr said. “You would not be here otherwise.”

Donnchadh gasped in pain as the point of the knife entered her back, just to the left of her spine. Vampyr ripped the dagger to the left, tearing through her internal organs. Donnchadh collapsed to her knees and looked up at Vampyr as blood flowed from her body. “You said you owed me my life.”

“I lied.”

Gwalcmai blindly walked down the ramp, not really noticing the Romans moving up it. He was not alone, as there were other stunned soldiers coming down, not answering the questions of those heading in the other direction. He reached the bottom of the ramp and walked through the camp to the rock where he had left Donnchadh.

His shock at what he had just seen in Masada was penetrated by the vision of her lying in a pool of blood. He rushed up, dropping to his knees next to her.

“What happened?”

“Vampyr,” she whispered. “My back.”

Gwalcmai ran his hands around her body to her back and found the wound. He put pressure on it, trying to stop the bleeding.

“The Grail?” Donnchadh asked through her pain.

Gwalcmai shook his head. “There is only death up there.”

“There is only death here,” Donnchadh said, closing her eyes.

“I can—” Gwalcmai began, but she shook her head ever so slightly, using all the energy she could muster.

“Take my ka and go.”

Aspasia’s Shadow had known something was wrong when there was no resistance to the ram. That, combined with the presence of the two strange humans and one of the Undead, made him act quickly. He strode up the ramp, hearing the disturbed mutterings from troopers coming the other way.

He clambered over the tumbled rocks in the breach, entered the courtyard of Masada, and immediately saw what had happened.

They were all dead. By their own hands.

Flavius Silva was not far away and from the slump in the Roman commander’s shoulders, Aspasia’s Shadow knew that in their own way these Jews had extracted a final victory over the Romans.

More important, he also knew that the Grail could not be here. They would have never done this if they possessed the Grail. And, interestingly, it was obvious the two humans and the rogue Undead had thought the Grail was here.

So who had it and where was it now?

Joseph of Arimathea was tired. Bone tired. Two years he had been journeying and now as the prow of the small fishing boat scraped on the pebbly shore, he had finally arrived. The place where the Wedjat were headquartered. One of the sailors he had paid on the continent to take him across the channel gave him a hand off the boat.

Joseph had a battered leather pack slung over his shoulder and he kept one hand tight on it as he climbed over the side and onto the beach. There was a village less than two hundred meters away and several men were walking toward them, curious to see what strangers had arrived.

Joseph looked at the men as they came up. He held up a gold coin. “Can you tell me the way to the place called Avalon?”