The Black Stallion and the Lost City (13 page)

“You do not talk with that man; you listen to him.” Spiro gestured out at the gathering. “He has brought us all this, and the waters of life.”

“Waters of life?” Alec said. “What are you talking about? No one makes any sense around here.”

“You cannot judge the governor as you would an ordinary man,” Spiro continued, oblivious to Alec’s comments. “The inexperienced cannot understand him. I am his chamberlain, and even I do not know him. Glory to the gods, we are all his vassals here.”

Alec looked at Spiro’s face. If the man is acting, he is doing a very good job, Alec thought. Plainly it didn’t occur to Spiro that Governor Medio was no idol of Alec’s.

“He lives here?”

“This is his home, though he retires to the shrine up on the mountain with his horses most of the year. These days he only returns to the acropolis for special occasions like tonight.”

“He lives with his horses?”

Spiro pointed to the white mares at the head table.
“The sacred mares are normally sequestered atop Mt. Atnos,” Spiro said, “at the temple of Diomedes. At this time of year, they sometimes come down to the palace for a visit during the full moon. Doubt me not when I say that it is with the mares’ wondrous milk that the waters of Acracia are blessed, the reason the water here has such miraculous powers to restore vitality to all who drink it.”

Alec started to laugh. “Is that what you people are selling here? The Fountain of Youth? I figured you were selling something.”

Spiro lowered his head deferentially and spoke. “I beg your pardon, Herr Alex, but have I not heard that you were injured in some way before you arrived at the acropolis?”

Alec suddenly recalled his sprained ankle. He had forgotten completely about it.

“I grant you that it sounds mad,” Spiro said, lifting his head and holding Alec’s gaze, his eyes cold and sharp. “I would never have believed it myself before I came here from Berlin.” His glare softened. He smiled and glanced at his wife. “I was a doctor there, a modern-minded man of science.” Spiro sighed and took his wife’s hand in his. “How life can change. This is our home now. Here we are among friends.” He waved his hand to the other guests. “Could we ask for better company?”

Alec again looked over the people gathered in the banquet hall. It was true that everyone in the room appeared to be young, healthy and happy. In fact, there wasn’t anyone here who was anything but young, healthy and happy. It didn’t seem natural.

Spiro nodded across the room to the head table. “The White Ones are stabled in the finest quarters whenever they come to the megaron and are catered to like royalty,” Spiro said. “She that stands to the governor’s right is named Celera. Some call her Fire-eyes. She is Medio’s favorite.”

“Fine-looking animals,” Alec said, glad to talk about something a little more down-to-earth.

“They are much more than that,” Spiro said.

“Are they working horses?” Alec asked.

“Far from it,” Spiro said. “The sacred mares live an easy existence in the woods and groves around the temple sanctuary. There they are pampered and live a pure life, free from any taint of earthly labor. Their only job is to be harnessed to a sacred chariot once a year or accompany Medio at court.”

Another course was brought in then, skewers of meat, platters of finely chopped vegetables, bowls filled with delicate sauces. As the people ate, the musicians took up their harps, flutes and lyres again and began to play. A masked poet appeared and sang in Greek verse. Xeena leaned over and whispered to Alec that the poet
was praising Medio’s ancestors and insinuating they were connected to the gods. Xeena said he seemed to be making up the flattering verse as he went along, even suggesting the Black and Alec were connected to the gods as well.

After the poet was through singing, tables were moved and an area was cleared before the governor. Then a red carpet was spread out over the floor. An attendant walked the albino mare called Celera onto the center of the carpet. Alec leaned closer to the Black and put his hand on the stallion’s neck.

The assembled guests grew quiet again as a veiled woman entered the room and moved ceremoniously toward Celera. The young woman walked with measured steps, draped in a cloak, treading proudly, deliberately, her head held high. Suddenly she opened her bare arms, threw them above her head and then swayed back and forth as though possessed by some uncontrollable desire to touch the ceiling.

The woman removed her headscarf, but her face remained veiled. Her raven-black hair fell down upon her bare shoulders. A man with red hair at the governor’s table called out a question to her, and she laid her hands on Celera’s neck. The mare shook her head and twitched an ear. The woman stepped back, staggering a bit, and then began speaking some words in a deep, sleepy-sounding voice.

“What is she saying?” Alec asked.

Spiro leaned forward. “This last part of the evening is for those who seek omens and monitions,” he whispered. “The red-haired man asked the priestess, Cyrene, if the coming of the full moon tomorrow and the positions of the planets in the zodiac are an auspicious sign for him. The Oracle said that it was so.”

“The Oracle?” Alec asked. “Is she an oracle?”

“The woman is only interpreting,” Spiro said. “It is Celera who is speaking. Fire-eyes is the Oracle.”

Other guests asked more questions, and the priestess interpreted the mare’s murmurings and body language into words for the governor and his guests. For the next few minutes, the bizarre ceremony continued, the oracle Celera divining omens and dispensing advice to a half dozen different questions by way of her human interpreter.

At last the governor stood up and asked one final question.

“What is he saying?” Alec asked.

Xeena translated the Greek for Alec’s benefit. “It’s something about a messenger.”

The priestess’s deep voice uttered some more words. “My messenger is the message,” Xeena interpreted. “The message my messenger brings is that the gods have sent Acracia a messenger.”

Alec glanced at Spiro. The chamberlain said nothing, only watched him and smiled.

Alec looked at Xeena. “What’s that mean?”

“I have no idea,” she said.

The crowd took their eyes off Celera and once again turned their attention to Alec and the Black. Voices rose, and some guests stood and raised their glasses. The musicians suddenly redoubled their efforts. Drummers joined them and the tune became rhythmic and lively. People began singing. Medio left his place at the head of the table, and he and his entourage of horses joined Celera and the priestess on the floor.

The horses formed a small circle around Medio and pranced to the music, throwing out their hooves in short, mincing steps. They were quickly joined by other horses and guests. Soon the entire hall was filled with moving bodies, horses doing stylized leaps or skipping back and forth while the dinner guests spun and dodged between them like matadors in a bullring.

It was a scene out of a dream, Alec thought. All his senses told him to get out of there, but before he knew what was happening, he and the Black found themselves on the floor with the others, swept up in the carnival atmosphere. Alec didn’t have much choice. There was no way out but through the crowd.

“Alec,” he heard Xeena cry after him. “Wait.”

Xeena caught up to them, and with the girl running interference, Alec did his best to guide the stallion to the exit, pushing his way through the dancing people and horses. The Black bucked around at Alec’s side, trying to pull away, more playful than angry, enjoying the chaos and instability in the air. All around them were shouts, laughter, noise and the sounds of scuffling feet as people and horses jostled each other to squeeze into the crowd of dancing bodies.

In the middle of the room, the white mares were performing a finely choreographed dance that was central to the spectacle, occasionally springing into the air and twisting their bodies from side to side. The humans and other horses moved among them casually and with practiced skill. A deafening clamor filled the great hall, and the entire room seemed alive.

Alec looked about him as the horses became an incredible living carousel, a merry-go-round of real-life dancing horses circling faster and faster. Suddenly the music stopped and the carousel came to a screeching halt. Standing before the Black now was the young gray stallion, the one that had followed the governor and Celera into the room. A look of hate burned in his eyes.

The gray shrilled a challenge to the Black and deftly spun around, lashing out a hind hoof that just missed the Black’s shoulder. “Whoa,” Alec called out
angrily as he hauled on the Black’s lead. A gasp went up from the crowd. The uncontrolled gray turned again, reared and then brought his hooves crashing to the ground, as if daring the Black to step forward.

The Black strained to free himself and join the battle. Alec grasped the shank in his hand and threw all his weight downward, trying to turn the Black away and keep the stallion’s hooves on the ground. Somehow he managed to hold the horse back.

Two men bravely dashed forward and got a grip on either side of the gray’s halter, pulling the young stallion away. Then he was gone, lost in the crowd. As quickly as it had stopped, the music started again and once more the floor was a sea of people and horses meshing together.

Alec held tight to his horse’s lead, but the Black seemed more shocked than angry now. What had happened to the gray? Alec thought. Then he heard a furious uproar coming from the other side of the crowded room and saw the young stallion, still bucking against his handlers defiantly. The Black saw the gray but did not make a move toward him, nor did he answer the cry of his attacker. Instead he twisted his head, unconcerned about the young stallion’s threats, searching for someone else in the crowd, undoubtedly the albino mare Celera.

Alec felt someone tugging at his arm. It was
Xeena. “This way,” she cried. Xeena pushed her way through the dancers. Alec pointed the Black in her direction and did his best to get the stallion to follow. A few of the revelers stared at the Black but otherwise went on with their celebrating, as if the confrontation between the two stallions was of no importance and best forgotten.

The crowd swallowed them up again. No one tried to stop them from leaving, but neither did they make much effort to stand clear. Xeena nudged, pushed and shoved people out of their way, and at last they burst through the swarm of revelers and into the reception room.

Alec stumbled ahead, keeping a firm grip on the Black’s lead, still dazed by all he’d seen. They approached the exit, and the doors to the banquet hall opened as if by magic. The Black threw his head and cried out wildly as they passed through. Then the doors closed behind them and the clamor of the throng receded.

“How do we
get out of here?” Alec said.

“I think it’s this way,” Xeena said, pointing down the corridor to the gallery they had passed on the way to the banquet room.

Alec kept a close hold on the Black’s lead and spoke to his horse softly, trying to keep him settled. The words came in a steady stream that lasted until they had returned to the Black’s room.

“What in the world kind of party was that?” Alec said to Xeena as he took off the Black’s halter.

“Wild,” Xeena said. “Really spectacular, except for when that crazy gray stallion went after the Black.”

“He didn’t concern me so much,” Alec said. “The Black can handle himself with other stallions, and no one there seemed too surprised about what happened. I suppose that with all those horses and people bumping around together on the dance floor, a confrontation between horses wouldn’t be unusual, no matter
how well they are trained.” Alec shook his head. “It’s not the gray,” he said. “It’s that albino mare I’m thinking about. She’s poison and the Black can’t see it. If he gets another chance at her, I’m not sure I can keep them apart.”

Alec walked through the passageway to his own room. He could see someone had been there while they’d been away. There were fresh blankets on his bed, and a fire had been lit in the corner fireplace. He splashed some water from a wash basin onto his face, then returned to the Black’s quarters, picked up a brush and gave his horse a light grooming. The Black didn’t need it, but the routine and familiar touch of his horse always made Alec feel better. Xeena stood at the connecting door, her eyes fixed on the stallion watching her.

“Pretty cool when you think about it,” Xeena said after a minute.

Alec laughed. “Certainly unusual. That Medio really knows how to have a good time. Want to go back?”

“No thanks. I need to get some sleep now. But that was fun.”

Could it all be just that? Alec thought. Just harmless fun? He had to admit that from the safety of his room, things suddenly started to look different. Could any of this be more than some kind of strange
role-playing reenactment of ancient times, a place where people could get dressed up in costumes and pretend they were somewhere other than the modern world? He remembered hearing about people who reenacted famous Civil War battles in period uniforms. Maybe it was all just something like that. Some sort of club. Sure, Alec thought. That must be it. The only difference here was that these folks seemed extremely serious about it all, almost too serious, like actors who could not get out of character.