Cries from the Lost Island by Kathleen O'Neal Gear

Author:Kathleen O'Neal Gear [Gear, Kathleen O'Neal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2020-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Just as the other field crews started to fall into line for breakfast, and a variety of languages filled the air, we rose from the table and Moriarity led us out toward the ruins of the Roman fortress. The cool air blowing in off the ocean smelled of salt and sea.

I brought up the rear. Walking along the massive seven-foot-thick wall was sobering. It stretched high over my head, and in the yellow morning light the red bricks had an unearthly orange glow.

We followed Moriarity along a path that wound around puddles and between jumbled piles of ancient bricks, which I assumed had toppled from the fortress wall over the millennia.

Cleo had described this site a hundred times, but in her stories the Roman fortress was always a dark brooding wall that hulked over the earlier Egyptian ruins, like Rome still exerting influence over the conquered Egyptian people even after fifteen hundred years. To me, this morning, it was a bright exciting monument to an ancient culture I’d spent my whole life studying. Rome. A happy place. For me. As the path veered closer to the wall, I knew I was walking in the footsteps of ancient Roman legionnaires.

And right before my eyes, it all came into focus . . .

I heard the clip-clopping of horse hooves, bits jangling, Roman cavalrymen calling up to the soldiers guarding the walls as they rode by. It was night in the vision, but moonlight showed me the gleam of helmets and swords hanging from belts.

“This way, boys.” Moriarity veered off from the fortress wall and headed westward. We walked in silence for a time, just absorbing the scents and sounds of the archaeological site. As the breeze shifted, I smelled coffee and cardamom. The cardamom was especially intense here.

“Incidentally,” Moriarity said. “We’ve had a number of artifacts disappear from inventory on this site and later wind up for sale on the open market. So, if you see anyone pocketing an artifact, I want you to report it to me immediately.”

The path took us out into the flats where there was nothing—no ruins, no people, no artifacts. In another thirty paces, however, I saw the excavation on top of a low rise. Maybe one hundred feet in diameter, its circular shape was outlined by rows of carefully placed red bricks.

“Now watch your step up here,” Moriarity called. “The stairs down will be very slick this morning.”

When we arrived at the rim, I could see down into a bowl-like depression; it was filled with fog. Mist snaked around inside, obscuring most of the interior, but I caught glimpses of walls and numerous smaller chambers arranged around the exterior of the circle. On the far side, a life-size marble statue of Isis lay on its back, its stone eyes apparently fixed upon the shimmering clouds hovering above it.

Moriarity guided us to the mud-brick staircase. “Be careful.”

Moriarity trotted down into the bottom of the depression and stood looking up at us. His bearded face was little more than a dark splotch covered with a hat.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.