(18) Crucia

A small stone struck the ground well in front of Sanguineus.

That was the signal from Sally Anne that a vehicle was approaching the hill. He crawled out from under the hedge and stood.

He did not look directly at the 8-cylinder two-door that purred slowly up the winding dirt road, its lights off, but, because he had not put on his battery powered night goggles, he stared a little to one side of the car. In the corners of his eyes it showed as a long sleek silhouette. Had he looked directly at it, or at any object in the darkness of night, it would've seemed to vanish.

The car turned onto a dual rutted track and climbed in first gear up to the far summit of the hill, on the opposite side of the olive grove from where Sanguineus now crouched.

He had wanted to see how many vehicles were coming. That only one came told him that no more than six persons, or seven at most, would attend the ritual. Ambrosia had been truthful about that much of it.

She and Fabienne were to ride Pegasus to the grove, a short ways from the upper pasture. The passengers, she had said, would be Agape, Berenice, Tragos, and, she suspected strongly, Marianne. The other two or three, possibly four, were Agape's 'boys,' which was to say his trustiest thugs.

Sanguineus crawled back under the hedge and positioned himself prone, legs spread, with the pack against his chest, a fixed bipod holding the carbine's barrel steady. It was a lightweight low-recoil weapon, easily fired with one hand like a pistol. He scanned the clearing and environs with the night scope. And he waited.

Above and to his right the Scops owl called again. 'Birp... birp...' But no answer came.

Sally Anne Bern, like Sanguineus, was dressed all in black, a poplin fabric, a black hood over her head with a generous cut-out for the eyes, her upper cheeks and brows painted a dark brown and green. Her gloves left her trigger finger bare from the middle knuckle. It was smeared in the same dark camo colors.

She was remembering her weapons training, congratulating herself for her 982 rating on the firing lanes. The clearing, with its mosaic of shadows and webs of budding twigs on thick twisted branches, recalled Lane Number 12, the night shoot, at the ranch, where shortish thorn trees stood in for the olive. Her score for hitting mechanized moving targets in the five-meter clearing was the third best on record.

But this was not a training exercise. This would not allow critiques and precise sight adjustments, nor, possibly, second chances. Her job was to guard the girl who had tried to petrify her, who for some uncertain reason hated her. She was to stop anyone who acted as though he intended the girl harm.

To stop meant to shoot. To shoot meant to kill.

She listened to the car doors opening, to the mix of voices, the momentary intervals of silence, then the doors slamming shut in a four-point staccato.

Her heart began beating like a bird's. She took deep breaths and inhaled through her nose. Ambrosia had assured Sanguineus that though the clearing was given a cursory looking over, no one ever bothered going out into the brush of the surrounding grounds.

The olive grove was a hallowed place. It had been regarded as such for as far back as the old folks could remember. But the reverence accorded it was not due to saintly overtones but to a superstition so dark that the wild grove on the hill was seldom visited even in the light of day. On top of that, it was on Krasti property, and Kadir Kastri's ghost was not one anybody wished to raise.

Sally Anne looked to her left, toward the dark stretch of growth where Sanguineus lay hidden and ready. Were she to feel herself in imminent peril, she was to hurry with all stealthy speed to the outcrop of rock below his position, announcing herself to him with the whistle of whatever birdcall she could manage. That would be a warbler. She moistened her lips, curled her tongue, and produced the softest imitation, hardly more than a tremulous sigh. But it helped to calm her nerves.

One thing still bothered her a bit. She had a bum foot and a less than perfect knee. This had not disqualified her but it had left its mark on her personal file, a note that advised no assignments that would likely require strenuous movement on rough ground. If she had to make a run for it, in the dark, over uneven terrain, she would be risking a crippling injury.

Instinctively she ducked her head.

The beam of a flashlight passed over the clump of stones and long-stemmed grasses behind which she lay. Opening one eye she watched three separate beams of harsh hazy white light wash over the olive trees, back and forth, up and down, as male Greek voices spoke to one another.

She heard the crunch of footsteps. She held the AR-15 with its taped banana ammo clips close to her body, checking by feel to assure herself that it was on semi-auto. Then she placed her bare finger on the safety. Always before, when she had a weapon readied for use, the people near her were instructors and fellow trainees. How different the situation now.

All the voices were in Greek. Sally Anne listened intently to the timbre of the voices. They were a little tense, perhaps, but casual, with some levity here and there. She thought she heard a female voice, but she wasn't sure. Two names were spoken: "Kyrios Agape," said with deference, and with a slight sneer, "Kyria Miriam," which puzzled her until she supposed it referred to Marianne.

"Pou vriskontai?" was spoken lustily. Sanguineus heard it clearly in the cool clear air. ('Where are they?')

He closed his eyes. He heard the muffled clatter of hoofs, a neighing, a word of encouragement from Ambrosia, "Parte ftero!" ('Take wing!'), and a galloping up the lesser incline on the hill's west side, ahead and to his left. He put on the goggles.

Just as he finished adjusting them Pegasus came into view, green like carven jade in the emerald scene as viewed through the lenses.

Sanguineus surveyed the clearing. He recognized Agape from Sally Anne's description. He was sitting in a fold-out canvas chair, holding a thermos bottle. It was difficult at this range to determine his expression. He was talking to a thug standing beside him, but Sanguineus could not hear what was said. The thug was certainly armed, as were the others-- in total three-- but no guns showed.

Across from Agape were Berenice and an attractive woman who was Marianne 'by default,' as Sanguineus thought of it. They were flanked by the other two thugs. Both women wore shapeless smocks that were probably white, but which shown a lemony green in the goggle lenses.

There was no sign of Tragos. No one seemed upset by his absence, which suggested to Sanguineus that Grigoris Markos was still in the car, perhaps tied up or drugged unconscious. But why this precaution?

Pegasus halted in stately fashion in the center of the clearing.

It was then that Sanguineus saw what had been dragged behind the horse on thick coarse ropes.

The two crosses.

Ambrosia was dressed in a short pleated kirtle belted at the waist, a hooded cape, and sandals with straps that wound around her calves to just below her knees. She dismounted spritely, apparently in high spirits. She pulled down the hood. Her hair was in a long braid. A shiny circlet graced her brow. Her bare arms shone with armlets and bracelets, her fingers twinkled with rings. She looked every inch a goddess.

"Crucia!" cried a chorus of male voices. "Crucia!"

Agape raised his thermos in a jaunty salute.

Berenice and Marianne stood silent, staring at Ambrosia with what Sanguineus thought was a mix of fear and hate. But their expressions were as though sculpted in stone, cold and perpetual. He focused on the girl. She seemed to be gazing toward the two besmocked women.

Ambrosia laughed and sang out, "Evlogies apo ton Olympo!" ('Blessings from Olympus!')

"Crucia! Crucia!"

Ambrosia reached up for Fabienne and lifted her down, where she stood with a hand on the horse's flank.

The thug nearest Agape drew out a knife and began to cut at the ropes. The two crosses thudded to the ground. Then he removed the harness to which the remnants of the ropes were attached.

Pegasus shook his mane and neighed. He reared in a prancing manner. Fabienne said something melodic, in happy excited tones, and rubbed the horse's muzzle.

Ambrosia looked up at the moon. It shone on her wondrous face.

"As archisoume, O pateras tou Dia!" she said.

'Let us begin, O Father Zeus!'