The pylon settled to the rooftop with a crunching sound as it crushed the little tree into kindling. Thyatis checked her sword, which was securely strapped across her back, and knelt to check the lacings on her boots. They were tight.
“Sahul! Jusuf! Follow me with the bag.” The two Bul-gars trotted forward with a large hemp bag, easily big enough for a man, over their shoulders. The bag was securely wrapped with ropes, but it twitched feebly regardless. Thyatis stepped up onto the edge of the roof and waited for a moment, poised over the thirty-foot drop while the two men at the guide lashed the last set of pegs to the frame. Thyatis swallowed to clear her throat and then took a deep breath.
She stepped out onto the pylon, her left boot on one of the pegs. The pylon tried to twist away under her, but the lashings stopped it. Her leg trembled as she balanced, but the pylon stopped turning. She hopped up, her right boot landing on a second peg, two feet ahead of the first. Behind her she heard Sahul and Jusuf hold their breath and a low exclamation from one of the men on the guide frame. Thyatis smiled, her blood afire with adrenaline. The moment of balance passed and she ran down the pylon, her feet skipping from one peg to the next. Wind rushed in her hair and then, suddenly, she stumbled off the end and had to tuck herself into a ball as she rolled up from the rooftop. The garden was alive with the smell of oranges and jasmine. Her sword rasped out of the scabbard over her back.
On the roof of the fire temple, Sahul grunted as Jusuf strapped the bag onto his back. It was heavy, but he was strong enough to carry it. With it secured, he backed out onto the pylon and began descending it to the garden, using the pegs as hand and footholds. He prayed to his god that the pegs would not snap or the pylon give way. He would not admit it to the Roman lady, but he was squeamish where heights were concerned. His forearms and calves burned with the effort of supporting over two hundred extra pounds of weight.
In the garden, Thyatis had run lightly to the inner wall and had peered down into the courtyard. It was a black well, unlit, seemingly bottomless. She listened carefully. No one seemed to have heard the crash of the falling pylon. She ran back to the end of the pylon in time to help Sahul and his burden off. Then she unwound a rope from her waist, tied it around the lowest pair of pegs, and strung it out as she walked backward to the inner wall. Checking the courtyard one more time, she dropped the rope over the side. It made a rustling sound as it hit below. A grain later she had swung over the side and crabbed down the inner wall. Sahul followed immediately down the rope, and then Jusuf, who had also run-cursing under his breath-down the pylon to get to the garden faster.
On the roof of the fire temple, Bagratuni breathed out a long, slow sigh of relief. The crazy Romans had done it! When the Roman woman-Bagratuni had begun to think of her as Diana the Huntress in his private thoughts-had proposed this mad scheme, he had been utterly sure that they would all be discovered and slain within hours of beginning the attempt. Even finding the cedars and getting them into the city was a feat to boast of around the hearth fire for a generation! This, this was even bolder. He smiled in the darkness and shooed his men back to their positions on the ropes. The Bulgars had taken up watch all around them. All they had to do was wait, and hope that no priest or noble decided to take a turn under the stars on the roof of the temple.
Thyatis crept up to the door in the far wall of the courtyard and carefully pressed her ear to it. There was a faint murmur from the heavy oaken panels, but it did not seem to be very close. Sahul and Jusuf arrived and paused, pant ing faintly from the effort of the last minutes. She scratched her nose and then pulled a thin, flat piece of steel out of her belt. The door was secured by what from a distance had seemed to be a heavy lock. Now she fished around in the keyhole, trying to find the mechanism. To her disgust, it had none. She pressed against the panel of the door with her shoulder and felt it give a little before stopping.
“There’s a bar on the inside,” she whispered into Sahul’s ear. “Be ready. If I can get it up, there will be a noise.” She began probing with the steel rod at the edges of the door and in the panel, looking for a crevice. There was nothing. Thyatis cursed mentally. This was very bad. She tested the strength of the door. It was stout and they did not have time to cut the lock away.
“Jusuf, we’re not getting through this door,” she said softly. “Step out and see if you can spy one of the windows on the upper floor. Maybe we can get in through one of those…” She paused, thinking she heard something, and then froze as the door rattled slightly. Sahul and Jusuf faded back, away from the door, disappearing into the gloom. Thyatis flattened herself against the wall, feeling the cold plaster surface tickle at her neck. There was a scraping sound from beyond the door and then a latch clicked. Thyatis slid the sword in her hand quietly back into its sheath and then drew a long knife.
The door opened, spilling a pale-yellow light into the courtyard. A shadow obscured the light and then a woman in a tattered gown and headdress peered out, blinking, into the darkness. Thyatis swallowed a breath and then darted around the corner of the door. Her knife was at the woman’s throat in an instant and a gloved hand over her mouth. Pretty brown eyes, edged with kohl and glittering sapphire dust, widened and the woman raised hands with long, delicate nails in surrender. Behind her Sahul and Jusuf had slid past into the room on the other side, knives in hand. The room was empty, more a hallway filled with big pottery jars than anything else. Thyatis walked forward and hooked the door closed with her foot.
“So,” she breathed, “I see you’re having a fine time in the lap of luxury.”
Sahul and Jusuf turned and saw Thyatis sheath her knife. The woman shrugged and dug her fingers under the back of her hair, peeling off the heavy brown tresses with a popping sound. Anagathios shook his own hair out and stuffed the wig into a bag under his dress. Jusuf gave a soundless whistle.
“A better-looking woman than a man,” he said, his lip half curled.
Thyatis ignored him and signed to the actor. Have you found Nikos?
Yes, Anagathios answered. There is a cellar, with holding cells for the prisoners of the garrison commander. He’s down there, but he’s not alone.
What do you mean? she answered, but the Syrian shook his head with a rueful smile.
You’ll see. What’s in the bag?
Thyatis smirked back at him. Take us to the cellar and you’ll see.
‘The gods have cursed me.“ Thyatis grunted as she peered around the corner of the cellar hallway. ”Cells, with thirty or forty people in them. At least they’re asleep-for the moment.“ She turned and grimaced wryly at Sahul, who was still carrying the heavy bag. ”Why did the Boar have to take so many ’special‘ prisoners?“ Jusuf refused to look at her, but Sahul swung the bag off of his back with a grateful sigh and rubbed his shoulders.
Anagathios, she signed at the actor, who was crouched right behind her. Who are all these people?
Locals, he gestured back, mostly hostages for the good behavior of the headmen of the town and the surrounding villages. What are we going to do?
“Victory,” she said aloud, “is to the bold. Forget the orig inal plan. Jusuf, Sahul, go back up the stairs and block all of the doorways that lead into this hall or our route back to the courtyard. Then, Jusuf, you go all the way back to the fire-temple roof and tell Bagratuni that we’re going to try to bring all of his relatives out. Tell him to pull the pylon back and break it down into the logs and send it down into the sewer. We’re not going out that way now. Tell him that in about twenty grains, we’re going to need a diversion on the other side of town, something noisy.