Iris Johansen - The Treasure

“I have no idea. Maybe. Tarik said he had formed a small army and was selling his sword to the warring factions in this land.”

“Find out if he’s here.”

“Why?” His gaze shifted to her face. “Now what do you have in mind?”

“Vaden was a great warrior. He helped Ware once. Isn’t it possible we could get him to help us?”

Kadar threw back his head and laughed. “I should have known.”

“Why are you laughing? It’s a possibility.”

“I’m not laughing at your idea, just your single-mindedness. I bring you to look at roses and you think only of recruiting knights to ride under your banner.”

“Find out.”

He was still smiling. “I’ll find out.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Now will you put such thoughts out of your mind?”

“I cannot.”

His smile faded. “I know. Try.” His gaze shifted back to the pool again. “I’ll give you something else to think about. What if their Eshe is the miracle they think it is?”

She shook her head.

“I know it’s unlikely, but-”

“Not unlikely-impossible.”

“In the Scriptures there are tales of long life.”

“Men chosen by God. I doubt if God would choose heathens from Egypt to receive such a blessing.”

“Who knows,” Kadar murmured.

“Are you beginning to believe Tarik’s tale?” she asked, surprised.

“I believe he believes it. And Tarik is no fool. I cannot speak for Layla. You know her better than I do.”

“Even a clever woman can be blinded by what she wants to see.”

“Very well. Then assume it’s merely an interesting dream. It does no harm to imagine what it would be like.” His brow furrowed. “I know few men who live much beyond forty years. Sixty is a great age. What if you could live beyond that? Would you want to do so?”

She thought about it. “The only one I know who is so old is Niall McKenzie. He’s two and sixty. His joints ache, his vision is dimming, he sits before the fire and thinks only of his youth.” She shook her head. “That is no life. Better to go out like the flame of a candle in the wind.”

“But if you could remain strong? Think of all the things you could learn.”

She could see why such a prospect was intriguing to Kadar. His curiosity about everything could never be satisfied. “That would be a joy.” She was silent a moment. “Would there not be a point when you could learn no more, when everything seemed the same?”

“If that time ever came, it would only pose another challenge.” He smiled. “And I doubt if you could ever learn everything in this world.”

“Unless everyone grew old with you, it would be a lonely life.” She shivered. “I would hate to see all the people I love die.”

His smile vanished. “And, if everyone grew very old, there would be far too many people to be fed. Famine breeds war.” His lips twisted. “And war would kill far more certainly than old age. Checkmate.”

Kadar had thought of wars, and she had thought of Ware and Thea and all the people at Montdhu she cared about. It was too sad. She would think no more about it.

She shifted her shoulders as if to rid herself of the burden. “If you have no more pleasant conversation than of war and famine, I will think better of spending the evening with you. I don’t know why you wish to dwell on such impossibilities anyway.”

He smiled. “It’s my dark soul. I merely wished to hear your thoughts on the subject.”

“You’ve heard them. Now take me back to the house. All this talk of famine has made me hungry.”

“YOU MAY USE THE GRAIL,” Tarik said. “But Layla and I will go with you, and if we think the grail is in danger, don’t expect us to let you keep it.”

Kadar nodded.

“This is Tarik’s decision. I hope you’re satisfied. You played on his guilty feelings very well,” Layla said. “It’s not my will. I think it complete madness. I’ll be watching you closely.”

“I’m sure you will,” Kadar said. “I’ll be watching you too.”

She looked at him inquiringly.

“I’d judge you to be a dangerous woman if thwarted.”

She met his gaze. “More than you dream.”

“And that in the past you probably played on Tarik’s feelings yourself.”

“Yes, I did. I’d have used anyone to break free of the priests and that house I hated,” she admitted calmly. “But that was long ago.”

“How long?”

She glanced at Tarik. “Ah, questions. He’s been thinking as you bid him.”

“I keep my promises,” Kadar said. “You wanted me to ask questions. I’m asking them.” He turned to Tarik. “You said that at first you didn’t believe in Eshe. You do now?”

Tarik nodded.

“Why?”

“The only way to test it was to take it ourselves. One evening Layla and I had a celebration. We had honey cakes and wine and at the end of the evening we drank a toast.” He shrugged. “And the next day there was nothing different. We didn’t know what to expect, but there should have been something. ”

Layla smiled, reminiscing. “There was something. A headache from too much wine.”

“True.” Tarik returned her smile. “And the conviction that all of our work was for naught.”

“Your conviction. I still believed.”

Tarik nodded. “I wanted only to forget and go on with our lives. We made plans to run away from the city. I managed to smuggle Layla out of the city to my brother, Chion, in the country. I was going to follow the next week.”

“But you didn’t?”

“The priests had found out Layla was visiting me the night before she left the city. They decided to try to persuade me to tell them where she’d gone.”

“Persuade?”

“They tortured him,” Layla whispered. “They broke all the bones in his foot, but he told them nothing.”

“I was fortunate that was all they had time to do. The head librarian was my great friend and he had influence at court. He managed to talk Ptolemy into making the priests free me and then found a way for me to leave the city.”

“He didn’t walk for a year.” Layla’s tone was stilted. “And when he did, it was the way he does now. He was a fool. He should have told them where I was.”

“We’ve talked of this before,” Tarik said. “Stop blaming yourself. If I’d told them, they’d have killed me. I did it for myself.”

She shook her head.

“And the priests didn’t find you?”

“No,” Tarik said. “When I was well, we left Egypt and went to Greece. My brother, Chion, went with us.”

Kadar said, “The brother who went mad.”

“It wasn’t Tarik’s fault,” Layla said defensively.

“I didn’t say it was. I wouldn’t know. But I’m trying to find out. If you didn’t go mad after taking the potion, why would Chion?”

“He didn’t go mad at once. It was later.”

“How much later?”

Tarik met his gaze. “Two hundred years.”

Kadar went still. “Two hundred…”

“As Layla said, he was a gentle, simple man. He had seen too many loved ones die.”

“Two hundred years.” Kadar couldn’t get past that incredible statement. He shook his head. “It’s not possible. I thought perhaps eighty. Though that, too, stretches the imagination.”

They both looked at him, waiting.

He knew the question for which they were waiting. “How long ago did you take the potion?”

“Ptolemy the Fourteenth was in power. He died the year we left for Greece and his sister Cleopatra was given the throne by Julius Caesar. That was more than forty years before the birth of Christ.”