Besieged: Stories from the Iron Druid Chronicles(2)

The Visigoths I was staying with were a part of that mess, in fact. Byzantium—indeed, most of the Roman Empire—was suffering what historians now call the “Crisis of the Third Century,” dealing with various invasions from its borders while internally their currency was taking a gigantic shit on the tiled mosaics of their bathhouse floors, and they had a string of military leaders taking turns at being emperor. The Morrigan came to see me in 269, right before Aurelian came to power and started to piece the empire back together.

“It’s going to get worse, especially down in Egypt. I have seen it.”

“Seen what, exactly?”

The tiniest of smirks lifted one corner of the Morrigan’s mouth. “I have seen you in danger there. So clearly you must go.”

“Somehow your words fail to motivate me.”

“I’m not supposed to motivate you to go down there. Ogma will do that. I just need you to go see him in Byzantium.”

“You need me to? Why? What’s in this for you?”

“Favors. The finest currency of them all.”

That was less than subtle. I owed the Morrigan several favors, if not my life, and saying no to her was not an option. “Where in Byzantium?”

“There is a public house called Caesar’s Cup. Ogma will be waiting there.”

“It’s going to take me a while.”

“He is aware. But you had best get started.”

“Right. Farewell, Morrigan.”

“Until next time, Siodhachan.” She shifted back to her crow form and flew off into the dusk. I hauled my wood back to the village, got the evening’s communal fire started, then packed my few belongings and slipped into the darkness while everyone was eating their dinner.

Weeks later I strode into Caesar’s Cup, all my tattoos hidden to disguise my Druidry, pretending to be just another Roman citizen out for a drink. Ogma was indeed there, seated at the end of a bench table, his head shaven and his tattoos concealed as well, nursing a goblet of what passed for expensive wine at the time and a board of bread and cheese.

He bobbed his head at me and gestured that I should sit down across from him.

“No names in here,” he said. “Speak Latin with me. Have a cup?”

“Sure.” He called for one and poured me a deep red vintage before continuing.

“Well met. Did she tell you why I needed to see you?”

“Something involving Aegyptus, but no more than that.”

“Yes. The Palmyrans will revolt soon and Rome will answer in force. The great library in Alexandria will be in danger.”

I snorted. “It’s always in danger. Julius Caesar nearly burned it down a couple centuries ago.”

“We think this time it will be worse.”

“We?”

Ogma’s eyes shifted down the table to a couple of men who had drinks but weren’t talking to each other. They were most likely listening to us.

“Myself, my sister, and the crow.” He meant Brighid and the Morrigan. “Much knowledge will be lost forever. And some of that knowledge should be preserved. I’m interested in a few specific scrolls.”

Shrugging, I said, “That’s great. Why tell me?”

“I want you to fetch them for me.”

I stared at him in silence for perhaps three seconds, then looked down at my drink. “I don’t understand. You have all of my skills and more. Surely it must be simple for you to do it yourself?”

Ogma chuckled and I looked up. He was grinning widely. “It’s far from simple. It’s rather deadly, in fact. These scrolls are well protected.”

“It must be fantastic information.”

“It is. And right now you are probably wondering why you would ever agree to do this.”

“I admit that had crossed my mind.”

“You will do it because there is truly wondrous information there. Anything you take beyond what I require, you are free to keep.”

I cocked my head to one side. “Can you give me an example of what I might be able to take that’s worth risking my life?”

Ogma checked on the men, and they were still making no attempt to converse. He gestured to the rear of the house. “There is a poor excuse for a garden in back. Shall we take in some sun and continue there?”

“Sure.”

We rose, cups in hand, and strolled past tables and curious eyes. Being covered from the neck down stood out in the summer, especially in a culture where bare legs below the knee were common. Ogma changed his speech to Old Irish and spoke in low tones as we moved.

“Those men are inept but persistent. They have been following me since shortly after I arrived here. We’ll see if they abandon all pretense and come after us or not.”

The garden had only a couple of people in it, since it was hot outside and there was limited shade to be had; it was laid out in hedges and flower beds more than trees, and all were starving for water. The scant shelter afforded by the fronds of a lone thirsty palm was already occupied. We strolled to the far side opposite, in full sun but also far away from inquisitive ears. Ogma switched back to Latin and pitched his voice so that only I could hear, even though no one was nearby.

“To answer your question: In the library you will find the mysteries of gods far different from the Tuatha Dé Danann or others you may know. Rituals and spells and secrets long kept locked in the darkness, the kind of thing that might help you one day should Aenghus ever catch up to you. Wards that clumsy wizards can attempt only with great care and sacrifice but that you can adapt and re-craft into elegant bindings.”