Disclaimers: as before.

Thanks for those reviews, and for your comments on my (relatively) 'dark Claudia'. I originally just put her in his for comic relief, so I am blaming her reactions in the circumstances entirely on my muse – oh, and poor Claudia being deprived of boyfriends, of course ;) This chapter is a bit of a change of pace, and a little bit talkie, but had to crank up the plot a little for the action beyond…

CHAPTER FOUR

'I can't believe you are going to leave me to receive the weekly supplicants again!' moaned Claudia. 'What shall I tell them this time?'

'Uh, tell them what you always do,' replied Sydney as she threw some twine, water skins, a sheathed blade and various other supplies into a nifty shoulder bag she had designed herself for the purpose. 'Tell them I'm in the caves below the temple in deep communion with the goddess and I can't be disturbed. Add that I'm in a trance, and foaming at the mouth or something. That usually does the trick!'

Claudia, who was lolling against the green, marble topped cabinet in Sydney's bedchamber, still looked fed up: ' If Nigel is a prince, why can't he go slay the dragon by himself, or whatever it is he's got to do?'

'I'm not sure to Nigel is the dragon-fighting type. I think, as a prince, he's more in the mould of, err, Paris than Hector, if you get my drift.'

'Are you his Helen, then?' asked Claudia coyly. 'Will he launch a thousand ships for you?'

Sydney finished tightening her thigh-length leather bodice, slipped a dagger down the edge of her calf-hugging lace-up boots and turned to face Claudia questioningly: 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Uh, nothing. I just assumed you were in love with him.'

'Don't be daft. Besides, it wasn't Paris that launched the thousand ships, it was Agamemnon - you need to remember these things. But that's beside the point - this prophecy affects all of us and, even if it didn't, I like Nigel as a friend and I want to help him.'

'For a friend, you see seem awfully fond of touching him and all…'

'He's been ill, remember?' Sydney chided mildly. 'It was essential he lived. Nigel has a special role in the prophecy. Although he will need my help to get there, only he can retrieve the relic…err, try to forget I said that! I haven't actually told him yet, and he's been through a lot. More than you know.'

Sydney noted with relief that Claudia did not seem to have paid much attention to her unguarded speech. On the contrary, the blonde assistant cradled her chin in her hand and puffed out her cheeks. 'I suppose Nigel has had a hard time, but I hate being left in the temple alone!'

Sydney offered a sympathetic smile. 'It won't be long this time. But you must promise me that you won't leave the temple grounds. You'll be safe here with the guards, but Kafka could have men anywhere, and who knows what he might try.'

'I promise.' Claudia fiddled uncommittedly with some little pink beads she had braided into her hair as she made the vow. Next thing she knew, Sydney had popped two fingers under her chin and tipped her face up so that their eyes met.

'Promise me, Claudia! No wandering off into the marketplace, and no chatting with goatherds! I don't want to be worrying that you're not safe!'

'I promise,' said Claudia straightening and taking Syd's hands in her own. She was sincere when she said: 'I'll miss my friend, though.'

'Me too,' replied Sydney warmly. 'Now I'd better go and see if Nigel is ready…'

………………………………………

'Tell me, hag!' What do you make of this scroll?'

Kafka arose from his couch and strode across the tent to tower over the bent figure of an elderly woman. She was raggedly dressed; unkempt silver-grey hair jutted out from her head at a dozen, eclectic angles. Unable to stand unaided, she clutched a spindly stick with twisted, bandaged hands and shook pitifully.

'Tell me what the scroll means,' said Kafka easily, 'or I shall rip out your tongue as well as your teeth and fingernails.'

The Sibyl of Tiburtine gaped at him, her mouth a toothless black hole. Then she shut it again, terrified, as he thrust his hooked hand right under her nose.

'Speak! Why do you think I keep you alive if I didn't think that someday having my own prophetess - or some stinking piece of excrement at once claimed to be one - if I didn't think you might be of use to me?'

'The prophecy is genuine,' she spluttered through a spray of blood and spittle. 'And it is an important one, foretold in the ancient books of the Sybils'. It holds the key to the whereabouts of the Tree of Life. He who holds the branch from the tree, has the power to decide the fate of all!'

'I knew it!' Kafka could not hide his glee. 'And where is this tree?'

'I do not know,' trembled the woman.

'What? Then you are worthless and you must die…'

Her paper-white face creased in despair: 'Wait! Wait! If you were to consult the right maps and text the place described in the prophecy could easily be found!'

'It could?' Kafka narrowed his eyes. 'Could the documents be in the possession of the Sybil of Camae by any chance?'

The terrified woman nodded.

'Good!' said Kafka. 'And now you die…'

'Wait!' she screeched again. 'There is more. The old prophecy tells of the messenger - the messenger of the Winter Goddess. His role shall be crucial!'

Kafka cocked an eyebrow. He had not forgotten Nigel. Naturally, he had since realised that the boy had certainly been lying when he said he knew nothing of the scroll. More pertinently, however, the former soldier was still annoyed at losing such a delectable slave, even temporarily, and had been looking forward to reclaiming him as his property.

'That pathetic little slave boy?' he queried, deliberately underplaying Nigel's charms. 'What could he possibly contribute?'

'I do not remember!' quivered the woman. 'It might be in the books at Camae.'

'Then my men will help you remember!' he motioned to his men. 'Take her away and jog her memory! And you!' He barked at one of his most efficient henchmen. 'Go to Camae, do what you need to get the information, and bring me the boy… come to think of it, bring me that little blonde piece from the temple as well! If the Sybil puts up a fight for her pretty friends, kill her. I've had enough of her wily tricks, and the island will be mine within the week anyway.'

The henchman left, and the old Sybil was dragged from the tent in silence, although her in her aging, pain-addled mind, she screamed at her own treachery.

………………………………………….

The little sailing ship, its bow carved to resemble the head of a snarling wolf, cut a nimble path between the rippling, foam-topped waves. A square, white sail billowed in a breeze that whipped briskly through the hair and clothes of the passengers gathered on deck, freshening their faces.

Nigel was leaning on the wooden wall of the stern, looking back towards the haughty, grey cliffs of the island of Camae, the blue-ish mountains beyond, and it's temple. The sacred building was now visible only as a golden smudge on the horizon.

'For one who has only just arrived, you seem rather sorry to leave.'

Nigel started; he had been so absorbed in thought he had not sensed Sydney at his side.

'Oh… it reminded me of when I set sail from my own island, that's all. I'd never seen the ocean before and, even though I could just see the land on the other side, I could barely believe there was anything beyond. There are so many kingdoms just on my island that I was happy to believe that it was the whole world… but the land beyond was so vast it just went on forever! I crossed villages, towns, forests, vast plains, mountains even… I never even saw the ocean again until I reached Neapolis.'

'Did you come all that way alone?' enquired Sydney.

'Oh no,' grinned Nigel. 'I travelled with a trader in statues and pottery who visits our people every year. He knew all the fast routes to the south - I think it was because he often had to make quick escapes. I'm not sure he was the most honest man… but he was a good enough friend. He wouldn't come into Neapolis with me because apparently he'd had a disagreement with the merchant's daughter, who accused him of selling her a fake love charm. He swore it would have worked if she was less of a battleaxe!'

Sydney's brows knitted as suspicion sparked: 'What was his name?'

'Uh, Stewie. Why? Do you know him?'

She laughed out loud. 'Everybody knows Stewie. There is not a temple in the Grecian and Roman empires to which he hasn't tried to pass off fake statues and idols. I think he has a friend in Rome who knocks them up for him on the cheap!'

'I can well believe that!' chortled Nigel. 'He once tried to sell my aunt a bale of old hay claiming it was the earthly incarnation of the Harvest God. Now, we may be simple people but we're not entirely stupid! Still, I was glad of his company. We had a few close calls with some unfriendly Goths and Gauls but it was only after he left me that things really went wrong…' He trailed off, gazing down at the foamy wash that trailed through the deep, blue ocean in the wake of the boat.

Sydney slipped her arm around his shoulder. 'Nothing is going to go wrong now, I promise.'

To her surprise, he shot her a cheeky grin: 'I sort of believe you!'

They both laughed as cold, wet spray sprinkled across their hair and faces, consequent of a large wave that had hit the side of the ship. 'It feels good,' thought Sydney. 'Being with him feels good…'

Since Nigel had shared his terrible experiences with her, something between them had changed. The awkwardness of strangers - and the stifling, sexual tension - had been superseded by a disarmingly natural friendship, albeit one born of embarrassment and regret from both parties. For Nigel, who could still hardly believe she'd sucked such a confession from him, it had quenched any fantasy that she might have desired him. He had hardly been in the mood to be lusted after - and now he was convinced she could never view him in that light, having been brought so low. As beautiful as he found her, this did not bother him as much as he felt it ought - he was happy with friendship, and now he had nothing to lose it seemed so much easier. He didn't even mind her touching him now, something she sensed too.

For Sydney, Nigel's outpourings had been a terrible awakening and a check on her casual flirtatiousness. Nigel deserved respect and friendship, and that was what she would give him. Her heart whispered of love, but it was surely in the vein of the love she felt for Claudia, she told herself. It was a bond of companions, siblings, colleagues…

'Look!' Sydney nudged her new friend excitedly. 'The smoking mountain!'

Nigel turned to see the boat was now approaching the city, but the landscape was dominated by a colossal, cone-shaped mountain. Ominously bare, dark, sloping sides soared up to a bluntish apex, from which a coil of grey smoke drifted up into the high, fleecy clouds.

He was momentarily enthralled by the prospect. Sydney, on the other hand, could not help but look in admiration at Nigel. The sun had returned a healthy hue to his cheeks, and his light brown hair - which was long enough to kiss the back of his neck and occasionally to flop decorously over one eye - shimmered deep golden in the sunlight. Dressed in a sky-blue chiton gathered at the waist with a soft, leather belt, and a long, grey cape that flowed lightly in the wind, he appeared almost ethereally handsome: a prince through and through. As she drank in the sight of him, she felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach and found it hard to tear her eyes away.

Only his words broke her fascinated trance: 'I saw the smoking mountain from Neapolis, but it didn't look so impressive form the city, and I saw nothing from the ship of course. Why, um, does it smoke? Is it really the furnace of the gods?'

'One of the mountains on Camae billows smoke occasionally - but if there is a God in there firing it, he doesn't seem to come out and say hello very often.' Sydney wiggled her eyebrows humourously.

'For a priestess, you can be awfully sceptical,' observed Nigel. 'I think it's amazing. It can only be divine - unless there is a dragon in there.'

'The gods are real enough,' she shrugged. 'But I've sensed something strange lately. Their power is waning a little. Men ate becoming the new rulers of the earth. The question is, will those rulers be good men - or will they be men like Kafka.'

Nigel flinched at the mere mention of his name: 'I'll pray to any deity who will listen that he'll never rule the earth…what is it?'

Sydney was staring at a small, black shape on the blue horizon - a little sailing ship that was currently circumnavigating the far side of the volcano on a course out to sea, towards Camae.

'I don't recognise that sail. It's not Camaen, or any of the Neapolitan traders…'

'Is it him?' asked Nigel anxiously. 'Surely he wouldn't return so soon?'

'It's certainly not his own ship, but he has been known to travel incognito. The man's a natural born pirate! But one ship, whoever is on board, shouldn't be a threat to the island's defences, although its occupants could sneak in unnoticed. Curses! I just hope Claudia stays safe inside!'

'I'm sure she'll do what you asked,' reassured Nigel. 'I know I would. '

Sydney smiled, not quite easy. 'You're a great friend, Nigel… but, come. We dock soon, and we've got many things to plan. The people of Neapolis have always been friends of Camae, but they are loyal to Rome and in these times of enmity we must take care.'

'I am all for taking care!' said Nigel sincerely.

Her hand slipped into his. 'Don't worry about anything. Just remember, I'm no longer the Sybil. Nobody knows me without my mask, and we are just ordinary citizens going about our business. Just keep close, and everything will be just fine.'

…………………………………………..

Sydney sensed something was wrong before the little boat even docked at Neapolis. The usually bustling quay was quiet and a small group of men in breastplates and helmets were milling about by the water's edge.

'Romans,' she murmured, straining her eyes anxiously. 'Nigel, can you swim?'

'Of course I can,' retorted Nigel, before he discerned her meaning. 'But I'm not in the mood to do it now, if that's what you're thinking!'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Just leave this to me…'

Even before the boat had docked, one of the soldiers began making a loud announcement:

'By order of the new Governor of the province of Neapolis, Frankus Kafka, all citizens of Camae must present their papers on arrival in the city. All without papers and legitimate business will be taken to the civic jail!'

Every muscle in Nigel's body tensed, and not only because of the unexpected news of Kafka's ascendancy, which alarmed Sydney also. He recognised one of the soldiers, a red-faced giant, from his ordeal the other day. He pulled up his hood so it covered his face, and tugged Sydney's cloak urgently.

'I think I'm ready for that swim right now!'

'Just relax,' breathed Sydney. 'Let me handle this.'

'You have the right papers?'

'None for you, and none for me that don't say I'm the Sybil of Camae, and I've a feeling that would get us to the jail fastest of all.'

'Then what are you going to do?' Nigel sounded frantic.

'This isn't Kafka, just a couple of his henchmen and the town guard. They're only carrying out orders…we don't need papers.'

As she spoke, Sydney undid the silver clasps that fastened her cloak at the neck to reveal her figure-hugging tunic, knee-high boots and a sheathed sword. She swiftly handed her cloak and sword to Nigel who, desperate not draw attention to himself, slipped the latter straight in his belt. 'Good,' nodded Sydney. 'Now act natural.'

She pulled down her neck-line so low that it verged on the indecent, causing Nigel to tug his hood down even further - after a tiny peep! Then she placed one hand on her shapely hip and shimmied off up the deck in the direction of the soldier who was checking the papers, the rest of the armed men having backed off.

'Well hello,' she purred. 'What are you looking for? A good time?'

The soldier struggled to maintain his cool front, although a small amount of drool began to trickle from the corner of his gaping mouth.

'Papers,' he demanded in a particularly rough, low voice, holding out one hand. 'Kafka won't be allowing all the scum of Camae to pour into his streets.'

'But I'm on business,' she purred, one hand beginning to paw his silver breastplate. 'Maybe you and I can do a little deal…'

Reaching between her sun-kissed cleavage, she pulled out a little fabric pouch and rattled it so close in front of his nose that he had to cross his eyes to see it – once he'd torn them away from her breasts, of course.

'Pure gold,' she whispered, as he took the bag from her and inspected its contents. 'My, uh, client wishes to travel incognito.' Here she motioned with her head to Nigel, whose face was now completely invisible. 'This young man's father is one of the richest merchants of Neapolis, and a great friend of Kafka. You wouldn't want to cause the family any embarrassment, would you?'

The soldier looked undecided, so she leant in whispered breathily in his ear: 'Of course, if that doesn't suit, you and I can always join forces to blackmail his papa. And then we can get to know each other… really well…'

The guard licked his lips and offered a leering smile: 'It's a deal. And now do I get a kiss?'

He shut his eyes and puckered up his rubbery lips expectantly. Sydney couldn't quite contain her revulsion. 'Err, no…you could never afford that! I'll be in touch!'

She grabbed Nigel's hand and they were on the other side of the gang-plank before he even had a chance to look down and wobble.

'I can't believe you did that!' he spluttered, as they walked briskly through the larger group of guards and soldiers, who eyed them casually but not suspiciously – they saw her assets and assumed they knew Sydney's 'type'. One of them wolf whistled.

Nigel was so shocked he'd completely forgotten his mortal fear of the big, red-faced soldier who was amongst the group: 'You're supposed to be a priestess! The Sybil!'

The painful dig of nails in the back of his hand silenced him quickly and soon they were out of the earshot of the group. She stopped dead and turned to him.

'Not any more! People on the mainland know me only without my mask, as a relic hunter and adventuress, and I do what I need to survive. Here, this is my life. I'm not a Sybil, I'm an ordinary woman… well, ordinary-ish.'

'Sybil or woman, you're far from ordinary,' thought Nigel wistfully and they disappeared off into the maze of city streets.

Thanks for reading. Please review.