“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.”
“That doesn’t sound all that great to me.”
“Yes, it does. And besides, you are bored. You are, what, more than three hundred years old now? Living with the Visigoths for the last five?”
“They’re charming people and impressive open-air cooks. They know how to roast a rabbit on a spit, let me tell you. And they share amusing stories about their sex accidents.”
“Pfahh. You yearn for more than this, Siodhachan. You stole Fragarach from Conn of the Hundred Battles. You absorbed the most powerful herblore of Airmid and keep it close to your heart. You cannot tell me you are satisfied to live life as a drear pastoral, that you are content with all you know and will never seek to know more.”
“That may all be true. But that does not mean I am anxious to seek my death in Alexandria for your benefit, Ogma, begging your pardon.”
“It is for your benefit too, as I said. And if you do this for me, Siodhachan, I will owe you a favor. That is currency of far more value than any Roman coin.”
He spoke Truth with a capital T there. When a god says he’ll owe you a solid, unspecified, bona fide favor, you need to take time to consider whether you might not be passing up the opportunity of a lifetime. Or indeed something that might preserve your life later on: Some favors, called in at the right time, might equal a Get Out of Death Free card. Though it was clear that Ogma would not be around to get me out of any problems in Alexandria. Whatever he considered to be so deadly there would be doubly so for me.
“I’m not agreeing yet,” I told him, “but you have my attention at least. Tell me more. What am I after, where do I find it, and what’s in my way?”
Ogma smiled as victors do, drank deeply, and refilled both our cups before answering.
“There is a sealed room of treasures beneath the library, similar to the burial chambers of pharaohs in their pyramids. Inside there are some scrolls and even a few bound books. There may be some scepters and the like, remarkable for their power more than their beauty. I want a bundle of four scrolls sealed in a lacquered box marked with the eye of Horus. You are familiar with that symbol?”
“Yes. But it’s fairly common, isn’t it? There might be many such boxes.”
“There are not.”
“If the room is sealed, how do you know that?”
“The Tuatha Dé Danann have their own all-seeing eyes.”
“Ah. The Morrigan?”
“Indeed.”
“What’s so special about these scrolls?”
The god of languages shrugged. “I can’t be sure until I read them.” A transparent evasion that meant he’d rather not tell me.
“Who built the room and sealed it, then?”
“Whoever built it is no doubt dead. But at least part of it is supposed to be the private hoard of the Egyptian goddess Seshat.”
“I’m not familiar with her.”
“Goddess of writing and preserving knowledge.”
“Ah. Preserving knowledge. I imagine in this case she’s preserving it from would-be thieves.”
“Yes. You may reasonably expect some curses.”
“Such as?”
“I have no idea.”