Free The Wadjet Eye by Jill Rubalcaba Page A

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    "Nobody." Damon shrugged. He was a man of science, by Thoth. Why was he thinking about demons? He wasn't a little boy afraid of the dark. Why did he feel like one? He'd escaped a vortex, even a shark attack. He squared his shoulders and rode on.
    Light struck the sides of the tunnel. The horses picked up their pace.
    The sunlight seemed brighter when they emerged. Damon and Artemas looked all around them, marveling at the light on the leaves.
    "I believe I'm starving," Artemas said over his shoulder.
    Damon trotted to catch up. "The next stone is up ahead, only three miles to go."
    The two rode in the sunshine, hungry and tired. Damon's legs were sore. He wondered how well he would be able to walk when he finally got off his fat mare.

    When they rounded a wide bend in the road, Damon saw the inn ahead. He was surprised at how crowded it appeared. Several wagons were pulled up in front.
    "Must be good food here," Damon said. "It looks busy."
    Artemas leaned forward. "Soldiers."
    Damon and Artemas brought their horses to a stop between two chariots. Several soldiers milled around a wagon. They all wore red cloaks. The plumes on their helmets were of the same red. They were Roman.
    As Artemas and Damon led their horses to the water trough, Damon smelled something all too familiar. Artemas must have smelled it, too. But either he didn't know what he was smelling or he was too taken with the soldiers to put it together. Damon suspected the latter.
    "Any news from Caesar and Spain?" Artemas asked the soldier nearest him.
    "The battle continues at Munda. Caesar has pushed the enemy back."
    "Even outnumbered, Caesar triumphs."
    "Yes, but we lost many men." The soldier pointed to the wagon. "We carry news to the magistrate, and a wounded man to his family on the way."
    "My friend here is a physician," Artemas said.

    "His wound worsens. The doctor in Munda dressed it, but the dressing should be changed." The soldier looked at Damon hopefully.
    Damon undid his cloak and passed it to Artemas. "Certainly, I'll do what I can." He stepped forward. With each step the unmistakable odor of decaying flesh grew stronger. It overpowered even the rankness of the unwashed soldiers.
    Artemas looked uneasy.
    The wounded man lay on a bed of straw. Damon climbed into the open wagon next to him. The bandages were stiff with dried blood. This close, the stench was overwhelming. Damon gagged. He breathed through his mouth.
    He knew what he would find when he peeled back the bandages. There was no mistaking this fetid odor. "Have you fresh bandages?"
    One of the soldiers volunteered to get some from the inn.
    "And water to bathe him and give him to drink," Damon called after the soldier.
    The man lay feverish, tossing his head from side to side and muttering in Latin, words unfamiliar to Damon. "Could someone translate, please?"
    "He calls to his wife," a soldier told Damon in Greek.
    Damon clenched his jaw, breathing through his teeth, fighting back the spasms and the bile that rose in the back of his throat. He cut the bandages free with his knife. He peeled back the cloth. A writhing mass of pale yellow maggots fell away from the rotting flesh, dropping like rice from a stalk. On the wagon floor they curled first one way and then the other, protesting the light. One soldier retched beside the wagon wheel. Another turned ashen but stayed near. Artemas fainted.

    "Shall I bring your friend to?" a soldier asked Damon.
    "No, leave him. It's good he fell in the brush. He'll get a few scratches, but at least he didn't crack his skull open on the road." Damon worked quickly now. "You'll need to keep the maggots in darkness."
    "You're not going to remove them?"
    "Most likely the physician in Munda put them there. They eat away at the dead flesh that poisons the leg. It is good."
    "Not so good to look at."
    "No," Damon agreed. "Not so good to look at."
    The man's leg had angry red streaks up into the thigh from the wound below the knee. The flesh was