by R. W. Peake
“I’ll take care of it.”
As surprising as it was to hear this said in such a calm tone, it was who said it that shocked us even more, and I turned to Pulcher, who I suppose I had noticed had just rejoined our party from taking a look.
Trying not to sound doubtful, I asked, “Are you sure? I mean, are you sure you can?”
If he had any misgivings, he certainly did a good job of hiding them.
“I recognize the Optio,” he replied confidently. “We meet up in the city occasionally.” Before any of us could respond, he turned to Flaccus and said, “Lucius, you know the way to get past them?” While Pulcher did not provide details, Flaccus clearly understood, because he nodded, and Pulcher instructed, “Take this bunch that way while I go talk to Barbatus and keep him and his detail occupied.”
Flaccus, to his credit, did not hesitate, only saying with a grin, “Meet you at Sekhmet’s Domain tonight?”
Pulcher nodded, but before he turned back to distract our comrades, I thrust out my arm, instantly cursing myself because of the flash of embarrassment that crossed the man’s face, although he did reach out with his maimed hand and clasped my arm.
“Thank you, Pulcher,” I said, and while he shrugged and mumbled something, I saw that he was pleased; I do not believe that it had anything to do with the money I had given him.
Then he moved at a trot, while Flaccus had us turn about to retrace our steps for a block before taking the next cross street.
“We’re going to have to use an alley,” Flaccus called over his shoulder, “so we’ll need to be in single file.”
We reached the spot, and fortunately, it was an actual alley and not just a space between buildings, so the delay was minimal. My arms were on fire, and I truly wanted to set the chests down, yet when Alex offered to grasp the other handle of one of them to share the burden, I snapped at him that I was fine, even as I inwardly raged at myself for my stupid pride. Once out of the alley, it was simply a matter of walking the last block before, to our immediate right, was the city end of the Heptastadion. Gaius, Septimus and the two crewmen resumed their task of checking around the corners in both directions, and the fact that I could now clearly see them signaling we could resume told me just how little time we had left. When I crossed the street to reach the Heptastadion, I naturally glanced to my left, where I saw that, true to his word, Pulcher had managed to not only distract what I could see was a tent section of men, two of whom were holding torches, but was keeping their attention on whatever he was saying.
“He’s probably offering to buy them all drinks tonight,” Flaccus’ guess echoed my own, and we exchanged a grin as he joked, “It doesn’t matter what Legion it is, or where we’re at, the way to a man’s heart is offering to pay for him to get drunk.”
I continued to glance over at the section as we began making our way down the Heptastadion, and before we had gone a hundred paces, the men of the 22nd resumed their patrol in their original direction, away from us. Only then did I begin to relax, although the pair of Macedonian Egyptian guards who were posted just in front of the first bridge gave the appearance they were thinking of challenging us, but it proved to be a moment of temporary madness for them, because before we got within thirty paces, they silently but pointedly moved out of the way, one of them even turning his back to us.
“Wise choice,” I could not resist saying, but I said it in Latin, so they probably did not understand, and even if they had, my mind had quickly moved on to a more pressing matter.
As I mentioned, the two bridges of the Heptastadion are arched high enough so that the masts of even the largest quinqueremes can move from the Royal Harbor to the Eunostos. Normally, it would be something I did not even notice, but lugging those two chests made me feel as if I was laboring up one of the mountains in Gaul. My tunic was already soaked through, and while the makeshift harness strapped to my bare skin had been comfortable when we set out, it had begun to chafe, and I was beginning to think that my arms might actually be pulled out of their sockets. Nevertheless, I made it, feeling the slope of the paving bricks moving downward, and I was thankful that the noise of the others behind me huffing and puffing drowned out my own panting. Without Demeter or me saying anything, the men carrying the chests had picked up their pace, forcing me to do the same as we raced the sun. The causeway was not deserted, and there was no way to truly hide the fact that what was being hauled in these chests was heavy, which, given their construction, practically screamed what was contained in them. I ignored the stares of the few dozen men, some of them crewmen of one of the ships that had berthed in between us and the Persephone, others being dock workers who for whatever reason had arrived before the workday actually started. I only learned later that, as he tends to do, Alex had thought ahead, refilling his purse and, with Gaius, Septimus, and Theodotus, who he had learned spoke the native Egyptian tongue, trailed behind us, stopping at each man or group of men to have a quiet word that included the dropping of a couple of coins into palms. In the moment, all that mattered to me was identifying the Persephone, something that I had not even thought about when we set out, only now realizing that when one is looking down a causeway where dozens of ships are berthed, in semi-darkness they all look the same to someone like me, and I had not thought to count. Not surprisingly, it was Demeter who saved me from the ignominy of walking—staggering would be a better term—past the Persephone; perhaps he realized I was about to do so, because from somewhere behind me, he suddenly materialized next to me, smiling broadly.
“Here we are, Centurion,” he extended his hand, indicating our ship, which I would have definitely walked past, although I ascribe it to my fatigue and not my ignorance in nautical matters. “Let us get aboard now, starting with you.”
I did not even bother to try hiding my gratitude, but as difficult as the bridge had been, the plank, while much shorter, was at a steeper angle. It was the sight of Bronwen, standing next to it on the deck, that propelled me upward, although I was panting so hard that I could not even return her greeting. Without thinking, once I was safely out of the way, I dropped both chests, and they smashed into the deck with enough force that it earned me a sharp rebuke from Demeter, which I meekly accepted. As the others ascended the plank, Bronwen approached me, and I saw that she was unsure what she should say or do.
“I’d hug you,” I finally managed between pants and with a grin, “but I don’t think I can lift my arms right now.”
“Why do you assume I would want you to hug me?” she teased, then held her nose. “You stink, Gnaeus.” This made me laugh, then her smile faded. “It appears that you were successful?” She phrased it as a question, so I assured her that we had been, then she asked, “What about Aviola?”
“He’s dead,” I answered tersely, then thought to add, “But he got an easier death than he deserved.”
I was thinking of Gaius Pullus when I said this, and thinking of him made me begin looking for Septimus, Gaius, and Alex, but they were still not aboard. Hurrying to the side of the ship, I saw them still down on the causeway, which was when I saw what they were doing, as Alex had his hand extended above the outstretched palm of a man in the kind of garb Alex was still wearing.
“Clever,” I had to admit, but when I turned to explain to Bronwen, I learned there was no need.
“He is paying them for their silence,” she observed, speaking in a matter-of-fact manner that made me raise an eyebrow. She responded by shrugging. “My father did it quite often when we were on a trading voyage.”
Now, I wondered, why would Praesutagas, who Bronwen declared was an honest merchant known for his fair dealing, need to bribe people to keep their mouths shut? This thought stayed in my head and has never been uttered aloud, although now I suppose this counts, but I am learning as I go that there are some things between a man and a woman that are best left unsaid, or unasked.
We continued to watch, and finally, the three of them came striding up the plank, broad grins on their faces. Grin
s, I realized, that I could plainly see without the need for torches or lamps, and I glanced over in the direction of the Royal Theater to see that the top of it was outlined in pink. The three of them headed for me, and we shared a moment of triumph, laughing and hugging each other; or, more accurately, they hugged me.
When Alex asked why I was not hugging them back, I was too tired to lie, admitting simply, “I can’t. My arms don’t work right now.”
Whether it was the words or the manner in which I said it, the three of them burst out laughing, and Bronwen giggled, while I was left to glare at them.
“You know what the best part is?” Alex addressed this to Septimus, who answered immediately, “Yes. He can’t hit us for laughing at him.”
Despite trying to maintain my pretense of being irritated, I joined in, although I did warn, “You better hope I forget about this.” Turning back to what they had done, I asked them, “What did you tell those men when you were giving them money?”
“The truth,” Alex replied immediately, but I was certain that he was not serious, so I turned to Septimus, who nodded.
“We told them we had just robbed a rich Roman,” he confirmed, then the two of them could no longer restrain their grins as Alex picked up, “They all thought it was a wonderful thing we were doing, and swore to be silent if anyone came poking around.”
This did make me laugh, as I could easily see how most Egyptians, both Macedonian and natives, would view it that way.
“Centurion.” Demeter’s call broke up the moment, and we turned towards him as he approached. Whether he heard our exchange, or just saw the opportunity for his own moment of humor, he asked me with a grin, “Would you like my men to take your two chests below as well? Or do you want to continue demonstrating your great strength and little sense to do it yourself?”
The renewal of my companions’ mirth drowned out my normal retort that he could go piss on his boots, but my head was nodding as I said it. Demeter called to the handful of crewmen who were still on the main deck, the master watching until four men came and picked up the chests. Then, he turned back to us and said, “We are preparing to get underway, so I request that you go below to your cabin so that you will not impede my crew.”
“We’re leaving immediately?” Septimus asked, clearly unhappy, but he was not alone, and I learned why when Bronwen said, “But I thought we could see the city before we leave!”
“So did I,” Alex spoke up, and when I glanced at him inquiringly, he shrugged and admitted, “I’ve read so much about the city, I just wanted to see some of it.”
“We did pay off the men who saw us,” Septimus said hopefully, but Demeter was unmoved, and I could not argue with his logic when he replied, “And how long do you think they will remain silent? Or, how do you know they will at all?”
When Septimus explained their reasoning to the Rhodian, I could see Demeter’s lips twitch in a smile, but he merely repeated himself. I was not happy, but not surprised when the other four of our party turned to me with more or less the same beseeching expression. In response, I faced Demeter, offering him a helpless shrug.
“Can you give them at least a watch of daylight, Demeter?” I deliberately phrased it as a question, although I was prepared to insist.
He seemed surprised, but not for the reason I thought, asking, “Do you not want to go with them, Centurion?” Are you mad? I thought. You seriously think that all of us are getting off this fucking ship just to watch you and your crew sail off with six hundred thousand sesterces? I uttered none of this, but I did not have to because, suddenly, Demeter’s expression changed as he said softly, “Ah, yes. I understand.” I braced myself for him to at least appear to be insulted, but I was completely unprepared when, instead, he agreed, “I can see why you hesitate, so may I offer an alternative?” Of course, I nodded. “I have not actually seen much of Alexandria myself, at least, not in some time. Would you mind if I accompanied you and your party, Centurion?” Now, he did grin. “I can assure you that my crew will not leave us behind if I am with you, not even for that much money.”
I was prepared to endure our brief time in Alexandria more than enjoy it, simply because I was so tired, and my arms, while they felt better, had begun to ache; indeed, they would be sore for the next week to the point I did not work on my forms. However, it proved to be extremely memorable, and enjoyable, partially because of Bronwen and the sheer delight she took in everything around us, but it was more than that. I had already partially experienced it, and I knew that Alex, Septimus, and to a lesser extent, Gaius appreciated our presence in this city because of what it meant to our family’s history. But, walking towards the Royal Theater, which is one of the largest structures I have ever seen, and was simply overwhelming to a girl from Britannia, Septimus, Alex, and I alternated between competing with each other and complementing the others as we recounted the tales of Caesar and his two Cohorts from the 6th Legion who had been captured at Pharsalus by Antonius and given the choice between accompanying Caesar in his pursuit of Pompeius or being cut down. As Bronwen and Demeter listened with obvious interest, we described how Caesar had placed the huge Secundus Pilus Prior of his 10th Legion as the de facto Primus Pilus, because of a dramatic display of loyalty that the Prefect showed when his boyhood friend, close comrade, and Optio Vibius Domitius, joined with the other mutineers of the 10th Legion, and my great-grandfather refused to join with them.
I was not surprised when Demeter asked, “And what happened to your great-grandfather and his friend? Did they ever reconcile?”
“No, not really,” I admitted. “They served together when my great-grandfather returned from Alexandria with Caesar, and Caesar made him the Primus Pilus of the 10th, but Domitius still served as Optio of the First Century, Second Cohort for the rest of his enlistment.”
The truth, of course, is more complicated than that; what I did not mention was that my great-grandfather and Vibius Domitius were fated to meet once again, on the plains of Philippi during the climactic final battle between Augustus and Antonius, who were allies then, and two of Divus Julius’ assassins, Brutus and Cassius. It was a brief encounter, but my great-grandfather allowed Vibius, who was a Centurion in one of the assassins’ Legions, to escape from the battlefield, whereupon he returned to their childhood home of Baetica, opened up a taverna, and had a son he named…Titus Domitius, who in turn became my father’s best friend and who, as of this writing, is still alive in Pannonia.
Reaching the theater, the entrance was secured and we could not go inside, so we stood outside, telling Demeter, Bronwen, and Gaius, who has yet to read the Prefect’s account, of the near-mutiny by the men of the 28th Legion, the only other Legionaries with Caesar and my great-grandfather’s 6th Legion during this period of Caesar’s time in Alexandria. The revolt had been precipitated by the eunuch general Ganymedes, who was serving Cleopatra’s sister and rival Arsinoe at the time, when he began pumping saltwater into the streets of the Royal Quarter controlled by Caesar, which are actually lower than sea level. This act had fouled the existing wells, water became scarce, and the men of the 28th demanded that Caesar meet them in this theater, which should explain just how large it is. They were joined there by the 6th of course, but the 6th was composed of hardened veterans, while the 28th was one of the last Legions Caesar raised and was not experienced. And, as he almost always did, Caesar had a solution that was both simple and effective, which was having the men dig new wells throughout their position, thereby ending the mutiny while simultaneously solving the crisis. From the theater, we walked to the library, and while the damage has long since been cleared away, for the first time, Bronwen and I got into a bit of a disagreement as she proved that the story of Caesar burning the greatest repository of knowledge is known throughout the world.
“It was an accident.” I am certain I said this more than once as she criticized Caesar, but to my disgust, this was one time none of the others took my side.
In fact, it was Gaius who said, “Whether
it was an accident or not, he destroyed centuries of wisdom!”
I was amused because I knew why he was taking Bronwen’s side, who had scoffed at the very idea that it being an accident mattered, but I was also slightly irritated.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Gaius, I didn’t realize how much of a scholar you are and how much you love to read,” I retorted sarcastically.
His face reddened, and I felt a bit foolish; fortunately, it was quickly forgotten as we moved on. The streets were now full of people, and it was an exotic mixture, and this time, it was Demeter who would point one out and say casually, “That man is a merchant from Parthia,” and “Those men work for the Macedonians who still occupy the lower offices who run the city.” Naturally, there were a fair number of Romans, most of them in civilians’ tunics, although we spotted at least a few men togate. There were also men wearing the soldier’s tunic and baltea, but while we got a couple of curious glances, it was nothing unusual, for me, or for Bronwen, for that matter, but fortunately, all it took was a glare from me to make the leers vanish. We made essentially a big circle, starting at the theater, then walking by the royal palace that is now the Praetorium of an Imperial province of Rome, where we understandably saw most of the togate Romans, all of them scurrying about in a great hurry and always carrying at least one scroll and followed by at least one slave. Passing through the agora, we broke our fast, buying meat pies from one vendor, some honey cakes from another, then finishing it off with a flask of wine that we passed around as we followed Demeter, and this was where his knowledge of the world showed itself to advantage. We were naturally drawn by the smells of the section of the agora where the spice merchants sold their wares, and as we walked past them, he pointed to a basket of what he said were peppercorns, which he told us came from India.
“It is a shame,” he commented in a manner that seemed offhand but later I was not so sure, “because if we had time, I would strongly suggest you buy as much of these as you can.”