‘And you, Nubian, let someone follow you here,’ said another, pointing at Syphax. Although he wore only a loincloth like his fellows, the weirdly ornamented staff in this tall Egyptian’s hand gave him a sinister air of authority.
The Nubian growled, and made as if to snap the Egyptian’s pointing finger. ‘We found no one in the alleys or on the roof. It must have been an animal, a scavenging baboon or suchlike.’
‘Enough of this,’ said Apuleius Victor impatiently. ‘The plan for tomorrow goes as follows. There will be a mass fight in the arena, Greeks versus Amazons is the theme. Then we will…’
He broke off, as the tall Egyptian ran his fingertip up the staff. Flaminius’ eyes widened. In the man’s hands was now an asp.
As the snake writhed in sinuous coils, the Egyptian thaumaturge fed it into the basket. Then he produced a reed flute from his belt and began to play, swaying from side to side.
The snake rose from the basket, following the Egyptian’s swaying, dancing with him. The tune was mesmeric. Flaminius felt his eyelids begin to droop. He had heard that the asp could stop its ears to the song of the snake charmer, but this one was under the man’s spell.
The thaumaturge lowered the flute, then reached out to the snake, gently lifting it. Another Egyptian came forward with a small pottery jar. The snake charmer held the asp above it and slowly stroked its jaws. Milky white fluid dripped into the jar. When it was full, the second Egyptian stoppered the jar and handed it to Apuleius Victor with a muttered phrase in Egyptian. The impresario had watched the conjuring with a sour expression. Flaminius leaned closer to see what would happen next.
He heard a splintering noise from the rotten wood of the shutter he was leaning on. To his horror it broke free. As he fell helplessly backwards, he saw faces glaring in his direction.
He hit the littered ground with a thud, fragments of wood cascading down around him, and caught a flash of white limbs as Camilla, in obedience to his word, dashed to the ladder. As Flaminius forced himself to his feet, he saw her silhouetted against the stars. Then she vanished across the roof.
The door burst open and out sprinted Egyptians, knives and axes in their hands, Syphax and Apuleius Victor at their back. They were between Flaminius and the ladder.
He remembered his words to the gladiatrix. He would die here, if he didn’t think of something. And quick.
He dashed to the boxes where they had hidden, Syphax on his heels, scrambled up them, then leapt for the wall, seizing hold of the top. Just as he was lifting his right leg up, the Nubian grabbed hold of his cloak and tugged him backwards.
Without halting, holding stubbornly onto the wall with his left hand, he snapped the cloak pin with his right so the garment dropped, enmeshing the murmillo in its folds as a retiarius might trap a secutor, then hauled himself astraddle the wall.
On the other side was another evil smelling alley whose filthy surface glistened unpleasantly in the sickly light of the stars. He glanced back to see Syphax was still struggling with the cloak. The Egyptian robbers rushed forward. Apuleius Victor helped free Syphax from the cloak. Flaminius flung himself over the wall.
Catching his shoulder on an out-jutting stone as he came down, he landed in what smelt and felt like a midden. Rolling over, he sprang to his feet and sprinted away down the alleyway. Things had not gone well. Camilla had proved an untrustworthy companion on this expedition.
He heard the Egyptians climbing the wall and jumping down into the alley. Sweat ran cold on his bare flesh. Even if he got back to the gladiators’ school, surely Apuleius Victor had seen him, recognised him. He had botched this mission. What would the legate say?
Turning a corner, he collided with a hulking figure. They were both bowled over. He forced himself up, scrabbling for his sword. The newcomer leapt to her feet and drew her own sword, which was when Flaminius recognised her.
‘Camilla!’ he hissed. ‘They’re after me!’
‘Run!’ she told him urgently. ‘The street is this way!’
Light was visible at the far end of the alley, a long way off. A glance backwards revealed the knife wielding Egyptians racing after them. As Flaminius ran alongside Camilla, he remembered that Roman patrols were a rarity in the Egyptian Quarter.
Reaching the street they found themselves only a short way from their starting point. Hurriedly sheathing their swords, they walked through the crowds of revellers as quickly as they could without attracting undue attention. This proved difficult; Flaminius was plastered with night soil, and he received some disgusted looks as they walked up.
‘I came back for you,’ Camilla told him, ‘circled round when I realised you were stuck in the court.’
Flaminius heard shouting from behind him, and turned to see Egyptians running out of the alleyway. They seized hold of the nearest passers-by and seemed to be threatening them. Others scanned the street.
‘Run!’ Camilla grunted.
‘No,’ said Flaminius. ‘In here.’ He pointed at the steps leading to an all-night bathhouse.
Camilla stared at him. ‘You could certainly do with a wash,’ she began, voice high, ‘but this is no time…’
‘If we run,’ Flaminius steered her up the steps, ‘they’ll see us and give chase. No one will suspect us if we act normally.’
‘I hope you don’t think I’m the kind of girl who frequents bathhouses with men,’ she said. They entered the vestibule, and the doorkeeper sniffed at them.
To Camilla’s evident relief, the bathhouse was the old-fashioned kind where the bathing was segregated. Typical of the provinces, Flaminius thought. When both had bathed and relaxed, they met again in the entrance hall.
‘That was a clever thought,’ said Camilla, peering out through the doors to the street. ‘There’s no sign of those robbers now.’ She turned to Flaminius. ‘But what do we do now? Go back to the school?’
Flaminius led her out into the street. It was quieter now as midnight was near.
‘I don’t know if Syphax or Apuleius Victor recognised me,’ he said. ‘I was cloaked like you until I tried to get over the wall; then Syphax grabbed at me. He didn’t get me but I had to sacrifice my cloak to get away. They could have recognised me then.’
‘What can they do?’ she said. ‘Have you prosecuted for trespassing?’
He gave her a cynical look. ‘They could have me murdered,’ he said simply. ‘What do you think happened to Petrus?’
‘Will you run away?’ she asked him as they walked on towards the Greek Quarter. ‘That might make them all the more suspicious. They would hunt you down.’
‘True,’ said Flaminius. And I’d be throwing away any hope of learning how gladiators are joining the rebel army in the Thebaid, he thought but did not say. ‘I think I’ll have to take a chance.’
‘Be careful,’ she warned him. ‘Just be careful.’
They walked on in silence. As the lights of the Canopic Street became visible up ahead, she added, ‘I’m sorry about running off without you. I didn’t realise you’d get into trouble.’
Thin lipped, he accepted the apology. ‘You were only doing what I’d told you. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.’
‘What do we do next?’ she asked. They followed the Canopic Street in the direction of the suburbs.
‘I’m going to bed as soon as I get in,’ Flaminius told her, ‘and before that I’m going to lock the door. I’d advise you to do the same. Take your sword, don’t check it back into the armoury. In the morning, there’s a little trip I’m going to take to a friend of mine who speaks Egyptian like a native. In fact, he is a native, even if he’s a Roman citizen. I caught some of what the Egyptians were saying, but I couldn’t understand a word. Maybe he’ll be able to translate it.’
‘I don’t know what good that will be,’ she said. ‘But you know best. We’d better lie low after this escapade. Tomorrow I’m going to spar with Maccabeus. We’d better not be seen together too much or people might suspect something.’ She scowled. ‘I wish
you hadn’t given Maccabeus the idea that we’re lovers.’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Flaminius thought that might well be his epitaph. ‘But no, I’m not going to lie low. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. We know that Syphax and Apuleius Victor are both involved. Tomorrow, when I get back from my Egyptian friend, I’m going to do some more investigating.’
‘As you wish,’ she said, tired and dispirited. ‘Me, I’m going back to my cell to sleep the sleep of the just.’
Together they ascended the steps.
—14—
Ozymandias’ House, Alexandria, Roman Province of Egypt, 27th August 124 AD
When Nitocris awoke next morning, Ozymandias was gone. Light streamed in through the shutters, falling in bars upon the linen sheet, but the bed was empty except for her. She sat up, holding up the sheet to cover herself, and gazed at the depression in the bed beside her.
‘Ozymandias?’ she called. No answer. She reached out and touched the bed where he had lain. It was as cold as death.
‘Mistress?’ A eunuch appeared in the doorway.
‘Thales!’ she said. ‘Have you seen your master this morning?’
The eunuch shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen him since last night, ma’am,’ he told her in his high, fluting voice. ‘Should I search the house?’
‘Get me my garments,’ Nitocris commanded, ‘and get out. I’ll find my husband myself.’
She dressed hastily. As the respectable wife of a Roman citizen, she should have told the eunuch to dress her, but as a girl who had lived several years in the Alexandrian gutter, she hated slaves fussing around her. As soon as she was dressed, she hurried from the room to search the house. But there was no sign of her husband.
She questioned the porter, an elderly Syrian who sat dozing in his little niche in the vestibule.
‘Have you seen my husband?’
He blinked at her and shook his head. Then he struck his brow. ‘It must have been the second or third watch of the night. He came down here, very quiet, dressed like a common Egyptian and without so much as a lantern to guide his way. He told me to open the door quietly so as not to wake you.’
She tapped her foot. ‘Did he now?’ she stormed. ‘And you did as you were told?’
The porter looked apologetic. ‘It was the master!’ he said abjectly.
‘Did he not leave a message for me?’ she wanted to know. The porter shook his head.
Nitocris turned on her heel and without saying more, ran out to seek solace in the garden.
As on the previous morning, Flaminius left the gladiators’ school before anyone else had risen. The events of the previous night had disturbed him, but they confirmed in his mind that Syphax and Apuleius Victor had conspired to kill Petrus. Why, he did not know for certain, but it seemed likely that it had been because of the Thracian’s clumsy snooping.
Flaminius had chosen badly when he opted to use Petrus as his agent, and he would have to accept that the man’s death was his responsibility. Flaminius would have to round up the ringleaders of this conspiracy, learn who was supplying weapons and gladiators to the desert rebels, and what their ultimate aim was. With the emperor visiting the province in a few days’ time, it was imperative that the plot be dealt with quickly. Under those circumstances, whatever means he used could be justified.
He came out onto the wharf and approached the Library. The harbour was filled with ships as ever, and the Pharos shone far out to sea, but no ships were mysteriously on fire this time. As he passed through the colonnade leading to the Library portico, he wondered absently what had been the cause of that sudden drama. It was unusual for a ship to go up in flames like that. The crews of the vessels Flaminius had sailed on had always been especially vigilant when it came to fire, and with good reason.
He hurried up the wide steps. What had made him certain that Syphax and the impresario were behind Petrus’ death was the rigmarole with the asp and the snake charmer; they had milked that snake for venom. Perhaps it was the same creature that had provided the poison that was Petrus’ undoing. In which case, what mischief were they planning now?
Then there was that mysterious phrase in Egyptian; “Sma en add,” if he had heard it correctly. Maybe it would mean something to Ozymandias.
He crossed the echoing marble floor where Greek scholars stood in small groups or sat at reading desks, studying papyrus scrolls. At the main desk, he looked for a sign of Ozymandias, but to his dismay the scribe wasn’t there.
Flaminius addressed one of the librarians on duty, a tall Alexandrian with greying hair.
‘Have you seen Ozymandias today?’ he asked the man. The Alexandrian looked him up and down with all the superciliousness of his race.
‘Who do you refer to?’ he asked, gazing with distaste at Flaminius’ gladiator harness. ‘The Library is open to all, assuming they have suitable scholarly qualifications. Assuming they can read, even. Can you read?’
Although he was privately amused by the librarian’s arrogance, Flaminius had no time for arguments, intellectual or otherwise.
‘Yes, thank you,’ he said. ‘I can read Latin and Greek, anyway. I’m looking for an Egyptian who works here, a man called Ozymandias. Small, about so high; shaven head, protuberant lips…’
The Alexandrian librarian turned away. ‘No one of that description works here,’ he said.
‘Ozymandias has been working here for months. He was here yesterday. Where is he now?’ When the librarian refused to meet his eyes, Flaminius laid his hand on the man’s arm. ‘Answer me!’
The echoes of his voice danced round and round the great marble hall. He had hardly lifted his voice above a whisper, but now the hallowed hush was broken, and scholarly heads were turning to gaze at him in disapproval.
The Alexandrian lifted a reproachful finger to his lips for quiet. ‘Acting like a barbarian! I will have to ask you to leave at once. There is no Ozymandias working here. You’re mistaken. Please leave or I will have you ejected by force.’
Flaminius was baffled. ‘He was here yesterday,’ he insisted. ‘Were you? When the ship was on fire and your precious Library almost went up in smoke? If it hadn’t been for me and Ozymandias, you’d be sitting in a burnt-out ruin.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ said the librarian incredulously.
‘Is there some kind of problem here?’
A cold-eyed man with a jutting beard appeared in a nearby doorway. Flaminius recognised him as the senior librarian.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You remember me, don’t you? From yesterday?’
‘This gladiator,’ the first librarian butted in, ‘seems to be making threats. He forced his way in here asking for non-existent personnel and then threatened to burn the library down! He’s a barbarian of some description…’
‘I’m a Roman…’
‘As I said, a barbarian,’ the librarian said.
‘Thank you,’ said the senior librarian. ‘I will take care of this.’ He smiled pleasantly at Flaminius. ‘Please follow me.’
The senior librarian took his place behind a marble desk that was littered with scrolls, and invited Flaminius to sit on a marble bench. ‘Firstly, I must apologise,’ said the librarian. ‘The man you spoke with is not one of our usual staff; in fact, he’s a scholar in the Museum, but as a favour he agreed to fill in for one of our assistant librarians. He knows very little about the running of the library, and I must admit, I think he was a little offended by your, ah, appearance.’ He glanced significantly at Flaminius’ clothes, such as they were. ‘You have every right to dress as a gladiator, of course,’ he added with an indulgent smile. ‘As a youth, I was fond of affecting the garb of a charioteer, not to mention giving my heart away to heartless boys. Such is the folly of youth. But perhaps the Library is not the best place for a young fellow like you to frequent. The Hippodrome, perhaps, or the Gymnasium.’
‘Thank you,’ said Flaminius. ‘I’ll consider your advice.’ The librarian couldn’t imagine
a genuine gladiator might wander into the Library. Not that he was a genuine gladiator? ‘The man I spoke with was filling in for one of your assistant librarians?’
‘Usermaatre Setepenre.’
Flaminius scratched his head. ‘You speak Egyptian?’
The librarian laughed. ‘Indeed I do. My main area of expertise is the Hellenic corpus of the Heliopolitan hierophant and historian Manetho, but during my studies I have learnt much of the Egyptian tongue. A branch of learning sadly neglected by many of my Alexandrian contemporaries. But Usermaatre Setepenre is the name of the assistant librarian who is currently absent.’
‘Oh,’ said Flaminius, disappointed. ‘I was hoping it might be my friend Ozymandias. He works here, but I can’t find him.’
The librarian laughed again. ‘You’re using the Hellenic form of the name, of course. Forgive an old pedant. Ozymandias is how Usermaatre Setepenre’s name is rendered into Greek.’
‘I see,’ said Flaminius, startled. ‘No need to apologise. But could you tell me where Ozymandias is? You say he’s absent?’
‘I hoped that you, as his friend, could tell me!’ the librarian replied. ‘He didn’t come into work this morning.’ Flaminius’s heart pounded. What had happened to Ozymandias?
‘I’m sure he will appear soon,’ the librarian assured him. ‘Do you wish to leave a message for him? Is there anywhere you can be contacted?’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘Maybe you could help me,’ he said.
‘Anything I can do,’ said the librarian generously.
‘You speak Egyptian,’ Flaminius said. ‘What does “Sma en add” mean?’
‘Sma en add?’ the librarian repeated. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps you misheard it. In gutter Egyptian, it could be taken to mean “to kill, or bring death, to the youth, or young man.’ He broke off. ‘Is anything the matter? You seem disturbed.’
Flaminius shook himself. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, rising abruptly. ‘Thank you for your help. I’ll go to Ozymandias’ house and see if I can find him there. I’ll tell you if I find out what’s happened.’ He left the library, his mind in turmoil.
The Gladiator Gambit Page 10