‘This is not the temple of any god worth worshipping,’ Ozymandias said. ‘Flaminius is trapped in there. Who knows what horrors he faces? We’ve got to break down the door!’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Nitocris said. ‘That statue must be heavy. It must be solid diorite.’
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘It’s not stone at all,’ he began. ‘It seems to be some kind of metal…’
He broke off. The statue’s arms extended abruptly, wrapping themselves around him, hugging him, crushing him to its metal breast.
Nitocris shrieked.
Flaminius flung the snake away from him. It hit the side of the idol and fell with a clatter to the paves. He stared at it. It was a wand again.
He clapped ironically.
‘Your tricks get better every time,’ he told the snake charmer.
‘You’ve never been in my temple before,’ the small Egyptian told him, picking up his wand. ‘Where have you seen me?’
‘I was spying on you,’ Flaminius admitted. ‘It’s an occupational disease, you see. Incurable inquisitiveness. You had a meeting with the late Apuleius Victor, the equally late Syphax, and a gang of Egyptian robbers. I saw you with a real snake, milking it for venom. I believe that poison was intended for me, to bring about my death.’
‘I knew nothing of this,’ said the small man. His eyes seemed to glow like coals. ‘It was you spying on our meeting? There were spies, certainly…’
‘Surely a magician of your calibre is all knowing?’ said Flaminius sardonically. ‘You are the famous Skimbix, aren’t you?’ The small man nodded modestly. ‘But you knew nothing of me spying on you?’
‘Apuleius Victor betrayed us. He joined with us but secretly he was working for the Romans. But that traitor is dead.’
Flaminius’ eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.
‘I have my ways.’ The magician laughed. ‘Perhaps I am indeed all knowing. I know that you are my enemy. And you, Roman, are in my power! Very soon, you will be going on a journey. A long journey!’
Flaminius laughed incredulously. ‘Fortune telling now?’ he said. ‘Have you cast my horoscope?’
Skimbix laughed with him, nodding vigorously, evil eyes gleaming. He raised one hand to his lips. In his palm was a pile of dust. He blew it into Flaminius’s face.
The Roman fell back, choking. All around him, the temple seemed to shimmer and change…
—14—
To Ozymandias’ surprise, the metal arms did not crush him. But they clutched him tightly, so tightly he couldn’t move or wriggle free. The statue, however, had stopped moving now and seemed entirely lifeless again. Eyes almost popping from his skull, Ozymandias craned his neck round.
‘Nitocris,’ he called hoarsely to his sister. ‘Can you find something to crowbar me free with?’
The girl hunted round. She saw a nearby cresset and tried to detach it from the wall. ‘It’s stuck,’ she cried out looking atr him over her shoulder. ‘I can’t break it!’
‘Try something else,’ Ozymandias urged her, but then the cresset broke free so suddenly that Nitocris fell backwards. It hit the floor, the girl beside it, flames roaring as it plummeted, but they went out the instant it landed. She got up, rubbing her bruises, and carried the cresset over. Together they managed to insert the length of metal between Ozymandias and the statue’s arm and lever the latter back enough for Ozymandias to slip free.
‘Now we want the whole statue,’ he told her.
Together, they put their shoulders to it and slowly pushed it from the plinth. With a thundering crash, it hit the paving below and went skittering over the side of the pool. Ozymandias reached out to grasp it, expecting it to sink to the bottom. To his surprise, it seemed to float on the top.
Nitocris clapped her hands. ‘Another miracle!’ she cried, her voice ringing through the temple. ‘The god is on your side!’
‘I doubt that,’ said Ozymandias darkly.
Jumping down, he went to the side of the pool. He dipped his hand into find that less than a cubit below the surface was some kind of transparent material, crystal perhaps. Perhaps some kind of glass, but clearer glass than any he had seen before. The statue lay on top of this, but its impact had splintered it, and Ozymandias could only see it due to the web of crack marks.
‘Help me with this,’ he said, assisting Nitocris as she climbed down. ‘As soon as we break those doors down, we can get in the inner sanctum to see what’s happened to Flaminius.’
Together they struggled to haul the statue out of the water and onto the paving, then dragged it across to the second door. Nitocris was panting and sweating. Ozymandias wasn’t much better off. Now they lifted the heavy statue to use it as a battering ram. The boom as it collided with the door echoed through the chamber, and Ozymandias was sure it must be loud enough to be audible outside. But not a mark had appeared on the door.
‘Try again,’ he said remorselessly, and they swung it a second time. Again the noise rang out through the temple, but this time a dent appeared in the door.
‘It’s working!’ Nitocris gasped. ‘Again!’
But as they rammed the statue into the door another time, someone began pounding on the main temple doors at the other end of the chamber.
They exchanged glances. ‘The guards,’ Ozymandias muttered. ‘Hurry!’
Another crash rang out as they slammed the statue into the door. The door was definitely beginning to bend. But even as they drew back for another try, the main doors burst open and in rushed the civic guards.
‘That’s enough of that!’ a centurion bellowed, scandalised. ‘Put that statue down at once!’
Ozymandias and Nitocris lowered it resignedly.
‘Look, we’ve got to get through that door,’ Ozymandias began. ‘Our friend is…’
‘It’s the ones we were following,’ announced the centurion’s optio. He was wearing a fresh bandage on one arm and the other men had also clearly been in the wars. ‘They were with that assassin we’re following.’
‘I see that, Metellus,’ snapped the centurion. ‘But where’s the assassin?’ He marched up to the two Egyptians. ‘Where is he?’
‘Don’t I know you?’ Ozymandias asked. ‘You were promoted to centurion when Paulus Alexander was commander, didn’t you? Julius Balbillus, isn’t it?’
The centurion peered at him. ‘The scribe Ozymandias?’ he laughed. ‘I remember you. Not seen you since the old commander fell on his sword. What are you doing smashing up this temple?’
‘It’s a long story…’ Ozymandias began.
‘Save it for the wineshop,’ said Julius Balbillus, and his tone became pompous and officious. ‘You were seen in the company of a known fugitive, an enemy of the state who has been accused of plotting to murder the emperor. You and this young girl.’ He looked speculatively at Nitocris.
‘My sister,’ said Ozymandias. ‘Yes, we were with the fugitive in question…’ He swallowed, his mouth dry.
‘You’re working with him?’ Metellus barked.
‘Of course not,’ said Nitocris quickly. ‘My brother works for the Commissary these days. He was tailing this assassin. But the quarry escaped into this temple. He’s through there.’ She indicated the door to the inner sanctum.
‘The door’s locked,’ said Julius Balbillus observantly.
‘My sister’s right,’ said Ozymandias. ‘He went through here and then the door closed. We were trying to get to him.’ He darted his sister a grateful look.
‘But you came just in time to help us,’ said Nitocris, giving the centurion a soulful look.
Julius Balbillus reddened and coughed. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Come on, men, get that door down. The fugitive is behind it.’
Ozymandias drew his sister to one side. ‘What happens when they get through?’ he said in an undertone. ‘They’ll arrest Flaminius.’
‘One thing at a time,’ Nitocris told him.
Another crash resounded round the outer sanctum. Three
brawny civic guards had propelled the battered black statue into the door, which bent under the assault and almost broke. ‘And again,’ said Julius Balbillus gruffly.
A final charge and the doors burst open. As the civic guards crowded round, Ozymandias dodged between them, dragging Nitocris after him, and entered the inner sanctum.
With a grinding of stone on stone, the great baboon idol on the far side moved towards them. ‘Look out!’ Nitocris wailed. ‘It’s come to life!’
‘Get back!’ shouted Julius Balbillus. Then with a crash the idol settled into immobility, facedown. Awe on their faces, the civic guards tramped into the inner sanctum, swords at the ready.
But it was empty.
‘I want to know what’s going on,’ said Julius Balbillus a quarter of an hour later.
He stood over Ozymandias and Nitocris, ruddy face dark with anger. ‘What kind of trick is this? We’ve searched the whole temple and found no sign of the fugitive or anywhere he could have gone. Admit it, he was never here!’
‘What would we gain by deceiving you, centurion?’ Ozymandias sighed. It was the kind of thing Flaminius would say, and it usually put people in their place. For some reason it didn’t work when Ozymandias tried it. Oh, for the benefits of a classical education.
‘I swear to you by Isis and Osiris,’ said Nitocris, ‘that the man you were chasing came into this chamber. The door closed behind him, that’s all we know. He must have got out some other way.’
She felt some relief knowing that Gaius was still at large. The civic guards had searched the entire inner sanctum, then the temple as a whole, without finding a sign of the imperial agent or any way he could have escaped. The statues had remained motionless, and everything that had seemed magical about the place when she had visited with her friend was gone. It had been ransacked.
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘My sister’s right. I’m as confused as you, centurion, but he’s got away. We won’t achieve anything by staying here. You’ve already had trouble with the people of this sector, going by those fresh wounds. Now I suggest we tidy up the mess you and your men have made and leave before a priest comes and raises the alarm. Otherwise we might spark off a riot.’
Julius Balbillus looked despondent. ‘You’ve got a point, damn you,’ he said. ‘Our prey was just within our grasp, but now…’ He shuddered. ‘Snatched from us by Egyptian sorcery! They’re all in league, these people, all in league.’
After his men had done their best to repair the damage, they withdrew. Julius Balbillus took them back to the Palace of Hadrian to make his report to the commander, and he insisted on Ozymandias and Nitocris accompanying them.
As they hastened through the still bustling streets, the two Egyptians held a hushed conversation.
‘What are we going to say when we have to make our report?’ Nitocris wanted to know.
Ozymandias smiled reassuringly. ‘We’ll think of something,’ he said. ‘Or I will, at least. You keep quiet: I’ll do the talking.’
‘You?’ said Nitocris. ‘I don’t know what good you think you’ll be.’
Ozymandias reminded her that he was a former employee of the civic guard. ‘I know what to say,’ he added. ‘I’ve processed enough reports to know what goes down well.’
‘But we’ve told the centurion that we’re working for the Commissary,’ Nitocris said.
‘You told him that,’ Ozymandias reminded her.
She scowled. ‘How can we prove it? We don’t have brooches, like the one Gaius has.’
‘We are imperial agents,’ Ozymandias told her. ‘Leastways, you’ve worked for them before, and I am still one of Flaminius’ agents. Even if I’m not good enough to get a shiny brooch, I know the right codes and passwords. That should be enough.’
She gnawed her lip and walked on in silence at his side. They were at the back of the group of guards, but Julius Balbillus’ men were keeping a quiet eye on them.
‘We should just slip off when they’re not watching,’ she told him.
‘That would get us in worse trouble,’ he replied. ‘Then we would be on the run just like Flaminius was.’
‘What do you suppose happened to Gaius?’ she asked. ‘He vanished… as if by magic.’
Ozymandias shrugged. ‘Maybe it was magic.’
‘I thought you said magic was just trickery,’ she snapped.
‘I just don’t know any more,’ he told her. ‘I know nothing about it. You’ve been to the temple before, and anyway, you knew those Christians. You tell me how they did it! I admit that Flaminius seems to have vanished. Well, haven’t you seen anything of the sort in the past?’
She mused. ‘Water into wine…fire appearing from nowhere…doors that shut of their own accord…but no, I’ve never seen a man vanish before.’
Ozymandias grunted. ‘We didn’t actually see him vanish.’
‘Well, what else happened?’ she challenged him. ‘He—and Skimbix the sorcerer—were in the inner sanctum. There was only one way out and we were there all the time. They vanished!’
They said nothing during the rest of the journey. They were back in the Greek Quarter, but they weren’t going home. Ahead of them stood the great marble walls of the so-called Palace of Hadrian. To Ozymandias’ knowledge, the emperor had yet to set foot in the place; it was mainly a base for the civic guard. They would report to the commander, whose scribe would copy down their words. That had been Ozymandias’ job once. And after that?
‘I think it’s time we changed sides,’ he told his sister.
She looked at him in shock. ‘Change sides? What in Isis’ name do you mean? Betray Gaius?’
Ozymandias indicated the civic guards. ‘We have one thing in common with our friends here,’ he said. ‘They will be looking for Flaminius. So will we. But we know he’s not plotting against the emperor.’ He gave her a bleak look. ‘We have to find him because he is the only man in Egypt who can save the emperor.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to join the search. But… we’ve got to find Gaius first!’
—15—
He heard the lapping of water, felt warm air on his skin, smelt the tang of salt in his nostrils. Beneath him was something hard yet gritty.
Sand?
His feet were wet. Something was tugging at him, gently but insistently. He had just woken up, but he still felt tired and groggy. That must have been one hell of a banquet, he told himself, thinking that he was still working as a gladiator. But that was all in the past.
Apuleius Victor’s corpse! He had found the impresario, stone dead, a knife in his back. He had been suspected, for that and for the death of the Praetorian. He had killed the latter, of course. But it had been unintentional, the man had tried to abduct him.
Cold sweat broke out on his brow. He was suspected of plotting against the emperor! He, of all people, was a suspect.
Where was he now?
He was lying on hard, tight packed sand. Brine was in his nostrils. His legs were wet, and something was tugging at them. Was he lying in the water?
He opened his eyes, flinching at the bright light that lanced into his mind. He was face down in the sand. He tried to roll over but surprised himself by purging the contents of his belly in a flood of stinking bile.
When the fit of vomiting was over, he got to his hands and knees and turned around, bleary. His stomach was painfully empty, his head swam. He sat down and stared at the endless blue waters that stretched away to the distant horizon. Where was he?
He must have been lying half in and half out of the water, like Ulysses shipwrecked on the shores of Calypso’s isle. But how had he got here? And where was here? Muzzily, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it.
Another memory clicked into place. He had gone with Ozymandias and Nitocris to the temple. The statues had come to life, the doors had closed without anyone touching them. And he had met the wizard. He had met the wizard Skimbix and confronted him. The wily Egyptian had tried all manner of tricks, but Flaminius
had withstood them.
That was his name, he remembered with a start. Flaminius. Gaius Flaminius Drusus, tribune of the Twenty-Second Legion, stationed out in Egypt. How could he ever have forgotten?
And where was he now?
Numbly he stared out across the salt sea. Blue water met blue skies far off on the misty edges of things. Had he been in a shipwreck? He remembered nothing after the Egyptian wizard blew that dust into his face. What had happened? Where was Ozymandias? Nitocris?
Where, for that matter, was he?
Painfully, he got to his feet. The lower half of his tunic was wet through and crusted with salt, but his hair and face were dry, although he had to brush sand out of the former. He turned slowly round, surveying the scene.
Inland, the ground rose gradually upwards. Trees and bushes grew in the distance. Smoke trailed into the sky. He caught a glimpse of red tiled roofs. A distinctly Roman scene.
That came as a relief. Wherever he was, he was still in the empire. He hadn’t been spirited away to far-off barbarian lands, or into the land of the dead.
His legs gave way under him and he fell with a thump into the sand. There he lay for some time, struggling to regain his breath. That dust the Egyptian had blown into his face… what had it been? Some kind of narcotic? A soporific, like poppy seeds? Had he been asleep ever since? And how long was that?
He dragged himself to the far side of the beach and propped himself up against a low, twisted tree. It was a tamarisk. Where did tamarisks grow?
Pretty much everywhere in the empire. The warmer parts, anyway. They didn’t have them in Britain. Maybe not Northern Gaul either. But they grew everywhere else. So that was no help.
But he must be somewhere near Egypt, if not in that province itself. Was that sea he could see the Mediterranean? It must be. He had been unconscious for a while thanks to Skimbix’s sorcery, but not so long he had been taken as far as the ocean. He was hungry, but not so hungry as all that. Unless the wizard had employed Pegasus himself to transport him! He shook his head. It was as if he had slipped out of the mundane world and into the lands of myth.
The Archimedes Stratagem Page 11