It was also time he found out where exactly he was. The sooner he learnt, the sooner he could get back and defeat Arctos’ conspiracy.
The place was silent but for the lapping of the water and the soughing of the wind among the tamarisks. Birds cried in the sky above.
That was a homely sound. He remembered listening to the bird calls when he was a dreamy young boy, long before he had joined the legions. So long ago and far away, it seemed. Although, for all he knew, he was in Italy now. Still, it would be a long way from his father’s farm in the hills. He had grown up many miles from the sea. As far from the sea as you could be, in Italy.
From the shore he had seen red tiled roofs, but now he was making his way inland he could see no sign of them. He blundered through the tamarisk thickets in confusion, his head still groggy, and that must surely mean that the drug, whatever it was, had been administered only recently. So what had happened? Had Skimbix had him carried off, a prisoner? The wizard was in league with the Alexandrian gangs, and the Alexandrian gangs were under Arctos’ control. Therefore Skimbix was one of Arctos’ allies. But why had he taken Flaminius to this remote place and abandoned him? Even if it was a distant island, he could build himself a raft and sail to the mainland. Why hadn’t they just killed him?
A tamarisk branch lashed him across the face. He forged on through the darkest of the thickets. How long would it be until sunset? The final day of the Days of Hadrian was tomorrow. And that was when the emperor was to make his surprise appearance in the imperial box, at the height of the festivities.
But was it truly tomorrow? How did Flaminius know that he had not slept in drugged slumber for days? Hadrian might be dead and gone by now, the empire in anarchy, or under Arctos’ rule.
He remembered the Praetorians. Somehow, Hadrian had learnt of the plot. Would that have deterred him from visiting the province? Flaminius hoped so. But he had no way of knowing. No way of getting back to Alexandria. And no way of warning the emperor.
Pushing through another thicket he came out into the open.
Ahead were rose bushes…box hedges…gravel paths…and in the middle distance, terraces, stuccoed walls and red tiled roofs. A Roman villa, in the middle of the wilderness. He had found it, the place he saw earlier, a sizeable house with outbuildings standing in the middle of a well-kept garden. Presumably farmland lay beyond. Flaminius breathed a sigh of relief, as if he had been lost in the Libyan Desert and had at last stumbled across an unexpected oasis.
He crossed the grassy lawn. Scents of oleander and honeysuckle hung heady in the air. What kept the garden so green and fertile? There must be hidden irrigation systems, underground tunnels bringing water down from the hills. Or maybe this was a particularly fertile part of this country, wherever it might be. But it was all silent, deserted. No slaves were at work among the flowerbeds. And yet the gravel paths were tidy and well weeded, the plants well kept. Where was everyone?
Hearing a footstep in the gravel behind him he spun round. Facing him was a small group of big men, clad in drab homespun tunics. They were holding spears and bows and it was clear that they were willing to use them.
‘That’s far enough,’ said one of them, a black bearded man with a broken nose and a scarred cheek. ‘The master has a short way with trespassers.’ He spoke Latin with a Thracian accent.
Flaminius smiled affably and spread out his hands to show he was unarmed. ‘My apologies if I’m trespassing on your master’s land,’ he said. ‘I was cast up on the shore, shipwrecked, and wandered inland with no notion of where I was. Tell me, friend, what part of Egypt is this?’
The bearded man scowled, shook his head. ‘You make no sense,’ he said. ‘The master will have to hear about this. He’s the magistrate. He rules this island.’
Flaminius frowned. ‘What island is this?’ he asked. ‘Like I told you, I’m lost. I woke up on the shore with no notion of how I got here…’
‘You must have been in a shipwreck.’
Flaminius nodded. ‘I came looking for someone who could help me. You see, I’m desperately in need of getting back. There’s some very urgent business I have to wind up.’
‘The master might help you,’ the bearded man said grudgingly. ‘Ships call in to our port several times in the year. There will be one soon. Where do you come from?’
‘Italy originally,’ Flaminius said, ‘but my business took me to Alexandria. I would be very grateful if you could help me return there.’
‘Alexandria in the Troad?’ asked the bearded man. ‘Or Alexandria by the Latmos?’
Flaminius felt a cold sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. The two places the man had named were in Asia Minor. ‘No,’ he said in a small voice. ‘Alexandria in Egypt.’
The bearded man stared at him. ‘You must have come a long way.’
‘Why? Where am I?’ Flaminius asked, bewildered.
‘You’re about as far north of Egypt as you could be without being on the mainland, Asia or Greece,’ said the man. ‘I don’t know how you came here, but this is the island of Karpathos in the Aegean Sea.’
—16—
Ozymandias walked out of the southern gate of the legionary camp, his face troubled. Nitocris rose from the curbing stone where she had been sitting, growing steadily more unnerved by the looks the two armoured sentries had been giving her, and rushed up.
‘What did the legate say?’ she asked breathlessly.
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘The legate’s not here. Flaminius told us that, if you remember. There’s a staff tribune on duty.’
Nitocris shook her head impatiently. ‘Legate, tribune, whatever he calls himself. What did he say?’
‘He had a report from the prefect’s office.’ Ozymandias made a gesture and they started walking. ‘Accusing Flaminius of plotting against the emperor. He was going to send the legate a message. I persuaded him to send a different message—in code.’
‘How did you manage that?’ Nitocris asked, eyes wide.
‘I’m not without wiles of my own,’ Ozymandias said enigmatically. When she looked shocked, he added, ‘Marcus Pertinax is an old friend. He didn’t believe the reports about Flaminius because he knows him as well as we do. That was why he had delayed sending the report to the legate. The report I asked him to substitute was much more to his taste.’ He shrugged. ‘He’ll be guilty of disobeying an order, but as he said himself it was given by a civilian—the prefect. So to Hades with that blighter, he added.’
‘Does he really talk like that?’ Nitocris said, amused.
Ozymandias nodded. ‘They all do, these Romans,’ he said. ‘Speaking of which, our next move is to have a word with the prefect.’
Nitocris pulled up sharp. They had been heading for the amphitheatre, but she had not realised that it was their destination. ‘The prefect?’ she said. ‘But he’s the one who wanted Flaminius to be imprisoned.’
‘Only because these Praetorians told him,’ said Ozymandias. ‘He might have some idea where Flaminius got to. This is the plan. We’re imperial agents, right? We’re shocked that our leader has proved traitor, and we intend to bring him to justice. He escaped from the temple somehow. Does the prefect have any idea where he has got to?’
‘Do you think he will?’ Nitocris said doubtfully. ‘Why should he have a better idea than us?’
Ozymandias shrugged. ‘He’s got a spy network of his own. He’s prefect of the province, for Serapis’ sake! He’s in a better position to learn Flaminius’ location than we are.’
‘And what if he does find him?’ she asked. ‘He wants Gaius dead.’
‘We find Flaminius,’ Ozymandias said, ‘and warn him. Then we work together to defeat this conspiracy.’
‘What if we can’t find Gaius?’
Ozymandias looked bleak, but shrugged as if he didn’t really care. ‘Then we’re on our own.’
They reached the side door that led to the steps. Two civic guards were on sentry duty. From beyond the towering walls of the amphitheat
re came the rumble of the mob and the roars of savage beasts. Out here, it was difficult to distinguish between them.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ one of them said, scandalised at the appearance of two natives. ‘You can’t come in here, it’s private. Prefect and his guests only. Go to the main entrance if you want to see the show.’
Ozymandias shook his head. ‘We need to see the prefect. Come on, Septimius Rufio. You must remember me from when I worked for Paulus Alexander.’
The civic guard peered at him. ‘You were his scribe,’ he recalled. ‘But you don’t work there now.’
Ozymandias beckoned Septimius Rufio closer and whispered something in his ear. The guard looked grave.
‘The man you work for is accused of conspiring against the emperor,’ he said. ‘I’m not letting you anywhere near the prefect.’
‘Flaminius stands accused,’ said Ozymandias. ‘We don’t. We’re trying to find him too, and bring him to justice. The Commissary likes to deal with its own. And we want to speak with the prefect.’
‘The prefect is busy.’ The other civic guard hadn’t heard Ozymandias give the password that so impressed Septimius Rufio. ‘On state business.’
‘He’s officiating over the Games,’ said Septimius Rufio sardonically. ‘But that doesn’t stop him from dealing with other business. Get up those steps and tell him there’s an imperial agent wants to speak with him.’ Scowling, the second guard stomped up the stairs.
He returned shortly after, puffing with exertion, and skidded to a halt. ‘Prefect says bring him up straightaway!’
‘My… fellow agent comes with me,’ said Ozymandias.
‘Bet she does,’ muttered the civic guard.
Septimius Rufio escorted them up the cold, dank stairway and out into the brightly lit imperial box. The box, which was crowded with Haterius Nepos’ cronies, was shaded with a white linen canopy but it was still hot.
The prefect sat in the seat of honour, fanned by slave girls, watching the beast fight in the arena far below. He looked up expectantly as the guard led Ozymandias and Nitocris into his presence. Then his face fell.
‘What is this outrage?’ he demanded. ‘This office received word that an imperial agent wanted to speak with the prefect! Not a couple of natives!’ He turned to glare at Septimius Rufio. ‘You can report at once to your commander. You will be demoted and flogged for this.’
‘Sir, the man gave a top-level password, sir,’ said Septimius Rufio, staring straight ahead. ‘He was working for the agent who is accused of conspiring against his imperial majesty.’
The prefect scrambled to his feet, chins wobbling, face red. ‘Haterius Nepos understood you had Flaminius under guard,’ he said, ‘not that you were bringing his co-conspirators! How dare you bring dangerous men…’
‘And women!’ Nitocris put her fists on her hips.
He goggled at her. ‘And women,’ he conceded, ‘how dare you bring them into the presence! It’ll be crucifixion for you before the day is out.’
‘Sir…’ the civic guard attempted.
Nitocris slipped to Haterius Nepos’ side. The prefect eyed her in dismay. ‘Don’t worry, sir,’ she told him quietly. ‘We’re on your side. We’re searching for our former leader. We want to bring him to justice.’
The prefect looked her up and down. ‘You’re with the Commissary?’ he asked. ‘Haterius Nepos didn’t realise they employed little girls. But the guard says you gave a top-level password… You say you want to bring Flaminius to justice? You’ve not come to kill your prefect?’
Ozymandias moved to his other side. ‘We’re here to help you, sir,’ he insisted. ‘We’re trained imperial agents. The Commissary takes care of its own. If you can help us find Flaminius, we will ensure that you are no longer troubled by the threat he poses.’
Slowly Haterius Nepos sat back down again. He gestured for the two agents to sit. ‘The prefect has Crassus Piso nagging at him to catch Flaminius, but the patrols he’s sent out report that he entered a temple and never came out again.’
Ozymandias looked disappointed. ‘We know about that,’ he said. ‘We were there. Have you heard no more of him?’
Haterius Nepos shook his head. ‘If you were present during the search,’ he said, ‘you know as much as the prefect does. The report mentioned two agents.’ He looked closely at the Egyptian. ‘You seem somehow familiar.’
‘I worked for the civic guard until last year,’ Ozymandias admitted. ‘I had to begin a new career after Paulus Alexander’s death.’
‘You became an agent?’ The prefect looked impressed. ‘Haterius Nepos is glad you intend to help him. But there has been no word of Flaminius since he vanished from the temple.’
Ozymandias grunted. Nitocris sighed. ‘Have you heard nothing else?’ she asked. ‘Nothing that could explain what happened? Not only did he vanish, so did the priest Skimbix. Surely a man so well known in the Egyptian Quarter could not disappear without some word. Some rumour.’
‘All that this office knows in that regard,’ said the prefect, ‘is that the Heliopolitan Skimbix, who is suspected of seditious connections, was seen departing the city by the Canopic Canal.’
Ozymandias and Nitocris exchanged glances. ‘When did this happen?’ Ozymandias asked.
‘You’d have to ask the civic guard commander if you want to access the full report,’ the prefect told him, ‘but it was not long after Flaminius’ disappearance. It was reported by an agent in the canal area, the customs official. The priest was accompanied by persons unknown, and their luggage included a sarcophagus.’
‘A sarcophagus? Didn’t your spy think that was suspicious?’ asked Nitocris.
The prefect flapped his beringed hands. ‘The priest Skimbix is said to be a thaumaturge,’ he said. ‘Besides, he is an Egyptian. Such barbarians have quaint ways, and an unhealthy obsession with the dead. Something to do with this filthy climate, no doubt…’ He broke off, eyeing the Egyptian garb of Ozymandias and Nitocris. ‘Apologies,’ he said gruffly.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Ozymandias said. ‘Please don’t think me a native. I am a Roman citizen.’
‘Oh!’ The prefect mopped at his brow. ‘A tribute to your skills of disguise, of course. Flaminius trained his agents well. A shame he went to the bad.’
Nitocris said, ‘The priest could have hidden Gaius in that sarcophagus.’
‘But why would he do that?’ Haterius Nepos asked. ‘These Egyptians have very strange ways, but there is no plausible reason why he would conceal Flaminius in a sarcophagus.’
Nitocris was impatient. ‘They wanted to smuggle him out of the city,’ she said.
‘If Skimbix is suspected of sedition,’ said Ozymandias, ‘and he knew Flaminius had been exposed by Crassus Piso, they would have to get him out of Alexandria. But where to, that’s the question. We must find out where he’s been taken. If he isn’t taken prisoner he might be capable of anything. The security of the empire,’—Flaminius had been fond of this phrase— ‘is at stake, as long as he is at liberty.’
‘This office can’t really help you there,’ said the prefect. ‘You were right to take your inquiry to the top, but Haterius Nepos is engaged in civic duties, as you can see.’ In the arena, a maddened bull was pursuing several women and children. ‘The prefect has no ready access to his files here. He would suggest you return to the palace of Hadrian and request the commander of the civic guard aid you in your investigation. As you say, it’s vital that Flaminius is found and taken prisoner. Brought to justice!’ He beckoned them closer. ‘It’s vital, truly it is. No doubt you know the reason why. Someone very important is coming.’ The prefect drew back. ‘It’s imperative that Flaminius is stopped.’
He beckoned to a scribe. ‘Write a note to this effect. “In the name of the emperor and the prefect of Egypt, the bearers of this document are to receive every assistance in their investigations”.’ The scribe wrote out the declaration on a waxen tablet, Haterius Nepos signed it, then handed it o
ver. ‘Show this to the commander and he will allocate your own investigation top priority. You will be able to study all confidential reports.’
Settling back in his seat with a sigh at a job well done, he returned his attention to the spectacle in the arena. He glanced up briefly. ‘You will be provided with transport to convey you at once to the palace,’ he added, gesturing to the scribe, who scuttled away. ‘Was there anything else?’
Ozymandias shook his head. The implications were clear: they were to get out of the prefect’s hair and leave him to ogle the carnage in the arena. With a grimace at Nitocris he led her down the steps. Here two civic slaves stood with a litter to take them back into the city.
They settled down on the cushions inside. Ozymandias leaned his head out. ‘To the Brucheium,’ he told the lead slave. ‘The palace of Hadrian.’
He sat back as the slaves began carrying the litter away. Nitocris flashed him a smile and rolled her eyes at their opulent surroundings. It was a long way to the Brucheium from Nicopolis, but this would cut down the time.
‘I think I could enjoy a career as an imperial agent,’ she told Ozymandias with a giggle.
—17—
‘Turn around and walk ahead of us. If you try to run, we’ll shoot you down.’
‘Very well,’ Flaminius said over his shoulder as he turned towards the villa. ‘Where exactly should I be walking to?’
‘Just keep walking,’ said the man. ‘You’ll know if you go wrong. Make for the villa.’
Flaminius did as he was told. He heard their footsteps crunching in the gravel as he made his way through the grounds. ‘That’s where the magistrate is?’ he asked. He felt as if he was in a dream.
‘Keep your mouth shut,’ came the man’s voice. ‘You’ll see when you get there.’
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