Flaminius kept quiet. Reaching a flight of steps leading to the terraces he hesitantly mounted them. They led to another gravel path running alongside a marble wall honeycombed with alcoves in which stood statues of gods and heroes. The men followed in silence.
Whoever owned this villa wasn’t short of a denarius. Or did he mean an obol? Karpathos was an island in the Aegean Sea. But how had Flaminius got here? A chill gripped him.
Was the thaumaturge Skimbix truly a magician? And had he used his magic to spirit Flaminius away to the other side of the sea? He would have a hard time getting back to Alexandria.
They came to the top of the terraces and the villa, which until then had been concealed due to perspective, appeared again, bigger now it seemed, walls white as bone, roof red as dried blood. A large double door stood in the centre of ivy wreathed walls at the head of a short flight of steps, but Flaminius’ captors did not use this entrance, taking him round the side, through a courtyard and through a small doorway at the back.
It led to a large kitchen, warm and smelling of cooking food, where scullions and kitchen slaves were hard at work preparing the midday meal; the first people Flaminius had seen here apart from the men who took him prisoner. Some looked up curiously but no one asked any questions as Flaminius was taken through the door on the far side.
Now they were in the public part of the house. Lavishly ornamented marble corridors, hung with silken drapes, were lined with busts and statues. Flaminius was taken to the imposing oaken door of a room he guessed would be a study. The bearded man pushed past Flaminius and tapped respectfully on the door.
A slave opened it.
‘We have a prisoner,’ said the bearded man. ‘A trespasser found wandering in the garden. We’ve brought him to be questioned by the master.’
The slave bowed his head, vanished inside, and Flaminius heard the murmur of conversation, then reappeared swiftly.
‘You may enter,’ the slave told Flaminius. ‘Remain outside,’ he told the armed men, ‘where the master may call for you if he wishes.’ He turned back to Flaminius. ‘This way, please.’
He led the Roman into a large room, dominated by a marble topped desk, with more statues in each corner, and a set of shelves containing the pigeon holes where scrolls were kept. Sitting at the desk was a gaunt, stooped old man with white hair and a white beard. He wore the broad striped toga of a senator.
The old man gestured to a stool. ‘Please sit down,’ he said in urbane tones. ‘Wine for our guest,’ he told the slave, who provided it speedily.
‘Thank you,’ Flaminius stammered. He sat down and gazed at his host in silence, nursing the winecup in one hand.
‘You seem ill at ease,’ said the senator—the magistrate, if Flaminius had heard rightly. He spoke Latin with an accent Flaminius found vaguely familiar; somewhere in the west of the empire.
Flaminius laughed suddenly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting such hospitality. If you don’t mind me saying, your men were rather brusque. By the way, I’m Flaminius. Gaius Flaminius Drusus.’
‘My name is Servius Arcadius,’ said the senator. ‘My men are boors, but what else can you expect in a place like this? I’m sorry if they treated you badly. But may I myself be so churlish to ask, how did you come to be in my garden uninvited?’
Flaminius gave a brief account of his recent experiences.
‘Remarkable!’ Servius Arcadius exclaimed when he had finished. ‘A veritable Ulysses. But how did you come to be shipwrecked off our coast?’
Flaminius had not mentioned the magician. In fact he had been pretty vague as to how he came here from Alexandria. Understandable. And Servius Arcadius was understandably curious.
‘It’s a long story,’ he said evasively. ‘But I need to get back to Alexandria. It’s very important.’
Servius Arcadius steepled his fingers. Sunlight from the open windows glittered on his golden senatorial ring. He gave an elegant sigh.
‘That’s reasonable,’ he said. ‘I don’t quite understand how you came to my island, and I wonder if you do. Could it be that you were kidnapped? I’m a little out of touch up here, but you mentioned trouble with river pirates. Could it be that they abducted you and you were later shipwrecked?’
Flaminius considered his words. It had something to be said for it. There must be some explanation. He couldn’t believe that an Egyptian fraud like Skimbix could magic him to the other side of the sea. But if his unconscious body had been handed over to pirates or other seafarers working for Arctos, they could have taken him here. But for what purpose? It must be a long journey from Alexandria to this place. He rubbed his head, trying to remember exactly where Karpathos was, and winced. His head was still sore from where Rutilio Victorinus had clobbered him. A thought struck him.
‘You could be right,’ he said. ‘In which case a day must have passed since I was last conscious. Days.’ He was too late. Arctos’ forces would have struck by now. The battle for Egypt had been won or lost. Hadrian might have been murdered. The empire could be in chaos.
‘Where are we?’ he asked numbly. ‘The Aegean Sea? It must be a long way from Egypt.’
Servius Arcadius nodded. ‘Two weeks’ journey, give or take a day or two.’
Flaminius’ mind reeled. He had been unconscious for two weeks? That was impossible. He must have been spirited away by magic. But that was even more unlikely. He put his head in his hands.
The old senator waited patiently for him to recover.
He looked up. ‘Two weeks’ journey from Alexandria?’
Servius Arcadius nodded. ‘Ships call here from time to time,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I will ensure you gain passage on one and are able to return to your business.’
‘What news have you had from the rest of the empire?’ Flaminius asked.
‘Very little since midsummer when the last ship came here, and I received a bulletin from Rome,’ said Servius Arcadius. ‘We’re a little out of touch, I’m afraid. Off the main sea lanes.’
‘Midsummer?’ Flaminius asked. His eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got no idea what is going on in the rest of the empire?’
Servius Arcadius shifted. ‘My dear fellow,’ he said, ‘you seemed rather agitated. Tell me, is there something we should worry about? Forgive me, but you have been rather mysterious. Here in Karpathos we are some way from the main stream of events. If dramatic deeds are being done elsewhere, we’ll know about it maybe six months later, maybe a year. Was it different in Britain?’
Flaminius shrugged. ‘Britain was different, yes. We might not have known what was happening in the city or what the emperor was doing, but news reached us soon enough. People were always going back and forth, mercantile traffic or military. Even in Caledonia you weren’t completely cut off.’
Servius Arcadius smiled tranquilly, only adding to Flaminius’ frustration. ‘Alas, here we are indeed cut off. Very much so. I understand you wish to return to your important business in Egypt. Perhaps I could find some way to help you get back. I’m not without influence! I could summon a galley.’
Flaminius brightened. ‘Do you really think so?’
Even if he had been sent here by sorcery, the sooner he got back the sooner he could deal with whatever situation had transpired. The fastest of galleys would take weeks. It would be the end of September before he got back. But anything was better than spending the rest of his days in this backwater.
The magistrate inclined his head. ‘I do think so,’ he said. ‘Though I would be sorry to see a young man of your sophistication depart; the conversation here is dull. My dear fellow, this island must seem very remote to someone with your experience of the empire. I, too, felt this way when first I came here. I was accustomed to Rome and the more fashionable provinces. A posting to Karpathos seemed like the final insult at the end of a career of public service.’ He shrugged. ‘But I’ve come to like the place. It’s very quiet, and peaceful. I’m writing a history of the world. Perhaps you would like to read my ini
tial draughts…’
‘Yes, I’d love to,’ said Flaminius as politely as he could. ‘But you said something about summoning a galley? It’s nothing personal, you must understand, but it really is imperative that I return to Alexandria as soon as possible.’ He sat back. ‘But maybe I would be wasting my time. By now, it could all be over.’
‘Now there you go again,’ said the magistrate. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you have my curiosity piqued. Something is clearly going on. You are evidently at the centre of things. This business you keep alluding to. It couldn’t be… imperial business, could it?’
Flaminius studied the old man’s face, experiencing a strange, nagging sense of familiarity. Had they met at some point in the past? ‘If it was imperial business,’ he said slowly, ‘you, as a magistrate, should appreciate that I couldn’t discuss it with anyone not in the know, as it were.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said the senator. ‘I fully understand the need for confidentiality. It’s just that if you were on imperial business it would make it much easier for me to ensure that you were taken back to Egypt as expeditiously as possible.’
Flaminius sat up eagerly. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘It is of vital importance that I return to Egypt. I have vital information. It could affect the future of the empire.’
‘Now that does sound important,’ said Servius Arcadius. ‘Tell me more.’
Flaminius produced his lancehead brooch. ‘I’m an imperial agent,’ he explained. ‘Some weeks ago I began investigating a rebellion apparently brewing in the Thebaid, the southern provinces of Egypt. My investigations led me to discover a plot to seize power over the entire empire.’
‘Wouldn’t his imperial majesty resist this?’ Servius Arcadius asked.
‘Of course,’ said Flaminius. ‘But that’s part of the plot. These conspirators, I’ve discovered, intend to assassinate the emperor.’
‘Assassinate him?’ Servius Arcadius echoed. ‘How appalling. But how could they hope to get to him? You say they’re in Egypt? We’re out of touch here, but I understand the emperor is travelling on the mainland. Greece, I think.’
‘Asia Minor, in fact,’ Flaminius said. ‘But here’s the key to it all. Very few people know this, but the emperor is planning a surprise visit to the province of Egypt. They’re celebrating the eighth anniversary of his defeat of the Judaean rebels, when he liberated the province. The emperor intends to visit at the height of the proceedings, making a dramatic surprise appearance in the imperial box of the Nicopolis amphitheatre on the final day of the celebrations.’
Servius Arcadius rose, placing his hands on the desk. ‘It’s vital that we ensure you can return to Alexandria with the utmost haste.’
Flaminius barely heard him. He was staring at the golden senatorial ring the man wore on his right hand. He recognised it. He had seen it before.
It held an image of a bear.
—18—
‘Gaius Flaminius Drusus has vanished from the city,’ announced Gabinius Camillus.
Ozymandias exchanged glances with Nitocris. ‘But don’t your guards have any notion where he might be? What was his last reported location? It’s important that we find him. The Commissary deals with its own.’
The commander of the civic guard leaned back, chair on two legs, and regarded his two visitors. ‘You say that you are imperial agents,’ he said, ‘and yet you have no insignia. Flaminius is an imperial agent and has the insignia to prove it, and yet the Praetorian Crassus Piso asserts that he is a traitor. What is a simple civic guard to believe in these dark days?’
Ozymandias leant forward. ‘We were Flaminius’ subordinates,’ he explained urgently. ‘We were given no insignia. But if he has gone to the bad, we must apprehend him and bring him to justice. The legion is elsewhere, and only we are here to represent its Commissary. The Commissary must deal with him, not the Praetorians, or for that matter—forgive me—the civic guard. But I hope you will help us find him.’
Gabinius Camillus studied a report. ‘He was last seen approaching the temple of Skimbix the Heliopolitan.’ He looked up and let the wax tablet drop to the desk. ‘That’s all any of us know.’
Nitocris spoke for the first time. ‘The man at the amphitheatre said Skimbix had been seen leaving town with a sarcophagus.’
Gabinius Camillus gave her an avuncular smile. ‘I fail to see the connection,’ he told her firmly.
Ozymandias rapped on the table. ‘Flaminius has been kidnapped and smuggled out of the city by this Heliopolitan priest.’
‘Forgive me,’ said Gabinius Camillus, ‘but why would a visiting thaumaturge abduct an enemy of the state? Who is Skimbix working for?’
Ozymandias took a deep breath. ‘We don’t know,’ he said, ‘but we think he’s with the rebels.’
‘So why would he abduct an arch traitor?’ asked Gabinius Camillus.
Nitocris looked wildly at her brother. ‘They’ve smuggled him out because they knew we were onto him,’ she lied. ‘But we need to know where he has been taken.’
Gabinius Camillus’ face changed. ‘That makes more sense,’ he told them. ‘So the would-be assassin of the emperor has been smuggled out of the city. In which case, the emperor will be safe whenever he chooses to visit Alexandria.’
‘You’re not that naïve,’ said Ozymandias. ‘We’ve got to find where they’ve hidden him. He’ll be back, you can depend on it, unless we find him.’
‘A native scribe and a little girl?’ said Gabinius Camillus scathingly. ‘Deal with a Roman tribune?’
In despair Ozymandias looked around the busy room.
Gabinius Camillus’ office was not the one Paulus Alexander had used when Ozymandias was working here. That other office had been up at the top of the building, quiet and airy, with one scribe—Ozymandias himself, usually—working in the vestibule. Gabinius Camillus’ office was down on the ground floor, a room that looked as if it had originally been designed as a dining chamber before the palace was co-opted by the civic guard. There was a brightly painted mural of cavorting tritons and sea nymphs on the walls, and a mosaic on the floor showed the Four Seasons surrounding a tipsy Bacchus crowned with ivy leaves.
In serried ranks stood other desks at which scribes worked on scrolls or abacuses, reading reports, calculating accounts. Ozymandias felt both nostalgic for a simpler time and alienated by the changes since his day.
He worried for Flaminius, but he could hardly show it. The commander was naturally sceptical of him and his sister; they hardly had the look of imperial agents, and even though Ozymandias had been employed as a lesser agent for some months, he had never been given a lancehead brooch, he was just part of Flaminius’ network. No doubt the tribune had other agents scattered about the province, all equally ignorant of their colleagues. But the only way he could hope to find Flaminius was to pose as a man searching for a traitor. And his cover was beginning to wear thin. Maybe if he had left Nitocris behind…
He wondered about his work at the Library. His attendance had been, to say the least, erratic. He doubted that he would be able to continue working there. And now Flaminius had disappeared, Ozymandias’ job as an agent—a very well-paid job, mainly dependent on his work at the Library—was likely to vanish just as mysteriously. He and Nitocris would be back in the gutter again.
But where was Flaminius? Had the magician Skimbix truly spirited him away, or had he carried Flaminius off in more conventional ways? If so, where?
‘Commander,’ he said at last. ‘You know that the Commissary does not employ obvious spies. My colleague and I may not be your picture of dashing imperial agents, but Flaminius engaged us in such a capacity, and with good reason. There’s much I can’t speak of. But if Flaminius has betrayed the emperor, if he is planning an assassination attempt, he must be found. Surely you have spies outside the city who could provide information as to Skimbix’s whereabouts? Can you not contact the relevant guards? Flaminius must be found.’
Gabinius Camillus shook his head.
‘The trail goes cold with Skimbix’s departure,’ he replied, ‘even supposing that was how Flaminius escaped the city. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do before this office closes. I can let you read the report of the incident, if there is anything you can glean from it. Otherwise, I suggest you contact Crassus Piso, who is coordinating the search for Flaminius. He is the man you should liaise with.’
‘And where will we find this Praetorian?’ Ozymandias asked as Gabinius Camillus beckoned over a scribe carrying a papyrus scroll.
‘I believe he’s taken up quarters in the prefect’s own palace,’ said Gabinius Camillus. ‘The Ptolemaic Palace.’
The Ptolemaic Palace was the oldest palace in the Brucheium, having been built by Alexander the Great’s successors in Egypt, the Ptolemies. It stood near the Museum—and the Library. Maybe Ozymandias could deal with two sources of anxiety in one go. He studied the report intently. The boat upon which Skimbix had embarked had last been seen proceeding up the Canopic Canal in the direction of Canopus. Perhaps the thaumaturge was taking a holiday in that famous resort.
Somehow Ozymandias doubted it. There was a chance they could charter another vessel and go in search of Skimbix and his sarcophagus. But he had no authority to do that. The Praetorian Crassus Piso would be able to charter another ship, however, and he was as keen as Ozymandias to find Flaminius—if for different reasons. They could work together! Things would get difficult when they found Flaminius, of course: a conflict of interests.
Ozymandias returned the report to the scribe. ‘Thank you, commander,’ he said, smiling at Gabinius Camillus. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I think I’ll go and speak with Crassus Piso now.’ He nodded to Nitocris. ‘Coming?’
She rose, smoothing down her dress. ‘Coming,’ she told him.
Departing the palace of Hadrian they went by litter through the streets of the Brucheium. ‘What now?’ she asked. ‘Are we really going to talk to this Praetorian whose colleague Flaminius killed? Do you think he’ll be any help?’
The Archimedes Stratagem Page 13