And it wasn’t just the many miles and the growing heat of the sun that would slow his dogged progress. River horses lay half submerged in the water, waiting for an opportunity to capsize his little boat. Crocodiles could be detected by the small bow waves that marked their passage through the water as they swam after him. Vultures hung in the sky high above, as if marking time until his inevitable end. And it wasn’t just the beasts of this vast waste of shallow water that threatened his progress.
He was negotiating his way round a small island of palm trees when the air hummed as if with hundreds of bees and an arrow grew abruptly from the reed strakes beside his right-hand rowlock. He glanced around. Another arrow hissed into the water on the far side of the boat.
He scanned the trees. No sign of anyone. ‘I don’t know who you are,’ he called out, ‘but if it means anything to you, I’m here on imperial business. Please let me continue. I have no money on me, but I can make it worth your while at a later date.’
His boat drifted on the flood waters. A shout rang out from the trees, and he turned to see spear carrying river pirates wading towards him. Some carried strung bows, with arrows fitted.
But their leader bounded up to Flaminius with a grin on his face, the sun glinting highlights off his red hair.
‘Kalasiris!’ Flaminius stood up in the boat to clasp the Bucolic chief’s hand. ‘What brings you here? This is a long way from Nikokis!’
The other Bucolics gathered around Flaminius’ boat, standing waist deep in the water, weapons at the ready as they scanned the surrounding reeds and water. Kalasiris gave Flaminius a sorrowful look. ‘We were forced out of our own land,’ he reported. ‘The Bucolics are on the march. We left our women and children in a safe place and now we patrol the waters. The other villages have united under the rebel standard and are marching on the city.’
‘The city?’ Flaminius said. He licked his lips anxiously. ‘You mean Alexandria.’
Kalasiris nodded. ‘It has come at last. And my people could have been there, marching side by side with the rest, had it not been for you—and our old friend Ozymandias.’
Flaminius remembered the reed boats he had seen. ‘I think I saw some of them,’ he said, and described his encounter.
Kalasiris nodded. ‘Now we must do what we can to stop them in their folly…’
Flaminius shook his head. ‘I can’t ask you to fight against your own people...’
‘You have not asked us,’ Kalasiris said tranquilly. ‘It is a debt of honour. Besides, we cannot see them fling themselves against the walls of the city. I saw the city once, from afar. The walls reach up to the sky. They will die, all of them.’
‘I don’t know,’ Flaminius said, doubtful. ‘They’ve chosen a good time for their attack.’ He explained how Arctos had tricked him, how the man plotted to murder the emperor. ‘If your people strike at the same time, the whole city will be flung into chaos—and the empire will follow. Now if Ozymandias did what I asked him…’
Kalasiris’ face was bleak but resolute. ‘All we can do is harry them,’ he said. ‘Fight them to the end. Die fighting. We shall all die this day, but we shall take many with us.’
Flaminius shook his head wearily. ‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ he insisted. ‘Now I’ve got to get to Alexandria before noon. I must be going.’
Kalasiris looked enigmatically at Flaminius’ boat. ‘You’ll never get there in that tub,’ he said. ‘Come with us.’
He took Flaminius round the island. Flaminius’ mouth fell open at what he saw there.
‘Did you kill them all?’ he asked. ‘A whole river patrol?’ He examined the patrol boat moored in the shallow bay for signs of fighting.
Kalasiris looked insulted. ‘We killed no Romans,’ he said. ‘We stole this vessel long ago, from a fort near Mendes. It was unattended and…This was before we knew you, Roman.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
Flaminius jumped down onto the deck and examined the patrol boat. It had been well cared for since the Bucolics stole it. ‘In this we’ll be able to travel up the main channels of the Delta in no time. You’ll take me there?’
Kalasiris looked apologetic. ‘We can’t go too close to Alexandria,’ he said. ‘We fight for you, but the patrols will not know that, they will attack. We can reach the coast near Canopus. Then you will have to make your own way.’
The Bucolics hauled the vessel through the shallows for a long way until they could find a deeper channel where it could sail unimpeded. Enough men to crew the boat climbed aboard, while the rest waded back in the direction of the island. With Kalasiris at the helm they set off up this Delta backwater. Their rout took them past flooded fields, water girdled towns and temples, until they came out at last into an island studded lake so large and so swollen with silty flood waters it resembled the sea.
‘Is this the Butic Lake?’ Flaminius asked suddenly. Was he going around in circles?
Kalasiris nodded, keeping his hand on the tiller and his eyes on the horizon as his men busied themselves about the deck. ‘With the flood waters it could be taken for the sea.’
‘How well I know that,’ said Flaminius ironically. ‘I more than half thought that I was in the middle of the sea when I was on Arctos’ island. I don’t believe in magic, but I thought Skimbix had transported me hundreds of miles.’ He shook his head. ‘If I hadn’t been so shaken up by it all, I would never have told Arctos what I did.’
‘That must have been the idea,’ said Kalasiris. ‘They knew that otherwise you would never speak. So they used their magic and their trickery. Even strong warriors cannot fight magic.’
Flaminius smiled wryly. ‘It was more trickery than magic,’ he said.
‘What of this temple you speak of?’ Kalasiris asked. ‘These statues that move, voices from the air, doors that close of their own accord…’
Flaminius was troubled. ‘I can’t explain that right now,’ he said. ‘But one thing is certain: I wasn’t spirited halfway across the empire as I thought. I was just knocked out and taken to an island in the Delta. If it hadn’t been for the inundation, I’d never have thought it was in the sea.’
‘Perhaps that is all that magic is,’ Kalasiris said, ‘trickery. But these statues and voices you tell of…’
‘No, I can’t understand anything about that,’ Flaminius replied. ‘When I get back I’m going to take that temple to pieces to expose Skimbix for the charlatan I know he is. But that’s not the most important thing…’
A shout came from the lookout. ‘Patrol vessel astern.’
Flaminius looked aft and saw a boat cutting through the lake waters. It was another vessel of the river patrol. And he was in a stolen boat crewed by river pirates.
‘This looks like trouble,’ he said. ‘Can you get any more speed out of this craft?’
Kalasiris bellowed orders in Egyptian. Some of the crew produced paddles and added their impetus to the wind in the sail, but still the river patrol bore down on them. Soon it was drawing alongside. A legionary in the bow signalled to them with flags.
‘What’s he waving those things for?’ Kalasiris said.
Flaminius read the code. ‘He’s asking us to weigh anchor. Do you have any flags like the ones he’s waving?’
‘Hold this,’ said Kalasiris. As Flaminius held the tiller he went for’ard and called to the crew, who rooted about in the hold. The patrol vessel drifted alongside them, though a stretch of water lay between, wide enough for them to be unidentifiable.
Soon Kalasiris returned, clutching a collection of faded signal flags. ‘I never knew what they were for…’ he was saying.
Flaminius snatched them, thrust the tiller back into his hand, then went to the side. It had been a long time since he had learnt the relevant code, and he wasn’t sure he would be able to remember it. What should he say? Ah, yes…
He signalled with the flags, holding them outwards, then up, then down, then back out again. Kalasiris watched in puzzlement. The patrol boat repli
ed with a series of signals.
‘No, you idiots,’ Flaminius muttered furiously to himself. He gave a series of angry flourishes. There was a pause, and then a single signal came back. Kalasiris looked to Flaminius. The Roman was smiling coldly. Kalasiris glanced back and saw that the patrol vessel was turning about.
‘What spell did you cast?’ he asked, dumbfounded. ‘They are leaving us.’
‘No magic, Kalasiris,’ said Flaminius with a grin. ‘I used a signal code known only to a very few, even within the legions. Now they think I’m an imperial emissary travelling incognito on highly important business. I sent them off with a flea in their collective ear. They won’t trouble us again.’ He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. ‘I suppose what I said was true, in a way.’
‘And I say that what you did was magic,’ said Kalasiris.
—25—
Flaminius bade Kalasiris and his people a fond farewell near the mouth of the Canopic Canal, then entered the town of Canopus surreptitiously, stowing away on a canal boat bound for Alexandria. It was getting dangerously close to noon, and he was in no mood to deal with any opposition. The journey, which he spent concealed in the hold behind several bales, seemed interminable.
At last he heard, drifting in through the open hatch, the noise and bustle of a harbour. Popping his head out, he saw the crew were guiding the boat into a moorage beyond which the high walls of Alexandria were unmistakable. When no one was looking, he sneaked to the side, lowered himself quietly into the scummy water, and swam to shore.
Gripping the coping stones of the quay, he hauled himself out of the water then hastened to conceal himself behind a pillar. Looking out, he saw a busy scene. The warehouses rang back the clamour of men offloading and loading vessels; wind thrummed in the rigging; curses in a multitude of tongues drifted across from the industrious knots of brown skinned figures. Nearby stood the customs post. He didn’t want to go anywhere near it. Waiting for a moment when the area was particularly busy, he stepped out from behind the pillar and hurried towards the city walls.
Even as he did so, he saw three figures appear from the customs post. Two of them he recognised.
‘Flaminius!’ Ozymandias called. ‘We’ve found you! You’ve got to come with us.’ Nitocris was scowling at his side. On his other side was a beefy man in an official tunic.
‘What’s all this about?’ Flaminius asked as they joined him. ‘Surely you know how important this is! Let me go at once!’
‘Our mutual friend Ozymandias has explained everything,’ said the official. ‘I’m glad to see you alive. Word was that you had been spirited away by the magician Skimbix.’
‘He was smuggled out of the city,’ said Ozymandias wearily, ‘in that sarcophagus you allowed to pass uninvestigated.’
‘Is this true?’ the official asked Flaminius.
Flaminius shook his head in perplexity. ‘All I remember is that Skimbix flung some kind of soporific dust at me. I woke up on an island. They told me it was several weeks’ journey from here…’
‘You must be a magician yourself,’ the official laughed, ‘to return so quickly!’
The official introduced himself as Marcus Atilius. He confessed to having been half persuaded by Ozymandias’ account. ‘But before I help you any further,’ he added, leading them back to the customs post, ‘and as you are a wanted man, tribune, I’d like to take a look at this temple. Perhaps you can show me how the magician Skimbix abducted you.’
‘This is a waste of time,’ said Flaminius wearily. ‘I don’t know how he did it, but he obviously used some Egyptian trickery.’
‘Listen to me, tribune,’ said Marcus Atilius seriously. ‘I have standing orders to arrest you and have you sent to the palace of Hadrian under maximum guard. Your friend Ozymandias persuaded me that it would be to my advantage to take this approach. You’re a dangerous man by all accounts; it’s to be expected of an imperial agent gone rogue…’
‘I haven’t gone rogue,’ Flaminius said, hurt. ‘I was framed.’
‘So you say, tribune,’ said Marcus Atilius. ‘But what I heard is that you murdered one of the emperor’s Praetorian Guard. As yet, I’m unconvinced. But let me tell you, if you can show me how this Skimbix worked his fraud and his abduction, I’ll be more willing to believe that sinister forces are working against you—that you’ve not gone over to the rebels, as the prefect believes. I’ve not cleared this with Haterius Nepos, I’m working on my own initiative. I can’t guarantee your safety. But if I see clear evidence, I’ll put in a good word for you. Otherwise, I’ll call the guard and march you off to the palace, assuming the prefect doesn’t decide to give you a starring role in this morning’s Games.’
‘All right, all right,’ Flaminius said. ‘You’ve convinced me. Can we get on with it? I’ve got an assassination attempt to stop.’
Leaving his men on standby, Marcus Atilius led Flaminius and his two friends through the city streets. Flaminius tried to talk to Ozymandias, but the Egyptian was tense and uncommunicative. So was Nitocris, who refused to meet his eyes.
The morning streets about the Serapeum were busy with shoppers going about their business before the heat of noon, but most of the Greek citizens were at the Hippodrome for the chariot races, the Romans at the amphitheatre. Only Egyptians and other barbarians were on the streets. Rachotis was nevertheless busy, until they left the main streets and traced the winding way that led to Skimbix’s temple.
Finally they reached the small square outside the dark building. Flaminius felt an unaccustomed tightness in his chest as he stared up at the pillars and the pediment. The place was eerie even in the morning sunlight. They stood there in silence.
‘Do we go in?’ Marcus Atilius said at last. ‘I thought you were in a hurry, tribune.’
Flaminius rubbed at his face. ‘Of course,’ he said apologetically. ‘Follow me.’ He marched up the steps and pushed the door, which creaked open slowly.
Marcus Atilius joined him, followed by Ozymandias and Nitocris. ‘No one has been here since the wizard made his getaway,’ the customs official said. ‘I’ve read the report. And the locals have stayed away too, even the local youth have been too afraid to break into the place.’ He peered over Flaminius’ shoulder. ‘Are those the statues that come alive?’ he asked, sounding nervous.
‘There’s the one I dealt with,’ said Ozymandias, as Flaminius led them into the temple. He was pointing at the shattered black shape that lay in the doorway to the inner sanctum. ‘It seized me. When I got free, I levered it off its plinth with a cresset and it crashed to the floor. It didn’t try anything after that.’
Flaminius patted him on his bony shoulder. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘A victory worthy of Hercules.’ Ozymandias gave him a look.
Crossing over to the plinth in question he climbed up to examine it. ‘You see this pipe,’ he said, showing Marcus Atilius and the two Egyptians a broken metal tube jutting up from the spot where the statue had stood. ‘This had something to do with it.’
‘To do with what?’ Marcus Atilius said impatiently. ‘Was this where you were abducted?’
Flaminius shook his head. He jumped down and peered at the pool. ‘What’s this?’ he said. He got down into the water and walked across it to the other side.
‘Oh, we found that.’ Nitocris spoke as if this minor miracle, which had left Marcus Atilius speechless, was nothing new. ‘It’s some kind of glass.’
Flaminius peered down at it. ‘Colourless. Almost transparent,’ he observed. ‘I’ve never seen transparent glass before.’ He shook his head. ‘The Egyptian priests have wonderful secrets.’
‘Mostly fraud and trickery,’ said Ozymandias disparagingly. He stood by the broken statue. ‘This is hollow inside, and there are gears and levers. An automaton. So Skimbix is the man the gladiator Bikilis called the Mechanist.’
Flaminius walked back across the pool to join him. ‘No doubt that pipe on the plinth led to this engine,’ he said, indicating a mechanism in the legs. ‘Powered
by what? Steam? Water? It reminds me of the machinery they use in the theatre.’
‘I was taken in by all this,’ Nitocris said sullenly. ‘Clara and I, we both thought Skimbix was a prophet of the gods. He seemed to have such powers…’
‘What’s through here?’ Marcus Atilius asked, indicating the broken down doors of the inner sanctum.
‘That’s where the magician kept his god,’ said Flaminius. ‘And his altar. That was where I was when… when it happened.’
‘When what happened?’ Marcus Atilius said. ‘When he … cast his spell on you?’
‘And I woke up on a faraway island,’ said Flaminius with a bitter laugh. ‘More trickery. It was in a flooded lake of the Delta. Any other time of year, the shore would have been within sight. But because of the inundation, I was fooled into thinking I was miles away in the Aegean. At least until I made my escape. And that was where I made my big mistake.’
‘What was that, Gaius?’ Since returning to the magician’s temple Nitocris seemed to have regained something of her usual spirits.
‘Show me where you met the magician,’ said Marcus Atilius, pushing past them. They followed him into the inner sanctum.
Flaminius found the official standing in the middle of the torchlit chamber, gazing round him in silence. The idol lay on the ground like some toppled titan of the elder world, but with no wizard to tend it the furnace beneath the statue had gone out. With it had gone some of the wonder and the terror. Flaminius crossed over to the other side.
‘This was where I found Skimbix,’ he said, examining the area. ‘A voice filled the room, like the voice of a god.’
The Archimedes Stratagem Page 17