‘What happened, sir?’ he asked, damping down his own raw feelings.
Marcellus slumped down in his chair now, his hand on his forehead.
‘They took my boy, Silus. They took my son.’
Silus stared in shock. Atius had grown very still beside him. No quips or attempts at humour from him this time.
‘When?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Sir, tell me everything.’
Marcellus hid his face in his hands and his shoulders heaved once, twice. Then he rubbed his face roughly with his palms, and looked up at Silus with glistening eyes. His voice catching, he outlined the ambush, how they had fought off the attackers, but that when the battle was won, he had found his Gannys stuporous, his wife hysterical and his son vanished.
When he had finished talking, there were a few heartbeats of silence.
Then Soaemias spoke in an eerily flat voice.
‘Have him executed.’
They all looked at her in confusion.
‘What?’ asked Marcellus. ‘Who?’
‘Silus. Have him executed. He failed you, and now our son is gone, maybe dead. He must die.’
Silus gaped.
‘Sir, this is not my fault. You know that.’
‘I do not know that, Silus!’ shouted Marcellus abruptly. ‘All I know is my little boy is gone, and you weren’t here to do your job!’
Silus took a step back, wondering if he should be considering flight. Behind him, at the door of the chamber, two legionaries stepped closer together, blocking the exit.
Marcellus shook his head. ‘Bring him back to me, Silus, or I will have your head.’
Fear and anger warred inside Silus, and Marcellus’ unjust words felt like salt rubbed into the raw wound of his heartache. He took a step forward and grabbed Marcellus by the collar of his tunic with both hands.
The legionaries took a step forward, but Atius barred their way, his sword half drawn.
‘I will find your son, sir,’ Silus hissed into Marcellus’ face, specks of spittle hitting the governor’s cheeks. ‘It is not my fault you lost him. But it is my duty to return him to you. And I will do that in spite of, not because of, your threats. And you,’ he said, pushing Marcellus back into his seat, and whirling on Soaemias. ‘You had better think very carefully before you threaten violence against an Arcanus in the future.’
Soaemias shrank back from his vehement words.
‘Marcellus,’ she whispered in a shocked voice. ‘Are you going to allow this outrage?’
But Marcellus looked like a man already defeated.
‘Silus. Forgive me. He is all I have. I know that you understand what it is like to lose a child. Don’t let me go through the same. Please, find my boy.’
Silus took four long deep breaths though his nose, letting his temper recede like an ebbing tide with each wave of breath. When he felt he was sufficiently in control, he spoke.
‘I will do everything I can, sir. Atius, with me.’
Not trusting himself to say more, he turned and walked to the exit.
The two legionaries barred his way uncertainly, looking to Marcellus for orders. But Marcellus once more had his face in his hands, and was now weeping openly.
‘Get. The fuck. Out of my way.’ Silus pronounced each word carefully. His hand was off his sword, but the threat in his voice could not be mistaken.
The legionaries exchanged glances and stepped back. As he passed them, one of them whispered to him, ‘Bring him back. He’s not a bad kid.’
Silus paused and nodded, then strode out.
* * *
The obvious first step was talking to the survivors of the fight. The legionaries could tell them nothing of use about their attackers, except that they were mainly amateurs, but they had managed to capture one. He was a Syracusan native, and he had taken a lacerated hamstring from a legionary gladius as he had turned to flee.
He spoke Greek, a language that fortunately Silus had had some exposure to. Although far from fluent, his father had ensured that he knew the basics, since a large part of the Roman Empire including the elites spoke Greek instead of Latin, and during his time in Rome, he had encountered many Greek speakers. Although he preferred to talk in Latin, it was sometimes easier to chat in the native language of another. Atius too knew some Greek from his religious instruction with his mother as a child – the tales and words of the Christos were written in Greek, as was the Septuaguint, the Jewish holy writings that followers of the Christos also read.
So they were able to converse without too much difficulty with the Syracusan thug, and even interject some curses.
‘Who hired you, you cocksucker?’ asked Silus without preamble.
The Syracusan looked up at him from the reed mattress he was lying on with a resentful expression. ‘Go fuck yourself.’
Silus knelt beside him and inspected the deep slash on the back of his calf.
‘Looks a bit tender,’ he commented, then thrust his finger into the wound. The Syracusan screamed and convulsed, but Atius held him down. Silus twisted his finger, then took it out and inspected it. It was covered in sticky clots, scabs, and bits of flesh. He wiped it on the Syracusan’s tunic, then tried again.
‘Who hired you?’
The Syracusan breathed heavily through clenched teeth, then muttered. ‘I don’t know his name. Hurt me if you like, but…’
Silus took him at his word and shoved his finger once more into the hole in his leg. The Syracusan screamed and cursed.
‘Wait, wait…’ he groaned. ‘I’ll tell you what I can. I don’t know his name. But he spoke Greek with an eastern accent. Sounded like the Syrians who work in the warehouses.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He always wore a hood. He was a small fellow, but he looked tough despite that.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘That we were going to kill an important Roman and kidnap his son.’
Silus raised his eyebrows and looked at Atius. So it wasn’t just an assassination attempt. Avitus had been a target all along. And the kidnapper sounded like the man Silus had fought on the ship. So that was no opportunistic piracy either.
‘We’ve got enough from this one,’ said Silus to the legionary guarding the Syracusan, in Latin. ‘Do you have any others?’
‘Only corpses.’
‘What are you going to do with this one?’
‘I can’t imagine it will be less a punishment than crucifixion.’
The Syracusan looked at them, uncomprehending.
Poor bastard, thought Silus. But there could be no other realistic outcome after the crime he had committed.
They went next to the market where the fight and abduction had taken place. There was no sign that there had ever been a disturbance. It was once more thronged with people, and the stallholders were advertising their wares in loud voices, while shoppers milled about, looking for a bargain, or haggling to create one.
They talked to several artisans and merchants before they found one that had any useful knowledge that he was prepared to share. His stall was at the far end of the square from where the fighting had taken place, but he had seen the boy being grabbed and carried away in a sack by a small, hooded man. For the price of a copper coin, he showed them the alley that the abductor had taken, and Silus and Atius explored it.
The alley was narrow and dirty, mainly residential but with a few shop fronts on the ground floor of blocks of apartments. They knocked on several doors and interrogated several shop owners before they got lucky. A cobbler had seen the man with his struggling load run past, and out of curiosity he had sent his apprentice to follow at a safe distance. He summoned his apprentice, who told them nervously that he had tailed the man as far as the docks, where he had lost sight of him.
The docks were busy as always, gangs of slave labourers sweating over their tasks, despite the mildness of the winter weather. The dock workers and sailors were a reticent group, and none were prepared to talk
until Silus became more free with his bribery. Even then, it took them some hours before they finally tracked down someone prepared to speak who also had anything useful to say.
The help came from a Cretan ship captain called Iason, who had been supervising the loading of his ship when he had seen the hooded man with his wriggling sack embark on the boat next to him and disappear below decks. The captain of that boat was an acquaintance of Iason, familiar enough to greet each other and discuss the weather and any new shipping hazards they had heard of. Sometimes they would talk about their cargoes, their jobs and their lives in general; Iason was not on good enough terms to quiz him on the unusual cargo he had just taken on board, but he knew the man’s itinerary well enough.
‘He trades incense and spices between Alexandria and Syracuse,’ said Iason. ‘It’s his regular run, and he finds it very profitable.’
‘You sail the same route?’ asked Silus.
‘Not me. I take wine from Crete to Ostia, stopping at Syracuse for provisions.’
‘Could he have been sailing to a different destination this time?’
‘I doubt it. He seems to be a man very set in his ways. Only ever travels to and from Alexandria. If you wanted a different destination, you would choose a different ship.’
‘When did they set sail?’
‘With the tide this morning.’
Silus cursed. If Marcellus had been a bit more proactive the previous day, before Silus’ return, rather than wallowing in misery, he might have managed to catch up with his son before they left Sicily. But it was no use regretting what might have been.
‘When is the next ship to Alexandria?’
‘I don’t know any that are docked here now that are going in that direction. There will probably be one coming in tomorrow or the day after that will stay a few days then head that way.’
Silus shook his head. They had to get moving before the trail went too cold.
‘Will you take us there?’
‘Me?’ asked Iason in surprise. ‘I’m not going to Alexandria. I have a hold full of the finest Cretan wine bound for Ostia.’
‘Will it spoil?’
‘Well… no, it improves with age, but that’s not the point.’
‘We will pay you handsomely. It will more than make up for any losses.’
‘But I have a woman in Ostia, waiting for me.’
‘Aren’t there women in Alexandria?’ asked Atius.
‘Of course.’
Silus named the sum they were prepared to offer.
‘That would pay for a lot of women,’ commented Atius.
Iason swallowed, then stuck out his hand. Silus shook it.
‘When do we leave?’
‘If we wait until tomorrow…’
‘I want to leave now.’
Iason thought for a moment, the large payment clearly running through his mind, and the risk that he could lose it to another captain if he delayed.
‘Give me two hours to re-provision.’
‘Perfect. We’ll return then.’
When he reported back to Marcellus, the governor-to-be gave a small smile.
‘Thank you, Silus. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
‘I haven’t found him yet. May I ask why you didn’t start looking for your son yesterday?’
Marcellus frowned. ‘Soaemias was so distraught, I couldn’t leave her. And I did ask the Sicilian governor to start a search for the thugs who escaped, but they had vanished completely.’
Silus didn’t pursue it any further. He felt Marcellus should have done more, but for all the man’s braveness, and his abilities in some areas, Silus wasn’t sure he always had much common sense or initiative. He suspected that Marcellus had actually been waiting for his return, hoping the Arcanus would make everything right.
‘Atius and I are travelling to Alexandria shortly.’
‘We will accompany you,’ said Soaemias abruptly. She had been sitting quietly by Marcellus’ side, head bowed, showing no signs or paying any attention to the conversation.
‘My love…’ began Marcellus.
‘Mistress,’ said Silus. ‘I hear Alexandra is a dangerous city. Let Atius and me handle this.’
‘No. He is my son. I will go there. For him.’
‘We leave in two hours…’
‘We will be ready.’
Silus looked at Marcellus, who looked back at him in resignation with a small shrug. Silus sighed and nodded.
‘Very well, two hours at the docks. Don’t be late.’
* * *
They were of course late, and by the time Soaemias’ slaves had loaded up her possessions, her trunks of clothes, jewellery and make-up, as well as the black stone and other religious paraphernalia, plus the legionaries, Gannys and the household slaves, they were four hours behind schedule.
Iason protested about the weight of all the extra passengers and their luggage, but the ship seemed to Silus’ inexpert eye to still be riding high enough in the water, and with some extra payment, Iason was content to set sail, albeit with some extra prayers and sacrifices to Poseidon.
Soaemias settled herself near the prow, cross-legged, closed her eyes and chanted prayers to Elagabal. The sailors eyed her with suspicion, making signs to ward off evil when they thought that neither she nor her husband were looking.
They cast off and sailed south, skirting along the eastern Sicilian coast until they reached the open waters of the Mare Nostrum. From there, they turned east towards the Greek coast, from where they would turn south-east. The sails were set full, the oarsmen settled into their cruising stroke rate, and they headed towards Egypt and Alexandria.
A fast ship could make the journey in ten days in the best conditions, but winter winds and unfavourable currents had to be navigated, and twice they had to take shelter in safe harbours and sit out violent storms.
There were no safe harbours once they began to traverse the Mare Nostrum from its north to its south boundaries, leaving the Greek peninsula behind. Silus experienced severe and relentless seasickness from the incessant undulations and oscillations of the ship’s motion, and ate little on the journey, even less of which he actually kept down.
Once, he thought that the ship would sink, and that all would be lost. A huge storm whipped up waves as high as a house, and the winds cracked a mast, the sail swept to sea along with a screaming sailor. A legionary was washed overboard by a surge of brine from the side, and he vanished instantly from view beneath the dark water.
Iason screamed at his oarsmen to pull harder, and at the sailors to trim the sails. Beneath the decks, Soaemias, Marcellus and Gannys prayed for salvation to Elagabalus, Atius prayed for forgiveness of his sins to Christos and Maria, and Silus prayed for help to Jupiter, Mithras, Poseidon, Brigantia, the household lares, the names of his ancestors and anyone else he could think of.
Whichever deity it was that was listening, the storm eventually abated, and the crew were able to make enough repairs to keep the ship afloat and moving onwards on its journey. A few muttered that they should toss the Syrian witch overboard, and Silus was inclined to agree with them. But the voyage continued, and Soaemias regularly took her place at the prow of the boat to pray to Elagabalus, and for the rest of the time studiously ignored Silus, for which he was grateful.
It took around three weeks until the lookout spotted their destination. And what a sight it was. Although the sun had not yet breached the horizon and the skies were still a dark black-grey, the location of the harbour of Alexandria was clearly visible because of the light shining out into the pre-dawn from the lighthouse.
Silus had no idea how they accomplished it, but the light from a huge fire was projected out across the sea to guide ships into the twin harbours. It could be seen from an enormous distance. The ship navigated unerringly towards the beacon, and as they neared, the waves became less violent. The sun peaked over the horizon, throwing its beams through a gap in the clouds onto the underside of the overcast sky, turning the east into a
fiery orange.
As they neared shore and the sky lightened, Silus saw the vast tower that supported the fire and the mirror that projected the light, and knew he was looking at the famous Pharos of Alexandria, one of the six remaining of the Seven Wonders of the World. Their horrendous journey was at an end. Now the real work would begin.
Chapter Seven
As soon as the ship entered the Great Harbour, the easternmost of the two harbours that were split by the heptastadion, the motion of the waves ceased almost completely. So sheltered was the inlet, part natural, part man-made, that despite the raging wind on the open ocean, the last short part of the voyage to the docks was so smooth it was like sailing on a barge down a canal.
Silus thought it felt almost unnatural, after three weeks of being in constant motion, to have a steady horizon to observe. Iason came and stood beside him as the pilot guided them in towards their berth.
‘You’ve never been here before then?’ said the captain.
‘I’m from Britannia,’ said Silus. ‘I thought Rome was a long way from home. I feel like I have travelled to the ends of the earth.’
‘The world is a lot bigger than you realise, my friend.’
‘So you know the place?’
‘A little. It’s old, but not as old as many cities. Founded by Alexander the Great himself, hence the name.’
‘I know that much.’
‘They say when he first decided to build a vast city on this part, they marked out the streets and regions with flour as they had no chalk. But as fast as they laid it down, the birds came to eat it. Some people thought it was a bad omen. But the soothsayer told Alexander that it showed that the city would go on to become the food-giver of the world. And he was right. Alexandria, and below it Egypt, feeds Rome. Without it, the capital of the Empire would starve.’
Silus whistled appreciatively. Although the seaborne traffic was much reduced in the winter season, there were still plenty of vessels in the docks, and many entering and leaving the harbour.
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