‘I never got involved for my own glorification, Silus. I would like you to believe that.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not enough. Why Avitus? There must be others in Syria that worship Elagabal that you could have brought to Alexandria to introduce the cult, and with much less risk than kidnapping the son of one of the most powerful people in the Empire.’
He turned to the table and picked up the cup of wine.
‘Silus,’ said Tekosis sharply. Her eyes were fixed on his hands.
‘Talk to me, Tekosis. Spare yourself the torture.’
Tekosis looked anguished. ‘Let me drink. I need to settle my nerves. Then I will talk.’
Silus gave a half-smile. ‘Is this wine really such a panacea?’ He passed her the cup. She took it gratefully in both hands then stared down into it. She was still for a moment.
‘I did like you, Silus. I didn’t take you to my bed for the glory of Isis or Egypt, or for the conspiracy. I did it because I wanted to.’
Silus didn’t know whether that mattered any more.
‘Don’t think less of me. I did what I thought was right.’
She put the wine to her lips and drank deeply, almost draining the cup. Then she replaced it on the table and said, ‘Isis, intercede for me with the Lord Osiris and guide me to the afterlife.’
A sudden sense of alarm flooded over Silus.
‘Tekosis. What have you done?’
‘I’m beyond your justice now, Silus. Beyond the reach of your torturers.’
He picked up the cup of wine and saw some crushed leaves in the bottom. He picked them out and sniffed. They smelt musty, like rat urine.
‘Hemlock,’ said Tekosis. ‘It won’t be long now.’
Silus threw the cup against the wall, where it shattered into shards.
‘Who gave you the poison?’
‘You think I would give up their name now? When I have just chosen death over betrayal of the cause?’
Silus grabbed her by both wrists, staring into her eyes.
‘Tekosis, listen to me. I know you are doing what you believe is right. But the consequences will be terrible. Marcellus will set the legions loose in the streets if he doesn’t find his son soon, and I have seen what happens when the soldiers are given their head in a city. The suffering will be incalculable. Fire, rape, robbery, murder. So many innocents dead.’
Doubt crept into Tekosis’ eyes.
‘He wouldn’t. Soaemias wouldn’t let him.’
‘Soaemias has some control over him, true, but I know Marcellus better than you. He has become the Emperor’s right-hand man by doing anything he needs to do to get what he wants.’
Tekosis’ pupils were wide, making it seem like her eyes had turned black, and she had a tremor in her hand. Was it doubt and fear, or the poison working already?
‘Tell me where the boy is. Do the right thing. Egypt can still be great. The boy could still bring Elagabal to Egypt and introduce his worship here. But he must be returned to his father, safe, soon.’
Tekosis sat down on the bed heavily.
‘I don’t know where they are keeping him,’ she said, and her voice carried the first traces of a slur.
‘Who else is involved?’ said Silus urgently.
Tekosis leaned forward, gripping her stomach, and let out a groan.
‘Oh. It burns. I didn’t expect… the pain.’
Silus knelt down in front of her and grasped her hands.
‘Tekosis. Trust me. I recovered your idol. I respect her, but I fear for her, and for this city. Tell me something, anything, so I can reunite the boy with his father and stop him bringing down the wrath of the legions on the people.’
‘The legions,’ said Tekosis, and her voice was becoming a whisper.
‘The legions,’ said Silus. ‘What about them?’
‘The legate. He is part of it.’
‘Gratidius? Why? In what way?’
‘Don’t know. Silus, I’m scared. I don’t know what is right.’ She gasped. ‘My heart. It races. Hold me, Silus.’
Silus put his arms around her, held her close. She whispered in his ear. ‘Did I do the right thing for Isis, for Egypt, by being a part of all this? Or am I doing the right thing by telling you about it now?’
‘You are doing the right thing now,’ he said with as much conviction as he could muster. From his point of view, it was right, saving a boy, preventing severe retribution on the city. From her point of view, with her different loyalty and perspective, maybe not. He had no idea. But he was going to give her as much reassurance as he could in her last moments. ‘The information you just gave me will save many lives. And will prevent a backlash that could threaten your city and the worship of your goddess.’
She looked up into his eyes, and tears rolled out of the corners. She tried to say something, but instead of words, a trickle of clear drool emerged and ran down her chin. Then her head went back in a vicious spasm. The veins and tendons in her rigid neck stood out like little serpents.
And the convulsions began. She collapsed onto her side on the bed, and her whole body shook violently. Her mouth foamed, and she let out guttural gasps and groans. He struggled to keep hold of her as she writhed and twitched. The seizure became more and more violent, until abruptly it stopped. She remained rigid in his arms for a long moment and Silus searched her eyes desperately for any sign of consciousness. For what seemed an eternity, her gaze appeared to lock on his.
Then she went limp, and the room filled with the acrid smell of faeces as her bowels voided.
Chapter Thirteen
Silus strode into Marcellus’ tablinum, shoving the guard at the door out of the way before he could react. The guard ran in after him, drawing his sword.
‘Sir,’ gasped Silus. ‘I have information.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the guard. ‘I couldn’t stop him.’ He looked at the Arcanus suspiciously, knowing he was outmatched even though Silus was unarmed. ‘Shall I summon help?’
‘No,’ said Marcellus. ‘Get out and close the door.’
When the guard had done so, he snapped, ‘Come on then, Silus, out with it.’
‘Tekosis is dead.’
Marcellus jumped to his feet and slammed the desk with both hands.
‘Jupiter’s cock, Silus, you incompetent fool! What did you do to her? I thought you were just supposed to be talking to her!’
‘Someone supplied her with poison, sir.’
‘What?’ He sat back down. ‘How did they get to her?’
‘It must have been someone trusted by both her and by the guard.’
‘You questioned the guard?’
‘Of course. The shift had just changed before I got there. It would have been the previous guard that would have seen who visited her. Unfortunately, he has vanished. He is not in the barracks, nor in any of the places his comrades thought he might be. I fear he is likely to be dead.’
‘So we have nothing?’
‘On the contrary, sir. Before she died, she gave me a name.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Gratidius.’
‘What? Explain.’
‘She said she didn’t know. I think I believe her. They were more or less her dying words.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘It was mainly self-justification, talking about how great Isis and Egypt were. But she also said some things about your son I didn’t really understand. How they have brought him here because of his role as a priest of Elagabal.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘She said there was a plan to bring the worship of Elagabal to Alexandria, to unite him with Isis, in order to unite Egypt and the provinces of the East.’
Marcellus considered. ‘So they plan to inspire some sort of religious revolt? Like the Jews did?’
‘I think so, but not one restricted to one particular race. It’s more to do with geography.’
‘But there are other priests of Elagabal. Yes, Avitus is
destined to be high priest, but surely they could have found someone else – there would be many priests of Elagabal, adults, who would love an opportunity to spread the worship of their god, and would not need to be coerced. Why my son?’
Silus spread his hands helplessly.
Marcellus bit his lip. ‘So where does Gratidius fit into this?’
‘I don’t know, sir. But he is Syrian, isn’t he?’
‘His family is from Emesa I believe.’
‘I think I should speak to him.’
‘Do so, straight away. With my full authority to do whatever is necessary to find out where my son is.’
‘Where may I find him, sir? Is he at the barracks?’
‘He was visiting the prefect this afternoon. You may find him still there if you hurry.’
* * *
Unfortunately, Silus was just too late to intercept Gratidius at the prefect’s office.
The prefect’s secretary informed Silus that he had left just moments before, and had seemed to be in a hurry when he left. Silus insisted on seeing the prefect, pushing his way into his office when the secretary stalled him.
‘Silus? How dare you barge in here?’
‘I apologise, prefect, but time is of the essence. What did you say to Gratidius?’
Juncinus made a sour face, but obviously read Silus’ expression of urgency.
‘He came to ask me what progress had been made in the search for Avitus.’
‘Did he tell you why he was interested?’
‘Well, no. I just presumed he thought it of importance to him, in his role as commander of the Roman forces here.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘That there was no news, except that we had taken the priestess of Isis Lochias into custody.’
‘What was his reply?’
Juncinus frowned. ‘I don’t recall. He just said he should return to his duties in the barracks and left. Quite hurriedly, now I think about it.’
‘Thank you for your help, prefect. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but I must go and find Gratidius straight away.’
‘I understand, Silus, and your disrespect is forgiven. This time.’
Silus rushed out of the office, making his way towards the main palace entrance. When he emerged from the palace, the sky above him had turned a dark purple, and in the west, the orange sun illuminated the underside of the clouds with a glow like the hot embers of a bonfire. The barracks were to the east, outside the city walls, beyond the tombs and sepulchres of the Jews. He oriented himself, intending to proceed towards the barracks, the site of Gratidius’ power and authority, where he would surely be heading.
But as he passed through the gates, he grabbed one of the duty guards by the shoulder.
‘Gratidius. Did you see him? Which way did he go?’
The soldier looked confused. ‘The legate? Yes, I saw him running west.’
West? That was the opposite direction to the barracks. What was that way?
The docks!
Shit. Gratidius was fleeing. He believed that Tekosis would have given his name up, and obviously wasn’t as certain of the loyalty of the troops as he would like. Silus put his head down and ran.
Like the colonies that Rome built from scratch, but unlike the ancient cities such as Rome or Athens, Alexandria was built on a grid pattern of streets. So as he ran westwards, he realised that he could be on a parallel route to Gratidius. He had to hope that he had guessed his destination correctly, and could intercept him there.
Although nighttime was approaching, the streets were still busy, and he had to weave through the people of all classes, races and religions, and the animals, sacred, domestic and incidental. He took great care not to step on a cat or kick a wandering ibis, though he was much less considerate to the people that slowed him down, who received a hard push out of the way with shoulder or forearm.
He ran past the great, ancient obelisks, the tomb of Alexander – still crowded with the curious and the devout – past the library and Mouseion, then turned north, with the Caesarion to his right and the harbour straight ahead.
Of course the docks were huge and thronged, and the failing light did not help him. He hurried along the wharves, straining his neck to see over and around the dockers and sailors and travellers in an attempt to spot his quarry. If he was right, Gratidius would be by one of these boats or ships, negotiating desperately with a captain to buy urgent passage. If he was wrong, the chance to find Avitus would have slipped through his fingers.
He grabbed a sailor who was leaning against a post, eating a pie.
‘Have you seen a Roman looking for passage? Tall man, Syrian, in uniform.’
The sailor’s reply was muffled by meat and pastry. ‘Not feen a fing. Fuck off.’
Silus ran to another. ‘A Roman. Tall, dark-skinned. Have you seen him? I have money.’
‘How much?’
‘Tell me if you’ve seen him, and I’ll tell you how much.’
‘No, you tell me how much and I’ll tell you if I’ve seen him.’
But at that moment, there was a fortuitous parting of the crowds, like a cloudy sky parting briefly to reveal a glimpse of the sun. And through the gap, Silus saw Gratidius, fifty yards away, shaking his finger in the face of a mariner, holding up a bag of coins in the other. Silus pushed the sailor he was talking to aside, and ran towards Gratidius.
The crowd closed up again, and he momentarily lost sight of the legate. He jostled and shoved, and one slave with a sack of wheat over his shoulder lost his balance and tumbled over backwards. The sack landed on the foot of a sailor who shouted in pain and pushed the slave hard. The slave, knowing better than to raise his hands to a free man, cowered down, holding his hands up in defence as the sailor laid about his head with closed fists.
The commotion caused Gratidius to turn. His eyes fixed first on the fight, then drifted sideways to see Silus struggling through the crowd towards him. His mouth dropped, and he turned and fled.
Silus cursed and redoubled his efforts to close on the fleeing commander. It was like swimming through honey, men impeding his every step. But Gratidius was struggling too, grabbing slaves and merchants alike and thrusting them out of his way with curses. He threw frequent glances over his shoulder towards Silus to see if the Arcanus was gaining. In fact, Silus was getting no nearer, but neither was he falling behind, and he was managing to keep Gratidius in sight the whole time.
Suddenly the dock ran out as Gratidius reached the heptastadion, the long, narrow causeway that led out to the island of Pharsos. Deriving its name from its length – the equivalent of seven stadia, or roughly three-quarters of a mile – the causeway had been built at the founding of the city to link Pharos to the mainland and to create two safe harbours, the Great Harbour to the east and the Eunostos Harbour to the west.
Silus saw Gratidius hesitate. The docks to the west of the heptastadion were just as crowded as those to the east that they had just come through, as were the roads leading south into the city. To the north, the traffic travelling on the causeway, mainly donkey carts transporting various loads, was more ordered. And although it was in some ways a dead end, the island of Pharos was a good size, with a town and a small port of its own on its northern shore.
Gratidius made a hasty decision and ran onto the causeway. He intercepted a cart hauling wood as fuel for the lighthouse, grabbed the driver and threw him to the ground. He leapt onto the cart and flapped the reins hard. The donkey trotted forward, surprised at the sudden command to accelerate. It was no great speed, and Silus found that by sprinting towards it, he was gaining, little by little.
But he could not maintain that speed for long, and quickly found his breath was coming in deep heaving gasps. Still, he found himself mere feet behind the donkey cart, almost near enough to leap onto its back. Gratidius turned and saw how close his pursuer was. He reached to the back of the cart and grabbed a bolt that held the back gate of the cart closed. He struggled with it, wiggling it franticall
y to loosen it. Then with a yank, the bolt came loose, the gate flapped open, and a dozen large logs rolled out into Silus’ path.
He had no time to run around them, so he tried to hurdle them. But his fatiguing legs did not do as they were told. He stumbled as he leapt, didn’t get as much height or distance as he had aimed for. For a moment it seemed nevertheless that he would clear all the logs as they rolled down the causeway towards him. But they were not rolling in an ordered way, and the second to last was angled differently from the final log, and so moving at a different speed. The last log bumped into it, slowed, and Silus landed on top of it, his leading foot disappearing backwards beneath him, pitching him forward onto his face.
He landed heavily, breaking the fall with outstretched hands, palms grazed by gravel and sand. He pushed himself painfully to his feet, cursing as the cart put distance between them. He gingerly tested his weight, making sure nothing was broken or sprained, then set off at a slower trot, watching the cart gradually increase its distance from him.
Another donkey cart appeared behind him, this one carrying kindling. Silus stepped out in front of it, his hand up. The driver reined the donkey in, coming to a stop just before him.
‘Get out of the way, you idiot,’ the driver shouted at him.
‘I’m taking this cart, in the name of the Emperor of Rome.’
The driver looked back at his rickety old cart, then at his ageing donkey, and then back at Silus, wearing an expression of confusion.
‘You want this cart?’
‘Move aside,’ snapped Silus.
‘But my master…’
Silus showed the blade at his belt, and the driver blanched and jumped down.
‘All yours, sir, but I warn you, this one is a real bastard.’
Silus leapt up into the seat, grabbed the reins, and flapped them up and down vigorously.
The donkey stood still, chewing at some leftover hay stuck between its teeth.
‘Move, you bastard.’ The donkey turned its head slowly, gave Silus a contemptuous glance, then continued to chew impassively. The driver looked on with a look of self-satisfied, told-you-so amusement.
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