‘The games?’ The nearest one waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, that’s all over.’
‘It’s over? You mean we missed it?’ Livia threw Felix a panicked look. ‘That means …’ Her face drained of colour.
The man on the far side of the cart pushed a block of salt into position then scratched his beard. ‘Well, now,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s not quite right. I don’t think they’ve had the games yet. The third triumph finished three days ago, on the Ides of April, but there’s still one more triumph to go.’
‘Four triumphs in one month?’ said his friend. ‘That seems like a lot. I know Caesar routed the Gauls, and Ptolemy’s forces in Egypt. What else is he celebrating?’
‘Let’s see. You’re right, there was the Gallic triumph – he paraded Vercingetorix himself in chains. Then there was the Alexandrian triumph. Yesterday’s was the Pontic; he sent Pharnaces II packing. So tomorrow he must be celebrating the triumph over Africa. And after that, of course—’ the bearded man chuckled ‘—let the games begin!’
‘The games … they haven’t held the games yet.’ Livia clutched Felix’s wrist as they walked on. ‘We’ve made it. My brother is alive.’ Her face was still pale, but her eyes were bright. ‘Quick, we need to get to Rome as fast as we can. I’ll find Caesar and give him the coins before the games start.’
‘No problem,’ Felix said. ‘We can fly there on the carpet.’ He patted the rolled-up carpet that sagged awkwardly over his shoulder.
‘Great idea,’ said Livia. She too patted the carpet.
‘Let’s wait till we’re outside the gates of Ostia, though,’ Felix suggested, ‘so we don’t draw too much attention to ourselves.’
They hurried down the Decumanus Maximus, the main street of the town, which was lined with apartment buildings and taverns and shops. A huge theatre stood alongside a square filled with the offices of merchants and shipowners, some decorated with mosaics of foreign harbours or faraway cities. Passing through the forum, Felix recognised a statue dedicated to Ceres, the goddess of grain, in the centre.
And then they were walking through the city gate and joining the road from Ostia to Rome. The Via Ostiensis was so thronged with travellers and traders it didn’t seem possible to fly a magic carpet through their midst discreetly.
‘But we don’t need to stick to the road,’ Felix pointed out. ‘The carpet didn’t need roads to find its way through the desert. We can fly over fields and forests.’
‘It’ll probably even be quicker that way,’ Livia agreed.
Half a mile or so outside the town, they left the road and headed into a fallow field. There, they unrolled the carpet.
They both sat down, Livia with the satchel on her lap, and Felix tapped the carpet lightly with his stick. ‘Take us to Rome, please, carpet.’
The carpet gave a reluctant heave, hovered for a few seconds barely an inch above the ground, then subsided.
‘I think it’s tired,’ Felix said.
‘Or lazy,’ said Livia crossly.
The carpet gave a shudder that tipped her sideways.
‘Hey!’ she said.
‘The carpet doesn’t like to be insulted,’ Felix reminded her.
‘Hmph,’ said Livia, folding her arms across her chest. Then she said contritely, ‘I’m sorry, carpet. I’m just anxious to get to Rome to see my brother. But I shouldn’t be taking my anxiety out on you.’
The carpet, as if in recognition of the apology, rippled gently and then gave another heave before sinking to the ground once more.
‘That trip across the desert must have been too much for it,’ Felix said. ‘It’s not a young carpet, after all.’
Livia turned a worried face to him. ‘How will we get to Rome?’ she asked.
‘It’s okay,’ said Felix. ‘We can go back to Ostia and use another of Caesar’s coins to buy seats in a carriage.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Livia. She had pulled the box of coins from the satchel and was counting them, looking troubled. ‘We really should save the rest of the coins for Caesar. If there are too many missing he might refuse to free my brother.’
Felix looked at the sky, considering. The sun was still high; it wouldn’t be dark for hours. ‘It’s only fifteen miles to Rome. We’ve walked that before easily. If we move quickly, we’ll get there before dark. We could stay the night with Mum and then find Caesar during the triumphal procession tomorrow.’
Livia approved of this plan, and they set off at a good pace, but while the distance hadn’t seemed far when they set out, as the miles passed slowly, and then more slowly, Felix realised he had been too optimistic. They took it in turns to carry the heavy carpet – though Livia suggested more than once that they should simply abandon it by the side of the road if it couldn’t fly anymore. The carpet stuttered on her shoulder in what seemed like hiccupping sobs and she quickly apologised.
They trudged along, their flagging pace a contrast to the activity in the fields on either side of the road. Now that winter was well and truly over, farm workers were busy repairing fences and weeding crops, planting and pruning.
Just a little further, Felix told himself as they followed the march of aqueducts along the plain, carrying water to the great city founded by Romulus and Remus.
At last, as the first stars became visible in the dusky sky, they saw ahead of them the mighty square towers of the Roman gate known as Porta Ostiensis.
Felix let out a cheer. ‘We made it!’
They hastened forwards, only to see two guards dragging a huge wooden gate across the opening.
‘Wait!’ shouted Felix, waving his stick. He began to run awkwardly, the carpet jostling on his shoulder.
But it was too late. The gate clanged shut.
Chapter 18
They made camp under the boughs of an oak tree in the middle of a field of cabbages, within sight of the walls.
‘I can’t believe we’re eating cabbage leaves for dinner, when we could’ve been enjoying my mother’s cooking,’ said Felix in disgust.
‘What would she have made for us?’ Livia asked as she rolled up a leaf and bit into it.
Felix closed his eyes and imagined his mother standing over the charcoal brazier in the single room that served as the kitchen, dining room and living room in their cramped apartment. He pictured himself sitting at the table, the aroma from the cooking pot wafting over to him, the tantalising scent … ‘Cabbage soup,’ he said.
When their meagre meal was complete, they unrolled the carpet and lay down to sleep.
‘The carpet might not have been able to fly us recently, but it’s been really comfortable to sleep on,’ Felix observed as he stared up into the dark canopy of leaves.
The carpet, as if pleased by the compliment, vibrated gently beneath him.
‘Maybe you could give it to your mother as a gift?’ Livia suggested.
Felix laughed. ‘I’ll bet King Pharnaces II never thought his magic carpet would end up in an apartment in the Subura.’
Livia rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow. ‘Is that where you live – the Subura?’
‘That’s right. Do you know it?’
Livia shook her head. ‘I’ve heard of it, of course, but I’ve never seen it. The governor’s mansion was on the Quirinal Hill.’
Rome’s noble citizens tended to make their homes on various slopes of the city’s seven hills, while the plebeians lived between the hills in quarters like the Subura, which was densely packed with apartment buildings.
‘Where will you go … after?’ asked Felix, voicing the question that had been troubling him more and more as they grew closer to Rome. After what, he wasn’t quite sure. Would Livia really be able to save her brother, and would Caesar really then liberate the pair of them, just for the sake of the handful of coins Livia had carried all the way from Alexandria?
‘I don’t know,’ she replied softly. ‘All I care about is seeing my brother. After that …’
‘Well, I’m sure my mother would l
et you stay with us,’ Felix offered. It would be a tight squeeze, but he knew his mother would never turn down someone in need. Even his sisters had good hearts, really.
‘I couldn’t ask it of her,’ said Livia. ‘If Caesar doesn’t free my brother, or he – he doesn’t survive the arena …’ She paused then said, ‘I’ll have to go into hiding. Leave Rome. But whatever happens, I’m not going back to being a slave.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Felix promised. ‘In any way I can.’
She gave him a quick, grateful smile. ‘I know.’ She rolled onto her back again. ‘If only I knew where I came from – where my parents were from, I mean – that’s where I’d go,’ she said. ‘Maybe I even have a family out there in the world somewhere.’ Her voice was dreamy now, close to sleep.
As Felix closed his own eyes and began to drift off he wished fervently that Livia and her brother would soon be free, and that they would find a home.
Woken by a startling noise, he opened his eyes to see that pale light was filtering through the fresh green leaves of the oak tree. Livia was standing by the carpet with her hands over her ears.
‘What is that awful sound?’ she shouted over the banging.
When the banging was overlaid with several loud blasts of a trumpet, Felix had his answer. ‘It must be the musicians who are going to play in the triumphal procession,’ he said. ‘They’ll be gathering in the Campus Martius waiting for the parade to begin.’ The large field just outside the city walls was often used for public assemblies.
Felix stood up and brushed twigs and a stray cabbage leaf from his clothes then rolled up the carpet. He hoisted it over his shoulder – it was lighter now, he noticed, perhaps a result of all the rest it’d had – and picked up his stick, and they set off towards the gate that had been barred the evening before.
This time the gate was open, though there was a crush of people around it.
‘Are all these people here to see the triumph?’ Livia asked.
‘Of course,’ said an old woman next to her. Her hair was grey and she walked with a slight limp, leaning over a wooden walking stick. ‘Everyone gets the day off work to come and watch. I’m too old to work now, but I’ve walked three hours each way from my village to come to all of them. I’m so old I can even remember the three triumphs of Pompey! His triumphs were ten years apart – not like Caesar, who has all his in the same month. Still, who can blame him, hey? It’s a grand sight, a triumph.’
Livia put a hand under the old woman’s elbow to support her as the throng carried them through the gate and along a street skirting the edge of the Aventine Hill.
‘Look, it’s the Temple of Diana,’ said Felix, spying the familiar columns over the heads of the crowd. ‘We’re really here! In Rome!’
They passed between apartment buildings and shops, and were almost jostled into a stall selling fried fish on their left and then one offering snacks of salted peas on their right. Felix took it all in eagerly – the cries of peddlers, the excited chatter of the crowd anticipating the spectacle, the smell of meatballs and chickpea fritters.
‘Will the procession come this way?’ Livia asked the old woman.
‘No, dear. They’ll enter through the Porta Triumphalis then go through the Circus Maximus, around the Palatine Hill, along the Via Sacra to the Forum Romanum and finish by climbing the Capitoline Hill to the Temple of Jupiter.’
‘So we just need to find a position with a good view of the procession and then wait for Caesar to come past,’ Felix told Livia.
The old woman chuckled. ‘If you wanted a good view you should’ve got here yesterday. The people at the front of the crowd will have put up tents along the route and slept there overnight.’
They were nearing the Forum Boarium now. With a thrill of recognition Felix spied the round edifice of the Temple of Hercules Victor. That meant they weren’t far from the Circus Maximus.
‘Maybe we could find our way up to a rooftop?’ Felix suggested. But when he tilted his head back to look, he saw that the rooftops were as crammed with people as the streets.
‘We need to be close to the procession,’ Livia objected, ‘if we’re going to speak to Caesar.’
‘Speak to Caesar?’ The old woman hooted. ‘You’ll be lucky if you catch a glimpse of the wheel of his chariot through this mob.’ Then, relenting at the sight of Livia’s crestfallen expression, she said, ‘You stick with old Balbina and I’ll see you have a good spot. I’ve learned a trick or two in my time.’
Then, with a determination that belied her years and seeming frailty, she carved her way through the crowd with a mix of cajoling and curses and the deft application of her walking stick to bare toes. Livia and Felix, following in her wake, were subjected to a retaliatory onslaught of pointed elbows and bony knees.
The old woman stopped by a statue near the corner of the street that led from the forum to the Circus Maximus. It was Hercules, wearing the skin of the lion he’d slayed, a club resting over his shoulder rather like the carpet sagging over Felix’s own shoulder.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Help me climb up onto the base of the statue and then you can join me. We’ll see everything from up there.’
The base of the statue was a few feet off the ground. It would give them a good view, but Felix was hesitant. ‘Stand on the pedestal of the divine Hercules?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure we’re allowed?’
Balbina dismissed his concerns with a wave. ‘No one’s going to care today.’
So Felix scrambled onto the statue’s base, then he pulled and Livia pushed the old woman into place before Livia clambered up to join them.
The noise of the assembled onlookers grew louder, but it was drowned out by drums as the procession neared. Looking over the top of the crowd, Felix saw a line of men in chains.
‘They’re the captives from Africa,’ the woman said with satisfaction. ‘King Juba himself isn’t there. He died already, more’s the pity. I would’ve enjoyed seeing him torn apart by lions in the arena.’
Felix shuddered. The old woman was surprisingly bloodthirsty.
He glanced at Livia. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line as she stared at the shackled captives. Some still bore the injuries of the battles they’d fought and lost. They all looked downcast and helpless. Felix himself could hardly bear to see. It so easily could have been him, paraded before a crowd of Nervians hurling rotten vegetables and insults. Even old Balbina was jeering in the face of the captives’ misery.
It was a relief when the next part of the parade approached.
‘Here comes the loot,’ the old woman said eagerly, a greedy glint in her eye.
Sure enough, there came a line of wagons on which were chests filled with gold and silver coins. Dozens of them – no, hundreds of them. And not just coins: golden crowns and jewels and precious gems glinted in the spring sunshine.
The old lady crowed her delight but Felix felt his spirits sink. There was no way the coins from Alexandria would impress Caesar in the face of all this wealth.
Next came wagons bearing weapons and armour belonging to the peoples Caesar had conquered, and then huge paintings showing scenes from the battles. The biggest of all showed a man with a crown and sceptre lying dead on a battlefield.
‘Take that, King Juba,’ Balbina cried merrily, brandishing her walking stick.
Felix clutched his own stick, trying to repress the impulse to stamp the point of it on the old woman’s foot. The triumph was splendid, just as the woman had promised, yet Felix couldn’t help but feel ill at what it all meant. Those captives – they were all going to be slaughtered in the arena or turned into slaves. And all those riches … did that mean the conquered people had been left with nothing? On their journey from Belgica to Rome, Felix had met people from many different lands, including some that had been conquered by Rome, and their citizens had often been kind to him and Livia. How could he celebrate victory over them?
Troubled, he glanced in the direction the captives had gone, and saw a man
walking along the edge of the procession, scanning the crowd as if searching for something. He was moving purposefully, but in the opposite direction to the way the parade was going. The man reminded Felix of someone. He couldn’t think who. He stared at the tall figure, as slender as a …
‘Livia,’ he said urgently. ‘I think I just saw Reedy!’
‘Who?’ said Livia vaguely. ‘Is he a friend of yours? That’s nice.’
‘He’s not a friend – he’s one of the governor’s men who captured you in Belgica.’
That got her attention. She turned her head to face him. ‘What? Are you sure? Where?’
Felix pointed to where he’d seen the slender figure. ‘He’s right over …’ But there was no sign of him. ‘He was there.’ Felix frowned.
‘Maybe you were mistaken?’ Livia said hopefully.
‘Maybe.’ Felix had a dreadful feeling that he hadn’t been.
Two white oxen were led past, their horns gilded with gold and decked in garlands of flowers.
‘They’re going to be sacrificed,’ the old lady explained, then cackled as one of the oxen turned its head to snatch a pastry from the hand of an onlooker.
The senators and magistrates were passing them now, all on foot, and then the crowd further down the street began to cheer wildly, the cheer surging towards them like a wave.
‘What’s happening?’ Balbina wanted to know, craning her neck to see.
Felix squinted. ‘I think I can see a horse,’ he said. ‘Maybe more than one.’
‘I do hope the bandits were kind to that poor horse,’ Livia whispered unexpectedly.
At this reminder of Belgica, Felix remembered that he was meant to be looking out for Reedy, but as he turned his eyes on the crush of people below he knew it would be hopeless trying to identify anyone.
Anyone, that is, except for the distinctive figure in the high-sided chariot pulled by four gleaming white horses, drawing ever nearer as the cheers rose to a crescendo.
Julius Caesar!
Felix heard Livia gasp.
Rome’s greatest general was a majestic sight. Dressed in purple robes embroidered with gold thread, a laurel wreath perched on his close-cropped hair, he gazed imperiously over the crowd. From time to time he raised an ivory sceptre topped with a gold eagle in acknowledgement of the cheers that greeted him.
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