‘Did he just say what I think he did?’ I whispered. Plexis stood up slowly. On board our boat, the people who understood Latin suddenly leapt to their feet while the others tugged on sleeves and begged to know what was happening.
‘It’s not true,’ I said brokenly, ‘Oh, Plexis, tell me it’s not what I think.’
‘It’s an announcement from the Circus Maximus,’ he whispered. ‘By Hermes and Aries, what a terrible trick to play. They’re saying Iskander has returned from Hades, that he has been captured, and that he will fight tomorrow night in a special show.’
‘Is he serious? Does he believe that Alexander has come back from the dead?’ I felt as if my bones were turning to ice.
‘No, It’s a publicity stunt to sell tickets. However, we know it’s the truth, even if the public doesn’t. Iskander was captured though, that much is true. Now we know what happened to him.’
We stared at each other. ‘The slave,’ I said, ‘it was the slave. He did recognize him and he’s taken his revenge. Quickly, Plexis, we don’t have much time. Go to Augustus, tell him it’s a mistake, or tell him it’s the truth; and that if Iskander does die, Ptolemy will raze Rome. Oh, I don’t know what to do!’ I moaned.
‘Tell Demos to go to get the lanista,’ said Plexis cryptically.
‘The who?’
Plexis told me, then left. I called my son over and took his chin firmly in my hand. ‘We must keep our heads if we mean to help your father,’ I said. ‘I want you and Demos to go into the city and try to find the man who organizes the games. There must be someone in charge, and he shouldn’t be too hard to find. Could you go to fetch him?’
‘The lanista? Yes, I think that he might help us.’ Demos told me.
‘What’s a lanista?’ Paul asked.
‘The superintendent of the gladiators.’ Demos said pensively. ‘I’ll not lie to you, My Lady. If Iskander is slated to fight tomorrow, there is not much we can do to stop it.’
A few minutes later, a slender boy and a mountain of a man walked off through the gathering darkness. I watched them leave with my mouth twisted awry. The problem was ignorance. I had no idea how the Romans organized their games, how the actors were chosen, and what happened in the arena. Stories of lions, gladiators, and armed combatants sprang to mind. I started pacing, then sat down next to Phaleria and leaned against her warm shoulder.
‘Do you think he has a chance to win his fight?’ I asked.
‘It depends on whom he’s fighting,’ she said reasonably.
‘I’d like to get my hands on that slave,’ I said darkly.
‘Demos has already sent Oppi to search for him.’
I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t noticed that Oppi had left the boat. ‘When?’
‘Right after Plexis left. I think Demos wants a little chat with that slave.’
‘I suppose he thought that he was just doing his sacred duty,’ I said glumly.
‘Do you want to talk to Vix now?’ she asked.
I scratched my head. ‘Do you think it will help?’
‘He sees things others do not, even if you don’t truly believe. It can’t hurt to listen. Besides, he knows the customs of the Circus Maximus. He can tell you about them at least.’
Vix was speaking to Yovanix. I didn’t want to interrupt, but he motioned me to his side. ‘I was just going to tell Yovanix about the circus,’ he said. ‘If you want to know more, sit here and listen.’
I didn’t argue. Vix was a druid, which meant he was a teacher as well as a priest. In Gallic oppida – fortified settlements – the druids were the only ones who could read and write, letters being sacred things used to cast spells.
Vix reached into his pouch and took out a handful of dried herbs. He crushed them in his hands, releasing their sharp scent, and then tossed them to the four cardinal points, reciting a short prayer to the gods of stories and history. I asked him what herbs he used, and he let me smell them and try to guess. Mostly it was rosemary, used throughout the centuries for remembrance.
‘The story I will tell you has its roots in Greece,’ he began. ‘Before the opening of the funeral games in honour of his friend Patroclus, Achilles immolated on the funeral pyre four noble mares, two of his favourite hounds, and twelve sons of the Trojans. This version of Patroclus’s funeral would forever haunt the Etruscans.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I interrupted, ‘what do the Etruscans have to do with this? We’re in Rome, aren’t we?’
Vix peered at me, his grey eyes sharp. He didn’t mind my interruptions; he was used to my incessant questions. ‘The Etruscans were here long before the Romans. They were the ones who built the Circus Maximus, three hundred years ago. They believe that the dead live in a world contiguous with the one we live in. The dead are highly honoured in Etruscan society, and for them the funeral is almost like a rebirth. To send their loved ones off in the best possible style is one of their major preoccupations. That and music.’
‘Music?’
‘I’m getting to that. Where was I? Oh yes, Patroclus’s funeral. The Etruscans sought to enhance their mourning by raising it to the level of the Greek legend, and they consoled themselves for the mortal condition of humanity through the enchantments of music and poetry. And a furious lust for blood. The Etruscans used to sacrifice prisoners on the funeral pyres of their dead, but then they started to have them fight in front of the pyres, giving the prisoners a chance to live.
‘The current games come from an ancient and mysterious ritual. They are a manifestation of something called “The Game of Phersu.”.’
‘Phersu?’ Now Yovanix interrupted. He turned his blind face towards me and frowned. ‘I’ve heard of a phersu, it is a mask.’
‘“Phersu” means mask, yes, but it also stands for the man who wears the mask.’
A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck. ‘What man wears a mask during the games?’ I asked.
‘The Phersu. The word comes from further back in time than we can imagine. In the beginning there was the Mask, an infernal demon whose name is connected with that of Persephone, the terrible Queen of Ice and Darkness. He is the most ancient of the devils, the same devils that decorate the tombs of the Etruscans. Charon, Orcus, Tulchulcha are a few of their names, and they are present in the parade opening the games. However, Phersu is their leader and their chief. During the games he stands near the blind man and watches him die.’
I was startled. ‘The blind man? Is he really blind, or does he wear a blindfold?’ I asked, my heart beating fast.
‘He wears a blindfold. Why?’
‘In my dream I saw Iskander standing in the middle of a great clearing. He was wearing a dark sack over his head, and just behind him stood a harlequin clown. The clown stood still, simply looking on. He gave me the chills.’
‘What did he look like?’ Vix’s voice was tense; he leaned forward, taking my shoulders in his hands. ‘How was this clown you speak of dressed?’
‘He wore a short jacket, checked with alternate light and dark patches. His pants were ragged. He had a pointed hat with a little pompom on the top. And his mask was a black domino, just covering the top of his face.’ I faltered, ‘It was – it looked exactly like the harlequin clowns of my time. He couldn’t have voyaged intact through the ages, could he have?’
Vix’s hands tightened on my shoulders. Then he released them and leaned back. ‘Phersu is a very powerful demon. You have just described his costume perfectly, although sometimes he wears a Phrygian helmet, and sometimes he wears a silken beard tied onto his mask. He presides over the games and looks on without pity or emotion as the men die. He represents the horror of death, which must be vanquished by mirth, the fat demon, who will come after the massacre to chase away Phersu.’
‘What will happen tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘The ceremony starts with a parade. Then there are the games, they last until all the prisoners have fought. Then there is the closing ceremony when Phersu is chased out of the arena.
‘Ho
wever, to know exactly what will happen we must find out if they are funeral games, in honour of an Etruscan citizen, or if they are the Roman games, which are mostly horse racing and fighting between professional gladiators. The Etruscans, I warn you, are a strange people. Their rituals are intimately linked with death and dying, yet at the same time they celebrate life with an almost constant outpouring of music. They play their flutes to everything, from kneading their bread to beating their slaves; everything has a set rhythm and melody. The music must be followed exactly, to vary it would destroy the delicate harmonic balance between life and death.’
‘So you’re saying that if the ceremony tomorrow is Etruscan, we will have no chance to change it?’
‘That’s what I’m saying, yes. They will do everything to appease the Phersu. Nothing must change.’
‘The Mask,’ said Yovanix, shuddering. ‘He sounds terrible.’
‘He is,’ said Vix, seriously.
The night was full of light and laughter. People walked around the docks carrying small, portable lanterns or torches. In the city, I could see slaves lighting the streetlights with long tapers. From the boat next to ours came the strains of a flute and songs accompanying a banquet.
Then came the sound of hooves clattering on stone. Someone was coming in a great hurry. It was Plexis; he slid off his lathered pony and tossed its reins to Titte, who’d jumped onto the dock to greet him. Clattering behind him came Augustus, who dismounted as well. The Roman was wrapped in an impressive purple cape and wearing his official helmet. I felt a glimmer of hope. His garb meant that he was here on authoritative business.
‘Has Demos returned yet?’ Plexis asked me, as he clambered aboard.
‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘Can Augustus help us?’
‘He’s not sure. He has to speak to the lanista.’ Plexis waved to Titte, who was still holding the horses. ‘Can you find water for them?’ To me, he said, ‘When did Demos leave?’
‘Right after you did, nearly two hours ago.’
Augustus came over and patted my shoulder. ‘We rode as fast as we could.’
‘Thank you. How are Scipio and Hirkan?’ I asked.
‘Fine, just fine. They wanted to come with us, but I told them they had to wait behind. Scipio has now sworn to save Iskander …’ he faltered and lowered his voice. ‘Plexis told me that it really is Iskander, the great conqueror, back from the dead. Is it de facto? How can it be true? Did you know that some of the gladiators swear that they were soldiers in his army? Perhaps he will meet someone he knows in the arena.’
I gaped at him. Finally I said, ‘Iskander has changed. He’s not the same man who conquered Persia and went to India. When his death was announced, he was so ill that he was actually dying. We managed to save his life, but the gods banished him from his kingdom for all time. You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, ever. Not even to your wife.’ I figured that I would put the blame on the gods. Otherwise, Augustus would certainly think that Alexander was a coward for running away from his duty as king. However, Augustus lived in a republic. The Romans didn’t believe in kings and absolute monarchs any more than the Greeks did. They did however, believe in the gods.
Augustus scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘If the public finds out that it is truly Iskander in the arena, they will not let him leave it alive. They will have him fight against impossible odds. I should think that would be a thrilling combat, if it weren’t your husband,’ he added apologetically.
‘You seem to take this very calmly,’ I told him, folding my arms across my chest and trying to keep the acid out of my voice. A thrilling combat indeed, as if Alexander hadn’t fought enough in his life.
He gave an expressive shrug. ‘We heard many stories about King Iskander; one of them said he hadn’t died. A certain oracle insisted he had gone north to the lands of the Eaters of the Dead. Then the seer died, and the stories died with her. It was a very important oracle; she saw the future in bolts of lightning. Other stories praised his valour and strength. Most of the people won’t believe it’s really he though, you see, already at least ten other Iskanders have fought in the Circus Maximus since he died. It’s a ploy to attract spectators, nothing else, but the people expect a good actor and a good show.’
‘What happened to the other Iskanders?’ I asked.
‘They died. Not one survived the Game of Phersu.’
I closed my eyes. I’d heard all I wanted about the Game of Phersu, presided by the Mask, the horrifying minion of Persephone. ‘Well, if he’s my minion perhaps I can meet him and speak to him,’ I said with a shiver.
‘No one can meet him. No one knows who he is, even the lanista. Most think he’s a supernatural being who appears for the games and returns to the Underworld when they are finished.’
‘Oh really?’ My voice dripped ice. I felt my temper slipping. Luckily, Plexis took my elbow and drew me away with a murmured excuse to Augustus.
‘Ashley, he’s only trying to help. When the lanista gets here, Augustus will ask to have the game officially annulled.’
‘Do you think he will succeed?’
‘Do you want the truth?’ he asked gently, his eyes sad. I nodded mutely and he said, ‘no, I don’t think he will succeed. The games are too important.’
I stared at him, then turned and went down into the hold. I didn’t want to hear the lanista telling Augustus that the games would go on as planned. I didn’t want to hear the words that would condemn my husband to die, blindfolded and alone, in the middle of an arena.
Vix gave me a sleeping draught. I don’t know if it was the wisest thing I could do, but my eyes were burning and my head felt as if it were filled with ashes. I knew I would lie awake and fret, so I drank the bitter potion and curled up on a soft blanket. The slight rocking of the boat and the drink put me to sleep.
I dreamed. I dreamt I was standing in the middle of a sandy circle. Around me was darkness, but I heard the cheers and shouts of a huge crowd. I stood still. In my hand was a leash, and on the end of the leash was a huge dog, bigger than any dog I’d ever seen. It looked like a cross between a wolfhound and a mastiff. It turned its head and looked at me with glowing red eyes, drawing its lips back in a silent snarl. Sharp, white teeth were bared. The hair on its back rose in a prickly crest, and I saw its whole body vibrating as it suddenly collected itself and sprang into the air. I held onto the leash, stunned, as I saw whom the beast had attacked. Alexander stood in front of me, his hands fastened behind his back, a black hood covering his face, blind and helpless before the savage attack.
I pulled back on the leash, meaning to stop the dog, but the leash somehow became tangled around Alexander’s legs and hampered him even more. The dog bit huge chunks out of his flesh while he screamed and screamed.
The screams woke me up, but they were my own.
Plexis was shaking me, begging me to be quiet.
I sat up and drew a shaking hand across my sweaty brow. ‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped, leaning my head against his chest. ‘Did I wake everyone up? What time is it?’
‘It’s nearly dawn. No one was sleeping anyway; we’ve been talking, trying to figure out what to do.’
‘Augustus couldn’t stop the games.’ It was a statement, not a question. Plexis nodded, his chin resting on my head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, his arms tightening around my shoulders. ‘He tried his best, but he doesn’t have much power here. The games are vital.’
‘So is Iskander,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘I don’t want him to die.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘Are they to be Roman games or Etruscan games?’
‘Roman. At least we have that much more hope. Augustus did promise never to tell anyone that Iskander didn’t die. If they do find out, they will hunt him down and kill him. The Romans are afraid of him. They think that if he had lived, he would have invaded Rome. Augustus says that rumour has it he was poisoned by a Roman spy.’
I stayed in his arms until the sun rose. The
light seemed cruel to me. If only I could have held onto the night, in the darkness Alexander had a chance. In less than six hours, under the blazing noonday sun, he would enter the arena. During the night, Axiom returned from the Roman’s villa. With him were Scipio and Hirkan. The two boys huddled with Paul at the stern of the dragon boat. They sat together, their heads touching, speaking in hushed voices. Next to the three boys was Yovanix. He rested a light hand on Paul’s shoulder. Perilous, the puppy, lay in his lap. The sight of the hound made me shiver. My dream came back to me.
‘Can we go to the Circus Maximus?’ I asked Plexis. ‘Is there any chance of getting tickets now?’
‘Augustus took care of that last night; he used his influence to get us good seats.’
I looked at Plexis. He had deep circles under his eyes and his face was lined with fatigue. ‘You must be exhausted,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You searched for Iskander all evening, then you rode to the villa and back again. You’ve been up all night …’
‘We’ve been keeping vigil,’ he said, his smile wan.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I should have stayed with you. I was a coward, I preferred to sleep, I didn’t want to face the hours dragging by.’
‘That’s good, at least you’ll be able to stay awake for the games now,’ he said, trying for a joke. His eyes filled with tears though, and I pulled him to me.
‘Oh, Plexis, don’t cry. We’ll think of something, and even if we don’t, I’m sure Iskander will. He’s so strong; he’ll dazzle us all with his victory. He’ll vanquish his opponent and stand gloriously in the blinding sun while we cheer ourselves hoarse. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Lie down beside me and rest your head on my lap. I’ll tickle your back for you while you rest.’
I stroked his hair, slipping my hand beneath his tunic to rub his back. After a while, his breathing evened out and he slept. I sat with his head on my lap while the sun coloured the sky progressively rose then gold. Dawn gave way to morning, as Eos, goddess of the dawn, opened the gates to the heavens, and Helios drove the chariot of the sun onto the great arc of the sky.
The Eternal Banquet Page 12