The Silver Eagle

by Ben Kane

  Then it came. Romulus had no idea what made him think of it, the most passing of comments by Tarquinius nearly seven years earlier.

  ‘There was a reason that you fled Italy,’ he said softly. ‘You would not tell me before. What was it?’

  Surprise registered in Tarquinius’ dark eyes and Romulus knew that he had hit the nail on the head.

  ‘I cannot say,’ replied the haruspex in a reluctant tone. ‘Yet.’

  ‘Why not? Because you still feel guilty?’

  The acute observation sank deep.

  ‘Partly,’ Tarquinius admitted. ‘And the time is not right.’

  ‘Will it ever be?’ Romulus demanded angrily.

  ‘Soon.’

  A braying sound broke in on their conversation, and the pair looked around in surprise. It was some distance away, but only horns could be responsible for that level of noise.

  Horns blown by men.

  And there was nowhere for them to run.

  It would be best to stay hidden. Dragging Tarquinius with him, Romulus crawled to the edge of the depression. Nothing could be seen yet. They waited, an awkward silence between them. Long moments passed, until it was full daylight. Approaching from the south, the din grew louder and louder. Men’s shouts mingled with the clamour from the drums and horns, but it was impossible to make out words.

  Over the nearest hill came a pack of hunting dogs in full cry. They were followed by an immensely wide line of figures walking shoulder to shoulder, beating drums and playing all manner of musical instruments as loudly as possible.

  ‘It’s a hunt,’ guessed Romulus.

  Tarquinius’ eyes narrowed.

  Of course every animal within earshot immediately headed north or west. There was no escape in the east, where the sea lay. The two friends watched, engrossed. Antelope and giraffe, elephant and zebra stampeded alongside each other, uncaring. Bush pigs squealed in terror, raising their tails as they ran. A herd of buffalo thundered along, shaking the ground. Even predators such as lions and jackals were affected by the fear and fled for their lives. Romulus saw a solitary, terrified leopard leave the safety of its tree to join the throng.

  A group of zebra to the north was already lifting their heads at the noise. Seeing the approaching men, they twitched their tails and moved away. Instinctively their companions began to do the same. A few moments later, all were on the hoof, galloping away with long graceful strides.

  The friends’ curiosity was up. Whether those they had seen were hunters, or bestiarii capturing animals for the arena in Rome, it was likely that they had come from the far north. Which was where they wanted to go. The excitement allowed their previous disagreement to subside, but Romulus had not forgotten it. There would be another time to talk, and he would not let the haruspex avoid answering his question then.

  A sea change had just taken place in their relationship.

  Tarquinius peered into the distance. ‘They’ll be heading for a narrow ravine.’

  ‘We can follow the beaters once they’ve passed,’ said Romulus. ‘Should be easy enough.’

  ‘If we’re careful,’ warned Tarquinius.

  ‘Of course,’ Romulus growled, irritated.

  They squatted down on their haunches and waited. Romulus judged that the dogs and hunters would come within two hundred paces of their position, but no nearer. Fortunately the contour of the land angled away from them, towards the north. This meant that the wild beasts passed well clear of them, and in turn their pursuers did too. The pair remained hidden as the baying of hounds came closer and then died away. It was followed by the racket being made by the men, which also eventually faded into the distance. When there had been silence for a while, they stood up slowly. To the north, a large haze of dust was visible, driven up by the mass of fleeing animals.

  The passage of hundreds of hooves left an unmistakable trail; Romulus and Tarquinius followed it for a good mile. The plain gradually narrowed as its sides rose to form low hills. On the tops of these slopes, primitive wooden fences had been built to stop any animals escaping.

  ‘Very clever!’ said Tarquinius, pointing. ‘Whoever is in charge has organised this hunt well.’

  Romulus understood. Although he had never seen a beast hunt, he had lived for tales of them as a child. ‘It leaves more men to be used as beaters and hunters.’

  ‘Or spearmen.’

  ‘At the bottleneck?’

  Tarquinius nodded.

  Carefully they made their way down the valley, seeing an occasional injured antelope or zebra lying stricken on the ground. Panicked by the noise and the other animals, some beasts had fallen and been trampled. They would be easy prey later, thought Romulus hungrily. Food for the pot.

  Neither had any real idea of whom or what they would find at the neck of the trap. The sight that greeted them moments later was most impressive. They reached a point where the ravine narrowed as it dropped down to a flat surface some hundred paces below. Instead of hunters’ hides, the pair saw long nets strung in a line from one side of the valley floor to the other. Some distance in front of the thick mesh were rows of deep pits in the ground. Everywhere they looked, there were figures trapped in netting or the traps, struggling frantically to escape. It was a scene of pure chaos. Lone uncaught animals darted here and there in blind panic, uncertain where to run. Loud neighs and cries mixed with the hunters’ shouts.

  Groups of men were running to each successive animal in the nets, freeing them but immediately binding their limbs with ropes. Their task was urgent, and dangerous, and Romulus saw a number get badly injured. Kicked, stamped upon or gored, they dropped to the ground, bleeding and screaming. No one came to their aid, and their comrades were so plentiful that the operation continued without interruption. Directing the proceedings from the centre of the valley floor was a short figure in dark clothes, armed with a long staff.

  ‘This is no hunt,’ Romulus exclaimed. ‘It must be for the circus in Rome!’

  ‘A possible way home,’ added the haruspex.

  Elated, Romulus’ attention was suddenly drawn by loud brays of anger. Just below them, a huge zebra stallion had been trapped. In the ensuing struggle to free itself, its hindquarters had come free of the net. Now a ring of men surrounded the magnificent beast, trying without success to rope it and bring it to the ground. The enraged zebra kicked and bucked around in circles, swinging its head violently from side to side. In an effort to ensnare one of its back legs, one of the braver hunters stepped in too close. The stallion sensed the man’s presence and whirled around, driving both hind feet into his face. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the figure crumpled to the ground and lay still.

  ‘Fool,’ said Tarquinius quietly.

  Romulus winced. No man could survive a blow like that. Unlike the one I delivered to Caelius that night, he thought bitterly. It wasn’t me. So who else could it have been?

  Terrified of suffering the same fate as their companion, none of the hunters would now approach the zebra. At length, it struggled free of the weighted mesh and galloped off through a gap in the traps.

  Romulus wanted to cheer. The promise of freedom was a powerful drug.

  ‘Let’s go down,’ said Tarquinius.

  Romulus hesitated, but it made sense to make contact with the bestiarii. He didn’t know what reception they might receive, but any risk was outweighed by the possibility of joining their party. That would greatly increase the two friends’ chance of reaching Alexandria. There were few travellers in this empty land, and journeying on their own would be fraught with danger.

  For some time, the men wrestling with the animals did not notice them approaching. They were engrossed in subduing as many as possible, before the beasts smothered in the netting, injured themselves or escaped, as the zebra had just done.

  When they were quite near, Tarquinius called out in Latin. ‘Have you need for more men?’

  The nearest hunters turned round in surprise. Ill-fed, dressed in rough tunics and for the most
part barefoot, they looked like slaves. In unison, their mouths opened in surprise.

  ‘Where is your master?’

  None answered.

  Romulus was not surprised by their silence. With light brown skin, black hair and dark eyes, the cowed-looking men looked Egyptian. Slaves to a man.

  Even when Tarquinius addressed them in Egyptian, they did not reply.

  A bulky, long-haired figure came striding over from a bull buffalo that had just been restrained. He was dressed similarly to the hunters, but the whip and dagger hilt protruding from his wide leather belt told a different story. Noticing Tarquinius and Romulus, the vilicus came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Where the hell have you come from?’ he demanded suspiciously in Egyptian.

  ‘From there,’ said Tarquinius, waving vaguely to the south.

  A little wrong-footed by the blond newcomer’s confidence, the vilicus scowled. ‘Your names?’

  ‘They call me Tarquinius. And this is Romulus, my friend,’ replied the haruspex quietly. ‘We were hoping for some work.’

  ‘This isn’t the marketplace in Alexandria. Or Jerusalem,’ the vilicus sneered. ‘We don’t need any more labour.’

  Romulus could not understand what was being said, but the vilicus’ aggressive manner did not need translating. This fool is both stupid and bad-tempered, he thought. Yet they could not afford to antagonise him. There weren’t many other options available. He kept his face impassive, while Tarquinius simply folded his arms. And waited.

  ‘Gracchus!’ There was no mistaking the tone of command. ‘What’s going on?’

  The man fell silent. A moment later, a short figure in dark brown robes arrived, the same the friends had seen earlier. He moved to confer with his vilicus.

  ‘These two just breezed in out of nowhere, sir,’ Gracchus muttered. ‘They’re looking for work!’

  The deeply tanned newcomer had a mane of grey hair, a wild beard and shrewd brown eyes. With its metal-shod tip, the well-worn staff in his hands looked more like a weapon than a crutch. A weighty purse dangled from his leather belt, while a number of thick gold rings adorned his fingers. This was a wealthy man.

  Romulus and Tarquinius waited patiently.

  At length the short man had heard enough. ‘I am Hiero of Phoenicia. A bestiarius,’ he said, speaking Egyptian in a sonorous tone. ‘And you are?’

  The haruspex repeated their names slowly and calmly.

  Romulus racked his brains. He had heard of a man called Hiero before.

  The bestiarius frowned at Tarquinius’ accent. ‘You’re Roman?’ he asked, switching without effort to Latin.

  His men looked on uncomprehendingly.

  ‘We are,’ replied Tarquinius.

  ‘What are you doing here in the wilderness?’

  ‘We were guards on a merchant vessel,’ announced Romulus in a confident voice. ‘It was attacked by pirates south of here two days ago. When the ship was taken, the two of us managed to swim ashore. The others weren’t so lucky.’

  ‘Guards, eh?’ Hiero’s beady eyes lingered on Tarquinius’ scarred face and Romulus’ rusty mail shirt. ‘Not pirates?’

  ‘No,’ Romulus protested. ‘We’re honest men.’

  ‘Curious,’ said the bestiarius. ‘The local trireme only left its mooring near our camp yesterday. Before he left, the trierarch mentioned that he hadn’t seen any pirates for a while.’

  Romulus did not rise to the bait.

  Tarquinius intervened. ‘A trireme? On the Erythraean Sea?’ he scoffed. ‘No such thing.’

  ‘There is now, my friend,’ replied Hiero smugly. ‘We merchants complained so much that the Roman authorities in Berenice saw fit to commission three ships. They now patrol the seas south of Adulis, and piracy in the area has dropped, thank the gods.’

  ‘Excellent,’ cried Romulus. ‘With Jupiter’s blessing, they will find and punish the whoresons who killed our friends.’

  The haruspex murmured in agreement.

  Clearly sceptical of their story, Hiero stroked his beard. There was an uneasy pause. ‘Why have you approached my men?’ asked the bestiarius at length. ‘Do you need some water? Or food?’

  It was patently obvious that the ragged-looking friends needed more than this. Hiero is playing with us, thought Romulus bitterly. He wants to know if we can benefit him in any way. But we have no ruby now, like the one Tarquinius had to buy the silk from Isaac. Nothing to buy our passage.

  ‘My thanks for your kind offer,’ murmured Tarquinius, bowing his head.

  Romulus was quick to emulate him.

  There was a small smile of recognition, but nothing more.

  ‘We had actually hoped to join your party,’ ventured Tarquinius. ‘As you know, the journey to Alexandria is long and dangerous. Especially for two men travelling on their own.’

  Hiero pursed his lips. ‘I have little need of more mouths to feed every day.’

  Tarquinius hung his head, waiting. It was time for Romulus to act on his own.

  Romulus’ heart sank. No doubt the bestiarius had plenty of labourers and guards on his well-planned and well-funded expedition. He stared upwards, and a flock of small, brightly coloured birds caught his eye. Darting this way and that, their feathers shimmered brilliantly in the sun.

  Tarquinius watched him sidelong.

  We are worth far more than the average man, Romulus thought angrily.

  Hiero turned to go.

  ‘My friend here has some medical knowledge,’ Romulus volunteered. ‘He can clean and stitch wounds as well as an army surgeon. I can also, although not to the same level of proficiency.’

  The bestiarius spun around, suddenly beaming from ear to ear. ‘Why didn’t you say? Men with your abilities would be most welcome. There are many injured animals that will die without treatment.’ He laughed. ‘And some slaves.’

  While exotic beasts were worth huge sums of money, Romulus found it chilling that their lives were more important than those of men.

  ‘Come! Come!’ Beckoning eagerly, Hiero led the pair away from the nets and pits, leaving Gracchus staring suspiciously after them. Recounting the trials and tribulations of his trip, the old bestiarius walked half a mile to the rear. Here, over a large area, sprawled a large collection of wooden pens and cages. The enclosures were all made of rough-hewn timber planks, fashioned from the trees that stood nearby. Many held antelope, from delicate ones with a white belly and black stripe along the flank to larger ones with graceful spiral horns. All of them clustered together, milling fearfully about their enclosures and sending clouds of dust into the air. Others contained buffalo or zebra. They paced to and fro, pawing the dirt and bellowing to register their distress. A single pen nearby had much taller sides than the others, and contained a pair of giraffes.

  ‘Strange, aren’t they?’ said Hiero. ‘The first two I’ve ever managed to catch alive and unharmed. They usually break their legs in the nets or pits.’

  ‘How will you get them on a ship?’ asked Romulus curiously.

  ‘That is something I’m working on,’ cackled Hiero. ‘But the money they’ll fetch in Rome will keep me thinking of ways!’

  An old memory surfaced, and Romulus knew why the name Hiero was familiar. Shortly before he was sold into gladiator school, he had overheard Gemellus, his former master, having a conversation with his bookkeeper. They were talking about a venture to capture wild animals deep in the south of Egypt. Raising the necessary capital had been the only problem. And the expedition was to be led by a Phoenician bestiarius named Hiero! Romulus stole a glance at the old man. It seemed utterly amazing that he might have dealt with Gemellus. Old rage flared in his heart, and he resolved to find out what he could.

  Angry roaring from a nearby cage drew Romulus’ attention.

  Hiero saw him glancing at the large crate, which was made of extra thick logs. ‘That’s where I need your help most,’ confided the old bestiarius. ‘It contains a big lion we caught a few days ago. He tore open one of his front legs
on a wooden spike, and the wound has become infected. It’s getting worse by the day.’

  Reaching the cage, Romulus peered between the bars. The smell of pungent urine from within was overpowering. Inside he saw a male lion with a magnificent mane; it was pacing up and down, but with a heavy limp. When the beast turned to walk back, Romulus saw the injury Hiero had mentioned. Deep, ugly and infected, it extended in a ragged line all the way from the left elbow to the shoulder. Thick clusters of flies had been attracted by the smell and they buzzed around the confined space, trying to land on the wound at every opportunity. The lion lashed his tail from side to side in frustration, unable to disperse the annoying insects for more than a moment at a time. Romulus moved closer for a better look. The wound looked awful, and would certainly prove to be fatal if left untreated. Noticing him, the huge male snarled angrily and, despite the bars separating them, Romulus jumped back. Its canine teeth were as long as his fingers.

  ‘Well? Can you cure the beast?’ demanded Hiero. ‘It’s worth a damn fortune – alive.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Tarquinius replied. ‘First we will have to restrain it.’

  Romulus looked in at the lion once more and was mesmerised by its deep amber eyes. He wondered if it felt the same as he had in the cells below the arena before a fight. Trapped. Alone. Angry. How could it be right to capture the big cat for sport? As he had been forced to fight and kill other gladiators? Yet to satisfy the bloodthirsty Roman public, it and countless thousands of others were ensnared and then transported huge distances to be slaughtered in the amphitheatre. Hunting the lion in the wild was acceptable, but not this. Romulus was filled with revulsion, but there was nothing he could do. This was life.

  ‘And if my slaves manage to tie it down?’ Hiero’s voice was insistent.

  ‘We can assess how bad the wound actually is,’ answered the haruspex. ‘That’s before cleaning and stitching it.’

  ‘Will your treatment work?’ queried the bestiarius. His face turned crafty. ‘If it doesn’t, I can offer you little more than a meal and a couple of full water bags.’