by Nick Brown
by the time he passed the last of the trees, he realised it wouldn’t matter.
There were three benches on the Perch, and Lykourgos was standing on the one that overlooked the harbour. He was jumping up and down, clapping his hands; still laughing.
Cassius moved his hand from sword to dagger and shifted stealthily to his left so there was no chance of the youth seeing him. He glanced down at the city. The flames seemed a little higher but had not yet spread. Shouts – probably from the watchmen – rang out.
Cassius hoped he hadn’t miscalculated. Perhaps he should have listened to Simo instead of trying to bring the lad in single-handed.
Great and honoured gods, please quench the flames. Help them put it out.
And what if there was some vagrant sheltering where the fire had been set? Or some housing nearby? What if-
The stone he’d kicked skittered into the bench.
Lykourgos froze, then turned.
Cassius gripped his dagger-hilt and kept his voice deep. ‘Turn around.’
Lykourgos did so. All Cassius could see of him was a narrow frame and a curly head of hair. The lad said nothing; which somehow forced Cassius into feeling that he had to.
‘Proud of yourself?’
Lykourgos remained utterly silent and still.
‘Well?’
The only noise was the wind rustling the trees.
‘You are Lykourgos?’
‘No. I am Vulcan’s son.’
He sounded even younger than Cassius had expected. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yes, and if I want, I can burn you too.’
His manner of speech suggested to Cassius that the lad was not particularly bright. He’d had a vague plan to threaten him with his dagger then bind his hands with his belt but it seemed likely that any such move would make him run. Cassius was quick - and he could drop his sword if necessary - but in the darkness the lad might easily get away from him. Perhaps there was a better way.
Unsure if Lykourgos could see his hand or not, he let go of the dagger.
‘You don’t need to burn me. I like the flames too; I am also a son of Vulcan.’
‘What?’
‘I went to the temple as well. But Salonius said I couldn’t come any more.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I set fires myself. I like what you’ve done – the warehouses, the camp. I thought you might set another one tonight so I came up to watch.’
A long pause, then: ‘You did?’
‘But I have to warn you – the sergeants are out looking for you. You can’t let yourself get cornered up here. We must get away.’
Lykourgos turned back towards the city. ‘But I want to watch.’
‘Me too. But let’s watch from lower down – then we won’t get trapped. You know … we could even set a fire together.’
The youth was clearly listening.
Cassius added, ‘I found out that there’s a lot of wood stored in the amphitheatre – to keep the rich folk warm. We could fire it. Just think how high the flames would be.’
‘Vulcan would see it,’ said the lad, suddenly excited. ‘I asked him if he’d seen my fires but he didn’t answer.’
‘Why not tonight?’ said Cassius. ‘While everyone’s looking at your fire, we can start another.’
Lykourgos reached down and picked something up. ‘I have my flint and striker right here.’
Cassius had done quite a bit of acting as a youngster and as the pair of them hurried down the path, he first detailed his love of fire then let Lykourgos take his turn. Only then did the full extent of the youth’s derangement became clear: he spoke of staring at flames until his eyes ached, setting fire to animals, his regret that heretics were no longer burned to death.
As they neared the bottom of the path, he finally ceased his ramblings. Scores of people had appeared on the street beside the quay and men with buckets had already formed a chain. There was no sign of any more flames, just a trail of smoke.
While Lykourgos muttered bitter curses, Cassius slowed a little and gently unsheathed his dagger. He had remained on the youth’s left all the way down so that he wouldn’t catch sight of his sword.
‘They think the water will save them,’ hissed Lykourgos. ‘But the flames will always return, they will cover everything, they will-’
Cassius hadn’t wanted to hit him too hard. Instead of knocking him out, the blow of the dagger hilt on his head sent the youth staggering forward.
‘Uh, you … you …’ Lykourgos dropped his sack and lurched sideways.
Cassius darted forward and tripped him up. Once he was on the ground, he put a boot on his back. ‘Now stay there, you mad bastard.’
Hearing men on the move, he looked up and saw two sergeants come around the corner holding torches. Trailing along behind them was Simo.
‘Over here!’
‘Sir?’
‘You got him?’ yelled one of the sergeants.
‘I have indeed.’
Two days later – and despite the continuing threat of the Palmyran advance – the city celebrated the Equirria. The festival of horse-racing was preceded by dinner parties among the great and good of Cyzicus, which on this occasion included General Navio and his wife.
Navio found time in his brief welcome speech to congratulate Cassius on apprehending the arsonist, which only enhanced his existing reputation. He did not have to fetch himself a drink for the remainder of the evening and spent much of his time surrounded.
Even Tribune Tuccius seemed pleased, though Cassius recognised that this was more to do with relief about the grain supplies than any admiration for his investigative skills.
The magistrate did not attend the gathering. Rumour had it that when Navio had learned of Stolo’s lacklustre approach, he’d expressed his displeasure to the man’s brother-in-law in no uncertain terms. Cassius had made a mental note to steer clear of Flora’s tavern in future.
By the fourth hour of night, he’d explained how he’d tracked down the arsonist at least a dozen times. Whenever he mentioned Lykourgos, he found himself imagining the lad in the city’s cells: lying there in some darkened corner, rambling to himself.
The judicial prefect had not yet made a decision about his fate but there was some talk of attempting an exorcism. One of the army officers who’d heard Cassius’s tale concluded that Lykourgos should be burned alive, remarking that he felt certain the lad would enjoy it. People had laughed.
Cassius was glad the lad had been caught: it was only a matter of time before he killed someone. But as to what should be done with him, he wasn’t sure. Lykourgos had never committed any other crime; he had simply lost his mind. Could he be cured of such a thing? Cassius had no idea. He just hoped the city wouldn’t kill him.
As the guests began to leave, he found himself cornered by a young lady; the daughter of a rich merchant. She was pretty and polite; and had been speaking for some time when Cassius realised he hadn’t heard a word. Now, instead of seeing Lykourgos imprisoned, he imagined him in the arena: tied to a stake with the mob roaring as fire engulfed him.
The young lady commented that he seemed rather distracted. Perhaps he would like to take a walk with her to clear his head? Perhaps down to the coast?
Cassius declined; and left soon afterward.