by Peter Tonkin
‘You may dress,’ he said in Latin. She stooped to obey then froze. Her hawk’s eyes flashed again. She was angry at herself for showing that she understood him. Interesting, he thought. In the absence of anything sexual, there might still be something here after all – a game of wits, the taming of a wild and abused creature – like Alexander with his great steed Bucephalus.
*
So Ferrata’s gesture had an immediate effect – but not in the way the legionary had intended. For the last few weeks Artemidorus had divided his time between his chamber where his scrolls were and the Royal Dockyards where the subjects of his lists were being assembled, adapted or built from the keel up. Not that many of the great ships had a keel at all.
Having delivered Cassius’ and Herod’s messages to Cleopatra, and received her orders in turn, he avoided the court – as far as was possible in a palace. The only time he went into the city was to visit User’s brother and tell him what had happened in Ashkelon. Hardly surprisingly, there was no word of or from User or Puella. But User’s brother promised to pass on any news he got as soon as he could. Artemidorus returned to his bitter isolation in the island palace.
Cleopatra made it easier for him to avoid the distracting bustle of the court by moving back to her palace on the mainland – where she had easy access to the academics in the Musaeum and the Library, who were put to work designing the great vessels that the shipwrights ended up building. The island palace was more convenient to the docks so that was where Artemidorus and his contubernium remained. The centurion more and more isolated and bitter as time passed, the contubernium bored, inactive, waiting only for orders.
But the arrival of the woman began a series of changes. Like a new parent with a baby, Artemidorus found she filled his time – and thoughts – more than he could have expected. Right from the start, he tried to think of a name for her. Though Striga lingered in his memory he settled on Hecate, the goddess of witchcraft.
He was lucky in that Cleopatra often sent him messages or demanded updates and her messengers tended to be either Hunefer or Charmian. Hunefer had been reinstated, promoted, and rewarded for his services with a new suit of parade armour made from the toughened hide of a black Nile crocodile, which not only looked spectacular but was surprisingly robust. Even Quintus was a little jealous.
The day Ferrata gave him Hecate, however, the messenger was Charmian, and after they had looked over his records and decided which should be taken to the Queen, he also handed over his taciturn slave, asking that she be fed, bathed and clothed. And so he learned that even here the slave who – rumour had it – murdered the abusive Titus Elva with untraceable poisons at the request of his brutalised wife and bullied son, had something of a reputation.
‘You should lock her up at night,’ said Charmian as she returned the silent woman washed, fed and dressed – uneasily, almost uncomfortably – in a range of sensuous cloths and colours that would have eclipsed a peacock’s tail. ‘The gods know what she might do to you as you sleep.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said.
iii
He kept her with him from that moment on. Although the attire of one of Cleopatra’s handmaidens did nothing to disguise the muscularity of her square body, it seemed to gain her automatic acceptance wherever she went – as Artemidorus discovered at once. They went down the palace steps to the island’s quayside together. She seemed to lose nothing of her firm stance even when she stepped into the skiff that would take them through the Royal Harbour to the Dockyards. The warm breeze of an Alexandrian spring day moulded the diaphanous silks and cottons she was wearing to her, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Even so, none of the oarsmen gave her a second glance.
She went ashore with him and watched as Cleopatra’s shipwrights continued building her ships. It was something she seemed to find fascinating. Like a parent amusing a recalcitrant child, he took her to see the largest hull of all. The flagship, a deceres, was designed to have ten banks of 100 rowers wielding six banks of oars on each side. ‘The Queen has decreed that she will be called Alexandros,’ he explained, following the Cilician tradition of giving ships feminine characteristics. ‘Not only because she has been built in Alexander’s city but because the name “Alexandros” means defender of the people. And that is what she is designed to do. Though I think her prime function will be to defend Antony’s supply-lines rather than the people of Alexandria.’
The silent woman’s falcon eyes widened at the spectacle of the great ship taking shape and she began to show signs of listening to Artemidorus, as he explained. His first move in this game of trust seemed to be working.
Keelan, the chief shipwright, came over – as he usually did when Artemidorus visited. He was a tall, austere man who habitually wore an expression of superior disdain, like many of his colleagues who divided their time between the Musaeum and the real world. But, the Roman soldier was the divine queen’s representative after all. He treated the man and his companion with courtly courtesy, therefore.
‘How much longer until Alexandros is ready?’ Artemidorus asked.
‘Perhaps by the celebration of Pachons, the first month of low water,’ said Keelan. ‘Though all months have been months of low water recently. Such is the will of Osiris and of Hapi the Nile God.’
Artemidorus did a rapid mental calculation. The feast of the month named Pachons – were there to be one – would be celebrated in the early days of the next month, Payni. That would be in mid-June according to Divus Julius’ new Roman calendar. Previous experience, however, had taught him to take such confident predictions with a pinch of salt. Besides, even when Alexandros was ready to be launched, rigged and begin her sea-trials, there was still the matter of training 2,000 oarsmen. Not to mention the crew and sail-handlers – the better part of 200 of them, all needing to be schooled in the individual ways of this particular naval behemoth. Divus Julius’ month – the recently named July – looked more likely.
‘But then again,’ he said aloud to his silent companion, ‘Alexandros is likely to be the last ship ready. Divine Cleopatra is planning a fleet of one hundred and fifty large vessels, though no other tens like Alexandros, with another fifty smaller ships – supply ships and so-forth. A lot of the fleet is ready, but the modern battle ships are taking longer to prepare.’
*
This speech was sufficient to take them back out of the dockyard and onto the quay looking out across the Royal Harbour. They arrived just in time to see half a dozen huge oneraria transport ships, their square sails stowed, teams of skiffs at their bows, tugging them through the narrow harbour entrance. And, ahead of them, a neat, sleek trireme slid into a nearby berth.
‘Take us to that trireme,’ he ordered the oarsmen in is personal skiff. And it seemed that it was only a matter of heartbeats before he and Hecate were running up the water-steps onto the quay. Just as Herod, Prince of Galilee, came down the gangplank to greet them.
‘I have brought Queen Cleopatra’s Parthian grain as you see,’ he called cheerfully. ‘Now kindly conduct me to wherever she keeps her gold.’
Cleopatra welcomed the Judean prince and the grain he brought with a series of formal receptions – to which Artemidorus was invited as friend to both chief guest and divine hostess. Even when the formalities eased back, Herod’s extravagant lifestyle did not. Officially housed in the main palace and made free of the Musaeum, Library and Menagerie, the young prince nevertheless came and went as his own desires dictated. Artemidorus allowed himself to be swept along by the energetic, sybaritic prince. He found this a more effective way to distract himself from Puella than Hecate and Ferrata’s suggestions. Other members of the contubernium, notably Ferrata, Notus and the love-struck Kyros also came along – for as long as they could afford it. Quintus was always there, watching his back. And, increasingly often, Artemidorus took Hecate, though nothing seemed to fascinate her as much as the great ships did. However, actual communication between them remained minimal. Surprisingly swiftly, given
the circumstances, Quintus seemed to be at ease with her and she with him – though they never talked. And, in spite of Ferrata’s not-too gentle nudging, Artemidorus neither screwed her brains out nor beat the crap out of her. He was playing a deeper, more satisfying game than that.
iv
Early on, they took the road through the Canopic Gate to the Hippodrome to see the chariot races. ‘I dislike wagering, though the One True God is not definitive in forbidding it entirely,’ Herod announced one evening. ‘Gambling is not mentioned in the Commandments He passed down to the prophet Moshe. Therefore I find some enjoyment from wagering on the races a little strange. Though I know I must show more interest when I finally go to Rome. I like ones that end in naufragia shipwrecks like this one.’ Four chariots had collided coming too tightly round the final bend, loudly and bloodily destroying sixteen horses, four wicker chariots and the four drivers with the reins wrapped tightly round their bodies. Two of whom had been dragged to death by crippled horses stampeding towards the finish line. Long smears of blood marked the sand of the arena. There was some lively debate as to whether the man who left the longest smear should be declared the winner – and wagers settled accordingly.
The incident began another strand of change, allowing Artemidorus another set of moves in his secret game, in which Hecate’s trust was his prize because she spoke publicly for the first time in answer to the Prince. She looked coldly on the bloody wreckage with its dying men and screaming horses. ‘It is impius wicked,’ she said in strangely accented but serviceable Latin. ‘A waste of so much life. Even Ogun, god of war, fire and iron would not approve.’
Herod looked at her, stunned that she should hold such an opinion and that she should dare to voice it. A whisper of outrage went through the entourage that always followed him – as the contubernium followed Artemidorus.
Ferrata came to the rescue. ‘So says the witch and murderess!’ he jeered.
‘Then I suppose she knows what she is talking about when she starts on about wickedness and waste of life eh?’ Herod chuckled, allowing himself to be mollified.
After that, Artemidorus was more careful about bringing her on Herod’s adventures – but the game went on as he took her to more and more places, talking inconsequentially to her, as though he expected answers – which he rarely got; or conversations – which never came.
At least she hadn’t poisoned him or stabbed him in his sleep.
So far.
*
The river docks were ablaze. Great flaming torches lit the quays and jetties. Lanterns lit the boats as they arrived and departed, packed with revellers. Herod led them to the nearest jetty where the vessel he had hired for the night sat waiting. The bridge that bore the via between the Lake Docks and the Sun Gate arched high above them, its length lit by yet more blazing torches. ‘It is as though we have come at noon, not at night,’ said the prince, awed by the spectacle.
‘Canopus is always as brightly lit, Majesty,’ called one of the boat crew. ‘It is never dark in Canopus!’
Artemidorus followed Herod down into the gilded vessel which was far too big for the prince, his entourage, Artemidorus and his contubernium, in which Hecate replaced Crinas for tonight at least.
As soon as they were all aboard, the boat pulled away, the oarsmen needing neither pausator nor rowing song to co-ordinate their rhythm, which was fortunate because everyone was deep in excited conversation except for Artemidorus and his taciturn slave – who seemed more interested in their vessel than in their destination. However, thought Artemidorus, if Canopus lived up to its reputation, it offered a range of pleasures and experiences unrivalled anywhere in the world. ‘Certainly,’ observed Herod – who was already a little less than sober, ‘it does so now that Sodom and Gomorrah have been closed for business.’
The city of pleasure certainly lived up to its reputation at first sight, for just as the lights of the River Docks and Alexandria dimmed behind them and the vast star-spangled darkness of the desert closed over them, so Canopus seemed to rise like a new sun dead ahead. The attendant city’s river docks were as busy as Alexandria’s had been, but Herod’s group all managed to stay together as they climbed from the canal and onto dry land, pushing through the crowds into the city itself. Canopus had no walls. Or, if it had in the past, they were invisible now. Away to their left, the old port lay open to the sea – a dark, quiet area stretching into a still, black north and an invisible cape reaching further northward still with only the light of the Pharos away to the west like a rising star. To their right – and soon enough dead ahead – the seething snake-pit of winding roads, bright-lit shops and taverns, brothels and gambling dens.
v
After the rigid geometric layout of Alexandria, Canopus’ confusion of wandering streets came as a relief – almost an escape. Certainly the twisting alleyways and unexpected open spaces gave off an air of freedom which was almost dangerous. ‘Anything goes in Canopus,’ enthused Herod. ‘If you have a vice you have never tried, then here is your chance!’
Artemidorus watched warily as the over-enthusiastic youngsters pushed forward. The brightness of the lights seemed to him to conceal the darkest of shadows. Beneath the heady scents of frankincense and myrrh, sandalwood and cedar, it seemed to him there lurked the stench of putrefaction. He was not surprised to find that Hecate was walking much closer to him than usual.
Happily unaware of all this, Herod plunged on into the heart of the place. And, in spite of what he had said at the Hippodrome, he ended up leading them into a gambling den.
Artemidorus looked around the place, fighting to take it all in and make some kind of sense of it. The place was enormous. One gigantic atrium open to all and packed with people, thunderous with the sound of conversation, shouted advice or recrimination, cheering and lamentation. To one side a massive open fire produced roast meat as well as stultifying heat. In spite of which, patrons were crowded round it, grabbing a bite to eat between bouts of wagering. Opposite was the largest and busiest bar the widely-travelled centurion had ever seen. It too was thronged with men taking a drink as they stood – briefly – back from the action. All surrounded by men and women of all ages, make-ups, colours and costumes who established at once that there was a good deal more on offer here than food, drink and the whims of Fortuna.
There was no doubting the main focus of the place. In one corner was a square area where two pugils were currently beating each-other to a bloody pulp while spectators bet on who would fall first or stay standing longest. Beside that, almost concealed by the crowds gathered round them, were a cock-pit and two dog-rings. The first occupied by a pair of fighting cocks whose spurs had been lengthened with metal spikes. The next contained two half-wild desert jackals currently tearing each-other to shreds with teeth that needed no enhancement. The third contained two cats currently clawing the life out of each-other, spitting and screaming like souls in Tartarus as they did so. A little way along, a pit with higher sides contained a small tessem hunting dog and a seething mess of rats which the dog was killing at lightning speed and tossing into the air as it did so. There was even, right at the back of the place, a huge bed where two naked men with set and stoical expressions were being attended by two naked women, each obviously racing to bring their companion to the peak of pleasure first.
Nearer at hand there were half a dozen gaming tables where dice and knucklebone games were in loud and excited motion. At least two tables where the more gullible were happy to bet on which of three upturned cups a dried pea could be found under. But, thought the secret agent, narrow-eyed, there were some games that demanded skill as well as luck. That were less easy to fix with loaded dice and sleight of hand. Rota and Termi Lapili were being played at the next two tables. Both games required opponents to move counters on simple boards in attempts to achieve straight rows of three. Both were similar to Greek games mentioned by Plato but had fewer variables, yet still demanding some skill.
These proper board games were more tempting
to the centurion, especially the last one he saw. This was the famous Egyptian game which had come to Greece as Petteia, and which the Romans knew as Latrunculi or Little Soldiers. Petteia was a game which he liked because it required tactical skill to move the pebbles from one square to another and outmanoeuvre your adversary as though you were opponents in a battle. Artemidorus counted himself quite good at it. Petteia was supposed to be the game that Achilleus played while sulking in his tent outside the besieged walls of Troy, so it was above all the game Artemidorus had studied during the few moments of idleness he had enjoyed in his life so far. It was, in the form of a board-game, the very campaign he had been secretly waging against the walls of Hecate’s silence and reserve.
*
Herod’s group broke up at once; even the contubernium seemed to split into its constituent parts. Some went off to try their luck with the dice, led by Herod and Ferrata; others to watch the four-section reduction of an afternoon’s games in the arena – one bout with gladiators, and three different animal-contests. None seemed to be tempted by the race towards climax on the bed. Or, for the moment at least, by the over-made-up creatures available for hire at the bar. Artemidorus chose to take his time. Glancing over his shoulder at Quintus and the silent Hecate, he said, ‘Drink? Or food first.’
‘Drink,’ said Quintus.
Hecate said nothing but followed the men as they shouldered their way through the prostitutes heading for the bar. ‘Any preference?’ asked Artemidorus.
‘They’ll probably only have Mareotic. Local stuff but acceptable,’ answered Quintus.
But when he got to the bar, Artemidorus paused. ‘They have Shedeh,’ he said, surprised. ‘It’s red. Local. I thought that was only used for ceremonial. It’s the most expensive you can buy. And they have Roman Caecubum. That’s outstanding. Also extremely expensive. Some say it’s the best in Italy – makes Falernian taste like horse-piss in comparison.’