The Road To War

by Peter Tonkin

  Beneath the hatches, steps led down past the rowing benches to the next hatch which led in turn down into the accommodation areas. There was no knowing where the oarsmen and sail-handlers were expected to sleep, for much lower deck was furnished fit for a queen and her attendants. No, it was fit for a goddess. But the luxurious apartments were not what he had come aboard to see. He left Hecate exploring wide-eyed and went back on deck to join the others who had been prowling around.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Quintus, leading him up to the forepeak. Leaning against the stempost, the pair of them looked down. The whole front of the vessel was now covered in metal plates of bronze to match the massive ram. And, above the primary ram, a smaller ram had been added. A modern vessel such as this one was not designed to need a corvus. She would ram her opponents, the double rams holding her steady as her marines streamed into the attack, protected by flights of arrows and hails of slingshot from the castle on the foredeck. As well as the extra armour, a great beam had been added hard against the foremost rowing box – designed to protect the rowers as Alexandros crashed into her enemies. But there had been a price to pay. The primary ram which had smashed through the waves last time he had been aboard now sat below the surface. He frowned, trying to work out whether having so much more of the hull submerged would add to the strain on the mast and sails as they tried to move her. Certainly, he thought, the oarsmen were going to have trouble getting this much heavier vessel up to the sort of speeds that managed on her first test run.

  v

  ‘We have re-rigged the entire ship, of course,’ said Minnakht. The admiral was in full battle dress now. Formally accompanied by a pair of shaven-headed priests and a young man dressed in the pinnacle of Alexandrian fashion to whom everyone nearby seemed to defer. A court official he had never met before, Artemidorus supposed, and thought no more of the matter.

  ‘And replaced the pulley blocks with stronger ones,’ added Keelan, who was to accompany them this time. Better late than never, thought Artemidorus.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Because I’m sure that the changes and additions will alter the way she handles considerably. The steps you lowered to us, for instance, must affect her angle in the water, the same as the corvus did on Triton, so that side will sit lower than the other.’

  ‘We have balanced the steps,’ said Keelan, ‘to ensure that Alexandros still sits level.’

  ‘Level but lower, yes I noticed. Have you assessed the difference that will make on her speed?’ Hecate reappeared, still seemingly dazzled by what she had seen in Cleopatra’s quarters. So, he persisted for her benefit as much as his own, ‘the difference it will make on the strain the sails and rigging will undergo when she’s under sail rather than oars?’

  Keelan drew himself up and looked down his nose with a haughty frown at the importunate soldier. ‘We have had the best mathematicians in the Musaeum working on the calculations for us. We have replaced the original rigging with rope made of papyrus, leather and animal hair woven in the traditional manner. Such ropes raised the great statues that stand in the Valley of the Kings. Such ropes moved the great blocks that fashioned the death houses of the Pharaohs back at the dawn of time. And in all the pulley blocks which control them, we have replaced ebony with the toughest coconut wood. We have mended the sail – our only compromise because there was no time to weave another.’

  ‘Could you not borrow from the other ships in the fleet?’

  ‘We thought of that. None fit properly. Alexandros is the largest vessel in the fleet. Her masts, spars, rigging, and sails are unique. Besides, none of the others have Isis Goddess of Kingship and the Protection of the Kingdom woven into them.’

  This conversation was sufficient to cover the preparations for departure. Minnakht went back to his command post with his captain and steersman at the stern, followed by the young courtier and the priests. After a moment, Keelan followed him, leaving Artemidorus and Hecate alone as the anchor was weighed. This time a man had been posted in the aft castle which obscured his view of proceedings in the bow. So, when the officer in charge of the winch waved his flag to signal that the anchor was up, another flag had to be waved before the pausator beat out his rhythm and the rowing song began.

  Artemidorus went to the deck rail above the raised companionway, leaned against it and tried to put his thoughts in order. After a few moments Hecate came to stand beside him. The difference was apparent at once. Last week the Alexandros had sat high in the water. Now she sat lower. Almost all the added weight had been put on at deck level or only a little below. Unless the preparations for Cleopatra’s arrival had added much more further below still, which he doubted. ‘What was there in the Queen’s quarters, Hecate?’ he asked, idly watching the Pharos loom as they headed for the entrance to the Great Harbour. ‘Anything of any weight?’

  *

  Hecate thought for a moment. ‘A golden throne. The rest is light, cushions, cloths, sheets. Her bath I suppose. And whatever she has to fill it. There is a table and some chairs as well as formal dining couches like the ones from my old master Titus Elva’s triclinium.’

  ‘I cannot imagine how they’ve got half of that down there. The throne must at least be much smaller than the ones in her palaces. They would not fit it through the hatches.’

  ‘Why? Is weight important?’

  ‘That’s what we’re about to find out,’ he said.

  The others all began to gather round then. ‘Right,’ he said briskly. ‘I want you all in the same places as you were last time, doing the same tasks. And let’s hope things go better this time,’ he said, looking up, struck by something strange. The anchor was up. The oars were out. Yet Alexandros was not moving. She sat motionless, as though waiting for something else to happen.

  Artemidorus walked back towards the main mast, feeling Hecate at his shoulder. They looked at the stern where the senior officers and priests were gathered.

  A kind of altar had appeared there, and as they watched, the young man he had assumed to be a courtier was stripped of his stylish clothes and laid naked upon it.

  The priests began to sing.

  Artemidorus realised what was going on with a shock that hit him like a blow to his belly. Hecate called something wordless as she understood as well. Before they could move, one of the chanting priests cut the young man’s throat while the other held a bowl to catch his blood – as though he were a bullock being offered to Jupiter in Rome.

  So, the sacrifice to Sekhmet, protector of the Pharaoh was made.

  The pausator beat his drum and the oarsmen began their song.

  XIX: Cleopatra

  i

  ‘Him,’ said Hecate. ‘It will be him.’

  During the last three days, as Alexandros’ sea-trials had been completed, there had been more sacrifices to Sekhmet on the temporary altar beneath the incurving sternpost, every morning before the great vessel set sail. These were apparently effective. The lion-faced goddess held her hands over them all. Although top heavy and hard to handle, Alexandros behaved well, even under sail. ‘It’s always a young man,’ Hecate continued, ‘with pale skin and features that the Romans would consider handsome….’

  ‘I’d better watch out, then,’ said Ferrata.

  Hecate pretended not to have heard him. ‘Always well-dressed and treated with respect…’

  ‘That’s you ruled out after all, Ferrata’ said Quintus quietly, earning a glare from his one-eyed friend and a frown from Hecate.

  ‘Still,’ added Kyros with a glance across to Notus, ‘It’s a terrible waste of a beautiful boy.’

  Despite everything, Hecate continued, ‘until they strip him and slit his throat. In my country when such a sacrifice is to be made, the warrior who volunteers to intercede with the great god Olodumare is also treated with great respect. He is never stripped. And he passes to the higher realms through a blow to the forehead with a ritual club.’

  Puella’s departure had left a gap in the contubernium as well as in Artemidorus’
heart. Neither of which Hecate could ever hope to fill. But she was beginning to fit into the group at least, if not into their centurion’s bed. And with that acceptance, her confidence grew.

  ‘The animal sacrifices in the Roman rituals are also that way,’ added Kyros, who had been slave to the soothsayer Spurinna before he joined the contubernium. ‘But then their throats are slit, so are their bellies. Then their livers are removed to be read for messages from the gods.’

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ said Hecate outraged.

  As Artemidorus, Hecate and the others made these observations, the group of courtiers they were watching hurried across the deck. They became part of a cluster which had arrived moments earlier – comprised mostly of guards led by Hunefer.

  The contubernium had come aboard before dawn and watched the Macedonian and Judean legionaries seconded to the Egyptian navy come up the companionway and go down into the bowels of the ship with their armour and weapons ready for battle. As the sun rose they felt the long hull settle beneath the added weight of the troops and their supplies. But Alexandros remained badly balanced.

  The rising sun also illuminated the Royal Docks and the Eastern Harbour beyond them. Both seemed surprisingly empty in the calm brightness of the early Summer’s morning – until Artemidorus realised that Cleopatra’s great fleet was anchored out on the Roman Sea itself, waiting for the arrival of their Queen and Commander in her flagship to lead them northward into battle.

  No sooner had the courtiers joined Hunefer and the latest arrivals than an air of expectation settled on the whole ship. Behind them, Goddess, Queen and Pharaoh Cleopatra was carried up the companionway in her silk-walled golden litter. Admiral Minnakht strode forward to greet his commander. Cleopatra’s handmaidens Charmian and Iras followed immediately behind the litter, and ran to open the curtain as Minnakht came to attention then went down on one knee beside it. Cleopatra stepped out and stood erect. Over her usual white clothing, she wore a golden breastplate and backplate. There was a wide gold belt around her waist. Charmian reached into the litter, brought out a gladius in a golden sheath which she hung from Cleopatra’s belt. Meanwhile Iras pulled out a golden helmet which to Artemidorus’ wise eyes seemed to owe more to Alexander’s Greek design than Divus Julius’ Roman one – though he knew the gladius was a present from her murdered lover. The sandals she usually wore had been replaced by Roman caligae. Above which were golden greaves that matched the glittering bracer arm-protectors, covering her from elbow to wrist.

  Led by Minnakht, everyone nearby prostrated themselves on the cold grey lead except for Hunefer and his squad. The gigantic soldier stood resplendent in his crocodile-skin armour, his eyes raking the deck for any sign of trouble. Outside the safety of her palaces’ walls, Cleopatra was still at risk. And Artemidorus’ presence was simply a further reminder that she could all too easily go the way of her murdered lover Divus Julius.

  Cleopatra surveyed the deck. The only people not prostrate apart from the guards were Artemidorus and his contubernium, and, at the far end of the vessel beside the altar, the captain and deck crew who were in charge of the ship. Cleopatra stepped forward, gesturing. Her litter was carried clear and Ptolemy Caesarion’s replaced it. Her handmaidens opened the silken hangings and the boy also stepped out, his armour a small-scale copy of hers. When mother and son were standing side by side, Cleopatra said something so quietly that Artemidorus couldn’t hear it. But it was obviously the order to rise, because first Minnakht and then everyone else pulled themselves to their feet. The Queen and her admiral walked down the length of the deck, followed by Caesarion. Behind them, handmaidens, slaves, and servants led by Charmian and Iras streamed below to make sure the Queen’s apartments were ready at her convenience.

  *

  But the procession boarding Alexandros had not yet stopped. Behind Cleopatra came a surprisingly submissive white stallion, led by several young men just as handsome as the potential sacrifice Hecate had identified. Then a white bull, its horns garlanded, led by an equal number of beautiful young women. It was as docile as the stallion. Both had obviously been drugged. The horse and the bull were led along the length of the deck to the sacrificial altar where the three young men had met their ends. The sacrificial animals were followed by a group of priests and acolytes dressed in Egyptian, Greek, and Roman ceremonial garments.

  The familiar rituals were swiftly and efficiently completed. Artemidorus had been to sea often enough to recognise the implacable imperatives of wind and tide. Both of which were favourable now – neither of which would be so for long. The horse died first, his liver, according to the Greek priest from the nearby Temple of Poseidon, prophesying a calm voyage and successful outcome. Then the bull conveyed a message from the founder of Divus Julius’ family Venus Victrix – that the coming battle was assured of victory with glory for all. Having passed down the gods’ reassurances, the beasts were carried below to be butchered and prepared for some future dinner. Then, the young man the Hecate had identified stepped forward onto the bloody deck, shrugged off his finery and offered his throat in turn to the shaven-headed priests of Sekmet. At least, it seemed, she was content to accept his sacrifice in silence and forgo the necessity of a reply. There was no need to disembowel him and read messages in his entrails.

  ‘That leaves one set of priests,’ whispered Ferrata. ‘Nasty-looking bastards. What are they waiting for? Any idea, Kyros?’

  His question was answered at once as the leader of the maidens who had conducted the bull aboard stepped forward. She sat on the altar that was still running with steaming blood. She retained her pure white clothing – which began to redden at once. The strongest-looking of the remaining priests stepped forward and slid a length of twine around the delicate, pale column of her neck. Then he tightened it with practiced efficiency and strangled her within a matter of moments.

  ‘I’ve heard of this during my studies in the Musaeum,’ said Crinas quietly. ‘But never thought to see it. She is the Virgin of the Nile, sacrificed to the God Hapi, Lord of the River, and his consort Anuket. Her sacrifice can also be offered to Wadj-wer, God of the Deep Sea.’

  ‘That’s the one,’ said Ferrata feelingly as the priests and their acolytes left carrying the human sacrifices. The companionway was lifted into place. The pausator began to beat his drum and the voyage got under way. ‘It’s the Gods of the Deep Sea we need on our side.’

  ‘Hmmm’ grunted Crinas. ‘And maybe Set, the God of Chaos and Storms.’

  ii

  Alexandros powered out past the Pharos and into the Roman Sea, the rhythm of her oar-strokes at battle speed, the pausator pounding his drum and the oarsmen singing lustily. At first, Artemidorus remained at the bow, opposite the removable section of rail at the top of the raised companionway, pondering on how the ship builders had managed to balance its weight with some sort of ballast on the opposite side. But as the battle ship swept through the harbour entrance, he turned, strode across the deck, and climbed to the top of the forward fighting tower. He arrived in good time to appreciate the awe-inspiring sight of Cleopatra’s battle-ready navy spread out over what looked like a couple of Roman miles to east and west, all facing northward, waiting for their Queen and Commander.

  ‘How many are there?’ asked Hecate, arriving, breathlessly at his side as the rest pounded up behind her.

  There were too many of them to count at a glance, their numbers fading into distance and invisibility. ‘Well over two hundred,’ he answered. ‘One hundred and forty battle ships ready to destroy Murcus and then Ahenobarbus with their fleets. More than fifty supply vessels ready to back us up. And Poseidon alone knows how many triremes and liburnians, spies and messengers.’

  The pair of them looked from the eastern horizon to the western one as Alexandros punched her way through the rollers, powering out past the forward line to take her place at the head of the Egyptian navy. No sooner had she done so, than the beat of drums echoed away into the distance on either hand and the raucous rhyt
hmic singing of the oarsmen followed. The entire navy began to surge forward, northwards away from the Egyptian coast and a little westward with the late-morning sun behind their right shoulders. ‘Like a legion marching onto the battlefield,’ said Ferrata. ‘All that’s missing is the barritus war cry to terrify the enemy.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Quintus. ‘The way they sing their rowing song would probably do just as well…’

  *

  ‘Queen Cleopatra wishes to see you,’ said Charmian as the Egyptian navy continued to surge north-westward towards Greece and Murcus’ sixty-ship squadron. He followed Cleopatra’s handmaiden down to the Royal apartments where Cleopatra and her admiral were looking over a chart of the great eastern section of the Roman Sea.

  Cleopatra glanced up and acknowledged him with a nod then she turned back to the matter in hand. Artemidorus had a moment’s leisure to admire the silken, gilded, magnificence of his admittedly cramped surroundings. As though the tail-feathers of a peacock had been made cloth and hung on the walls, laid on the deck and stretched over the furniture.

  ‘If we proceed at the speed we maintained during our test runs and allowing for rest periods at night,’ Minnakht was saying, ‘we will sight Murcus and his squadron in five days’ time. By our best estimate, his ships are more than four hundred Roman miles away. But as Your Majesty will observe, the island of Krete is a convenient stopping point along the way. It is three days distant, less if the south-easterly wind strengthens sufficiently to let us use our sails.’