“We’ll leave at first light,” Ani promised him. “What was the letter you wrote?”
He dismissed it with an airy wave. “Thanks for his kindness; thanks for the books, gush, gush. They’re his mini-epics, mostly, and some eclogues by a friend of his. The eclogues are extremely good.”
“Boy—Arion …”
The cropped head lifted, the proud dark eyes met his own.
“Thank you very much for what you did” Ani said with deep feeling. “You saved all our lives.”
Arion’s cheeks flushed again, and he looked down. For the first time since Ani had met him, he seemed shy. “I saved my own life, too,” he said, in a whisper, “but it is your lives that please me.”
GENERAL GALLUS DID not send anyone to retrieve them before dawn, and at first light Soteria pulled up her mooring stakes and stole quietly away down the broad current of the Nile. Then ran down the river for another nine days without a single incident to cause them a moment’s anxiety.
The flood was over now, and everywhere people were clearing ditches and preparing fields for the plow. The only signs of the Roman conquest of Egypt were the notices pinned up in marketplaces, and the occasional new altar to Caesar erected in a place of civic worship. There were, perhaps, fewer traders on the river than there might normally have been, but there were plenty of boats plying up and down, moving seed and fodder, charcoal and straw.
There was no sign of Aristodemos, which did give Ani moments of doubt. On the one hand it seemed unlikely that, after such a disastrous failure, the landowner would try again to stop them; on the other hand, Ani had never expected any bold moves from him in the first place. Aristodemos had not wanted to risk going to Alexandria while the war was on; he had feared to take a full caravan even to Berenike. Ani had never expected him to approach the Romans, despite the proclamation of clemency in Coptos marketplace. And yet, that was what he’d done. He must have set out from Coptos the day before Ani’s party, and gone straight to the Roman army. True, he’d withdrawn the accusation as soon as he’d realized that it had failed, but Ani had no idea whether that failure had frightened him. He wished that he’d seen Aristodemos while they were in Ptolemais, that he had some idea of the man’s state of mind. But Aristodemos had appeared neither to gloat nor to plead forgiveness, and Ani could only guess what he intended to do next.
Most of the time, though, he told himself that Aristodemos must have been so badly frightened that he’d turned around and gone home. He was enjoying the trip too much now to want to worry about him. Every day brought a new sight—a temple to an unfamiliar god, an antique tomb, the biggest crocodile he’d ever imagined, sunning itself on a bank—or a new and surprising piece of information to ponder and delight in.
Most of the information came from Arion, who was finally losing some of his wariness and gaining a willingness to talk. The fits seemed to have eased their pressure on him: he had not had a major seizure since the last one on the road to Coptos, and the staring fits now came only once every two or three days. His wrist was healing cleanly, his side no longer seemed to hurt him much, and he seemed far more cheerful and relaxed than he had been since Ani first met him.
Some of the cheerfulness could undoubtedly be accounted for by the complete reversal of the attitude of the crew. The “accursed epileptic” had saved them all; more than that, he had been offered a job by the next governor of Egypt, and he had chosen instead to stay with Ani. The men were suddenly convinced both that Arion’s haughtiness was justified (a governor’s secretary was entitled to be arrogant) and that his continued presence on the boat showed a noble and generous spirit. In the face of their gratitude and admiration he became far less cold and disdainful. He would smile, say “thank you” for small courtesies, laugh at jokes, even venture hesitant, sidelong pleasantries of his own. With Ani his attitude became one of real friendliness, and talking to him became a huge pleasure.
Most of the discussions began as practical instruction, aimed squarely at getting Ani accepted by the merchants of Alexandria, though they kept expanding into long, fascinating digressions.
“The thing to aim for is ‘honest country landowner embarking on business,’” Arion decreed. “You’re never going to pass for an educated gentleman.” Ani had to agree: “honest country businessman” was going to be difficult enough. To begin with, there was a whole new way of standing and moving: don’t pick your nose or your teeth or pull your lip; if you spit, do it out the door, not on the floor; if you’re sitting on a chair, don’t cross your legs or sit with your knees apart—tuck one foot under the chair instead, like that; don’t fart or belch or scratch yourself in public; stand up straight; don’t bend over at the waist to pick something up, bend at the knees instead … He realized as they progressed that Arion lived this advice, that he had never seen Arion in any position which was not poised and graceful, except in the aftermath of a seizure. It was this, he realized, almost as much as the voice, which left everyone Arion met convinced of his status as a gentleman, even though they knew nothing of his family and he told them less.
Ways of speaking mattered as well, though. Ani found himself being advised on how to adjust his accent, on words and constructions which would be considered irredeemably vulgar. Trying to imitate Arion was of only limited value. “You’d never pass for Alexandrian,” Arion said ruefully. “You simply want to avoid sounding like the sort of peasant Alexandrians refuse to associate with.” It wasn’t easy.
The question of formal manners was, in many ways, the easiest thing to change. What to wear, how to drape a cloak, how to greet people and which hand to use for food (one finger for salt fish, two for fresh), were simple compared to remembering not to pick his teeth. Even the problem of How a Gentleman Treats His Slaves was solvable. Ani hated to sit doing nothing while others worked—he had always detested laziness and arrogance—but the crew forced him do just that as soon as they understood that he had to make a good impression on the Greeks if their venture was to succeed. “A gentleman wouldn’t do that,” they informed him, and eagerly strove to preserve a dignity which he had never before felt he owned.
He was not sure that he liked dignity. It was as restrictive and uncomfortable as the new way of draping a cloak. Arion’s digressions were his compensation, his reward for putting up with all the rest. Arion knew so much! He had read philosophy and history; he had studied music and poetry; he had heard the great powers of the world debating everything from religion to trade routes. He had clearly had exceptional tutors, and he had traveled—there was a casual reference to Athens, and another to Ephesus. He could tell you what Aristotle said about sea anemones, explain why the king of Arabia had burned Cleopatra’s ships, or quote Euripides by the yard.
Ani never felt ashamed of his peasant manners, but occasionally he winced at his own ignorance—his meager education in the bare scrapings of the alphabet and simple accounting; the experience which had been confined almost entirely to flax-growing and linen-making in Coptos. Mostly, however, he was aware only of the glorious opportunity of having the book-learning of Alexandria at his side, obtainable every minute by a question.
The only subject Arion remained unwilling to discuss was himself. Such personal details as emerged were revealed incidentally, in fragments. One came out while Ani and Melanthe were asking him about Romans.
“Are they all called Gaius?” Melanthe asked.
Arion laughed. “No, though it often seems like that! All Roman citizens have at least two names: a personal name, like Gaius or Marcus or Titus—they only have about six to choose from—and a family name, like Valerius or Julius or Antonius. Most have a third name as well, but some don’t.”
“Like ‘Caesar’?” suggested Melanthe.
“Exactly. The third name, the cognomen, can be the name of part of a clan—like the Julii Caesares—or it can distinguish two clans which have the same name—like Cornelius Gallus; his family are Cornelii from Cisalpine Gaul, not the great senatorial clan from Rome. Sometimes
the cognomen can be a second personal name—non-Romans who are given the citizenship usually use their own name as a cognomen, and there are traditional cognomina which run in families. The name that counts among the Romans, though, is the family name. They’re obsessed with family.”
“Is that why they don’t recognize marriages between Romans and foreigners?” Ani asked—then wondered if this was a sensitive question.
Arion, however, did not seem at all offended. “Partly. I think the real reason for that, though, is property. They don’t want Roman property in foreign hands. They have another law which says no Roman may make a will leaving any property to a foreigner.”
“So you can’t inherit anything from your own father?” Melanthe said—a still more sensitive question, and one which Ani at once suspected she’d ventured as a deliberate test. She was certainly watching the young man very intently.
Still Arion wasn’t offended. “I did, though,” he replied, grinning. “Despite all the laws in Rome, I did—and I wish I hadn’t. I inherited the sacred disease from him. It just goes to show: blood’s stronger than any amount of ink.”
Melanthe wasn’t sure whether to be amused or sympathetic. She laughed and exclaimed, “Oh no! He had it?”
“He did! Though nobody actually told me that until I was struck with it myself. Then my mother said, ‘This came from your father!’ I was astonished, because nobody had ever mentioned it to me before, though it turned out half the city knew. I still don’t …” He stopped abruptly, with an air of alarm, as though he’d realized he was giving away more of himself than he’d intended.
“Didn’t you know him?” Melanthe asked in surprise. “I thought he taught you Latin.”
“He died when I was very young,” Arion said, and went back to the topic of Romans generally.
Another fragment emerged when he was telling them about the Alexandrian library. Melanthe’s jaw hung open when he informed them it contained over three hundred thousand books. “I wish I could see it!” she exclaimed longingly.
Arion smiled. “Well, you will very soon, won’t you?”
“Are women allowed in?” she asked in surprise.
“Anyone’s allowed in—unless they’re noisy, or drunk, or take books off the racks without permission. I’ve seen plenty women there.”
“The library in Coptos is only open to men,” said Melanthe resentfully.
“There’s a library in Coptos?” asked Arion in amusement.
“A small one,” Melanthe admitted. “It’s at the gymnasium.”
“Oh, a school library,” Arion said dismissively. “That’s not the same thing at all. Obviously they wouldn’t let you into that, but you’re probably not missing much.” He did not, however, go on to tell them more about the Library in Alexandria, but instead gazed at both Ani and Melanthe a moment curiously. “What do you do for books?” he asked. “Are you allowed to use the gymnasium library, Ani?”
Ani shook his head glumly. The Coptos gymnasium, like its counterparts throughout Egypt, was a center of Greek culture, and did not admit Egyptians. The native temples trained a few scribes, but ordinary Egyptians like himself had the choice of a private tutor or nothing. Most chose nothing. “I have never read a book,” he admitted quietly. Then he added, defiantly, “I bought Melanthe a copy of the first book of the Iliad last year. She’s been reading it with her tutor.”
“I haven’t got very far,” Melanthe admitted, looking down in shame. “I don’t understand it very well.”
Arion hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Homer isn’t easy to begin with. His Greek is so different from the way we speak these days that it’s almost another language. Everyone finds it difficult at first.”
Melanthe looked up again and regarded him with bright eyes. “A lot of people told Papa he was a fool to buy me a book at all. They say that there’s no point in educating females.”
Arion curled his lip in disdain. “What nonsense!” Then he laughed. “Zeus, if anyone had dared tell Mother that there was no point in educating females …” He broke off, laughing, and shook his head. “Dionysos!”
Melanthe beamed at him. “Did your mother used to go to the Library?”
“Frequently! She loved books. Once she …” He stopped abruptly, again with that air of alarm, and once more changed the subject.
Ani worried, often, about what Arion would do when they finally reached Alexandria. In Berenike the boy had invited the Romans to kill him; in Ptolemais he’d tried to do the job himself. He seemed happier now, but would that outlast the arrival? Wouldn’t it crush him again to return to his own city, and learn all over that everything that had made it home was lost? He would not discuss his plans. It was clear, though, that he had little hope for himself.
Several times he considered suggesting that Arion accept some form of partnership with Kleon and himself; each time he held back, fearing a proud rejection. If Arion wanted a job, he had a prospective governor of Egypt waiting for him; he could do much better than a minor Coptos merchant. There was another thing, too, which caused him considerable unease: Melanthe. She liked listening to Arion. Ani couldn’t blame her—what Arion had to say was fascinating, she was his own daughter, she had always felt the same urgent need as himself to question and understand. On the other hand, ever since Ptolemais she’d regarded Arion worshipfully, as her family’s deliverer (a humiliation in itself), and she was so pretty that he could not believe Arion was indifferent to it; indeed, it was noticeable that Arion was far more talkative and agreeable when Melanthe was present. Perhaps he had been advised that sexual congress would “exasperate” his condition, but Ani considered his own nature at eighteen, asked if that advice would have stopped him, and answered himself with a resounding no.
He could not reasonably order Melanthe not to listen to Arion when he was listening himself; certainly he couldn’t give any such order on a boat the size of Soteria. Of course, a boat the size of Soteria provided no opportunities for privacy for any other purpose, either. But when they reached Alexandria … he could easily imagine Arion offering to show Melanthe the sights of the capital, and Melanthe eagerly agreeing, and … well, maybe it was a good thing that Arion was planning to disappear when they reached the city. Safer for Ani’s peace of mind and Melanthe’s happiness.
Only he didn’t want Arion to disappear when they reached Alexandria. Apart from anything else, he’d be very useful in the business. Elegant Greek letters would probably be enough to persuade the gentlemen-merchants to grant Ani an interview; acceptable manners might get them to pay attention to his offers—but it would be much more impressive to call upon the merchants with Arion in tow. Better yet, stay on the boat and let Arion call upon the merchant. I’ve come on behalf of my partner, a Coptos merchant ...
He itched to offer the boy a partnership—half my fortune and my daughter’s hand in marriage. The thrill of pleasure that struck him at the thought of Arion as a son-in-law was disturbing—humiliating, really: he’d always sworn he was as good as any Greek, so why should the notion of having one in the family give him such pride? It did, that was all: when he imagined introducing people to Arion son of Gaius, my son-in-law and watching their faces change and their attitude become distinctly more respectful, it gave him a greedy thrill of delight. He felt, too—unhappily—that Melanthe would like the idea even more than he did. He feared, though, that Arion would regard it as an insult. Such a marriage couldn’t even be legally binding: Greek citizens couldn’t marry Egyptians. Arion, he felt increasingly, did not belong in the same world as himself. His presence there could only be fleeting, like a fish dropped on a mudbank that beats its way across the earth into its native element.
Only that native element had, according to Arion himself, become hostile, and the boy had made it very plain that he didn’t want to work for General Gallus. So … he might, just, welcome another option. He seemed to regard Ani as a friend now, and a partnership wasn’t the same thing as employment. A partnership with a Red Sea trader
was respectable enough, surely? And the boy would be so useful. Arion could be dignified, and Ani could be practical … he ought, at least, to ask.
The valley broadened, and the river branched into the Arsinoite region, the drained lakeland and the rich towns of Oxyrhynchus, Arsinoe, and Karanis. They followed the main branch of the Nile, however, until the current slowed and, nine days after leaving Ptolemais, they reached the green flats of the Delta.
The first Romans they’d seen since Ptolemais were guarding the customs post at the apex of the Delta, next to the town which was called Babylon, like the Mesopotamian city. The Lagid kings had had a fort there, since the town’s position gave easy access to all the branches of the Nile, and it seemed the Romans were maintaining the arrangement. The guards made no trouble, however, after Arion explained the customs documents to them in Latin, and Soteria was allowed to continue on, onto the Canopic branch of the river and westward toward Alexandria.
Here the Nile was wide, slow, and full of boats. Soteria ran down it for another two days, past Terenuthis; past Naukratis, which had been the first Greek settlement in Egypt, and at last, on the evening of the second day from Babylon, found a mooring by the entrance to the Canopic canal which led from the Nile to Lake Mareotis and their destination.
Here at last Ani managed to dare the question which had been preying on his mind. The whole party was finishing supper on the foredeck. The stars were starting to come out, the lamps were lit, he had lashed out on a skin of wine, one of the Egyptians was playing snatches on a flute, and everyone was in a relaxed and holiday mood.
“So,” he began carefully, addressing himself to Arion, “how long will it take us tomorrow?”
Arion leaned back, hooked an elbow over the railing, and grinned. He was wearing only the red tunic and a pair of sandals, and for once looked much like any young man. “We’ll be docked by noon,” he said. “The Canopic canal is worth seeing in itself, though, so you don’t want to hurry. People have summer houses along it, big ones with gardens. Hermogenes has one with a lot of statues along a riverside terrace, animals dancing and playing musical instruments.”
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