Chapter Two

We reached the Pillars of Hercules early the following day. In good spirits, we hoisted the sails higher and sailed along the coast. The Mediterranean was only five kilometres across from Europe to Africa at that point. We were on the European side. Phaleria wanted to trade for pewter before heading across to Africa and Carthage.

The villages of the Celtiberian tribes along the coast were independent. They were ruled by chieftains. Later, perhaps in fifty or a hundred years, Carthage would conquer the Iberian coast and wipe out or enslave most of the villages. Carthage wanted to control the silver and pewter mines the Iberians had exploited since the dawn of time. Rome would then defeat Carthage, and the Iberians would be absorbed into the immense Roman Empire, their culture gone forever.

This was an opportunity to study the Iberian civilization first-hand, I thought to myself, as we tied the boat to a huge iron ring set into a stone dock. The time-travel journalist part of me was thrilled. I wished – for the millionth time – that I had a holo-cam with me to record everything, but I’d have to make do with my diary, which I tucked into my bag and carried everywhere. Everyone at that time had a diary – some were amazing. Plexis was a talented artist, and Nearchus, though he spoke little, was a captivating writer.

We arrived at a pleasant-looking place with cultivated land reaching up the mountain’s flank and a fortified citadel on the hillside. After we left the fishing village, we took a wide sandy road through groves of almond and fruit trees up the hill towards the city. We walked slowly, savouring air that was warm and fragrant with the scents of peaches, almonds, and woodsmoke. We were hoping to find rooms in a comfortable inn. We were heartily tired of sharing the same cramped space, sleeping on linen-covered hay, and washing with salt water.

Along the road, women carried clay water jugs on their heads as they returned from their evening trip to the wells, with children tagging at their heels. The sky was deep violet, the sun had set and the only shadows were cast by torches planted every twenty metres or so along the white sand road. In the dusk, tree trunks looked ghostly. Shepherds gathered around small fires and the scent of cooking meat wafted to us, making our mouths water.

The road followed the natural curve of the land, rounding the base of a hill then climbing steadily in a spiral. The sprawling citadel, built right at the very top, was further than it had first seemed, and to get to it we had to cross a long bridge spanning a deep chasm.

Alexander examined everything with the interest of a born conqueror, judging the width and depth of the chasm, the height of the walls, and the best way to attack.

‘I like the idea of the wall there, it looks haphazard, but it’s not. See how the road curves sharply? An army trying to sneak up on the city will be obliged to group tightly to get past that bend, and then you’ve got them.’ Alexander sounded wistful. ‘The defenders can shower them with spears. The attackers would be helpless unless they adopted the rectangular shield I perfected. Remember, Plexis?’ His voice brightened.

Plexis looked at him over his shoulder and flashed a grin. In the dark, his teeth gleamed. ‘With the rectangular shields held over their heads they could protect themselves from above and the wall would become a liability instead of an advantage for the defenders.’

‘Be quiet, you two,’ I said, taking Alexander by the hand. ‘We’re tourists, remember?’

‘Tourists?’ Alexander looked surprised and then grinned. ‘I forgot, as usual. So, tell me what you know about this place, Ashley. What will become of it? Will it resist the forces of time? Or will it too turn to dust and the mountain free its shoulders of its stone trappings?’

‘It will become a city called Malaga, I believe. It won’t be built in the same spot, but it will be nearby. The vineyards will remain, the port as well. It will prosper. Its geographical placement lends itself to a logistical necessity, a link between the mountains and the inland tribes and trade. It will become a chic tourist resort, and in my time, it is a cultural centre for holo-ship voyages.

‘I forgot how pedantic you could be,’ Plexis sighed, turning to peer at me. ‘And how frighteningly cold you sound sometimes. I still get the chills when I remember what you said about Babylon.’ He was teasing me, a sparkle in his amber eyes.

‘I think it’s interesting,’ said Paul, linking his arm through mine. ‘Tell me more, Mother. Wasn’t it “Spain” on the map you made me?’

I nodded, content with my son. I gave lessons to Paul in the evenings; ‘future’ lessons as opposed to history lessons, using a map I’d painstakingly drawn of the modern world. Axiom took care of the history, and Alexander tutored him in maths and science. Plexis taught him riding, fencing, and Greek; Demos taught him cuneiform writing and Persian; Phaleria gave him lectures on trading and the geography of the coast and Gaul; and Nearchus taught him navigation and astronomy. Everything a ten-year-old should study in that time. When he got back to Alexandria, Paul would take up his lessons with his tutor and add epic poetry, the classics, religion, Egyptian, and Latin.

I insisted on teaching him Latin, much to Alexander’s amusement.

‘Latin? No one speaks Latin. Teach him Greek, or Phoenician. Everyone speaks those languages.’

‘Not for long,’ I said. ‘It will be good if he learns Latin, then he can teach his own sons.’

‘Yes, but your accent is strange. At least let’s hire a real Roman and let him do the job correctly.’

‘Good idea; we’ll take care of that when we reach Rome,’ I said.

‘Yes, we can buy a slave,’ said Alexander, giving a wink. He knew how I felt about that.

‘Very funny. Are we almost there? I’m starving, I’m tired, and I want a bath.’

We entered the city through a large archway made with flat slabs of rock. It was like a tunnel, and we stopped speaking as we walked through its blackness. When we reached the other side, I uttered a sigh of relief. I hated the feeling of being hemmed in. A legacy of spending one year in a stone prison.

The dark tunnel led directly onto the main street where torches burned brightly, lighting the way for us. The sandy road underfoot changed to cobblestone, with raised wooden sidewalks lining the road on either side. Very Celtic. We strolled along the main street, admiring the two and three-storey houses made of stone, brick, and wood. The windows were large, with wooden shutters to keep out the sun and ventilation holes along the tops to let air in during the long, hot days. Balconies made of forged iron were fixed on the second storeys and held up with wooden beams. Woman set their looms on them during the cooler part of the days, and at night families sat there and watched the crowds below.

The prosperous city was crowded, full of traders from all over: Greeks; Phoenicians; Egyptians; Gauls; Romans; and Celts. The Celtiberians distinguished themselves from their neighbours by the way they dressed. The men wore vests over their bare chests, and tied large, colourful belts around their waists to hold up their pants, whereas the Gauls tended to wear suspenders and undershirts.

The Celtiberian warriors were also fond of putting chalk and water in their hair and then letting it dry into fantastic shapes: huge points, curving horns like bull’s horns, and spikes all over their heads. Very odd. I tried not to stare.

Our innkeeper greeted us warmly. He bowed, as was the custom, and welcomed us with a bowl of olives and pewter tankards of cool water. He wore his dark hair in braids, like most Celts, and he shaved his beard but had a drooping black moustache. His eyes were very black and his skin was pale. A true Celtiberian. Their skin would become darker when the Moors crossed the Straits of Gibraltar and took control of the peninsula for a brief time. He put a linen towel over his arm and showed us to a free table, telling us that dinner that night was roast goat with olive sauce, fresh fish, pickles, a salad of almonds and peaches, hard cheese made from sheep’s milk, with wine or water to drink.

Dinner was delicious. We ate sitting on a bench at a long, wooden table. We watched the rest of the customers, listened to their conversations but spoke very little ourselves. We were tired, and the boisterous crowd, after the silence of the ocean, made our heads spin.

Afterwards, we made our way to the baths; a stone building set up near the village well. The brick bathhouse was built in a circle. Stone arches held a roof supported by wooden beams and covered in clay tiles. Women and men didn’t bathe together. Every four hours the heated pool was emptied and a new group could wash. Before Phaleria and I could go to bathe, we had to wait until the men had finished. Meanwhile, we joined the line of women waiting to enter the baths.

The baths were heated Roman-style. A separate building housed a fire, and the heat was channelled through pipes under the round bathhouse. The water was about waist deep, and a bench ran around the entire pool, so people could sit and chat. There was some lye soap and shampoo, but I had my own from Gaul that I hoarded preciously.

After Phaleria and I had bathed, we floated in the warm water. I lay in the water, my hair floating around me, my arms and legs loose and wonderfully relaxed. Through the arches, I could see the night sky. Stars appeared like bright sparkles of diamonds in black velvet, their éclat unrivalled by electric lights.

Although people strolling by couldn’t see into the baths, I could see flickering torches and the tops of the taller people’s heads. The baths were Roman in architecture, a sure sign of their encroachment. But baths like this were still a rarity. The innkeeper spoke of them as if they were the eighth wonder of the world. People didn’t take them for granted yet. And they were expensive enough to be available to only a certain class of people, unlike the public baths in Greece and Rome, which were free to their citizens – tourists had to pay, and slaves weren’t admitted into the baths anywhere.

A bell rang, signalling time to change the water. We had to leave. I sighed regretfully and stood up, squeezing the water out of my hair. Phaleria admired the bump my belly had started to make. I was now four months pregnant.

She was longing to have a baby but, so far, three months had gone by and each time she’d been disappointed. I told her not to worry and to let time take its course. I also told her to stand on her head the next time she made love. Well, it couldn’t hurt. We dressed and went to join our men, who had been waiting for us near the fountain. Afterwards, we strolled through the city, watching glass-workers ply their trade, admiring the pewter wares set out for sale, and listening to various street musicians, gossip, and newscasters.

The newscasters usually stood on a raised platform and held a scroll in their hands. When you dropped a coin in the basket – or hat – at their feet, they obliged you by reading the daily – or weekly or monthly – news. Usually well informed, these men started with the day’s trading costs, giving the exchange rates, and telling which merchants were selling what wares. Then they moved on to the news about the town and the surrounding countryside, and then gave the news about the rest of the known world.

We found a newscaster and paid him, gathering around him to listen to the news. The man cleared his throat in an important manner and started reading from his long scroll.

‘Excuse me,’ said Nearchus, raising his hand, ‘but could you speak in Greek?’ Nearchus spoke a little Celt, but not enough for the news. And Celtiberians had their own dialect.

The man raised his beautifully plucked eyebrows. ‘Greek traders?’ he asked us. For simplicity’s sake, we nodded. ‘Fine. Ahem. Today, goat and sheep prices are stable, but olive oil has gone up. It’s now two Greek obols for an amphora of olive oil sealed with pine resin. The mayor of the city has decreed a freeze on the price of bread, any baker charging more than —’

‘Excuse me.’ It was Phaleria. ‘Could you skip to the part about pewter? I want to know how much that is trading for this week.’

‘Fine, fine.’ The little man shuffled his scroll, looking for pewter. ‘Aha, here it is. Pewter is trading at eight ingots of pewter for one of bronze, seven ingots of pewter for one half of silver, and a Greek obol is stable at six for a drachma, which, as everyone knows, is quite a handful.’ The newscaster stopped and chuckled at his own joke, then cleared his throat again. ‘In the local news, someone broke into the wine cellar at the —’

‘Pardon me, but could you omit the local news? Unless it’s vitally important,’ said Alexander, leaning forward. ‘What news have you from Carthage? Or from Greece, or Alexandria?’

The man huffed in annoyance and shuffled down his scroll some more, looking for the international news. ‘First, from Greece …’ He paused to see if we were going to interrupt again, but we stared up at him, polite interest on our faces. ‘Aristotle is dead —’

‘The monkey was right,’ interrupted Alexander, ‘Remember?’ he grabbed my arm. ‘The monkey told me — ’

‘Excuse me!’ The man bent over and stared at us. ‘What do you mean, ‘the monkey told you?’ When did you hear that?’

‘He died nearly three months ago, I heard it from …’ Alexander’s voice trailed off, and he frowned. ‘“A monkey told me” doesn’t sound right, does it?’ he whispered to me.

‘Now you know what I feel like most of the time,’ I whispered back.

‘But, but …’ The news speaker was at loss for words. ‘I only just received that news. It just arrived.’

‘Hold on,’ said Plexis, stepping forward. ‘I haven’t heard yet. When did it happen? How? You could have told me,’ he said to Alexander. He sounded angry.

Demos tapped Alexander on the shoulder. ‘Was it that monkey who could write? The one that told my fortune?’

Plexis gaped at Demos, then at Alexander. ‘A monkey who could write told you Aristotle died?’ he asked.

‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ said Alexander.

‘No! I mean, please, could you tell him now? I’d kind of like to hear about that too, if you don’t mind,’ said the newsman.

‘Just get on with the news,’ said Alexander, folding his arms across his chest.

The newscaster looked undecided, then shrugged and frowned at his scroll. ‘So much for the big news of the day,’ he muttered. ‘Now, let’s see. More about Greece. The war between Cassander and Olympias still rages, although it is mostly confined to the north of Macedonia. The Athenians have refused to participate, sending no soldiers to either side. The Spartans have sided with Cassander. For now, Antipatros still rules Greece, but swears he’ll kill Olympias himself to avenge his youngest son, Iollas.’

‘You can stop with the Greek news,’ said Alexander, looking depressed. Iollas had been his cupbearer, and he’d been fond of the young lad.

‘Fine, fine.’ The man shook his head and muttered, ‘Do they want the news or not? Ahem.So, let’s get the scoop on Carthage, shall we? You heard about the attack on the Greek trading post of Tartessos? Yes? So, you know all the news about Carthage. The king of Tartessos was killed, by the way, and a noble from Carthage has taken his place. There is to be an important ceremony in Carthage to thank the gods in three weeks, at the rising of the new moon.

‘Now for Alexandria near Egypt. Ptolemy Lagos has officially declared himself a god, so he is considered by everyone the official ruler of Egypt. We all bow down to him.’ The man broke off and sketched a quick bow. ‘And, for the very latest news from that kingdom, Ptolemy's son, also called Ptolemy, has been officially betrothed to the fair Cleopatra, the daughter of the late Alexander, King of All the World. Hey! What happened to her?’ he cried, pointing with his scroll.

Everyone looked at the ground where I’d collapsed. My knees had simply given out at the mention of my daughter, Cleopatra.

It was not a faint, it was just the shock. The newscaster hopped off his pedestal, fanned me with a piece of papyrus, and said, ‘I’ve never had that reaction before, amazing.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, sitting up and clutching Alexander around the neck with my good hand. ‘I should have expected that, Ptolemy is nothing if not perfectly ruthless and ambitious. Damn him. Now I’ll have to hurry back to Memphis, and I did so want to see Pompeii before the volcano annihilates it.’ The shock was making me babble, I think.

‘That won’t happen for another three centuries,’ said Paul, proud to show off his ‘future’ lessons.

The newscaster stopped fanning me and stared, his mouth hanging open. ‘Well, I’ll be,’ he said. ‘An oracle. I should have known.’

‘I’m not really an oracle,’ I said. I looked up at Alexander and sighed. ‘I suppose that piece of information about Cleopatra doesn’t bother you?’

‘No. Think about it.’ Alexander kissed me on the tip of my nose. ‘It is good news. It tells us two things: first, Cleopatra is still alive and, second, she is under Ptolemy’s protection. We can take our time. No one will dare harm our daughter.’

‘You’re delirious,’ said the newscaster, nodding at Alexander. ‘I said Cleopatra, the daughter of the great Alexander. He died in Babylon.’

‘He was supposed to,’ I said with a wince, getting to my feet and then leaning over, bracing my forearms on my knees while my head spun. ‘Oh, I feel sick. It’s a lucky thing that dinner we ate was good,’ I said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I think I’m about to see it again,’ I said weakly.

‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ said Alexander, hoisting me upright and pressing a small vial to my lips. The strong mint drops calmed my stomach immediately. The druid had something there, I thought.

‘Thank you. I’m feeling much better,’ I said, my eyes tearing from the potion. ‘Whew, that’s strong!’

Alexander beamed. ‘It works wonders,’ he said, ‘I don’t get half as seasick on those infernal boats as I used to. Amazing, isn’t it? If I’d had this before, I would have conquered Africa, or gone to India by boat and conquered it from there.’

‘You mean, the only reason we walked was because you get seasick?’ Nearchus sounded upset.

‘No, no! Of course not,’ Alexander hastened to reassure him. ‘We had to follow Paul.’

‘That’s true, we followed Paul,’ said Axiom, his eyes twinkling ‘Halfway around the world.’

‘Well, at least you could follow something, because you’ve certainly lost me,’ said the newscaster. He climbed back up onto his pedestal then leaned over to get a good look at us. ‘You are the most confusing group of people to listen to. You,’ he said, pointing to Alexander, ‘Are certainly from Macedonia, and you,’ this time he pointed to Paul. ‘You speak a strange mixture of Persian and Greek. The redheaded woman is Celt, from Britain. Iceni, if I’m not mistaken. The large man is Persian. You are Greek,’ he continued, pointing to Nearchus. ‘Born in Crete. I’m never wrong about accents. And you sir, are certainly from Greece.’ Axiom nodded, impressed. ‘I am an expert on tongues, as are most of us newscasters and translators. But you,’ he pointed to me, ‘have the most bizarre accent. Almost as if —’

‘Not another word,’ I interrupted, holding my hand up. ‘I know what I sound like, and believe me, I can’t help it.’

‘You should hear her speak Latin,’ said Demos, a grin on his face.

‘Oh?’ The newscaster looked intrigued. ‘At any rate, it’s the first time I’ve been unable to identify an accent, so be fair and tell me where you’re from.’

‘All right,’ I shrugged, it wouldn’t make any difference. ‘I’m from America.’

There was a silence as everyone around me digested this titbit of information. I’d never told anyone where I was from. Finally, the newscaster said, meditatively, ‘America must be somewhere north of the Po valley.’ But he didn’t sound convinced.

We thanked him for the news and went back to our inn. For the villagers, the night was just getting started, but our feet dragged and our shoulders slumped. The thought of sleeping in a real bed in a real bedroom was enticing.

The bed was dirty and had fleas. The room was tiny, and the noise from the street kept me awake. Every time I’d start to slide towards sleep, a loud laugh, a shriek, or a barking dog would startle me awake. With a muffled groan, I buried my head under Alexander’s arm and tried to ignore the fleas biting my leg. When, I couldn’t stand it any more, I slapped at them, forgetting I didn’t have a left hand. It’s very frustrating not being able to scratch.

My head was aching when I woke the next day. Paul and Plexis had gone, and the bed was empty as well. Alexander always woke up at first light, no matter what. He was probably downstairs or at the baths. After a sweaty, flea-filled night, the thought of a warm bath made my spirits rise considerably. I took my soap, shampoo, and a clean tunic, and headed downstairs to find the innkeeper. I wasn’t going to spend one more night in the bedroom he’d given us unless it was completely washed, aired out, and new sheets were put on the beds.

Finding the man wasn’t difficult; I just followed the sound of his bellowing. After I’d straightened things out with him, I tucked my bath things under my arm and headed towards the baths. I was sure I’d find Alexander there, and I was right. The Greeks, as I’ve said before, loved cleanliness.

Plexis and Alexander were in deep discussion. I smiled as I approached and they both looked up at me.

‘Well, finally awake?’ Plexis said. ‘Not too tired?’

‘Very tired,’ I admitted, sitting next to them. ‘I hardly slept, the bed was dreadful. Didn’t the fleas bother you? And the sheets weren’t clean. I gave orders to the …’ My voice trailed off. The two men weren’t listening. Plexis had a frown on his face and was staring over my shoulder while Alexander examined something on the inside of his wrist.

‘What is it?’ I asked, looking from one to the other.

Alexander said, ‘Nearchus wants to leave us and go to Africa.’

‘We’re heading towards Carthage,’ I said.

‘No, he wants to leave the inner sea and travel down the coast from the exterior ocean, the one you call the Atlantic.’

‘What, by himself?’

‘No, he’s gone to the harbour to find a boat. Last night he heard someone talking about exploring the coast and it got him thinking.’ Alexander spoke sadly. I could understand why.

The thought of losing Nearchus was painful. He’d always been around, tall, silent, and serious. I glanced over at Plexis. His face was tight. They were very close friends. Then I turned to Alexander. I knew what Nearchus felt for him, but Alexander’s feelings had always been more ambiguous.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked me.

‘I was thinking about how much I was going to miss him,’ I said, and I was surprised by the catch in my voice.

‘We’ll all miss him.’ Alexander pulled me down onto his lap. ‘He’ll meet us in Alexandria in one year,’ he said.

‘Is that enough time to explore the coast, do you think?’ asked Plexis, frowning at me.

‘It should be,’ I said cautiously. ‘But it’s a very dangerous place, full of warring tribes and wild animals.’

‘He wants to talk to you about it,’ said Alexander. ‘He wants you to help him plan his voyage.’

My shoulders sagged. ‘I never went to Africa. It’s one of the forbidden places.’

‘But you know the contours of the land, the distances, the dangers, and you can warn him what things to look out for. Please, Ashley, he needs you.’

‘I’ll do my best, I promise.’ I sat up and took Alexander’s face in my hand. I tilted it a bit, so that the sun shone on it. I smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I think if anyone can sail around Africa at this time it’s Nearchus. Does he have a boat?’

‘He will find one, I’m sure, by the time the week’s up. After he leaves, we must make haste to Carthage. I want to get there before the ceremonies.’ Alexander’s gaze never wavered from mine.

I leaned over and kissed him, then straightened up and looked towards the bathhouse. ‘It’s time for the women to bathe – shall I see you back at the inn for lunch?’

‘If we’re not at the inn, go to the port; we’ll be with the dragon boat,’ said Plexis, standing up and stretching. His eyes were shadowed, his face pensive. I thought he was still thinking about Nearchus, and I was right.

In the bath, it hit me. Plexis was caught in a dilemma. On one hand he longed to go with Nearchus and sail around the coast of Africa, seeing for himself the incredible sights I’d told them about. On the other hand he wanted to stay with Alexander and me, especially since I was carrying his child and would give birth in less than five months. When I finished bathing and returned to the inn, Plexis was alone in our room, standing near the window. I had opened the door quietly but he heard me. A smile tugged at his lips.

‘I wanted to speak to you,’ he said softly. He took my toilet case from my hand, set it on the commode, and then motioned me to sit on the bed. He sat on the floor at my feet, his arms on my knees, his hands folded over my thighs. ‘I want to go with Nearchus, but I cannot.’

‘You can if you really want to, you know that. I would never begrudge you the voyage,’ I said, stroking his glossy curls.

‘I know that, but I cannot go. I could never leave you, especially in your condition.’

‘Are you sorry I’m pregnant?’ I asked him. A stab of worry made me turn my face away. I didn’t want him to see my distress.

‘No, you can’t believe that. I’m happy, and Iskander is happy. No, it’s not for that reason that I won’t go. But I do admit to wanting to. It’s a strange feeling I have, as if Nearchus …’ He broke off. ‘You know how I get these funny feelings sometimes. And often they turn out to be absolutely nothing.’

‘But sometimes they come true. Is that why you’re worried? Do you think Nearchus will be in danger?’

‘I’d be a fool not to think that. Why, just going to Carthage will be dangerous. That must be the explanation. The danger is real and I feel it keenly, that’s all.’

‘Why did you want to talk to me?’

‘You know I never ask you about the future. But I wanted to know if you remembered anything from your history books about Nearchus. Does he die in Africa? Can you tell me that?’ His voice was halting.

I looked at him. His tone was strange, but I put it down to his worry about Nearchus. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about that. I can’t recall anything else besides the fact that he was Iskander’s admiral, and that he wrote a book about the trip he took from the mouth of the Indus to Babylon.’

‘He’s already published that, I know, because he left the manuscript in Alexandria and Ptolemy was going to take care of it. It will be one of the books in the modern section of the new library there.’

‘The modern section?’ My mouth twitched.

Plexis nodded, an answering smile on his lips. I looked down at him, and the feeling that had been growing in my belly made me close my eyes again, but this time it wasn’t pain, unless sharp desire can be called pain.

Plexis knew what I was feeling. His hands slid over my thighs and grasped my hips, and he pulled himself up and onto me. His mouth sought mine, his hands roamed over my body, caressing me. His breath grew harsher and deepened. ‘Two months on a crowded boat is too long,’ he murmured. ‘I missed making love to you, I missed the taste of you, the feel of you, and the … oh, by Eros, I, I can’t talk any more.’

‘Then don’t.’ I arched my back and welcomed him in, my own breath catching in my throat and leaving it with a cry. ‘Harder,’ I gasped, then said nothing as the feelings crested over me and I was swept away by the movement of his hips.

There was a moment of silence, when we both stopped breathing and moving, savouring the sensations that joined us as one. Then the wave broke and we shuddered together. It made him cry out, as if he were in pain, but I knew better, he always fought against losing himself, and when it happened it shook him to his very bones. Afterwards we held each other. The tremors in my body answered his. His hair was damp with sweat and his breathing came in deep shudders.

‘Shh, there now. Hold me. Hold me tightly, Plexis. Oh, how I love you. Look at your arm, it’s shaking.’

‘How could I leave you?’ he asked, and his voice was rough with emotion.

‘And yet, I would never hold you back. If you want to go, you must.’

‘No, I want to stay. We will travel to Africa together. Life is long; we have years and years before us. We shall wait for Nearchus to come home, and then he’ll take us to the places he loved best.’ He was silent for a moment, resting next to me, his hand on my belly, his head pressed to mine. ‘What was that?’ he whispered, raising his head and looking down at his hand.

‘Did you feel it?’

‘The baby moved, was that what I just felt? It was like, I don’t know, as if you had a butterfly in your stomach, just there. Oh! It moved again,’ he laughed weakly and bent his head down to kiss the soft swelling of my belly. ‘Hello,’ he whispered. ‘Can you hear me? It’s your father. I’m right here.’ He lay his cheek against my stomach and smiled when he felt the tiny movement stir against his skin. Tears fell from his closed eyes. I stroked his head and said nothing.

We stayed in Iberia for three days, then Nearchus found a swift boat and sailed away from us, leaving one morning with the wind coming from the east. The sun had just cleared the horizon, and its light was shell pink and tender on the boat’s white sails. Nearchus stood on the deck, one hand on the mast, the other raised in a salute. He didn’t say anything, but his face glittered, as did ours, with tears.

We waved. We called farewell and wept bitterly as his ship left the harbour and dwindled in the distance. For an hour we stood watching, then when his sail was nothing but a small bright triangle on the horizon, we turned and made our way back to our boat. We were leaving too, but in the opposite direction, and it was the west wind that would take us across the Mediterranean towards Carthage.

The boat was soon loaded and our baggage stowed away. The inn had been expensive but we’d traded well, and Alexander was able to pay and still have money left over. We were silent as we stepped on board, and silent as we raised the sails and cast off. In the purple evening, the air was cool. The villages along the coast started to light their lamps and soon they were all we could see.

Before the lights of the town were lost to us in the evening mist, Vix sacrificed a young goat, first scattering barley over its head, then cutting its throat. Half the goat was burned in honour of the gods on Olympus and half was thrown into the sea to appease Poseidon. Vix then filled a silver chalice with wine and poured it into the water while singing a chant invoking the clemency of the gods for our journey. Another goat was sacrificed, this time to slake our appetites, and Erati grilled morsels of meat and basted them with flame-coloured wine. In the purple dusk, we ate our dinner. Then we sat in a circle of lamplight and talked softly, our voices hardly rising above the whisper of wind in the sails.

‘He had been wanting to go for so long,’ said Alexander. ‘Even before we left for Gaul he started planning. But he came with us.’

‘And now he’s gone.’ Plexis spoke with a sigh. The lamplight made shadows on our faces. ‘I hope your map will help him,’ he said to me.

I didn’t answer. My throat was too tight. I remembered the last night we’d spent in the inn, sitting around a low table, examining the map I’d drawn from memory, speaking about all the possible dangers. I was afraid that I’d forgotten something vital, something that he would need to know, and it worried me.

‘Your help was immense,’ said Alexander, taking my face in his hands and looking into my eyes. ‘Just the map would have been enough. But you also told him about the natives and the animals. He will return, have no fear. He will sail down the coast to the Equator then come back home. He promised, and besides, the crew with him will want to go no further.’

‘He’ll want to go on,’ I whispered, pressing closer to him. ‘He’ll ask to go on alone, he’ll go on foot if he has to. I know him; he won’t even care if he dies there. His heart is broken, it broke the day Plexis came to Orce.’

Alexander shook his head. ‘No, you don’t know Nearchus.’ He pulled me to his chest and held me.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe it’s all my fault.’

‘It matters not,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re wrong, Plexis never broke his heart, and neither did you.’

‘Then you did,’ I said sadly. ‘I saw it in his face, before he left. He was so sorrowful.’

‘That’s why he will come back,’ said Alexander. ‘He’ll come back because he will miss me.’

We slept on deck, in the shelter of the cabin, as we often did when the weather was fair. Beneath us was a pallet of hay covered with smooth linen, above us were the twinkling stars, and all around was the vast sea, slapping gently against the hull, as the boat rose and fell with the waves.