Chapter Eight

We borrowed Polliana and one of Augustus’s chariots and went to Rome again next day. Plexis, Alexander, Axiom, and I were eager to go, but Paul wanted to stay with his new friends. I insisted he accompany us, figuring it would be a good chance for him to get a ‘future’ lesson, and for me to see the splendour of Rome while it was still untarnished or jammed with hover cars and tourists.

Well, there were no hover cars, of course, but there were tourists. Barbarians came from all over to see Rome, although it pained Alexander, and especially Plexis, to hear themselves referred to as ‘barbarians’.

‘Roman citizens in this line, barbarians over there,’ called out a man in a strong voice as we lined up to buy tickets to the show at the circus.

‘Barbarian? I’m Greek,’ sputtered Plexis.

‘And I’m —’ He got no further. I clapped my hand over Alexander’s mouth.

‘We want tosee the show, not star in it,’ I said, shaking my head and whispering fiercely. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if anyone got wind of who you were? How much do you think you’re worth? Don’t you know there are some who would pay a fortune to see you in the arena? It’s big business here. So don’t, I beg of you, don’t breathe a word to anyone about your identity.’

‘What about the papers we filled out in the customs building?’ he asked, a glint in his blue eye.

‘No one ever reads official documents. They just get stored. The only ones who’ll ever read them are archaeologists who will find them thousands of years from now. Now get into the barbarian line and be quiet.’

Plexis bit back a laugh as Alexander glared at him, but the glare lacked conviction, and I thought he was strangely quiet for the remainder of the afternoon.

‘What do you suppose he’s thinking?’ I asked Plexis, drawing him aside as we toured the palace behind a group of Egyptians, two large, hairy Gauls, and a rowdy bunch of Iberians.

‘I don’t know, but I heard him muttering, “barbarian indeed” a couple times. I don’t like the look in his eyes.’ Plexis whispered back. ‘Wow, did you see that staircase? A whole regiment could march down it abreast. I think the statues are creepy, especially the eyes. In Greece we don’t make them look so life-like. Granted, we paint the robes, but we don’t do eyes like that.’ Plexis leaned towards a statue and would have touched it, but the tour guide barked at him and he drew back.

‘I hope Alexander’s not going to do anything foolish,’ I said to Plexis worriedly. ‘He is acting strangely.’

He was unnaturally silent, preoccupied, with his head tilted and a faraway look in his eyes. He used to look like that when I first met him. When he was in the midst of battle plans against his biggest enemy, Darius, or when he was dreaming up some impossible scheme. Although, to do him credit, it usually worked. He was probably imagining ways to conquer the city. Good thing he didn't have his army with him. I sighed and turned to Paul. ‘What do you think of Rome?’ I asked.

‘Amazing,’ he said, ‘really eely.’

‘Really eely”?’ I asked.

‘It means “great”. Everyone says that,’ he explained. ‘Scipio’s cousins told us.’

‘Maybe they were just teasing,’ I said. But then again, young people always had their own slang, even in these times. Really eely?

We passed a gymnasium where women in bikinis were exercising. The women were just visible if you peered through the arched doorways. The bikinis they wore were interesting, made of what looked like suede or knitted material. The women were jumping rope, playing with a large inflated ball, or jumping in unison in an aerobics class. Afterwards, they could swim in the heated pool inside the gymnasium. There was a women’s side and a men’s side. I wanted a glimpse of the men, but Alexander took my arm and pulled me away.

‘We’re losing the tour group,’ he said.

‘It’s a very nice city,’ I remarked for the hundredth time, strolling up the Cardo, the main street, which ran north to south. It was perpendicular to the second main street of Rome, called the Decumanus, running east to west. All the streets were parallel to either of these two streets, creating perfectly square or rectangular tenement blocks, called insulae. It was hilly, and we hiked up and down, with alternating views of the river and city.

‘Not as nice as Alexandria,’ he said with a shrug. ‘But I think I could get used to living here.’

I looked at him but he was busy measuring the width of the street with his eyes, taking in the pedestrian crossings and the garbage bin placed in the alley. ‘Too many policemen,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They are everywhere.’

‘Waiting to catch someone pissing, swearing, or spitting so they can fine them,’ I said.

‘I suppose they need funds to pay those policemen. I wonder if they have quotas,’ Alexander said.

‘I think it’s a pity everything nice is reserved for Roman citizens. Even the nicest hotels. Alexandria is much more democratic,’ I said.

‘I wonder how long that will last. Ptolemy is a snob.’

Alexander stopped speaking for a while, and we wandered after the group listening to the guide as he spoke about the wonders of Rome. Paul and Axiom were paying close attention, Plexis was looking in the boutiques, and the Iberians started to sing a loud song. A policeman strode towards them with a determined look on his face and a wax tablet in his hands.

‘No singing unless it’s praise for the Roman gods,’ he said sternly. ‘Rule number sixteen. If you continue you’ll be fined three sesterces.’

The Iberians were outraged; they’d been singing a song about good food and wine, and a very fine song it was indeed. However the policeman wouldn’t budge, so they reluctantly quieted down and went on their way, until one of them got the idea of replacing the food with the names of the Roman gods. They started again, braying all about delicious Juno, spicy Venus, and hot and tasty Minerva, which made more than one Roman turn and stare.

Alexander grinned and then sighed again. He looked almost melancholy.

‘What is it?’ I asked him.

‘I'm still not used to being a tourist. You were right when you told me I had to learn to let the world turn without me pushing it along. I keep thinking there is something I have to do or people I have to see. Don't worry. I'll get over it.’

The Iberians were now kicking in rhythm, narrowly missing a matron out walking her dog. The dog barked frantically, yap-yapping as little dogs tend to do.

The Iberians stopped and stared. Small dogs were not common in Iberia.

‘What is this?’ asked one, bending over and peering at the curly-haired pet. To get a better look, he reached down and picked up the dog by its tail, making it screech.

The others gathered around, ignoring the fuss the woman was making. ‘Put my Popsia down right now!’ she ordered, waving her arms.

‘What is a “Popsia”? Is it a cat?’ asked one of the big men.

‘What can it be? It’s quite unique! Look, all those curls! Where did you find it?’ asked another Iberian to the Roman woman.

The woman snatched her dog out of his hands and hurried down the street, muttering angrily about barbarians and how Rome was going to come to a bad end if they didn’t crush them all now, immediately, before they overran the city completely. ‘Get civilized!’ was her parting shot to the bemused Iberians.

The tour guide came back to get the Iberians, hastily explaining to them that small dogs were cherished pets and that they were not to bother them in the future.

‘Is it in the rules?’ asked the tallest Iberian, the one who’d started singing. ‘Rule number thirty-six. No holding cherished pets by their tails on public streets!’ He mimicked the policeman perfectly, causing his friends to howl in delight.

The tour guide started to get a haunted look.

Plexis and Axiom were waiting impatiently with the Egyptians, the Gauls having abandoned the tour to find something for lunch. Paul, Alexander, and I were standing nearby, watching the antics of the Iberians and wondering who would get fined first. Alexander wanted to bet, making me retort that he was getting as bad as the Roman soldiers. Paul giggled and said he was betting on the tall fellow, and father and son put their heads together to decide how much they would bet, and what the loser would have to do.

We set out again, Plexis and Axiom listening carefully to the guide, the Egyptians walking in single file and not making any comments about anything, then the Iberians, Paul and Alexander, and me, bringing up the rear. I was content to walk slowly, savouring the sights and smells, listening sometimes to the guide and sometimes to the Iberians. They were wondering where they could get a good dinner and asked the guide to recommend a restaurant. We were not far from a small bar, called a thermopolium, which sold cups of wine and pickled fish and eels. There were also different sorts of bread, some cheese, and a choice of fresh fruit. We elected to stop and have lunch, and so we ate, standing at the counter.

That was my introduction to Rome, and I thought I could get to like it. The city was clean and spacious, the citizens on the whole were pleasant, and the food was, well, interesting.

We left the guide to his Iberians and made our way to the docks. We’d seen enough for one morning. Axiom took leave of us; he was going to return to the villa. Before we’d left, Elenia had asked him to stop at the sandal-maker and pick up a pair of fine leather shoes she’d ordered. I looked at the shoes. They had two-inch heels, pointed toes, and pretty laces. I compared them to my flat, uninteresting sandals, and immediately made plans to spend money on new shoes. Shoes were the fashion accessory in ancient Greece and Rome; styles changed constantly. I had always preferred the practical to the fashionable, but that was when I was walking twenty kilometres a day with the army. Now I could find something that flattered my feet.

When we arrived at the river, we found a crowd gathered around the dragon boat. Phaleria had started trading at the docks. She would continue trading for the next few days, taking her goods to the various marketplaces around the city. Erati had gone off in search of supplies, and Oppe and Kell had gone with him, leaving Vix and Demos to help Phaleria. Yovanix sat on a stool, whittling something from a piece of hardwood, the dog Perilous at his feet. Paul went to him and started telling him all about the sights we’d seen, describing it all in perfect detail. His powers of observation were keen, and his words painted an amazingly accurate picture of Rome, much to Yovanix’s delight.

I sat down next to them, content to listen to Paul’s bright chatter. My belly was getting bigger, and I wondered if I were carrying twins. I hoped not; twins tended to come early, and I wanted time to see Pompeii and get back to Alexandria before giving birth. I did a quick calculation in my head, and decided I had fifteen weeks before the baby arrived. A tiny kick made me grin. I loved being pregnant and feeling a new life bloom within me. It was a miracle each time it happened, no matter how common an occurrence it was. I wondered if ‘common miracle’ was an oxymoron, then decided not.

After sitting for a while, I felt more energetic and decided to go for a short walk along the docks. I was interested in the other wares and boats. There were nearly twenty of them docked, and more were pressing from behind. Small skiffs were rowed back and forth as customs officials, fishermen, and traders jockeyed for position at the docks. Goods arrived from all over the known world. I caught a whiff of spices and headed in that direction. There was a flash of red-gold as a brilliant scarf was unfolded, and a donkey brayed loudly, adding to the cacophony of men’s and women’s voices arguing and bargaining. People stared as I walked by. I was still an oddity. Now, far from the north, I stuck out again. My platinum hair and icy eyes were drawing overt glances from everyone. However, I paid no attention. I bent over a basket of brightly coloured wool skeins, and then admired an exquisite vase made from Phoenician glass. It was striped like a zebra on top, black and white, and like a tiger on the base, yellow and black. There were other vases and lamps, but this one caught my eye, and I wished I could buy it for Alexander. He would have loved its sparkling beauty.

The trader saw my covetous gaze and he barked out a price that seemed astronomical. I shook my head, making a face. I moved on, past screaming parrots tied to a large branch, past cheap rugs woven from reeds, and some more expensive carpets made from wool, until I arrived at the end of the dock where two or three boats vied for the little space that was left. They were trying to unload in unison, everyone crying out, pushing and shoving his neighbour aside.

Suddenly a sack of beans spilled over and a flood of dried peas made footing treacherous. There came a loud splash as a merchant skidded off the dock. His armload of feather dusters shot into the air like a flock of ungainly egrets. I backed out of the way as another person stepped on the peas and slithered wildly. He hadn’t been carrying anything, but to save himself from falling, he grabbed a man holding two bales of cotton, and they both went down with a resounding thud. The bales of cotton bounced, hitting another man in the back, and he in turn fell into the arms of a stout matron who had been shopping on the docks. She dropped her basket of goods, and eggs broke and apples rolled as she shrieked. Another fellow dived for the apples and crashed into a large cage that popped open with a splintering sound. Out bounded three large baboons, obviously thrilled to get free, and even more excited by the noise and fuss. Utter pandemonium broke out as the apes leapt into the crowd, tails held high and wicked teeth bared in huge grins. I turned and ran, not wishing to become entangled in the fracas. People were coming from everywhere, trying to catch a glimpse of the action or trying to see what was going on.

I had to fight through a growing crowd of bystanders. I was torn between wanting to laugh aloud and real fright; I was six months pregnant and didn’t fancy a tumble or a fall into the water. I could swim; but there were boats everywhere and I didn’t want to get run into.

Suddenly a strong arm reached out and grabbed me, pulling me through the crowd. ‘Down here!’ came a voice I didn’t recognize, and I was half shoved, half carried off the dock and onto a low barge.

My first reaction was to scream, but then I realized I was free of the crowd and the narrow dock. I turned to thank my saviour and saw it was the merchant with the striped glass. He bowed very low and his tall, pointed cap nearly fell off his head.

‘It was getting terribly crowded on the dock,’ he said, ‘and I had to move my precious merchandise. I saw you, and decided you looked precious too. Like one of my finer vases. Did you see this one?’ He lifted the corner of a linen sheet and uncovered a scintillating blue vase made of transparent glass in all the hues of tropical, turquoise water. I uttered a gasp.

‘That is very lovely,’ I admitted, ducking as an apple came flying through the air. ‘Maybe you’d better store the glass down below until things calm down.’

‘I think I’d better.’ The merchant clapped his hands and a slave poked his head out of the hatch. ‘Start putting the fragile goods back in the crates. We’ll skip the dock market for now; we’ll set up again when things calm down, and if they don’t, we’ll take some glass to the salt market this evening.’ The slave began to pack everything up and I helped. After all, the merchant had saved me – I could help save a few cups and plates.

The uproar on the docks had not abated. Policemen were now trying to calm everyone, and people were falling off the docks into the water with loud splashes.

‘I hope my husband is not too worried about me,’ I said, trying to catch a glimpse of Alexander. I could make out the prow of the dragon ship rising high into the air, but I couldn’t see anyone I knew in the crowd.

‘Come below deck. Just sit here for a moment, you’ll be safer. Yousaff! Get the lady a cool drink! You look pale, are you feeling all right?’

I nodded and sat on a low stool covered with a beautiful tapestry. The slave Yousaff poured me a drink from a glass pitcher that had been standing in a brass bucket filled with water. I took it and drank gratefully; it was fresh orange juice with a touch of spice mixed in it. ‘Thank you, I was thirsty,’ I admitted.

‘Have you been shopping all morning? Where are your goods? Did you lose them in the bustle? Shall I send Yousaff to fetch them?’

‘No, I had nothing with me. However, if you would be so kind to give a message to the captain of the dragon boat, Phaleria, and tell her I’m here. I don’t want anyone to worry about me.’

‘Excellent idea. I will go myself. A loud smash sounded from the docks as an amphora hit the wood and shattered. The trader winced, bowed low, and said, ‘I forgot to introduce myself. David, glass and papyrus trader from Byblos.’

‘I hope that it wasn’t your amphora that just broke,’ I said.

‘No, I don’t believe it was. Yousaff, guard the lady. I’ll be back shortly. Would you like a litter or some guards to accompany you to your boat?’

‘No, honestly, I feel so silly. I’ll just walk back myself when calm is restored. I would go now, but I’m pregnant, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to get pushed into the harbour.’

‘The gods blessed you! How wonderful. I congratulate your family.’ He beamed and made a sign with his hand, another god-sign that I’d never seen. I didn’t ask him what it was. It was considered rude to notice those quick motions made when the gods must be either appeased or thanked. I sipped my orange juice and relaxed, letting my gaze wander around the inside of the richly furnished boat. It was full of many beautiful glass objects: bottles; cups; perfume flasks; vases; and lamps. One lamp swung from a short chain attached to the ceiling with a little pulley, so it could be raised or lowered over the low square table in the centre of the room. The table was carved from massive wood and inlaid with ivory and coral around the edges. Precious writing materials were arranged in gilded boxes, and sheets of papyrus were carefully stacked next to them. On the floor sat four large pillows, one on each side of the table. They were covered with tapestry and embroidered with bright wool. On my right there was a bed covered with rugs and furs. Beneath it was a large wooden drawer where the glassware had been stored, and baskets woven from dark brown reeds lined the walls. There were wooden boxes carefully marked to show their contents, and a snowfall of pale woodchips on the floor attested to the fact that the fragile glass was often packed in sawdust.

Alexander had told me that the best papyrus came from Byblos, and that the Greeks called it biblos, the root of words like ‘bibliotheca’ and ‘bible’, which meant library and book. The Romans would take those words for their own, and in my time, in France for example; you went to a bibliothèque to borrow books. Parchment, vellum, and then paper would gradually replace the scrolls of papyrus, but right now the best place to buy writing materials was Byblos.

The glass was amazing too. I admired the goblet I was holding. Before the Phoenicians came along and started making glass, it had been opaque. The Phoenicians had a high percentage of quartz in their sand and the glass they made was transparent. They added different elements to make brilliant colours and were the most talented glassmakers in the world. They moulded it, spun it, cut and polished it, and made exquisite objects. Fragile, and nearly all lost to time. I contemplated a shipment of glass that would have cost a fortune in my own era. Museums would have fought wars to get the pitcher made of scintillating pink quartz glass beaded with sparkles of palest green, blue, and yellow glass along the sides. The handle was braided, made of perfectly clear glass, and the spout was carefully formed to catch the last drop.

It was a heavy object. Yousaff carried it with his two hands, and he was reverently careful when he picked it up and put it down.

I finished my juice and gave the cup back to Yousaff, who took it with a little bow. I thanked him and he nodded. ‘Would you like more?’ he asked, in cultured Greek.

My face must have reflected my surprise, because he smiled wryly. ‘I was not always a slave,’ he said. ‘My parents were rich merchants in Tyre.

‘How did you become a slave then?’ I asked.

‘When Alexander the Conqueror vanquished the city, my tribe was massacred and I was sold into slavery. I was still a child then, only thirteen years old.’

‘Alexander did that? Oh, how dreadful.’ My voice cracked.

I swore I would live to avenge my family, but fate decided otherwise. The perfidious king died nearly two years ago in Babylon, long may his shade suffer. I heard say that they forgot to put gold in his mouth, and that his funeral cortège was stolen by Ptolemy, then disappeared. He never had a funeral. I suppose I should feel satisfied, but I don’t. I feel cheated.’

I swallowed with an effort. ‘But, didn’t you take refuge in the temples?’

‘We could not; we were not Phoenicians but Greek, and their temples were closed to us. The only Greek temple was full. We fought alongside the soldiers of the city. But we were defeated, and the people who had not taken refuge in the temples were sold into slavery or executed.’

‘How dreadful,’ I whispered. ‘What about the rest of your family?’

‘I don’t know what happened to them. I was stunned by a rock,’ he pointed to a scar on his temple, ‘and when I woke up I was on a ship being taken to the coast where I was sold to a merchant. He took me to Byblos and there the glass merchant bought me. I never had the chance to find out what happened to my family.’

‘But is there a chance they are still in Tyre? Did you ever write to ask?’

He looked at me and frowned. ‘I have no idea to whom I could write. They could be slaves, and in that case, they will have new names. On the other hand, they could all be dead. I really have no idea what happened to them. Someday I will go back to Tyre and find out. Until then, I bide my time. My future is not to remain a slave. Soon I will be able to buy my freedom.’

‘What will you do then?’ I asked, torn between pity and horror.

‘What I really wish is a chance for revenge. In my tribe, revenge was the most sacred duty. He is dead, but I will curse Alexander and his family until the day I die.’ His voice was little more than a hiss at the end of his speech. At that moment, David called for him to go on an errand. Yousaff gave a little bow and left quickly.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cushions. I felt ill. The sweet juice left me nauseated, and the rocking of the boat didn’t help. Suddenly, I wanted to get off, to find Alexander, to have his strong arms around me, and hear him tell me that everything was going to be fine. Perhaps it was because I’d half started believing in gods and fate. A curse was not something to be taken lightly. My children and I were part of Alexander’s family, and therefore on the receiving end of the slave’s curse.

My heartbeat returned to normal, my stomach settled. I took a shaky breath and decided it was simply shock making me feel so nervous. I was glad when I heard Alexander's and David's voices and footsteps on the deck. I glanced at the doorway. Alexander ducked through, his face tense. When he saw me he relaxed and I saw his shoulders slump.

‘Ashley, I was so worried.’

‘I was caught in the crowd and David let me rest here.’

‘He told me about it. It was very kind of him. You look pale, are you feeling well?’ He took my hand and sat next to me. I leaned my head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly.

‘I’m all right now. I wasn’t too alarmed, not for myself at least, but I was anxious for the baby.’ I patted my tummy. ‘Shall we go back to the boat? I feel a need to rest.’

‘There’s no room in the boat. Phaleria has turned it into a boutique and her wares are unpacked. We shall have to go back to the Roman’s villa.’ He saw my look of dismay and kissed me. ‘Don’t worry; I will order a litter.’

‘Alex, we don’t have any money,’ I said in a whisper. Litters were terribly expensive. Four people carried them, and they were used by the very wealthy to get around in. Decrepit old women favoured them. So did courtesans. ‘Don’t bother about a litter. I can ride back in the chariot with Polliana.’

‘He’s gone back to the villa.’

‘Then I’ll walk. We can just go slowly.’

‘No, I won’t have you losing your babe. Remember what happened in Ecbatana? You must rest now. I’ll go find a litter and you relax. Do you want me to send you Plexis and Paul? They are helping Phaleria, but I’m sure she can spare them.’

I did remember Ecbatana, and the miscarriage that I suffered there. I had lost a baby because I’d been walking and riding too much. The memory was a painful one. I’d been so happy to have a child; Paul had been in the clutches of Darius, and I’d thought we’d never find him. Unfortunately, I’d miscarried, and my next child, a little girl, had died when she was just three months old. Now I had three children: Paul, whom we’d finally found in Nysa; Chiron, my bright-eyed boy; and Cleopatra, my little ice-maiden. A fourth baby was on the way. It was my sixth pregnancy which was a normal number of pregnancies for this era, given my age and health. Children didn’t die as easily as they would in the Middle Ages. Medicine was actually more effective; the Greeks and Arabs had many remedies. Unfortunately, science would vanish, not to be discovered again until modern times. The Middle Ages, aptly termed the Dark Ages, were years of ignorance and fear. A little ice age would make the climate a terrible hardship, and religion would make science a sin. Luckily, I was in an age of enlightenment. I patted Alexander’s arm.

‘I’ll be fine by myself. Are you sure you can pay for a litter?’ I frowned at him.

He shrugged. ‘I’ll think of something. Until then, stay here. I'll send Plexis for you.’

I peered through the doorway. The deck was empty. Had the slave seen him? I wondered, worried for some reason.

He kissed me tenderly and then left. For a minute, he stood in the doorway looking back at me, his face in the darkness of the hold. Then he disappeared into the bright sunlight. The last I saw of him was his shadow, slipping silently up the stairs.

I don’t know why I felt such tightness in my chest, as if he were going into danger. Whatever the reason, I wouldn’t be comforted. When the glass merchant came back, thankfully with Plexis in tow, I was nearly frantic with worry.

‘It’s nothing, just my nerves,’ I explained, hastily wiping my face with my hem.

The slave Yousaff looked at me queerly. Had he caught a glimpse of the man who’d conquered Tyre and destroyed his world? I hoped not. I felt completely disoriented, as if the day were a dream. I put my hand on my forehead, but no, I had no fever. Perhaps it was simply my hormones getting the better of me. In any case, I hoped it would soon pass. I stood shakily and bade the glass merchant and his slave ‘goodbye’. Plexis helped me up the stairs and held my elbow as we walked back towards the boat. Once there he made me a seat in the shade and gave me a fan made of brightly dyed egret feathers.

‘Where did you get that?’ I asked.

‘Paul found it floating in the water near the stern of the boat. Are you feeling better? We were anxious about you. I wish you wouldn’t wander around alone. Please tell me next time, I’ll accompany you.’ His handsome face was serious. For once, his eyes had lost their teasing sparkle.

I nodded. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Where has Alexander gone?’

‘To fetch a litter.’

‘How will he pay for it?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ he said with a shrug, ‘but don’t worry, he’ll think of something.’

I told him about the slave and his face grew dark.

‘Do you think he recognized him?’

‘I don’t see how. Remember, he is officially dead. Even Ptolemy hardly recognized him when he went to the palace. The slave will simply think it’s someone who looks like him. Tyre was taken when Iskander was still young. He’s changed since then. His hair is much darker and he has a different walk, thanks to his shattered ankle.’

‘That’s true,’ I said reflectively. ‘He has changed. Moreover, he’s changed since Babylon. He’s so much calmer now, so … so,’ I searched for a word.

‘Reasonable?’ Plexis asked, wrinkling his nose. ‘Is that the word you were looking for?’

I grinned wryly. ‘I would like to ask Demos how he recognized Alexander after twelve years. It was a complete surprise.’

‘Demos identified him because he knew him well. A man fighting in the heat of a battle would not.’

‘There is something about that slave though; he’s different from anyone I’ve met in this time. He gives me the impression of … oh, you’re going to think I’m foolish, but he’s like someone from my own time. He’s angry. He doesn’t feel as if he deserves to be a slave.’

‘That’s normal, no one feels as if they deserve to be a slave.’ Plexis didn’t sound concerned.

‘Yes, but they accept their fate, this man does not.’

‘You sound so sure of yourself. How long did you speak to him? A few minutes? You must have misunderstood.’

‘No, I know what I’m saying.’ I stared moodily into the water. I felt tense and wished I knew why.

The shadows grew long. Alexander didn’t reappear, and even Plexis cast apprehensive glances at the crowd milling on the docks. Paul brought me a piece of flatbread wrapped around strips of spicy fish. We had cool water to drink and a slice of watermelon for dessert. Plexis stayed with me until the sun had nearly set, then he decided to go into the city to search for his friend. However, we had no idea what had happened to Alexander and no idea where to look for him.

Phaleria would trade until it grew too dark, then she would be occupied putting everything away again. Her crew was busy as well, even with Paul and Yovanix helping as best they could. Yovanix was blind, but knew where everything went, and had memorized each corner of the dragon boat. He manoeuvred about with such ease that when I saw him I was hard put to remember he had no sight.

Demos saw Plexis leave and came to reassure me. He was a big bear of a man, but kind-hearted. Seeing my unease he put aside his chore and sat next to me for a while. He told me not to fret, but everyone had been saying the same thing to me since Alexander had left. I was still worried. Where was Alexander? Why hadn’t he returned? And where was the glass-merchant? It didn’t make sense. He should have put his wares back out on the dock, but now that the crowd had thinned I could see that there was nothing in front of his boat, and the boat itself looked deserted.

‘Demos, I’m going to go see if the glass-merchant is still there.’ I pointed towards the Phoenician’s ship.

Demos raised his eyebrows, so I explained what had happened when I’d met the slave. Now he looked startled. ‘I saw that man heading into the city right after Iskander,’ he said. ‘And the merchant left soon afterwards.’

‘They haven’t come back?’

‘No, I didn’t see them.’

‘Were they carrying their wares?’ I asked. I had overheard them talking about the salt market, so maybe they had gone there.

‘Yes, they were both carrying large bundles.’

I didn’t question his statement. He was naturally observant, and if he saw them leave then I believed him. I was still apprehensive though. ‘Tell me, Demos, when you saw Iskander for the first time in twelve years, did you have any doubts who he was?’

‘No, it was a shock, to be sure, but I had no doubts. Once you’ve seen Iskander you can never forget him. He has a glow that ordinary men do not have. He shines like the sun, and he holds his head a certain way. Even from afar, I recognized him in battle. And there, at the inn, I saw right away it was him.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ I said looking towards the city where the bells in the temple of Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva had started to ring. The sun was setting and the tiled rooftops were blood-red.

‘I’ll finish here, and then I’ll go to Rome. Perhaps I’ll discover something.’

‘Plexis left nearly two hours ago,’ I said, looking at the long shadows. I shivered. ‘I have a terrible feeling about this.’

Phaleria and Demos packed up their goods, then Demos went with Vix, Titte, and Kell into the city. Erati and Oppi slung wicker baskets over their arms and went to buy food and said they’d check the salt market to see if the glass merchant was there.

An hour dragged by. Paul sat by my side, alternately telling me not to worry, and fretting about his father.

Everyone came back with no news at all. They had looked in the taverns, they had asked everyone they’d met, and they’d even gone into the public baths.

‘I went to the salt market and saw no sign of the Phoenician,’ said Oppi regretfully. ‘But he may have sold all his goods and gone to an inn for the evening, or to one of the temples to pray.’

I thanked him for looking, and he waved away my words with his massive hands, then asked Paul if he wanted to go fishing with him. Paul cast a quick glance in my direction then nodded.

He and Oppi made a strange pair as they set off to fish. Paul looked civilized, and Oppi was a hairy, red-bearded barbarian with tattoos on his hands and arms. He also wore a heavy torque around his neck, had slung a sheepskin over his shoulders in guise of a shirt, and wore a leather kilt. They both carried fishing poles and bait, and Paul was laughing at something Oppi said.

Phaleria asked Erati to cook dinner, and the others relaxed after their busy day. Phaleria sat next to me and took my hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s all right. He’s fought battles against great odds, crossed the mountains at the end of the earth in wintertime, and survived the terrible Gedrosian desert. There’s nothing like that here!’

I looked at her and tried to smile. ‘I know, it does seem silly doesn’t it? He’s gone through so much. What could possibly happen to him here?’ Two tears trickled down my cheeks. ‘I’m afraid,’ I admitted. ‘The closer we get to Alexandria, the more frightened I become. He has gone so far and done so much. He’s lost so much. His empire, his family, his soul …’

‘We got that back,’ Phaleria reminded me seriously.

I bit my lip. ‘In my dreams he’s wearing a blindfold and there’s a strange clown standing near him.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

‘Neither do I,’ I admitted slowly, ‘but I never understood dreams.’

‘What’s a “clown”?’

‘A clown is a person dressed in bright colours who makes you laugh. Sometimes they’re funny and sometimes they’re sad. I was always afraid of them,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I wish I knew why I dream about a harlequin clown with Iskander.’

‘Perhaps you should ask Vix,’ she told me, nodding her head towards the man dressed in pale grey robes standing by the bow. He was looking up, and his sharp profile seemed etched on the darkening sky. He had long black hair, braided in a single plait that reached his waist. He shaved his beard but wore a long moustache that gave him a mournful air. He was probably looking for a sign in the sky or water that would lead us to Alexander.

Vix was a Gaul, trained as a druid, and always interpreting the signs around him. A simple bird could mean something depending on what it was doing or what sort it was, and dreams were carefully discussed. For Vix, dreams were messages from worlds that we could only get glimpses of through drug-induced trances or sleep.

I was doubtful. Even after twelve years in a world where the supernatural was matter-of-course, I still had trouble believing in dreams and oracles. Part of my mind wanted to believe, but I had been born and educated in a land ruled by machines and science. Apollo didn’t have a chance, no matter how many times he spoke to me. I would always believe that the swirling smoke in the tiny rooms was a hallucinogen. I dreamt every night, but that didn’t make the world I entered when I slept any more real, and the supernatural would always be a dream-state for me, a figment of my imagination.

I held up my hand and stared at it. One of my hands was missing at the wrist; an ivory hand was fastened onto my forearm with leather straps. It was beautifully carved and graceful. The ivory was the same fair colour as my skin, and even the nails had been carefully shaped and tinted with rose. You had to look at it carefully to perceive that it was in fact a fake hand, an illusion. I clenched my fist, but the ivory hand didn’t move. It was a chimera, as were my dreams.

Oppi and Paul didn’t take very long to catch dinner. As soon as they each landed two fish, they cleaned and filleted their catch and brought them back for Erati to cook. Oppi tousled Paul’s hair and patted his back, nearly sending him reeling off the boat. ‘A good fisherman, he is!’ he bellowed fondly.

Paul grinned, winced, and went to the back of the boat to clean his tackle. Then he looked up and gave a shout from his post at the stern. ‘It’s Plexis! He’s come back!’ I leapt to my feet, my heart pounding.

Plexis didn’t waste words. ‘I didn’t find him.’ His voice was bleak. ‘I’m sorry. I sent a message to the Roman’s villa, and I’ll go there as soon as I eat something. You stay here on the boat.’

I was shaking so badly I couldn’t answer for a moment. ‘Where could he be?’ I finally managed to whisper. No one answered. We were silent while we ate, even Demos. He sat like a taciturn mountain on the deck, his broad shoulders seeming capable of supporting the weight of the world. I wished he could lessen the weight of my disquiet. Plexis finished his bowl of fish stew and stood, wiping his mouth with his napkin. ‘I’ll be back before midnight,’ he promised, stroking my hair. ‘Don’t fuss any more, try and rest.’ He turned towards Phaleria. ‘Will you stay on board tonight or will you go to the inn?’

‘We’ll stay here. I’ll send Titte and Kell to the inn, they might hear something there.’

Plexis hesitated, then bent down and kissed my mouth. ‘We’ll find him,’ he said, ‘Iskander didn’t disappear into thin air.’ His eyes were kind.

‘Aren’t you afraid something has happened to him?’ I questioned.

‘What could possibly happen to a battle-scarred soldier in such a civilized city?’ he asked, trying to lift my spirits.

Suddenly a loud voice soared above the babble. A newscaster trotted up to the docks on a skinny piebald pony, a roll of parchment held at arm’s length in front of his face. Slaves stood in front of him and beat drums, punctuating his words. He was calling out the latest news. A clamour rose into the air, as people heard what the man was crying out. My skin suddenly prickled.

‘Did he just say what I think he did?’ I whispered. Plexis stood up slowly. On board our boat, the people who understood Latin suddenly leapt to their feet while the others tugged on sleeves and begged to know what was happening.

‘It’s not true,’ I said brokenly, ‘Oh, Plexis, tell me it’s not what I think.’

‘It’s an announcement from the Circus Maximus,’ he whispered. ‘By Hermes and Aries, what a terrible trick to play. They’re saying Iskander has returned from Hades, that he has been captured, and that he will fight tomorrow night in a special show.’

‘Is he serious? Does he believe that Alexander has come back from the dead?’ I felt as if my bones were turning to ice.

‘No, It’s a publicity stunt to sell tickets. However, we know it’s the truth, even if the public doesn’t. Iskander was captured though, that much is true. Now we know what happened to him.’

We stared at each other. ‘The slave,’ I said, ‘it was the slave. He did recognize him and he’s taken his revenge. Quickly, Plexis, we don’t have much time. Go to Augustus, tell him it’s a mistake, or tell him it’s the truth; and that if Iskander does die, Ptolemy will raze Rome. Oh, I don’t know what to do!’ I moaned.

‘Tell Demos to go to get the lanista,’ said Plexis cryptically.

‘The who?’

Plexis told me, then left. I called my son over and took his chin firmly in my hand. ‘We must keep our heads if we mean to help your father,’ I said. ‘I want you and Demos to go into the city and try to find the man who organizes the games. There must be someone in charge, and he shouldn’t be too hard to find. Could you go to fetch him?’

‘The lanista? Yes, I think that he might help us.’ Demos told me.

‘What’s a lanista?’ Paul asked.

‘The superintendent of the gladiators.’ Demos said pensively. ‘I’ll not lie to you, My Lady. If Iskander is slated to fight tomorrow, there is not much we can do to stop it.’

A few minutes later, a slender boy and a mountain of a man walked off through the gathering darkness. I watched them leave with my mouth twisted awry. The problem was ignorance. I had no idea how the Romans organized their games, how the actors were chosen, and what happened in the arena. Stories of lions, gladiators, and armed combatants sprang to mind. I started pacing, then sat down next to Phaleria and leaned against her warm shoulder.

‘Do you think he has a chance to win his fight?’ I asked.

‘It depends on whom he’s fighting,’ she said reasonably.

‘I’d like to get my hands on that slave,’ I said darkly.

‘Demos has already sent Oppi to search for him.’

I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t noticed that Oppi had left the boat. ‘When?’

‘Right after Plexis left. I think Demos wants a little chat with that slave.’

‘I suppose he thought that he was just doing his sacred duty,’ I said glumly.

‘Do you want to talk to Vix now?’ she asked.

I scratched my head. ‘Do you think it will help?’

‘He sees things others do not, even if you don’t truly believe. It can’t hurt to listen. Besides, he knows the customs of the Circus Maximus. He can tell you about them at least.’

Vix was speaking to Yovanix. I didn’t want to interrupt, but he motioned me to his side. ‘I was just going to tell Yovanix about the circus,’ he said. ‘If you want to know more, sit here and listen.’

I didn’t argue. Vix was a druid, which meant he was a teacher as well as a priest. In Gallic oppida – fortified settlements – the druids were the only ones who could read and write, letters being sacred things used to cast spells.

Vix reached into his pouch and took out a handful of dried herbs. He crushed them in his hands, releasing their sharp scent, and then tossed them to the four cardinal points, reciting a short prayer to the gods of stories and history. I asked him what herbs he used, and he let me smell them and try to guess. Mostly it was rosemary, used throughout the centuries for remembrance.

‘The story I will tell you has its roots in Greece,’ he began. ‘Before the opening of the funeral games in honour of his friend Patroclus, Achilles immolated on the funeral pyre four noble mares, two of his favourite hounds, and twelve sons of the Trojans. This version of Patroclus’s funeral would forever haunt the Etruscans.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I interrupted, ‘what do the Etruscans have to do with this? We’re in Rome, aren’t we?’

Vix peered at me, his grey eyes sharp. He didn’t mind my interruptions; he was used to my incessant questions. ‘The Etruscans were here long before the Romans. They were the ones who built the Circus Maximus, three hundred years ago. They believe that the dead live in a world contiguous with the one we live in. The dead are highly honoured in Etruscan society, and for them the funeral is almost like a rebirth. To send their loved ones off in the best possible style is one of their major preoccupations. That and music.’

‘Music?’

‘I’m getting to that. Where was I? Oh yes, Patroclus’s funeral. The Etruscans sought to enhance their mourning by raising it to the level of the Greek legend, and they consoled themselves for the mortal condition of humanity through the enchantments of music and poetry. And a furious lust for blood. The Etruscans used to sacrifice prisoners on the funeral pyres of their dead, but then they started to have them fight in front of the pyres, giving the prisoners a chance to live.

‘The current games come from an ancient and mysterious ritual. They are a manifestation of something called “The Game of Phersu.”.’

‘Phersu?’ Now Yovanix interrupted. He turned his blind face towards me and frowned. ‘I’ve heard of a phersu, it is a mask.’

‘“Phersu” means mask, yes, but it also stands for the man who wears the mask.’

A cold breeze tickled the back of my neck. ‘What man wears a mask during the games?’ I asked.

‘The Phersu. The word comes from further back in time than we can imagine. In the beginning there was the Mask, an infernal demon whose name is connected with that of Persephone, the terrible Queen of Ice and Darkness. He is the most ancient of the devils, the same devils that decorate the tombs of the Etruscans. Charon, Orcus, Tulchulcha are a few of their names, and they are present in the parade opening the games. However, Phersu is their leader and their chief. During the games he stands near the blind man and watches him die.’

I was startled. ‘The blind man? Is he really blind, or does he wear a blindfold?’ I asked, my heart beating fast.

‘He wears a blindfold. Why?’

‘In my dream I saw Iskander standing in the middle of a great clearing. He was wearing a dark sack over his head, and just behind him stood a harlequin clown. The clown stood still, simply looking on. He gave me the chills.’

‘What did he look like?’ Vix’s voice was tense; he leaned forward, taking my shoulders in his hands. ‘How was this clown you speak of dressed?’

‘He wore a short jacket, checked with alternate light and dark patches. His pants were ragged. He had a pointed hat with a little pompom on the top. And his mask was a black domino, just covering the top of his face.’ I faltered, ‘It was – it looked exactly like the harlequin clowns of my time. He couldn’t have voyaged intact through the ages, could he have?’

Vix’s hands tightened on my shoulders. Then he released them and leaned back. ‘Phersu is a very powerful demon. You have just described his costume perfectly, although sometimes he wears a Phrygian helmet, and sometimes he wears a silken beard tied onto his mask. He presides over the games and looks on without pity or emotion as the men die. He represents the horror of death, which must be vanquished by mirth, the fat demon, who will come after the massacre to chase away Phersu.’

‘What will happen tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘The ceremony starts with a parade. Then there are the games, they last until all the prisoners have fought. Then there is the closing ceremony when Phersu is chased out of the arena.

‘However, to know exactly what will happen we must find out if they are funeral games, in honour of an Etruscan citizen, or if they are the Roman games, which are mostly horse racing and fighting between professional gladiators. The Etruscans, I warn you, are a strange people. Their rituals are intimately linked with death and dying, yet at the same time they celebrate life with an almost constant outpouring of music. They play their flutes to everything, from kneading their bread to beating their slaves; everything has a set rhythm and melody. The music must be followed exactly, to vary it would destroy the delicate harmonic balance between life and death.’

‘So you’re saying that if the ceremony tomorrow is Etruscan, we will have no chance to change it?’

‘That’s what I’m saying, yes. They will do everything to appease the Phersu. Nothing must change.’

‘The Mask,’ said Yovanix, shuddering. ‘He sounds terrible.’

‘He is,’ said Vix, seriously.

The night was full of light and laughter. People walked around the docks carrying small, portable lanterns or torches. In the city, I could see slaves lighting the streetlights with long tapers. From the boat next to ours came the strains of a flute and songs accompanying a banquet.

Then came the sound of hooves clattering on stone. Someone was coming in a great hurry. It was Plexis; he slid off his lathered pony and tossed its reins to Titte, who’d jumped onto the dock to greet him. Clattering behind him came Augustus, who dismounted as well. The Roman was wrapped in an impressive purple cape and wearing his official helmet. I felt a glimmer of hope. His garb meant that he was here on authoritative business.

‘Has Demos returned yet?’ Plexis asked me, as he clambered aboard.

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘Can Augustus help us?’

‘He’s not sure. He has to speak to the lanista.’ Plexis waved to Titte, who was still holding the horses. ‘Can you find water for them?’ To me, he said, ‘When did Demos leave?’

‘Right after you did, nearly two hours ago.’

Augustus came over and patted my shoulder. ‘We rode as fast as we could.’

‘Thank you. How are Scipio and Hirkan?’ I asked.

‘Fine, just fine. They wanted to come with us, but I told them they had to wait behind. Scipio has now sworn to save Iskander …’ he faltered and lowered his voice. ‘Plexis told me that it really is Iskander, the great conqueror, back from the dead. Is it de facto? How can it be true? Did you know that some of the gladiators swear that they were soldiers in his army? Perhaps he will meet someone he knows in the arena.’

I gaped at him. Finally I said, ‘Iskander has changed. He’s not the same man who conquered Persia and went to India. When his death was announced, he was so ill that he was actually dying. We managed to save his life, but the gods banished him from his kingdom for all time. You mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone, ever. Not even to your wife.’ I figured that I would put the blame on the gods. Otherwise, Augustus would certainly think that Alexander was a coward for running away from his duty as king. However, Augustus lived in a republic. The Romans didn’t believe in kings and absolute monarchs any more than the Greeks did. They did however, believe in the gods.

Augustus scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘If the public finds out that it is truly Iskander in the arena, they will not let him leave it alive. They will have him fight against impossible odds. I should think that would be a thrilling combat, if it weren’t your husband,’ he added apologetically.

‘You seem to take this very calmly,’ I told him, folding my arms across my chest and trying to keep the acid out of my voice. A thrilling combat indeed, as if Alexander hadn’t fought enough in his life.

He gave an expressive shrug. ‘We heard many stories about King Iskander; one of them said he hadn’t died. A certain oracle insisted he had gone north to the lands of the Eaters of the Dead. Then the seer died, and the stories died with her. It was a very important oracle; she saw the future in bolts of lightning. Other stories praised his valour and strength. Most of the people won’t believe it’s really he though, you see, already at least ten other Iskanders have fought in the Circus Maximus since he died. It’s a ploy to attract spectators, nothing else, but the people expect a good actor and a good show.’

‘What happened to the other Iskanders?’ I asked.

‘They died. Not one survived the Game of Phersu.’

I closed my eyes. I’d heard all I wanted about the Game of Phersu, presided by the Mask, the horrifying minion of Persephone. ‘Well, if he’s my minion perhaps I can meet him and speak to him,’ I said with a shiver.

‘No one can meet him. No one knows who he is, even the lanista. Most think he’s a supernatural being who appears for the games and returns to the Underworld when they are finished.’

‘Oh really?’ My voice dripped ice. I felt my temper slipping. Luckily, Plexis took my elbow and drew me away with a murmured excuse to Augustus.

‘Ashley, he’s only trying to help. When the lanista gets here, Augustus will ask to have the game officially annulled.’

‘Do you think he will succeed?’

‘Do you want the truth?’ he asked gently, his eyes sad. I nodded mutely and he said, ‘no, I don’t think he will succeed. The games are too important.’

I stared at him, then turned and went down into the hold. I didn’t want to hear the lanista telling Augustus that the games would go on as planned. I didn’t want to hear the words that would condemn my husband to die, blindfolded and alone, in the middle of an arena.

Vix gave me a sleeping draught. I don’t know if it was the wisest thing I could do, but my eyes were burning and my head felt as if it were filled with ashes. I knew I would lie awake and fret, so I drank the bitter potion and curled up on a soft blanket. The slight rocking of the boat and the drink put me to sleep.

I dreamed. I dreamt I was standing in the middle of a sandy circle. Around me was darkness, but I heard the cheers and shouts of a huge crowd. I stood still. In my hand was a leash, and on the end of the leash was a huge dog, bigger than any dog I’d ever seen. It looked like a cross between a wolfhound and a mastiff. It turned its head and looked at me with glowing red eyes, drawing its lips back in a silent snarl. Sharp, white teeth were bared. The hair on its back rose in a prickly crest, and I saw its whole body vibrating as it suddenly collected itself and sprang into the air. I held onto the leash, stunned, as I saw whom the beast had attacked. Alexander stood in front of me, his hands fastened behind his back, a black hood covering his face, blind and helpless before the savage attack.

I pulled back on the leash, meaning to stop the dog, but the leash somehow became tangled around Alexander’s legs and hampered him even more. The dog bit huge chunks out of his flesh while he screamed and screamed.

The screams woke me up, but they were my own.

Plexis was shaking me, begging me to be quiet.

I sat up and drew a shaking hand across my sweaty brow. ‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped, leaning my head against his chest. ‘Did I wake everyone up? What time is it?’

‘It’s nearly dawn. No one was sleeping anyway; we’ve been talking, trying to figure out what to do.’

‘Augustus couldn’t stop the games.’ It was a statement, not a question. Plexis nodded, his chin resting on my head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, his arms tightening around my shoulders. ‘He tried his best, but he doesn’t have much power here. The games are vital.’

‘So is Iskander,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘I don’t want him to die.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Are they to be Roman games or Etruscan games?’

‘Roman. At least we have that much more hope. Augustus did promise never to tell anyone that Iskander didn’t die. If they do find out, they will hunt him down and kill him. The Romans are afraid of him. They think that if he had lived, he would have invaded Rome. Augustus says that rumour has it he was poisoned by a Roman spy.’

I stayed in his arms until the sun rose. The light seemed cruel to me. If only I could have held onto the night, in the darkness Alexander had a chance. In less than six hours, under the blazing noonday sun, he would enter the arena. During the night, Axiom returned from the Roman’s villa. With him were Scipio and Hirkan. The two boys huddled with Paul at the stern of the dragon boat. They sat together, their heads touching, speaking in hushed voices. Next to the three boys was Yovanix. He rested a light hand on Paul’s shoulder. Perilous, the puppy, lay in his lap. The sight of the hound made me shiver. My dream came back to me.

‘Can we go to the Circus Maximus?’ I asked Plexis. ‘Is there any chance of getting tickets now?’

‘Augustus took care of that last night; he used his influence to get us good seats.’

I looked at Plexis. He had deep circles under his eyes and his face was lined with fatigue. ‘You must be exhausted,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘You searched for Iskander all evening, then you rode to the villa and back again. You’ve been up all night …’

‘We’ve been keeping vigil,’ he said, his smile wan.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I should have stayed with you. I was a coward, I preferred to sleep, I didn’t want to face the hours dragging by.’

‘That’s good, at least you’ll be able to stay awake for the games now,’ he said, trying for a joke. His eyes filled with tears though, and I pulled him to me.

‘Oh, Plexis, don’t cry. We’ll think of something, and even if we don’t, I’m sure Iskander will. He’s so strong; he’ll dazzle us all with his victory. He’ll vanquish his opponent and stand gloriously in the blinding sun while we cheer ourselves hoarse. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Lie down beside me and rest your head on my lap. I’ll tickle your back for you while you rest.’

I stroked his hair, slipping my hand beneath his tunic to rub his back. After a while, his breathing evened out and he slept. I sat with his head on my lap while the sun coloured the sky progressively rose then gold. Dawn gave way to morning, as Eos, goddess of the dawn, opened the gates to the heavens, and Helios drove the chariot of the sun onto the great arc of the sky.

Axiom sat beside me, nodding silently. He too looked tired and worried, but he smiled bravely and touched my cheek. ‘Don’t worry,’ he mouthed, ‘he’ll be fine.’

‘I hope so,’ I whispered. Then we were quiet as Rome woke up.

On the docks, the first sounds were the screeching of the gulls. They flew overhead, on their way towards the open sea, and they called to each other with shrill cries. Afterwards, the breeze picked up and the waves began to slap against the sides of the boats. Voices rose above the sound of the water as the crews awoke. Some prayed in singsong voices, welcoming the sun and the morning. Others greeted the day with gestures, filling chalices with water or wine and scattering the droplets to the four winds before offering the contents to the gods. Axiom knelt and said a heartfelt prayer to his one god, while Vix led Titte and Kell in a prayer to Lug, Celtic god of the sun. Yovanix prayed to Lug as well, and so did Phaleria. Demos prayed to Mazda, and Plexis, when he awoke, offered a cup of water to Zeus and Apollo. Paul, who had been educated by Axiom at my request, knelt and prayed next to him. I was the only godless person aboard, probably the only atheist in Rome. It only bothered me a little. I had been raised in a world that had no gods. Man had killed god, science had killed religion, and knowledge had killed the supernatural. Here though, I was free to believe what I liked. Everyone’s beliefs were respected, even my unbelieving.