The port of Leptis looked like an anthill. Dozens of merchant ships of different sizes were berthed in the docking area while men and cargo moved back and forth along the piers, trying not to lose their balance as they walked along the stone and brick barriers. The heaviest boats were pulled by pairs of oxen led by perpetually agitated workers, and gigantic olive-skinned slaves constantly dragged bags of grains and barrels of wine and oil from ships to the horrea, trying to make their way through the wagons that transported fruit and vegetables to the forum holitorium. A rainbow of colours that reached its blazing peak in the silk clothes worn by the young prostitutes, who tried to draw attention to themselves in the chaos of voices and noises with their eloquent poses.
“B… but… why… why do we have to… do th… this job? It’s sl… slave work,” said Assum, scratching one of his pointed ears as he studied the immense variety of vegetables displayed on the cart. The face of the merchant who was observing him had gradually gone through a variety of expressions which had ranged from keen interest to evident irritation, passing on the way through boredom and compassion.
Sibiam continued to rummage through the goods. “Perhaps, but shopping at the market promotes concentration and calms the passions.” He chose three cabbages with an inviting appearance and handed them over to the merchant who finally removed his gaze from the boy.
“I do-… don’t have pass-… passions.”
The dark-skinned giant looked the boy up and down from head to toe. Despite the passage of time he could not have defined him differently. For several years, Assum had grown just like his peers but then, suddenly and inexplicably, his growth had slowed. Doctors and healers had given different and conflicting opinions, but their verdicts had not changed the course of events: Assum was an apprentice metal manipulator who had the experience of a young adult but the body of a child. And that stammering, which gave him an air of perpetual embarrassment, could not hide the fact that his head too had decided to grow at the same speed as his body.
“Not yet,” he replied absently, “but in a while you will. And anyway, it is always useful to know how to recognise the difference between a cabbage and spring greens in the desert.” He took the basket the merchant had handed him and thanked him with a nod.
“But I’m a… I’m a manipulator of me… metals, not a slave. And any… anyway, there aren’t any ve… vegetables in the desert,” he protested.
“For the moment you are just a brat who hopes to become a manipulator of metals, and in any case,” added Sibiam, peering around them, “hold your tongue, especially when we are around other people.”
Leptis was the main maritime trade centre for spices, slaves and exotic animals in the whole sub-Saharan area – a port city in constant turmoil where confusion reigned perennially and where anyone could pass unnoticed. A city where you could live in the light of the sun but which also hid a surprising underground world whose activities were perhaps even more frenetic. That was why Octavian Augustus had chosen Leptis the Magnificent for the main castrum of his nameless legion. The secret had been well kept until then, but Sibiam knew that the increasingly numerous small pupils walking around the city represented a latent risk. It was difficult to control the impulsiveness and inexperience of young recruits who were convinced that they would soon be able to turn the world upside down.
Assum took the basket from his master’s hands and the two walked towards the Decuman road.
“Loo … look how many so-… soldiers there are,” Assum said suddenly, pointing to the port.
A long quinquereme had docked in the military zone and an orderly line of dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of Roman legionnaires with white cloaks were emerging from it in silence. Upon their white shields was a large gold scorpion.
“Praetorians?” asked Sibiam aloud. “What are so many of them doing in Leptis?”
The swarming crowds which until then had clogged the port area opened up like the surface of a calm sea under the prow of a ship to allow the passage of the emperor’s chosen soldiers. People tried to avoid brushing up against them and even turned their eyes away. Created by Augustus as a personal guard, the Praetorians did not enjoy a good reputation either among civilians or among the military. They were said to be mostly patricians’ sons who, instead of spitting blood on the front lines, earned double what their comrades did just to guard the temples and spas. In reality many Praetorian cohorts had often engaged in battle and with excellent results but gossip usually dominates the facts. Sibiam’s question, however, remained unanswered: why had the Praetorians landed in Leptis?
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” a voice called after them. Sibiam turned and saw the vegetable merchant standing there with his open hand held out.
“You’re right, my friend,” Sibiam said, slapping his forehead, “I haven’t paid you.” He rummaged in the leather bladder that he carried over his shoulder then, looking embarrassed, raised his head. “Assum, you have the money, right?” he asked, taking the boy by the arm.
“Me? Ah … ah … yes of c- … of course.”. The boy looked around him, bent down to put the basket on the ground and stood up holding a bag of jingling coins. Without saying a word, he handed it over to Sibiam.
“How much do I owe you?” asked the metal manipulator. “Two…”
“Thief!” A shrill voice cut cleanly through the air. “Thief!”
Sibiam turned towards the voice, the bag of money in his hand in plain sight. A woman’s eyes stared at him. The brown-skinned giant raised his right arm and to his surprise realised that all eyes were on him.
“That man stole my money!”
“Your…?” Sibiam looked in puzzlement at the bag of coins and then looked at Assum. “Boy, don’t tell me that…”
“I … I … I had for-… forgotten it and…”
Sibiam realised that half a dozen gendarmes were approaching, alerted by the woman’s cries and the gestures of the vegetable merchant. He threw the bag of coins into the cart and grabbed Assum by the shoulder. “How many times have I told you not to use your powers for personal gain?”
“But…”
The boy didn’t have time to explain himself. He only realised that they were running away when he saw that his feet were at least a foot from the ground, because his master was carrying him as if he were a shopping bag. “What ab… about the ca… cabbage?”
Their escape did not last long. Once they had crossed the market square Sibiam and his student came face to face with a human wall of shields and swords. The guard commander came forward shaking his head.
“Damn it,” Sibiam exclaimed, “the whole city cohort of city guards for a bagful of vegetables.” The black giant sighed and reached into the folds of his tunic. “Don’t worry, I have a pass here signed by the Emperor. Augustus knows me personally.”
“Of course he does,” replied the chief of the guards as his men pinned Sibiam’s hands behind his back, “and my father was Cleopatra’s lover.”
Sibiam cursed between his teeth as the wagon into which they had been shoved jerked along the bumpy road. His tied hands prevented him from changing positions and his back kept banging against the wooden sides like a drumstick against a drum. Assum had been silent since the guards had captured them, and tried to hide his occasional bouts of tears.
“Don’t worry,” said Sibiam heartily, “we will be home again by this evening.”
“It… it was a… all my fault.”
“Perhaps, but there’s no point thinking about that now. You’re able to control your powers pretty well now, though,” Sibiam commented with a satisfied smile. “Obviously I am an excellent teacher.”
“It wasn’t that difficult …” replied Assum with a grimace. “The pur… purse was hanging from that woman’s belt… it was t… too…”
“Too inviting.”
The boy’s laughter infected the adult beside him, but when Sibiam peeked out of the wagon the laughter died in his throat.
The castrum of the city guard was located not far from the outskirts of the city but to reach it, it was necessary to pass in front of the amphitheatre and cut across the Decuman road. To avoid traffic, the wagon had gone around the port area and then taken a series of secondary streets. Once it reached the main road, though, it had been forced to stop to let another convoy pass.
Sibiam recognised the praetorians who had disembarked at the port in the morning. He counted at least a hundred of them, in three parallel rows. They were led by an officer on horseback, and by his side was a man riding a mule, his face hidden by a long hooded sagum. Through a crack in the canvas covering that the wind kept blowing open, Sibiam managed to catch a fleeting glance of the hooded man’s face.
“That’s Dagos, the new master,” he whispered. “Why has he left the fortress unprotected? And what is he doing with those praetorians?”
After the military convoy had passed, the chariot began to move towards the guardhouse while the Praetorians went in the other direction. “They’re going out of town,” said the metal manipulator, thinking aloud. “South. But there is nothing south of Leptis apart from our fortress.” Then he stopped with his mouth open. He turned abruptly but the Praetorians were already hidden by the canvas cover of the wagon, which continued to make its slow way.
“Assum, I don’t know how, but we have to get home as soon as possible.”