by C C Taylor
But of course it wasn’t.
Chapter Three
Owls
Over two months had now gone by since he’d been dragged from his home, during which Skip had come to know several things; the map of the night sky was alien to him. He could only speak one language. He could not tell you which way south was. Or how to live off fruits of the desert. He could only survive in one environment…and it wasn’t ships, or army camps, or battles, or roaming through wilderness. The lure of home had never been so great. But, as we know, he had no means of getting there.
Hanno finally told him his story. Once the African campaign was certain to be launched from Italy, he knew in his mind that he would trick his way into the Roman legions, he was another good mimic and picked up languages easily. He had himself pass for a Thracian at one point! (They can pick you up on your bad Latin but Thracian, they barely know what it sounds like even if they’ve served there). And then he would desert at the first chance after arriving in his home land.
This story almost shocked your great, great uncle. He would never have said he was a stuck-up Stoic or anything, but you can’t just go spraying solemn vows around like cheap wine…
“Do your oaths mean nothing to you?” Skip asked him. “When you enter the army you swear allegiance to the emperor.”
“What do you mean, Roman? That if I then swear allegiance to anyone else, I am necessarily a traitor? I cannot change my mind?”
“Don’t take it badly, Hanno, I just wonder what would be the point of an oath, if you could change it later…”
“Once made, made forever…is that what you think?”
“Yes.”
“Despite what you may say or think later?”
“Yes. That is my understanding of an oath.”
“Good. Because I made my oath to my father, when I was old enough to understand. To fight the invaders, to maintain our tribe. All the usual, you know…”
“Your old man was Carthaginian, I’m guessing.”
“You know there is no such thing anymore.”
“And you know what I mean.”
Hanno’s eyes narrow.
“And how do you plan to fight Caesar now?” Skip asks.
“The battle is never over. If Scipio was making for Hispania, that is because there is aid in Hispania. That was also part of our Carthage once, you know, and like here, a few spores escaped the grasp of Caesar and have been waiting for a confrontation. I will go there and join them. And you? What are you going to do? You say you can’t go to Rome.”
“I only know how to entertain. In Latin.”
“Then if you cannot return to Rome, you should go to the centre of the world, where all the people are.”
“And where is that?”
“Don’t you know? It was Zeus – ‘Dzhoo – pi – toh!’ you lot say – who discovered where the centre of the world was. He set the two eagles flying, one from either end of the lands, to see where they met…”
“Oh, you mean Delphi.”
“Good. You’re not as ignorant as I feared.”
“But how do you know these myths?”
“Before I was captured, I travelled freely as a merchant between here, and Lilibaeum and Syracuse, and also, after an encounter with pirates, as a slave. And then where you met me, playing the part of the Roman soldier with my few words of Thracian. I too am an actor it seems. And why should it surprise you that I know that story? It is not Roman. Like most things that are not African, it is from Greece.”
“I have no idea how to get to Greece, Hanno. Are you going to take me? I don’t even speak Greek.”
“It is not impossible. I can get to Syracuse easily but there I must leave you. Good weather is here soon. We can go by fisherman’s boat at night. From there I’ll find a way to get to Old Carthage in the very west. You may not believe it as we live in tents and prefer to travel, but we desert people trade ivory, gold and spices. These are brought from the south. We sell them on to the people over the sea. We are rich but we do not appear to be so.”
“But you live from hand to mouth from one day to the next.”
“Is there a better way to live?”
“I’m telling you, Hanno, man, there is. It’s called taverns and lyres, and loud music and buxom slave girls pouring the wine, and the odd fist fight. You people might be happy with this shit, but I have to go back, if not to Rome, then… (He nods his head). You’re absolutely right. A city. A place with people and life. Delphi’s a small town, isn’t it? How about Athens? I might even know people in Athens, eh? When the actors get some kind of name in Rome, they fuck off over to where they’re ‘appreciated’. I think that means ‘paid more’. But they might be there, some of my old ‘successful’ ex-colleagues.”
“Then I hope one day you return to your pleasures. I will at least set you on your way. My wealth, for the moment, is stored in the network of friends I have and the favours I am owed. And the bangue of course, which you people do not enjoy. In fact, speaking of this matter, there may be a way for both of us to come out of this well. You were taken captive and forced into the army you said earlier…?” He half questions.
“Yes,” Skip affirms for the hundredth time.
“So you took no oath either?”
Skip waits a cautious few seconds before answering.
“No, I didn’t. What of it?”
“Maybe I can trust you to deliver something for me. I only need a parcel and a message to be delivered to Greece. But first I must ask you, as an un-oathed man, to swear an oath to Carthage.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I will pay you. First, though…an oath of secrecy. Without that I will tell you no more…”
But though, Skip made a show of going through a moral dilemma, Hanno had said the magic word ‘pay’ so after a suitable amount of time, he agreed to do it.
“Vale, as you people say,” said Hanno, when Skip had sworn his ‘oath’ (some mumbo jumbo in a language he didn’t understand). “So we will leave this land together. It is as well for you. There is no leader here now, we are surrounded by hostile troops…if I am to count for anything, I must move west. And you cannot stay here, nor do I think you would wish to come to another desert for another go at Caesar, though I tell you this time we will topple him. The Hispanic tribes have been bled dry by the Romans and hate them. They will help. And in Rome, Caesar’s enemies will push him out in any case. But none of that interests you, of course…”
“Hanno, I’m not a… I-I…politics…you know, I’m just, I’m just an ordinary bloke who…I was just doing a gig when they threw me onto a ship and pushed me onto a horse in front of an elephant and…for the love of Juno…politics…fuck. I know nothing of politics. I just make people laugh.”
“Well don’t worry, then, cry baby. I’ll get you to Syracuse, but then you’re on your own. I owe you no more than that.”
“I don’t know who owes who what, Hanno, friend, but how about you make another of your little pipes and we can use the smoke to do some strategic thinking?”
Hanno thinks this is hilarious and laughs. But complies with the request soon after and they smoke until they fall asleep.
And that is how, in exchange for some silver, some bangue and some clothes, Skip became Gratianus Laurentius Cassius, dealer in owl brains for nourishment and wisdom (in their language, ‘owl’ was ‘Glauks’ and this was his way of remembering it; G – Lau – Cs). And if anybody asked, he was on his way to Athens to meet some important owl-brain dealers. Very few asked further questions.
Now, he never did tell me exactly what information he had to convey to the African in the port, but I imagine he had no idea what political intrigue he was getting himself into. At any rate, feeling no loyalty to the army that had pressed him into service, pushed him to the front of the battle and abandoned him, he didn’t feel too many qualms about taking whatever message Hanno had for him to relate. And a big bag of special smoking mixture.
Now, while your
uncle was wandering like a bedouin through the tent villages and towns of Africa, all kinds of things were happening back in Rome. I would have been…about thirty, same as Skip…so while he was thinking he’d drawn the short straw, living off dates, milk and yoghurt, and now and then, a bit of sheep or camel, his beloved Metella and myself were back here trying not to get caught up in the crossfire of all this ‘politics’ Skip so rightly despised.
It was almost a relief, when JC got back to impose some order on the city. And anyone who was there remembers that time. After the Lord of Misrule’s second stab at a reign of terror, us Romans couldn’t get enough of JC. And at first it was all festivities with what seemed like weeks and weeks of games and circuses…and to top it all off, The Four Triumphs in One (Skip’s idea, remember!), though it has to be said the bit about Cato literally spilling his own guts, didn’t go down too well. Whatever else Cato was, he was still a Roman, after all. And seeing the Egyptian queen, Arsinoe, in chains was a bit tacky, we all thought, though she was a bitch by all accounts, like her more famous sister. That said, tacky though they may have been, your great aunt Claudia, got trampled to death in the rush to see these shows, as did hundreds more, so you can’t say they weren’t popular. Yet little by little, the people began to sense a change in Caesar…never ‘rex’, he insisted, but there were bits of his behaviour that were distinctly, ‘rexy’ even then.
For example, I happened to be watching one of Decimus Laberius’s plays…you won’t know him but your uncle used to work with him. That was an odd affair. Caesar had insisted, that Decimus himself play the part of a Syrian slave. Why? Was it to humiliate him? No one could figure it out, but there the poor chap was up on the skene reciting his own lines… Well, I’ve seen Skip wriggle out of some difficult situations, but old Decimus was right up to the job there. Just when he came to the line ’he who many fear must fear many’, he gave a crafty little look over at JC that everybody saw, but nobody could have sworn to have seen.
Not everyone was happy with the expense of the festivities, either. Least of all, the Roman soldiers who were due their pensions and could see them all being burned away like incense before their eyes. I was at the forum, when Caesar received a complaint from two of them. They were marched off STRAIGHT AWAY for execution. No trial, not even one of those pantomimes we’re used to seeing. Glances were exchanged, but nobody said anything. Nobody dared.
More strange things that are now almost forgotten; By Caesar’s orders, two humans were buried as sacrifice in the Temple of Mars. Humans! Well I can’t remember a human sacrifice, Marcus…I really don’t know the last time. We’d use chickens normally. Sometimes a bull. But human sacrifice? That went out years ago. That’s the sort of thing the barbarians still do in Africa.
That’s what was said about the Africans back then, that they were all barbarians, uncivilised…a menace. So we’d all know how much of a good job it was that we’d smashed the Carthaginian savages beyond repair. But, look, when your great, great uncle finally made it back…and he does…he told me a different story about life in the Great Land to the south of Mare Nostrum. So let’s join him there.
Unfortunately, knowing how much Skip enjoys a sea voyage, we find ourselves on a ship again. This time, however, the ship is bound for Syracuse, the waters are still and the going is pleasant, and to make the voyage pleasanter still, both he and his Numidian/Carthaginian pal are armed with pipes, your uncle’s for blowing down and Hanno’s for sucking on, and they spent much time using both until a ship was due to sail, during which the Greek alphabet was drummed into uncle Skip’s head. Thus prepared, Hanno thinks, he can receive the Greek language easily. But it doesn’t go to plan and he gets frustrated often.
One day – and this must have stuck in Skip’s head for some reason, as he recounted it all to me, as it were, word for word – Hanno flew into a rage at your great-great’s ineptitude. To be fair, he’d only ever spoken the common Latin of the barrio, and as people who speak no Greek reply when asked if they speak any Greek, ‘some Greek’.
So anyway, there he was struggling with the language one day, when the African lost his patience and made him repeat the conjugation again. Then, Skip after the fifteenth repetition of δοκέω in all its conjugations (unadvisedly), blurted out.
“Why can’t the world speak Latin?”
Normally calm, today the African lashes back.
"Now can you see why we hate you filthy Romans?
You can’t even manage three sentences in the true world language, yet you force us to use your own. I mean, why do you even come into our lands? Why do you put up your temples there? Make us speak Latin? You call this sea the Mare Nostrum, now, with your arrogance. Mare Nostrum; Our Fucking Sea." (He’s picked up your uncle’s favourite adjective, as you can see). “And now I have to sit here and listen to the language of Socrates mangled into nonsense. Now that we’re heading back from the animal creatures who live in Africa, back to your fine Mediterranean ways, why don’t you remind me what is so fine about your Roman ways that we should all be like you? You’ve spent time with the Romans! How are they? Clean? Educated? And I believe you’ve even got to know some of Caesar’s finest troops. How did they strike you? Did you discuss Ovid much? Metaphysics maybe?”
“Has a lobster crawled up your arse?”
“I am trying to help but your head is too thick.”
“Thick how? I have no education, but so what? I’ve only ever lived in one suburb of Rome. And one day an armed guard is sent to get me. There was no escape. I thought I would be dead by now. Where was I stupid, Hanno? Which bit did I do wrong?”
“Very well, I am calm now. It is not your fault. In fact, I find you very mild. You swear a lot like the soldiers, but in your essence I think there is more to you. Maybe you will discover it in Athens.”
“I don’t know why you think my fortune is to be made there of all places. I’ve heard it’s full of pueri delicati and concubine…maybe you Africans don’t know what they are. Filthy stuff, in any case.”
“When we arrive at Syracuse,” Hanno continues, ignoring him, “you can make your own way to Greece by boat from the north east coast. Don’t go to the big ports in the south. Take any ship to Astakos and when you’re there, before you give him the packet, give the yard master this,” and he hands Skip an amulet with a simple figure on it; a horizontal line for arms, above it a circle for the head and below the line a large triangle. “Don’t let anyone else see it. When you get there it’s overland to Athens. If you’re in luck Hamilcar, he’s the guy, might give you some more money to help you on your way. If it isn’t Hamilcar, you wait for him and say nothing to nobody.”
“And for the journey, how about a little of that, er…? That stuff that we Romans don’t like.”
“If you ask nicely.”
“And how far is it to Athens?”
“From the port? I’d say some two hundred of your Roman miles.”
“Two hundred? That’s…ten days walking.”
“If your sandals last,’ sighs Hanno, looking down at them.”
“Well I suppose I should thank you after all, though I find myself on the run and exiled.”
“You will return to Rome one day.”
“You could have just killed me instead of taking me on as baggage.”
“Yes. But you were too big a prize. My plan was to sell you to Juba.”
“What?” Skip suddenly unclasps.
“Of course!” Hanno is surprised. “I sell you to Juba and I am very rich.”
“You cocksucker!”
“What is problem?” The African shrugs. “You never see King Juba. If you live there it is magnificent. And you live as a musician. I can imagine no better life. I have no gift for music and art.”
“So you were going to sell me like a goat? Like an elephant?”
“How was your life in Rome?”
“It was fine! I was happy! Drunk most of the time… I’m a musician, that’s how I earn my money…and a clown, also
, you’ve seen…”
“You can live by this in Rome?” Hanno sounds greatly astonished.
“Not just that…I do what I did at the camp fire…I fool around.”
“And, people pay you?”
“I was very popular at one time.”
Hanno bursts into stomach-clutching laughter.
“You see, that’s what I sell,” says Skip. “Laughter. It’s good for you.”
“Yes, yes (still laughing) Laughing is good. I thought this was your false story, maybe you are a spy, an informer like me… I wondered. You are such a bad actor.”
“I’m not only an actor…in fact, you haven’t seen half of what I can do…” (I can just see Skip laughing this all off but inwardly feeling quite insulted).
Hanno again; (Still laughing) “An actor.”
Skip gives up. When Hanno’s mirth subsides, Skip has another question.
“So you didn’t think to ask me if I wanted to be a slave.”
“It is not really slave. You would have woman also and they are very beautiful.”
“Yes, I saw some of them you used as decoys to trap us. I would have one of them. But what am I saying? I have a wife in Rome. My parents pushed me at her…not that their family’s done any better than ours over the years… Anyhow, she’s all right compared with what most men have to put up with.”
More complicit smiles from Hanno, which neither acknowledge nor deny.
“You think I laid a trap for you, but only because your Caesar rescued you. If he had not come, you would have left with us.”
“I was having a good time, yes, but that doesn’t mean…”
“In your heart you wished to be with the Numidians. Your destiny was thus, as soon as I saw that you had the mark on you.”
“Vale, then. Let’s end this conversation. Let’s pretend that I did. The important thing is that I’m still alive, against the odds, so let’s give thanks to Astarte or whoever you want for that.”
“Good. So you will be well from now on when I leave you?”
“I can juggle for food when my ‘wages’ run out.”
