‘My brother fooled them,’ said Nitocris, smiling. ‘Now what do we do?’
‘Escape, first,’ said Flaminius. He didn’t think for a second that it would be easy. ‘Then we have to find that assassin and stop him. If we can get on Crassus Piso’s trail... He said something about a journey by water…’
‘Come on then,’ said Ozymandias, and again they hurried up the passage.
At the top of the steps they halted, hidden by shadows thrown by the fiery torches below. The palace was a hive of frenetic activity, with guards racing back and forth, spears at the ready. Gabinius Camillus’ powerful voice was audible: ‘Twenty drachmas to the man who brings me the fugitive, dead or alive…’
Flaminius looked at Ozymandias. ‘This doesn’t seem like a good time.’
‘We’ll have to wait,’ the Egyptian said. ‘My sister told them you’d gone in the direction of the street. In which case, that’s where they’ll be heading.’
Soon silence descended on the corridors of the palace. Flaminius ventured out into the main passage. Outside, the sun was almost at noon. There was no time to waste.
‘This way,’ he said, and still gripping his stolen sword he led them towards the back of the palace. A backdoor led through a court and in the direction of the harbour. He explained this to his companions as they hurried through the palace.
But even as he was leading them through the main hall, doors burst open on either side and in swept a group of civic guards. At their head strode Marcus Atilius.
‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘I never trusted a word you said, tomb robber,’ he added, addressing Ozymandias. ‘Now I see that you’ve stooped as low as to consort with rebels and assassins.’ He clicked his fingers and the civic guards marched across the gleaming mosaic floor, spears levelled.
‘Back!’ Flaminius shouted, gesturing Ozymandias and Nitocris to retreat the way they had come. As the civic guards neared, he lunged at the closest with his sword, feinted, swung at another. They scattered out of his way.
‘Seize him!’ Marcus Atilius yelled from a tactical position at the rear. ‘What’s wrong with you? He’s only one man!’
Flaminius turned and ran from the hall before anyone could obey. Ozymandias and Nitocris followed him.
Out in the passage, Flaminius paused to slam the doors shut. ‘Help me with this,’ he told Ozymandias, indicating a large bolt in the door. They wrestled it into place while Nitocris kept watch up the passage. It slammed into place, sending dust clouds rising. The civic guards inside the hall began trying to smash the doors down.
‘Hurry,’ Nitocris called.
Flaminius turned, sword still clutched in his hand. ‘We’ve got to get to the harbour,’ he panted. He led them down the passage towards the main doors as spear butts and fists banged and clattered on the inside of the doors.
‘But Gabinius Camillus went that way…’ Ozymandias was halfway through the sentence when they heard marching footsteps coming up the steps outside.
‘In here,’ said Flaminius, gesturing at the door they were passing.
It led to the dining chamber that had been converted into an office for the commander and his scribes. The latter were all sitting up, staring at the three who had just entered. Flaminius, sword gripped firmly, put a finger to his lips for silence. He closed the door to a crack as armoured figures flooded the hall. Gabinius Camillus marched past.
‘Marcus Atilius! Where are you, man? There’s no sign of the assassin outside… What’s this?’
‘The doors are locked from this side,’ reported a centurion. ‘It seems some of our men are trapped on the other side.’
‘I can see that!’ Gabinius Camillus snapped. ‘Don’t they have the initiative to go around a different way? Oh, just get these doors open!’
Flaminius peered out. Gabinius Camillus and his civic guards were clustered round the doors to the main hall. He turned to Ozymandias and Nitocris.
‘This is our chance. Now!’
On tiptoes, they crept out of the room where the quiescent scribes sat in silence. From what Flaminius knew of their salaries, he doubted any thought himself well paid enough to be a hero. He followed Ozymandias and Nitocris to the main doors and they went down the empty steps into the harsh light of noon.
‘To the harbour,’ Flaminius urged them again.
The bolt was lifted, the doors to the hall burst open. Civic guards flooded out, Marcus Atilius among them, setting upon the men who had rescued them. Gabinius Camillus bellowed for order as the palace descended into a scene of riot.
‘What is this? The Alexandrian civic guard or a comedy troupe?’ His face was purple. ‘I haven’t seen such a farce since I last went to the Odeum! The prefect wants this man apprehended. He’s a dangerous fugitive and conspirator against his imperial majesty! He must be found and apprehended at once. And you don’t need to worry too much about taking him alive, cut the fellow down in the street if need be. And between you and me, it would suit me.’
Marcus Atilius marched up and saluted. ‘Sir, he was here,’ he gasped.
‘Here?’ Gabinius Camillus barked. ‘All I saw was a bunch of fools who’d got themselves locked up. Didn’t you think to go around? This isn’t the only way out of the hall, you dolt.’
‘Sir, he locked us in here,’ Marcus Atilius said. ‘We encountered him here but when we pursued him, he ran out here and locked us in.’
‘This isn’t sounding good, man,’ Gabinius Camillus said threateningly. ‘You can forget any chances of promotion. Where is he now?’
‘He went that way.’ Marcus Atilius pointed back down the passage.
Gabinius Camillus shook his head. ‘Absurd. I’ve just come that way. No sign of the fellow.’
‘He went that way, commander,’ Marcus Atilius reiterated. ‘And not just him—those two Egyptians were with him.’
‘Sir…’
Gabinius Camillus wheeled round. Another Egyptian had crept up behind him. For an instant he thought it was the imperial agent, Ozymandias. Then he recognised the skinny, brown skinned man as his chief scribe. ‘What is it, Sesonchosis?’
‘They came into our office, sir,’ said the scribe obsequiously. ‘They hid there while you went past, then went.’
‘Into the office?’ Gabinius Camillus shouted, and the chief scribe quailed. ‘Why didn’t you stop them?’
‘Sir,’ said the chief scribe, peering round his big nose in a dignified manner. ‘One of them was armed. We are not obliged to endanger our own lives.’
Gabinius Camillus struck the scribe across the face. ‘That man’s a sworn enemy of the emperor! You should have given your lives trying to stop him!’
‘Where did he go?’ Marcus Atilius said.
Sesonchosis shrugged. ‘He did not vouchsafe his destination to we scribes.’ The Egyptian betrayed no discomfort at the welt that glowed on his cheek.
‘Sir,’ said a young civic guard excitedly, ‘I think I heard them say that they were going to the harbour.
—29—
Flaminius halted. Behind them was the Museum and the Library, ahead of them the harbour stretched as far as the Heptastadion, the long causeway that led out to the island of Pharos, where legend said many-faced Proteus had dwelt in the days of Menelaus. The causeway also cut off the Small Harbour from the greater, the Harbour of Happy Return, which thronged with commercial sea traffic to the west.
The sweep of the shore was crowded with temples and palaces, round to the Great Harbour, which led out to the sea. It was enclosed by an arm of land on the right, incorporating causeways and piers, and more piers on the left, joining to Pharos the smaller island containiing the great lighthouse that held that island’s name. Both the Small Harbour and the Great Harbour beyond it were thick with ships.
‘This is where the emperor will come ashore.’ Flaminius gestured at the two harbours this side of the Heptastadion. ‘He will want to go to the Brucheium first before proceeding to the amphitheatre.’
Ozymandias was
shading his eyes. ‘Either he’s late,’ he said, ‘or he should already be on his way. It’s almost noon!’
‘What are we going to do?’ Nitocris asked as crowds surged around them, embarking and disembarking from ships and boats. ‘Those civic guards will be searching the city for us.’
‘Only for me,’ Flaminius said reassuringly. ‘I’m the only one they think is an assassin.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Ozymandias. ‘Marcus Atilius saw us with you. He never trusted me, not since the days I was a tomb robber. Even now I’m a freedman I still have that hanging over me. A good reputation is priceless, they say. Well, it seems I’m still destitute…’
‘My brother’s right,’ said Nitocris. ‘We’re all on the run. We’re together in this.’ She slipped her hand into Flaminius’. When she saw her brother’s expression, she slipped her other hand into his.
‘In which case,’ said Ozymandias, impatiently disengaging his hand, ‘we’ve got no time for canoodling. We’d better find Arctos and…’
‘And stop him,’ said Flaminius firmly, although he had no notion of how he would achieve this. He had concealed the short sword beneath his tunic, and the cold steel was icy against his warm flesh. Through the fabric, he closed his fingers round the hilt. ‘But where is he?’
There was a sudden blinding flash from the Pharos lighthouse. A collective murmur rose from the people thronging the quay. Nitocris covered her face. ‘What’s happening?’ she wailed.
Ozymandias shaded his eyes again and peered at the lighthouse. The light had turned now and was shining out to sea again. ‘I don’t know,’ he told her. ‘The lighthouse crew must be carrying out some kind of maintenance. Strange time for it. Or are they signalling to the emperor? His ship must be in sight from up there…’
‘Or is it something else?’ said Flaminius grimly, the glimmerings of an idea dawning in his mind. ‘We need a boat, straightaway.’
Even as he spoke, there was a clatter of hobnails and civic guards appeared at the far end of the crowded quay.
‘A boat?’ said Ozymandias, distracted. ‘To get away?’
‘No,’ said Flaminius. ‘To get to the lighthouse. Look!’ he added. Ozymandias turned.
Flaminius was pointing at the shores of the small island on which the lighthouse stood. Several boats were moored there, but Ozymandias couldn’t see what was so strange about that. They must belong to the lighthouse crew, or maybe to visitors. The titanic edifice, twelve or more stories high, must require people to maintain it.
Nitocris grabbed his wrist. ‘Hurry!’
The civic guards were forcing their way through the crowd towards them. Ozymandias went with her, after Flaminius.
The imperial agent spoke to the skipper of a small pleasure cruiser. As Ozymandias and Nitocris joined them, sunlight flashed from Flaminius’ brooch which he produced from beneath his tunic.
‘…gives me the authority,’ the imperial agent was saying, ‘to requisition your craft and your own services. You’ll be reimbursed for any losses in due course by the Commissary.’
‘But I’m waiting for the owner,’ said the skipper, a black bearded man with the look of a Tyrian or Carthaginian. ‘Can’t you requisition another vessel? There are plenty to choose from!’
‘Flaminius,’ said Ozymandias urgently. The civic guards were nearing. Marcus Atilius could be heard shouting something.
‘Do those people know you?’ the skipper asked wonderingly.
Flaminius pushed past and jumped down into the boat. The crew gaped up at the newcomer. Ozymandias and Nitocris bustled the skipper after him.
‘Cast off aft,’ Flaminius said remorselessly, and just as the civic guards reached the edge of the quay they set sail.
‘What course should I plot?’ the skipper said. ‘Under protest, you understand.’
‘To the Pharos lighthouse.’ Flaminius leaned against the gunwale, looking back. On the quay a tiny figure that he thought he recognised as Gabinius Camillus was gesticulating at the captain of a Liburnian galley.
‘Then what?’ the skipper demanded cynically. ‘Three times round the harbour? I don’t…’ He halted mid-sentence when Flaminius produced his sword.
‘Skipper, you’re under my orders now,’ the imperial agent declared. ‘If you won’t do what I say because it’s the emperor’s business, you can do it or die.’
‘This is piracy!’ Complaining, the skipper steered them across the busy harbour towards the Pharos lighthouse.
‘Sir.’
Crassus Piso’s voice was filled with worry.
Arctos looked up. A few days earlier when the plan had been trialled, the Mechanist had successfully infiltrated the crew, and no one had been at all the wiser when a ship bound for the quay had gone up in flames. But it had been risky and, having known several reversals of fortune in recent days, Arctos was not prepared to leave anything else in the hands of the most capricious of goddesses.
‘What is it?’ Arctos’ voice echoed irritably from beneath the gladiator helmet he had readopted. ‘The emperor’s fleet will be crossing the horizon. The Mechanist is above, putting the last touches to the plan. The mirror is focusing the sun’s rays. What difficulty do you bring me now?’
‘Sir,’ said the gladiator again, awkward. He stepped aside to let two of his fellow gladiators drag the body of the one of the lighthouse crew past. ‘Ships are heading straight for this island.’
Arctos’ rheumy eyes flared from within the eyeholes of his helmet. ‘Ships?’ he said. ‘What ships? You’re mistaken. Why would anyone be sailing here? They must be making for the open sea.’
‘I wish that was true, sir,’ said Crassus Piso. ‘But they are heading straight for us. One of them, a small pleasure craft, may be off course. But the rest are crammed with armed men.’
Arctos cursed. ‘By all the gods of the underworld,’ he said, ‘what has stirred them up? We made sure no one escaped. It is too late for anything to go wrong. The emperor’s ship will be approaching harbour. Nothing can stop us.’
‘They’ll come ashore and take over,’ said Crassus Piso. ‘It’s Gabinius Camillus’ men. They must have somehow followed me here…’
‘You brought this about?’ Arctos whirled round. ‘I should have known. All that matters is that the Mechanist has enough time to destroy Hadrian’s ship. I am too important to risk arrest. I will go to the ship with the others and we will remain anchored offshore until the crisis is over. But you can stay here and guard the Mechanist. You don’t have to survive. Neither does he. Just make sure he has sufficient time to carry out the plan.’
‘They’ll kill me,’ Crassus Piso protested.
‘I’ve thought about that,’ said Arctos. He clapped his hands and two other gladiators came forward. ‘Bring Talos,’ he commanded them. As they lumbered off to do his bidding, he turned back to the puzzled Crassus Piso and laughed.
‘Your friends are still following,’ the skipper remarked, looking aft.
Flaminius had put his sword down shortly after they had got under way, swearing a solemn oath that he would tell the authorities that the skipper had been acting under duress. The crew had been looking mutinous and it seemed the most diplomatic course to steer.
Now they were cutting across the choppy waters of the Small Harbour, rounding the pier that separated it from the Great Harbour. The Pharos lighthouse shone in the distance, and the noon sunlight danced on the waters, although it was cold in the wind that hissed through the rigging of the cruiser. Still there was no sign of the emperor’s galley. But aft of them, the ships Gabinius Camillus had requisitioned were closing in.
‘They do seem very keen to speak to you,’ the skipper added when Flaminius made no reply.
‘Just keep a course for the lighthouse,’ said Flaminius grimly.
‘What are we going to do when we get there?’ Ozymandias muttered. ‘I understand that we’re getting away from the civic guards, but we’ve not shaken them. How will all this help us stop Arctos mur
dering the emperor?’
Flaminius looked at him in surprise. Both Ozymandias and his sister were gazing expectantly at him. Of course, he hadn’t had time to explain.
‘It came to me in a flash,’ he said with a grim chuckle. Even as he spoke, the lighthouse flared again. ‘Do you remember that ship, Ozymandias? The one on fire? It was right at the start of the Days of Hadrian…’
‘Of course I do,’ said Ozymandias. ‘That was when I still had a job…’ He gave Flaminius a meaningful look.
‘You haven’t been sacked yet,’ said Flaminius brusquely. ‘Later, when I was a prisoner of Arctos, before you and your Bucolic chums came to my rescue, he said something that I won’t forget either. Hadrian would ascend to heaven in a blaze of glory, he said. It reminded me of the ship on fire. There’s a connection between the two, although I can’t see it yet.’
Ozymandias went to the side. He peered at the boats moored beside the massive lighthouse. ‘And you think that’s what Arctos is going to do? Set fire to the emperor’s galley? But how? Using naphtha, maybe? Is this some trick of the Mechanist?’
Flaminius nodded. ‘I think Skimbix is involved, but I don’t know about naphtha. I think…’
‘Look!’ said Nitocris. ‘They’re sailing away!’
Flaminius cursed. ‘Arctos,’ he muttered. ‘Running out on us again.’
‘But that’s good, isn’t it?’ said Ozymandias, bewildered. ‘Unless…’ He looked stricken. ‘He’s going to attack the emperor’s galley, wherever it is.’
Flaminius shook his head. ‘No, they’re just mooring a little way from the island.’
The boats had weighed anchor a few hundred fathoms from the lighthouse’s walls.
‘Should we change course?’ asked the skipper, who had noticed their departure.
Flaminius shook his head. ‘We can forget them. What we want is on the island.’
Ozymandias and Nitocris looked at him in confusion.
—30—
The Archimedes Stratagem Page 20
