‘There once was a general called Caesar
Who won the battle of Alesia …’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘What an excellent idea.’ Then he slumped. ‘It’s too late, though.’ He sighed. ‘I was a favourite of Caesar’s once. He loved my epics. If only I could write an epic like I used to. Something that would win me Caesar’s favour once again. You’d never know it now, to see the pitiful conditions in which I live, but Julius and I were once great companions. We’d watch the chariot races together, the gladiator contests. And in the evenings I’d amuse him by reading from my latest work. However, I’m a bit short on inspiration these days. Nothing ever happens here.’
He crossed his arms and stared out at the sea in a brooding manner. Then he sat up. ‘But something has happened at last! I have unexpected visitors. If you haven’t come looking for me, though, why are you here? Where have you come from?’
‘Out there,’ said Felix, pointing to the horizon. ‘We were on our way to Ostia when there was a terrible storm and our ship was wrecked.’
‘We escaped in barrels,’ Livia added.
Titus Magius clapped his hands together. ‘A shipwreck? Barrels? How exciting! Where had you sailed from?’
‘Massilia,’ said Livia.
‘Before that we’d come from Lutetia,’ Felix explained, ‘which is where we left the sacred chicken.’
‘Felix thinks the chicken cursed us,’ Livia said, rolling her eyes.
‘What were you doing in Lutetia?’ interrupted the poet.
Felix replied, ‘Well, the three of us – me, Livia and the sacred chicken – travelled together from Belgica, you see.’
‘I don’t see at all,’ said the poet, his eyes alight with curiosity. ‘You’ll have to tell me everything.’ He held up a hand. ‘But where are my manners? You must be hungry after your ordeal and I haven’t offered you so much as a grape. Let me see what the servants can rustle up. Then you can tell me everything.’
He hurried inside.
‘What are we going to do?’ Livia whispered. ‘We can’t tell him the truth.’
‘Why not?’ Felix asked.
Livia gave him an incredulous look. ‘How about because you’re an army deserter and I’m a runaway slave and he knows Caesar?’
‘So? He can’t tell Caesar now, can he? You heard him – he’s been banished. Besides, he’s very friendly.’
Livia thought about this for a moment, tapping her chin with her index finger. ‘I suppose you’re right. But you just wait and see how his attitude changes once he finds out what we’ve done.’
Before Felix could consider what she’d said, Titus Magius returned, followed by two servants carrying platters of dried figs and dates and nuts. ‘Just to tide us over till lunchtime.’
He reclined on the couch once more and indicated for Livia and Felix to each take one of the other couches set around a low stone table.
‘Now, begin at the beginning.’
Felix glanced at Livia. Whose beginning – his or Livia’s?
She gestured to him, and he guessed that she was still feeling reluctant to tell her story.
‘It all started in an army camp in Belgica, in the dampest, drizzliest corner of Gaul,’ he stated. ‘There was a bad omen the day before a battle with the Nervians. Well, several bad omens, actually. I was the servant to General Porcius, a famously unlucky commander who refused to heed the signs. The worst of it was when the sacred chickens refused their grain but General Porcius declared his intention to fight anyway.’
‘Oh, that’s bad,’ said Titus. ‘Didn’t he remember what happened to Publius Claudius Pulcher?’
‘He didn’t care,’ Felix said. ‘But I didn’t want to become a Nervian slave, so I ran away from camp that night.’
He was reminded again that his story and Livia’s weren’t that different: they were both running away from being slaves. Still, to speak it aloud like that made him realise the enormity of his decision that day: to desert from the army was a shameful, cowardly act. Livia was right; now that Titus Magius knew the truth about Felix he would surely condemn him. Felix hung his head.
The poet sucked a particularly persistent piece of date from between his teeth then said in a matter-of-fact way: ‘Of course you ran away. One should never ignore an omen like that. You were sensible to leave.’
And so, emboldened, Felix unfolded their tale. The poet gasped at Livia’s capture, cheered at Felix’s daring theft of the chariot and, when Felix recounted the sad fate of the crew of the Tarshish, wiped away tears.
‘Have you ever thought of becoming a poet?’ he asked when Felix was done.
‘Me?’ said Felix, surprised. ‘A poet?’
‘Why not? You certainly know how to tell a story. What an adventure! It would make a wonderful epic poem. Wait!’ He rose, put a hand to his brow and stood gazing out to sea for several minutes. Then he turned to face them and, holding out his arms, began to declaim:
‘A serpent of enormous size,
A flash of lightning breaks the skies;
Ill omens for the army of Rome—
Our hero decides to flee for home.’
‘Wow – that’s great!’ said Felix.
‘Yes,’ said Livia, ‘it sounds very promising. But how soon can we leave?’
The poet was taken aback by her impatience. ‘Leave? But you only just got here. Please stay awhile. It’s been so long since I had company.’
‘We need to get to Rome before the gladiator games to celebrate Caesar’s triumph,’ Felix reminded him. ‘Because of Livia’s brother.’
The poet looked ashamed. ‘Of course, how selfish of me.’ He screwed up his face in thought. ‘As I said, I am forbidden to leave the island, but that doesn’t mean you are. If you go down to the harbour, someone there should be able to signal to a passing ship for you. Let us have lunch, then we’ll see if I can equip you a little better for your journey.’
On the poet’s orders, the servants took Felix and Livia inside and tended to their cuts and grazes. They took it in turns to bathe, and were each given one of the poet’s own tunics of fine soft cotton.
‘Much better,’ said Titus when they presented themselves to him. His eyes went to the stick Felix still carried. ‘Is that the stick you used to open the barrels?’
Felix nodded. ‘It belonged to the captain.’ Abruptly, he had a vision of the scene he’d witnessed the night before the Tarshish sailed. ‘Though he got it from a Roman general.’
‘May I see?’
Felix handed the stick to him and Titus turned it in his hand, peering at the carvings. ‘Hmm, it looks like ivory,’ he said. ‘It might even be a sceptre.’
Felix looked at the stick with surprise. ‘You mean it could have belonged to a king?’
‘Perhaps,’ said the poet. ‘But since the captain is drowned, and you are unlikely to encounter the general again, we’ll probably never know.’ He returned the stick to Felix and said, ‘Now, let’s have lunch.’
That afternoon, after a lunch of fish smothered in a rich cheesy sauce, they set off down the road to the harbour dressed in their new tunics and old cloaks, with Felix carrying the stick and Livia carrying a satchel containing a loaf of bread, some hard cheese and a waterskin, as well as a small pouch of coins to pay for their passage to Ostia.
‘Think of it as a thankyou gift,’ Titus had said as he gave them the pouch. ‘I am going to turn your tale into the most thrilling epic Rome has ever known. If I ever get home it will make my reputation.’
As Felix and Livia walked, they mused on the reason for the poet’s kindness.
‘We told him the truth yet he didn’t treat us differently,’ Felix noted. ‘In fact, he helped us. He must have a very kind heart.’
Livia looked thoughtful. ‘I think it’s more than that,’ she said. ‘I think he reacted the way he did because of how well you told our story. The way you described what we were thinking and feeling meant he had to think of us as more than just a slave and a deserter. I
suppose that’s what makes a good storyteller: the ability to make listeners understand why people act as they do and empathise with them.’
Felix had never realised it before, but he saw now that poets could be very powerful.
They reached the small fishing port not long after. There, in exchange for one of their coins, the harbourmaster agreed to signal a ship for them. ‘Though you could be waiting a while,’ he warned. ‘We’re a bit out of the way here.’
In the end, it was dusk before a passing ship responded to the signal. The harbourmaster rowed them out and hailed the captain.
‘I have two young people here seeking passage to Ostia,’ he called.
‘We’ve just come from there,’ came the reply. ‘We delivered a load of grain and now we’re on our way back to Alexandria.’
Felix and Livia looked at each other in dismay. ‘That’s in Egypt, isn’t it?’ Livia asked.
Felix nodded. ‘It’s the home of Cleopatra.’
‘Is it very far?’
They were so close to Rome he could almost smell the sewers. ‘I think it takes about two weeks to sail from Alexandria to Ostia.’
‘Well?’ said the harbourmaster. ‘Are you going aboard? I would if I were you. I don’t know when the next ship will be along and you’ll easily find passage back to Rome from Alexandria.’
Livia considered for a moment then sighed. ‘I suppose we should. At least we’ll be moving – even if it’s in the wrong direction. We could still reach Rome by the beginning of April.’
The grain ship was much larger than the Tarshish and, thanks to the generosity of Titus Magius, Felix and Livia had a cabin to themselves. There were several other passengers, including merchants, some dignitaries and even a few military men, but they found the sailors were much more interesting company. One in particular, Amoses – an Egyptian with dark chin-length hair and wide-set brown eyes – became a good friend.
One afternoon about midway through their journey, while Felix and Livia sat with him as he mended a sail, Amoses told them about Alexandria, the capital of Egypt, and its ruler, the queen Cleopatra. ‘She might be young, but she’s smart,’ he said. ‘She originally inherited the throne with her brother, Ptolemy XIII, then he seized power for himself. Almost caused a war, so Julius Caesar came from Rome to Alexandria to put a stop to it. Didn’t want the supply of grain to Rome to be interrupted, you see. Cleopatra went to Julius Caesar to seek his support. And how do you think she managed to get into the palace where he was staying without one of her enemies trying to stop her?’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’ll tell you how: she rolled herself up in a carpet and had it delivered to Caesar.’
Livia nodded approvingly. ‘She does sound clever.’
The sailor pulled the needle through the sail and gave it a tug. ‘Now Cleopatra’s on the throne, but really it’s Rome who rules Egypt … and that’s the sail fixed.’ He knotted the thread then leaned over to bite off the end with his teeth.
Felix’s eye was caught by a silver amulet dangling from a leather cord around the man’s neck. ‘The shape of your pendant – is that like some kind of sailor’s knot?’ he asked.
The sailor glanced down at his chest. ‘Oh no – this is the buckle of the girdle of Isis.’
‘She’s the protector of sailors, isn’t she?’ asked Livia. ‘I think I’ve heard some of the crew asking for her blessing.’
‘That’s right: Isis protects sailors and merchants. She’s another clever one: when her husband Osiris was murdered by his brother Set, she assumed the form of a bird – a black kite – and searched all Egypt for his body. She then fanned him back to life with her wings.’
And so the fortnight passed in stories and sailors’ lore, until early one afternoon there came a cry from the crow’s nest: the lighthouse of Alexandria was in sight.
Chapter 12
Felix’s first view of Alexandria was of a harbour busy with ships large and small, and docks crowded with sailors and cargo.
‘What is that?’ he yelped, pointing to a crate that held a creature as low to the ground as a serpent but with enormous jaws and an enormous number of glistening teeth.
Livia was the one to supply him with an answer. ‘It’s a crocodile,’ she said. ‘Roman ladies put the dung on their faces; they think it makes their skin pale.’
‘They actually put the poo on their faces?’ Felix said in disbelief. He laughed – but Livia didn’t join in.
‘Crocodiles are also used in the arena … to kill condemned prisoners.’ She shuddered and Felix knew that she must be thinking of her brother, perhaps wondering if this very crocodile might be part of the spectacle Caesar had planned.
‘As soon as we disembark we’ll start looking for passage to Rome,’ he promised as their ship nudged up against the quay.
Half an hour later they were on dry land, feeling unsteady on their legs after a fortnight at sea.
‘I think I need to sit down for a few minutes,’ Livia confessed. ‘Or I might fall down.’
They bought some bread and snacks from a stall on the quay and went to sit in a shady square by the port.
As soon as Felix tore a hunk of bread from the loaf, a bird with wings like fingers glided from the cloudless sky to settle on a nearby branch.
It gave a piercing cry.
‘I think it must be a kite,’ Felix said. ‘Like the one Amoses was telling us about. They’re probably considered sacred here.’
Livia groaned. ‘Don’t talk to me about sacred birds. One was enough.’ She addressed the bird: ‘You’re not a sacred kite, are you? Please tell me you’re not.’
The bird just regarded them steadily.
‘I think it’s hungry,’ Felix said.
‘There’s something it has in common with your chicken then.’
‘It wasn’t my chicken,’ Felix objected. He glanced down at the ring he still wore on his thumb. ‘You can’t own a sacred chicken. It’s a privilege if they elect to help you.’ He held out a piece of sausage and the bird swooped down to take it.
As he bit into a pepper stuffed with spicy lentils, he watched what was going on around him. Alexandria! It felt astonishing to be here in the city that had been founded by Alexander the Great. Gazing past the warehouses and taverns that lined the quay, he had a glimpse of red-tiled roofs that hinted at grand buildings in the city beyond the port. It was a pity they wouldn’t have time to explore …
He turned his attention back to the harbour. They would need to find a ship bound for Rome as soon as possible – preferably one that didn’t include crocodiles among its cargo.
Almost immediately his eyes landed on a Roman galley – a naval vessel, judging by the flag fluttering from its mast. As Felix watched, a commander in full uniform descended the gangway to the quay, where a young woman who had just alighted from a barge stood waiting, a basket by her feet. She wore a long pleated dress of white linen, wide gold bracelets on each arm and long gold earrings. A beaded headdress encircled her jet-black hair.
He wasn’t the only one watching the pair exchange formal greetings, he realised, as he caught sight of two shifty-looking men who were slowly but surely edging nearer.
‘Why do I always have to share my food with birds?’ Livia said, sighing.
Felix turned to see that she was holding out a piece of sausage for the kite. He smiled to himself. She pretended to be so hard, but really she had a soft heart.
He glanced back to the quay just in time to see one of the shifty-looking men dart over and snatch the young woman’s basket.
‘Hey!’ he yelled.
The Egyptian and the Roman were still exchanging greetings; neither had noticed the swift movement of the shifty man.
As the thief and his companion sprinted down a narrow street between two warehouses, Felix leaped up and ran after them.
The narrow street turned into another, and then another, becoming a maze of alleyways, some lined with workshops and others showing nothing but high blank walls to the street.
Felix pursued the men, the alleyways growing increasingly deserted, increasingly dark, until he was navigating by the sound of running footsteps – and then the footsteps ceased and all was quiet. He’d lost them.
He looked around, trying to find some landmark among the blank stone walls. Had he turned left into this alley, or right? He started to walk slowly, attempting to retrace his steps, when a hand closed around his throat and pressed him up against the wall.
‘What do we have here then?’ It was one of the thieves. His face was so close that Felix could smell the garlic on his breath.
‘I think it must be a Roman spy,’ a voice hissed. The second thief – younger than the first, Felix saw – stepped forwards to join them.
The older thief frowned and loosened his grip on Felix, who drew a ragged breath. ‘Aren’t the Romans our allies?’ His brow was furrowed. ‘Julius Caesar won the Battle of the Nile and put Cleopatra on the throne.’
‘Hmm, I don’t know,’ said the young thief. ‘Let’s take him somewhere a bit more private and question him.’
‘Good idea.’ The older thief grasped Felix’s arm and began to drag him down the alleyway. But as they left the seclusion of the shadows the older thief gasped. ‘He’s got red hair!’ He released Felix as though he’d been burned.
Felix stiffened. Uh-oh. Was it some kind of curse here to have red hair?
‘What good luck!’ said the younger man. ‘Rameses II, the great pharaoh, had red hair too.’
Felix felt limp with relief. Phew!
‘No, no,’ the older man insisted. ‘Red hair is unlucky.’ He gnawed on his knuckle worriedly, staring at Felix’s hair with an expression of horror. ‘The sensible thing would be to bury him alive.’
Uh-oh …
‘Though the god Set has red hair and he’s the protector of foreigners,’ the younger thief argued. ‘We should let the boy go.’
Phew!
The older man shook his head, unconvinced. ‘Set is also the god of chaos and disorder and storms,’ he countered. ‘And—’ he stabbed his finger at Felix emphatically ‘—Set murdered his brother Osiris.’
The Chicken's Curse Page 8
